A/N: I was bemoaning the lack of Kirsten-centered fics, so I decided to come up with my own. Please review! Major props to MaudGonne for the beta, but all errors are mine alone.

Disclaimer: not mine--they belong to Josh Schwartz and Fox. Happy Chrismukkah, guys!

Letters Home

Kirsten Cohen does not normally show a lot of emotion. She's usually very self-contained, very controlled. It's a trait that has served her well over the years, she thinks, but she knows that sometimes, even to her own family, she comes off as reserved. It's only once a year, when she writes letters to her family, that she lets all that she feels come out, old-fashioned fountain pen skimming smoothly over heavy cream colored paper, effortless. She knows that Sandy and Seth yearn for this window into the depths of her love for them, always carefully placed in their envelopes, nestled snugly in the branches of the Chrismukkah tree. She shows how much she loves them both, even tells them so, every day of the year, but it's only when they read her letters, together, after she's gone to bed (it's a tradition, and she's big on tradition), that they gaze into her heart, and read what she can't seem to voice aloud.

Chrismukkah Day, 11 p.m. Kirsten yawns, stretches from her position across Sandy's lap. The movie is over, the presents have been opened, the dinner (thankfully, catered) has been consumed, and now it's time for the last ritual of the year.

"I'm going to bed, if you boys don't need anything...?"

Sandy and Seth exchange a glance, look at her, and when she nods slightly towards Ryan, slumped in an armchair half asleep, they understand.

"No, mom, I'm OK."

"Me too, honey."

"I'm good, Mrs. Cohen. Thanks."

As she goes up the stairs she can hear Seth saying, "And now, the time has come! The last part of Chrismukkah! And mom made up this tradition--I can't believe she came up with something cool...how did that happen?" Unlike other years, though, she doesn't continue on to her room. This year is different, and she wants, no, needs to eavesdrop. This year, for the first time, she has three boys.

"Seth, what are you talking about?" she hears Ryan mumble sleepily. "You mean there's more?"

"A lot more, my friend! Well, not in the quantity way, but the quality way. It's time for mom's letters."

"Your mom wrote you a letter? Why?"

"It's something she does every year, dude, and it's not just for me. It's for dad, too. It's, well, like, a tradition...she writes down all this good stuff about you, and she gets all mushy and, like, it's great because it makes you feel good but she's not here so it's not all weird like when your mom kisses you in public and then wipes the lipstick off your cheek..." Seth trails off a little uncertainly, brain finally catching up with mouth as he realizes that Dawn probably wasn't that kind of mom. "Uh, I mean...anyways, Dad? Will you do the honors?"

She can see, from her vantage point, a small slice of the room, see Ryan, sitting up now and looking dubiously in Seth's direction. "Dude, I...I don't know...I should go..."

"You can't!"

"But they're private...they're for you guys..."

Sandy finally speaks, and Kirsten smiles a little from her perch. Self-righteous he may be, but somehow when it matters he knows exactly what to say. "There's one for you, too, Ryan...if you want it." Ryan...let me give you this, Kirsten chants to herself, relief washing over her when he says, hesitantly, " There's one for me? I...well...OK...I guess?"

There's a sound of ripping envelopes, and Kirsten can see Ryan take out the folded sheets and pause. He takes a deep breath, gives his head a little shake, and then begins to read. Kirsten knows the words; she has been thinking about them for a long time. How to show her feelings to a boy that, for all his seeming comfort in their house, is as skittish as a feral cat? How to explain a love that doesn't come with strings attached; that isn't conditional, dependent on politeness, or tidiness, or good grades, or what have you done for me lately?

Dear Ryan--

This is the first year that you're being exposed to the Cohen Chrismukkah experience--I hope it wasn't too overwhelming for you. This letter to you is the last of the traditions for the year; the last, but for me, the most important.

I suspect that you already know that when Sandy brought you home, I was not pleased. I was frightened, really--scared of you, the unknown quantity. I place a lot of trust in Sandy and his ability to read people, but I couldn't help feeling that this time he just might have been wrong. Our experiences these last six months have shown me several things. I see how you are with Seth and Sandy, and they with you. I draw lessons from my family, and what I was seeing told me that Sandy wasn't wrong to place his faith in you, that I wasn't wrong to do so either. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to trust.

You have a mother already; my intention has never been to take the place of Dawn, even if I could. But I want you to know this: your happiness and well-being has become as important to me as that of Sandy's, and of Seth's. I would do anything in my power to safeguard you, as I would my other two boys. You have a place in this family, Ryan; you have a home here, with me, with all of us.

Your friendship with Seth is something that I believe is a treasure, created between you two; I've watched it grow, grateful for the effect it has had on both of you. There are times when I've come upon the two of you, hanging out, playing video games, and I think, here's Ryan, at ease. And I see your loyalty, sometimes misplaced but always heartfelt. I honor that in you, Ryan--I see it in myself. But I have seen your struggles, too, even if I've not commented on them. I can't begin to imagine how difficult it is for you--to say I could would be untrue and condescending. So I will say one thing only, and I know it's true: our family is all the stronger with you in it.

I can sense that you don't feel comfortable with me sometimes; that's OK, I don't feel comfortable with you sometimes either. We've just started on a long journey and I would like to think we do it standing side-by-side. Walk with me, if you can. And please, call me Kirsten.

She watches him reading, slowly turning the sheets, all the way to the end, and then back to the beginning again, as if maybe he doesn't believe that the letter is actually addressed to him. His head snaps up when Seth crows, "Dude, listen to this! This year you continue to surprise me with your astounding capacity for love. Oh, wait, is she getting in a dig about that whole Summer and Anna thing? No, no...Your heart is as big as your mouth, and that's a compliment. Sweetie, promise me you'll never stop opening your arms to all the world has to offer, whatever it might bring you. Awww, that's nice" Seth finishes, trying to sound a little sarcastic, a little jaded, but the quiver in his voice belies the flippancy. "What's yours say?"

"Seth, c'mon now. You know that's putting Ryan on the spot. Just because you're incapable of not sharing doesn't mean you're entitled to every little detail about everything. How would you like it if I started sharing right now about your mom and me?"

"Dad! No! Point taken, just...don't, OK?"

Ryan has gone back to reading his letter; for the fourth time, by her count. Finally, he refolds it and places it carefully back into the envelope. As he stands up, Kirsten hears him say, "Well...I guess I'll, um, go to bed now. Thanks, guys..for everything. And, uh, Happy Chrismukkah."

She walks up the rest of the stairs to the bedroom. Looking out the window, she can see that, in the shadow cast on the poolhouse window shades, Ryan is reading his letter yet again. She leans her forehead into the cold glass of the window, and whispers, out loud for the first time, "I hope you can hear me, Ryan."