This year I participated in the multi-fandom secret santa put on by Stardust16 and Brentinator, and I got to write a story for The fourth Bionic. :) They wanted a story where Chase would be the hero, so that is what I give you. This story was originally meant to be a one-shot, but my brain said, "Ha-ha, sure. Here's more content to pour into it!" So now it'll probably be three-or-so chapters. And hopefully I'll have those out in a few days. Sorry if this is late; I was sick over Christmas with a sore throat, and I still have presents I need to get done for friends I'm seeing this weekend. LIFE!

Anyway, warnings for the story: mentions of real-world problems like alcohol, drugs, etc. The conflict of the story revolves around something not-so-nice, but not controversial. I'm presenting stuff that really does happen, and I'm portraying it in a negative light. Still, there's some stuff that might get uncomfortable. I don't know how to say more without giving everything away, so I'll just say that this story deserves its T rating.

I believe that's all from me. Oh, wait, no! One more warning: Be careful about shipping in this fanfiction. There are a lot of OCs, but I've got some, uh, twists coming along later, so be very, very careful about letting your brain say, "Oh, they would make a cute couple!" That is all. Also, just so you know, this story takes place during season two, pre-Douglas-reveal.

I don't own Lab Rats. I do own my OCs. Enjoy.

* * * Part I * * *

Chase had never worn a jean jacket before, and to be honest, he wasn't a fan. He shifted around and blew on his fingers to keep them from freezing. It had only sunk to around forty degrees, but to the native Californian, he might as well be in Alaska. He stamped his feet and inched forward as the people in the front of the line moved on. He tried to be patient, but the wind biting at his cheeks and the lack of protection his jacket offered left him cranky and longing to be inside the building he hadn't wanted to enter in the first place.

Then he got to the front of the line and held out the five dollars for admission. The bouncer took it, but then he held up his hand. "ID, please."

Chase—already cold and miffed and ready to be in the warm heat just a few inches away through the door—felt argumentative, even though he shouldn't have been. "Why? There's no alcohol in there, right?"

The bouncer's face remained impassive. "I've just gotta check your age. Laws, kid. ID."

"I'm over thirteen, I swear."

"You got a driver's license?"

"No. I'm not that old yet."

"School ID?"

"Yeah."
"Then stop arguing and show it to me."

Chase grunted and fumbled around in his pocket. No point in arguing further. "I'm just trying to help you see the flaws in this system," he said.

The bouncer looked at the ID and furrowed his brow. "There are no flaws, Mr. Tate. And see? Now you get to go in."

The bouncer dropped the rope and let Chase in, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Warmth, clean warmth.

Chase shoved his ID back into his pocket and stepped further into the room. A bar lined one wall, and several tables were scattered around. One the far end of the room was a dance floor with many people showing off their moves—or lack thereof. Chase stepped up to the bar and glanced over the menu. There were no alcoholic beverages; the establishment was designed with teenagers in mind, so they sold chicken wings and lemonade.

"Hot chocolate, please," a girl said as she walked up next to Chase. "And hold the whipped cream. I hate whipped cream."

The bartender nodded and got to work. The girl looked at Chase and smiled. "Hey, you're a new face," she said.

"Yeah. This is my first time here."

"Cool. I love this place. I come here every evening."

"Wow. That's often."

"Tell me about it. Friends, food, and partying. Age-appropriate partying, at that. I love to party, but I hate alcohol. As soon as the stuff touches my lips, I'm puking."

"You've had it before? Are you underage?"

"No, and yes. I'm sixteen. And I told you, I'm physically incapable of handling alcohol." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Brenda, by the way."

"Chandler."

"Nice to meet you. How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Sophomore?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"You're a junior?"

"Would be, but I dropped out a year ago."

"Why?"

"I hated it. Every second. No point, really. I wasn't learning anything."

"What do you do now?"

"You've got all sorts of invasive questions."

"I'm just curious. I want to get to know people around here."

Brenda smirked. "All right. In that case, I work at a music store. I tune the pianos. I live with my best friend, and I pay her parents rent. That's how I handle myself."

"You work at a music store? Do you play any instruments?"

"Not really."

"Do you sing?"

"No."

"Huh. How'd you get the job?"

"I walked in and said I wanted it. This isn't a high-end retailer we're talking about; it's a small, family-owned business."

"Seems like that would make them more selective, not less."

"Not when they're on the verge of closing because of the lack of help."

"Ah, so you single-handedly saved the place."

"Something like that, yeah."

The bartender brought Brenda her hot chocolate, and a long silence elapsed as she drank. Chase took the time to observe his new conversation buddy. Long, wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and perfect teeth when she smiled. She had a pink hairband wrapped around her forehead, a floral shirt, and yoga pants. A perfect laid-back dropout, with a little more beauty than most.

After a few minutes of sipping on her drink, Brenda caught Chase looking at her. "Like it?" she said, wiggling her whole body and flashing him a teasing grin.

Chase grinned back. "I like to observe."

"Apparently. Tell me more. What else do you like to do, Chandler?"

Moment of truth. "School, mostly. Both my parents went to Stanford, and I think it would actually kill them if I didn't get in."

"Oh, you will. The colleges have a whole nepotism thing going on."

"Yeah." Chase smiled at the counter. "But still, gotta keep my grades up and be involved in all sorts of extracurriculars."

"Do you play sports?"

"I played soccer in middle school, and I still do when I have the time, but I'm not on any teams. My dad doesn't think that's good; he wants me to try out for the soccer team next year, when I'm an upperclassmen. But I'm not really that good."

"Mmm. You do clubs and stuff, then?"

"Yeah, mostly. I'm involved in the theater group, and one writing club."

"An artistic soul!"

"I guess you could say that. Although to be honest, I prefer running the lights and writing newspaper columns."

"Ah, not an artistic soul."

"Eh. A little bit. I enjoy the theoretical study of the arts, if that's anything."

"It's really not. But you're the intellectual?"

"That's more accurate, yeah."

"In that case, what's 3,009 times 486?"

1,462,374, he thought. Aloud, he laughed. "I couldn't figure that out without a calculator. Or paper, a pencil, and plenty of time."

"Touché." Brenda tipped back her mug to get the last few drops of hot chocolate. Then she put it back down on the counter with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. She stood, glanced around, and grabbed Chase's elbow. "Hey, new guy, there are some people I want you to meet."

Brenda kept a strong hold on Chase's arm as she sliced through the crowd with all the grace and ease of an eel in a crowded coral reef. They stopped close to the dance floor at a chest-height table with five people standing around it. The music was louder here, but not loud enough to inhibit conversation, oddly enough.

"This is Chandler," Brenda said to the other teens. "Chandler, this is Eric and Blake, Melissa, Kendalyn, and Aaron."

Eric and Blake were identical twins with dark skin and darker hair. Eric had his cropped his short to his head, while Blake's grew up and out with abandon. Melissa had blonde hair and the palest skin Chase had ever seen on a human. Kendalyn looked like Brenda's sister; she too had brown hair and eyes and perfect teeth. Aaron was tall with dark hair and a brooding look on his face. They all looked at him, taking him in, drinking him up, trying to decide whether to swallow or spit him out. But Chase sensed Brenda's leadership among the friends, and he knew that they would bow to her will. He had gotten in good with their ruler, and now they would accept him whether they wanted to or not.

"Who's he?" Melissa asked. As she talked, she ran her fingers over the edge of a glass on the table in front of her.

"I told you, he's Chandler," Brenda said. "He's new here, and I thought maybe we could include him."

"You're not usually the one to bring in new people," Eric said.

"I brought in you, didn't I?"

"Sure, but . . ." Eric trailed off and shrugged while his brother snickered.

They exchanged a handful of pleasantries and discussed age. All were older than Chase, and Melissa and Kendalyn had already graduated high school. The other three were seniors, which made Chase wonder why they followed around a junior. Then again, she had the kind of presence that inspired without discrimination. Chase respected her for it.

"So," he said during a lull, "Kendalyn, are you Brenda's sister?"

Kendalyn smiled and looked down at her shoes. When she did so, her hair fell in waves over her cheeks and even shimmered in the light. She looked like a model, even more than Brenda did. She had a full face of makeup and a tattooed collarbone revealed by the low neckline of her dress. Clearly she knew something about fashion and beauty, perhaps even enough to make a career out of it. Chase made a mental note to ask her about that sometime. "No," she said, looking back up and flashing a perfect smile. "Nope. I only met her a few months ago."

"Funny how similar we look, huh?" Brenda said, moving closer to Kendalyn. Her head only came up to Kendalyn's shoulder, but whether that was due to a genuine height difference or the latter's high-heeled shoes, Chase didn't know. "Not biologically related at all."

"So, Chandler," Aaron said, eyeing Brenda and Kendalyn and shouldering his way closer to Chase. "Where do you go to school?"

"Brentforth Academy," he replied. "It's a ways from here, out in the suburbs."

"Huh. Private school guy."

"Yeah. My parents want the best." He swallowed. He didn't like the way Aaron looked at him—so much suspicion. Too much. "Where do you go to school?"

"CCHS."

The public high school just down the street from the club. Unsurprising.

"Do you like it there?"

Brenda leaned into the conversation and put an elbow on Aaron's shoulder. It did look awkward, considering how much taller he was, but she didn't seem to mind. "Aaron just moved here a month ago," she said. "He's still finding friends, right?"

"Yeah?" Chase asked. "What's your story?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Sure. I want to get to know people too. Everyone at Brentforth is too stuffy."

Aaron didn't look amused. He glanced at Brenda, who batted her eyelashes but didn't make any expression. The rest of the group had huddled into their own conversation, so the three of them were alone in whatever talk would come next. "Parents split," Aaron said. "Came here with my dad. He's trying to make a new start and failing miserably."

"And so are you, huh?" Perhaps a little brash. Perhaps. But Chase wasn't afraid to push buttons.

Aaron narrowed his eyes. "You're too smart, Scottie."

"Huh? Scottie?"

"Yeah. You got that plaid shirt on under there. Looks like a kilt. Scottie."

Chase shifted the edge of his jean jacket to reveal more of the flannel underneath. It did have the red and green pattern distinctive to a Scottish kilt. Funny he had never noticed that before.

"He's learning to fit in fine," Brenda said, patting Aaron on the shoulder before spinning on heel. "Come on, girls," she announced, "let's dance!"

Brenda, Melissa, and Kendalyn took to the dance floor, swinging around with each other and laughing at their hilarious failures. "You gonna join them?" Blake asked as he slid up beside Chase.

"Nah. I'm not the dancing type."

"Cool. Well I am, so I'm going to go find some girls. See you around."

Aaron and Eric had engaged in some kind of quiet conversation on the other side of the table, and Chase thought it best not to interrupt them. So he stood alone and observed. He hadn't lied to Brenda about that; he loved to observe.

One thing he observed was the way some of the workers kept eyeing the teens on the dance floor, especially Brenda and Kendalyn. He couldn't blame them; they were fine looking girls, especially Kendalyn. But some of the workers—ranging in age from late twenties to far past middle age—at this teen club seemed to be taking an undue interest in the patrons. Perhaps that was to be expected, but it still sent a shiver down Chase's spine. Guards in uniform stood around to keep anything from getting out of control—and in a club where teens went to escape their problems, control was something rarely found in the first place—and they kept eyes on the most handsome teens from around the room, boys and girls, younger and older. They watched with interest and occasionally talked into their radios.

Surveillance, of course. Precautions and security, and perhaps they thought that the more beautiful ones were the ones with the most threat. Then again, the look in their eyes—lust, almost. From male and female guards, over male and female teens.

Chase blinked. He was reading too much into nothing at all. He felt self-conscious and self-aware, and the hyper-awareness that came with that left him paranoid and edgy. That was all. He blinked again, and it was all normal. The guards were doing their guard duty of protecting teens. But still, those wayward eyes, always in the same direction. . . .

"Well, that was fun," Brenda said as the girls exited the dance floor. "Are you okay, Chandler? You've been spaced out forever over here."

"Sure," Chase said. "Do you know the people who work here?"

Kendalyn ran a hand through her hair and tossed it over it her shoulder. "Mr. Bennet runs the place," she said. "He's over there, at the bar."

Nathaniel Bennet. Chase knew the man. He invented household items and ran his own business. He had plenty of money, and he was famous for using some of it to open up this club for teenagers, as a place to hang out away from the "pressures and medical dangers of alcohol, drugs, etc." He gave to charities that helped struggling teens. A good man, yet one who flew under the radar with most of his work. He kept to himself in public, but he hung out around the club often. He was in his early thirties, although he looked younger. He was tall and lanky and had thick brown hair that he constantly tossed out of his eyes as he spoke to the barista. No one would think anything extraordinary of him, but many teens waved or said hello as they passed, clearly familiar with and thankful for his work.

"He's okay," Blake said, walking up and leaning his elbows on the table. "But he tries too hard to fit in. The other day we were talking and he said 'hashtag what-up?'"

Chase shook with a silent laugh and grinned. "Adults."

"No kidding," Melissa said. "But he's cool. He's pretty nice, and he's always willing to help out and get to know you better."

"We should introduce you to him, Chandler," Brenda said.

"I'm good. I think I should go home soon; I've got a lot of homework, and my parents will be wondering where I am."

Blake scrunched up his face and leaned the upper half of his body against the top of the table. "You're one of those, huh?"

Chase held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I didn't ask for this. But my parents—"

"We get it," Eric said. "And by the way, I personally commend your commitment to academics. It's sluggards like my brother here who don't understand the importance of hard effort and excellence in learning."

Blake wrinkled his nose even further. "I'm not a slugger. I've never played baseball before; I only watch it."

Eric held out his hands in a "see?" gesture. "Come on, we need to get home too," he said. "Mom and Zane are on a date tonight, so I'm in charge of you."

Blake rubbed his face and stood up. "Fine. Bye, everyone."

They all said goodbye, and Brenda turned her full attention to Chase. She had quite the intense stare when she wanted it. "You gotta go?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You coming back?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Quick question: do your parents know you were here tonight?"

"What do you think?"

"Will they let you come back?"

"Not if they know."

"Hmm. Why'd you even come here in the first place?"

"The same reason all of you do: to forget that I'm a teenager in a world that wants to eat me alive." And, of course, he had an ulterior motive, but he couldn't tell that to his new friends. Besides, the reason he gave was true enough.

Melissa chuckled. "You two banter so well," she said.

Brenda shrugged. "I guess we do. Aaron, you, me, hot chocolate. I'm buying."

"Good, 'cause I'm not. See you later, Scottie." Aaron stalked off with Brenda, and she only gave a quick wave over her shoulder.

That left Chase alone with Kendalyn and Melissa. He shifted, tugged on his sleeves, and looked toward the door.

"You don't wanna leave, huh?" Kendalyn said.

Chase took a deep breath. He didn't need to lie. "No. I like this place."

"So do all of us. Come back, okay?"

Chase felt his cheeks get hot. He couldn't say why for sure. He found Kendalyn beautiful, of course, but that was an objective statement based on the effort she put into her appearance. He didn't have any kind of feelings for her—they just met, so why should he?—but he still found himself oddly tongue-tied.

"Well," Melissa said. "I, for one, could dance all night." She took a noticeably deep breath and held her hand out to Kendalyn. "Care to join me?"

Kendalyn put a finger on her perfectly glossed lips, shrugged, and said, "Sure, why not."

The two girls returned to dance floor and left Chase alone. The first to proclaim his plans to leave was the last to move away. The table looked so empty as he took steps backward, but he had no doubt it would fill up with more eager teens as the night went on. The establishment would close at one a.m., but until then, teens would party in a setting where they could express themselves with judgement or fear—or peer pressure, for that matter.

As he walked, he bumped into a few people. Not surprisingly, considering how crowded the club was. But one man in particular accepted his muttered apology while shrugging the brown hair out of his face. Then that man talked to him.

"Hey, wait, kid," Mr. Bennet said after Chase tried to move on. "Er, not kid . . . dude. Hey, dude."

Chase wanted to laugh. Blake had been accurate in his descriptions of the eccentric club owner. "Hey," he said.

"I've never seen you around here before."

"It's my first time."

"Are you enjoying it?"

"Yeah. . . . I've gotta leave now, actually, but I really did like it. A nice place for teens to go and relax."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "That's what I wanted. I'm Nathaniel Bennet. You can call me Nat; most people do."

Chase nodded and gave a tight-lipped grin. He waited for a few seconds before realizing that common courtesy would have him reply with his own name. "Oh, yeah, I'm Chandler. Chandler Tate." He stuck out his hand and Mr. Bennet accepted it.

"Nice to meet you, Chandler. You can leave, but I hope you'll come back."

"I'm sure I will. Thanks. Bye."

Chase walked out of the club contemplating his meaningless small talk with Mr. Bennet. Nothing had come of it. But they had introduced themselves, so maybe next time, with the pleasantries out of the way, they could have a true discussion.

The wind whipped through the streets, making the air feel chiller than it truly was. The sun had dipped out of the sky hours ago and left this region of the world to its own devices for heat. Chase came to the mournful realization that his jean jacket would not be enough to sufficiently warm him. Already he could feel his hairs standing on end from head to toe, and he shivered and sought warm in the doors that opened as people exited heated businesses to face the cruel taunt of nature. Chase shivered as he waited at the bus stop, and as soon as the bus pulled up, he and everyone else clambered to be the first in the heated vehicle. "Heated" was putting it generously, but the great mass of human flesh added to the warmth, so though Chase found it hard to breathe wedged between a women with too much perfume and man who smelled like a zookeeper, he could at least be grateful that his hairs returned to their normal positions.

The forty-five minute bus ride ended in the suburbs. Chase got off and back into the cold. He had been dropped off near a shopping center, and it would be another fifteen-minute walk to his destination. He cursed himself for thinking this jacket would be enough protection, but he pressed on.

Finally, after meandering through quiet neighborhood blocks, he stopped in front of a house covered in grey stucco and approached the door. He fumbled around in his pocket for the key and put it in the lock. He entered a dark hallway and locked the door behind him. He smiled to himself and called out, "Dad, I'm home!"

"Quiet, the kids are sleeping!" a voice hissed back.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Chase removed his shoes and walked down the hall, turning left into an office. This room was well-lit, mostly by computer screens. A man sat in front of them all, studying them with great intensity. He held out his hand to Chase and snapped his fingers without looking at him. Chase sighed and removed the bracelet from around his wrist, placing it in the man's hands.

"Thank you. Did you talk to Mr. Bennet?"

"Briefly. It was nothing interesting."

"You'll have to talk to him more later. Did you make any friends?"

"Yeah, a few."

"Good for you."

The man was Vincent Nowak, one of Donald Davenport's closest advisors and tech extraordinaire. He could be curt at times, but Chase rather enjoyed talking with him.

After toying around with the bracelet and typing on the computer, he turned to Chase. "It's processing."

"I know."

"So how'd the night go?"

"Pretty well, actually. Made some friends, got a good feel for the place."

"Good, good." Vincent smiled, but it slipped into a pondering gaze. "Hopefully this won't go on for too much longer."

"Hopefully. Do you think it'll be done by Christmas? Not that I dislike being here with you and Serena, but, you know . . . I want to be with my family."

"I know. And I certainly hope it'll be done by then. This is a hard time of year to do it, but it seems to be our best window of opportunity. Donald didn't want to pass it up." Vincent leaned back and swiveled in his chair. "This is going to be your hardest mission yet, mostly because it's so different."

Chase sighed and leaned on the doorframe. "I know. Mr. Davenport made that clear when he gave it to us."

Vincent spread out his hands. "Well, that's the most we can do for tonight. I don't think you should go back tomorrow, but the day after that should be fine. All the audio from tonight is downloading onto my machine, so I'll send it to Donald and we can analyze it."

"I don't think there's anything to analyze yet."

"You know, I'd agree with you, but Serena says there's always something to analyze."

Vincent's wife, Serena, held a degree in psychology. She had done extensive study on human behaviors, and she knew without asking Chase how he felt and what he was thinking. It creeped him out, and he told her as much, and she often replied by saying that she hadn't even begun to use her talents on him. In that case, Chase understood why Mr. Davenport and Vincent had brought her on to help in this mission.

Vincent's eyes studied the screen further, but then they drifted back to Chase. He chuckled. "What are you waiting for? You want me to formally dismiss you?"

"Ah, no, I was . . . well . . . do you need help?"

Vincent laughed. "You've done your job for tonight, Chase. Get to bed. You look tired. Serena left a banana on the counter for you if you'd like it."

"Thanks. Yeah, thanks. Good night."

"Good night."

Chase snagged the banana as he walked through the kitchen. Then he went into the guest bedroom, closed the door, and flipped on the light. The bed looked so inviting, but first he had to change and brush his teeth. So he did, all the while wishing to be under those blankets, and when he finally flopped into bed, it felt amazing. He hadn't even done that much, but being in a loud club with boisterous people drained his energy. He smiled and mumbled to himself, "In case there was any doubt I'm an introvert."

He dived deeper under the covers and curled his toes, finding great comfort in the fuzzy sheets encompassing his body. He sighed and let his brain do its thing, running through everything that had happened during the day. Unfortunately, exhaustion took over before it could finish, and he fell asleep with a picture of Kendalyn's face etched into his mind.

That's chapter 1. The next one will be the middle part, I suppose, and the third should be the end. Again, I'll try to get them out soon, but I do need to get some stuff done before New Year's. So I might not be able to finish for a few extra days. But I'll try!

Gosh, I enjoyed Brenda and Chase's bantering. And everyone else's. I feel proud of this story overall. The dialogue is fun, but the descriptions are too. It's great when it all works out like that. (:

Fun facts: 1) Kendalyn wasn't originally in this story at all, but I realized I needed another character and created her. 2) The whole ending with Vincent and Serena was made up as I wrote it. Not bad, eh?

Anyway, hope you liked it, The fourth Bionic and everyone else! Leave a review letting me know what you thought, and follow so you know when the rest gets updated. Ask your questions, because I know you have plenty of them. ;) See you guys soon!