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missmara13As mentioned before, due to me being in a 'bah' kinda mood, I didn't get gifts done in time to do 24 Gifts. Instead, I am doing 12 Gifts, for the 12 Days Of Christmas.
This one is a bit of an AU of an AU, what if at least one Cohen had turned up in Dallas after Ryan's car accident made news? It doesn't go well, but... well... Ryan has people in his corner now.
Ryan was just finishing his physical therapy for the day when the doorbell rang and he didn't really think much of it. There was almost always something going on at the Bullit Ranch, deliveries being made, lawyers and accountants coming to discuss. When he heard some painfully familiar voice, though, he froze.
"Ryan?" his physical therapist asked. "You okay?"
"Are we done?" Ryan asked, waiting for the therapist to nod before slowly, stiffly, and painfully, getting to his feet. He knew he should probably get in his wheelchair, but he didn't want to face them like that, so instead he slowly crossed the room under his therapist's watchful eye, to stop in the doorway.
He had been right, of course, it was Sandy standing in the main entrance, arguing with Maria who was pretending not to speak English in an attempt to get them to leave. Ryan smiled slightly as, once it become clear that he didn't understand a word she was saying, she called him an idiot who didn't deserve to have Ryan.
"Maria," Ryan began before continuing in Spanish. "It's okay. I've got this."
"You sure?" Maria replied, still in Spanish and shooting a glance towards Sandy, who had fallen quiet at the sight of him.
"No, but I think you should go get my Dad and Hanoi," Ryan said before switching back to English. "What are you doing here?" he asked Sandy.
"I came to get you..." Sandy began.
"First of all? Bullshit," Ryan said. "You don't give a damn about me, you proved that in Oliver's hotel room. Second of all? No way in hell."
"Ryan..."
"I got shot, and first you comfort the girl who got me shot. Then you try to direct the doctor away from me to her, and even after he tells you I was shot, you still comfort her. Then you ride in the ambulance with her instead of the one with me. Then I get two hours to rest after getting out of the hospital, and you sit me down for a lecture about how I should use my words, even though you know damn well I tried and just got labelled as jealous..."
"That's not fair..." Sandy began.
"Did I say I was finished?" Ryan asked, channeling every bit of entitlement he had heard coming out of John Ross and Spencer's mouths over the years. "You know what happened when I got to Dallas and left a message with my godfather's secretary? He cancelled a week's worth of meetings and came and got me from the bus station, told me I was home, told me it didn't matter what had happened, I was home and safe. When he realized I'd been shot? He got his personal doctor out here immediately to check me over. I hadn't seen the man since I was eight years old and my father tried to steal millions from him, but he decided I was his now and that was it. And now, a year later, you think you can just show up and be forgiven? What kind of god damn fantasy world are living in, Sandy?" He paused. "Now you can talk," he added.
"Ryan you just took off..."
"Why would he have stayed somewhere that clearly no one gave a damn about him?" Bullit asked as he walked in, flanked by Hanoi and Lubbock, the latter of whom was on the phone, seemingly with another one of the brothers telling him to get back now. "He was shot, got lousy stitches by the way, they tore his first morning here and he had to get 'em redone."
"Legally we're..."
"Nothing," Bullit said. "I went through the proper channels when I adopted Ryan, he's my son, you are nothing but bad memories to him."
"Ryan..." Sandy began.
"Don't. Right now I'm tired and in pain because I need physical therapy for the second time in a year, the first being when you're stupidity got me shot... yes, Sandy, I needed physical therapy for my shoulder, I guess that's what the doctor wanted to talk to us about but you checked me out instead. Got here, and Dr, DuPres took one look at my shoulder, while fixing the lousy stitches done the first time, and told Bullit I would need PT. And you know what he did? Got a recommendation from her right then and there and had an appointment for me within the hour. No lectures involved."
"Ryan, let's get you sitting and comfy," Katie said, shooting the Sandy a murderous look as she walked in. "You should not be on your feet this much, sugar," she said, laying the sugary southern sweetness thickly. "I'm gonna tell Dr. DuPres on you! And this... gentleman... isn't worth your time and energy."
"You don't even..." Sandy began.
Katie spun, all sugary sweetness gone and replaced with a rage that was obvious. "I don't even what? Know who you are? Sorry, I know exactly who you are. Sandford Cohen, son of Sophie Cohen, a social worker in New York City. You went out west to attend Berkeley and see yourself as some sort of radical, born too late to be a hippie, but boy do you wish you coulda been," Katie said. "You're the jackass who thought it was a good idea to let a fifteen year-old boy in a room where you had just been told there was a gun, and when, as a natural consequences of your stupidity, said fifteen year-old got shot, you chose to comfort the pathetic little mess that caused it all to go down."
"You weren't there..."
"No, but I was here the morning after Ryan arrived. I saw him sitting at the dining table, white as a sheet because when Hanoi gave him a welcoming pat on the shoulder, it tore open his stitches. I saw a scared child sitting there, still in shock that he was getting treated like a priority instead of an after thought," Katie said. "Let me make one thing very clear, Mr. Cohen. If you don't get the hell out of here right now? Someone will get shot today, too. Difference is, it's gonna be with a hunting rifle, and it ain't gonna be a neat little hole that a couple decent stitches can patch up."
"Are you threatening me?" Sandy asked.
"Oh bless your heart, no! I'm not threatening anyone. I'm promising."
"Katie," Hanoi began.
"Hush, sugar, I'm on a roll," Katie told him. "You think, that because you came through for Ryan just once, that makes you anything? You let him down far worse. If you hadn't helped him get out of juvie, he woulda broken down and called the Bullit much sooner and been home safe in Dallas without getting shot. Instead, you put him in the circle of an unstable girl in need of rescuing, and even when he tried to save her the right way, by getting you to listen to his concerns, he got ignored and called jealous. Did you even try to find out if his concerns were valid? Contact this unstable boy's family? I'm betting no. Instead, you let him run into a room to save that pathetic girl, because it's what he does, he saves people. The boy has a hero complex the size of Texas, and we love him for it because it's why he's able to put up with all this idiots he now gets to call his brothers. "But you? You're one and only job was protect him. And you failed spectacularly. And then, when he was hurt, you still couldn't be bothered to do your job and take care of him. "So you do not get to come into this house and act like you have any rights to him. Because you threw those away, Mr. Cohen, when you let him get shot." By the time she finished her tirade, Katie was nearly standing toe-to-toe with Sandy. "Now, you need to get the hell out of this house before we call the cops. And before you start thinking the cops won't do anything? Legally, Ryan is a Bullit, you have no claim to him. So showing up and saying you came to get him? Well, that sounds like you're planning on kidnapping the youngest son of one of the wealthiest men in the world! And you've been told to leave, which is trespassing. And this is Texas, we are allowed to stand our ground to protect ourselves, our homes, and our loved ones. So I suggest you leave. Now."
"You're threatening..."
"I'm just standing my ground," Katie said, returning her voice to the sugary sweetness of before. "And who do you think they'll believe? One of two wealthiest families in Dallas, one that has a Senator's daughter as an in-law," she said, gesturing at herself. "Or you?"
"Get out of my house," Bullit said firmly.
"This isn't over," Sandy said firmly before he turned and left, Maria slamming the door behind him.
There was silence for a moment before Lubbock spoke. "Remind me never to get you that mad at me, Katie," he said. "You'd probably shoot me with my own rifle."
"Damn straight," Katie said.
"You alright, son?" Bullit asked, crouching next to the chair Ryan was sitting in, having dropped his head into his hands as soon as the door closed behind the Cohens and the rest. "Ryan?"
"I wasn't expecting to see him... ever again," Ryan said, his voice slightly choked. "He didn't even ask if I was okay, or say he was sorry, or he'd been worried..."
"Are you okay?" Bullit asked.
Ryan started to nod, then shook his head. "I always thought if I did see him, the first thing he'd say would be he was sorry. I don't think he even thinks he did anything wrong."
End
This one is a bit of an AU of an AU, what if at least one Cohen had turned up in Dallas after Ryan's car accident made news? It doesn't go well, but... well... Ryan has people in his corner now.
Ryan was just finishing his physical therapy for the day when the doorbell rang and he didn't really think much of it. There was almost always something going on at the Bullit Ranch, deliveries being made, lawyers and accountants coming to discuss. When he heard some painfully familiar voice, though, he froze.
"Ryan?" his physical therapist asked. "You okay?"
"Are we done?" Ryan asked, waiting for the therapist to nod before slowly, stiffly, and painfully, getting to his feet. He knew he should probably get in his wheelchair, but he didn't want to face them like that, so instead he slowly crossed the room under his therapist's watchful eye, to stop in the doorway.
He had been right, of course, it was Sandy standing in the main entrance, arguing with Maria who was pretending not to speak English in an attempt to get them to leave. Ryan smiled slightly as, once it become clear that he didn't understand a word she was saying, she called him an idiot who didn't deserve to have Ryan.
"Maria," Ryan began before continuing in Spanish. "It's okay. I've got this."
"You sure?" Maria replied, still in Spanish and shooting a glance towards Sandy, who had fallen quiet at the sight of him.
"No, but I think you should go get my Dad and Hanoi," Ryan said before switching back to English. "What are you doing here?" he asked Sandy.
"I came to get you..." Sandy began.
"First of all? Bullshit," Ryan said. "You don't give a damn about me, you proved that in Oliver's hotel room. Second of all? No way in hell."
"Ryan..."
"I got shot, and first you comfort the girl who got me shot. Then you try to direct the doctor away from me to her, and even after he tells you I was shot, you still comfort her. Then you ride in the ambulance with her instead of the one with me. Then I get two hours to rest after getting out of the hospital, and you sit me down for a lecture about how I should use my words, even though you know damn well I tried and just got labelled as jealous..."
"That's not fair..." Sandy began.
"Did I say I was finished?" Ryan asked, channeling every bit of entitlement he had heard coming out of John Ross and Spencer's mouths over the years. "You know what happened when I got to Dallas and left a message with my godfather's secretary? He cancelled a week's worth of meetings and came and got me from the bus station, told me I was home, told me it didn't matter what had happened, I was home and safe. When he realized I'd been shot? He got his personal doctor out here immediately to check me over. I hadn't seen the man since I was eight years old and my father tried to steal millions from him, but he decided I was his now and that was it. And now, a year later, you think you can just show up and be forgiven? What kind of god damn fantasy world are living in, Sandy?" He paused. "Now you can talk," he added.
"Ryan you just took off..."
"Why would he have stayed somewhere that clearly no one gave a damn about him?" Bullit asked as he walked in, flanked by Hanoi and Lubbock, the latter of whom was on the phone, seemingly with another one of the brothers telling him to get back now. "He was shot, got lousy stitches by the way, they tore his first morning here and he had to get 'em redone."
"Legally we're..."
"Nothing," Bullit said. "I went through the proper channels when I adopted Ryan, he's my son, you are nothing but bad memories to him."
"Ryan..." Sandy began.
"Don't. Right now I'm tired and in pain because I need physical therapy for the second time in a year, the first being when you're stupidity got me shot... yes, Sandy, I needed physical therapy for my shoulder, I guess that's what the doctor wanted to talk to us about but you checked me out instead. Got here, and Dr, DuPres took one look at my shoulder, while fixing the lousy stitches done the first time, and told Bullit I would need PT. And you know what he did? Got a recommendation from her right then and there and had an appointment for me within the hour. No lectures involved."
"Ryan, let's get you sitting and comfy," Katie said, shooting the Sandy a murderous look as she walked in. "You should not be on your feet this much, sugar," she said, laying the sugary southern sweetness thickly. "I'm gonna tell Dr. DuPres on you! And this... gentleman... isn't worth your time and energy."
"You don't even..." Sandy began.
Katie spun, all sugary sweetness gone and replaced with a rage that was obvious. "I don't even what? Know who you are? Sorry, I know exactly who you are. Sandford Cohen, son of Sophie Cohen, a social worker in New York City. You went out west to attend Berkeley and see yourself as some sort of radical, born too late to be a hippie, but boy do you wish you coulda been," Katie said. "You're the jackass who thought it was a good idea to let a fifteen year-old boy in a room where you had just been told there was a gun, and when, as a natural consequences of your stupidity, said fifteen year-old got shot, you chose to comfort the pathetic little mess that caused it all to go down."
"You weren't there..."
"No, but I was here the morning after Ryan arrived. I saw him sitting at the dining table, white as a sheet because when Hanoi gave him a welcoming pat on the shoulder, it tore open his stitches. I saw a scared child sitting there, still in shock that he was getting treated like a priority instead of an after thought," Katie said. "Let me make one thing very clear, Mr. Cohen. If you don't get the hell out of here right now? Someone will get shot today, too. Difference is, it's gonna be with a hunting rifle, and it ain't gonna be a neat little hole that a couple decent stitches can patch up."
"Are you threatening me?" Sandy asked.
"Oh bless your heart, no! I'm not threatening anyone. I'm promising."
"Katie," Hanoi began.
"Hush, sugar, I'm on a roll," Katie told him. "You think, that because you came through for Ryan just once, that makes you anything? You let him down far worse. If you hadn't helped him get out of juvie, he woulda broken down and called the Bullit much sooner and been home safe in Dallas without getting shot. Instead, you put him in the circle of an unstable girl in need of rescuing, and even when he tried to save her the right way, by getting you to listen to his concerns, he got ignored and called jealous. Did you even try to find out if his concerns were valid? Contact this unstable boy's family? I'm betting no. Instead, you let him run into a room to save that pathetic girl, because it's what he does, he saves people. The boy has a hero complex the size of Texas, and we love him for it because it's why he's able to put up with all this idiots he now gets to call his brothers. "But you? You're one and only job was protect him. And you failed spectacularly. And then, when he was hurt, you still couldn't be bothered to do your job and take care of him. "So you do not get to come into this house and act like you have any rights to him. Because you threw those away, Mr. Cohen, when you let him get shot." By the time she finished her tirade, Katie was nearly standing toe-to-toe with Sandy. "Now, you need to get the hell out of this house before we call the cops. And before you start thinking the cops won't do anything? Legally, Ryan is a Bullit, you have no claim to him. So showing up and saying you came to get him? Well, that sounds like you're planning on kidnapping the youngest son of one of the wealthiest men in the world! And you've been told to leave, which is trespassing. And this is Texas, we are allowed to stand our ground to protect ourselves, our homes, and our loved ones. So I suggest you leave. Now."
"You're threatening..."
"I'm just standing my ground," Katie said, returning her voice to the sugary sweetness of before. "And who do you think they'll believe? One of two wealthiest families in Dallas, one that has a Senator's daughter as an in-law," she said, gesturing at herself. "Or you?"
"Get out of my house," Bullit said firmly.
"This isn't over," Sandy said firmly before he turned and left, Maria slamming the door behind him.
There was silence for a moment before Lubbock spoke. "Remind me never to get you that mad at me, Katie," he said. "You'd probably shoot me with my own rifle."
"Damn straight," Katie said.
"You alright, son?" Bullit asked, crouching next to the chair Ryan was sitting in, having dropped his head into his hands as soon as the door closed behind the Cohens and the rest. "Ryan?"
"I wasn't expecting to see him... ever again," Ryan said, his voice slightly choked. "He didn't even ask if I was okay, or say he was sorry, or he'd been worried..."
"Are you okay?" Bullit asked.
Ryan started to nod, then shook his head. "I always thought if I did see him, the first thing he'd say would be he was sorry. I don't think he even thinks he did anything wrong."
End
