Chapter Three: The Clock Strikes Twelve
Summary: He told himself it was the polite thing to do. That's all it was, right? Seth/Marissa
Disclaimer: Lest anybody with deeper pockets than I (could be anyone) think that I'm actually making financial profit from this story this memo must be added. Yes, the author of this fic is still poor and alone, Mr. Schwartz, so you may laugh it up.
Author's Note-
Whoo. My temporary inability to log in delayed the uploading of chapter two. However, now the flag may be raised and all shall dance and be merry again, for the second installment was added, and here is part three. It must be my new meds. No, fear not. Your beloved oddsbodkin17 is no druggie; she is merely high on her wonderful reviewers' flattering comments and . . . other stuff. Without further adieu, shampoo, or ballyhoo- I bring you more of the same.
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Sitting by herself as she waited for Seth to return with their drinks Marissa made a last ditch effort to untangle all the knots of confusion currently woven around her brain. Seth wasn't supposed to come to her rescue. She wasn't meant to accept his offer. They shouldn't have been sitting together in the garden. They certainly weren't supposed to spend half the night on the dance floor, waltzing effortlessly in the midst of so many others.
At least I can say I've had the pleasure of dancing with someone who knows what they're doing. Someone who doesn't step on my toes, stutter nervously, or try to grab my ass every other second.
Not only was Seth clearly capable of cutting a rug with the best of them; he made an excellent partner to boot. The fact that he was taller than she was a big plus. He had also entertained her the whole time; murmuring jokes softly in her ear and pointing out the Reaves' sour expressions.
He reappeared swiftly at her side and handed her a slim glass of whatever tonight's poison was. She took it without much enthusiasm and didn't drink; still concentrating on his unexpected confidence while leading her around the floor. When she finally did glance back at him she saw that he was already looking at her, and immediately wondered how long he had been doing so.
"Want to leave?" He asked abruptly. "Would you like to just get out of here?"
They really were two of a kind now that she thought about it.
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Seth was pretty sure he knew what her answer was. Without waiting for a formal reply he unceremoniously deposited both glasses into the hands of the nearest person and began to steer Marissa towards the door.
A movement which apparently set Julie Cooper's "Marissa-radar" off as she unleashed her trademark shriek again. Feeling Marissa tense up beside him, Seth felt that some drastic actions were in order.
"Run!" He muttered to her.
"What?" She sounded startled.
He grabbed her arm and took off, half pulling her along with him. They slipped through the doors, knocking a few people over in the process, and tore across the living room and out through the main entrance. Hand in hand they were stumbling down a slight hill that led to the parked cars when she called to him.
"Hold on!" He heard. "I didn't pick my shoes with a prison break in mind!"
"Didn't Girl Scouts teach you anything about being prepared?" He shot back, feeling exhilarated and bolder than before.
"Not when it comes to fleeing from a pack of socialites," she managed between giggles. "Just don't leave me behind."
Not a chance of that in the world, sweetheart. He thought to himself, and promptly administered a mental right hook to his own head for his use of the endearment.
"Think you can hold on?"
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Hold on?
"Hold on to wh-?"
And then she was on his back, arms around his neck and knees clumsily tightened around his waist.
Oh.
He ran easily down the remainder of the slope and darted among the cars until coming to his own. Struggling for a split second to get his keys out of his coat pocket he unlocked the car and opened the passenger side door. In one fluid motion he swung her off his back and into his arms, holding her like . . .
Like a groom about to carry his bride across the threshold. No! Wrong situation! Come up with something else.
She was drawing a blank. Seth stooped marginally and settled her into the seat. He leaned over and fastened her seatbelt. It did not escape her notice when he allowed his fingers to graze lightly across her thigh.
Backing away he closed the door softly and crossed to the other side. He slid into his seat and started the motor, letting the faint growls of the engine roll across the parking lot.
"Anything special you wanted to see tonight?" He asked her.
I think I've seen all that I need to, thanks.
She didn't respond to the question, having decided to ask one of her own.
"Who would have thought we'd spend an evening together, huh?"
Seth rolled his head around to look at her in the semi-dark.
"Stranger things have happened." He replied.
This is true. She thought. Crop circles. Roswell. Stigmata. The Heidi Bowl. Star Jones getting married. All of these things bizarre and inexplicable, yet completely capable of happening.
Of course, there were no fields in Newport for the circles to appear in. Roswell was in a totally different state. She hadn't even been alive for that game. She never wanted to meet Star Jones or her "special someone". But Seth was here, now, one seat away from her ready to take her anywhere she wanted to go. Any fool knows that opportunity is not a lengthy visitor.
"There's this little place I know . . ."