A/N.: To clearify the conclusion: the chapter in which I actually planned to kill him, but wasn't allowed to, I made Ryan finally lose his right kidney. That's all. I just like to leave some things open for some own interpretation and fantasy ;)

And a huge THANK YOU for the reviews (although I'm not allowed to kill him, but once - when nobody is paying attention - I will *hihi*)

Something's broken

"Hey honey." I call out, when my wife enters the house again.

"Hi." She says and kisses me. There's only one question burning in my chest and that since the accident.

"How is he?" I'm anxious. I wasn't allowed to see him yet. Stupid medical policy: you need rest. Damn, I only have a concussion. I don't need to rest. I need to be with my kid.

"Weak." My wife only answers. The circles around her eyes tell me that she's exhausted. She needs a break. I should give her some time for herself.

"Did…did he wake up?" Since the boy had been admitted to hospital he hadn't been really awake, at least that's what my wife tells me.

"Yes, a bit. He was even able to talk a bit." She tells me and I feel relieve spread through my body.

"Oh God…I…I need to see him…Kirsten I…can't stay home any longer. I need to…" He hadn't been awake for over one week now. This was a progress, or?

"Sandy, you need to rest and…honestly after all what had happened between you and him lately I don't think he can handle this right now. He's weak. Really weak. Despite they put him asleep again, that's way I'm already home." She sits down on a stool and I hand her a mug of hot steaming coffee. She buries her face in her hands. I go to her and rub her back. That's all I can do right now.

"I'm sorry." I tell her. The feeling of guilt didn't leave me since that night. I was the one who had been driving the car. I have been the one only yelling at him, without listening to what he had said – what he had wanted me to understand. Black rage had been ruling me then and it had been a mistake – my mistake.

"For what?" She asks me.

"For…you know…this …the accident." I try to explain her. I feel guilty for her exhaustion, for her moods, the tears she had been crying.

"Sandy, stop it. How often do I need to explain you that this had been an accident and it could have happened to anyone?" She replies. I don't want to hear that. I want her to scream at me, what a fucking idiot I am to drive while such a rain and endangering our kid. I want her to yell at me, if I couldn't have been more carefully. I want her to shout into my face how lousy I am as father – foster father. I want her to slap my face, not only once and telling me that all this was my fault and that I have to take the blame for it.

"But it wasn't just anyone. It was me who had been driving. Don't you understand this? It was me." Thud. She banged her hand down the kitchen counter. I flinch.

"Stop this Sandy! I don't want to listen to any of this anymore!" She now starts to yell at me. "This had been a stupid accident nobody is to be blamed for. So stop getting drowned in your self pity. I…just can't stand it anymore!" Then she buries her face in her hands again and despaired sobs tell me that she's crying. I go to her and take her into my arms. Well, yes I wanted her to yell at me. But I never knew that her voice was that loud and strong. I feel like an idiot. She was right. What the hell have I've been thinking? I only was turning around myself, but there were my sons and my wife needing me. Resting doesn't mean not being able to help them through this – to be there for them.

"I…I'm sorry." She says, disturbed by sobs.

"No, I'm sorry. You're right. I…just needed someone who tells me to come down on earth again." I kiss her forehead. It's hot from crying.

"Sandy, I'm tired. I…I don't know how I shell get him through this…I can't. I…"

"I'm there too and together we can." I assure her.

"No Sandy. I doubt we can do anything for him. As long as he's living with us we're faced with the fact that we've failed him from day to day." She has lost hope. I see it in her eyes. They're never that sad, only when she has lost hope.

"Do you have second thoughts?" I need to know how she's staying to our decision taking him in permanently.

"No! I … I want him here with us. I want my son being in his room in this house, where I can see and hear him, ever when I want to. I…I'm just…helpless. It's like he never can have a break and from day to day there are more pieces we have to pick up. I just don't think I can do this any longer." That's how I feel since months, what makes me able to feel for her.

"But we have to. We can't give up on his, because that would make everything worse." I reply. I need to give her a break. She needs my support now. Ryan will need her as well. I can't risk her to give up on him.

"I'll go to him tomorrow." I determine and I'm reluctant to let someone determine something different.

"Sandy, you need to rest. Think of your concussion." She starts to worry again. Exactly this had been the mistake. She had been taken care of our boy in the hospital and when she had come home, she had taken care of me. Now it's time that someone takes care of her and that she has some time to take care of herself.

"No, Kirsten. The only one who needs to rest right now is you. I suggest you go and relax a little in the whirlpool and I bring you a glass of chardonnay." I start to massage her neck and shoulders. Immediately I feel how her muscles relax under the touch of my hands.

"How do you do this?" She asks me.

"What?" I ask her back, without stopping my hands from massaging.

"This."

"That's the magic of being married for over twenty years."

"It feels good." She answers. The tone of her voice tells me that she doesn't want me to stop touching her. My hands slip under her pullover, reaching her breasts. I gently massage them.

"Where is our eldest son?" She asks me.

"I MAX." I whisper into her ear.

"mmm, then we have enough time." She turns around and starts kissing me. I sling my arms around her. It feels so good being kissed by her again. It feels as if life streams back into my body. It is as if the world around us stands still. She gets up, starts to unbutton my shirt. My hands slip under her pullover and I slowly take it off of her. She still wears these damn hot bras. She pulls me out the patio, taking my shirt of on the way. I let her guide me. I unbutton her trousers. The fit tight and she's still in the same shape she had been when we met at Berkeley.

"I love you, do you know that?" She breathes into my ear, while she takes off my belt and starts to take my trousers off.

"Do you?" I ask her back, unbuttoning her bra. I want to see her body in all its beauty. No cloths. They only hide, which treasure is hidden under them.

"Yes." She only says. We stumble towards the whirlpool. I step into it. She still allows me to take off her lace pants. And there she stays above me in all her beauty. I take her and lift her into the whirlpool and then our bodies melt together. I start kissing her body everywhere. The heat radiating from it makes me reluctant to stop again. I feel her hand. I touch her. Our bodies don't exist anymore. There is only this one amazing feeling. Her smooth movements and her silent moan with pleasure tells me that she feels good. I love to make her feel good, that's my job as husband and I'll never stop making her feel good. We can't get off of each other. I enjoy her. I enjoy us. The heat radiating from her body makes me giving her more. I feel her hands with which she tells me what to do to satisfy her. And I do so. I do everything she tells me. Her well shaped bum in my hands slowly moves. I pull her tighter against my body. Her hands stroke my body, every part. I want this moment of peace never to end.

"You get better with every passing year." She tells me and kisses me onto my mouth when I come back to the whirlpool with glasses and wine for us.

"And my desire to make you happy increases from second to second." I start kissing her again. She chuckles.

"We need to be careful. Our eldest will be home soon."

"And you think we should spare him…"

"Yes, we should." My wife warns me, but returns my kiss.

"Hey folks, nice to see that at least you can enjoy yourself." My son comes out the patio and his mood is worse than morose.

"Seth, I thought you'd be at the I MAX." I ask him, not paying attention to his reproach.

"I was. But I didn't like it there." He answers.

"Why? You used to like it." I answer back. It's easy to get Seth to talk about what was bothering him. Just ask enough questions and he comes out what was eating him up.

"Yes, but then I also used to be alone. But these days are gone." Oh, now I understand where the cat jumps.

"Not having Summer around is one thing, but not even being able to hang out with Ryan is just…fucked up."

"Seth!" My wife reproofs him. I can understand him. The boys were inseparable. But now they're forced to.

"Seth, just be a little patient. Ryan won't be in hospital forever." I assure him.

"Yeah, but for quite a while and I don't understand what you're doing here. I mean Ryan is in hospital. Shouldn't there someone with him? I can imagine that he doesn't feel too comfortable there." My son starts his speech and the good mood from about a few seconds ago is gone.

"Seth, your Mum goes there every day. But in the moment we can't do anything for him. Most of the time he isn't even awake, so that he notices someone is with him." I try to explain him, but feel myself how lame this sounds.

"And what's when he's awake?"

"Then someone of us is there. Seth, honey," My wife steps out of the whirlpool. Damn luck that she had time to dress into a bathing suit before our son arrived.

"Ryan is in a critical state. They put him into sleep as long as possible so that he didn't notice too much of what happens." She takes her son into her arms. Since Ryan had become – tries to become – a member of their family, she had started to be more a mother for him again. I guess I like it, because we've left our son alone for too long.

"Can I visit him?" Bang. No day without this question and no day without his son's sad face after their answer.

"Sweetie, it's still too early. You won't have much of Ryan, as he's really sleeping most of the time and I can't imagine that he'd likes you to see him like that. You know how hard he tries not to attract too much attention, plus being seen as vulnerable. And I don't want you to see these things. When you're older you'll have witness more of this than you can bear, believe me. Just wait, until Ryan's better, okay?"

"Not okay, but do I have another chance?" He only asks and then goes to his room. I only look at my wife. We both have no idea what to do, to make our son feel better about the situation. Honestly, if we can't feel any better, how are we supposed to make him feel better?

Now I sit in one of these immense uncomfortable chairs and…do nothing. It's already late morning. Every time I glance at his face, I see these awful cuts. They say there won't remain a lot scar tissue, but I don't believe them. They only talk about what's on the outside. They don't consider the scars which will remain on his soul – a soul already laced with scars. I hear a silent groan. I get a little closer to him. He's moving slightly.

"Hey kid." I say, trying to make him aware of that he's not alone. He starts blinking and his eyes open. He looks at me.

"Hey kid, how are you feeling?" I ask him in low voice. I'm unconfident in how to behave around him. I only know I can't let him see that I feel unsecure.

"Dunno." He mumbles and turns his head away. My wife was right. There's a tension between him and me.

"The doctor told me that you'll leave the ICU within the afternoon and get settled in a normal room. That sounds good, or?" He only shrugs his shoulders. I want to give him perspective. But why? And what kind of perspective? He'll never be able to move his leg, as he used to and he knows that. So why do I try to make him feel better about this. There's nothing to feel better about this. There's nothing to feel better about anyway. This is just a fucked up situation. Stop! Not now. I can't lose my composure. Not here.

"Are you just indifferent about this or are you feeling that bad, that you can't be happy about it?" Shit! This tone and this question. Not good at all. Again I'm too harsh and demanding. At least now I should behave more understanding and sensitive towards him. He doesn't make an attempt to look at me.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't want to be mean." I apologize, but there's no response coming from him.

"I'm just worried." I say. I don't know why I do so, because I don't think he's even listening to me. This one time I wish my wife had been wrong. I didn't mean to hurt him and I didn't consider what my behaviour towards him was doing to him.

"They have a doctor here, who had a look at the x-rays of your leg. He said that he might be able to do something about it." I want a response from him. Something. Anything. No matter what, but I want hear his voice. There's nothing.

"You know what? I call Kirsten. Maybe you're more comfortable when she's around." I tell him. This sounds pathetic, but what shell I do? Provoke him? I don't think that this is quite right now. I better capitulate. Maybe, when he's better I can get through to him, but I don't even think that I can do so later. There's something broken between him and me and I don't think that I can fix it again – not alone.

"Maybe you can tell me someday what's wrong between us." I say and leave him. My eldest son is right when he says that we should be there for Ryan. But I can't be there for him, because he doesn't let me. He's rejecting me. I hope my wife has more success than I. The feeling of guilt increases again. I have to dive it away. I can't allow it to grow, because what's wrong between him and me is not linked to the accident. This only had been the straw that broke the camels back. Our fights, what I said to him, maybe the slap into his face – definitely the slap into his face. All this had caused the freezing coldness. How was that possible? I'm used to be good with teenagers, why not with him? What is different about him? Is it really only the fact that he's like a son to me? I lost patience, too often, too early. That's it. I wasn't patient, although I use to be. But as my son had said: these days are over.

"Hey, how did it go?" My wife asks me, when she arrives.

"Not good." I admit and in her look I can see the: didn't I tell you?

"Maybe he's only tired. Did you tell him?"

"Yes, I told him that they'll move him to a normal room this afternoon and that this expert arrived and that he might do something about his leg. Nothing. He ignores me."

"Don't worry. I'm sure, we'll fix that again. Let him come home and you'll see things aren't as bad as you think." I can only hope so.