(no subject)
Title: Little Girls. Part 2.
Rating: PG
Fandom: The OC (Sandy/Kirsten)
Kirsten can’t say that she has ever really enjoyed being pregnant. Seriously, the beach ball beneath the overalls is unattractive, as is the swollen feet, the quaking legs, the engorged and aching breasts, and, honestly, the hormones are a bitch.
“Ngh,” Kirsten says, “ngh.”
“Eloquent as always this morning, I see.” Sandy states, and he’s all smiles this morning, all cream cheese on bagels.
“I need something that is lathered in chocolate, or in salt, one extreme or the other, I can’t quite decide.”
Sandy grins a little more, a little wider, takes a deep bite from the corner of the bagel, “I can do you potato chips dipped in chocolate.”
Kirsten pulls a bottle of orange and mango juice from the fridge, “you know you have to be pregnant when that sounds appealing.”
“Y’know,” Sandy starts, and he’s still grinning from where he leans against the counter, “I wish I could say I was joking.”
She laughs again, she laughs too much here, in this house, with this man, “I need my daily salt-sugar intake from somewhere.”
“Seth came home drunk last night,” Sandy says, and his face is a little more somber, a little less content.
“I heard him,” she says, “he knocked over my new lamp.”
“Ryan put him to bed.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“Seth still isn’t a good yelling name.”
“I know,” Kirsten sighs, long and deep, “I’ll talk to him.”
“He hasn’t been himself,” Sandy says, “he hasn’t been himself since baby stepped into the family portrait.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Kirsten says again, and she takes a long drink from her glass, another downfall to being pregnant is the lack of coffee allowed.
There’s a stagger down the stairs, a trip and a cuss, “Language, Seth,” Kirsten reminds, and Sandy grabs his briefcase, steals a kiss, and heads out the back door.
Seth stumbles in, and Kirsten has to remind herself that he’s eighteen now, he’s not a kid, she can’t push him over her knee, spank him, send him to bed. He looks like hell though, and he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, hasn’t washed his face, his clothes smell like vomit and liquor.
“Well,” Kirsten starts, “have fun last night?”
Seth grunts, and pulls himself over to the coffee maker.
“I sure hope so, I’d hate to think you drank yourself stupid out of spite.”
“I,” Seth says, “have a hangover, I am going to drink coffee, and then I am going to go to school, and then I am going to continue on as if this never happened.”
“Well, that’s a shame, because it did happen, and acting as though it didn’t isn’t going to prevent you from being grounded.”
Seth takes a seat at the counter, coffee in hand, before he slams his head down onto the tabletop in front of him, “Ngh.”
“Don’t you ‘ngh’ me, honey, I’m the one that resembles a beached whale, I think I have much more to be ‘ngh’-ing about than you.”
Seth frowns up at her, “well, if you didn’t go and get yourself knocked-up, then you wouldn’t have any reason to be complaining.”
“I’m not complaining, Seth, and I didn’t get myself ‘knocked-up’ as you so eloquently put it, I’m having a baby with a man I love.”
“You already had a baby with a man that you loved, or are you forgetting about him?”
“Seth,” something jabs, a sharp pain in the bottom of her belly, “Seth,” she frowns a little, a lot, clutches at the space just beneath her protruding belly.
“Seth,”
“Yes,” he says, “that child’s name was Seth, is Seth, he is still here, notice how I use a stream of present tense…”
“Seth,” Kirsten says, and the pains a little sharper now, a little more specific, “Seth,” she doubles over, can’t help it, the pain is out to get her.
“Mum?”
“Seth,” she looks up at his big, brown, doe eyes, and he looks like he’s eleven years old again, and maybe she misses having a little kid more than she thought she did.
“Seth, I think you need to drive me to the hospital.”
*
Hospitals were too white, too sterile, too bland, and Ryan needs wads of paper if he’s to list every bad experience he’s ever had at one. They’ve been here for nine and a half hours now, and Seth fell asleep twenty minutes ago, head collapsing onto Ryan’s shoulder.
The air-conditioning in the waiting room is too cold, the magazines on the coffee table are years old, and the vending machine by the bathrooms is out of order. A nurse, her nametag reads ‘Lucy’, she’s been filing charts behind the reception desk for the better half of an hour, the other nurses, they gossip every chance they get, about the doctors, about the other nurses, about the patients.
When Ryan looks up again, eyes desperately seeking the clock on the far wall, Sandy’s there, Sandy’s there, and half of his face is smiling, and the other half is ready for a serious conversation.
Sandy pulls up a seat on the coffee table in front of Ryan and the sleeping Seth, he rests his hands on his knees, casts a wayward grin at Seth’s slack jaw and flickering eyelids.
“It’s a boy,” Sandy says, “and he’s healthy.”
“He’s two weeks early,” Ryan replies, and his arm’s going numb, the one attached to the shoulder that Seth’s lying on.
“Yes,” Sandy says, “but he’s healthy. Tobias is healthy.”
“Tobias?”
“Yeah, Tobias. Kirsten always wins at these sorta things.”
Ryan grins too at that, because she is a very persuasive woman.
“Question is,” Sandy continues, and his eyes look imploringly at Ryan’s, “question is, are you okay?”
“Am I okay?”
“With Kirsten and me, with us having another kid?”
“It’s none of my business.” Ryan says, and he tugs at the sleeve of his jacket, doesn’t meet Sandy’s eyes.
“It is your business, Ryan, I can’t say that your opinion will change anything, I’m not exactly gonna be throwing Tobias out the window or anything, but, it does matter to me, and it does matter to Kirsten. That makes it your business.”
Ryan shrugs, sighs long and deep, “Seth’s less happy about it than I am.”
“I have known Seth for eighteen years, trust me, he’ll get over it. He always does.”
“I’m fine,” Ryan says after a few minutes, after a few minutes of silence, “I’d like to see him though, the baby.”
Sandy’s grin splits his face in two, he’s too obvious in what he feels, and Ryan doesn’t think that Sandy would last as long as he thinks he would in Chino. Then again, Sandy has so many layers, there’s so much to him, that Ryan can never be certain.
“So,” Seth starts, and he’s closed his mouth (kinda), is rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “another kid to welcome to the Cohen world of paralyzing self-doubt, huh?
“Looks like,” Sandy says, and he ruffles Seth’s already messy hair, smiles at his sleepy eyes.
“Poor, asshole.”
*
“Another boy.” Kirsten says, and maybe she lets out a big, deep, never ending sigh. Maybe she’s a little more pleased than she should be, maybe the part of her that was still hoping for a little girl was smaller than she thought it was.
“Another boy,” Sandy says, “at least we’ve got experience.”
Ryan can’t stop staring at the baby, Seth, somewhere along the lines, picked Tobias up and started telling him about Wolverine and Storm and Professor Xavier.
“I’ll never get to teach someone how to put on make-up, how to sweet talk boys, never get to play tea-parties, huh?”
Kirsten’s leaning too hard against Sandy, her fingers are running through her hair, “Never get to go out and buy pretty little dresses, or plastic jewelry.”
Sandy shrugs, “unless we’re raising Tim Curry, then probably not.”
“That sucks,” she says, and lets loose a lengthy sigh.
“Not really,” Sandy says, “a girl would’ve been nice, but I wouldn’t trade what we have.”
Kirsten leans up and around, kisses Sandy, long and deep, “I wouldn’t either.”
*
Sandy’s gone to buy dinner from the diner down the road, and Kirsten’s left here, sweaty and exhausted, with her baby and her teenagers, her three boys.
“Well,” she starts, and Tobias fell asleep ten minutes ago, out like a light, with his mess of dark-blonde hair, and his pink little face, “what’s all this about mammoth insecurities.”
Both Seth and Ryan stiffen a little, Seth rubs his skinny thighs, and Ryan’s fingers clench in the sheets.
“Wasn’t sure to begin with,” she says, “but that just confirmed everything.”
“Anyone born a Cohen, anyone who becomes a Cohen,” Seth amends, and he lies down on the bed, his head level with her belly, “is destined for mammoth insecurities.”
Kirsten rolls her eyes, reaches out for a hand of both boys, Seth takes it straight away, turns his face into the side of her baby-less belly. Ryan takes a little more convincing, doesn’t take her hand, but maybe nudges her fingers a little with his own.
“Sandy and I have had another baby,” she starts, “you should be happy. Neither of you will be forgotten, neither of you should be worried. Our family’s growing a little, that’s all.”
“Ryan,” she says, “Ryan,”
“I know,” he says, “its fine, I’m fine, I’m…I’m happy.”
“Good,” she says, and she rubs his knuckles with her fingertips, “and Seth…”
“I know, I know,” he says, and he shoots her a look, from down near her waist, and she remembers when he was small, when he was tiny and waist high, and not in high school. When he still drew her pictures, and tried to make tin spaghetti on mother’s day.
“What do you know, Seth? That you were being unreasonable,” she sits up, leans down and pokes a finger into his ribs, and God, he’s thin, “that you were being silly and unfair and well, dumb.” She pokes another finger, latches on firmer, tickles him, she likes him here, squirming and giggling and not worrying about girls, or bullies, she likes him sober.
“I was being insecure,” he says, when he’s finished giggling, and Ryan, at the end of the bed, he’s hiding a grin, a smirk, a smile, “I was looking at it from the wrong viewpoint is all.”
“Exactly,” she says, “from the dumb viewpoint.”
“No, just the wrong one,” he says, “I have someone to corrupt now, I can introduce him to all the comics, all the right movies and music, coz, come on, we can’t have him listening to like, Avril Lavigne, or Hinder, or whatever, need him listening to the good stuff.”
Kirsten laughs, and Ryan does too at this, Ryan leans down on the bed, onto Kirsten’s legs, “what about Ryan?”
“I tried with Ryan,” Seth puts a hand to his head, lets loose a long suffering sigh, “my efforts were attempted too late, he was a lost cause, he failed.”
“On the bright side,” Seth continues, “when I introduce Tobias to the fulfilling world that is Star Wars, I can nickname him.”
“Do I dare ask?” Kirsten says, but she’s smiling still, and God she loves her family, loves them all.
“Tobi-wan-kenobi, the name is, dare I say it, perfect.”
Ryan and Kirsten laugh until Sandy comes back with burgers and chips and soda.
*
Tobias is pretty tiny still, his eyes flicker open, and they’re the colour of melted chocolate, his hair is a dark, messy blonde, and his skin is still pink, his fingers and toes still the length of a bottle-cap.
“Didn’t think we’d get round to having another one,” Sandy says, and Tobias is asleep on his chest.
Kirsten’s eyelids are too heavy, they droop and waver and her hands and legs and body are heavy with gravity and exhaustion. “Neither did I, to be honest. Thought maybe you might have brought another one home, but didn’t think I’d manage to pop one out.”
Sandy laughs at this, stifles it quickly, so as not to wake the baby, “but you managed.”
“I managed.”
“Are the other two all sorted out?”
“The other two are all sorted out.” Kirsten says, and she smiles a little, can still see both of them, as they lean against each other on the wooden chairs, both asleep.
“It’s been a long nine months,” he says, and he puts a hand on Tobias’ back, feels the breathing beneath his fingertips.
“It has,” Kirsten says, “it was worth it though.” She rolls over, kisses Sandy gently on the lips, a feather touch.
“It was,” he says, and he’s tender as he kisses her back, “worth every second.”
Rating: PG
Fandom: The OC (Sandy/Kirsten)
Kirsten can’t say that she has ever really enjoyed being pregnant. Seriously, the beach ball beneath the overalls is unattractive, as is the swollen feet, the quaking legs, the engorged and aching breasts, and, honestly, the hormones are a bitch.
“Ngh,” Kirsten says, “ngh.”
“Eloquent as always this morning, I see.” Sandy states, and he’s all smiles this morning, all cream cheese on bagels.
“I need something that is lathered in chocolate, or in salt, one extreme or the other, I can’t quite decide.”
Sandy grins a little more, a little wider, takes a deep bite from the corner of the bagel, “I can do you potato chips dipped in chocolate.”
Kirsten pulls a bottle of orange and mango juice from the fridge, “you know you have to be pregnant when that sounds appealing.”
“Y’know,” Sandy starts, and he’s still grinning from where he leans against the counter, “I wish I could say I was joking.”
She laughs again, she laughs too much here, in this house, with this man, “I need my daily salt-sugar intake from somewhere.”
“Seth came home drunk last night,” Sandy says, and his face is a little more somber, a little less content.
“I heard him,” she says, “he knocked over my new lamp.”
“Ryan put him to bed.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“Seth still isn’t a good yelling name.”
“I know,” Kirsten sighs, long and deep, “I’ll talk to him.”
“He hasn’t been himself,” Sandy says, “he hasn’t been himself since baby stepped into the family portrait.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Kirsten says again, and she takes a long drink from her glass, another downfall to being pregnant is the lack of coffee allowed.
There’s a stagger down the stairs, a trip and a cuss, “Language, Seth,” Kirsten reminds, and Sandy grabs his briefcase, steals a kiss, and heads out the back door.
Seth stumbles in, and Kirsten has to remind herself that he’s eighteen now, he’s not a kid, she can’t push him over her knee, spank him, send him to bed. He looks like hell though, and he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, hasn’t washed his face, his clothes smell like vomit and liquor.
“Well,” Kirsten starts, “have fun last night?”
Seth grunts, and pulls himself over to the coffee maker.
“I sure hope so, I’d hate to think you drank yourself stupid out of spite.”
“I,” Seth says, “have a hangover, I am going to drink coffee, and then I am going to go to school, and then I am going to continue on as if this never happened.”
“Well, that’s a shame, because it did happen, and acting as though it didn’t isn’t going to prevent you from being grounded.”
Seth takes a seat at the counter, coffee in hand, before he slams his head down onto the tabletop in front of him, “Ngh.”
“Don’t you ‘ngh’ me, honey, I’m the one that resembles a beached whale, I think I have much more to be ‘ngh’-ing about than you.”
Seth frowns up at her, “well, if you didn’t go and get yourself knocked-up, then you wouldn’t have any reason to be complaining.”
“I’m not complaining, Seth, and I didn’t get myself ‘knocked-up’ as you so eloquently put it, I’m having a baby with a man I love.”
“You already had a baby with a man that you loved, or are you forgetting about him?”
“Seth,” something jabs, a sharp pain in the bottom of her belly, “Seth,” she frowns a little, a lot, clutches at the space just beneath her protruding belly.
“Seth,”
“Yes,” he says, “that child’s name was Seth, is Seth, he is still here, notice how I use a stream of present tense…”
“Seth,” Kirsten says, and the pains a little sharper now, a little more specific, “Seth,” she doubles over, can’t help it, the pain is out to get her.
“Mum?”
“Seth,” she looks up at his big, brown, doe eyes, and he looks like he’s eleven years old again, and maybe she misses having a little kid more than she thought she did.
“Seth, I think you need to drive me to the hospital.”
*
Hospitals were too white, too sterile, too bland, and Ryan needs wads of paper if he’s to list every bad experience he’s ever had at one. They’ve been here for nine and a half hours now, and Seth fell asleep twenty minutes ago, head collapsing onto Ryan’s shoulder.
The air-conditioning in the waiting room is too cold, the magazines on the coffee table are years old, and the vending machine by the bathrooms is out of order. A nurse, her nametag reads ‘Lucy’, she’s been filing charts behind the reception desk for the better half of an hour, the other nurses, they gossip every chance they get, about the doctors, about the other nurses, about the patients.
When Ryan looks up again, eyes desperately seeking the clock on the far wall, Sandy’s there, Sandy’s there, and half of his face is smiling, and the other half is ready for a serious conversation.
Sandy pulls up a seat on the coffee table in front of Ryan and the sleeping Seth, he rests his hands on his knees, casts a wayward grin at Seth’s slack jaw and flickering eyelids.
“It’s a boy,” Sandy says, “and he’s healthy.”
“He’s two weeks early,” Ryan replies, and his arm’s going numb, the one attached to the shoulder that Seth’s lying on.
“Yes,” Sandy says, “but he’s healthy. Tobias is healthy.”
“Tobias?”
“Yeah, Tobias. Kirsten always wins at these sorta things.”
Ryan grins too at that, because she is a very persuasive woman.
“Question is,” Sandy continues, and his eyes look imploringly at Ryan’s, “question is, are you okay?”
“Am I okay?”
“With Kirsten and me, with us having another kid?”
“It’s none of my business.” Ryan says, and he tugs at the sleeve of his jacket, doesn’t meet Sandy’s eyes.
“It is your business, Ryan, I can’t say that your opinion will change anything, I’m not exactly gonna be throwing Tobias out the window or anything, but, it does matter to me, and it does matter to Kirsten. That makes it your business.”
Ryan shrugs, sighs long and deep, “Seth’s less happy about it than I am.”
“I have known Seth for eighteen years, trust me, he’ll get over it. He always does.”
“I’m fine,” Ryan says after a few minutes, after a few minutes of silence, “I’d like to see him though, the baby.”
Sandy’s grin splits his face in two, he’s too obvious in what he feels, and Ryan doesn’t think that Sandy would last as long as he thinks he would in Chino. Then again, Sandy has so many layers, there’s so much to him, that Ryan can never be certain.
“So,” Seth starts, and he’s closed his mouth (kinda), is rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “another kid to welcome to the Cohen world of paralyzing self-doubt, huh?
“Looks like,” Sandy says, and he ruffles Seth’s already messy hair, smiles at his sleepy eyes.
“Poor, asshole.”
*
“Another boy.” Kirsten says, and maybe she lets out a big, deep, never ending sigh. Maybe she’s a little more pleased than she should be, maybe the part of her that was still hoping for a little girl was smaller than she thought it was.
“Another boy,” Sandy says, “at least we’ve got experience.”
Ryan can’t stop staring at the baby, Seth, somewhere along the lines, picked Tobias up and started telling him about Wolverine and Storm and Professor Xavier.
“I’ll never get to teach someone how to put on make-up, how to sweet talk boys, never get to play tea-parties, huh?”
Kirsten’s leaning too hard against Sandy, her fingers are running through her hair, “Never get to go out and buy pretty little dresses, or plastic jewelry.”
Sandy shrugs, “unless we’re raising Tim Curry, then probably not.”
“That sucks,” she says, and lets loose a lengthy sigh.
“Not really,” Sandy says, “a girl would’ve been nice, but I wouldn’t trade what we have.”
Kirsten leans up and around, kisses Sandy, long and deep, “I wouldn’t either.”
*
Sandy’s gone to buy dinner from the diner down the road, and Kirsten’s left here, sweaty and exhausted, with her baby and her teenagers, her three boys.
“Well,” she starts, and Tobias fell asleep ten minutes ago, out like a light, with his mess of dark-blonde hair, and his pink little face, “what’s all this about mammoth insecurities.”
Both Seth and Ryan stiffen a little, Seth rubs his skinny thighs, and Ryan’s fingers clench in the sheets.
“Wasn’t sure to begin with,” she says, “but that just confirmed everything.”
“Anyone born a Cohen, anyone who becomes a Cohen,” Seth amends, and he lies down on the bed, his head level with her belly, “is destined for mammoth insecurities.”
Kirsten rolls her eyes, reaches out for a hand of both boys, Seth takes it straight away, turns his face into the side of her baby-less belly. Ryan takes a little more convincing, doesn’t take her hand, but maybe nudges her fingers a little with his own.
“Sandy and I have had another baby,” she starts, “you should be happy. Neither of you will be forgotten, neither of you should be worried. Our family’s growing a little, that’s all.”
“Ryan,” she says, “Ryan,”
“I know,” he says, “its fine, I’m fine, I’m…I’m happy.”
“Good,” she says, and she rubs his knuckles with her fingertips, “and Seth…”
“I know, I know,” he says, and he shoots her a look, from down near her waist, and she remembers when he was small, when he was tiny and waist high, and not in high school. When he still drew her pictures, and tried to make tin spaghetti on mother’s day.
“What do you know, Seth? That you were being unreasonable,” she sits up, leans down and pokes a finger into his ribs, and God, he’s thin, “that you were being silly and unfair and well, dumb.” She pokes another finger, latches on firmer, tickles him, she likes him here, squirming and giggling and not worrying about girls, or bullies, she likes him sober.
“I was being insecure,” he says, when he’s finished giggling, and Ryan, at the end of the bed, he’s hiding a grin, a smirk, a smile, “I was looking at it from the wrong viewpoint is all.”
“Exactly,” she says, “from the dumb viewpoint.”
“No, just the wrong one,” he says, “I have someone to corrupt now, I can introduce him to all the comics, all the right movies and music, coz, come on, we can’t have him listening to like, Avril Lavigne, or Hinder, or whatever, need him listening to the good stuff.”
Kirsten laughs, and Ryan does too at this, Ryan leans down on the bed, onto Kirsten’s legs, “what about Ryan?”
“I tried with Ryan,” Seth puts a hand to his head, lets loose a long suffering sigh, “my efforts were attempted too late, he was a lost cause, he failed.”
“On the bright side,” Seth continues, “when I introduce Tobias to the fulfilling world that is Star Wars, I can nickname him.”
“Do I dare ask?” Kirsten says, but she’s smiling still, and God she loves her family, loves them all.
“Tobi-wan-kenobi, the name is, dare I say it, perfect.”
Ryan and Kirsten laugh until Sandy comes back with burgers and chips and soda.
*
Tobias is pretty tiny still, his eyes flicker open, and they’re the colour of melted chocolate, his hair is a dark, messy blonde, and his skin is still pink, his fingers and toes still the length of a bottle-cap.
“Didn’t think we’d get round to having another one,” Sandy says, and Tobias is asleep on his chest.
Kirsten’s eyelids are too heavy, they droop and waver and her hands and legs and body are heavy with gravity and exhaustion. “Neither did I, to be honest. Thought maybe you might have brought another one home, but didn’t think I’d manage to pop one out.”
Sandy laughs at this, stifles it quickly, so as not to wake the baby, “but you managed.”
“I managed.”
“Are the other two all sorted out?”
“The other two are all sorted out.” Kirsten says, and she smiles a little, can still see both of them, as they lean against each other on the wooden chairs, both asleep.
“It’s been a long nine months,” he says, and he puts a hand on Tobias’ back, feels the breathing beneath his fingertips.
“It has,” Kirsten says, “it was worth it though.” She rolls over, kisses Sandy gently on the lips, a feather touch.
“It was,” he says, and he’s tender as he kisses her back, “worth every second.”