Disclaimer: Characters still belong to people who are not me.
Spoilers: Series 3: The Graduates
Notes: Again, many thanks for the reviews, I really do appreciate them. This is the fourth and potentially final chapter; I do have an idea for a further scene/ficlet, but I'm not so sure about it. We'll see. Anyway, in case it is the final chapter, a sincere thank you for all the lovely reviews; I hope you've enjoyed reading this little series of ficlets as much as I've enjoyed writing them.
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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
William Shakespeare
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There are no words. Not for this. Not that are in any way meaningful, helpful. No words that are remotely adequate. Even Seth drops into silence and her oft longed-for quiet is a despised companion. Despair blankets them all, envelops them in a dark and suffocating cocoon.
The words her mind conjures up at this moment are half-finished thoughts that course through her brain in incoherent confusion. Not Ryan. Oh God. Marissa. Can't breathe. Julie. Not Ryan. Blood. Seth. Sandy. What now? Ryan. Marissa. Oh God.
Even if Ryan hadn't closed his eyes, he would be paying little attention to his surroundings. He would not see the despair, relief, guilt, pain, anger, and myriad other emotions that cross her features.
He is numb, unresponsive to any outside influence, his face giving away nothing of his pain.
She has sat by his hospital bed for over half an hour now in silence. At first, she tried speaking, but the words wouldn't come out beyond a half-cry of "Ryan." Every other thought that came into her head at this time – thank God you're okay; I love you; I'm sorry; we'll get through this; thank God you're okay – seemed… insufficient. She cried after this, gasping sobs that would not be quelled for a long while even by Sandy's attempts at comfort.
Ryan responded to nothing. Not Seth. Not Sandy. Not Summer.
They don't know what happened beyond what the police have informed them. Whether Ryan will tell of more, she doesn't know. She doubts it.
For now he remains in a catatonic state and she almost loathes the fact that he will have to return to reality at some point.
She reaches out a hand to him, her fingers lingering on his cuts as they trail slowly, softly down his arm, across his forehead, comforting. I love you, they whisper. I'm glad you're okay. I'm sorry about Marissa. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry that I can't stop the hurt.
She looks over at Sandy, who sits beside her, one hand in hers, the other holding Ryan's. His eyes red; his emotions mirroring hers.
She holds back a sob; it is overwhelming all of this and yet she must somehow remain strong.
Her gaze is averted rapidly back towards Ryan as his eyelids flicker. And then, they open. He looks at her for the briefest of moments. Their eyes meet fleetingly and she literally takes in a sharp breath as she sees the depths of his despair, anger, self-loathing, hurt, fear in that short second. He blames himself, she thinks, achingly. Ryan closes his eyes again, and her fingers reach to his arm again, but he pulls away, withdrawing into himself, tensing all the muscles in his body. He rolls over onto his side, facing away from them.
Her emotions threaten to overcome her, but Sandy's hand, gripping hers, anchors her.
She does not know what to do and instinct takes over. Her hand, unable to break contact with her son for long, reaches out again, moves to his back, rubs up and down soothingly. She moves herself to sit on the side of his bed, nearer to him. She cannot let him go, not now, not after all this time. He is part of her family, and she will always fight fiercely for her family.
He doesn't relax any for this comfort, but, with an encouraging look from Sandy, she continues despite this. She leans in close to him, and uses words where gestures refuse to be acknowledged.
"We're here for you Ryan," she tells him quietly. "We love you."
And somewhere, deep down in some barely known and forgotten place, he hears her.
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Fini