Author's notes: Many thanks to everyone who left reviews. My heart feels warmed:). I wasn't planning on updating any more until finals week was over, but clearly my head thought that my time was better spent in writing chapter two than in graduating from college.

And yes, the chapters will be a bit longer from here on out – things start to happen in this chapter and then snowball from there.

Disclaimer: Don't own a damn thing.

Chapter Three: Ryan vs. The Music

Ring, ring.

"Ryan, what's up?"

"Seth. Listen, tell Kirsten I won't be in for dinner. Julie sent me on another errand."

"What kind of errand?"

"I have to drop something off for her."

"Where?"

"In Chinatown."

"Chinatown? Wow, dude, that's a little far out of your way. Where in Chinatown? And more importantly, why in Chinatown? And maybe most importantly, why you? Does Julie suddenly have no employees over at the Newport Group? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that one of them is my mother."

"Yeah, I don't know. About any of those things, really. She said she didn't have anyone else free to do it for her."

"You don't know where you're going?"

"Huh?"

"You said you didn't know the answer to any of those questions, and one of the questions was where you were going..."

"Right. I'm going to this place called the Blue Lotus."

"Sounds fetching. Want company?"

"No, that's okay. I just want to get in, get out. Lindsay's coming over tonight."

"Yeah? Aunt Lindsay's coming over?"

"Shut up, man."

"I'm just sayin', it's a little weird."

"It was a little weird when we found out a month ago. Now, it's just..."

"Normal?"

"Well, maybe not normal."

"No, I'm gonna say not at all normal. I have an aunt who's younger than I am, my father is talking to my grandfather and my mother isn't, and my grandfather himself has turned into this weird, generous, kindly, I don't know..."

" Grandfather?"

"Yes! Exactly. Things are not even close to normal."

"Yeah, I guess. But Lindsay needs some normal right now, or she might, I don't know, blow a fuse or something. You know her."

"Well, not nearly as well as you do, Uncle Ryan."

"Seth...."

"Shutting up. You, Lindsay, normal, me, not making incest jokes. Got it."

"And don't forget – "

" – to tell Mom that you won't be home for dinner. I got it, man."

"Thanks. I'll see you later."

"Later."

The Blue Lotus, Ryan decided, was exactly what he had expected – that is, it was the worst possible place for him to find himself, ever. Terminally hip, full of flashing strobe lights and ultrachic girls wearing outfits made entirely of some beige-y plaid material (with matching hair, and he wasn't quite sure how they'd managed that), this was the kind of place that he'd always tried to avoid. Something loud was thumping on the sound system – it took him a few minutes to realize that it was Tubthumping, by Chumbawumba. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling that he wouldn't get through the night without punching someone or being punched.

"Ugh, what is Aura wearing?" he heard a girl behind him say scornfully.

"Um, duh, it's Burberry! The late nineties are so totally in," her friend replied.

"Whatever. I'm outie."

Ryan swallowed a smile and headed for the bar.

"I'm looking for Mr. – " he began, and then paused when the bartender swung round, all ferociously grinning teeth and beetling brows. "Whoa."

"What drink you want?" the man screeched over the music.

"Ah...I'll have a Mountain Dew. And I'm here to talk to Mr. Chia." The bartender's smile grew.

"Ahhh, Mr. Chia? You from Newport Group?"

"Yeah. I've got something to give him."

"Okay, I tell him you're here. Mountain Dew five dollars."

"Five dollars for a Mountain Dew?"

"Hey, if it has alcohol in it, it's cheaper!"

"Yeah, no thanks. Just the soda." Five of the fifty dollars down the drain, he thought to himself. Great. He settled himself onto a bar stool and leaned back against the bar to observe his surroundings. This was an expensive place, not that he'd expected anything less. The bar was an island of light (literally of light; the bar itself was made out of some sort of fluorescent lamp and resembling nothing so much as a block of electricity) in the middle of an enormous dance floor on which hundreds of bodies gyrated in time to a song that he wasn't even going to try to place. It hadn't been played when the Lakers won the playoffs; he wouldn't know it. Stairs at three of the corners of the dance floor led both up and down, promising at diversions beyond dancing. There was only one exit that he could see and it was the door he'd come in, but he'd be willing to bet that there was at least one other way out of this place.

Gradually, he became aware of the conversation going on beside him.

"Mo, I can't believe you made those. They're beautiful!"

"Yeah, I figured it was better than doing my model for class. Anyway, do you want some?"

"Definitely. I don't have much cash on me, though."

"That's okay, you can pay me later. I know you're good for it."

Glancing over to his left to try to put faces to the voices, Ryan saw two girls – probably college-aged, he thought – sifting through a pile of jewelry that had been spilled somewhat haphazardly out onto the bar. A tiny Asian girl – Mo, he assumed – was extricating a pair of earrings and handing it to her friend.

"These are thirty. Cheapest I can go if I want to be able to pay my bills."

"Oh, totally worth it. Thanks, Mo! I'll see you in class."

"Yeah, maybe." Mo shifted on her seat and saw Ryan staring at the jewelry. "What?"

"Nothing. Did you make those?"

Mo smiled awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess. Why? Do you want to buy?"

"No. Well, maybe. Can I see?"

"Sure."

There were a lot of earrings in the world, he realized as he looked through the pile. Why did girls need so many pairs of earrings? They were really sick, if you thought about it – I mean, you stabbed a hole in your ear so you could hang some shiny things from it on a regular basis. How much more tribal could you get?

Hang on.

There was a pair of earrings that, if he held it in the light given off by the electric bar, he was pretty sure matched the green of Lindsay's eyes exactly. They were sort of dangly and long and had a lot of little beady things on them, and he didn't know if that was her style or whatever, but he thought that maybe – no, definitely – they were the same color as her eyes.

"How much are – " he started to ask Mo.

"Ryan! What are you doing here?" He froze. It couldn't be. Bracing himself, he turned around gingerly.

"Marissa. I could ask you the same thing." For it was indeed she. She had on a skirt that would have put some of the girls at his old high school to shame, a slinky, sparkly top, and a bright, winning smile. She was also – and here, he closed his eyes briefly in a wave of nausea and regret – piss stinking drunk.

"'S' a Friday night, innit? I c'n go out if I want to." She laid a hand on his arm and put her face close to his, half as a come on and half in genuine need of balance. He didn't move her hand away, because what was he going to do? Let her fall? He did, however, move his head away from hers.

"You're drunk."

She giggled, a silvery peal of laughter that was nearly swallowed by the music. "This isn' drunk. Just...happy."

He sighed. "Right. Who are you here with?"

She pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhhhh....can't tell."

"What? Marissa," he sighed in exasperation, "I don't have time for this. Who are you here with?"

"Nobody. Myself," she pouted.

"Right. Well, you're coming home with me, just as soon as I get done here."

A hundred-watt smile spread across Marissa's face. "Really? Aww...thanks, Ryan! I love you soooo much."

He winced. "Okay. One second. Hey, how much were – " he turned back around to better converse with Mo, but she was gone. "Fuck."

Marissa started giggling wildly. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Luck fuck. Lucky fuck!"

Ryan stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "This is not happening."

Her brows creased in puzzlement. "Fucky luck?"

"Yeah, that's for damn sure," Ryan sighed. "Okay, Marissa, I have to make a phone call. Stay. Here."

"Okay!" she said happily. "I will stay here. Right here. No moving. Promise!"

Ring, ring.

"Ryan?"

"Linds! So, I'm a little late."

"I noticed. Where are you? You sound like you're trapped in an episode of I Love the 90's or something."

"It's a long story. I'm really sorry – Kirsten had me run an errand, and then Julie – it's complicated. Anyway, I'm in Chinatown, and it took longer to get here than I expected, and it's taking me longer here than I expected, but I promise that I'll be back soon."

"It's okay. I've just been catching up on my homework."

"What catching up do you ever have to do on a Friday night? I thought you'd finished everything already."

"...."

"Linds?"

"If you must know, I'm practicing my penmanship."

"...."

"Ryan Atwood, are you laughing at me?"

"...."

"'Cause I'm so funny."

"Yep. What movies did you get?"

"I'm not sure if I'm telling you now."

"What, because I laughed at you?"

"And my perfectly legitimate exercise in handwriting clarification, yes."

"Well, you do need the work."

"Hey, not nearly as much as you do. Blackadder II."

"I'm sorry, why am I a giant snake?"

"It's not an insult, it's what I got. Blackadder II. You'll like it."

"Never heard of it."

"It's a British comedy show, very witty. Bite-sized episodes for maximum viewing pleasure. You'll like it, I promise."

"I can't wait. Listen, I've got to go. I'll be back as soon as I can – feel free to raid my bookshelf if you get sick of calligraphy or whatever."

"Will do. Bye, Ryan."

"Bye."

Ryan snapped his cell phone shut and turned to talk to Marissa.

Who was gone.

Oh, shit.

Now how had he not seen that coming?

He leaned over the bar. "Hey, have you seen the girl I was with? Skinny, sparkly top, brown hair? She just left."

The bartender grinned at him. "No girl. Sorry."

Ryan ran his hands through his hair. "Right. Of course. Why would you notice one girl in here?" His brain worked madly. On the one hand, there was Marissa, hammered beyond belief and set loose upon an unsuspecting club. On the other, there was this Mr. Chia, who was almost certainly expecting his check in a timely manner. Mr. Chia wasn't exactly rushing to meet Ryan, however, and Marissa could cause some serious damage – to herself or to others – if she were allowed to remain a free agent in this situation.

Decision made, Ryan turned to the bartender once more. "Listen, I just need to look for my friend, I'll be around. Can you send someone to get me when Mr. Chia needs me?"

"Sure, sure," the bartender replied.

"Awesome. Thanks, man." And Ryan set off into the club to find Marissa.

Threading his way through dancing bodies and neon lighting, he felt a little bit as if his head was about to pop off from the music and the lights. He couldn't imagine doing this sort of thing every night, much less working in a place like this. He wondered if that's what it would have been like, being with Marissa for the long-term – would he have had to come to places like this every weekend or so? She hadn't minded staying home with him at the beginning of their relationship, but who knows what might have happened once she got bored? He shuddered.

Lost in thought as he was, he was caught completely unawares when he turned around and found himself face to face with Oliver.

Who smirked a "Hello, Ryan," as if he'd never flipped out, threatened to kill himself and Marissa, and been committed to a sanatorium.

Ryan blinked once, twice. He really, really wished that he hadn't sworn off of punching people.

Terrific. This is exactly what I need.