A/N: As the Stanford TMI Turns – In today's installment we learn that the LKSC Lawn is an actual greenspace on the southern end of the Stanford Medical School. It's just east along Discovery Walk from the Beckman Center for Molecular and Genetic Medicine. No, I'm not making that up. It gets better. One of the buildings in the Stern Hall dormitory complex, on the eastern side of campus, is called Larkin House. No, I'm not making that up, either. And, no, I have no idea if Bryce Larkin lives in Larkin House, but I wouldn't put it past him, the narcissist. And no, neither of the show's creator's attended Stanford, but the coincidence of the two building names is interesting. The baseball training table is situated in the Branner Dining hall, which is part of the Branner Hall dormitory complex. It is located on the eastern edge of the Stanford campus just south of the Stanford Graduate School of Business. Yes, I am a map junkie.
Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. Someone owns Chuck, but I don't, do you? The roses are wilted, the violets are dead. Make no money from Chuck, that's a kick in the head. I know, I know. Don't quit my day job. Got it.
Chapter 23 – My Humps
January 10
Chuck tapped the keypad and turned the key in the lock before swinging the door open to allow Sarah to enter his work space. As he'd promised the previous day, they were taking time out of their evening walk so he could show her where he'd be spending most of his time for the rest of the school year. Stepping into the room, her eyes widened in astonishment.
"All of this is your stuff? Your experiments? I mean … um … projects?" She looked around the room, amazed. There was so much equipment crammed into the room that she couldn't make heads or tails of one project from another one. If she were being honest, it kind of looked more like a junk room than a laboratory. She knew it wasn't, but still. All of this stuff for one man. Her Chuck.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's all mine," he nodded. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow.
"All of this is your research for your ten degrees?" Sarah was incredulous, tilting her head and looking at him.
"Ah … yeah. This is all for my research into my ten subject areas. The beginning of them, at least," Chuck shrugged, trying to sound casual.
"What do you mean, the beginning of your research?" she asked, biting the corner of her lip when she scrunched them up.
"Well, I have to write up research proposals and get them approved in order to pursue the full research for my degrees," he explained. "And to write up those proposals, I've got to do preliminary research to determine if the focus of my different studies have merit and show promise." He waved his arm to encompass the entire room. "That's what all of this is for."
"And if your advisors don't approve your proposals?" Sarah wondered.
"It shouldn't come to that," he replied. "It's the initial research where showstopping problems that could derail the proposals are dealt with. If that means I need to change the direction of my research, so be it. I'll be talking with my advisors a lot this quarter to make sure I'm on solid ground."
"Does it worry you that your proposals might get rejected or that your research could fail down the road somewhere?" she asked softly, her concern plain in her voice and on her face.
"Yeah, it does, but not really, at the same time," Chuck replied thoughtfully. Sarah cocked her head to the side and looked at him quizzically. "I've been reading and taking classes, studying these topics, and researching them for a long time. I've got a pretty good idea where to go with them," he stopped speaking and his eyes widened before narrowing when he winced. "Geez, that sounds like bragging." He ducked his head and frowned. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound like such a jerk." Chuck shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. "It's just that I've not talked to many people, outside of my professors, who are interested in what I'm doing." Sarah smiled gently. Her boyfriend, her Chuck, was trying to apologize for being a genius. Apologize for simply being himself. Being confident. She liked confident Chuck, a lot, so she had to stop him from beating himself up for it.
"Chuck, you weren't bragging. You were just telling me about your lab and your research plans. You weren't exaggerating, you were just being confident. Nothing wrong with being confident, that's not bragging. I'm not surprised that you're confident about your research. I'd be more surprised if you weren't," Sarah said as she looked at him appreciatively, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze. He gave her a grateful look. "I mean, come on. You've got four patents and almost another one. You've done research before. Just relax a little." Chuck bobbed his head and bounced one shoulder while a shy grin formed on his face.
"Yeah, I guess you're right, Sarah. I do need to relax. Thanks," he admitted gratefully.
"You're welcome," Sarah replied. "Now, please, give me the three-dollar tour of where you'll be looking into the wonders of the universe for the next few months," she smiled in anticipation.
Chuck reached over and tucked some loose hair behind her ear, before shyly, but proudly, smiling. "It would be my pleasure. I'll try and not get us lost," he quipped, giggling.
"See that you don't," she teased back.
To the left of the entry door was a chemical eye wash station - a little fountain with the two eyestalk-like washers, along with a fire extinguisher, and fire blanket. Lab tables were arranged along the wall on the two sides and back of the room. Further tables were arranged in the middle of the room, perpendicular to the two sides. In the front right corner of the room was a desk with two computer screens and keyboards on top. The actual computers were out of sight, most likely on the floor under the desk. The final item in the room was a couch against the wall to the right of the door. Chuck took her hand before guiding her around the cramped space.
"Here on the left is the chemistry station. Close to the washer and fire extinguisher, for obvious reasons," he began. When Sarah gave him a look, he just shrugged. The table was full of test tubes and beakers in holders, along with other, typical paraphernalia. He indicated the first cross table, which held similar items to the chemistry table. "This one is for materials science and engineering." They continued on past the chemistry table. "This one is physics." That table had some lab equipment along with a laptop. He gestured to the second table in the middle of the room. "That's for biomechanical engineering." It was covered in a combination of familiar lab equipment side-by-side with hand tools. There was another table in the middle of the room, behind the biomechanical table, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he directed Sarah's attention to the table in the back left corner of the room. It had a white board attached to the wall behind it and the surface of the table was covered in papers filled with formulae. Already, after just one day. Sarah smiled at her Chuck's industriousness.
"From all of the scribblings and arcane symbols, I'm guessing that table is either for mathematics or witchcraft," Sarah widened her eyes and gasped, before pressing her lips together to contain her grin and bobbing her head from side-to-side. Chuck stared at her in surprise, but quickly recovered. He tipped his nose up and sniffed.
"Tut, tut, my dear. Nothing so mundane or devilish as all of that rot," he said, affecting a posh accent. "Those formulae are all part of my study of alchemy." She giggled at his silliness, happy that he'd picked up on her mood.
"And what, pray tell, do you hope to discover by studying alchemy, good sir?"
"Why, isn't it obvious, milady?" Chuck took on a mock affronted pose, spreading the fingers of his free hand and placing his fingertips in the middle of his chest. "I hope to discover the Philosopher's Stone," he smirked.
"Save yourself a lot of trouble. Harry Potter already found it. You can read all about it in his PhD thesis, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," she snarked, grinning.
"Well, fiddlesticks," he feigned disappointment.
"Fiddlesticks? Really, Chuck?" Sarah shook her head and snorted, grinning even more.
"OK, I might have wanted to say something else, Sarah, but it isn't nice to say in mixed company," Chuck stuck out his lower lip and pouted cutely.
"Like what?" Teasing. "What were you going to say? You can tell me, we're all alone here. No way to sully your good name. Or mine."
Chuck sucked his lower lip into his mouth and pretended to look around the room, before leaning in and whispering seriously, "I was thinking of saying 'poop'."
Already charmed by his carrying on, Sarah burst out laughing, "Poop? Why not just say 'shit'?"
He grinned and gave her his Bartowski eyebrow dance, "To be perfectly honest, I was thinking of saying that, but a gentleman isn't supposed to swear in front of ladies."
"Am I a lady, Chuck?" she asked him quietly, looking up at him through her lashes.
"You're my lady," he said; his face wearing the special smile he reserved for her and blushing.
"I am indeed," she said, leaning up to kiss his lips softly. Stepping back, she patted him on the chest. "You can swear in front of me, though. Don't worry, I'll still be your lady, I promise."
He barked out a laugh, "I'll keep that in mind."
"Now, enough fooling around. What's all the rest of this shit for anyway?" Sarah demanded with a tight-lipped smile; her tongue caught between her teeth.
"Such a potty mouth you are," he chided teasingly, but tugged on her hand and they walked to the second table along the back wall of the room, covered in tools and mechanical parts.
"This one's for mechanical engineering," he explained, before moving to the table that was perpendicular to the ME table along the right-hand wall. "Here is electrical engineering and computer engineering is the next one." Both tables had a forest of wires and circuit boards covering their surfaces. They headed back to the front of the room. Beside the computer engineering table was the desk, angled a bit toward the back left corner.
"I use those computers for my history and computer science work. Plus, anything that requires that I access the internet for any of my projects. That way I can keep all of that stuff in one place."
"What about that last table in the middle of the room? The one just in front of your alchemy," she grinned and he snorted, "and mechanical engineering tables."
"Ah. Yes. That table," he looked sheepish.
"Yeah. That table. What are you using that one for?" she asked, tilting her head in question.
"That's the table where I'm doing more research and development for my company. Possible future patent applications," he tried shrugging nonchalantly.
"What? You're doing more patent work? While you're at school? How is that possible? Does Stanford know?" Sarah was surprised.
"Oh, yeah, they know," he nodded. "That was part of the negotiations Dad and I had with the President and the Dean before I agreed to come here. I get to continue to do my own personal work, with no interference and no compensation to Stanford, since I could just have stayed in Burbank and done the research in my company's labs. And they knew that."
"OK, if you say so," she shrugged and he smiled. Something told her that there was more to the story, but she assumed he would tell her, when he was ready. He'd earned her trust. More than once. "At any rate this place is amazing. I can't wait to see what you end up doing for your dissertation topics."
"Thank you, I'm glad you like it. After all, it is going to be my home, so to speak, for the rest of this school year."
"You're welcome," Sarah replied before turning toward the couch. "Now, what research are you doing that requires that couch?" Her face wore an expectant smile that was somehow saucy at the same time.
"That's where I'll crash when I need to take a break," he shrugged one shoulder. "When I need to research resting my eyes and my brain," he smirked and she giggled.
"Anything else you research there?" Sarah asked, grinning cheekily. Chuck grinned back at her, finally catching on.
"Well, now that you mention it, we are a bit behind in our lab partner experiments," he teased.
"I thought we were past being lab partners," she tried bouncing her eyebrows but was only partially successful. He shook his head in jest and she pretended to pout.
"Oh, you're right, we are past that. Way past that," Chuck admitted. He looked over at the digital clock on the wall. "We're behind in our normal evening walk time, too, so we're missing out on some hand holding, hugging, and kissing," he finished. Sarah could see his ears reddening.
"That we are," she agreed. "So how 'bout we spend some quality time on your couch catching up?" Sarah winked at him.
"And you call me a genius," Chuck laughed, taking her hand and walking toward the couch.
A little while later, Chuck and Sarah exited the ChEM-H and Neurosciences building complex after waving to the security guard, hand-in-hand, softly smiling at each other. They were definitely getting better at kissing.
"How did you end up getting space over here in these buildings, sweetie?" She asked, looking back over her shoulder at the building they'd just left.
"With all of my research projects, I needed a good bit of space. Even though I'm not doing Neuroscience work, they could move people around to get me enough space in that part of the complex and the building is close enough to the rest of the engineering and computer science buildings that I can run over to see my advisors if I need to. Most of the time I won't have to go anywhere since phone calls or video conferences will be enough. The only ones that are a little farther away are history and mathematics and even they aren't that far away. Not like having to go all the way over to the graduate business school on the other side of campus or anything," Chuck said nonchalantly. "Besides, I'm only going to be located here for the first part of my PhD work."
"What are you talking about?" Sarah looked at him curiously. "Where are you going to be, if not here?"
Chuck smiled cryptically. "Let me show you." He gently tugged on her hand and led her across Via Ortega then turned north to cross both Jane Stanford Way and Campus Drive. When they arrived on the other side of Campus Drive, Sarah realized that the space on the southern edge of the medical school was surrounded by a covered chain-link fence. It had been the LKSC Lawn, but now it was a construction site.
"Why did you bring me over here, Chuck?" She asked her grinning boyfriend. Instead of answering right away, he led her along the fence a little way until they came to a sign which read "Construction Site – Stay Safe and Stay Out" and below that it stated "Future Home of the Carmichael Research Building." Sarah's mouth fell open in shock and she turned to stare at her boyfriend and the goofy smile he was wearing. She was speechless.
"I wanted to have them call it Building 51, but that number was already taken by a building over at the SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory in Menlo Park," he pouted. "So, instead, they wanted to call it that and I eventually acquiesced," he gestured at the sign. Finally, Sarah found her voice. Sort of.
"You're building your own building?! On Stanford's campus?" she sputtered.
"Well, I'm not building it," he began, but stopped when she swatted his arm. "Ow! What was that for?"
"Stop joking around. You know what I meant," she admonished him. "You're paying to have your own building built so you can do research in it?"
"Yes, my company is making a sizable charitable donation to help defray the cost of building a new research building at Stanford, but we're not paying the entire cost. The rest of it is coming from Stanford's endowment funds. And while it is true that I will be moving my research over here when it's finished, it's not just for me. The rest of the space will be taken up by other research, mostly medical since the building is getting built on medical school grounds, quote unquote," he explained.
"How big is it going to be anyway? And how much space are you going to be using? When will it be ready to use?" Sarah peppered him with rapid-fire questions.
"It's going to take up all of the space that was the LKSC Lawn, so it's pretty big, and it's going to be four floors. It's scheduled to be done by the end of August and I'm going to be the first tenant. They're giving me first dibs on an entire floor. I get to use however much space I need on that floor. Whatever I don't need, they'll assign to other researchers," Chuck said, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.
"Was this donation part of the negotiations you told me about before? Something tells me it was," Sarah fixed him with a penetrating gaze.
"Something tells you correctly, Sarah," he admitted. "A donation was part of the negotiations. When we gave more than we'd originally agreed to give, the administration's attitude warmed to us considerably."
"I don't doubt it," she snorted, before looking at the sign again, letting his latest revelation wash over her. "Holy cow, baby. That's crazy. This is crazy! Amazing, but crazy!" she blurted out. Chuck froze. Slowly he raised his eyes to look into hers.
"Baby?" he looked at her with a bemused expression.
"Yup. Baby. Baby, babe, babester. You got a problem with that, Bartowski?" She tilted her chin up and looked at him defiantly.
"Well, besides babester, I'm OK with it if you are … baby," he grinned crookedly. Sarah felt a warmth grow in her chest hearing him call her 'baby'.
"OK, no on the babester. Otherwise, it's all fine by me, too, baby," she confirmed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiling at him.
Chuck stood silently and looked at her for a moment. "Babester was payback for my Sweet Pepper crack yesterday wasn't it, Walker?"
"No one called you slow witted, Mr. Science," she snarked, bobbing her head from side to side.
"Well, not tonight at any rate. At least, not yet," he conceded. Sarah threw her head back and laughed.
"I could get used to you, Chuck," she said once she was able to stop laughing.
"The feeling's mutual, Sarah," he said shyly, biting his lower lip. The look on his face lit a fire in her belly and she leaned in to plant a fierce kiss on his lips.
Chuck and Sarah had crossed back of Campus Drive and were following Via Ortega all the way to Santa Teresa Street, taking a different way back to Roble Hall. It was a clear night and, even with all of the surrounding lights, stars could still be seen filling the sky. It was beautiful, but most of the young couple's focus was on each other. Both were stealing glances at their partner and smiling to themselves. Eventually, the inevitable happened and they caught each other in the act of glance stealing. They blushed and each laughed at the other's awkward embarrassment. The sheer silliness and romance of the small, private moment warmed them both and deepened their bond.
"You haven't told me how your practice went the last couple of days. I'm sorry that I haven't asked sooner," Chuck smiled in an effort to push past his awkward feeling.
"Chuck, don't worry about it. I know you've been busy getting your lab set up. It's no big deal," Sarah said trying to allay his fears. "Thanks for asking now, though. It's been going pretty well. The girls got back into the swing of things fairly quickly yesterday after the holiday layoff. We decided to do the same songs for our first 'friendly' competition that we performed for the Cardinal Club back during homecoming," Sarah announced. "Everybody already knows the songs and the dance moves. I'm even borrowing some crutches from Vaden so we can keep the humor in the performance," she grinned.
"I remember," he nodded. "Mom and Dad told me about seeing y'all and enjoying it." He gave her the smile that was reserved just for her. She smiled back and nodded, then sobered.
"That's good. We hope the judges at the 'friendly' feel the same way your parents did," Sarah gave him a tightlipped smile. "That means since we won't have to prepare as much, we'll be able to use the time saved to work on the songs and moves for our second 'friendly'. Which, in turn, will allow more time to prepare for when the real competitions start next month with the Quarterfinals."
"I wish I could see you perform," Chuck groused, kicking a pebble out of his way on the sidewalk. "But I've got my commitment to baseball and everything." Sarah tried to hide her smile; his pouting was kind of adorable.
"Maybe we could grab Helman Hall for a short while one evening after dinner, so we can show our songs to you. I'll talk to Dr. Beckman about it," she offered happily.
"Oh, Sarah. I don't want to cause any trouble. Y'all have enough to do without having to waste your time on me," he let go of her hand and was waving both of his in front of her in a 'no' gesture.
"Chuck Bartowski, you stop that right now!" Sarah frowned at him. "You are not a waste of our time. At all. You're our friend. You're our mascot. You're my boyfriend," she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped. God, she loved saying that. "We all miss having you at practice. Eating dinner with you." Now she was wagging her finger at him. "The girls would all love to get up in front of you and show off. Are you kidding?"
"But, Sarah -," Chuck began.
"Hush, you. We're performing for you and that's final!" she smiled to show him she was only teasing a little. "I'll talk to Dr. Beckman tomorrow and see how hard it'll be to get the hall. It won't be for a week or two anyway. I want to make sure we show you our best stuff." She snatched at his hand. "Now gimme back that hand. I want to hold it while we walk." She jutted out her chin and tried to make a fierce face at him, but couldn't keep a grin from breaking out and ruining the effect. Chuck looked at her with wide eyes and eyebrows climbing his forehead.
"I'm looking forward to it," he said carefully, biting his lips to keep from smiling.
"You better, if you know what's good for you," Sarah said, trying to give him stink-eye, but laughing, instead, when she saw the funny face he was making. He stopped biting his lips and joined his laughter to hers. Once she sobered, Sarah remembered something she had wanted to ask back at the construction site.
"Why are you going to move all of your research to your new building, anyway, sweetie?" she asked.
"Well, it's not my building -," Chuck started to reply, but Sarah cut him off.
"Come on, Chuck. You know what I'm talking about," she twisted her lips to the side and gave him a look.
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Sarah, but you have to understand what I mean, too," he responded. "I'm helping to build a research building at Stanford because there needs to be more space for research. The fact that I get to use some of that space is true, but it's only for the relatively short amount of time that I'm in school here. That building will be providing research space to lots and lots of people for a long time after I graduate from here and leave. I don't want people to associate the building with me, like I'm doing something to show off. That's why it's going to be called the Carmichael Research Building and not the Bartowski Research Building. They wanted to call it that, but I refused. I even threatened to withhold the money if they tried to do that." He saw the look on his girlfriend's face and smiled sadly. "I just want to be normal, Sarah. Or as normal as my head allows me to be," he tapped his temple and shrugged. Sarah nodded her understanding, before stopping to gather him into her arms for a hug and a soft kiss. When the kiss ended, she started rubbing his back as she pulled back so she could look him in the eye, knowingly.
"I appreciate what you're saying, babe. And it was a good try at deflection, but you still haven't told me why you need to move into the bigger space," Sarah said. He gave her an affronted look, but she could tell that she had hit the mark. He sighed and nodded.
"You're right. I was trying to deflect a little, but, still, what I said was true," he said defensively.
"Still deflecting," she smirked.
"OK. OK," Chuck deflated a little. "The main reason I'll be moving is that some of the research, I've got planned, has the potential to expand." Sarah started to speak, but he held up his free hand to forestall her comment. "What I mean by that is, some of the initial research is going to be limited, like doing a trial run. Like when you test a program with a hundred thousand data points or a million data points then, later run another test with a hundred billion data points. Or building a small-scale machine before building one full size. An architect's model before building a real building. I can do the initial work in my current space, but there's a very good chance that I'll need a lot more space to do the full research on more than one of my projects. Hence, the move to the bigger space."
"That's pretty amazing, Chuck. I can't wait to see your lab in the new building when you've got it all kitted out."
"Yeah, it's going to be pretty cool. At least, I hope so. And I hope I can do some good work in there," he shrugged.
"You will, sweetie. You will. I have no doubt," Sarah said as she gave him an affectionate shoulder bump and smiled up at him. "Will that couch be making the move to the new building, when the time comes?"
"For sure. I'll still need a place to relax in the middle of working, from time to time," he confirmed.
"Good to know," she said, trying another eyebrow bounce. This one was a little more successful causing Chuck to chuckle at her antics.
January 18
The coaching staff watched the team go through their standard drills, spread out all across the baseball field. They were standing back, allowing the players to handle the drills without any interference. The first game was exactly four weeks from today and Graham felt that the players needed to step up and take charge, because they soon would be out on a field playing games without the coaches nannying them every second. While some of his staff had initially objected, the player's smooth handling of their workouts over the last couple of days had proved him right, so far. It was evident that all of the players had stuck to their daily workout schedules over the holiday break and moderated their enjoyment of the various distractions their time off had afforded them. In short, the team looked good. If they stayed focused, they'd be in fine shape come opening day. He was looking around at his staff and noticing them nodding their approval of the player's actions when he also noticed something out of place. Or, more correctly, someone out of place.
"Grimes, what are you doing over here? The water break is long over. You're supposed to be over there practicing," Graham sighed.
"Just admiring our boy's work from afar, Coach," Morgan answered, indicating Bartowski in the distance.
"Well, try admiring it a bit closer over there while you do some actual practicing of your own," Graham growled. "Or I might just have you admiring those foul poles up close and personal for the rest of your natural life."
"Eep!" Morgan yelped, running back over toward his teammates.
"This season is going to be a goddamn circus," Casey grumbled.
"Yup," Graham agreed. "All three rings."
"Well, we do have a clown," Casey chuckled.
"And a star attraction," Graham said, rubbing his hands together. Casey grunted his agreement.
Looking over to the other side of the field, they spied the new groundskeeping crew, Lester Patel, Jeff Barnes, and Skip Johnson, checking and repairing the ties on the huge nets strung in front of the seats along both sides of the diamond, behind the dugouts.
"We even have two monkeys riding a pony," Casey smirked, jerking his thumb in the grounds crew's direction.
"Which is which?" Graham wondered.
"Who cares? Doesn't make any difference," Casey growled.
"You're not wrong there, Coach. Not wrong at all," Graham burst out laughing, shaking his head. Casey soon joined him.
While his coaches were pondering the upcoming season, Chuck was out in the outfield long tossing with Hector Batista, one of the sophomore pitchers. It was wonderful to be out on the baseball field, getting ready for a new season to start. The sunshine and the smell of fresh cut grass was intoxicating and really got his competitive juices flowing. He felt great, throwing to Hector with a deceptively easy motion that sent the ball unerringly into his teammate's glove without him having to move hardly at all. Most of his focus was on practice and his throwing with Hector, but he devoted some of his brain to Sarah, like he had usually been doing since the previous October.
Branner Dining was clear on the other side of campus from Roble Hall and the Lagunita Court housing complex with its associated Lakeside Dining hall. For that reason, when Chuck and Morgan had come out of the serving line at Branner the previous Monday and seen two tables full of Songbirds waving to get their attention, they'd been stunned. Happy, but stunned just the same. Monday had been the first day that the coaches had permitted the baseball players to eat with their non-teammate friends, while still sticking to the training table regimen. The entire singing group had made the trek to Branner to enjoy eating with their two friends. Maybe it was a small gesture, but it left Chuck, in particular, deeply touched. He hoped his full Bartowski smile would hide the glassiness of his eyes as he and his friend made a beeline for the tables. More than one set of eyebrows raised upon seeing the two men joining the dozen attractive young women. When the tall, curly-haired pitcher was met by the equally tall and stunning blonde singer, eyes widened and grew envious at the intense kiss they shared. A similar kiss shared by the shorter man with a short, but still beautiful brunette woman, caused heads to shake in wonder. How did those two luck out? What did they have that the rest of them didn't? If any of their teammates had had the courage to ask any of the women at the joined tables, they would have heard just a one-word answer: plenty.
Sarah had seen Chuck's eyes as he approached the table. His reaction to the Songbirds appearance left her with mixed feelings. She was happy to see his huge smile and stunned reaction upon seeing them, glad that he took such pleasure in something so simple and effortless to accomplish. But she was also saddened by what she perceived as the reason for his glassy eyes. No one had ever made even that simple a gesture for him before in his life, besides his family. Maybe Morgan, but not anyone else. Certainly not a girl. What an austere and lonely life he had led before Stanford. As soon as he had put his food on the table, she stood and tried to kiss him to happiness. If she had anything to do with it, and she did, he would never have to be lonely again.
"Thank y'all for coming all the way over here to eat with us," Chuck had smiled sweetly to the surrounding girls, once Sarah stepped back from kissing him. He squeezed Sarah's hand with affection while he blinked his eyes to clear them, before sitting down.
"Think nothing of it, Chuckles," Carina had intoned. "We had to make sure you were eating all of your vegetables and staying out of trouble," she'd added with a teasing smirk.
"Thank you, Carina. You don't know how much I appreciate it," Chuck had replied giving the redhead an open and heartfelt smile. Carina's eyes widened slightly in surprise and she pulled her chin in a bit at Chuck's unfiltered, genuine statement and she wasn't the only one sitting at the tables so affected. What was it about Chuck Bartowski that made you want to hug the life out of him?
That first dinner together at Branner Dining had been fun and so unexpected. When it was over, Chuck and Sarah had worked out a route that would eventually take them to their bench and the normal route for their evening walk. They walked south from Branner Dining until they reached the Wilbur Hall housing complex. Just south of the complex, they turned west along Bowdoin Lane until they reached the Law School and turned north to follow Galvez Street and then Galvez Mall toward the Hoover Institution and continuing with their usual path back to the dorm. With a now de rigueur stop at 'their' bench along the way, of course. The same pattern repeated itself over the following three days. The Songbirds would meet them for dinner at Branner, each time humbling Chuck with their decision to trek clear across campus to eat with Morgan and him, then he and Sarah would take their circuitous route back to Roble Hall, enjoying each other's company and talking a little bit, too. The only change in that new routine had occurred the previous evening when Sarah had wanted to talk to him about 'some stuff'. When they'd reached 'their' bench, she'd cut their kissing short and began to talk, telling him things about her life that she'd not mentioned before.
"Chuck, you've been so great about sharing yourself with me. Telling me about your family and your life. About what's going on in your head and having to deal with that every day," Sarah had begun. "I've not been as forthcoming as you. And I need to be. It's time. Past time. It's time for me to tell you about my life and my family." She couldn't help the nervous tone that had crept into her voice. Nor could she stop herself from nibbling on her lower lip as she looked at him.
"Sarah. Sweetie, it's all right," Chuck had said as soothingly as he knew how. "You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to tell me. Frankly, if it upsets you, I'd prefer that you not talk about it." Sarah had been silently grateful that he was trying to let her off of the hook and spare her any discomfort. His thoughtfulness had made her fall for him even more. But he deserved to know about her past and she needed to tell him, so she had taken a deep breath to steady her nerves.
"I appreciate it, Chuck. I really do," she had smiled, before pressing her lips together firmly. "But I need to tell you these things. You need to hear them, so you know about who I am." Chuck had swallowed, wide-eyed as he nodded. He had reached over and took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze of encouragement.
"I was born in San Diego. My dad was a pilot in the Navy. His name was Harold Walker. People called him Hal. My mom's name is Emma. I've got a little sister, named Molly, who's 14. She's a brat, but she's my sister so what can you do? A pretty typical family, all things considered," Sarah had said, trying to keep her emotions in check. "We moved a few times, because of Dad getting new postings, but we were back in San Diego by the time I was 8 years-old and Molly was 3," she'd paused and gulped. Chuck had squeezed her hand again, which helped her steel herself for what came next. "Dad died in an accident while on a training mission. His plane just flipped over and crashed headlong into the ocean. They told us later that he'd suffered a brain aneurysm while flying and lost control." She had started to sniff and he had gently enveloped her in his strong arms, keeping her secure. "It was just bad luck, they said. If he'd had the aneurysm on the ground, there was a 50% chance that he might have survived." Even after all of these years, Sarah had cried telling Chuck about it. He had just held her close, murmuring comforting words, and rubbed her back until she had been ready to continue.
"Mom started dating a guy named Jack Burton, about a year after Dad died. He was, is, a civilian employee at the Navy base in Coronado, that's how they met. About a year after they'd started dating, they got married. I was 10 at the time," Sarah had smiled. "It was so great to see Mom happy again. Jack was really good for her. For all of us. He's been a great step-dad, but I asked him not to adopt me, so I could keep my last name in memory of my real dad." She had looked up at Chuck through her lashes with a shy smile. "Jack was so cool about it. He told me that he thought that was a great idea and he respected my desire to honor my father. So, you can forget all of those cliches about the mean step-fathers. Jack was great. Is great. We get along just fine. I love him and I'm glad he's in our lives, especially for Mom and Molly." She had paused again and taken a deep, shuddering breath.
"Since I was a prodigy, I didn't get my learners permit until after the senior prom a little before I graduated from high school. I was a bit past fifteen and a half. Mom and Jack got me a really cool car. A used burgundy Accord and I loved it. Mom and Jack, both, gave me lessons, but mostly Jack. And he was perfect. Patient and kind. He never got mad at me when I made mistakes," Sarah had stopped talking, choking up. Chuck had stayed silent and held her. "One day … Jack was giving me … a driving lesson … when … ah … a guy … a guy … he … um … hit us. Hit Jack. Totally blindsided me. All his fault, they said. B—But … um … Jack … well … ah … Jack, he … he was … hurt really badly. Paralyzed! … ah … from the waist down." Her defenses had finally crumbled. "And it's all my fault!" she had rushed out. There it was. She'd admitted to Chuck her deepest shame. How she'd ruined her family. Spoiled everything. Her reliving the experience, her sadness, coupled with her fear of his reaction to her revelation had caused her to break down and she sobbed on his shoulder.
Chuck's heart had broken when she'd told him this part of her story. To lose her father like she had and then the injury her step-father suffered was too tragic for him to even comprehend. She had said it was all the other guy's fault, but it was all her fault, too? He had had no idea what to say. No idea what help to offer, so he had done the only thing he could think of, he'd held her tighter and continued to rub her back. But he had also whispered soft words of affection, reassurance, and support in Sarah's ear as she nestled into his chest.
"Sarah," he had whispered as soothingly as he could, "I'm here for you. Whatever you need. I've got you. It's going to be OK. You're going to be OK. It wasn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. We'll figure it out." Chuck had repeated those words like a mantra, as if, by the power of those words alone, he could ease her mind and her heart. Everything else had fallen away. All he had been able to think about was Sarah and her distress and his desire to take that weight off of her shoulders. Take away her pain. Help her feel better. It wasn't until later that, when he'd thought back over the events of that night, he'd paused in wonder at the realization that his mind had been so singularly focused for the first time in his life. Focused entirely on Sarah, everything else fading in his mind.
Eventually, she had quieted, but remained wrapped in his arms, content to draw on the strength he was freely offering her. A few long moments later, she'd pulled back a little and taken a shaky breath, intent on continuing her story, but Chuck had interrupted her.
"Is that why you want to go to PT school? Because of what happened to your step-father?" he had asked carefully, trying not to upset her further.
She'd nodded, "Yeah, I wanted to learn something useful that I could do to maybe help him," she had paused, before adding, "And others," remembering her conversation with Dr. Richmond the previous summer. "Physical Therapy sounded like a good way to do that," she'd shrugged. "Since it's a graduate program, I changed my mind about majors and chose Human Biology and Psychology. They're pretty decent majors to have if you want to get to PT school. You remember me telling you last fall about my difficulty cutting into things? About how becoming a medical doctor didn't seem to be the path for me?" He had nodded his understanding.
"What were you planning on majoring in before?" he'd wondered.
"Doesn't matter," she'd frowned, waving her hand in the air, dismissively.
"Sarah, come on," Chuck had insisted. "Of course, it matters. It's what you had been dreaming about. What was it?" He'd shaken her gently. "You can tell me. Please. I want to know. Please let me know you." She had looked up sharply, gazing deep into his eyes. She had seen no judgement there. No disapproval. No teasing. Just his warm dark brown eyes so full of affection, support, a little curiosity, and something else that she couldn't quite identify. She'd really felt, for the first time in her life, that she could tell someone, him, anything and everything. He'd misread her hesitation, so his expression had morphed into a pout and he'd cupped her face, looking her in the eye, "Tell me." His insistent adorableness had made the corners of her lips curve up into the ghost of a smile. And she'd relented.
"OK, I'll tell you," she'd begun, snorting at his smirk of triumph, wanting to kiss that smirk off his face. Feeling so grateful for him right at that moment. "My original plan was to double major in Linguistics and Languages. I hadn't decided on which languages before …," Sarah's voice had trailed off at that point.
"Before the accident," he'd said, not asked. She'd nodded. Chuck had hugged her again, causing her to sigh softly. They'd stayed like that for a while just basking in each other, before Sarah drew back, once more, and went on with her story. She told him about her time in school, skipping grades and the challenges that had brought. Graduating at 15. Her dance lessons and soccer. Learning Tae Kwon Do. A little bit about the boys she'd dated, not that there was much to tell. Her experiences or lack of them. The prom and Handsy Hank. He'd bristled, actually he'd growled, upon hearing that part of the story, before laughing at the description of her kicking Hank. His fierce protective heart had warmed her insides. When her tale was over, he'd thanked her for sharing it with him.
"You've had a pretty amazing life, sweetie," Chuck had said, the admiration plain in his voice.
"Maybe," she'd replied doubtfully. "There was my accident and what it did to Jack, so I don't know how amazing you would call my existence up to this point," Sarah had grumped.
"You're not a bad person, Sarah," he'd told her. "It was an accident, wasn't it? Did you do everything you were supposed to do before it happened? Was there anything you could have done differently, apart from not being on the road at that location at that exact time?" Chuck gave her a questioning look, holding her gaze. After a couple of beats, she looked away and sighed. The tension he'd felt in her body eased some when she shook her head.
"No, Chuck. You're right, there wasn't anything more or different I could have done. Deep down I know that, but it's harder to get rid of the guilt," Sarah had reluctantly admitted. Not knowing how to respond, he'd nodded before kissing the top of her head, trying to convey his support. Chuck had hugged her and they'd moved on to other topics.
He'd asked and she'd talked about her classes, the senior seminar, and her two-quarter long senior project that she was in the early stages of working on. As their conversation wound down, their cuddling had ramped up, leading to even more enjoyable activities. For her part, Sarah had spent time kissing the memory of his triumphal smirk off his face, blissfully happy.
Chuck sat awkwardly trying to look out of the bus's window. Morgan was next to him, but his friend was engrossed with looking around the ornate, but garish party bus. It was huge as such things go, able to hold up to 40 people. It even had a bathroom. One of the seniors had told them, when the trip started, that it was possible for two stripper poles to be installed, although Chuck couldn't see the point in stripper poles in a bus, party or otherwise. There were places to keep drinks cold, but because there were a number of underage players, they only held bottled water and soft drinks. Cali Party Bus had gone all out outfitting this limo bus or whatever it was. If you liked black faux leather and neon lighting, that is. Big screen TVs were spaced around the interior walls of the bus, right above the padded benches, which were similarly arranged against the walls. Two larger screens were placed in the front and back of the space. The same senior, who'd mentioned the stripper poles, had told them that if they'd gotten a bus with colored seats, the lighting would have matched the seat color and could be made to strobe. Oh joy. Shaw had even taken the chaperone option offered by the company in an attempt to reassure the coaching staff. It cost more, he'd explained, but it kept the coaches off of their backs. The chaperone, one Mr. Barfield, seemed nice enough, but it was apparent, even to Chuck, that he was more concerned about making sure that there was no damage being done to the bus than moderating the players' behavior. Music, selected by Shaw, was blaring out of the sound system and the TVs were showing films from the prior year's Stanford baseball season. They'd been told that other films would be shown on the way back to campus. Chuck wasn't so sheltered that he couldn't imagine what sort of 'other' films Shaw was referring to. A look he'd shared with Morgan had told him that his guess was probably correct. Chuck resolved to stare out the window or at the floor when the time came.
The bus wasn't full. All of the first-year players had been commanded to attend, but not all of the upper class players were participating. Still, it was a large group. The seniors hadn't told them where they were going. This was a team thing. Just like the surprise visit to the shooting range. Chuck had a bad feeling about this latest 'unknown' activity.
Sarah, Carina, and Zondra were walking to Green Library. Amy had left them for the engineering stacks at Terman. The three friends planned on spending time at the library doing work on their senior projects and studying, but that wasn't the only reason for their trip. They also wanted to walk off some of their nervous energy. Well, some of Sarah's nervous energy. Her nervous energy was rubbing off on the other CATS and making them nervous, too.
At dinner, Chuck had told them about the 'secret' team bonding activity that the seniors had sprung on the first-year players at the end of practice that afternoon. Everyone remembered what had taken place back in the fall, the last time the baseball team had had an undescribed activity. The shooting range incident was what happened and the cascade of emotions that followed that revelation and others, culminating in the huge confrontation with Chuck and his even bigger, stunning, revelations. Having another such team activity, right before the playing season got underway, did not sit well with the singers. A bunch of college boys with just a single, paid, chaperone out on the town for the evening. The elder CATS had a pretty good idea where the guys were going, but they hadn't said anything to Sarah. She was on edge enough as it was.
For her part, Sarah worried about her Chuck. She couldn't imagine that tonight's activity would lead to more revelations from Chuck, but she was concerned for him none-the-less. She wasn't stupid, by any means. She knew that her roommates were worried about tonight, too. And she had a good idea of what they were worried about, about where the team was going. She knew that Chuck didn't react to things the same way other guys their age did. He couldn't, his brain didn't permit it. How would he deal with what she thought was in store for him? She had no idea, but she did have a bad feeling about this latest activity.
Officer Pete Campagna of the Sunnyvale Police Department hated traffic duty. He especially hated traffic duty outside of the Cheetahs Gentlemen's Club. The south bay area's premier ALL NUDE club right in the middle of Sunnyvale, their website bragged. Wonderful. He had nothing against the club, itself, but California's odd drinking laws made it a difficult assignment. Some genius politician had decided, years ago, that they could curtail the strip clubs in the state by making it illegal to sell alcohol on the premises of the all-nude establishments, figuring that not being able to drink would drive away the customers. They'd figured wrong. All the politicians and their law had accomplished was to force potential club patrons to do their drinking elsewhere, then drive over to the club. That meant drinking and driving. And drunk and rowdy men (and some women) in the parking lot. Officer Campagna lost count of the number of traffic violations he'd ticketed and the number of drunken brawls he'd had to break up outside the club, shaking his head in disgust at the memories. To add insult to injury, since the clubs were no longer selling alcohol, they'd been permitted to allow patrons as young as 18 to enter. So, Pete had to deal with over-sexed teenagers, some impaired and some not, looking for a rite of passage. His joy was never ending.
It was Friday night, which meant the Cheetahs business was brisk. It was still early, so the worst offenders hadn't shown up yet, but Officer Campagna was still on the lookout. That's why he caught sight of three of his least favorite people just as they turned their car into the club's parking lot off of East Arques Avenue. Tom McKeon, Matt Scharf, and Steve Simes grinned and waved at him once they parked (badly) and got out. McKeon was the tallest of the three, loose limbed and blond. He looked a bit like Larry Bird, but without the mustache or the basketball skills. His two friends, Scharf and Simes, looked like typical high school athletes who'd gone to seed. Scharf, the shorter of the two, had been a pretty good wrestler in his day and once had the body to prove it, but now it was flabby from not enough time lifting weights and too much time lifting beer cans. He was tanned due to his construction job, his hair sun bleached, and his face pockmarked from a very bad case of acne that had plagued him from middle school well into his early twenties. Simes had been a swimmer. Husky, his specialty was the breaststroke, in the pool, but not so much out of it, his once tapered frame now sporting an extra layer of fat courtesy of his extensive Budweiser and Miller workouts. They were cutting up and shoving each other good naturedly, walking out of the parking lot to stand on the sidewalk next to the lot entrance. Once there, they hooted and waved at him while he attempted to do his job. Being assholes wasn't against the law. Unfortunately. The police officer could smell the beer they'd consumed somewhere, even from his position in the middle of the street. He sighed. It was going to be one of those nights.
Just then, he saw a large vehicle, it looked like one of those party buses, come into view in the distance, heading in the direction of the club. Seeing the bus reminded him of the roll call briefing back at the station. He'd been given the heads up that a group of Stanford students was coming to the club tonight. When he'd arrived on site, he'd confirmed that fact with the club's manager and bouncers at the front door. And, apparently, here they were. Just in time so the Three Stooges standing on the sidewalk could greet them. He had a bad feeling about this potential situation.
The party bus pulled up along the curb outside of the club and the door opened. A large group of young men piled out, some looking around wide-eyed and others looking at the first group and smirking. Whoever they were, it was clear that this was some sort of rite of passage. An initiation for the freshmen members of some campus organization. They looked fit, like athletes, but they could be some frat boys, too. Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty of them he guessed from his quick count. Wonderful. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful, Pete grumbled to himself. He glanced over at the Stooges and saw that the college boys had caught their attention. This was not good. Not good at all.
Shaw walked to the front of the assembled players and planted himself, his smirk plain for all to see. "Welcome to the Cheetahs Gentlemen's Club, boys. Tonight, you freshmen are going to see live naked women. Fully naked. For some of you, it'll be your first time to be so entertained. For the rest of you … eh," he shrugged, "who cares? It's the noobies, the strip club virgins, we're concerned with tonight. This is for those of you who didn't do this on your eighteenth birthdays or any days since then." He grinned at Larkin, knowing him to be a veteran these sorts of establishments.
The freshman, and Chuck, just gaped, alternately looking at the building and looking at Shaw's smug face. Larkin looked the most eager. Bartowski looked apprehensive. Of course, he did. They'd been reminded to not mention Stanford or the baseball team, before they'd exited the bus. This was a known, if not strictly approved, outing and it was all thanks to Daniel Shaw and the other seniors on the team. The plan was to go in, spend a couple of hours getting an eyeful of the ladies, and go back to campus. This had been done for him when he was a freshman and Shaw saw no reason not to continue the 'tradition'.
"OK, boys, let's go," Shaw commanded. The group started to move off of the sidewalk toward the club with the upperclassmen shepherding the freshmen. All except Bartowski. Shaw noticed the tall, curly-haired pitcher out of the corner of his eye. He was standing stock still on the sidewalk. Daniel stopped and turned to look at Chuck. Seeing him stop and turn, the rest of the players followed suit.
"What is it this time, Bartowski?" Shaw snorted. "There aren't any guns around and you don't have to shoot any mean, nasty targets. Get over here and join the rest of us," he ordered, fully expecting Bartowski to comply. When he didn't move, Shaw rounded on Morgan, "Grimes, what's the deal with your friend over there?"
Morgan sadly looked at his roommate, shaking his head. He knew what Chuck's deal was. They'd talked about this kind of thing on more than one occasion.
"He can't go in there, Shaw," Morgan pursed his lips, frowned, and shook his head at Daniel.
"You mean won't, don't you, Grimes?" Shaw snarked.
"No. I mean can't," Morgan insisted.
Shaw snorted in disgust, turning back toward Chuck. Neither he or any of the other players noticed the three older men sidling up to where they were arguing. Officer Campagna could hear the entire argument and saw the men approaching. He was steeling himself for a confrontation between the boys and the men. The Stooges were grinning, enjoying the public show.
"Care to explain it to me, Bartowski?" Shaw sneered. "Or is it simply that you're not enough of a man to go in and look at naked women."
"I can't go in there, Shaw. I can't," Chuck shook his head. "I won't." He squared his shoulders and looked Shaw in the eye.
"Why not?" the senior asked. He felt like a fool and that made him angry.
"Did you not listen to a thing I said to everyone last fall?" Chuck demanded. "Did not hear the part about whatever I see I can never forget? Haven't you figured out what that means for me?" He had taken a step forward and was waving his arms out in front of himself.
"Yeah, so you can't forget stuff. So what? What does that have to do with going into a club to look at some girls?" Shaw was confused and that was adding to his anger. Bartowski was a pain in the ass.
Chuck's shoulders slumped a little. "Think about it. Think about trying to be with a girl and while you're with her you see all the other girls you've ever dated are right there in front of you. Any girl you saw in a club like this one. Or in a movie. Or in a magazine. On the internet. Right in front of your face the entire time. Always. Forever." He reached out his hand and turned it over, making a claw gesture.
Shaw was stunned. No, he hadn't thought about what Bartowski had told them last fall. Not like that. Holy shit!
"You mean you've never? …" the older player asked incredulously. The other players, besides Morgan, looked equally stunned. They hadn't thought enough about Chuck's story, either.
"Nope."
"None of it? Ever?" Still disbelieving.
"Nope. Not ever," Chuck confirmed.
"Really?"
"Really. How could I?" Chuck looked at Shaw. "How could I, Daniel, and ever hope to have a healthy relationship with someone? A normal relationship," he shrugged. "Well, as normal a relationship as it's possible for me to have," he finished sadly. Shaw finally understood. Understood what Chuck had been trying to explain to them all. Finally understood what the younger man had to live with every day. His attitude about Chuck changed completely. One hundred and eighty degrees.
"Jesus. Shit, Bartowski," Shaw gulped. "I didn't realize what it meant. What you told us. I didn't think about how it affects everything," he shook his head. "Dude, I'm sorry. Just forget it," he waved his hands in front of his chest. "Chuck, you don't need to go in. It's cool. Hang out on the bus or call a cab or something." Shaw shook his head. He was about to turn back toward the club, when he paused and turned back. He looked Chuck in the eye and held out his hand.
"I understand if you don't want to, but I'm offering my hand as an apology, Chuck, and I hope you'll forgive me and shake it," Daniel said. He actually sounded a little humble to the surrounding players. A slow grateful smile spread across Chuck's face. He nodded his head and took the offered hand, shaking it.
"I accept your apology, Daniel. Sorry I caused all this trouble. No hard feelings," Chuck replied sincerely. Morgan thought that there wasn't anyone with a bigger heart than his friend, Chuck Bartowski. Officer Pete Campagna was thinking the same thing.
Tom McKeon was of a different opinion. He didn't understand what the tall, curly-haired kid was yammering about, but he knew a wimp when he saw one. Not wanting to go into a titty bar? What kind of man turned down a chance like that? Even if they didn't serve no booze. Especially a classy joint like Cheetahs here? No kind of man that Tom McKeon was aware of. Well now, that wasn't strictly true, was it? He did know about one kind of man that wouldn't like going into a titty bar. Maybe he didn't like pussy since he was a pussy. Yeah, that had to be it.
"What a pussy!" McKeon laughed, causing all of the young men to turn to the sound of his voice. Scharf and Simes laughed with him. Officer Campagna tensed; things would get out of hand really quickly. If anyone took even a step toward anyone else, he'd jump into the middle of it and stop it.
"What?" Shaw asked, confused.
"Yer buddy over there," Tom jerked his thumb at Chuck. "He's a pussy." His two friends kept laughing.
"It's really not any of your business," Shaw began.
"I'm making it my business!" the drunk, older man yelled.
"I'm sorry, sir," Chuck apologized to Tom. "I'm not trying to cause anyone any trouble. I'll just go wait in the bus." Before he could move, Tom spoke.
"Oh no, you don't, you pussy," McKeon sneered. Turning to his friends, he shouted, "Grab him. That pussy needs to be taught a lesson." Matt and Steve, each, grabbed one of Chuck's arms. Tom stepped in and prepared to take a swing at the teenager's face.
Many things happened at once or almost at once. Chuck's friends and teammates started to yell. Officer Campagna shouted and started to run toward the confrontation from where he'd been standing in the middle of the five lane-wide street, keying his shoulder radio for backup, at the same time. Then Chuck started to move.
By the time the officer had crossed the two traffic lanes and reached the scene of the escalating confrontation, Chuck was standing alone, shaking his head resignedly. His three assailants were on the ground. Steve Simes looked to have a broken left ankle and was out cold from a blow to the side of his head. Matt Scharf was writhing around, smeared in his own vomit, holding a gruesomely broken right knee. Tom McKeon was flat on his back with what looked like a broken jaw, also out cold. Pete Campagna had seen it all happen. His bodycam had recorded it, he hoped. He was shocked. That boy had gone from victim to victor in the blink of an eye. Sure, the Three Stooges had been drunk, but what the actual fuck? The kid had taken out three grown men in only four moves? Five, if you counted him dodging McKeon's clumsy swing at the kid's head. The boys standing behind the kid looked stunned, gaping wordlessly at their friend. The gadflies who'd been drawn to the commotion all stared in wide-eyed silence at what they'd just witnessed. Witnessed? Oh, SHIT! There were a ton of witnesses. That meant a ton of interviews and statements and paperwork. Fucking paperwork. He heard the sound of the approaching sirens of his backup. More goddamn paperwork. Fuck, he hated this assignment.
A/N2: Chapter title comes from the song by The Black Eyed Peas. It seemed an appropriate song for a chapter where the baseball team goes to a strip club.
A/N3: Odd quirk of California law. Topless-only strip clubs are allowed to serve alcohol and, therefore, a patron has to be 21 or older to enter. Full-nude strip clubs are prohibited from serving alcohol and, therefore, a patron as young as 18 can enter. This law has been on the books for a long time and is not the result of the current pandemic.
A/N4: Garvin. WillieGarvin. He has no need to shake or stir his vodka. No, he saves his shaking and stirring efforts for helping me make my stories worth reading. Many thanks, my friend, your goldeneye beta-reading of my stories makes all of the difference.
A/N5: Thank you for reading. Please drop me a PM or leave a review. Let me know what you think. For those of you who have left reviews or PMs previously, thank you. I appreciate each and every one of them.
A/N6: If you enjoy Chuck fan fiction here on the fanfic site, go over to Facebook and join the Chuck Fanfiction group that's there. You'll find nice folks who share your interest in our favorite spy couple. You are not alone.