The OC Fic
Title: The Hart Break
Chapter 7, Part A
Author: ChaseII
Story Rating: PG-13(?) (minor language)
Disclaimer: The OC Universe, with all its assorted characters, belongs to Josh Schwartz, et. al. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended, nor is any money being made.
A/N: Many thanks to Beachtree, a delightful, generous, and insightful beta. However, please know all mistakes are mine, mine, mine... I appreciate those of you who are still sticking with this story -- many thanks for your interest and your patience!
A/N2: A Note on Kirsten's characterization here: While I originally started this story before the final season of The O.C., when I still had hope that Kirsten would become a real mother to Ryan, the writers did the character no favors in that respect. Though given numerous opportunities to show affection, concern, or protectiveness, Kirsten remained for the most part detached, cool, and distant, disappointing me on many levels. While I think the writers intended for her to be seen as becoming Ryan's mother, I don't think they ever did.
I think it's fair to say many of us have gone far further towards making her maternal in fanfic than TPTB ever did in canon. While I like to keep characters substantially 'in character', Kirsten in this story is a bit of a blend between her canon self, and at least in part the woman I wish she could have been.
A/N3: Story is AU. This story follows just after the epilogue for Seventeen, and involves the Harts, who were introduced in that story.
Chapter 6 is set December 1, 2006, in the morning. As the story picks up, Ryan is driving Sam and Megan Hart's car as the three head to UC Berkeley (where Sam is to interview for a faculty position with the UC Berkeley Department of Architecture.)
Ryan avoids Megan’s eyes, keeping his own fixed firmly on the road.
He’s just blown three years of near-perfect silence. Except for sharing with Theresa, the subject’s not come up. Not really.
Crap.
He’s still not quite sure how this happened. The whole conversation had started out so safe... just Megan and him after the first ten minutes or so. Sam had checked out early, immersed in preparation for his interviews in the morning.
The miles had slipped by as he drove, he and Megan settling comfortably into one of their classic exchanges -- one like so many he remembers from Chino. They had talked at length about literature - what books he’s interested in now, did he have a reading list for Berkeley, what Megan’s reading - that kind of thing. Harmless, right?
He hadn’t recognized the danger when their discussions had veered into recurrent literary themes, like redemption, love, trust, and finally betrayal.
He’d gotten too comfortable, slipping unconsciously into old routines and familiar relationships. Eventually, he’d started talking about way more than books.
So. Here he is… barely three hours into this trip, and he’s unaccountably spilled his guts about the Oliver Trask fiasco, recounting how he’d become caught up with the idea he needed to protect Marissa, only to end up acting so fucking stupid… admitting all the mistakes he’d made in the process… even revealing how he’d been called ‘pathetic’ and thought ‘unstable’ for his efforts.
Hell, under Megan’s empathetic questioning, he’d admitted his disappointment when the only person who had believed him back then was his old nemesis, Luke Ward. He’d even told her how the whole affair had ended, with Oliver, Marissa, and the gun.
He can’t believe he’s talked this much. He grips the steering wheel tightly, searching for something - anything - to ground him. He needs something solid to hold on to, because he’s fighting through unexpected waves of resurrected guilt and hurt and anger.
He thought he was over Oliver. After all, they - he and the Cohens - they’d all moved on, hadn’t they? A long, long, time ago.
So why are all these bitter feelings still roiling inside his head?
Shit.
He swallows, waiting for… Hell, he doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for. It’s not like he’s used to talking about his feelings. One thing’s always been clear to him - people don’t like to hear his ugly truths any more than he likes telling them.
Besides, he’s never thought his feelings mattered very much. Not as much as other people’s, anyway.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Megan moving in her seat, twisting sideways so that she has a better view of him.
“I wish we’d been there, Ryan,” she says, scrunching her back against the passenger door, thoughtful hazel eyes fixed on his face.
“Yeah.” He glances sideways, seeing her catch her bottom lip between her teeth. “Me, too,” he says, holding her gaze for a beat before he turns back to the highway.
“Ryan?” The voice comes from the backseat, startling him a bit.
He’d almost forgotten Sam was even back there.
Ryan looks into the rear-view mirror, where he sees serious brown eyes staring back at him.
“Yeah?”
“When you were in the hotel room with that kid? Where was Sandy Cohen?” Sam’s voice sounds like it’s under careful check.
Ryan doesn’t want to answer. Anything he says will probably sound bad.
Sam prompts gently, “Was he there with you? While you talked that kid down?”
Ryan nods, catching one side of his cheek between his teeth. He’s already said way too much.
Ryan can hear Sam’s papers being shoved aside, the sound punctuated by the soft click of a seatbelt being unhooked. The man slides forward, his profile coming into view between the front seats.
Ryan stiffens, hoping Sam isn’t going where he can’t follow. Where he won’t follow.
“What did Sandy do when he saw that Trask kid had a gun?”
Shit. He bites down harder on his inner cheek, wincing a little when it hurts.
Sam assures him, “There’s no wrong answer, Ace.”
Yes there is.
There is definitely a wrong answer, and the only other answer he can give is a lie.
He feels Sam’s hand at the back of his seat, the man’s fingers barely touching his shoulder.
“I know what you’re thinking, but Sandy couldn’t have stopped me,” he offers, glancing sideways to see Sam’s reaction.
Sam snorts, but then presses his lips together , like he’s trying to keep whatever he wants to say inside.
In the end he shakes his head. “I get it, Ryan. I’m guessing whatever Sandy did that day was more than you expected, right?”
“I didn’t expect anything. I mean, honestly? I was lucky the Cohens didn’t kick me out… they probably should have, but they didn’t.”
Megan groans, finding Sam’s eyes with hers. Ryan’s not sure what they’re saying nonverbally, but it’s pretty clear they understand one another.
Sam is the one who speaks to him. “I’m sure Sandy going with you to the hotel that night meant a lot to you, right?”
Ryan fixes his eyes firmly on the road ahead of him as he answers, “He didn’t have to go, but he did.”
Ryan doesn’t tell Sam how Sandy demanded the keys that night - testing him - testing whether he’d obey. Sandy had had his reasons. Reasons Ryan understands better than Sam or Megan ever could.
When Sam is silent, he sneaks another sideways glance at the pair. Megan is still turned in her seat toward him, her eyes moving from him to Sam and back, like she’s assessing whether she ought to end this conversation. Sam’s head is down, his features hidden from view.
Ryan hears the man blow out a small breath before he re-engages.
“Okay, Ace. I hear you. Just one more thing, while we’re on the subject... Did I understand right - about what you told Megan earlier? That you’ve never discussed any of this stuff with the Cohens afterwards?”
Ryan blinks, wondering how in the hell he ever let this conversation get to this place. But he did, and it’s here, and if Sam bothered to ask the question, he deserves some sort of answer.
He corrals his thoughts before explaining, “That’s true, but to put everything in perspective, there were a bunch of other things going on then. I’ll never forget - it all happened just before Valentine’s Day, and there was this big charity dance thing going on. Kirsten wanted… it was just a lot easier to move forward, and put the whole thing behind us…”
“Easier for whom?” Megan asks, earning a glance from Sam.
Ryan can’t see Sam’s face, but can see Megan’s lips thin. Thankfully, she doesn’t press him for an answer. Then again, he’s pretty sure she doesn’t need one.
Sam turns back from Megan to face him. “Did you talk to anyone, Ryan? Besides Theresa?”
He shakes his head.
“No counselor? No psychologist? No one?”
“I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” he says. He still doesn’t. He wishes he weren’t talking to the Harts.
Sam persists. “It’s not always about what we want, Ace. Sometimes it’s about what we need. Facing down a crazy kid with a gun? On top of everything else you’d just gone though? That’s tough stuff, Ryan. The kind of trauma you don’t just move on from, without working through its impact on your feelings.”
“I’m not crazy,” Ryan argues.
“Of course you’re not. That’s not what I’m suggesting. In my mind, therapy isn’t about being crazy. It’s about becoming more self-aware. Another source of knowledge, since sometimes we’re too close to situations to understand why we act and react like we do. It can also be a form of support.” He pauses, as though trying to gather his thoughts.
Ryan says nothing. He figures nothing is safer than anything he might say right now.
Sam is undeterred by his silence, picking up where he left off. “By support, I mean it helps, sometimes, to have someone else help us uncover what’s behind our actions. What factors motivate us to behave like we do. How we go about thinking through things. Our self-perceptions - how we form our perceptions of others… those types of things. Trust me, self-knowledge is a powerful tool, Ace.”
Ryan frowns. “Would you ever? Go see a therapist, I mean?”
“We have,” Megan answers softly.
“Really?” Ryan’s eyebrows gather together, his surprise evident as he glances across at Megan.
Sam covers Megan’s hand with his, his thumb moving slowly back and forth across her wrist while he speaks. “Megan and I spent over a year in therapy, after we lost our baby. I believe in it, Ryan. I’ve seen… experienced… the good it can do.”
“But that’s different,” he argues. “That had to be devastating. I mean, I know from experi…”
He hesitates when he realizes what he’s almost let slip, and stops mid-word. He’s not going there. Not now, anyway.
Megan extracts her hand from Sam’s clasp, reaching out touch Ryan’s upper arm, her face clouded.
“Ryan?”
He shakes his head back and forth, staring at the road in front of him. He’s not ready for that conversation. This one is bad enough.
“Please,” he mumbles.
Continued in Chapter 7 Part B