Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the O.C. All rights belong to the Fox network.

A/N: I'm not sure if I'll be able to pull this off the way I want to, but I'd like to give it a shot. Although amnesia seems such a cliché and soap-operish, I thought it would be interesting to explore how it could affect Seth and in turn, everyone around him. I also don't know if anyone else has written a fic like this. If they have, I swear I haven't read it and this will be original.

I don't usually specifically ask for feedback, but I will on this first chapter. Please let me know if you like the amnesia idea or not. If enough people are interested, I will certainly continue. Honest opinions only, please. I promise not to be offended, no matter what you think :-)

The blaring ring of the telephone jolted Sandy Cohen out of slumber. Although a quick glance at the bedside clock radio told him it was 12:13 in the morning, he was instantly awake. Calls at this hour usually meant bad news. As he fumbled for the phone, he tried to control his quickening heart rate. It was probably a wrong number. Nothing to be worried about.

"Hello?"

"Yes, am I speaking with Mr. Cohen?" asked the male voice on the line.

Not a wrong number. "Yes."

"Are you a relation to a Seth Cohen?"

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Sandy clutched the receiver so tightly, he was surprised it didn't shatter in his hand. "Yes." His voice cracked slightly and he had to clear his throat. "I'm his father."

"Well, I'm glad I found the right Cohen. My name is Doctor Kane. I'm calling from the Harborview Medical Center in Seattle. Sir, your son was brought to our ER a couple of hours ago. He was involved in a boating accident. He's stabilized now but I think you should try to get down here as soon as possible."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Sandy blinked, as Kirsten had switched on her bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow. "Uh, what's his condition?"

"As I said, he's stable," Dr. Kane said patiently.

"I know but what's happened to him? Head injury? Broken bones? What?"

"Mr. Cohen, it would be best to explain all that once you..."

"Just tell me!" Sandy interrupted vehemently. He barely felt Kirsten's hand on his shoulder.

A pause. "All right. No broken bones but he's sustained a head injury, yes. He has a fairly severe concussion and hasn't regained consciousness yet. We will be running some tests but that's all I can tell you at this point."

Sandy fell silent, closing his eyes briefly. He opened them when Kirsten shook his shoulder. Hard.

"Sandy, what is it?" she whispered, eyes huge and fearful.

Damn, he hadn't meant to be so inconsiderate. He patted her hand. "He's okay, honey."

"Mr. Cohen?" Dr. Kane questioned in his ear.

"Yeah, I'm here. Look, we'll try to be there in a few hours."

"Oh?" Dr. Kane sounded mildly surprised. "I know I said soon, but I assumed you probably wouldn't be able to catch a flight until later in the morning."

"Don't worry, we'll be there."

Sandy took down some more information from the doctor before hanging up. He then turned to his wife and repeated everything that he'd been told. By the time he got to the part about the concussion, her eyes were red from unshed tears.

"My poor baby," she murmured.

"Do you know anyone that can fly us down there?" Sandy asked, already getting out of bed and starting to get dressed. "Helicopter? Private plane?"

She sniffed once, tilting her head slightly to think. "No," she said finally. "But my father would."

Sandy grimaced. "Well, let's get daddy on the phone."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marissa Cooper stretched, yawned, and flicked off the TV with the remote. Padding quietly across the room, she paused by the barstool, her eyes roaming over the endless bottles behind the bar. So many choices. Just one before she went to bed. It would help her sleep, she reasoned.

Her hand shook as she reached for the nearest bottle of vodka. Frowning, she clenched her fingers into a fist and held it against her chest. This was pathetic. She didn't need this. She was stronger than this.

Twirling around, she switched off the light and headed down the darkened hallway. The light was on in her stepfather's study. Burning the midnight oil again. Work. That's all that man cared about. Well, no, there was also that other hobby of trying to make her life a living hell.

Walking by, she caught the odd sight of the man hunched over his desk, his head cradled in both hands. Huh. Probably some business deal gone sour. She didn't think she'd made any noise, but Caleb Nichol's head rose up to look at her. They stared at each other for a moment. Something about this picture was odd. She was just about to walk away when it dawned on her. He was in his pyjamas. As if he'd already been in bed but then come down here for some reason. And he looked worried. She'd never seen that expression on his face before.

"Is everything okay?" she found herself asking. If his empire was crumbling, she wanted to be the first to know.

"Yes. No." He emitted a slight sigh. "That was Kiki on the phone. Seth is in a hospital in Seattle. I just found someone that can fly them down there."

Shocked, Marissa took a few steps into the study. "Is he okay?"

"Apparently he's stable. But he's got a concussion. Hasn't been conscious yet. I guess we'll know more once they get there."

"What happened?"

"Boating accident. I don't know the specifics." He slammed his palm against his desk, making her jump. "Damned boat! It's the most puny, unstable thing I've ever seen. I wanted to buy him a bigger boat but oh no, the lawyer wouldn't have it. Look where it's gotten my grandson now!"

"I...I'm sure he'll be okay." She couldn't believe she was giving reassurances to this man. With nothing left to say, she started retreating from the room.

She was just at the door when she heard him say, "Goodnight, Marissa."

"Goodnight," she replied over her shoulder.

Once up in her room, she flopped back on the bed. Although it had been brief, that had been the most pleasant conversation she'd had with Caleb since moving into this place. She refused to call it a home. Home was with her father. This monstrosity of a house was her prison.

Ryan. She wondered if he knew about Seth yet.

Fuck.

Rolling onto her stomach, she punched her pillow in frustration. Even with something like this, the first person she thought of was Ryan? She really was pathetic. Because he sure as hell wasn't thinking about her. It had been a month since he'd left – one month and three days, to be exact. And not once had he picked up the phone to call her. Sure, she understood why he'd gone. He was noble. He always did the right thing. Theresa's knight in shining armour. But would it have killed him to call and just say, 'hi, how's it going with you?' Nothing.

Hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. Just stop it! She sat up in bed, legs crossed, until she willed herself to stop crying. There, that was better.

She didn't need him. She was just fine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Summer Roberts groaned as she reached for the phone. She'd just started to drift off to sleep. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me. Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Coop? No, it's okay." Summer sat back in bed, not bothering to turn on the light. "What's up?"

"I thought you should know. They found Seth. He's in a hospital in Seattle. But he's okay," the voice on the line added quickly. "I mean, his condition is supposed to be stable."

Summer didn't say a word as she listened to Coop ramble some more about what her stepfather had told her. So Cohen was alive. It sounded like the fool had almost gotten himself killed but he was alive. She had spent the last month pretending he had never existed, so it was no wonder she was a little slow in reacting to her friend's news.

"...Ryan, of all people. Can you believe it?"

She'd blanked out for a moment. "Sorry, what?"

"I'm just saying I can't get him out of my mind. I don't know what to do anymore. I know how pathetic I sound but..."

"Have you been drinking?" Summer cut in bluntly.

"No." The voice sounded much too indignant.

"You only start going on about Chino when you've knocked back a few. Either that or you think about him first and then you reach for the bottle."

Dead airspace ticked on for several stretched out seconds. "I just thought I'd be a good friend and tell you about Seth. I don't need a lecture from you."

Click.

Summer gently put the receiver back in its cradle and lied back down on the bed. She turned onto her side, then onto her back, then over to her other side. But it was no use. She was wide awake.

Seth freakin' Cohen. For the past month and three days, she'd both hated him and worried about him. Even when she tried to pretend he'd never entered her life at all, every time the phone rang, she wondered if it was he. So really, for all the superiority she'd just shown her best friend, she was no better than Coop. The only difference was, she didn't drown her sorrows in the drink. The surface Summer didn't care that her boyfriend had taken off and left her behind. She shopped. She partied. And everything was just fine, thank you very much. The inner Summer believed in the polished surface too. Well, most of the time. In the dark shadows of her room after midnight, the bubbles of sadness and worry sometimes burst through the outer layer. Those were the times that she cried herself to sleep or stared out the window, wondering where he was and how he was doing.

Head injury. Concussion. Those were scary, serious words. Had Coop said severe head injury? Summer couldn't remember.

With a heavy sigh, she turned over again and saw the glowing red numbers of her clock radio change to 12:59.