The O.C. Fic: Perspective
Title: Perspective
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating / Genre: PG / Gen
Words: 1485.
Spoilers: Season One, set sometime between The Outsider and The Countdown.
Disclaimer / Note: The O.C. is property of Fox. I write without a beta, any mistakes are my own.
Schmoopy Dedication: Written for sailblazer, for the Fifth O.C. Sentence Fic Challenge; both prompter and prompt provided much needed inspiration for me in my beloved original fandom. Also for ctoan, on her birthday. It's a small token of appreciation for all the hard work you put in to keep this fandom going, but it is heartfelt token nonetheless. I'm going to be Internet deprived for the next few weeks, so my apologies in advance for not responding to comments.
Summary: Ryan should have seen this conversation coming, but he'd forgotten all about this particular secret.
~~~
"New times demand new measures and new men."
- Lowell, A Glance Behind the Curtain.
~~~
What Ryan wanted to say was, "I'm sorry," but the look of disappointment on Sandy and Kirsten's faces was too deeply embedded for that. After all, if he'd taken in a fifteen year old on the verge of making criminality a career, he'd be disappointed in him too right now.
What concerned Ryan more, however, was the slight trace of fear barely nestling below the disappointment. It didn't matter that his guardians were both trying so hard to suppress it; the idea that anyone, particularly Sandy, Kirsten or Seth were scared of him, actually made him feel physically sick inside.
He could almost understand it. Ryan imagined that having your housekeeper tell you she'd found a switchblade in your recently acquired teenager's bedroom had got to be a hell of lot worse than finding the standard pornography collection lingering under the majority of adolescent mattresses. But still, these past years and in particular these past few months living with A.J. Ryan had been the one frightened often enough to know that he never wanted to be the cause of it.
Still, here they were, Ryan on one side of the table, Kirsten and Sandy on the other and two inches of steel as conspicuous as the proverbial metaphorical elephant in between them.
It was curious; in Chino, Ryan had carried the knife out of habit, and small as it was on the scale of street blades, it looked so out of place on the Cohen's kitchen table, radiating a silence as sharp as its edge.
Finally, just when the stilted atmosphere was becoming unbearable, Sandy spoke for them all. "You know we have to talk about this."
"I know".
"I mean, as much as we'd all like to pretend Rosa found something else when she turned your mattress, she found this." Sandy frowned, his expression genuinely darkening as Ryan half-smiled at Sandy's coincidental phrasing. "This isn't funny, Ryan."
Ryan straightened up in his chair, his expression already gone, "I know, I'm sorry. I was just- I'm sorry, I don't think this is funny." He looked over at Kirsten, caught her nervous gaze. "I know you're disappointed."
"It's not just that," Kirsten replied, confirming Ryan's suspicions, "I just don't understand why you'd have something like this."
"Honestly? I forgot I had."
"You forgot?" Sandy said, his eyebrows rising sceptically.
Ryan shrugged. "I put it under the mattress when I first got here. I'm not used to not changing my own sheets."
"Oh," Kirsten said softly, before the silence fell again.
Sandy picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands, stowing the blade before flicking it open with a fast swish-click. Even though it belonged to him, even though Ryan knew its comforting weight in his pocket, its worn heaviness under his hand, seeing Sandy handle the tough thin pointed edge made him uncomfortable.
"Where did you even get it?" Sandy asked, still staring at the blade, "What kind of idiot sells this kind of a knife to a teenager?"
"Sold it? No-one sold it to me."
"Then where?- "
"- Trey gave it to me."
"Trey? Your brother gave you this?" Kirsten asked incredulously, as she placed her hand over her husband's, prompting him to lay the switchblade down. "What an earth for?"
"Protection." Ryan said with a simple shrug, wishing there was a better word for the sad-kind twisted concern of Trey's rationale.
"You're fifteen, Ryan, who could you need this type of protection from?"
"Who do you think?" Ryan snapped, the well-intentioned naïveté of Kirsten's words irritating him. Seeing her flinch, Ryan tried again, hating this, the same conversation inevitably unfolding before him. Teachers, guardians, social workers, whoever it was, somehow, it always came back to this.
Sensing his unease, Kirsten's tone softened. "Ryan?"
"Look- I just, mom's last boyfriend wasn't exactly friendly when he was sober, which was hardly ever, and he was an ass when he was drunk, which was pretty much always. The ones before him weren't so hot either. Trey was just looking out for me."
"So he gave you a knife?" Sandy asked, knowing that the last thing the weary boy in front of him needed was to dwell on his mother's past and present romantic mistakes. "Just in case?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever use it?"
"Jesus, no, alright? I couldn't," Ryan said, continuing pointedly, "Not just couldn't, I wouldn't, ever."
"How about threaten anybody with it?"
"No."
"Never?"
"Never." Ryan asserted levelly. Knowing that wasn't the full truth, he sighed quietly. "Once, nearly."
"What stopped you?"
"I wasn't quick enough." Ryan flexed his fingers on his left hand, remembering the way they had twisted and broken under the grind of A.J.'s grip. "Probably a good thing for me that I wasn't."
Sandy semi-smiled in empathy. "I think I'd have to agree with you on that one, kid."
Ryan sat back in his chair, relaxing a little. As much as he'd hated where this conversation with the Cohens had started and the reasons for it, all things considered it hadn't gone too badly. Now, he just wanted it to be finished. There was too much running through his head, too many emotions swirling inside him to keep going for much longer.
"Look," he said, trying to make a move towards closure. "I get why you're angry, I do, especially after what happened with Donnie, and honestly, if I'd have remembered I had the knife I would have tossed it or maybe hidden it somewhere else, instead of giving it to you. But please trust me when I say, I don't like knives. I don't want to be somebody who thinks they're okay, like I need to carry one to feel safe."
"Good. That's good," said Sandy in tempered relief. "We don’t want that for you either."
"So we're okay?" Ryan asked him tentatively.
The Cohens exchanged a subtle glance of wordless discussion. "I think we've said pretty much everything there is to say."
"I agree." Kirsten sighed, releasing the almost the last of her tension, before frowning suddenly. "Sandy, this won't affect Ryan's parole, will it?"
A cold chill dropped through Ryan and the nervous nausea that had calmed flared up once more. The thought of ramifications outside of his new family hadn't even occurred to him; now they had, he felt himself begin to panic.
Sandy looked at the knife, then back at Ryan, his gaze stern and piercing, "This is the only one?"
"Yes."
"And there's nothing else? Not even pepper spray?"
"Nothing. I swear." Ryan said, deliberately and sincerely making eye contact, "And there won't ever be."
"Then I think we should leave here, don't you?"
Kirsten nodded in agreement. "But no more surprises, Ryan."
"I promise," he answered honestly with conviction. "I'll be nothing but predictable and transparent from here on out."
"Oh good grief, don't do that," Kirsten laughed, as she stood up from the table and the two men followed suit. "Seth will be so disappointed, we'll never hear the end of it."
"Does he know?"
"No, he doesn't."
"But you are gonna tell him?" Ryan stated almost rhetorically.
"Some way or another," Sandy replied, taking the switchblade and folding it closed once more. "We haven't got that far yet."
"He'll work it out if you don't. And get it wrong."
"Probably."
"So… would you let me tell him?"
This time Kirsten was first to answer, "No. I'm sorry, Ryan, I can see why you'd want to, but I think that's one for us."
"Will you tell him why I had it?"
"Not if you don't want us to."
"Good, 'cause I don't."
"Understood," Sandy said, with understated compassion.
Ryan frowned for a moment, working things out in his head. "I'll tell him sometime. About that stuff. Just, not yet. I'm not ready."
"That's okay. You've got time. All you need."
"And anything else besides," Kirsten added.
"Really?" Ryan grinned as he made his way across the kitchen to the back door, "Does that include doing my algebra homework for me?"
"Ha!" Kirsten and Sandy exclaimed, laughing in unison. Sandy placed his hands on Ryan's shoulders, ushering him jovially on his way, "Not a chance, kid, not a chance."
Laughing, Ryan shrugged out from Sandy's grip, his thoughts finally crystallising into what he'd wanted to say from the very beginning but hadn't known how to until now. Taking his chance, he stopped at the door and turned back to his guardians. "Can I say one more thing?"
Kirsten spoke first, her gentle tones as measured as always, "Of course."
"I just wanted to tell you; there's a reason I forgot about the knife, you know? Why I wasn't carrying it."
"What was it, Ryan?"
Ryan shrugged as he smiled at the people he called family, in the place he called home, "I felt safe already."
~~~
* For Sailblazer's original prompt, which I wantonly and wilfully mutated, "In Chino Ryan had carried the knife out of habit, it looked so out of place on the Cohen's kitchen table, and from the looks on his guardian's faces, Ryan knew this was going to be a long conversation." .
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating / Genre: PG / Gen
Words: 1485.
Spoilers: Season One, set sometime between The Outsider and The Countdown.
Disclaimer / Note: The O.C. is property of Fox. I write without a beta, any mistakes are my own.
Schmoopy Dedication: Written for sailblazer, for the Fifth O.C. Sentence Fic Challenge; both prompter and prompt provided much needed inspiration for me in my beloved original fandom. Also for ctoan, on her birthday. It's a small token of appreciation for all the hard work you put in to keep this fandom going, but it is heartfelt token nonetheless. I'm going to be Internet deprived for the next few weeks, so my apologies in advance for not responding to comments.
Summary: Ryan should have seen this conversation coming, but he'd forgotten all about this particular secret.
~~~
"New times demand new measures and new men."
- Lowell, A Glance Behind the Curtain.
~~~
What Ryan wanted to say was, "I'm sorry," but the look of disappointment on Sandy and Kirsten's faces was too deeply embedded for that. After all, if he'd taken in a fifteen year old on the verge of making criminality a career, he'd be disappointed in him too right now.
What concerned Ryan more, however, was the slight trace of fear barely nestling below the disappointment. It didn't matter that his guardians were both trying so hard to suppress it; the idea that anyone, particularly Sandy, Kirsten or Seth were scared of him, actually made him feel physically sick inside.
He could almost understand it. Ryan imagined that having your housekeeper tell you she'd found a switchblade in your recently acquired teenager's bedroom had got to be a hell of lot worse than finding the standard pornography collection lingering under the majority of adolescent mattresses. But still, these past years and in particular these past few months living with A.J. Ryan had been the one frightened often enough to know that he never wanted to be the cause of it.
Still, here they were, Ryan on one side of the table, Kirsten and Sandy on the other and two inches of steel as conspicuous as the proverbial metaphorical elephant in between them.
It was curious; in Chino, Ryan had carried the knife out of habit, and small as it was on the scale of street blades, it looked so out of place on the Cohen's kitchen table, radiating a silence as sharp as its edge.
Finally, just when the stilted atmosphere was becoming unbearable, Sandy spoke for them all. "You know we have to talk about this."
"I know".
"I mean, as much as we'd all like to pretend Rosa found something else when she turned your mattress, she found this." Sandy frowned, his expression genuinely darkening as Ryan half-smiled at Sandy's coincidental phrasing. "This isn't funny, Ryan."
Ryan straightened up in his chair, his expression already gone, "I know, I'm sorry. I was just- I'm sorry, I don't think this is funny." He looked over at Kirsten, caught her nervous gaze. "I know you're disappointed."
"It's not just that," Kirsten replied, confirming Ryan's suspicions, "I just don't understand why you'd have something like this."
"Honestly? I forgot I had."
"You forgot?" Sandy said, his eyebrows rising sceptically.
Ryan shrugged. "I put it under the mattress when I first got here. I'm not used to not changing my own sheets."
"Oh," Kirsten said softly, before the silence fell again.
Sandy picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands, stowing the blade before flicking it open with a fast swish-click. Even though it belonged to him, even though Ryan knew its comforting weight in his pocket, its worn heaviness under his hand, seeing Sandy handle the tough thin pointed edge made him uncomfortable.
"Where did you even get it?" Sandy asked, still staring at the blade, "What kind of idiot sells this kind of a knife to a teenager?"
"Sold it? No-one sold it to me."
"Then where?- "
"- Trey gave it to me."
"Trey? Your brother gave you this?" Kirsten asked incredulously, as she placed her hand over her husband's, prompting him to lay the switchblade down. "What an earth for?"
"Protection." Ryan said with a simple shrug, wishing there was a better word for the sad-kind twisted concern of Trey's rationale.
"You're fifteen, Ryan, who could you need this type of protection from?"
"Who do you think?" Ryan snapped, the well-intentioned naïveté of Kirsten's words irritating him. Seeing her flinch, Ryan tried again, hating this, the same conversation inevitably unfolding before him. Teachers, guardians, social workers, whoever it was, somehow, it always came back to this.
Sensing his unease, Kirsten's tone softened. "Ryan?"
"Look- I just, mom's last boyfriend wasn't exactly friendly when he was sober, which was hardly ever, and he was an ass when he was drunk, which was pretty much always. The ones before him weren't so hot either. Trey was just looking out for me."
"So he gave you a knife?" Sandy asked, knowing that the last thing the weary boy in front of him needed was to dwell on his mother's past and present romantic mistakes. "Just in case?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever use it?"
"Jesus, no, alright? I couldn't," Ryan said, continuing pointedly, "Not just couldn't, I wouldn't, ever."
"How about threaten anybody with it?"
"No."
"Never?"
"Never." Ryan asserted levelly. Knowing that wasn't the full truth, he sighed quietly. "Once, nearly."
"What stopped you?"
"I wasn't quick enough." Ryan flexed his fingers on his left hand, remembering the way they had twisted and broken under the grind of A.J.'s grip. "Probably a good thing for me that I wasn't."
Sandy semi-smiled in empathy. "I think I'd have to agree with you on that one, kid."
Ryan sat back in his chair, relaxing a little. As much as he'd hated where this conversation with the Cohens had started and the reasons for it, all things considered it hadn't gone too badly. Now, he just wanted it to be finished. There was too much running through his head, too many emotions swirling inside him to keep going for much longer.
"Look," he said, trying to make a move towards closure. "I get why you're angry, I do, especially after what happened with Donnie, and honestly, if I'd have remembered I had the knife I would have tossed it or maybe hidden it somewhere else, instead of giving it to you. But please trust me when I say, I don't like knives. I don't want to be somebody who thinks they're okay, like I need to carry one to feel safe."
"Good. That's good," said Sandy in tempered relief. "We don’t want that for you either."
"So we're okay?" Ryan asked him tentatively.
The Cohens exchanged a subtle glance of wordless discussion. "I think we've said pretty much everything there is to say."
"I agree." Kirsten sighed, releasing the almost the last of her tension, before frowning suddenly. "Sandy, this won't affect Ryan's parole, will it?"
A cold chill dropped through Ryan and the nervous nausea that had calmed flared up once more. The thought of ramifications outside of his new family hadn't even occurred to him; now they had, he felt himself begin to panic.
Sandy looked at the knife, then back at Ryan, his gaze stern and piercing, "This is the only one?"
"Yes."
"And there's nothing else? Not even pepper spray?"
"Nothing. I swear." Ryan said, deliberately and sincerely making eye contact, "And there won't ever be."
"Then I think we should leave here, don't you?"
Kirsten nodded in agreement. "But no more surprises, Ryan."
"I promise," he answered honestly with conviction. "I'll be nothing but predictable and transparent from here on out."
"Oh good grief, don't do that," Kirsten laughed, as she stood up from the table and the two men followed suit. "Seth will be so disappointed, we'll never hear the end of it."
"Does he know?"
"No, he doesn't."
"But you are gonna tell him?" Ryan stated almost rhetorically.
"Some way or another," Sandy replied, taking the switchblade and folding it closed once more. "We haven't got that far yet."
"He'll work it out if you don't. And get it wrong."
"Probably."
"So… would you let me tell him?"
This time Kirsten was first to answer, "No. I'm sorry, Ryan, I can see why you'd want to, but I think that's one for us."
"Will you tell him why I had it?"
"Not if you don't want us to."
"Good, 'cause I don't."
"Understood," Sandy said, with understated compassion.
Ryan frowned for a moment, working things out in his head. "I'll tell him sometime. About that stuff. Just, not yet. I'm not ready."
"That's okay. You've got time. All you need."
"And anything else besides," Kirsten added.
"Really?" Ryan grinned as he made his way across the kitchen to the back door, "Does that include doing my algebra homework for me?"
"Ha!" Kirsten and Sandy exclaimed, laughing in unison. Sandy placed his hands on Ryan's shoulders, ushering him jovially on his way, "Not a chance, kid, not a chance."
Laughing, Ryan shrugged out from Sandy's grip, his thoughts finally crystallising into what he'd wanted to say from the very beginning but hadn't known how to until now. Taking his chance, he stopped at the door and turned back to his guardians. "Can I say one more thing?"
Kirsten spoke first, her gentle tones as measured as always, "Of course."
"I just wanted to tell you; there's a reason I forgot about the knife, you know? Why I wasn't carrying it."
"What was it, Ryan?"
Ryan shrugged as he smiled at the people he called family, in the place he called home, "I felt safe already."
~~~
* For Sailblazer's original prompt, which I wantonly and wilfully mutated, "In Chino Ryan had carried the knife out of habit, it looked so out of place on the Cohen's kitchen table, and from the looks on his guardian's faces, Ryan knew this was going to be a long conversation." .