O.C. Fic, "Roots" (now beta'd!!)
Title : Roots
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG
Summary : Some Ryan introspection during "The Telenovela."
Spoilers : Everything up to The Telenovela
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes : I'm working on a multi-chaptered O.C. fic, but this came to me yesterday, after I'd watched "The Telenovela" and I just had to write it.
Many, many thanks to Joey51, who beta'd this for me!
Roots
Helen C.
Ryan loved Theresa.
This was a simple fact in his life, one he had never questioned, and about the only thing that *was* simple as far as their relationship was concerned.
They had known each other since they were kids. She had always been a friend, and sometimes more than that.
She had been the first person he had ever had sex with - they had been bored and curious one night. It had taken Ryan two weeks to stop blushing when he saw her after that, and it had taken her twice that time to stop giggling nervously whenever he was around.
*That* had been smooth.
They had dated, on and off, fighting during the "on" phases and confiding in each other during the "off" phases. She had mercilessly teased him about his choices of girlfriends, he had joked about her disputable taste in men.
She was probably the person who knew him best.
And their relationship was complicated. His feelings for her were, and had always been, a tangled web that even he couldn't understand - conflicted emotions, memories of shared jokes and disappointments, companionship and loneliness, issues never addressed because talking would just have poured salt on the wound.
Tonight had been no exception; from the argument in her room to the laughter in the Cohens' dining room, Ryan had felt both on familiar ground, and on the verge of a cataclysmic change that would refine his whole life.
"Do you think taking off will fix things up?"
"You did!"
Two simple words for an accusation she had already uttered on Thanksgiving, and still, he hadn't replied that he hadn't had a choice, that he had just rolled with the punches until he could stand up again and see where he had landed.
He could have pointed out that his mother had kicked him out. That he had found himself, at sixteen, on a street corner with a backpack and just enough change to place a few phone calls. Phone calls that didn't help, that taught him not to rely on friends too much, because he'd always end up disappointed.
He could have pointed out that shortly after that, his mother had emptied the house while he had his back turned, and had left him a brief "I can't do this anymore" note. Perfect summary for his whole family life. Like a stab in the back, and he could still feel the hurt now, dulled but still present, like a wound that was taking its sweet time to form a scar.
He could have added that his mother had walked out on him again a third time that week. She had left him in the care of people she didn't know, strangers who seemed nice and rich enough to take him in. And now, Ryan was living off the kindness of strangers, trying to accept their charity graciously, trying to adapt to a life so different from what he had always known that he might as well have landed on an entirely different planet.
He could have asked her what she suggested. Did she think he should come back to Chino and work construction too, so that he could become another AJ? Did she think he should have stayed in juvie to pay his debt to society, so that he could become another Trey?
He didn't know why he hadn't told her. She was a friend, and friends could yell and fight and still remain friends. But the moment hadn't been right. Besides, Ryan hadn't wanted to remind her of the fact that his own mother didn't want him anymore, because how pathetic was that?
Now there was always an underlying "why were you lucky enough to escape?" undercurrent to his relationship with his past friends. And in truth, who could blame them? He had seen people at his old school leave abusive households, run from Chino, and he had envied their ability to never turn back. He still did, a little. He had a good life here, but he still felt vaguely guilty. He had lucked out. Someone had looked at him and seen something in him that he still didn't understand. Someone had decided he deserved a chance.
Three years ago, Ryan had looked on while other people got those kind of chances. Or died, turned to drugs, or ran away, because they weren't lucky.
He had seen an exit sign, he had told Arturo on Thanksgiving. An exit sign, placed over a door on which no one had written "jail" or "junkie." He had seen a slight chance, and had taken it and prayed for the best.
Arturo had nodded, smiled, put a hand on his shoulder. "Good for you." And Ryan had known that of all his friends, Arturo was the most likely to ever understand, because he had always had a soft spot for Ryan and wished the best for him.
Sure, even now, life wasn't easy. People in Newport, he had quickly learned, were just as screwed up as people in Chino, and had more money and more power - which made them that much more dangerous. And Ryan himself had a hard time fitting in, letting people get close and relaxing.
As difficult as his life was in Newport, it wasn't as hard as Eddie's and Theresa's. There were opportunities here. There was money. There was food in the refrigerator. There were chances.
He didn't think he would ever take that for granted. He didn't think he would ever forget his mother explaining to him that they had to do without diner, because there wasn't enough money left, before she drank a bottle of scotch and passed out in front of the TV.
Theresa hadn't known all that. Ryan hadn't told her about the beatings, explaining off the bruises as accidents, and laughing when she gently teased him. "How can someone be as good at soccer as you are, and be unable to walk without falling?"
Ryan always tried to be honest with himself, and in the privacy of his own mind, he had to admit he was slightly angry - she hadn't *seen.* She hadn't guessed. He hadn't wanted her to see, but there had always been a small part of him that had hoped she would - that small, bewildered part of him that didn't understand why a question about the empty cupboard had to earn him a backhanded slap.
"You've forgotten where you came from."
Ryan could have laughed. How could he have forgotten that he had a father and a brother in jail, a junkie mother and an overwhelming fear of ending up like these wonderful role models?
How could he have forgotten all the times his mother had told him that he would never amount to anything? How could he have forgotten that AJ had laughed at him for working during the summer, then taken the money to buy his coke and get wasted in their living room?
He still remembered very clearly where he came from.
Sometimes, he took a look back and realised just how much better his life was now, even surrounded by all these snobbish people who looked at him warily. He was almost dizzy with relief.
And then tonight, there had been Eddie, too. Eddie, who had smirked at him, looked at the Cohens' house and at Ryan, and all but congratulated him on a plan well-executed. It had been in his eyes. "Got into the rich people's good graces?"
Different words than Theresa's, same sentiment.
You forgot your roots.
Eddie had been almost threatening. He wasn't overtly fighting yet, but he was laying the groundwork. "Back off" was written all over him, and Theresa.
Ryan hadn't forgotten that - the way it was done. He would end up with a few more shiners to add to his collection if he helped Theresa.
They didn't know that even though he had gone away, he hadn't turned his back on them. They didn't know that he was still the same person - with nicer clothes that made him feel like a stranger in his own skin, and loving foster parents who made him feel loved and wanted for the first time in his life.
This situation would require him to remember where he came from. His roots.
Ryan smiled.
He hadn't forgotten them.
He didn't know where he stood with Theresa, but he knew who he was - not exactly the boy she had known, who spent too much energy on trying to hide his home life; not the boy she thought he was now, transformed by money and luxury.
Just Ryan.
And even though he didn't love himself yet, at least he wasn't disgusted with himself anymore.
Now, if he could only wade his way through the girl trouble in his life…
END
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG
Summary : Some Ryan introspection during "The Telenovela."
Spoilers : Everything up to The Telenovela
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes : I'm working on a multi-chaptered O.C. fic, but this came to me yesterday, after I'd watched "The Telenovela" and I just had to write it.
Many, many thanks to Joey51, who beta'd this for me!
Roots
Helen C.
Ryan loved Theresa.
This was a simple fact in his life, one he had never questioned, and about the only thing that *was* simple as far as their relationship was concerned.
They had known each other since they were kids. She had always been a friend, and sometimes more than that.
She had been the first person he had ever had sex with - they had been bored and curious one night. It had taken Ryan two weeks to stop blushing when he saw her after that, and it had taken her twice that time to stop giggling nervously whenever he was around.
*That* had been smooth.
They had dated, on and off, fighting during the "on" phases and confiding in each other during the "off" phases. She had mercilessly teased him about his choices of girlfriends, he had joked about her disputable taste in men.
She was probably the person who knew him best.
And their relationship was complicated. His feelings for her were, and had always been, a tangled web that even he couldn't understand - conflicted emotions, memories of shared jokes and disappointments, companionship and loneliness, issues never addressed because talking would just have poured salt on the wound.
Tonight had been no exception; from the argument in her room to the laughter in the Cohens' dining room, Ryan had felt both on familiar ground, and on the verge of a cataclysmic change that would refine his whole life.
"Do you think taking off will fix things up?"
"You did!"
Two simple words for an accusation she had already uttered on Thanksgiving, and still, he hadn't replied that he hadn't had a choice, that he had just rolled with the punches until he could stand up again and see where he had landed.
He could have pointed out that his mother had kicked him out. That he had found himself, at sixteen, on a street corner with a backpack and just enough change to place a few phone calls. Phone calls that didn't help, that taught him not to rely on friends too much, because he'd always end up disappointed.
He could have pointed out that shortly after that, his mother had emptied the house while he had his back turned, and had left him a brief "I can't do this anymore" note. Perfect summary for his whole family life. Like a stab in the back, and he could still feel the hurt now, dulled but still present, like a wound that was taking its sweet time to form a scar.
He could have added that his mother had walked out on him again a third time that week. She had left him in the care of people she didn't know, strangers who seemed nice and rich enough to take him in. And now, Ryan was living off the kindness of strangers, trying to accept their charity graciously, trying to adapt to a life so different from what he had always known that he might as well have landed on an entirely different planet.
He could have asked her what she suggested. Did she think he should come back to Chino and work construction too, so that he could become another AJ? Did she think he should have stayed in juvie to pay his debt to society, so that he could become another Trey?
He didn't know why he hadn't told her. She was a friend, and friends could yell and fight and still remain friends. But the moment hadn't been right. Besides, Ryan hadn't wanted to remind her of the fact that his own mother didn't want him anymore, because how pathetic was that?
Now there was always an underlying "why were you lucky enough to escape?" undercurrent to his relationship with his past friends. And in truth, who could blame them? He had seen people at his old school leave abusive households, run from Chino, and he had envied their ability to never turn back. He still did, a little. He had a good life here, but he still felt vaguely guilty. He had lucked out. Someone had looked at him and seen something in him that he still didn't understand. Someone had decided he deserved a chance.
Three years ago, Ryan had looked on while other people got those kind of chances. Or died, turned to drugs, or ran away, because they weren't lucky.
He had seen an exit sign, he had told Arturo on Thanksgiving. An exit sign, placed over a door on which no one had written "jail" or "junkie." He had seen a slight chance, and had taken it and prayed for the best.
Arturo had nodded, smiled, put a hand on his shoulder. "Good for you." And Ryan had known that of all his friends, Arturo was the most likely to ever understand, because he had always had a soft spot for Ryan and wished the best for him.
Sure, even now, life wasn't easy. People in Newport, he had quickly learned, were just as screwed up as people in Chino, and had more money and more power - which made them that much more dangerous. And Ryan himself had a hard time fitting in, letting people get close and relaxing.
As difficult as his life was in Newport, it wasn't as hard as Eddie's and Theresa's. There were opportunities here. There was money. There was food in the refrigerator. There were chances.
He didn't think he would ever take that for granted. He didn't think he would ever forget his mother explaining to him that they had to do without diner, because there wasn't enough money left, before she drank a bottle of scotch and passed out in front of the TV.
Theresa hadn't known all that. Ryan hadn't told her about the beatings, explaining off the bruises as accidents, and laughing when she gently teased him. "How can someone be as good at soccer as you are, and be unable to walk without falling?"
Ryan always tried to be honest with himself, and in the privacy of his own mind, he had to admit he was slightly angry - she hadn't *seen.* She hadn't guessed. He hadn't wanted her to see, but there had always been a small part of him that had hoped she would - that small, bewildered part of him that didn't understand why a question about the empty cupboard had to earn him a backhanded slap.
"You've forgotten where you came from."
Ryan could have laughed. How could he have forgotten that he had a father and a brother in jail, a junkie mother and an overwhelming fear of ending up like these wonderful role models?
How could he have forgotten all the times his mother had told him that he would never amount to anything? How could he have forgotten that AJ had laughed at him for working during the summer, then taken the money to buy his coke and get wasted in their living room?
He still remembered very clearly where he came from.
Sometimes, he took a look back and realised just how much better his life was now, even surrounded by all these snobbish people who looked at him warily. He was almost dizzy with relief.
And then tonight, there had been Eddie, too. Eddie, who had smirked at him, looked at the Cohens' house and at Ryan, and all but congratulated him on a plan well-executed. It had been in his eyes. "Got into the rich people's good graces?"
Different words than Theresa's, same sentiment.
You forgot your roots.
Eddie had been almost threatening. He wasn't overtly fighting yet, but he was laying the groundwork. "Back off" was written all over him, and Theresa.
Ryan hadn't forgotten that - the way it was done. He would end up with a few more shiners to add to his collection if he helped Theresa.
They didn't know that even though he had gone away, he hadn't turned his back on them. They didn't know that he was still the same person - with nicer clothes that made him feel like a stranger in his own skin, and loving foster parents who made him feel loved and wanted for the first time in his life.
This situation would require him to remember where he came from. His roots.
Ryan smiled.
He hadn't forgotten them.
He didn't know where he stood with Theresa, but he knew who he was - not exactly the boy she had known, who spent too much energy on trying to hide his home life; not the boy she thought he was now, transformed by money and luxury.
Just Ryan.
And even though he didn't love himself yet, at least he wasn't disgusted with himself anymore.
Now, if he could only wade his way through the girl trouble in his life…
END