Chuck v. The Burning Man
This piece is for those of you who wanted a sequel to Chuck v. The Twilight Zone!
[A/N: Keep in mind that when fans scream "Stark!" sometimes they get more and definitely different than what they bargained for. Just ask any Farscape fan!]
Special thanks to Aardvark7734 and BillAtWork for their services in a "beta capacity."
SPOILERS are embedded so you purists beware!
[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]
Prologue (Ch.1)—Burners
Late August 2008
Black Rock City ("BRC"), Northern Nevada
'Gearhead Gary' was not really his name but that was what everyone called him for those eight days. He did not mind, though; he liked the anonymity. For a few beers and no questions, he would fix anything. He was a regular Doc Emmett Brown, although he was still looking for his very own flux capacitor and with the number of Mutant vehicles that he often ended up working on at the Burning Man festival, he never knew if a Delorean with 1.21 gigawatts of power might one day show up there.
The 'Burners' who knew Gearhead Gary loved to listen to him as he would work on the various contraptions that were brought to him. He often thought to himself, if only I could go back in time, "I would fix that Ted Roark for good and my kids would have been set."
Most of the year he kept to himself and stayed lost in his regrets. But here, he found his opportunity to contribute to this temporary society that accepted him as he was for his gifts and never tried to steal anything from him. He was a broken man who had a unique ability to fix almost anything.
It had been a relatively quiet week for him. However, on the fourth day, a 20-something stoner brought in a toaster that wasn't working. After getting the lodged CD out of the machine, Gearhead told the kid that he would probably be better off putting his bread out on a rock and heating it that way. Of course, his suggestion went over the kid's head, probably due to the kid's years of toasting his noggin. In thanks, the stoner handed him a Prism Express laptop. "It's not much use man, it crashed last year when a . . . buddy . . . yeah . . . a buddy of mine was looking at the sweet Irene Demova and she just whaled on me . . . I mean him," said the stoner. Gearhead knew that beer was probably more useful to him but he thanked the kid and sent him on his way.
As he took the computer inside his beat up '66 Airstream Overlander, he noticed that the machine had a 'Property of Roark Industries' sticker along with a 'Buy More Burbank' tag sticker on it. "Amateurs," he grumbled. He set down the crippled laptop next to the Mac OSs, TRS-80s, Commodore 64s and other electronics he had collected over the past couple days. It was always amazing to him how far the long arm of technology reached even for those who lived off the grid like him.
It was getting late and his throat was burning. He needed a tall cold one. Gearhead left his trailer and was confronted by the spectacle of a giant, glowing, yellow boat which was making its way toward the blue light district. He shook his head at the sight and chuckled dismissively as he turned to close the trailer door. "I am getting too old for this shi…P," he muttered under his breath. A cold one . . . or twelve at Newt's Bar was calling.
After a few . . . . dozen drinks, Gearhead stumbled back to his quarters on Gremlin street. Even as smashed as he was he looked at the street sign and thought it was quite poetic. There was no escaping the Gremlins, like Ted Roark, who reared their ugly heads to cause mass chaos to the greatest of his designs. And then he thought back to the last face to face talk with his son and sighed. This Burning Man had failed him and he didn't even know how it had happened.
About 500 miles south southwest of all things radical and nonconformist, a different kind of burning was taking place at The Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant. The heat was not coming from the dumplings, in fact, the food was perfect. This recommendation from the little bearded man was clearly a winner. From all outward appearances a normal second first date or first real date (depending on the perspective of the agent or the girl) was taking place in the center of the restaurant. Neither the guy nor the girl would ever call what was simmering within remotely normal.
"So, our first date is a Morgan recommendation?" Sarah asked.
"Wow, no faith in the little bearded man. Okay." Chuck said in response to the smile he noticed from across the small table. As he paused for a moment he wondered if the Chinese noodles she was eating would actually forecast longevity in the relationship that he desired with her.
"I think you should know he's always been supportive of our fake relationship. And he's never found it remotely unbelievable that a guy like me could be dating . . .," he self-consciously cleared his throat, paused, and continued, ". . you know . . ."
"What?" Sarah asked.
"Um, You know, you?" Chuck responded with some uneasiness. He knew that he was putting himself 'out there' . . . again, but more importantly, he knew that if he didn't he might not ever have the chance again.
"What about me?" Sarah flirtingly responded as the temperature in the immediate vicinity had definitely turned up a notch.
He chuckled and in an attempt to get a reprieve from her he asked the beautiful blonde, "You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"
He saw that while his date had been enjoying the noodles, what she was genuinely eating up was the attention. Although not apparent from his outward body language, Chuck was a bit nervous but there was no way that he was going to back down from what may be an opportunity to melt a bit of her cool exterior.
"Wow, okay. Fine . . . alright. We'll play it your way. A girl like you, or more appropriately a woman like you. Considering the fact that you could probably kick the ass of every one in this joint, and a smart one at that, not to mention cool, and . . . ," he paused and then continued. ". . . and extremely beautiful."
As he spoke, without even realizing it she had lost all interest in the meal, everyone around them, and in everything else except him. In that moment, she literally hung on each word which escaped from his mouth.
Perhaps, he put himself 'out there' a bit more out than he had intended and so Chuck continued with a bit of levity, ". . . and you can stop me anytime with the compliments if they are becoming . . ."
Thank God he changed the subject, she thought. Unlike before, she decided to grant him a reprieve – not for his benefit, but instead for hers.
"No, no that was very sweet," Sarah giggled and interjected.
"Sweet, golly gee, thanks for making me feel like I'm 8." Chuck half-heartedly joked.
Sarah laughed and responded, "Well, you're not so bad yourself."
"Please, I'm fantastic," Chuck smirked but his attempt to deflect her compliment was not missed. The one person in the room that mattered, Sarah, saw through his act and pierced through his false bravado.
"Yeah, you are." she responded matter-of-factly while she looked straight into his eyes with a small purposeful grin to make sure that he understood and recognized her affirmation.
As a glow transferred from her to him, it was apparent that the temperature in the center of this normal Asian eatery was definitely cooking.
As they finished their meal, Sarah opened her fortune cookie and read the inscription intently.
"So does it say where you're going next, your new mission?" Chuck asked.
Caught off guard she quickly responded, "Actually it does."
Surprised Chuck asked, "Really?"
"No, not really," Sarah quirked a smile at him, with mock disdain.
Chuck flushed, a little embarrassed by the tease. He quickly covered it up with a smile of his own.
"Besides it doesn't work that way. They will probably give me a new cover and move me as far away from here as possible," Sarah finished and looked down to conceal her reluctance.
"What if they didn't?" he offered and she smiled.
"Chuck, a CIA officer doesn't get to choose," she responded as she leaned closer to him.
"You know I still have an awful lot of secrets in my head. The Lindbergh baby. The formula for new Coke." Chuck responded as he moved closer to her.
"What are you saying Chuck?" she said as she looked longingly into his eyes. He saw something he hadn't seen since just after their smoldering first kiss at the docks – her vulnerability. She openly was giving him something real in this moment and it was up to him to respond.
"What I've always wanted to say Sarah," Chuck confirmed as he leaned in to kiss her only to be cut short by the people surrounding them.
Unfortunately for this Burning Man, the impending interruption was unwelcome but was definitely unavoidable.
The following morning, hangover intact, Gearhead was awakened early by a rooster horn on a broken down tricycle outside his trailer. "Burners," he grumbled to himself as he attempted to rise to his . . . knees. He crawled to the door, grabbed the knob and swung it open. Unfortunately, in his haste and drunken stupor, he forgot to let go of the door knob and so his body followed the door, his arm, and he proceeded to fall down the stairs to the dust on the ground. As he turned his head to the side and looked up, he was blinded by the sun and this pasty meaty guy who had decided to make the BRC 'clothing optional' rule completely 'optional.' It was not that Gearhead cared that he was looking straight up at the twigs and berries of a naked Burner in full heat, but he hadn't planned to start the afternoon this way.
"Hey, I'm Maury Cheeks and this is my Traveling Cock," he said as he pointed to his broken tricycle in the shape of a giant rooster complete with feathers. He continued, "but most people call me 'Sweet.'"
"You don't say Mr. Sweet Cheeks. I was hoping you were referring to your bike," Gearhead said lackadaisically.
"I was!" laughed Cheeks.
"So what seems to be the problem?" Gearhead asked.
"I can't get the chain to stay up when I ride it," said Sweet Cheeks.
Rising up to his knees Gearhead responded, "Well, let's take a look at it, but you stay right there and you don't need to bend over like that, I've got it covered."
Even with his throbbing temple, this was going to be an easy fix. Gearhead stumbled up the stairs, grabbed an oil can, and hobbled back outside.
Sweet Cheeks was on the other side of the bike squatted down next to his beloved cock.
Gearhead dropped down on the other side of the rooster-mobile and said, "See, the alkali dust out here causes all kinds of havoc with a man's chain."
"You are talking about the bike, right?" Cheeks remarked.
Gearhead continued to focus on the chain and said, "Yeah, it just gets stuck on there and dries the whole bit out until there's nothing but a dried up shriveled piece of nothing."
"Yeah, the bike just isn't the same . . ." the nude man said.
"That time, I wasn't just talking about the bike," Gearhead snorted as he started to climb back up the stairs to his trailer.
Cheeks grinned and began to follow him, "I guess I really came out here unprepared without the essentials."
"Oh, so that's where your skivvies went?" Gearhead joked.
Cheeks chuckled and responded, "Yeah! Listen I've got this satellite phone from my work that I don't need . . ."
"And where is it exactly? I mean, I didn't see your purse on you," Gearhead chuckled.
Cheeks laughed and opened the rooster's mouth on his refurbished ride, retrieved the phone, and tossed up to Gearhead through the door of the trailer. Although his hangover had started to wear off, his reflexes had not caught up and so the phone dropped to the floor of the trailer causing it to break into a couple pieces.
As Gearhead reached down to pick up the phone he noticed a sticker on it that said 'Roark Industries.'
"Amateurs," he remarked.
"Hey, I'm sorry about that," said Cheeks as he climbed up the stairs.
"Don't worry about it, but hang here for a minute because I've got something else you're gonna need more," responded Gearhead.
As Sweet Cheeks waited in the living room area of the trailer, he noticed a picture frame on the coffee table. While he looked at it he zoned out for a minute. Perhaps his reaction was due to the change in temperature he experienced when he came in out of the blistering sun. It only lasted a moment and when he was able to refocus on the picture, he noticed that it was of a couple of teens—a boy and a girl. They were arm-in-arm and smiling. The girl had on a graduation cap and gown. The boy, who had to be her kid brother, was giving her a half hug. At the bottom of the picture were the words, Hartford High School Class of 1996.
Gearhead returned to the living room and frowned when he noticed Sweet Cheeks was looking at a picture from a happier time in Gearhead's past. In an effort to thwart an uncomfortable conversation, Gearhead offered, "I suggest you use some of this," as he handed Maury some 50 spf sunscreen. He added, "You'll thank me later, especially when you see your lady friends dressed like you later tonight."
Cheeks responded, "Thanks. Hey, are these your kids?"
Before he had time to respond, a Burner dressed as a Tusken Raider tapped on the trailer door. As Gearhead opened the door and looked outside, he noticed a broken down go-cart which had been converted to a Tatooine Speeder. At least those sand people had clothes, he thought.
He turned back to the naked man in his trailer and said, "That's a talk for another time." Gearhead was thankful for the reprieve. As he walked outside, Cheeks heard him mumble, "Maybe, one day I'll be able to put right what once went wrong."
The interruption for this Burning Man was unavoidable but was definitely welcome.
[A/N: So who is Gearhead Gary and what is he doing in the wilderness? Join Chuck and Sarah as they move closer to finding out the truth about Gearhead and, more importantly, about their real feelings for one another!]
STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 2--Burning Up At Christmas!