Try It Again (Part 7)
Here is Part 7 of my Season One Ryan-centric slightly AU story, Try It Again. Sorry for the delay.... Real Life has been kicking my ass lately. As always, thanks much for the reviews...previous parts can be found at my journal. :)
And Happy Thanksgiving, to those who celebrate it! :)
Ryan pulled on his zip-up sweatshirt, completing the transformation to the Chino version of himself. He had been to the pier with Seth when he was in Newport the first time. It was only a couple of blocks, an easy walk. His heart was thumping already, his palms sweating in anticipation of finding and smashing Chip. But also he felt more at peace than he had so far this week. He had a mission. He could do what he felt he was born to do.
When he first walked down the road away from the Cohens’ house he felt certain he’d be seen. But if he had…no one tried to stop him.
Once out of the neighborhood Ryan pulled a battered packet of cigarettes out of his sweatshirt pocket, along with a fold of matches. A few deep inhales later the nicotine spread a wonderful, familiar warmth through his chest. Finally. He was in his element. It felt good.
When he reached the pier Ryan walked into the first ice cream store he came to. “Chip work here?” he asked the guy behind the counter. The guy nodded his head, eyeing Ryan somewhat suspiciously. Ryan wasn’t surprised; the sweatshirt in 75 degree weather was out of place, and he knew his lip was still visibly hurt. “Tell him somebody wants to see him outside.”
“You a friend of his?”
“No,” Ryan looked the kid in the eyes, through the bangs falling onto his forehead. He turned and went outside to wait. He lit another cigarette. He’d only taken a couple of drags when he heard the shop door swing open.
“Oh, it’s you,” Chip said in surprise. “What the Hell do you want?”
“Come here,” Ryan said gruffly, not bothering to look at Chip. He’d recognized the bastard’s voice; he was one of the two with Luke the night of the model home. Ryan walked around the side of the building, away from the people on the sidewalk. Chip hesitated, but followed him. As Ryan knew he would. Ryan tossed his cigarette away and stopped abruptly, turning to face Chip. Chip was a good four inches taller than Ryan, but that didn’t matter.
“You fuck up today, man?” Ryan asked.
“What are you talking about? I thought you went back to the ghetto. What are you even doing here?”
“You fuck up Seth Cohen today?” Ryan’s voice was short, his words clipped.
“Jesus, dude,” Chip gave Ryan a careful glance, trying to look bored but still betraying his nervousness. He reached up and adjusted his baseball cap, fidgeted with the brim. He shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get back to work,” he turned to go.
“Not yet.” Ryan reached out and straight-armed him in the shoulder. Chip had to take a step to catch his balance.
“Don’t fucking touch me, man,” Chip faced Ryan.
“Tell me why you think it’s okay to throw fucking rocks at somebody’s skateboard wheels,” Ryan’s voice was breathy and he shoved Chip backward another step. “Huh?” He shouted. Adrenaline was taking over. He hated Chip’s stupid fucking face, he hated it.
“Wait, did Cohen send you over here? You his fucking bodyguard?”
“Seth doesn’t know I’m here. And you’re not gonna tell him.”
Chip stood his ground but his hands raised slightly, palms facing Ryan. Chip was displaying a gesture of submission that he probably didn’t notice he was making. Ryan noticed, and he set his jaw in annoyance.
He wasn’t going to be able to teach Chip a lesson if Chip pussied out on him.
“Are you afraid to fight me now that it’s not three against one?” Ryan asked, a crooked grin jerking into place for only a moment. “You weren’t scared at all two weeks ago.”
“I don’t have a problem with you.” They were definitely shouting at each other now.
“Chip? You all right?” Ryan and Chip both turned toward the voice. The guy from behind the counter. The ice cream jerk. Of course. Of course this was happening.
“Jay,” Chip’s face turned smug. He smiled a devilish little smile. “Come over here for a minute.”
“This guy giving you a problem?” Jay gave Ryan an uncertain look. He was skinny, and Ryan had no doubt in his mind that he could take him. But two against one was always tricky. Ryan tilted his head back a touch, watching and waiting.
“Yeah. I kicked his ass a couple of weeks ago and apparently he hasn’t had enough.”
“This isn’t about me,” Ryan growled.
“Why don’t you just walk away, Ryan?” Chip spat.
“Yeah, get the Hell out of here or my boss is gonna call the cops,” Jay added. Ryan flinched a little at the mention of the police. His resolve wavered. His rib still hurt from AJ.
Then he heard the clunk of Seth’s skateboard in his mind. Saw Seth rub his back. Saw him limp. And before he knew what he was doing Ryan grunted and dove at Chip. For several seconds they were a flurry of limbs. Crashing to the cement, rolling over each other. Chip managed to land a blow just under Ryan’s left eye but Ryan barely felt it. He was much too angry, and used to harder hits than Chip could deal out.
Ryan’s hurt rib was slowing him down. But he knew he didn’t have much time before Jay would get his shit together and join in. With a great shove Ryan managed to pin Chip down for a moment to collect himself. He raised a fist and hit Chip three times - three quick punches to the face. Mouth, cheek, head. Not hard enough to break anything.
Ryan was no idiot.
By then Jay was pulling on the back of Ryan’s sweatshirt, yanking him off Chip. Ryan stumbled to his feet and jerked away from the skinny kid. He stood still and waited for Chip to get up. Ryan’s breaths were deep and shaky, a bit rattly in his lungs.
“You done?” Ryan asked. Chip glared at him and stood up. He touched at his mouth, which was bleeding. He spit. Chip looked at Jay, who moved to grab Ryan again. Ryan whipped around with a fist cocked high in the air. He shot Jay a thunderously angry look and shouted, “Really? You sure you want to do this?” He grabbed a fistful of Jay’s shirt and pulled him close for a second, then changed his mind just as quickly and shoved him away.
Jay caught himself and froze, his fingers splayed. Looked at Ryan like maybe he was just a little bit crazy.
“Fuck him,” Chip muttered, wiping blood off his face. “Come on.” Jay nodded his head nervously and followed Chip back into the ice cream shop.
They were gone.
“Shit,” Ryan hissed, letting his shoulders sag as his breath whooshed out. He flexed the fingers of his right hand and grunted in pain. He looked down and saw that he’d busted two of his knuckles on Chip’s stupid teeth. His hand hurt and it was bloody. His eye was swelling a little, too. He could feel it.
All in all, though, he’d gotten off easy.
So had Chip, in Ryan’s opinion.
He quickly took off his wifebeater and sweatshirt and pulled the sweatshirt back on, zipping it up. He wrapped the shirt around his hand to stop the bleeding.
He took a step, ready to get out of the alley, and wavered on his feet. He had to stop, had to hold onto something. He grabbed the nearest support - the edge of a metal trash bin. He felt like crap, all of a sudden. Ryan dragged himself closer to the can, holding on now for dear life. His head was swimming and fuzzy and he was fairly certain he was going to throw up. He waited with his head over the bin for the feeling to pass.
The same thing had happened the last time he’d been in a fight…a fair fight. Except last time he’d been hurt worse, so he’d figured that explained things. But the nausea he was feeling now wasn’t from getting punched in the stomach, so what was it from? He saw Jay’s stricken face in his mind and closed his eyes. He didn’t even know that kid. And he’d been ready to punch his fucking lights out. A fucking skinny-ass ice cream dealer who was just trying to help his friend. Ryan’s stomach lurched and he held tighter to the rim of the garbage can, the knuckles of his hurt hand throbbing.
He saw his own face behind squeezed-shut eyes, his own pathetic, scared face staring up at AJ and quietly waiting for the worst to be over. He felt the persistent fiery ache of his broken rib. Saw his fist aimed at Jay’s shockingly innocent expression. His fist.
Ryan’s stomach churned harder and he gave up, vomiting again and again into the trash can. When he was finally empty and able to straighten up and take a breath he was aware of the tears on his face for the first time.
Fucking softy. You’re lucky your brother can’t see you now.
Ryan shook his head violently to clear his mind and sling the tears from his cheeks, then shoved away from the can. He saw the brick wall of the ice cream store blurrily, through damp eyes, and was all of a sudden wrecking his hand. He pounded his wrapped fist into the wall again and again until pain wrapped around him like a warm blanket. When it was clear to Ryan that he’d gone too far he stopped, throwing one last half-hearted punch. His hand hurt like Hell now and he slowly began to get his senses back.
He waited and let his eyes droop half-closed while the stars in his vision receded and the world around him came into a sharper focus.
The nausea was gone.
He was glad he’d kept the shirt wrapped around his fist because he was fairly certain he hadn’t broken anything, and that would have been a pain in the ass to explain. I swear I’m not violent. Ha, ha.
He’d kept the shirt around his fist not because he was fucking weak but because he was smart.
Because. Ryan. Atwood. Was. No. Fucking. Idiot.
But he had to get out of this alley before they called the cops for real. Ryan took a deep breath. He lit a cigarette awkwardly with aching, trembling fingers and closed his eyes with the first draw.
With one more steadying, balancing breath he started back toward Seth’s house.
Sandy was waiting on the poolhouse bed when Ryan got back. Ryan should have figured on this, but he hadn’t.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Sandy said as Ryan opened the door. He saw Sandy’s eyes widen as he took in Ryan’s swollen face, then his wrapped hand. To his credit, he didn’t react otherwise. “Where have you been?” his voice was cold.
“Pier,” Ryan mumbled. His voice came out croaky and he self-consciously averted his eyes, staring at the wall behind Sandy. He wanted badly to rub his chest, try to soothe the pinching pain out of his rib, but he couldn’t do that in front of Sandy. Not right now.
“I sent Seth to get you for dinner. Do you have any idea how I felt when he said you weren’t here?”
“I’m sorry?” Ryan said. Was that the right answer? Because Ryan was a little too wound up to play guessing games right now.
“Yesterday with the garage, today at the pier…. You can’t keep disappearing, kid. I need to know where you are. Do you understand that?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” Sandy said loudly, sharply. Ryan blinked and tilted his head. Now comes the fun part, he thought. “Who’d you beat up?”
Ryan shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“Am I gonna get a call from your probation officer?”
Another shrug. Adrenaline was still racing Ryan’s heart, still making him high. It was hard to stand still and take Sandy’s lecture right now.
“Do you care at all about what happens to you? Why would you put yourself in danger like this?”
“What does it matter?” Ryan snapped. “I’m going back to Juvie no matter what. Either that or a group home. You and I both know that.”
“Not necessarily, kid--”
“You can lie to Seth, maybe, but you can’t lie to me. I know how the system works.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Sandy was still using a stricter voice than Ryan was comfortable with. He squirmed a little, leaned back against the poolhouse wall. Sandy sighed. “Let’s see your hand.”
“It’s all right,” Ryan mumbled.
“Now, Ryan.”
Ryan stared at Sandy while he tried to figure out what to do. He didn’t understand why Sandy was still here. Ryan knew that what he’d done was wrong. He was beginning to believe that Sandy wouldn’t beat him for misbehavior. So what else did he want? Finally Ryan pulled the white shirt off his hand, holding his knuckles out toward Sandy. His hand was shaking.
“Aw, Hell, kid,” Sandy stood up and came closer to look at Ryan’s hand. His knuckles were purple and still oozing blood. His fingers were swollen. “How bad did you hurt him?” Sandy asked, purposefully avoiding Ryan’s eyes.
“Not bad.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
“You need to have a doctor look at that hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine and I’ll make an appointment for after dinner.”
“Why don’t you just let me go back to Chino?” Ryan asked loudly.
“You’ve got three days left, kid. We’re not letting you go that easy. Go wash up and come to the table for dinner. We’ve been waiting.”
“I don’t think Kirsten is going to want--”
“She’s gonna see this sometime,” Sandy interrupted unapologetically. “And you need to eat. We’ll talk about what happened later.”
“Dude,” Seth said as they sat around the table a few minutes later. “Who hit you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I think the question is: ‘Who did Ryan hit?’” Kirsten said, eyeing Ryan’s injured hand.
“That’s one of the questions,” Sandy acknowledged.
“Nobody that didn’t deserve it,” Ryan said gruffly. He self-consciously tucked his hand under the table.
“We’re gonna talk about this later,” Sandy said.
Food was served. Forks clinked on plates. Ryan had a hard time using his utensils in his left hand but he wasn’t willing to give Kirsten the satisfaction of seeing his sore knuckles. Thinking she was right all along. Hell, knowing she was right.
Sandy drank a glass of wine more quickly than normal and then went to the fridge for a beer. Ryan put his fork down and sat back. He’d never seen what Sandy was like when he was drunk, and he wasn’t in any hurry to find out. He’d made his appearance at the dinner table. He’d done his part. Now he could wait for a good chance to excuse himself and go take a fucking shower. Try to sleep.
“What happened?” Seth asked quietly. He’d barely taken his eyes off Ryan since dinner started. “Where did you go?”
Ryan just shook his head.
“He went to the pier,” Sandy said around a mouthful of chicken.
“The pier?” Seth’s voice was hurt, and Ryan glanced into his eyes. Yes, definitely hurt. “If you wanted to go to the pier why didn’t you go with me?”
“I didn’t want to go,” Ryan began. He stopped himself. “Forget it.”
Kirsten’s eyes sharpened. She looked at Ryan, who shrank back a little under her gaze. “Your dad’s right, Seth,” Kirsten said. “We’ll talk about this later.” She understood. Ryan could tell. She knew what Ryan had done. And the look she was giving him was one of…approval? Not quite. But definitely understanding.
“Whoever it was,” Kirsten said, “Is he all right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you thirsty? Can I get you some juice?”
“I’ll get it,” Ryan said, moving to stand up.
“Don’t be silly. You rest.” Kirsten put her napkin on the table and stood up, walked to the fridge. Ryan’s face burned and he carefully avoided looking up from his plate. He could feel Sandy staring at him. Seth didn’t notice anything strange going on. Seth wasn’t much for undercurrents.
Sandy, on the other hand….
“Seth, excuse us for a few minutes, please.”
“Dad! I’m eating.”
“Take your dinner with you if you want. Your mother and I need to talk to Ryan.”
“Da-ad!”
“Now, son,” Sandy said sharply. With an annoyed grunt Seth got up and left the table. They heard his bedroom door close. Kirsten came back to the table and set Ryan’s juice in front of him. She gave him a little smile and touched him reassuringly on the arm. Ryan swallowed hard, afraid of the position he was being eased into.
“What do you two know that I don’t?” Sandy asked.
“I thought you wanted to talk about this later--” Ryan began.
“It’s later enough,” Sandy interrupted. He watched Ryan shift uneasily and sigh.
“Some kid was messing with Seth and I hit him a couple of times. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Sandy asked loudly. He looked at his wife. “Did you know about this?”
“I had no idea Ryan left. I told you that earlier,” Kirsten returned calmly. She was the only calm one in the room.
“Well that’s evasive,” Sandy shot back.
“She didn’t know,” Ryan said. “I overheard Seth talking about this idiot kid and I told him to lay off. Kirsten had nothing to do with it.”
“Excuse me,” Sandy said loudly, glaring at Ryan. “I’m talking to my wife.” He turned back to Kirsten so quickly that he missed Ryan’s reaction to his words, his tone. Ryan’s shoulders curved inward, his back arched a little. He all but covered his face with his hands, trying to disappear.
He might have been making things up to Seth, but he certainly wasn’t repaying Sandy in any way that Sandy could appreciate.
“Relax,” Kirsten admonished gently. “He was protecting our son.”
“Go to the poolhouse, Ryan,” Sandy ordered.
“Sandy!” Kirsten urged.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan mumbled, standing quickly and escaping the kitchen as fast as possible.
“What are you trying to do?” Kirsten asked once he was gone. “The poor kid--”
“Poor kid!?” Sandy demanded. “He’s probably getting ready to run right now.” Sandy stood and went to the sliding glass door, watching the poolhouse with his arms crossed over his chest. “He has no right to act out when we’re trying to convince Social Services….” Sandy drifted off. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we shouldn’t be trying to convince Social Services of anything. Maybe I should let Ryan’s behavior speak for itself. Maybe I made a mistake trying to help him in the first place.”
“You’re just upset--”
“Wouldn’t you love that,” Sandy’s voice was dull now. “If you were right all along.”
“I don’t need to be right, Sandy. And he was protecting our son,” Kirsten repeated.
“He’s not your guard dog, Kirsten,” Sandy didn’t watch as his wife’s face fell in disbelief. To be honest, his words had shocked him a little, too. It was time to get out of there. “I’m gonna go sleep in front of his door. Again. If he runs…. If he runs I’m going to have way too many people saying ‘I told you so.’”
“Oh, come on,” Kirsten tried one more time. “Like that has ever mattered to you--”
“I thought he was different,” Sandy shook his head. Defeated. “But I need to put my family first.” With that Sandy picked up his beer and stalked out to the poolhouse, leaving Kirsten wide-eyed and unhappy.
Sandy peered closely at Ryan’s face. He was still in the bed, breathing slowly and regularly. Satisfied, Sandy pushed the old familiar armchair into place in front of the main poolhouse door. He sighed as he resigned himself to another uncomfortable night. He took a swig of beer and put the bottle on the floor. He walked softly to the bathroom and took his time washing his face and taking calming breaths to ground himself.
Once settled back in the armchair he reached for his beer, found it empty.
Strange.
He was sure there’d been at least half of it left.
He must be more tired than he thought. Dinner had been quite late, and he’d had a long day. That last drink must have been deeper and longer than he remembered.
Weird.
He’d really been looking forward to that last half a beer. He squinted his eyes to focus again on Ryan. The boy was sleeping, for sure. Sandy tried to get comfortable in the awkward chair and settled in for a long night.
Ryan, finally daring to peek out at the statue of Sandy left blocking the doorway, tried to slow his racing heart.
He hoped he’d be long gone before the Cohens’ houseplants began to die.