The O.C. Fic: The Worst Chrismukkah Ever (4/4)
Have yourself a merry little Christmukkah, Easter, Summer… Let your hearts be light. Next season, all your rating stunts / lame cameos / love triangles will be out of sight…
Sleigh bells ring!
At last I have finished! This final chapter of The Worst Chrismukkah Ever was not brought to you with help from letter A (as in floppy disk drive), the letter F (as in fucking fastNet) or the numbers 4:45am, which is the time I was up until on Sunday night finishing it. But it's here now and I really hope you all like it.
Title: The Worst Chrismukkah Ever
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating / Genre: PG-13+ / Gen / Chrismukkah (2)
Words: 7790
Spoilers: Season One & Two
Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Schmoopy Dedication: Thank you to emonerdgirl aka armorofignoranc, giving me such a wonderful excuse to indulge myself.ctoan who kept prodding me and all of my far too patient readers.
Note: It may come as a surprise to know give the distance between updates, but I have really loved writing this story. When it comes down to it, I am a great softie at heart.
Note 2: A little heads up. It's nearly 8000 words long, so you might want to get that cup of tea, nip to the toilet first, okay gang? Lovely. now follow the jingling bells...
Summary: Ryan's homesick, Seth's just sick and Sandy and Kirsten are determined to look after them both. Multi-chapter, set around the second Cohen Chrismukkah, but not canon.
~~~
If Ryan were ever forced to pinpoint what it was he liked best about living with Cohens, he'd look no further than his surrogate family. But coming up a close second was his bed. Roomy, squishy, warm, made up with ridiculously high cotton count quilt set, it epitomized the feeling of comfort, safety and relaxation that the Cohens and their kindness had given him. After the weirdness of the day, he had been quietly content to make his excuses shortly after the distinctly unfestive, slightly awkward Thai dinner with just Sandy and Kirsten and retreat into its sanctuary once more.
Burrowing down deeper into the fluffy pillows, he pulled the covers round close hoping he would nod off again soon. Moments later, a soft knocking on the door put paid to that idea. Ignoring a second, louder round of knocking, Ryan hyperbolized his breathing, in case Seth, as it so typically was at so late an hour, exhibited his usual persistence and came into the poolhouse anyway.
Silence.
Ryan counted to twenty, with no intrusion from the outside world and only the quiet hum of the air conditioning for company. Just when he thought his night visitor had left, he heard the door open.
"I'm asleep, Seth," Ryan grunted into his pillow. So much for sanctuary.
"It's Kirsten."
As he attempted to rouse himself from his sleepy stupor, it occurred to Ryan that Seth was unlikely to be venturing any further than the bathroom. Suddenly, a flash of worry hit him as he thought about his foster brother.
"What's going on? Is Seth okay?"
"Seth's fine," said Kirsten as she crossed to the side lamp and turned it on. "Can you get dressed? I want to show you something."
"At ten past eleven?" he asked, fumbling for his watch on from his bedside table. Adjusting to the light, Ryan squinted at Kirsten, noting the wry smile that played across her lips, the suspiciously Machiavellian glint in her eye.
"Meet me at the car in five minutes," she said, heading out the poolhouse as quickly as she had entered. "And wear something warm, it's gotten chilly out."
As Kirsten pulled the door closed behind her. Ryan sat sleepily up and reluctantly pulled back the covers, his arms and legs goosepimpling in protest. "This better be good."
~~~
"Seth?" You asleep son?" Sandy whispered into the musty darkness of Seth's bedroom.
"I wish," he croaked feebly in reply, feeling massively sorry for himself. In his vain attempts to get comfortable, his bed seemed to have shrunk to the size of a peanut and a very clammy peanut at that. "Did I hear the car a minute ago?
"Your mother and Ryan have gone out for a while," said Sandy as he entered the room, "They'll be back in a couple of hours or so."
"Uh, okay?" replied Seth confusedly, "Anywhere exciting? Should I be jealous?"
"Just a drive up the coast."
"So probably not."
Sandy smiled, pleased to see Seth was feeling well enough to mock, "Fancy spending some quality time with your old Dad?"
"Sure," he replied honestly, "That sounds nice."
"You up to coming downstairs?"
"I think so. I don't feel sick anymore, just tired."
"Even better. Then how about you Meet Me in St Louis?"
"I'd like that," Seth said, his thoughts cheering at the prospect of some one-on-one time with his dad. "I shall go pee and take the next trolley directly."
"A little more than I needed to know, but works for me. Five minutes?"
"Five minutes."
Sandy nodded and left Seth alone in the dark of the bedroom. There was something distinctly fishy about their sudden desire for late night drives and classic movie screenings; his parents were Up To Something. As tired as he felt, he couldn’t help but smile as he pulled his comforter around him, bundled up a pillow beneath it and trotted out the door. He loved it when they got devious. With any luck, it was genetic.
~~~
"Hey, you're not falling asleep on me are you?"
"No," Ryan answered Kirsten, opening his eyes reluctantly. He shifted in his seat, trying to coax his sleepy body back to the land of the living.
"Good. We're almost there."
Ryan looked out into the darkness, squinting as he tried to make sense of the unfamiliar coastal road. The sea to his left, land to his right. North. So Vegas was out. "You going to tell me where we're headed yet?"
"I told you, it's a surprise," Kirsten said, glancing away from the road momentarily to steal a glance at Ryan.
"Uh-huh."
"You don't like surprises?"
"Depends on the surprise," Ryan responded, unaware as Kirsten's flinched a little at the inadvertent but nonetheless slightly curt edge to his tone. Like holidays, surprises were another thing that Atwoods didn't exactly excel at. I'm sorry I forgot your birthday. Your brother's moving out for a while. A.J.'s going to be living with us now. We're going start fresh in Chino, I hear it's nice. Daddy's not going to be coming home yet. I'm sorry kiddo; I just don't have the money for the trip, maybe next year. Hello there young man, is your father in?
"If I remember right, it should be just round this next corner," said Kirsten, mentally crossing her fingers, as their destination swung into view, "Bingo."
"All I see is a-," Ryan looked at Kirsten quizzically, "We're going to church?"
Kirsten pulled the car off the main road, heading up a rougher track to the small picturesque New England style church and the softly glowing old-fashioned lampposts that illuminated it.
"You know that midnight carol service I used to go to with my mom?" Kirsten said nervously, swinging the car into one of the few remaining empty spaces remaining in the pebbled yard by the church's side.
"This was the church?" Ryan asked. Even now, his ability to be taken aback by just how well the other half lived still surprised him.
Kirsten nodded, "It's a little hokey, I know-"
"- No, I like it. It's beautiful."
Kirsten looked over at him, saw his fascinated face as he studied the church's old-fashioned bell tower, its sloping roof and sharp regular angles, so unlike the Spanish style architecture of Newport. Eighteen months ago, she didn't know kids like Ryan knew words like beautiful, at least, not beyond the abstract. To hear him use it so unselfconsciously convinced her that tonight was worth the risk; this was the boy she itched to get to know, to release from his box.
"Yeah, it is."
"Like an Edward Hopper painting or something."
"That's exactly what I used to think," Kirsten remembered. She pointed down the cove to the south, "If you look over there, there's even a lighthouse."
Following her sightline, Ryan looked out into the darkness. Sure enough, a small beam of brilliance winked out to sea, "Do people live in it?"
"I think so. At least they used to. The Robinsons? Robertsons? I don't remember; they were mostly just church friends of my mom's, not friend friends."
"I always liked the idea of living in a lighthouse. Or a windmill. Course, I'd probably be too chicken to go past the second floor, but still…" Ryan joked with a small shrug and a smile in Kirsten's direction, before retreating again, "I like the quiet."
Kirsten looked over the unnervingly pensive figure beside her and her confidence waned. The brilliant plan she and Sandy had cooked up earlier that evening suddenly seemed to be a chronically stupid idea; a mistake of Everestine proportions. After all, when she was seventeen, it was all her mother could do to get her to come out to one carol service a year and that was awkward enough. Short of wearing indecent PVC clothing and blaring gangsta rap from the stereo, there was not much she could have done to make the evening social equivalent of Chinese Water Torture.
"I'm sorry, Ryan," she bumbled trying to explain, "I thought this, coming out, God I don't know what I was thinking. You've just seemed so up and down lately, today especially, and we, I, thought it would be good to get some time out of the house, especially after spending last week cooped up indoors. Then this afternoon, talking about my mom and the carols and the oranges, it just… well, it seemed like a good idea at the time."
Ryan looked away from the lighthouse, back to Kirsten, saw her anxiety, the way her furrowed brow twitched nervously just like Seth's. He smiled.
"It was," he said simply, "It is."
He unfastened his seat belt and opened the door, "You coming?"
~~~
"I was drunk last night, dear Mother! I was drunk the night before! But if you forgive me Mother; I'll never get drunk anymore!"
"How can Mom not like this movie," Seth said, from under his mass of comforter, shifting his position so that his head rested more comfortably on the pillow that lay on Sandy's lap, "Judy Garland, great songs and a socially frustrated moppet; it's a classic."
"Because she's a cruel women, with a slush puppy where her heart should be," joked Sandy as Tootsie nagged Esther into performing the infamous Cake Walk with her.
"Like Professor Coldheart," Seth croaked, "I'll get those Fuzzy-Wuzzies!"
"You've lost me."
"Care Bears, Dad. Remember? You took me to the second movie and started my whole complex about chandeliers? Thought they had children trapped in them?"
"Oh, that’s where that came from? Always thought it was kind of weird."
"Well, you know me Dad, weird is my middle name."
"And here I was thinking it was Ezekiel."
"Ezekiel is weird."
"And it suits you very nicely," said Sandy, twisting his son's hair between his fingers absent-mindedly, pleased that at the very least, Seth's temperature seemed to be on its way down.
"Gee, thanks."
"And besides, it was my grandfather's name."
"I didn't know that."
"Sure you did, you've heard me talk about Popzekel before."
"Oh, like Pop-Zekiel? I thought it was like Pop-sicle," Seth grinned as he worked it out, "That's so cool."
"We Cohens have always been ahead of our time," Sandy said with a yawn, smiling as a moment later Seth compulsively followed suit. Back on the television, two child stars, one burning brightly, the other beginning to fade, sang and danced for their St Louis audience, oblivious as their California audience gradually joined their song,
"If you li-ke me, like I li-ke you,
And we li-ke both the same-
I'd like to say, this very day,
I'd like to change your name.
'Cause I lo-ve you and lo-ve you true,
And if you lo-ve me-
One lives as two, two live as one,
Under the bamboo tree!"
As the song ended and Tootsie and Esther broke into their cute hat and cane dance, the California two fell back into silence. Snuggling deeper into his blankety cocoon, Seth tried to ignore how glad he was his mom had whisked Ryan away for the evening. Thankful as he was to have him, sometimes Seth missed being an only child and having his parents all to himself.
In the days when Seth was the only adolescent rattling around the house, he'd spent most of his time emo-ing in his bedroom, at odds with the world. It was only during the last year and a half he'd begun to realize how much he took his parents and their relatively normal lives for granted and he couldn't believe that he'd opted for solitude when he could have had their undivided attention.
Yet it wasn't just the one-on-one time that Seth missed, it was little things. Before Ryan came along, his mom bought Lucky Charms just for him. Now the lectures about squeezing honey on to bowls of processed sugar puffs and what were laughably called marshmallows were delivered for two and, Seth noticed, had increased in length accordingly. Or occasionally he'd stumble into the living room and come across Ryan and his dad hollering at ESPN, exchanging theories and jibes about various players' prowess or lack thereof and he'd feel a stab of jealousy. How had Ryan managed to connect with his dad like this when he had not? How dare he?
But worse than the cereal doctrines and the courtside commentaries, Seth pondered glumly, as he his dad twitched his legs, the knowledge that if Ryan hadn't come along when he had, he'd have probably of drifted further away from his mom and dad than he had already. Given how miserable he'd been that summer, it probably wasn't too healthy to dwell on it, but it was pretty obvious pop psychology; somehow having to split the 'rents had made him appreciate them more.
Hell, if he really wanted to play Freud or Jung or whoever, when he got right down to it, maybe that was why Seth couldn't help but push conversations like the one he'd had with Ryan earlier; subconsciously he was trying to convince himself that Ryan deserved a better life than the shrouded one before, that he was worthy of his parents' affections. A wondrously selfish sentiment, possibly, but there it was.
"You nodding off on me?" Sandy asked softly, noting Seth's protracted silence, "We haven't even gotten to the snowmen yet."
"I was just thinking."
"Uh-oh," teased Sandy good-naturedly, "Too much thinking is what is got your mother driving halfway up to Big Sur at midnight."
"Big Sur?" grunted Seth, "Dad, it's a forty minute drive."
"Hyperbole, son. The staple of the Cohen rhetoric," Sandy said, ruffling Seth's hair a little, teasing it gently between his fingers. "What were you thinking about?"
"Nuh, it's okay."
"Okay. You've contracted Ryan-itis, but you're okay," Sandy chuckled to himself at the pun, "Rhinitus, Ryan-itus, get it?"
"Yeah, I think Ryan patented that joke already," Seth rasped, as the phlegmy frog residing in his throat made its presence felt once more and he coughed painfully, "Eurgh, ow."
"Choke up chicken. You okay?"
"I think I pulled something earlier," Seth said, ignoring his aching side as his chest rattled in protest at the workout, "It's okay; think I've hit my Recommended Daily Puking Allowance."
"Well, that's something at least," said Sandy, equally thankful that Seth seemed to be feeling better and that he was unlikely to be on vomit patrol again this evening.
Seth flipped on to his back and looked up at his dad.
"Do you know Ryan doesn't know his grandparents? The alive ones, I mean. Obviously. Knowing the dead ones would involve some serious lifestyle choices and a lot of digging."
"I'm going to put that last comment down to your fever and say yes," Sandy scowled, relieved that his and Kirsten's plans were finally rolling into action, "When your mother and me became Ryan's guardians, we did a little-"
"-Digging?" Seth quipped before he could stop himself.
"Hey, careful," Sandy admonished him, "Background work."
"I know Grandpa Nichol can be kinda of mean and I really don't get why he's not on board with Ryan and everything, but I'm still glad he lives close to us."
"It's good to have family. Even if they can be a gigantic ass."
"Don't say ass, Dad," Seth sniffed reproachfully, "But you know the Nana could totally kick his."
"And has," Sandy said with an unmistakable tinge of pride.
Falling quiet again as Esther wooed her paramour, Sandy could sense Seth trying to detangle the jumbling thoughts in his tired and addled brain. Mindful of the shaky ground they were stepping upon, he prompted him gently.
"Sethulah? What were you really thinking about?"
"I was just…" Seth started, before halting swiftly. He reached down and zapped the television, lowering the volume as he tried to find the way to articulate his thoughts. Looking up at his dad's face, he saw his worry lines creased with concern, sensed his almost tangible frustration. "I know I gave you a really hard time when we first moved down here and when we didn’t move back after Nana Wasp died and I'm sorry."
"Hey, that's okay."
Suddenly embarrassed, Seth looked away. "You say that. But I was such a brat."
"Yeah, you were," said Sandy answered honestly, knowing that platitudes were the last thing Seth wanted or needed to hear right now, "But at least you were a brat for a reason. Moving is always hard. And moving to here? It's even harder. And I know I didn't help, with my liberal ideologies and raging idealism."
"I'm not going to pretend that I was happy here, 'cause I wasn't. But it wasn't your fault. And I'm sorry if I made you feel like it was."
"I'm not going to lie to you son, it wasn't easy," Sandy sighed gently, "But we got it."
"God, I was such a brat," Seth said again, with a hint of self-loathing in his voice the like of which Sandy had not heard from him for a long, long time.
"I know. But you know what? I don't blame you. And you could have been so much worse. Your mom spent most of her teenage years shoplifting or partying, I hitchhiked halfway across the country and hardly called home for six years."
"Ryan stole a car."
"That he did," Sandy admitted, privately grateful that Seth had not opted to go down that particular route of teenage self-destruction.
"Your mother and me, what we found so hard to deal with was seeing you so unhappy day after day and not being able to do a thing to help. Having you push us away, not being able to talk with you; it was heartbreaking. "
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You don't ever be sorry, not about this. Back then, we tried to, that is, we just wanted things to be better… I don't think of either of us realized at the time just how hard you were finding things."
"I was pretty fucking miserable", Seth grunted, half-smiling as his dad's scowl deepened fractionally at the profanity. "This will probably sound really lame, but I just wanted to say thank you for Ryan. I don't think I ever did.
"Well, since you did ask for a little brother when you were eight, I thought it was about time we delivered. Though technically, being as Ryan's older than you are, that makes you the little brother. Unless you go by height."
"And otherwise only just," Seth clarified automatically. "Dad. I mean it, thank you."
Touched by the sincerity in Seth's voice, Sandy stroked his son's matted hair from his forehead, "You're welcome."
His tiredness finally beginning to hit him, Seth yawned and the two of them drifted into quiet, their eyes gravitating back to the television once again.
"Dad?"
"Yes son?
"Do you think it'll work? Mom taking Ryan out?"
"I don't know. I hope so."
"I think it will," said Seth confidently, as he rolled back on to his side, "Ryan's so much smarter than me."
Sandy smiled as he felt Seth settle down again, the tension in his own body dissipating with his son's, "I'm saying nothing."
Back in St Louis, and quite unperturbed by the fact that she was inventing the lamest excuse ever to spend time alone with a guy, Judy's Esther coyly snaffled the boy next door to assist her in turning off the house lights. "It never ceases to amaze me just how dumb this kid is," Sandy mocked as John Truett missed all the signals of Esther's none too-subtle advances, "Kiss her you fool!"
"I love it when he tells her she smells of his grandma," Seth grinned.
"And yet he still gets the girl."
"I should totally try that on Summer."
"Son, I think Summer's great. But I also think she'd kill you."
"Yeah I know. I should tell Zach to try it."
"Hmmm," Sandy pondered. He loved his son like nothing else in the world, but when it came to women, like all other boys his age, he still had a lot to learn about their enigmatic ways. Wisely surmising that much like himself, Seth considered a talk about the affairs of the adolescent heart distinctly unappetizing, he opted for the other staple of the Cohen rhetoric, the non-sequitur.
"You know what?" he asked cheerfully. "We haven't got the fairy lights out yet. We should put them up; have them out for when Ryan and your mom get in."
"Like the theory, but I thought Mom got rid of them?"
"No, if I remember right, she just hid them. You know your mother, a hopeless hoarder of all things from cat baskets to go-go-boots." Sandy eased himself gently from under Seth's recumbent form and glanced around the room frowning as he tried to think where the lights might be stored. "Claimed they need new fuses, but I think she was just thinks they're not "classic" enough."
"Or she's inherited Grandpa's carny phobia."
"Don't even joke about such things, son. One of the things I like best about your mother is how little she takes after her father. I'm going to check the basement; carry on without me."
"'kay," Seth replied as Sandy strode out of the living room with purpose, leaving him alone with Esther and John and their outrageous staircase flirting once more. "Over the banister lean-ing… God, I love this movie."
~~~
"I can't believe how tiny they are," whispered Kirsten to Ryan from their pew at the back of the church at the gaggle of delighted children filed down the aisle back to their seats, clutching oranges decorated with an assortment of candies. "Seems a life-age ago."
"Yeah, it does," Ryan replied in equally hushed tones, more than a little envious of the treats on offer as around them the congregation sang another carol. "Do you think they'll be leftovers?"
"Not if I get there first." Seizing on Ryan's lowered guard, Kirsten nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You're not singing."
"Neither are you," Ryan shot back with a puckish half-smile.
"True, but I was before."
"I've been sick," he replied, throwing a cough for good measure, "Couldn't."
"Uh-huh," Kirsten deadpanned, not buying it for a second. "Chicken?"
Ryan's stared at her levelly, amused but refusing to rise to the bait, "No. I just like listening."
Kirsten smiled with a shrug and Ryan returned his attention to the music.
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we "Bwark!…"
Ryan's glance darted sideways, only to see Kirsten continue with the verse, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Never gonna happen," he whispered.
"Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born in us today
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings, "Bwark!!"
Ryan gave up.
"O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel."
As his warm mellow voice mingled with her own, Kirsten slipped an arm round Ryan's arm and gave him a quick squeeze hug, "See, that wasn't so horrific, was it?"
"Guess not."
~~~
One bleak midwinter and a silent night later and Kirsten was finally feeling as if Ryan was beginning to relax a little. At the front of the church, the well-meaning yet less than dynamic Minister continued to deliver a message of praisegiving and thanks, which despite her best efforts, was failing to hold Kirsten's attention.
She had to admit, she had been surprised by the tone of Ryan's voice. It still sounded like him, but it had a gentle resonance, a confident quality which didn't quite seem to fit with the teenager who had to be cajoled into singing with a strategically timed chicken impression. As good as he sounded, she still somehow couldn't quite reconcile herself to the notion that her Ryan once did musicals. And as for Snoopy? Kirsten tried to picture him at ten or eleven, black and white face, maybe sporting a fluffy pair of ears and it was just too bizarre; for one thing with all the brooding he'd been doing the past few days, Ryan was definitely a natural Charlie Brown.
Without warning, as if to confirm her thoughts, Ryan snorted sarcastically from beside her, covering it up with a faux cough as she glanced at him in surprise.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Me? I'm fine," Ryan replied dismissively.
Sensing Ryan's good humor had once again dwindled, Kirsten looked to Minister wishing she had been paying closer to attention to his message and whatever elements of were causing Ryan to bristle. It seemed innocuous; the usual Christmas focus of hope, respect for one another, appreciation of health, home and family.
The veil lifted. Of course.
Earlier that afternoon, when Kirsten had been discussing with Sandy Ryan's less than sunny disposition, they had agreed that it would be a good idea to take him somewhere different, somewhere that felt like neutral territory, where he might be able to put aside his inhibitions and take a chance on talking it out. Of course, in the plan, the midnight carol service was intended to relax Ryan, make him feel part of the Cohen traditional festivities, not wind him tighter than a Swiss watch. Truth be told, now that she thought about it, his initial reluctance in the car park shouldn’t have been a surprise, but she'd figured once she'd got him inside the church it would be plain sailing. Apparently she'd figured wrong.
Mentally kicking herself, Kirsten wondered how best to salvage the evening. If she let it go and postponed the talk they so obviously needed to have with Ryan until after Chrismukkah, then they'd be no better off than they were earlier. Then again, if there was one thing she'd learned about Ryan it was that he shared her own stubbornness and if she pushed too hard he was likely to shut up completely. Either way, she was in real danger of screwing up Chrismukkah good and proper. As she sat anxiously deliberating her equally unappealing choices, Ryan made one of his own.
And bolted.
~~~
"Once again as in olden days,
Happy Golden days, of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us,
Shall be near to us once more."
Sandy sang along with the television as he hung the lights in a more or less neat fashion across the mantelpiece. "If my dear old Ma could see me now."
"She'd throw latkes at you," Seth mumbled from the couch as he continued his quest to make it through to the end of the movie. His drooping eyelids clearly had other ideas.
"That she would," Sandy said as he connected up yet another string of lights to the long chain that was snaking around the walls of the living room. "Thank God she's in Florida. Though I still can't believe she left New York."
"Uh-huh, me neither. More to the left."
Sandy looked over at Seth; happy to see him so relaxed again after the craptastic time he'd been having for the past few days. Still, he couldn't resist winding him up a little. "Feel free to pitch in at any time," he teased.
"No, no, you're doing great Dad," Seth grunted giving Sandy the thumbs up. " 'Sides, it only takes one to hang the lights and one to criticize."
"Then we're a winning team. What do you think?" Sandy asked as he finished draping the last strand around a seasonal log basket and stood back to admire his handiwork.
Seth opened his eyes and squinted at the display, "Looks great, Dad. Very Chrismukkah-y."
"Why, thank you."
Sandy crossed back over to the wall and flicked on the switch, yelping as the resulting power surge took out the lights, St Louis, Judy and plunged the house into quiet darkness.
Smiling unseen in the darkness Seth couldn't resist. "So I guess they did need to be new fuses after all."
"Your mother's going to kill me."
~~~
The five minutes that had followed Ryan's sudden exit from the church had been some of the longest seconds of Kirsten's life. Forcing against her instincts to head straight after him, she waited until the congregation stood for the Coventry Carol and slipped quietly out of the pew and down the aisle.
Kirsten stepped out into the brisk numb air, shivering as she looked around her for a trace of Ryan's trail. Squinting through the dark haze of night, she called his name tentatively, cursing mildly when no reply came.
"Could I be more of an idiot?" she muttered to the empty sky as she headed back to the range rover. There was a flashlight in trunk, if she was going to attempt to follow Ryan's path, she was going to need a little illumination. Still grunting as she unlocked the trunk, she didn't even notice Ryan slumped down in the front passenger seat of the car and the two yelped in a tandem of fright.
Regaining her composure first, she raised her eyebrows quirkily at him. "That's quite a manly scream you've got there."
"You scared me," Ryan said twisting around to talk to her, his heart still thumping solidly.
"You too. How did you get in?"
"I forgot to lock it. Why? You think I shimmied the door?"
"No," Kirsten replied instinctively, momentarily unnerved at Ryan's rare snap of bitterness. Sighing, she shrugged. "God, I don't know Ryan, maybe."
Now it was Ryan's turn to be taken aback by her directness. But as they regarded each other awkwardly, Kirsten would have sworn she saw a flicker of something else behind his eyes. Mixed in with the sadness and the anger and the confusion, there was a delicate specter of gratitude.
"I'm freezing," she said finally, taking a travel blanket from the trunk, "Are you cold? There's plenty of blankets in the back here."
Ryan shrugged one shoulder, his nerves slowly allaying. "Okay."
"Okay." Grabbing two, Kirsten shut the trunk and came round the car, getting into the front seat next to Ryan.
"Thanks," he muttered uncertainly as Kirsten passed him one of the travel blankets, laying it on his knees in an acceptably manly fashion, rather than snuggling under it as Kirsten did beside him.
"I would have come after you before, I just thought you might want a moment or two to yourself."
"Yeah. Thanks. Sorry. It's just everything's so fubar-d."
"You do know that I know what that means, right?"
"Sorry."
"No, it's okay. It think fubar pretty much sums it up right now," Kirsten offered, hoping to warm Ryan into talking. Sighing a little as no response came, she could tell that the iceberg impression was going to be a standing feature of the evening. Clearly, it was time to break out the blowtorch.
"Look, about tonight, I want to apologize -" Kirsten began finally, surprised as Ryan cut her off.
"-No." He looked down, embarrassed as he startled her. "I mean, there's no need. It's me, the same old crap. I mean, I know I've got things to work out. 'Issues', or whatever," he said sarcastically.
"- Yeah, you really do," Kirsten interrupted him levelly, cutting to the quick of Ryan's mannered resolve. "And sarcasm might seem like a good option right now, but trust me, in the long run it's not gonna help a damn."
Ryan promptly looked back at her, attending to her change in tone.
"Look, I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. The second to last thing I want is to make you talk about things you don't want to talk about. But the last thing I want is for you to feel like you have no-one to talk to. And obviously you do."
"I'm sorry-"
"- It's not an indictment, Ryan. I'm just saying, it's clear to me, to all of us, that there's been a lot weighing on your mind lately. It was the same this time last year. I know that Sandy knows the official version and I know you gave Seth another chapter of the abridged version this afternoon and that's great, I'm glad you did, but clearly it's just not enough."
Kirsten looked across at Ryan, trying to catch his sightline, but his gaze was determinedly focused on his fingers as he twisted the tassels edging the travel blanket.
"Ryan?" Kirsten could sense his indecision, even as he resolutely kept his eyes cast downwards. "You can't bottle your feelings up like this. Watching you try, it's heartbreaking."
"I don't mean to shut you out," he stumbled, looking up at her for a split second of sadness. "It's just, it's different with you, you're the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm a three year old who lost their teddy bear or something."
"- Ryan- "
"I don't want your pity, okay?"
"Well, that's too bad, because you've already got it. You had it since the day Sandy first brought you home and I'm not going to apologize for it. You've had a crappy life and I'm not made of stone, Ryan. Of course I feel sorry for you. But I also respect you."
Despite his conflicting emotions, Ryan's heart couldn't but glow a little at the compliment and he felt his mouth crinkle with the slightest whisper of a smile.
"If I'd have been you, after the fire at the model home, trust me you would not have seen me for dust. But you? You came back. That was pretty gutsy."
"Pretty dumb more like," Ryan answered, but without conviction.
"Nah, I'm sticking with gutsy," Kirsten teased.
Matching Kirsten's smile with one of his own, Ryan momentarily refrained from his blanket picking. This could be going a lot worse. "So can I ask you something?
"Sure.
"Why'd you say yes?"
"To what? You moving in?
A nod and a grunt.
"Sandy can be very persuasive," Kirsten said lightly with a wry smile, her own cheeks blushing slightly, "He said you were smart. The words, 'Cocky as hell,' might also have featured."
Kirsten looked over in hope of smile, but was instead met with a further grunt. Apparently, lighthearted was just not going to cut it tonight. Sighing, she tried again.
"I don't know, Ryan. I trust my husband. And honestly, I think a lot of me was just curious. After all, it's not every day your husband turns up with a junior felon in tow."
Ryan nodded slightly. "Guess not."
"Sandy worked in the P.D.'s Office for a long time. Sometimes he'd come home so tired, about this kid, or that kid that he couldn’t help, that was slipping through the cracks. He never went into specifics, but I could always tell if he'd lost another one. Something about you got to him more than all the others. He called me from the office after seeing you and he just sounded… defeated."
"Oh," Ryan said softly, cursing the stab of guilt he couldn’t help but feel at the trouble he'd caused.
"He never bought anybody home before. You were different; he wanted to help you, so I wanted to help you. Sandy's altruism is intensely infectious."
Ryan nodded slightly in consideration, the discordant whirring of his thoughts almost audible to Kirsten.
"Did you tell you anything? About me?"
"Not then, no." Kirsten said, matter-of-factly. "Well, aside from why you'd been arrested, obviously. You have to remember, not even Sandy thought it was going to be a long term thing at first."
"Right."
Kirsten looked over at Ryan again and made a mental note never to play him at poker. Then again, she felt like right she was doing just that.
"After your mom… well, things changed."
"Yeah," Ryan muttered softly, his heart raw at the memory. "So what about now? Do you know?"
"About-"
"-All the stuff from Chino. About Dad?"
"No. I don't want to know. I mean, I thought I didn’t. Just after your mom left, when Sandy and I were trying to work out the kinks to become your legal guardians, Sandy gave me your file. I never read it."
"Why not?"
Kirsten looked out into ocean seeking inspiration for the right phrasing. As hypnotic as it was, the constant blink of the lighthouse was less than forthcoming. This was worse than walking on eggshell; this was walking on actual chickens.
"Kirsten?"
"Sorry," she said, turning back to him. Evidently, no amount of knowing that one day she and Ryan would talk of his wounds and scars was enough to ready her for actually examining them.
Truth and trust.
Turning to Ryan, Kirsten looked at him levelly, the resolve cast across her face the precise antithesis of the trepidation in her bones.
"Before we talked to Family Services, I asked Sandy four questions, told him I didn’t want the details. He told me, I left it at that. I convinced myself anything else you wanted me to know, you'd tell me. Or that we'd cross that bridge if we came to it. Guess we're standing on it, huh?"
Ryan took a deep breath. Now or never. "What did you ask?"
"Ryan, you don't have to-"
"- I know. Look, you said that you'd wait until I wanted to tell you. I want to tell you. You're right, I need to talk about this stuff and you didn’t drive all the way out here just for the oranges."
"Okay, okay," Kirsten said gently, diffusing the palpably rising tension. "After what your mother said at dinner, I asked if A.J. was the only one who hit you."
"No, he just hit hardest." Ryan answered impassively before adding abruptly, "Hard enough, before you ask. What else?"
"If you'd ever used drugs."
Ryan blinked. "But you still- I mean, you didn’t mind?"
"Of course I mind, you're sixteen years old and it's dumb and illegal. But everything considered, I'm not that surprised. Both you and Seth are smart enough to know that if we caught you dabbling you'd hit graduation before you saw daylight again, even if it was only mushrooms or pot."
"I never really liked it that much anyways," he said truthfully. "Too expensive for a start."
"I'd have preferred a moral impetus for resisting, but that'll do," Kirsten replied, her mouth crinkling at the corners.
"What else?"
"If you had any allergies. My cooking is bad enough without potentially poisoning you."
"Nutmeg. And I could live without pollen, but it's fine. What else?"
"Oh, that was it, I think," Kirsten said lightly, lying through her teeth and ardently hoping Ryan wouldn't notice.
Ryan noticed. "You said four questions," he stated bluntly, his jaw set.
"I meant three."
"Please don't lie to me," he whispered. "I know there was something else. I just want us to be honest."
This time it was Kirsten who felt unable to meet Ryan's gaze and she cast her eyes downward, ashamed of her cowardice even as she did so. "You know what else, Ryan. I asked if there had been anything… more than hard hitting."
"Trey would have killed anyone who tried that. So would I. So would Mom."
"I believe you." Kirsten replied sincerely, forcing herself to look at Ryan, despite the sickness she felt inside. The very idea that such a history could be a possibility for someone she loved so deeply was beyond horrific. "It's why I didn’t want to tell you. I wish I'd never asked in the first place."
"And I wish you hadn’t have to. But I get why you did."
"I didn't want to know because I was afraid it would be horrible. Not horrible for you, horrible for me to know about it. I knew it would be easier just to let Sandy deal with it all if it ever came up. After all, he was the one with all the experience with this kind of thing. So I chickened out."
"I get it," Ryan answered after a moment, the slight crack in his voice belying his hurt.
"I was wrong." Kirsten replied, trying to find the right words to explain her motivations without justifying them. "I think even as late as this time last year, I still thought your mom would come back for you. It took me far longer than it should have to actually realize that I didn't want her to. I never guessed then how much I'd care about you."
Unsure of what to say, Ryan found his gaze drifting back to the lighthouse like Kirsten before him. "I still want her to," he said finally, the words tumbling out of him like tears. "I wish I didn’t, but I can't help it. I thought this year would be different; but it's worse. I feel guilty for being homesick for a home I never had in the first place. But it's the holidays, you know? She should be here."
"I know." Reaching across to him for the first time, Kirsten wrapped Ryan's tightly clenched fist in her open hand. Still fixated on the flittering beam of the lighthouse, Ryan accepted the gesture, taking it in his and gently clutching her thumb.
"Sometimes I hate her so much. I never needed her to be rich, or to drive the nice car, live in the best neighborhood, or to stand by my Dad, or God, even be sober for five minutes, I just needed her to be there. To know, that just once, that Trey and me came first, you know? But we never did. There was always something else, drugs, dead-end jobs, dead-beat boyfriends, drink, just always something else. And I think about that and I wonder why I don't hate her more."
"So why don't you?"
Ryan sighed and slumped against the door, before answering with a smile and a shrug.
"Because she left me with you."
~~~
Kirsten and Ryan pulled into the driveway just as the first peeks of dawn were beginning to prickle through the dark. Less than amused at finding the house powerless but more so by the sight of Sandy and Seth stretched out and sleeping in the living room, Kirsten furnished Ryan with a flashlight from the kitchen.
"I think there's been more than enough drama this holiday without having you pitch into the pool."
"Right," Ryan smiled, knocking the flashlight twice against his head. "Not really in the mood for an early swim."
"Indeed."
"You know, you can always stay in the big house."
"I know. But there's no place like home."
"Ain't that the truth."
"Thank you," said Ryan, his eyes shining. Stepping forward, he reached out uncharacteristically to his surrogate mother and hugged her close, speaking softly into her back, "For taking me into yours."
Kirsten gripped him tightly. "It's always been your home, Ryan. You just haven’t always lived here."
~~~
By the time Ryan stumbled into the house in the morning, it was almost afternoon and by early evening, the power now reinstated and freshly fused fairy lights twinkling merrily, they sat down to lunch. Seth had shown how much better he was feeling by attacking his turkey and trimmings with gusto and keeping it down, which he promptly declared a Chrismukkah miracle. Having discovered the previous year that donning the paper hat concealed inside in his cracker was not an optional extra, Ryan had come up with plan B, which he successfully executed by 'accidentally' setting fire to it. This, Seth declared, was a Chrismukkah tragedy, but he let it slide when Lindsay phoned Ryan with seasonal greetings and switched to merciless teasing instead, which proved to be just as much fun and required no accessories.
After dozing their full bellies away with the annual screening of The Muppet Christmas Carol, it was finally time for gifts. Sandy and Kirsten had outdone themselves and there were CDs, DVDs, books and clothes for both teenagers. The parental contingent didn't do too badly either and Kirsten was delighted as she finally unwrapped her present of Nigella Lawson's "How To Be A Domestic Goddess" from Ryan.
"Not that you need help, of course," he said with mock sincerity.
"Of course," said Sandy, as he handed Kirsten an extra special gift from him. So special, in fact, that she went quite pink and refused to take it out of the box. Sandy grinned deviously as she settled the box on the floor and herself on her his lap.
"You like it?"
"Very much. Maybe when we're done with presents you could slip a sable under my tree?" Kirsten thanked him gratefully, intersected with a kiss passionate enough to embarrass any in the room who was not an active participant.
"Officially, I'm far too innocent to have any idea what that means, but unofficially, I'm totally willing to go with it," grinned Sandy like the proverbial cream brandishing cat.
"Seriously, do you guys want me to start vomiting again? Because this is getting the juices burning," Seth protested.
"Here," said Ryan, silencing his moaning with the last of the presents he'd bought him, "Happy Chrismukkah."
"Another for me?" questioned Seth even as he pulled at the neatly corners that had caused Ryan so much trouble to reveal the smart leather bound book. "The Railway Children?"
"It's not just for kids."
Seth smiled, knowing a good opportunity to tease Ryan when he saw one. "No, it's also for people in the 1900s, who use words like yesteryear and call their parents father and mother."
"You do that," Ryan stated pointedly as Seth flicked through the covers.
"In an ironic fashion, it's completely different."
"It's a classic and you can't be my friend until you've read it."
Recognizing the deeper significance of Ryan's words, Seth dropped the raillery and offered him a half hug.
"Then I shall start it today. Thanks bro."
"You're welcome."
"The Railway Children, huh?" said Sandy as he took from Seth and leafed through the pages, "I haven't read this in years. I'm guessing you can relate."
"Something like that," Ryan replied, smiling unselfconsciously at him and Kirsten. "I figured being as I'm getting through all my issues with my mom, figured we may as well get a head start on all my issues with my Dad."
"Sounds like fun."
"Count me in," Seth chirruped, before breaking into a coughing fit, "You know assuming I don't succumb to this vile pestilence first.
"Aw poor baby," said Kirsten sweetly, ruffling Seth's hair spiritedly.
Ducking away from Seth as he swung out of his mother's reach, Ryan laughed. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd been mentally preparing himself for what he was sure would be The Worst Chrismukkah Ever. But now it was here, being here, being home with the Cohens, it felt like the start of something. Like family. And if he was right, then maybe, just maybe this Christmas would mean something more.
The End
~~~
Chapter Index: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Sleigh bells ring!
At last I have finished! This final chapter of The Worst Chrismukkah Ever was not brought to you with help from letter A (as in floppy disk drive), the letter F (as in fucking fastNet) or the numbers 4:45am, which is the time I was up until on Sunday night finishing it. But it's here now and I really hope you all like it.
Title: The Worst Chrismukkah Ever
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating / Genre: PG-13+ / Gen / Chrismukkah (2)
Words: 7790
Spoilers: Season One & Two
Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Schmoopy Dedication: Thank you to emonerdgirl aka armorofignoranc, giving me such a wonderful excuse to indulge myself.ctoan who kept prodding me and all of my far too patient readers.
Note: It may come as a surprise to know give the distance between updates, but I have really loved writing this story. When it comes down to it, I am a great softie at heart.
Note 2: A little heads up. It's nearly 8000 words long, so you might want to get that cup of tea, nip to the toilet first, okay gang? Lovely. now follow the jingling bells...
Summary: Ryan's homesick, Seth's just sick and Sandy and Kirsten are determined to look after them both. Multi-chapter, set around the second Cohen Chrismukkah, but not canon.
~~~
If Ryan were ever forced to pinpoint what it was he liked best about living with Cohens, he'd look no further than his surrogate family. But coming up a close second was his bed. Roomy, squishy, warm, made up with ridiculously high cotton count quilt set, it epitomized the feeling of comfort, safety and relaxation that the Cohens and their kindness had given him. After the weirdness of the day, he had been quietly content to make his excuses shortly after the distinctly unfestive, slightly awkward Thai dinner with just Sandy and Kirsten and retreat into its sanctuary once more.
Burrowing down deeper into the fluffy pillows, he pulled the covers round close hoping he would nod off again soon. Moments later, a soft knocking on the door put paid to that idea. Ignoring a second, louder round of knocking, Ryan hyperbolized his breathing, in case Seth, as it so typically was at so late an hour, exhibited his usual persistence and came into the poolhouse anyway.
Silence.
Ryan counted to twenty, with no intrusion from the outside world and only the quiet hum of the air conditioning for company. Just when he thought his night visitor had left, he heard the door open.
"I'm asleep, Seth," Ryan grunted into his pillow. So much for sanctuary.
"It's Kirsten."
As he attempted to rouse himself from his sleepy stupor, it occurred to Ryan that Seth was unlikely to be venturing any further than the bathroom. Suddenly, a flash of worry hit him as he thought about his foster brother.
"What's going on? Is Seth okay?"
"Seth's fine," said Kirsten as she crossed to the side lamp and turned it on. "Can you get dressed? I want to show you something."
"At ten past eleven?" he asked, fumbling for his watch on from his bedside table. Adjusting to the light, Ryan squinted at Kirsten, noting the wry smile that played across her lips, the suspiciously Machiavellian glint in her eye.
"Meet me at the car in five minutes," she said, heading out the poolhouse as quickly as she had entered. "And wear something warm, it's gotten chilly out."
As Kirsten pulled the door closed behind her. Ryan sat sleepily up and reluctantly pulled back the covers, his arms and legs goosepimpling in protest. "This better be good."
~~~
"Seth?" You asleep son?" Sandy whispered into the musty darkness of Seth's bedroom.
"I wish," he croaked feebly in reply, feeling massively sorry for himself. In his vain attempts to get comfortable, his bed seemed to have shrunk to the size of a peanut and a very clammy peanut at that. "Did I hear the car a minute ago?
"Your mother and Ryan have gone out for a while," said Sandy as he entered the room, "They'll be back in a couple of hours or so."
"Uh, okay?" replied Seth confusedly, "Anywhere exciting? Should I be jealous?"
"Just a drive up the coast."
"So probably not."
Sandy smiled, pleased to see Seth was feeling well enough to mock, "Fancy spending some quality time with your old Dad?"
"Sure," he replied honestly, "That sounds nice."
"You up to coming downstairs?"
"I think so. I don't feel sick anymore, just tired."
"Even better. Then how about you Meet Me in St Louis?"
"I'd like that," Seth said, his thoughts cheering at the prospect of some one-on-one time with his dad. "I shall go pee and take the next trolley directly."
"A little more than I needed to know, but works for me. Five minutes?"
"Five minutes."
Sandy nodded and left Seth alone in the dark of the bedroom. There was something distinctly fishy about their sudden desire for late night drives and classic movie screenings; his parents were Up To Something. As tired as he felt, he couldn’t help but smile as he pulled his comforter around him, bundled up a pillow beneath it and trotted out the door. He loved it when they got devious. With any luck, it was genetic.
~~~
"Hey, you're not falling asleep on me are you?"
"No," Ryan answered Kirsten, opening his eyes reluctantly. He shifted in his seat, trying to coax his sleepy body back to the land of the living.
"Good. We're almost there."
Ryan looked out into the darkness, squinting as he tried to make sense of the unfamiliar coastal road. The sea to his left, land to his right. North. So Vegas was out. "You going to tell me where we're headed yet?"
"I told you, it's a surprise," Kirsten said, glancing away from the road momentarily to steal a glance at Ryan.
"Uh-huh."
"You don't like surprises?"
"Depends on the surprise," Ryan responded, unaware as Kirsten's flinched a little at the inadvertent but nonetheless slightly curt edge to his tone. Like holidays, surprises were another thing that Atwoods didn't exactly excel at. I'm sorry I forgot your birthday. Your brother's moving out for a while. A.J.'s going to be living with us now. We're going start fresh in Chino, I hear it's nice. Daddy's not going to be coming home yet. I'm sorry kiddo; I just don't have the money for the trip, maybe next year. Hello there young man, is your father in?
"If I remember right, it should be just round this next corner," said Kirsten, mentally crossing her fingers, as their destination swung into view, "Bingo."
"All I see is a-," Ryan looked at Kirsten quizzically, "We're going to church?"
Kirsten pulled the car off the main road, heading up a rougher track to the small picturesque New England style church and the softly glowing old-fashioned lampposts that illuminated it.
"You know that midnight carol service I used to go to with my mom?" Kirsten said nervously, swinging the car into one of the few remaining empty spaces remaining in the pebbled yard by the church's side.
"This was the church?" Ryan asked. Even now, his ability to be taken aback by just how well the other half lived still surprised him.
Kirsten nodded, "It's a little hokey, I know-"
"- No, I like it. It's beautiful."
Kirsten looked over at him, saw his fascinated face as he studied the church's old-fashioned bell tower, its sloping roof and sharp regular angles, so unlike the Spanish style architecture of Newport. Eighteen months ago, she didn't know kids like Ryan knew words like beautiful, at least, not beyond the abstract. To hear him use it so unselfconsciously convinced her that tonight was worth the risk; this was the boy she itched to get to know, to release from his box.
"Yeah, it is."
"Like an Edward Hopper painting or something."
"That's exactly what I used to think," Kirsten remembered. She pointed down the cove to the south, "If you look over there, there's even a lighthouse."
Following her sightline, Ryan looked out into the darkness. Sure enough, a small beam of brilliance winked out to sea, "Do people live in it?"
"I think so. At least they used to. The Robinsons? Robertsons? I don't remember; they were mostly just church friends of my mom's, not friend friends."
"I always liked the idea of living in a lighthouse. Or a windmill. Course, I'd probably be too chicken to go past the second floor, but still…" Ryan joked with a small shrug and a smile in Kirsten's direction, before retreating again, "I like the quiet."
Kirsten looked over the unnervingly pensive figure beside her and her confidence waned. The brilliant plan she and Sandy had cooked up earlier that evening suddenly seemed to be a chronically stupid idea; a mistake of Everestine proportions. After all, when she was seventeen, it was all her mother could do to get her to come out to one carol service a year and that was awkward enough. Short of wearing indecent PVC clothing and blaring gangsta rap from the stereo, there was not much she could have done to make the evening social equivalent of Chinese Water Torture.
"I'm sorry, Ryan," she bumbled trying to explain, "I thought this, coming out, God I don't know what I was thinking. You've just seemed so up and down lately, today especially, and we, I, thought it would be good to get some time out of the house, especially after spending last week cooped up indoors. Then this afternoon, talking about my mom and the carols and the oranges, it just… well, it seemed like a good idea at the time."
Ryan looked away from the lighthouse, back to Kirsten, saw her anxiety, the way her furrowed brow twitched nervously just like Seth's. He smiled.
"It was," he said simply, "It is."
He unfastened his seat belt and opened the door, "You coming?"
~~~
"I was drunk last night, dear Mother! I was drunk the night before! But if you forgive me Mother; I'll never get drunk anymore!"
"How can Mom not like this movie," Seth said, from under his mass of comforter, shifting his position so that his head rested more comfortably on the pillow that lay on Sandy's lap, "Judy Garland, great songs and a socially frustrated moppet; it's a classic."
"Because she's a cruel women, with a slush puppy where her heart should be," joked Sandy as Tootsie nagged Esther into performing the infamous Cake Walk with her.
"Like Professor Coldheart," Seth croaked, "I'll get those Fuzzy-Wuzzies!"
"You've lost me."
"Care Bears, Dad. Remember? You took me to the second movie and started my whole complex about chandeliers? Thought they had children trapped in them?"
"Oh, that’s where that came from? Always thought it was kind of weird."
"Well, you know me Dad, weird is my middle name."
"And here I was thinking it was Ezekiel."
"Ezekiel is weird."
"And it suits you very nicely," said Sandy, twisting his son's hair between his fingers absent-mindedly, pleased that at the very least, Seth's temperature seemed to be on its way down.
"Gee, thanks."
"And besides, it was my grandfather's name."
"I didn't know that."
"Sure you did, you've heard me talk about Popzekel before."
"Oh, like Pop-Zekiel? I thought it was like Pop-sicle," Seth grinned as he worked it out, "That's so cool."
"We Cohens have always been ahead of our time," Sandy said with a yawn, smiling as a moment later Seth compulsively followed suit. Back on the television, two child stars, one burning brightly, the other beginning to fade, sang and danced for their St Louis audience, oblivious as their California audience gradually joined their song,
"If you li-ke me, like I li-ke you,
And we li-ke both the same-
I'd like to say, this very day,
I'd like to change your name.
'Cause I lo-ve you and lo-ve you true,
And if you lo-ve me-
One lives as two, two live as one,
Under the bamboo tree!"
As the song ended and Tootsie and Esther broke into their cute hat and cane dance, the California two fell back into silence. Snuggling deeper into his blankety cocoon, Seth tried to ignore how glad he was his mom had whisked Ryan away for the evening. Thankful as he was to have him, sometimes Seth missed being an only child and having his parents all to himself.
In the days when Seth was the only adolescent rattling around the house, he'd spent most of his time emo-ing in his bedroom, at odds with the world. It was only during the last year and a half he'd begun to realize how much he took his parents and their relatively normal lives for granted and he couldn't believe that he'd opted for solitude when he could have had their undivided attention.
Yet it wasn't just the one-on-one time that Seth missed, it was little things. Before Ryan came along, his mom bought Lucky Charms just for him. Now the lectures about squeezing honey on to bowls of processed sugar puffs and what were laughably called marshmallows were delivered for two and, Seth noticed, had increased in length accordingly. Or occasionally he'd stumble into the living room and come across Ryan and his dad hollering at ESPN, exchanging theories and jibes about various players' prowess or lack thereof and he'd feel a stab of jealousy. How had Ryan managed to connect with his dad like this when he had not? How dare he?
But worse than the cereal doctrines and the courtside commentaries, Seth pondered glumly, as he his dad twitched his legs, the knowledge that if Ryan hadn't come along when he had, he'd have probably of drifted further away from his mom and dad than he had already. Given how miserable he'd been that summer, it probably wasn't too healthy to dwell on it, but it was pretty obvious pop psychology; somehow having to split the 'rents had made him appreciate them more.
Hell, if he really wanted to play Freud or Jung or whoever, when he got right down to it, maybe that was why Seth couldn't help but push conversations like the one he'd had with Ryan earlier; subconsciously he was trying to convince himself that Ryan deserved a better life than the shrouded one before, that he was worthy of his parents' affections. A wondrously selfish sentiment, possibly, but there it was.
"You nodding off on me?" Sandy asked softly, noting Seth's protracted silence, "We haven't even gotten to the snowmen yet."
"I was just thinking."
"Uh-oh," teased Sandy good-naturedly, "Too much thinking is what is got your mother driving halfway up to Big Sur at midnight."
"Big Sur?" grunted Seth, "Dad, it's a forty minute drive."
"Hyperbole, son. The staple of the Cohen rhetoric," Sandy said, ruffling Seth's hair a little, teasing it gently between his fingers. "What were you thinking about?"
"Nuh, it's okay."
"Okay. You've contracted Ryan-itis, but you're okay," Sandy chuckled to himself at the pun, "Rhinitus, Ryan-itus, get it?"
"Yeah, I think Ryan patented that joke already," Seth rasped, as the phlegmy frog residing in his throat made its presence felt once more and he coughed painfully, "Eurgh, ow."
"Choke up chicken. You okay?"
"I think I pulled something earlier," Seth said, ignoring his aching side as his chest rattled in protest at the workout, "It's okay; think I've hit my Recommended Daily Puking Allowance."
"Well, that's something at least," said Sandy, equally thankful that Seth seemed to be feeling better and that he was unlikely to be on vomit patrol again this evening.
Seth flipped on to his back and looked up at his dad.
"Do you know Ryan doesn't know his grandparents? The alive ones, I mean. Obviously. Knowing the dead ones would involve some serious lifestyle choices and a lot of digging."
"I'm going to put that last comment down to your fever and say yes," Sandy scowled, relieved that his and Kirsten's plans were finally rolling into action, "When your mother and me became Ryan's guardians, we did a little-"
"-Digging?" Seth quipped before he could stop himself.
"Hey, careful," Sandy admonished him, "Background work."
"I know Grandpa Nichol can be kinda of mean and I really don't get why he's not on board with Ryan and everything, but I'm still glad he lives close to us."
"It's good to have family. Even if they can be a gigantic ass."
"Don't say ass, Dad," Seth sniffed reproachfully, "But you know the Nana could totally kick his."
"And has," Sandy said with an unmistakable tinge of pride.
Falling quiet again as Esther wooed her paramour, Sandy could sense Seth trying to detangle the jumbling thoughts in his tired and addled brain. Mindful of the shaky ground they were stepping upon, he prompted him gently.
"Sethulah? What were you really thinking about?"
"I was just…" Seth started, before halting swiftly. He reached down and zapped the television, lowering the volume as he tried to find the way to articulate his thoughts. Looking up at his dad's face, he saw his worry lines creased with concern, sensed his almost tangible frustration. "I know I gave you a really hard time when we first moved down here and when we didn’t move back after Nana Wasp died and I'm sorry."
"Hey, that's okay."
Suddenly embarrassed, Seth looked away. "You say that. But I was such a brat."
"Yeah, you were," said Sandy answered honestly, knowing that platitudes were the last thing Seth wanted or needed to hear right now, "But at least you were a brat for a reason. Moving is always hard. And moving to here? It's even harder. And I know I didn't help, with my liberal ideologies and raging idealism."
"I'm not going to pretend that I was happy here, 'cause I wasn't. But it wasn't your fault. And I'm sorry if I made you feel like it was."
"I'm not going to lie to you son, it wasn't easy," Sandy sighed gently, "But we got it."
"God, I was such a brat," Seth said again, with a hint of self-loathing in his voice the like of which Sandy had not heard from him for a long, long time.
"I know. But you know what? I don't blame you. And you could have been so much worse. Your mom spent most of her teenage years shoplifting or partying, I hitchhiked halfway across the country and hardly called home for six years."
"Ryan stole a car."
"That he did," Sandy admitted, privately grateful that Seth had not opted to go down that particular route of teenage self-destruction.
"Your mother and me, what we found so hard to deal with was seeing you so unhappy day after day and not being able to do a thing to help. Having you push us away, not being able to talk with you; it was heartbreaking. "
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You don't ever be sorry, not about this. Back then, we tried to, that is, we just wanted things to be better… I don't think of either of us realized at the time just how hard you were finding things."
"I was pretty fucking miserable", Seth grunted, half-smiling as his dad's scowl deepened fractionally at the profanity. "This will probably sound really lame, but I just wanted to say thank you for Ryan. I don't think I ever did.
"Well, since you did ask for a little brother when you were eight, I thought it was about time we delivered. Though technically, being as Ryan's older than you are, that makes you the little brother. Unless you go by height."
"And otherwise only just," Seth clarified automatically. "Dad. I mean it, thank you."
Touched by the sincerity in Seth's voice, Sandy stroked his son's matted hair from his forehead, "You're welcome."
His tiredness finally beginning to hit him, Seth yawned and the two of them drifted into quiet, their eyes gravitating back to the television once again.
"Dad?"
"Yes son?
"Do you think it'll work? Mom taking Ryan out?"
"I don't know. I hope so."
"I think it will," said Seth confidently, as he rolled back on to his side, "Ryan's so much smarter than me."
Sandy smiled as he felt Seth settle down again, the tension in his own body dissipating with his son's, "I'm saying nothing."
Back in St Louis, and quite unperturbed by the fact that she was inventing the lamest excuse ever to spend time alone with a guy, Judy's Esther coyly snaffled the boy next door to assist her in turning off the house lights. "It never ceases to amaze me just how dumb this kid is," Sandy mocked as John Truett missed all the signals of Esther's none too-subtle advances, "Kiss her you fool!"
"I love it when he tells her she smells of his grandma," Seth grinned.
"And yet he still gets the girl."
"I should totally try that on Summer."
"Son, I think Summer's great. But I also think she'd kill you."
"Yeah I know. I should tell Zach to try it."
"Hmmm," Sandy pondered. He loved his son like nothing else in the world, but when it came to women, like all other boys his age, he still had a lot to learn about their enigmatic ways. Wisely surmising that much like himself, Seth considered a talk about the affairs of the adolescent heart distinctly unappetizing, he opted for the other staple of the Cohen rhetoric, the non-sequitur.
"You know what?" he asked cheerfully. "We haven't got the fairy lights out yet. We should put them up; have them out for when Ryan and your mom get in."
"Like the theory, but I thought Mom got rid of them?"
"No, if I remember right, she just hid them. You know your mother, a hopeless hoarder of all things from cat baskets to go-go-boots." Sandy eased himself gently from under Seth's recumbent form and glanced around the room frowning as he tried to think where the lights might be stored. "Claimed they need new fuses, but I think she was just thinks they're not "classic" enough."
"Or she's inherited Grandpa's carny phobia."
"Don't even joke about such things, son. One of the things I like best about your mother is how little she takes after her father. I'm going to check the basement; carry on without me."
"'kay," Seth replied as Sandy strode out of the living room with purpose, leaving him alone with Esther and John and their outrageous staircase flirting once more. "Over the banister lean-ing… God, I love this movie."
~~~
"I can't believe how tiny they are," whispered Kirsten to Ryan from their pew at the back of the church at the gaggle of delighted children filed down the aisle back to their seats, clutching oranges decorated with an assortment of candies. "Seems a life-age ago."
"Yeah, it does," Ryan replied in equally hushed tones, more than a little envious of the treats on offer as around them the congregation sang another carol. "Do you think they'll be leftovers?"
"Not if I get there first." Seizing on Ryan's lowered guard, Kirsten nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You're not singing."
"Neither are you," Ryan shot back with a puckish half-smile.
"True, but I was before."
"I've been sick," he replied, throwing a cough for good measure, "Couldn't."
"Uh-huh," Kirsten deadpanned, not buying it for a second. "Chicken?"
Ryan's stared at her levelly, amused but refusing to rise to the bait, "No. I just like listening."
Kirsten smiled with a shrug and Ryan returned his attention to the music.
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we "Bwark!…"
Ryan's glance darted sideways, only to see Kirsten continue with the verse, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Never gonna happen," he whispered.
"Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born in us today
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings, "Bwark!!"
Ryan gave up.
"O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel."
As his warm mellow voice mingled with her own, Kirsten slipped an arm round Ryan's arm and gave him a quick squeeze hug, "See, that wasn't so horrific, was it?"
"Guess not."
~~~
One bleak midwinter and a silent night later and Kirsten was finally feeling as if Ryan was beginning to relax a little. At the front of the church, the well-meaning yet less than dynamic Minister continued to deliver a message of praisegiving and thanks, which despite her best efforts, was failing to hold Kirsten's attention.
She had to admit, she had been surprised by the tone of Ryan's voice. It still sounded like him, but it had a gentle resonance, a confident quality which didn't quite seem to fit with the teenager who had to be cajoled into singing with a strategically timed chicken impression. As good as he sounded, she still somehow couldn't quite reconcile herself to the notion that her Ryan once did musicals. And as for Snoopy? Kirsten tried to picture him at ten or eleven, black and white face, maybe sporting a fluffy pair of ears and it was just too bizarre; for one thing with all the brooding he'd been doing the past few days, Ryan was definitely a natural Charlie Brown.
Without warning, as if to confirm her thoughts, Ryan snorted sarcastically from beside her, covering it up with a faux cough as she glanced at him in surprise.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Me? I'm fine," Ryan replied dismissively.
Sensing Ryan's good humor had once again dwindled, Kirsten looked to Minister wishing she had been paying closer to attention to his message and whatever elements of were causing Ryan to bristle. It seemed innocuous; the usual Christmas focus of hope, respect for one another, appreciation of health, home and family.
The veil lifted. Of course.
Earlier that afternoon, when Kirsten had been discussing with Sandy Ryan's less than sunny disposition, they had agreed that it would be a good idea to take him somewhere different, somewhere that felt like neutral territory, where he might be able to put aside his inhibitions and take a chance on talking it out. Of course, in the plan, the midnight carol service was intended to relax Ryan, make him feel part of the Cohen traditional festivities, not wind him tighter than a Swiss watch. Truth be told, now that she thought about it, his initial reluctance in the car park shouldn’t have been a surprise, but she'd figured once she'd got him inside the church it would be plain sailing. Apparently she'd figured wrong.
Mentally kicking herself, Kirsten wondered how best to salvage the evening. If she let it go and postponed the talk they so obviously needed to have with Ryan until after Chrismukkah, then they'd be no better off than they were earlier. Then again, if there was one thing she'd learned about Ryan it was that he shared her own stubbornness and if she pushed too hard he was likely to shut up completely. Either way, she was in real danger of screwing up Chrismukkah good and proper. As she sat anxiously deliberating her equally unappealing choices, Ryan made one of his own.
And bolted.
~~~
"Once again as in olden days,
Happy Golden days, of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us,
Shall be near to us once more."
Sandy sang along with the television as he hung the lights in a more or less neat fashion across the mantelpiece. "If my dear old Ma could see me now."
"She'd throw latkes at you," Seth mumbled from the couch as he continued his quest to make it through to the end of the movie. His drooping eyelids clearly had other ideas.
"That she would," Sandy said as he connected up yet another string of lights to the long chain that was snaking around the walls of the living room. "Thank God she's in Florida. Though I still can't believe she left New York."
"Uh-huh, me neither. More to the left."
Sandy looked over at Seth; happy to see him so relaxed again after the craptastic time he'd been having for the past few days. Still, he couldn't resist winding him up a little. "Feel free to pitch in at any time," he teased.
"No, no, you're doing great Dad," Seth grunted giving Sandy the thumbs up. " 'Sides, it only takes one to hang the lights and one to criticize."
"Then we're a winning team. What do you think?" Sandy asked as he finished draping the last strand around a seasonal log basket and stood back to admire his handiwork.
Seth opened his eyes and squinted at the display, "Looks great, Dad. Very Chrismukkah-y."
"Why, thank you."
Sandy crossed back over to the wall and flicked on the switch, yelping as the resulting power surge took out the lights, St Louis, Judy and plunged the house into quiet darkness.
Smiling unseen in the darkness Seth couldn't resist. "So I guess they did need to be new fuses after all."
"Your mother's going to kill me."
~~~
The five minutes that had followed Ryan's sudden exit from the church had been some of the longest seconds of Kirsten's life. Forcing against her instincts to head straight after him, she waited until the congregation stood for the Coventry Carol and slipped quietly out of the pew and down the aisle.
Kirsten stepped out into the brisk numb air, shivering as she looked around her for a trace of Ryan's trail. Squinting through the dark haze of night, she called his name tentatively, cursing mildly when no reply came.
"Could I be more of an idiot?" she muttered to the empty sky as she headed back to the range rover. There was a flashlight in trunk, if she was going to attempt to follow Ryan's path, she was going to need a little illumination. Still grunting as she unlocked the trunk, she didn't even notice Ryan slumped down in the front passenger seat of the car and the two yelped in a tandem of fright.
Regaining her composure first, she raised her eyebrows quirkily at him. "That's quite a manly scream you've got there."
"You scared me," Ryan said twisting around to talk to her, his heart still thumping solidly.
"You too. How did you get in?"
"I forgot to lock it. Why? You think I shimmied the door?"
"No," Kirsten replied instinctively, momentarily unnerved at Ryan's rare snap of bitterness. Sighing, she shrugged. "God, I don't know Ryan, maybe."
Now it was Ryan's turn to be taken aback by her directness. But as they regarded each other awkwardly, Kirsten would have sworn she saw a flicker of something else behind his eyes. Mixed in with the sadness and the anger and the confusion, there was a delicate specter of gratitude.
"I'm freezing," she said finally, taking a travel blanket from the trunk, "Are you cold? There's plenty of blankets in the back here."
Ryan shrugged one shoulder, his nerves slowly allaying. "Okay."
"Okay." Grabbing two, Kirsten shut the trunk and came round the car, getting into the front seat next to Ryan.
"Thanks," he muttered uncertainly as Kirsten passed him one of the travel blankets, laying it on his knees in an acceptably manly fashion, rather than snuggling under it as Kirsten did beside him.
"I would have come after you before, I just thought you might want a moment or two to yourself."
"Yeah. Thanks. Sorry. It's just everything's so fubar-d."
"You do know that I know what that means, right?"
"Sorry."
"No, it's okay. It think fubar pretty much sums it up right now," Kirsten offered, hoping to warm Ryan into talking. Sighing a little as no response came, she could tell that the iceberg impression was going to be a standing feature of the evening. Clearly, it was time to break out the blowtorch.
"Look, about tonight, I want to apologize -" Kirsten began finally, surprised as Ryan cut her off.
"-No." He looked down, embarrassed as he startled her. "I mean, there's no need. It's me, the same old crap. I mean, I know I've got things to work out. 'Issues', or whatever," he said sarcastically.
"- Yeah, you really do," Kirsten interrupted him levelly, cutting to the quick of Ryan's mannered resolve. "And sarcasm might seem like a good option right now, but trust me, in the long run it's not gonna help a damn."
Ryan promptly looked back at her, attending to her change in tone.
"Look, I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. The second to last thing I want is to make you talk about things you don't want to talk about. But the last thing I want is for you to feel like you have no-one to talk to. And obviously you do."
"I'm sorry-"
"- It's not an indictment, Ryan. I'm just saying, it's clear to me, to all of us, that there's been a lot weighing on your mind lately. It was the same this time last year. I know that Sandy knows the official version and I know you gave Seth another chapter of the abridged version this afternoon and that's great, I'm glad you did, but clearly it's just not enough."
Kirsten looked across at Ryan, trying to catch his sightline, but his gaze was determinedly focused on his fingers as he twisted the tassels edging the travel blanket.
"Ryan?" Kirsten could sense his indecision, even as he resolutely kept his eyes cast downwards. "You can't bottle your feelings up like this. Watching you try, it's heartbreaking."
"I don't mean to shut you out," he stumbled, looking up at her for a split second of sadness. "It's just, it's different with you, you're the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm a three year old who lost their teddy bear or something."
"- Ryan- "
"I don't want your pity, okay?"
"Well, that's too bad, because you've already got it. You had it since the day Sandy first brought you home and I'm not going to apologize for it. You've had a crappy life and I'm not made of stone, Ryan. Of course I feel sorry for you. But I also respect you."
Despite his conflicting emotions, Ryan's heart couldn't but glow a little at the compliment and he felt his mouth crinkle with the slightest whisper of a smile.
"If I'd have been you, after the fire at the model home, trust me you would not have seen me for dust. But you? You came back. That was pretty gutsy."
"Pretty dumb more like," Ryan answered, but without conviction.
"Nah, I'm sticking with gutsy," Kirsten teased.
Matching Kirsten's smile with one of his own, Ryan momentarily refrained from his blanket picking. This could be going a lot worse. "So can I ask you something?
"Sure.
"Why'd you say yes?"
"To what? You moving in?
A nod and a grunt.
"Sandy can be very persuasive," Kirsten said lightly with a wry smile, her own cheeks blushing slightly, "He said you were smart. The words, 'Cocky as hell,' might also have featured."
Kirsten looked over in hope of smile, but was instead met with a further grunt. Apparently, lighthearted was just not going to cut it tonight. Sighing, she tried again.
"I don't know, Ryan. I trust my husband. And honestly, I think a lot of me was just curious. After all, it's not every day your husband turns up with a junior felon in tow."
Ryan nodded slightly. "Guess not."
"Sandy worked in the P.D.'s Office for a long time. Sometimes he'd come home so tired, about this kid, or that kid that he couldn’t help, that was slipping through the cracks. He never went into specifics, but I could always tell if he'd lost another one. Something about you got to him more than all the others. He called me from the office after seeing you and he just sounded… defeated."
"Oh," Ryan said softly, cursing the stab of guilt he couldn’t help but feel at the trouble he'd caused.
"He never bought anybody home before. You were different; he wanted to help you, so I wanted to help you. Sandy's altruism is intensely infectious."
Ryan nodded slightly in consideration, the discordant whirring of his thoughts almost audible to Kirsten.
"Did you tell you anything? About me?"
"Not then, no." Kirsten said, matter-of-factly. "Well, aside from why you'd been arrested, obviously. You have to remember, not even Sandy thought it was going to be a long term thing at first."
"Right."
Kirsten looked over at Ryan again and made a mental note never to play him at poker. Then again, she felt like right she was doing just that.
"After your mom… well, things changed."
"Yeah," Ryan muttered softly, his heart raw at the memory. "So what about now? Do you know?"
"About-"
"-All the stuff from Chino. About Dad?"
"No. I don't want to know. I mean, I thought I didn’t. Just after your mom left, when Sandy and I were trying to work out the kinks to become your legal guardians, Sandy gave me your file. I never read it."
"Why not?"
Kirsten looked out into ocean seeking inspiration for the right phrasing. As hypnotic as it was, the constant blink of the lighthouse was less than forthcoming. This was worse than walking on eggshell; this was walking on actual chickens.
"Kirsten?"
"Sorry," she said, turning back to him. Evidently, no amount of knowing that one day she and Ryan would talk of his wounds and scars was enough to ready her for actually examining them.
Truth and trust.
Turning to Ryan, Kirsten looked at him levelly, the resolve cast across her face the precise antithesis of the trepidation in her bones.
"Before we talked to Family Services, I asked Sandy four questions, told him I didn’t want the details. He told me, I left it at that. I convinced myself anything else you wanted me to know, you'd tell me. Or that we'd cross that bridge if we came to it. Guess we're standing on it, huh?"
Ryan took a deep breath. Now or never. "What did you ask?"
"Ryan, you don't have to-"
"- I know. Look, you said that you'd wait until I wanted to tell you. I want to tell you. You're right, I need to talk about this stuff and you didn’t drive all the way out here just for the oranges."
"Okay, okay," Kirsten said gently, diffusing the palpably rising tension. "After what your mother said at dinner, I asked if A.J. was the only one who hit you."
"No, he just hit hardest." Ryan answered impassively before adding abruptly, "Hard enough, before you ask. What else?"
"If you'd ever used drugs."
Ryan blinked. "But you still- I mean, you didn’t mind?"
"Of course I mind, you're sixteen years old and it's dumb and illegal. But everything considered, I'm not that surprised. Both you and Seth are smart enough to know that if we caught you dabbling you'd hit graduation before you saw daylight again, even if it was only mushrooms or pot."
"I never really liked it that much anyways," he said truthfully. "Too expensive for a start."
"I'd have preferred a moral impetus for resisting, but that'll do," Kirsten replied, her mouth crinkling at the corners.
"What else?"
"If you had any allergies. My cooking is bad enough without potentially poisoning you."
"Nutmeg. And I could live without pollen, but it's fine. What else?"
"Oh, that was it, I think," Kirsten said lightly, lying through her teeth and ardently hoping Ryan wouldn't notice.
Ryan noticed. "You said four questions," he stated bluntly, his jaw set.
"I meant three."
"Please don't lie to me," he whispered. "I know there was something else. I just want us to be honest."
This time it was Kirsten who felt unable to meet Ryan's gaze and she cast her eyes downward, ashamed of her cowardice even as she did so. "You know what else, Ryan. I asked if there had been anything… more than hard hitting."
"Trey would have killed anyone who tried that. So would I. So would Mom."
"I believe you." Kirsten replied sincerely, forcing herself to look at Ryan, despite the sickness she felt inside. The very idea that such a history could be a possibility for someone she loved so deeply was beyond horrific. "It's why I didn’t want to tell you. I wish I'd never asked in the first place."
"And I wish you hadn’t have to. But I get why you did."
"I didn't want to know because I was afraid it would be horrible. Not horrible for you, horrible for me to know about it. I knew it would be easier just to let Sandy deal with it all if it ever came up. After all, he was the one with all the experience with this kind of thing. So I chickened out."
"I get it," Ryan answered after a moment, the slight crack in his voice belying his hurt.
"I was wrong." Kirsten replied, trying to find the right words to explain her motivations without justifying them. "I think even as late as this time last year, I still thought your mom would come back for you. It took me far longer than it should have to actually realize that I didn't want her to. I never guessed then how much I'd care about you."
Unsure of what to say, Ryan found his gaze drifting back to the lighthouse like Kirsten before him. "I still want her to," he said finally, the words tumbling out of him like tears. "I wish I didn’t, but I can't help it. I thought this year would be different; but it's worse. I feel guilty for being homesick for a home I never had in the first place. But it's the holidays, you know? She should be here."
"I know." Reaching across to him for the first time, Kirsten wrapped Ryan's tightly clenched fist in her open hand. Still fixated on the flittering beam of the lighthouse, Ryan accepted the gesture, taking it in his and gently clutching her thumb.
"Sometimes I hate her so much. I never needed her to be rich, or to drive the nice car, live in the best neighborhood, or to stand by my Dad, or God, even be sober for five minutes, I just needed her to be there. To know, that just once, that Trey and me came first, you know? But we never did. There was always something else, drugs, dead-end jobs, dead-beat boyfriends, drink, just always something else. And I think about that and I wonder why I don't hate her more."
"So why don't you?"
Ryan sighed and slumped against the door, before answering with a smile and a shrug.
"Because she left me with you."
~~~
Kirsten and Ryan pulled into the driveway just as the first peeks of dawn were beginning to prickle through the dark. Less than amused at finding the house powerless but more so by the sight of Sandy and Seth stretched out and sleeping in the living room, Kirsten furnished Ryan with a flashlight from the kitchen.
"I think there's been more than enough drama this holiday without having you pitch into the pool."
"Right," Ryan smiled, knocking the flashlight twice against his head. "Not really in the mood for an early swim."
"Indeed."
"You know, you can always stay in the big house."
"I know. But there's no place like home."
"Ain't that the truth."
"Thank you," said Ryan, his eyes shining. Stepping forward, he reached out uncharacteristically to his surrogate mother and hugged her close, speaking softly into her back, "For taking me into yours."
Kirsten gripped him tightly. "It's always been your home, Ryan. You just haven’t always lived here."
~~~
By the time Ryan stumbled into the house in the morning, it was almost afternoon and by early evening, the power now reinstated and freshly fused fairy lights twinkling merrily, they sat down to lunch. Seth had shown how much better he was feeling by attacking his turkey and trimmings with gusto and keeping it down, which he promptly declared a Chrismukkah miracle. Having discovered the previous year that donning the paper hat concealed inside in his cracker was not an optional extra, Ryan had come up with plan B, which he successfully executed by 'accidentally' setting fire to it. This, Seth declared, was a Chrismukkah tragedy, but he let it slide when Lindsay phoned Ryan with seasonal greetings and switched to merciless teasing instead, which proved to be just as much fun and required no accessories.
After dozing their full bellies away with the annual screening of The Muppet Christmas Carol, it was finally time for gifts. Sandy and Kirsten had outdone themselves and there were CDs, DVDs, books and clothes for both teenagers. The parental contingent didn't do too badly either and Kirsten was delighted as she finally unwrapped her present of Nigella Lawson's "How To Be A Domestic Goddess" from Ryan.
"Not that you need help, of course," he said with mock sincerity.
"Of course," said Sandy, as he handed Kirsten an extra special gift from him. So special, in fact, that she went quite pink and refused to take it out of the box. Sandy grinned deviously as she settled the box on the floor and herself on her his lap.
"You like it?"
"Very much. Maybe when we're done with presents you could slip a sable under my tree?" Kirsten thanked him gratefully, intersected with a kiss passionate enough to embarrass any in the room who was not an active participant.
"Officially, I'm far too innocent to have any idea what that means, but unofficially, I'm totally willing to go with it," grinned Sandy like the proverbial cream brandishing cat.
"Seriously, do you guys want me to start vomiting again? Because this is getting the juices burning," Seth protested.
"Here," said Ryan, silencing his moaning with the last of the presents he'd bought him, "Happy Chrismukkah."
"Another for me?" questioned Seth even as he pulled at the neatly corners that had caused Ryan so much trouble to reveal the smart leather bound book. "The Railway Children?"
"It's not just for kids."
Seth smiled, knowing a good opportunity to tease Ryan when he saw one. "No, it's also for people in the 1900s, who use words like yesteryear and call their parents father and mother."
"You do that," Ryan stated pointedly as Seth flicked through the covers.
"In an ironic fashion, it's completely different."
"It's a classic and you can't be my friend until you've read it."
Recognizing the deeper significance of Ryan's words, Seth dropped the raillery and offered him a half hug.
"Then I shall start it today. Thanks bro."
"You're welcome."
"The Railway Children, huh?" said Sandy as he took from Seth and leafed through the pages, "I haven't read this in years. I'm guessing you can relate."
"Something like that," Ryan replied, smiling unselfconsciously at him and Kirsten. "I figured being as I'm getting through all my issues with my mom, figured we may as well get a head start on all my issues with my Dad."
"Sounds like fun."
"Count me in," Seth chirruped, before breaking into a coughing fit, "You know assuming I don't succumb to this vile pestilence first.
"Aw poor baby," said Kirsten sweetly, ruffling Seth's hair spiritedly.
Ducking away from Seth as he swung out of his mother's reach, Ryan laughed. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd been mentally preparing himself for what he was sure would be The Worst Chrismukkah Ever. But now it was here, being here, being home with the Cohens, it felt like the start of something. Like family. And if he was right, then maybe, just maybe this Christmas would mean something more.
The End
~~~
Chapter Index: 1, 2, 3, 4.