(no subject)
I am going to reply to comments tonight after my party and before I finish my SOP for Montana.
This is also not getting my 12 days of christmas fics written.
Ryan Ross used to wonder what kind of children he would want, someday. Usually he imagined himself with a daughter and ribbons and bows that would never stay tied. He didn't imagine Yu-Gi-Oh cards and practice schedules.
Ryan Ross used to wonder what kind of children he would want, someday. Usually he imagined himself with a daughter and ribbons and bows that would never stay tied. He didn't imagine Yu-Gi-Oh cards and practice schedules.
He used to wonder about getting married or if he'd end up with joint custody, if Spencer would still be around and if the kid would call him "Uncle Spencer."
Christopher doesn't; Christopher doesn't even call Ryan "Uncle Ryan." He's just Ryan, the same as he's always been, only now Christopher huffs loudly and crosses his arms when Ryan doesn't respond, when he used to tug on Ryan's shirt or call for his mom.
Christopher can't call for his mom now, and he hasn't been able to for almost two years.
"Ryan," he says again, and he screws up his face, lips pursed. "I'm hungry."
It's after five, Ryan realizes with a start, and he puts his pen down. He doesn't close his jounral, though, because closing the journal is closing off the connection, and Ryan likes the idea of the words waiting for him to wander back and pick up again, like he's just momentarily walked away from a game of skip-rope.
"Sorry," he says, rubbing his eyes even though there is ink across his palms. He opens the freezer, and there's nothing but the weird ice cream that Haley bought months ago, that neither of them would eat. He winces and opens the fridge, and it's similarly bare. "Oh."
"I was gonna make a cheese sandwich, but we just have ends left." Christopher frowns.
Ryan rubs his eyes again, because he's tired suddenly. He has to go grocery shopping, because Spencer will kill him if he sees the fridge is empty. "Okay. Get your stuff, and we can do drive-up on the way to Brendon's."
"Awesome!" Christopher takes guitar lessons with Brendon on the nights that Ryan has classes to teach, lessons that seem to convientently end in video games and movie watching, and Ryan's fairly positive that it's having a negative impact on his vocabulary. "Can we go to Wendy's? I wanna get a frosty, and can we get one for Brendon? With extra fries?"
Mostly I want to write this for this:
"Would you be sad if... Would it make you sad if I wanted to look for my dad?" Christopher asks, when Ryan's checking over his spelling homework. He can barely hear him, voice soft and low, and there's something horribly shy to the way Christopher's saying it, fearful, like Ryan would forbid him the chance to get to know his father.
He puts down the pencil and folds his hands, because there's so much that Christopher doesn't know, about the months that Ryan didn't know if Christopher was still going to be there in the morning, if CPS had managed to tract down Margaret's old boyfriend in fucking Illinois when Christopher had never been out of Nevada (until Brendon invited them both to Disneyland with his family, three months after Ryan got the call). He has Christopher now; Christopher is under his care and protection and guardianship, but it still makes him a little sick to think that there is a guy out there that could challenge his right to custody.
Challenge and win, because Ryan's only Christopher's second cousin.
"You know that the police tried, right?" he asks, because he has to say something. He can't not.
Christopher nods, and he chews on his lip. "Just, like, I wanted to, before, and I didn't want to make Mom really sad." Christopher's voice goes soft on "mom," still does after two years, and Ryan can only begin to imagine what that feels like. He still has a weird ache inside when he talks about his dad, and his dad's been gone ten years.
Ryan reaches over and smooths Christopher's hair. They aren't big on hugs. "How do you want to look for him?"
"Just the computer, like for school. Only for my dad." Christopher looks up at Ryan, and his eyes are bright and hopeful, and Ryan hates that he can't say no to that look. He should be able to say no; he's not supposed to spoil the kid.
"Okay, fine. Just no giving out our address to strangers on the internet and don't tell anyone your last name." Ryan picks up his pencil again and circles "opposite," where Christopher has forgotten a "P."
He shouldn't be worried. The "Jonathon Walker" on Christopher's birth certificate hasn't been listed anywhere. Margaret didn't leave a mention of him in any of her journals or emails that Ryan looked through before he had to remember too much. Spencer sometimes theorizes that he doesn't actually exist.
It says a lot about what Margaret thought of the guy that Christopher's last name is "Ross," but he can't say any of that to Christopher and he just smiles back when Christopher grins at him.
This is also not getting my 12 days of christmas fics written.
Ryan Ross used to wonder what kind of children he would want, someday. Usually he imagined himself with a daughter and ribbons and bows that would never stay tied. He didn't imagine Yu-Gi-Oh cards and practice schedules.
Ryan Ross used to wonder what kind of children he would want, someday. Usually he imagined himself with a daughter and ribbons and bows that would never stay tied. He didn't imagine Yu-Gi-Oh cards and practice schedules.
He used to wonder about getting married or if he'd end up with joint custody, if Spencer would still be around and if the kid would call him "Uncle Spencer."
Christopher doesn't; Christopher doesn't even call Ryan "Uncle Ryan." He's just Ryan, the same as he's always been, only now Christopher huffs loudly and crosses his arms when Ryan doesn't respond, when he used to tug on Ryan's shirt or call for his mom.
Christopher can't call for his mom now, and he hasn't been able to for almost two years.
"Ryan," he says again, and he screws up his face, lips pursed. "I'm hungry."
It's after five, Ryan realizes with a start, and he puts his pen down. He doesn't close his jounral, though, because closing the journal is closing off the connection, and Ryan likes the idea of the words waiting for him to wander back and pick up again, like he's just momentarily walked away from a game of skip-rope.
"Sorry," he says, rubbing his eyes even though there is ink across his palms. He opens the freezer, and there's nothing but the weird ice cream that Haley bought months ago, that neither of them would eat. He winces and opens the fridge, and it's similarly bare. "Oh."
"I was gonna make a cheese sandwich, but we just have ends left." Christopher frowns.
Ryan rubs his eyes again, because he's tired suddenly. He has to go grocery shopping, because Spencer will kill him if he sees the fridge is empty. "Okay. Get your stuff, and we can do drive-up on the way to Brendon's."
"Awesome!" Christopher takes guitar lessons with Brendon on the nights that Ryan has classes to teach, lessons that seem to convientently end in video games and movie watching, and Ryan's fairly positive that it's having a negative impact on his vocabulary. "Can we go to Wendy's? I wanna get a frosty, and can we get one for Brendon? With extra fries?"
Mostly I want to write this for this:
"Would you be sad if... Would it make you sad if I wanted to look for my dad?" Christopher asks, when Ryan's checking over his spelling homework. He can barely hear him, voice soft and low, and there's something horribly shy to the way Christopher's saying it, fearful, like Ryan would forbid him the chance to get to know his father.
He puts down the pencil and folds his hands, because there's so much that Christopher doesn't know, about the months that Ryan didn't know if Christopher was still going to be there in the morning, if CPS had managed to tract down Margaret's old boyfriend in fucking Illinois when Christopher had never been out of Nevada (until Brendon invited them both to Disneyland with his family, three months after Ryan got the call). He has Christopher now; Christopher is under his care and protection and guardianship, but it still makes him a little sick to think that there is a guy out there that could challenge his right to custody.
Challenge and win, because Ryan's only Christopher's second cousin.
"You know that the police tried, right?" he asks, because he has to say something. He can't not.
Christopher nods, and he chews on his lip. "Just, like, I wanted to, before, and I didn't want to make Mom really sad." Christopher's voice goes soft on "mom," still does after two years, and Ryan can only begin to imagine what that feels like. He still has a weird ache inside when he talks about his dad, and his dad's been gone ten years.
Ryan reaches over and smooths Christopher's hair. They aren't big on hugs. "How do you want to look for him?"
"Just the computer, like for school. Only for my dad." Christopher looks up at Ryan, and his eyes are bright and hopeful, and Ryan hates that he can't say no to that look. He should be able to say no; he's not supposed to spoil the kid.
"Okay, fine. Just no giving out our address to strangers on the internet and don't tell anyone your last name." Ryan picks up his pencil again and circles "opposite," where Christopher has forgotten a "P."
He shouldn't be worried. The "Jonathon Walker" on Christopher's birth certificate hasn't been listed anywhere. Margaret didn't leave a mention of him in any of her journals or emails that Ryan looked through before he had to remember too much. Spencer sometimes theorizes that he doesn't actually exist.
It says a lot about what Margaret thought of the guy that Christopher's last name is "Ross," but he can't say any of that to Christopher and he just smiles back when Christopher grins at him.