A/N: And now for something completely TMI. The Stanford Shopping Center, which has been a location in a number of chapters, is north of the campus, just outside the edge of the medical school. It has all of the things that are vital to your typical college student like Neiman Marcus, Tiffany's, Burberry's, Cartier, and a Tesla dealer. Plus, some tasty sounding poke and Japanese noodle house restaurants, among others. Needless to say, that's a far cry from my day when all we had was a used vinyl record store, pizza and beer joints, KFC, and Dunkin Donuts nearby. Different schools, different towns, and, definitely, different times.
Disclaimer: Sgt. Joe Friday: Just the facts, sir. Me: Well, it's true, I don't own Chuck. Friday: If you don't, who does? Me: I'm not sure, sir. Friday: OK, we'll have to look into that. Is there anything else you want to tell me? Me: I make no money from Chuck, I swear. Friday: That I can believe. I've read your stuff. (A little shout out to the Dragnet TV show from the 1950's and the revival in the late 1960's. It seemed appropriate given the events of the last chapter and this one.)
Chapter 24 – Above the Law
January 18
The Sunnyvale police station was a bit of a madhouse. On top of the normal Friday night shenanigans, the officers were dealing with the aftermath of the fight outside the Cheetahs Gentleman's Club. Officer Pete Campagna was in the middle of reviewing the witness statements taken from the Stanford baseball team players with each of the players individually in Interrogation Room 1. Other officers, from the backup cruisers, were still onsite taking the statements from the other people in the Cheetahs' parking lot who'd witnessed the confrontation between the kid, who he now knew was named Chuck Bartowski, and the Three Stooges. Another one of the police cruisers had followed the ambulance containing the injured men to Valley Health Center, just to the east of the station, to take control of them as soon as their injuries had been treated. If their injuries required that they be admitted, the officers would provide the first round of security while a regular rotation was determined. Chuck Bartowski, himself, was in an Interrogation Room 2 reviewing his witness statement with the watch commander, Lieutenant Sean Amos. Officer Campagna had just finished going over the statement of Bartowski's roommate, Morgan Grimes, when he was interrupted by the desk sergeant, Sergeant Nguyễn Hạnh Linh, poking her head in the room.
"Hey, Campagna, those two baseball coaches from Stanford, you asked me to call, have arrived," Sergeant Nguyen said.
Pete checked his watch, "Damn! They got here fast," he frowned. "Let me finish up here with this guy and I'll come out to talk to them, Sarge. Like two minutes. Tops." The short Vietnamese sergeant sketched a wave and closed the door. Pete turned to the bearded kid, slipping his statement into the folder on top of the stack on the desk, "OK, Grimes. We're done for now. Why don't we get you back to where the rest of your teammates are waiting?" Campagna collected his files and prepared to leave the room. Grimes stood to follow him out.
"What's going to happen to Chuck?" Morgan asked worriedly.
"I need to talk to your coaches and my lieutenant before I'll say anything. Don't worry about it," the police officer said, trying to use a positive tone of voice, but, from the look on the kid's face, he wasn't sure he'd succeeded. He sighed, figuring that his public relations skills needed improvement. Once he'd escorted Grimes back to his fellow teammates, he turned to make his way to the front desk, where the coaches were waiting and sighed. This could be an interesting conversation.
"Hello, I'm Officer Pete Campagna. I was the officer on site when the altercation took place," Pete smiled what he hoped was a professional, but reassuring, smile, offering his hand to the older African-American man, guessing him to be the head coach, Graham.
"I'm Langston Graham and this is my assistant, John Casey," he said, indicating the man standing next to him. Both men shook Pete's hand, in turn. "What can you tell me?"
"Glad to meet you both, I just wish it were under different circumstances," Pete nodded. "What I can tell you is that your boy, Bartowski, was assaulted by three men outside the Cheetahs Gentleman's Club earlier this evening."
"How badly is he injured?" Graham asked, the concern evident in his voice. Casey just growled and frowned.
"Oh, he's not injured. At all. In fact, he took down his attackers single-handedly in only a few seconds. The kid doesn't have a scratch on him," the young police officer admitted. When the two coaches' faces went from concern to confusion to understanding, all in the blink of an eye, Pete's eyes widened in surprise. "Do either of you know something?"
"Yeah, the kid's been trained by the SAS," Casey said with a snort and a headshake.
"Trained by the SAS? As in the SAS? From England? Those guys?" Campagna was incredulous.
"Yeah, those guys," Casey confirmed.
"Where is Bartowski?" Graham interrupted. "For that matter, where are the rest of the players from this outing?" The older man's tone of voice made it clear what he thought of his players' choices for entertainment.
"Bartowski's in with my lieutenant and the rest of the kids are in the roll call room. It was the only place with enough room to keep them all together."
"OK, would you please take us to see the team first, and then can we talk to Bartowski and your lieutenant …?" Graham asked, politely, but only just.
"Lieutenant Amos," Pete provided the implied request's information. "Sure, we can let you see the kids right now, follow me." He turned to walk the coaches back to where the players were.
"Sean Amos? He's on duty tonight?" Casey asked.
"Yes, sir. That's his name. Do you know him?" the young officer asked.
"Sure do. We've spent time shooting together over at the Los Altos Club. I know your lieutenant really well," Casey replied. "I know a few more of your fellow officers for the same reason." When he saw the younger man's head tilt in an unspoken question, he added, "United States Marines. Major. Temporarily assigned to retirement duty. Still like to keep my trigger finger in shape, though."
Pete nodded his head in understanding; the last part causing him to grin. "Semper Fi. My grandpa was in the 6th Marines."
"Ooh Rah." Casey nodded.
The back-and-forth banter ended when the trio arrived in the roll call room to see the players sitting around dejectedly. When they saw their coaches with the police officer, they sat up straighter, but managed to look even more dejected, certain that a lecture and some punishment was coming their way. To his credit, Shaw stood up and moved to stand in front of the adults.
"Is everyone all right? Is anyone hurt?" Graham surprised everyone in the room with the words he spoke and the concern in his voice.
"We're all OK, coach. Nobody's hurt. Not even Chuck, as far as we know," Shaw reported, looking contrite.
"OK, that's good. Now tell me this, did any of you do anything to provoke this incident? Do anything to provoke those men to attack Bartowski?" Graham looked around the room and started to get angry, seeing the boys averting their eyes. "Stand up and look me in the eye like men!" he barked, his demeanor changing entirely.
All of the players scrambled to comply with his demand. Casey growled at them.
"That's better," Graham nodded. "Now, answer my questions. Did any of you do anything to cause this to happen?"
All of the players shook their heads and said "No, coach" almost in unison.
"OK, I'll take your word for it," Graham pursed his lips. "You better hope I don't find out otherwise. Now, sit tight. Casey and I have to go see Bartowski and talk to Lieutenant Amos." With that, he turned on his heel and motioned for Campagna to lead them to where the lieutenant was located. After the adults had left the room, the boys let out a collective sigh and sank back into their chairs to wait.
The police officer led the coaches to Interrogation Room 2 and knocked on the door, opening it when given permission from inside the room. Pete opened the door far enough to poke his head in.
"Lieutenant, I've got Coach Graham and Coach Casey here to see you, Sir," he announced.
"That's fine. I'm coming out," Amos turned to Chuck. "Sit tight, Chuck, and relax. I'm just going to talk with your coaches for a bit. Then I'll be back. OK?"
"Yes, Sir, that's fine. Thank you," Chuck replied, sounding calmer than he felt. What would his parents say? Ellie? Sarah? Oh, God! Sarah! When the door closed behind the police lieutenant, he put his head in his hands. Why does this stuff keep happening to me?
Sean Amos was a short, bulldog kind of a man, whose receding hairline gave him a pronounced widow's peak, visible even with his close-cropped hair. His serious expression was replaced with a little less serious expression when he spied Casey standing outside the interrogation room.
"John, sorry to drag you out here tonight," Amos said, as he shook hands with the two Stanford coaches. "Sean Amos," he said to Graham, by way of greeting.
"Langston Graham, Lieutenant," the older coach nodded. "Not to be pushy, but what can you tell us?"
"Why don't we all go into my office where we can discuss this in private?" Amos motioned for the other three men to follow him. He didn't speak again until the coaches were seated in his office and the door was closed. Officer Campagna stood off to the side of his lieutenant's desk.
"Thanks for coming down so quickly," Amos smiled at his two guests. "Actually, it seems to be simple. Cut and dried. Your boys were arguing with each other outside the strip club. Shaw and Bartowski, I mean. Seems Bartowski didn't want to go into the club and Shaw was trying to convince him to go with the others. The three assailants, McKeon, Scharf, and Simes decided to inject themselves into the argument. When Bartowski apologized for causing trouble and offered to get back on the bus, they attacked him. Scharf and Simes grabbed his arms and McKeon got ready to punch him. Bartowski fought back and defended himself." He shrugged and held his palms up. "Clear case of assault on the part of the three perps and self-defense on Bartowski's part," he shrugged again.
"That's it?" Graham looked surprised.
"Not exactly, but before we go any further, you might want to see this. "Amos picked up a remote controller and pointed it at the TV screen in the corner of his office. "This is Officer Campagna's bodycam footage." When the TV warmed up, the lieutenant pressed the play button on the remote.
The video footage showed Bartowski and Shaw, from a distance, arguing about Chuck going into the club. Graham and Casey heard what was said and both shook their heads in exasperation at Shaw's cluelessness and in sad understanding of Chuck's never-ending predicament. When Shaw finally figured out what Bartowski had been trying to get him to understand and Shaw told him he needn't go inside, the three men loudly forced their way into the conversation catching all of the players by surprise. Bartowski tried to diffuse the situation by offering to leave, but the tall one, McKeon, Amos told them, told his friends to grab him, so he could be "taught a lesson" and stepped in, preparing to take a swing. The footage got shaky at this point and Officer Campagna told them that he'd started to run toward the altercation. They could hear him calling for backup on his radio as he ran. Just as McKeon began to swing, Bartowski moved. He leaned left toward the shorter man, Scharf. That gave him space to stomp down on the ankle of the guy holding his right arm, Simes, with his full weight. Simes let go of Bartowski and began to bend over to grab his ankle, when Bartowski caught him in the side of his head with a vicious elbow jab, knocking him out. The kid's movement and Scharf's surprise, allowed Chuck to move right slightly, giving him room to kick out with his left leg to the side of the shorter man's knee. The video clearly showed the impact and Scharf's knee breaking as it bent inward at an unnatural angle. Scharf immediately collapsed, vomiting on himself on his way to the ground where he could be seen and heard writhing around and screaming in pain. McKeon's surprise at the quick change of events apparently caused him to withhold his punch momentarily, but seeing Bartowski still standing, brought his determination back and he took a swing at the kid's head. Bartowski must have anticipated the attack, because he dodged the older man's swing and followed up with a devastating punch of his own to McKeon's jaw which knocked him to the ground, unconscious. It was at that point that Officer Campagna arrived next to the fallen men and Amos stopped the video. Casey and Graham shared stunned looks. They knew what the deal was with Bartowski, but to see him in action still amazed them. Amos cleared his throat.
"Five moves. Five moves and Bartowski took out three men. Drunken idiots, to be sure, but still, three men. Broken ankle, broken knee, and a broken jaw. And in only a few seconds. Can either of you tell me what the story is with him?" Amos looked from Graham to Casey and back. "He said that he had training from some guy in England who used to be in the SAS. Is that true? Do you know anything about that?" Officer Campagna was nodding his head, trying to get his commander's attention.
"Casey, would you care to answer his questions? After all, you're the one who followed up on it last fall." Graham looked over at Casey and gestured from him to his friend.
"Sure," Casey nodded. "Yup, it's all true, what Bartowski said. Every word of it. He lived with Cole Barker for two years while he was in school in England three years ago. From the age of fifteen to seventeen. Cole Barker was the guy who commanded the SAS assault on the Iranian Embassy back in 1980. He's a friend of the kid's grandfather, who happens to be a plankholder in our Delta Force. I talked to both of them last fall to confirm what Bartowski told us back then."
"Now, that's something!" Amos whistled. Campagna silently shook his head in wonder.
"It is," Casey agreed. "Bartowski was struggling with a lot of stuff, including being homesick as hell. Barker took him under his wing. Started out teaching him the conditioning, breathing, and mental exercises the SAS do. Then he moved on to martial arts and shooting. Sean, you remember me telling you about a kid I knew, who was a crack shot?"
Amos nodded. "Bartowski?" he asked.
"Bartowski," Casey confirmed.
"Fuck me!" the lieutenant exclaimed, laughing.
"Tell me about it," Casey grinned, shaking his head in disbelief at what he had just said, even knowing that it was completely true.
Graham felt it was time to get to the heart of the matter. "So, what is going to happen to Bartowski? And the rest of the players?" Amos nodded his understanding.
"Well, first, the other players need to complete their statements and review them with Officer Campagna, here. Where do you stand on that, Campagna?" Amos looked at the young officer.
"I've already taken all of their statements and was about halfway through the review process with them, when Sergeant Nguyen informed me that the coaches had arrived at the station, sir." Pete crisply replied.
"Good. When we finish here, go back and work through the rest of the reviews. When that's done, they're free to go," Amos said and Pete nodded. "As for Bartowski, he's free to go right now. It was clearly a case of self-defense on his part. The three idiots will, most likely, be charged with assault and battery and disturbing the peace. We've had run-ins with them before, on more than one occasion, so what the DA does and a judge decides is up in the air."
"Will he be called to testify? Will any of the other players? Other witnesses?" Graham asked.
"Could be, but maybe not. Officer Campagna witnessed the entire encounter and we have his body cam footage. You saw it, it's pretty damning. We'll have to wait and see what the DA's office says and any defense attorneys, of course, but it seems pretty clear to me. Probably never go to trial anyway, with what we have on those assholes. Off the record. You understand," Amos shrugged. Both coaches nodded, relief clear in their expressions.
"Could we see Bartowski now?" Graham requested.
"Better than that. You can take him with you, if you want. We're done with him. We've got the cam footage and his statement," Amos smiled. "The rest of the team should be finished with their review within the next thirty to forty-five minutes. Isn't that right, Campagna?" He asked the young man.
"Yes, sir. About forty-five minutes, maybe a little less." Pete responded.
"Great. You get on that while I take them to see Bartowski," the lieutenant stood and ushered everyone out of his office. Campagna took off toward the roll call room and the others returned to the interrogation room. Amos opened the door and all three men walked in to see Chuck sleeping with his head cradled in his arms on the desk. All three men chuckled. "Kids," Amos said softly, before shaking Chuck awake. He looked up, bleary-eyed, at the police officer and his coaches smiling at him.
"Coach? Sir?" Chuck asked, looking from Graham to Amos.
"We've got everything we need, Chuck. You're free to go," Amos informed the lanky student, who was nodding his head.
"Self-defense for me against assault and battery with an additional charge of disturbing the peace for the three men? Penal codes 240, 242, and 415?" Chuck asked, looking at the lieutenant.
Amos's eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. "How do you know that? Your dad a lawyer? Judge? Or are you in pre-law?" He didn't notice the coaches smiling.
Chuck shook his head. "No, sir. None of those things. Law degree from Harvard. I passed the California bar a few years back." The older man looked very confused as he tried to work out the dates as he turned to look at Casey.
"It's true. I promise," Casey nodded. "We'll get together and have some beers and I'll tell you all about it."
"This'll be good. You telling stories and buying the beer. I can't wait," Amos chuckled, the offer just distracting him enough, like Casey planned. He reached out to shake hands with the adults before turning and shaking hands with Chuck. "It's been an educational evening, young man. Take care and stay out of trouble."
"I'll do my best, sir," Chuck said as they all exited the room and walked back toward the roll call room where the rest of the players waited. The police officer shook their hands again then nodded before walking back in the direction of his office.
"Are you OK, Chuck?" Graham asked.
"I'm fine, coach. Better since they confirmed my belief that I'm not in legal trouble. Am I in trouble with you, Sir?" Chuck looked apprehensive.
"No, Chuck. You didn't do anything wrong as far as I'm concerned. We saw the bodycam footage with Lieutenant Amos. Neither you or anyone else on the team was at fault for that fight. Being dumb enough to go to that strip club is another matter, but you weren't responsible for that, either. That's on Shaw and the other seniors," Graham frowned. Casey snorted in disgust, not because he had a problem with strip clubs, but because it was expected of him in this situation.
"Daniel told us all that he had been taken to a club when he was a freshman and, so, he wanted to do the same thing for the freshman and me," Chuck said.
"Yeah. Not illegal, but still stupid," Graham groused. "Well, let's go in and see the rest of the idiots." Chuck, wisely, kept quiet.
When Chuck entered the room, along with the coaches, all of the players stood and crowded around him. Everyone was talking at once. He waved his hands trying to get his teammates to stop talking. Finally, they did.
"They took my statement. And confirmed with me that it was self-defense, so there wouldn't be any charges. I'm free to go," he announced. Upon hearing his news, he got pats on the back and offers of congratulations at his good fortune. After a few moments, Graham cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
"Now that old home week is over, here's the deal," the coach looked around at the assembled players. "You've got to stay and review your statements. Once that's done, you'll be free to go. You are all witnesses, so there are no charges against any of you. Since none of this is your fault and nobody mentioned Stanford so the school and the team haven't been defiled by this incident, you can proceed on with your evening. Go back to the club, like you planned. It's getting late, but the club stays open even later. Or you can call it a night and go back to campus. You can guess what I think you should do, but it's up to you. Regardless of what you decide to do, Coach Casey and I expect to see all of you on time tomorrow for practice. Is that clear?" Graham looked each player in the eye. He knew that he still needed to inform Laura Turner, the athletic department, and the university administration, so they could handle any media inquiries and deal with any legal issues that might crop up.
Everyone nodded and said "Yes, coach".
Graham turned to Chuck, "What are you going to do, Chuck?"
"Could I speak to Daniel alone, first, Sir?" Chuck asked. Graham nodded and Chuck motioned for Shaw to follow him out into the hall.
"Daniel, I'm sorry about all of this. I'm sorry that I spoiled your plans for the evening. Whatever you and the others decide to do, please let me pay you for the cost of the evening. The bus and the chaperone and whatever else. I've got the money, no problem. It's the least I can do," Chuck pleaded.
"You don't have to do that, Chuck. I appreciate the gesture, but –," Shaw began, but Chuck interrupted him.
"No one has to know. It can be between you and me. I'm not trying to buy friends or anything, I promise. I just want to make it right. Either way, I'm probably going to ask Coach Graham to take me back to campus," Chuck insisted.
Shaw gave him a questioning look that he returned unflinchingly. After some more thought, Shaw slowly nodded. "OK, Chuck, if that's what you want to do, I accept." Chuck stuck out his hand and they shook on it. "Now, let's get back in there to see what the others want to do," Shaw smiled at the younger player, still surprised at his generosity after everything that had occurred between them that year. Once they entered the room, Shaw moved over to the players and Chuck walked toward his coaches.
"I'd like to go back with you, coach," Chuck informed Graham. "I wasn't going to go in the club before and I'm sure not going in now. If that's alright with you, that is, Sir." Graham smiled. Casey gave a grunt of approval.
"It's what I expected you'd say, son," Graham nodded. He turned to look at Shaw. "What have you gentlemen decided?"
"We're going to go back to the club, but will leave at midnight at the latest, coach," Shaw answered. "Is Chuck, for sure, going back with you?"
"Yeah, I am. Have fun y'all, but be careful," Chuck replied, smiling. Turning to his oldest friend, he said, "Enjoy yourself, Morgan. Don't worry about me. I'm fine." Morgan nodded, a little uncertainly, but stayed with the other players. Chuck looked over at Shaw and nodded. Shaw nodded to him in return.
In the middle of the drive back to Stanford, Chuck realized that he hadn't asked about the three men, "Coach, what's going on with the three guys that attacked me?"
"Well, Chuck, you busted them up pretty badly. They're in the hospital getting patched up with a couple of police officers keeping an eye on them," Graham told him from his spot in the front passenger seat. Casey glanced in the rearview mirror and smirked, before turning his attention back to driving.
"I was just trying to protect myself. I hope I didn't hurt them too badly. That would be awful," Chuck murmured. The coaches shared a look, disbelief clear on their faces. Bartowski was something else.
But Chuck wasn't fine, regardless of what he'd told Morgan and his coaches. Far from it. He knew that he had to contact his family as soon as he could, to get in front of the story before word of it inevitably got beyond the baseball team. There had been too many witnesses for it to remain quiet for very long. And he had to tell Sarah. Sarah! That could be a difficult conversation. It didn't help matters that he was just wired. He could feel his nerves almost jumping inside his body. It was all he could do not to flail his arms and legs with the adrenaline that coursed through him at the thought of talking to his parents and Ellie. And Sarah. Chuck occupied his mind trying to figure out what he would tell everyone and how he would tell it, all while trying to suppress the memory of the entire incident as much as he could to remain in control of himself. By the time Coach Casey had driven them back to Roble Hall, Chuck had a plan for the phone calls fixed in his head. After thanking Graham and Casey for their help and reassuring them, falsely, that he was OK, he made his way up to his room and prepared to face the music.
Surprisingly, the phone call to his parents didn't go as badly as he'd feared. Chuck explained what happened over the course of the evening, then what transpired at the police station. While his parents weren't happy about him fighting, they agreed that he hadn't had much choice except to defend himself. His mother was initially upset with the purpose of the outing, but his father reminded her of some of the crazy things he'd gotten caught up in because of his baseball teammates. The fact that Chuck didn't know, for sure, where they were going and had no control over the event even if he had known, mollified Mary's anger. Stephen did comment that he'd be calling Langston to follow up, over his son's objections. All in all, Chuck felt he'd gotten off lightly in the parental department.
Ellie gave him more grief than their parents, which didn't surprise him, once he told her of his evening's activities. Once again, like with his parents, Chuck was able to get his sister to understand that he had no way of knowing what the seniors had planned nor any way to prevent the drunken men from attacking him. He'd defended himself and the police seemed to agree. Ellie had encouraged him to talk to Sarah as soon as possible and was pleased when he told her that he was going to do so just as soon as the siblings were finished talking. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief. Two down and one to go. The most important one of all. With a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves, he texted his girlfriend.
"I'm back in my room. Do you have time to talk?" Chuck typed while he chewed on his bottom lip.
"Sure, babe. How was your team 'activity'?" Sarah typed back.
"Way more active than I wanted. That's for sure. Where r u? Can we talk ftf?" He sent, realizing that he really wanted to see Sarah right now. Needing her to help him calm down.
"In suite. What's wrong? OMW to your room NOW!" She responded immediately.
"No! Meet front door. Need walk." Chuck clicked back, grabbing his id and keys. He locked his door before pressing send.
They reached the entry hall at almost the same time. As soon as Sarah saw him, she hurried to his side.
"What happened? What's wrong? Are you OK?" she rushed out as she took hold of both of his arms and began to look him over from his head to his feet and back. Not seeing anything amiss, her eyes settled on his face. "Are you OK?" she repeated.
"Eh?" Chuck lifted his left hand and held it out flat, twisting his wrist back and forth in a teeter-totter motion. "Let's walk. OK?" Sarah nodded, but she looked worried. Grabbing his hand, she led him toward the front door. Once they got outside, she turned to speak, but Chuck just shook his head, refusing to speak until they'd gotten farther away from the dorm where there were less people around at that time of night. Sarah was beside herself, wondering what was going on, when Chuck looked around, and seeing no one close by, nodded his head. "OK."
"OK, Chuck. What's with all of the cloak and dagger stuff? What happened? You're worrying me here." She demanded.
Chuck heaved a big sigh and turned his head so he could look at her, "Where do I begin?"
"Well, at the beginning. But first, are you OK? Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?" Sarah pressed. In spite of himself, Chuck grinned. It felt so good to have someone interested in him. Protective of him. Not knowing why he was grinning irked Sarah and she said so, "What are you grinning about? It's not funny." His grin vanished and he took another breath.
"No, it isn't funny, Sarah," Chuck shook his head. "That's not why I was grinning." His girlfriend gave him a look of consternation. "I was grinning because it feels good to have someone who's interested enough in me to worry about me," he shrugged. "Besides, the usual people, that is."
Sarah beamed at him, but she knew her expression mirrored the one she'd worn at their first dinner together after the training table restrictions had been loosened earlier that week. Happy that he appreciated her, but sad that he'd not had anyone care for him in that way before in his life.
"I'm not upset, sweetie. Just a little confused. Please tell me what's going on," she squeezed his hand and gently tugged on it to emphasize her interest in finding out what he had to say.
"Right. Right. OK. Well, first off, I'm not hurt and I'm not in trouble," Chuck paused before continuing. "But I wouldn't exactly say that I'm OK."
"What? Why not? What happened? Tell me!" Sarah pleaded.
"I got in a fight," he confessed, twisting his lips to the side and frowning.
"WHAT?" she exclaimed.
"Shhh! Quiet down! I'll tell you everything. I promise," Chuck said in a fierce whisper despite the fact that no one was anywhere near them.
"OK. Everything. From the beginning," Sarah insisted firmly, holding her hand up near her face and pointing at him. He nodded in agreement.
Chuck did as she asked. He told her everything. The whole story of his abortive evening out with his baseball teammates. Sarah laughed at some parts, like his description of the party bus and its optional stripper poles. That required a bit of explanation on her part, but not as much as would have been necessary if Chuck hadn't spent the evening dealing with and thinking about strippers and strip clubs. Most of the time, Sarah didn't laugh. At all. There were parts where she huffed in annoyance, like when he described his argument with Shaw. And there were parts where she growled. She actually growled, much to her boyfriend's surprise. That happened when he described the fight.
"Stupid fuckers. They got off easy," she grumbled. Chuck's eyes widened in surprise.
"Sarah, I hurt all three of them. Broke some of their bones. They're in the hospital, right now, getting worked on," he explained. "I feel terrible that I hurt them that much."
Sarah smiled up at him. Only her Chuck would worry about hurting people that had wanted to hurt him and would have, if given the chance. It gave her a warm feeling in her chest. God, she loved him. She couldn't resist patting his chest affectionately and lightly rubbing her hand across his torso. Touching him just did something to her. He was too hard to resist.
"I know, sweetie. You worry about such things because you're a good and kind person," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I was just saying that they got off easy, because, if I'd been there, I'd have killed them. Stupid fuckers."
"Sarah! You can't do that. You'd go to jail," he scolded her, bemused by her language and fierce attitude. She merely shrugged her shoulders before looking up at him with a thoughtful expression.
"Chuck, back last fall when Larkin put his hands on me and you picked him up," Sarah began. "What would you have done if the campus cop wasn't there and I hadn't asked you to put him down?"
"I'd probably have beaten his brains out," Chuck answered succinctly.
"Why?" she wanted to know.
"Because I didn't want him to hurt you and it looked like he was trying to cause you harm. My instinct was, is, to protect you," he replied. Sarah nodded.
"Exactly. You were worried that he was going to hurt me and you acted instinctively, right?" Sarah asked.
"Right," he nodded.
"Right," she nodded back, tucking an errant strand of hair that had blown in her face, behind her ear. "You'd defend me, even if you got in trouble because of it."
"Of course. Getting in trouble didn't bother me. You getting hurt did," Chuck admitted.
"There you go," Sarah said triumphantly. Chuck looked confused, so she explained. "If those men had tried to hurt you when I was around, I'd want to protect you, too. Even if I got in trouble because of it."
"Sarah -," he started to speak, but she cut him off.
"No, Chuck. No," Sarah shook her head. "You care about me and want to protect me. Well, I care about you and want to protect you, too. It doesn't matter that you're a man and I'm a woman. I can be just as fierce as any man. You saw what I did to Larkin." Chuck nodded with a hint of a smile. "We're a couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Equal. Fifty-fifty. We care about each other and protect each other to the best of our ability. Are you OK with that?"
"Sarah, I'm more than OK with it," Chuck sighed and drew her into a tight hug. "I think it's wonderful," he murmured into her hair causing her to shiver before pulling back and stealing a kiss.
"Good," she grinned at him, taking his hand, again, as they began walking once more. "Now, tell me what happened once the cop showed up."
Chuck told her the rest of the story. Told her about going to the police station and giving his statement. About talking to the police lieutenant and then Coach Graham and Coach Casey showing up and driving him back to campus. He told her all about his phone calls to his parents and Ellie. By the time he'd finished the story, they'd walked their normal route around campus and were back at the dorm. There might have been a few stops for snuggling and kissing along the way. After kissing Sarah goodnight and starting the walk back to his room, Chuck realized that the nervous energy that had bothered him in Coach Casey's car had completely dissipated. He knew he owed it to Sarah and the calming effect she had on him, how he focused on her when they were together. It also explained why he hadn't been anxious and wired back in the fall after that incident with Bryce or the one with Bumper Allen; Sarah had been there the whole time on both occasions. She helped him in so many ways, more and more every day. That thought warmed his heart and brought a smile to his face.
January 19
This time, it was Ellie who called Sarah and wanted to talk. Chuck was busy with Saturday afternoon baseball practice, so she didn't have any immediate demands for her attention. Her roommates were all occupied with schoolwork. Amy was over at the Chem E building working on her project, while Carina and Zondra were both at Green library doing research and working on their own projects. Sarah, herself, had chosen to remain in the room, eager for the quiet, so she could read some journal articles for both her psychology and human biology seminars. She hadn't gotten to the book her professor had mentioned in her senior seminar, yet, and her eyes were already drooping closed. These journal articles were dry as toast in the middle of Death Valley, she silently complained. The second that thought entered her brain, her phone rang. She noticed it was Ellie, so she quickly answered.
"Hi, Ellie! What's up?" Sarah chirped, much too brightly.
"Someone sounds bored out of their gourd," the older brunette laughed.
"You've got that right," the younger blonde woman admitted. "These journal articles that I've got to read are dull. Sooo dull."
"OK. Well, how about I come by and pick you up and we can get some coffee? Have that talk I mentioned when you and Chuck were over for dinner back at the beginning of the quarter? Devon's busy hanging out with some of his friends and I've got some free time. What do you say?" Ellie offered.
"Oh, Ellie, that sounds wonderful! Chuck is tied up with his practice and the girls are all out doing their project work. I could use a break and a caffeine pick-me-up," Sarah gushed smiling.
"Great! I'm grabbing my purse and leaving right now," Ellie said amidst background noises of movement and doors opening and closing. "I'll pick you up for your pick-me-up at our usual corner in about 5 minutes." Sarah smiled at the older woman's word play.
"Super! I'm leaving, too. I can't wait. Bye, Ellie." Sarah ended the call and grabbed her own purse, locked the door after leaving the suite and began a brisk walk to their regular meeting place. She arrived at the appointed spot and saw Ellie's car coming her way, so she waved. The car pulled over and Sarah quickly hopped in, giving the older woman a huge smile, which Ellie returned.
"You're an absolute lifesaver, Ellie! I swear," Sarah said, breathlessly. "This is just what the doctor ordered."
"Not quite," Ellie countered. "But it is what the almost-doctor ordered," she smirked.
Sarah snorted. "You think you're so clever," she said.
"Yeah, well actually, I am. It kinda runs in the family," the med student giggled.
"Better watch that patting yourself on the back, though. You might hurt your arm and you can't do much operating with just one hand," Sarah snarked.
"You'd be surprised how well I can operate one-handed," Ellie retorted, giving the younger woman a distinct leer.
"Ellie! You're incorrigible!" Sarah barked out a laugh, hoping her blush wasn't too noticeable. The older woman just cackled, pleased that she'd gotten that reaction from her brother's girlfriend. She sobered up and gave her companion a quick, but searching, look.
"Did Chuck talk to you, yet?" Ellie asked, her face etched with concern.
"About last night?" Sarah asked. Ellie nodded. "Yeah, he did. He called me right after he got off of the phone with you," she confirmed. "We met up and took a walk around campus. He told me the whole story along the way," Sarah shook her head and caught Ellie's eye. "Why does this stuff keep happening to him?"
"Don't ask me," Ellie kept her hands on the steering wheel and raised her shoulders in a shrug. "He does seem to attract this kind of stuff. Not that he goes looking for it. Far from it," she hurried to add.
"Tell me about it. It's like he's a magnet for trouble," Sarah frowned in consternation. "At least he didn't get hurt and doesn't seem to be in any kind of legal trouble. That's something to be thankful for."
"It is. It most definitely is," the med student agreed. "But I bet you didn't think you'd be dealing with anything like this when you two finally got together, did you?" She glanced over at her passenger, seeing her shake her head no.
"Not even close," Sarah admitted. "I thought that there might be issues with his headaches or the … um … ramifications of his … um … unique childhood. Dealing with his brain stuff, you know? His social inexperience. But I didn't imagine for one minute that we'd have something like this happen," she paused. "But I guess that I should have, at least, considered it after what happened with Bryce Larkin last fall." Ellie nodded her head sympathetically.
By now, they'd reached their usual Starbucks in the Stanford Shopping Center, parked, walked to the shop, and given their orders to the barista. After collecting their drinks, they returned outside only to find that all of the tables were occupied. There was no use complaining. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, if a bit chilly by Stanford standards. And it was Starbucks, after all. Rather than drive anywhere, Ellie and Sarah decided to saunter around the outside shopping areas and continue their talk.
"What did you think about all that stuff?" Sarah asked as they strolled along, sipping their drinks, and window shopping.
"I think that Chuck is lucky that a police officer was right there and saw the whole thing. If there hadn't been a cop around, he might have gotten in trouble for the beating he gave those guys," Ellie said, giving Sarah a wide-eyed look. The younger woman nodded her agreement with Ellie's assessment. "Plus, those assholes were lucky that I wasn't there. I'd have murdered them. Butting in and trying to mess with a college student for no damn good reason. And my brother, to boot." Her expression grew fierce, but changed to one of confusion when Sarah laughed.
"I told Chuck the same thing. He was all concerned about hurting those guys and I said just about the same thing you just did. I said I'd have killed 'em," she smiled.
"Nobody messes with your man, huh?" Ellie giggled, her eyes shining.
"Damn straight," Sarah frowned seriously. But, in the face of the other woman's giggles, she couldn't maintain her stern visage for very long before she started to giggle herself. "I waited long enough to find a guy like Chuck and I have no intention of losing him to a bunch of losers."
Ellie's giggles turned to outright laughter. "Girl, you've got it bad, don't you? You're not even trying to hide it, either."
Sarah stopped giggling and sighed with a dreamy expression. "Yeah, I've got it bad. No question." The older woman gave her an inquisitive look. "Ellie, I've never felt this way about anyone before. Not even close," she smiled. "We have this connection. Like every time we're around each other, the air just seems electric."
"How long have you felt that way? Does Chuck know about your electric feeling?" the brunette asked, sucking in her lips and biting them.
"From the moment we met. Both of us have felt it. It was Chuck who brought it up and wanted to talk about it during our first walk the night after he told me everything and you and I got coffee. He admitted that he'd never felt anything like that before, either," Sarah confessed.
"Chuck brought it up?" Ellie looked incredulous, but Sarah just nodded. "Wow! To be honest, I would've been surprised if he had experienced such powerful feelings for a girl before now. I would even discount it if he'd told me about it, except that you're experiencing it, too. That means it's not just something in his head or a figment of his imagination," Ellie reasoned, giving the blonde a searching look, which caused her to fidget.
"What is it do you think, Ellie?" Sarah asked, trying to hide the warmth that bloomed in her chest at the thought of Chuck and their connection.
Ellie snorted and shook her head, "Good try, but nope," she grinned. "You love him, Sarah. Don't bother to deny it. It's all over your face and in your body language at even the mere mention of his name," her boyfriend's sister nodded. "In fact, I think that you've been acting like this since we got coffee the day Chuck confessed to you. Maybe even before then. You love my brother." Sarah blushed.
"Yeah, I do, Ellie. I'm in love with Chuck. And I have been for a while," Sarah said dreamily.
"Does he know how you feel? Has he told you how he feels?"
"He definitely knows that I care a lot about him, but I haven't told him that I love him. I've refrained from saying anything, because I don't want to freak him out. Yet," Sarah giggled, but sobered quickly. "He likes me a lot, more than a lot, I can tell. But he's still processing it all and trying to figure it out for the first time in his life. I don't want to pressure him; I'm having too much fun with him to worry too much about it at the moment."
"Boy, you really do have it bad," Ellie chuckled.
"Who are you to talk?" Sarah asked. "I've seen how you are around Devon. And with all of your sexy comments and innuendo. You're pretty much in love yourself."
"Oh, don't I know it? He's awesome," the med student sighed dramatically. Both women burst out laughing.
January 21
Despite Chuck's concerns, no one, besides the Songbirds, mentioned the abortive trip to the strip club or his subsequent fight all weekend. Even the girls' reactions were subdued given that Sarah had been the one to tell them the story and she had insisted that everyone keep quiet about it and not draw attention to Chuck. They'd agreed after she told them about how upset he was that it had taken place at all. Their reaction to Morgan was altogether different. It was all a bust and Morgan couldn't totally hide his disappointment when asked how the team 'outing' had gone.
"Did you get a good eyeful of the ladies last night, Morgan?" Amy asked teasingly during dinner on Saturday.
"No," Morgan frowned. "We never even got inside." Chuck knew why already, but kept quiet.
"Why not?" Carina looked surprised. She'd never heard of any club turning away money. Especially turning away the chance at a good bit of money from a group of excitable teenagers.
"The manager told us that he didn't want to risk another fight breaking out," Morgan grumped. "Apparently, the guys that bothered Chuck had a number of friends who go to that club on a regular basis, even though they're kind of jerks, and the manager didn't want any more trouble or bad publicity."
"Aw, that's too bad, sweetie. I'm sorry that it was all a bust," Alex said, not really feeling sorry, at all. She understood that her boyfriend didn't know about the outing's destination beforehand, but she would have preferred if he was more reluctant about going to such places.
"Yeah. Well, Shaw said that they might try to do it at a later date. Once things have had a chance to calm down some," Morgan replied, completely oblivious to his girlfriend's mood. He didn't see her frown or the look of determination that flitted across her face before it was quickly gone. Chuck saw it, though, and even he picked up the vibe Alex was giving off. He shared a look with Sarah and she shook her head slightly with a bemused expression.
"How about this, babe?" Alex asked, leaning over and whispering in Morgan's ear. His blush and her smirk told everyone at the table what Alex's solution most likely was.
"Oh, boy!" Morgan breathed, once she sat back and returned to her meal. Soft chuckles around the table signaled the end of that conversation. At least, the public part of that conversation.
Having lived through the weekend without drawing any attention, Chuck was caught completely flatfooted when he and Morgan exited the serving line in Branner Dining on Monday evening. As soon as students spotted his familiar curly-haired head, they started singing the theme song to the movie Rocky. As the men made their way over to where the Songbirds waited, other students picked up the song until, by the time they reached the tables, the entire hall was singing. Chuck was blushing bright red and shaking his head, both at the people singing and at himself for thinking that he'd escape a typical Stanford reaction to finding out such news about one of their own. While they weren't singing along, much to his surprise, all of the girls were grinning at him like mad and giggling. Sarah was just plain laughing. He put his food down and prepared to sit. The singing was getting louder and louder.
"You know what they want you to do, don't you, sweetie?" Sarah grinned, happy to see Chuck getting such positive support, despite his obvious embarrassment, even though she hadn't liked the idea of him fighting.
Chuck's shoulders slumped and he nodded in resignation. "Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea, but I don't think I should."
"Go ahead. Just for a second. It'll appease them and you'll be able to eat your dinner in peace." Her blue eyes were dancing.
"If you say so."
"I do. Come on. It's all right." She squeezed his hand. He sighed, but snorted at the teasing look she was giving him. Reluctantly, he raised both fists over his head and shook them a little. The entire hall erupted in cheers. Chuck grinned and waved his hands in the shooing motion. The cheers turned to raucous laughter and clapping. He sat and leaned over to give Sarah a kiss. That drew more cheers, but people quickly lost interest once the show was over, turning back to their meals and friends. Thus freed, Chuck dug into his own food, spending the rest of the meal time chatting happily with the table and his beautiful girlfriend.
January 23
Sarah had managed to secure the use of Helman Hall for an hour to hold a rehearsal and preview for Chuck and Dr. Beckman (in that order). When he got there, a few minutes before the scheduled time, Dr. Beckman and all of the girls were already there. The advisor was sitting in one of the lecture hall seats watching as the singers went through their vocal warm up exercises. As soon as she heard him enter, Sarah rushed over to welcome him excitedly. While they shared a hug and a warm kiss, she basked in his familiar scent, Ivory soap, cedar, and him. That scent never failed to warm her and calm her in equal measure.
"I'm so glad that you're here, sweetie," Sarah said breathlessly. "We're almost ready to go. Take a seat over by Dr. Beckman and we'll get started in a few minutes."
Chuck gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "Will do. I'm really looking forward to y'all doing your stuff," he smiled crookedly. After sharing a peck on the lips, Sarah jogged back to where the girls were gathered and Chuck found his way to the seat next to Dr. Beckman.
"Good evening, Chuck. Are you ready for a show?" the advisor smiled.
"Yes, Ma'am, I am," Chuck grinned and nodded as he took his seat. "It's been months since I've been around here, so I have no idea what they're doing. I know it's the same show that they performed for the alumni during homecoming, but I never saw it, only their practicing. Mom and Dad told me that it was a good performance, so I'm anxious to see it for myself."
"Yes, it was a good show," Beckman agreed. "It was smart of them to decide to do it for their first competition. It allows the freshman a chance to see and take part in a competition without the added concern of perfecting a new song and routine. And that gives them more time to get ready for the next competition. Sound thinking on Sarah's part," she concluded proudly.
"I have no idea about any of this, so I'll take your word on that, Ma'am," Chuck grinned.
Zondra took a folding chair and put it in the middle of the floor and the girls arranged themselves around it, fidgeting a little with pre-performance jitters, even if it was only for Chuck and Dr. Beckman. Sarah had a pair of crutches, which she handed to Carina before walking over to their audience.
"Dr. Beckman saw us perform this mash-up during homecoming, Chuck, but let me set it up for you. Remember this was back when I still had a sprained ankle, so we worked that into the choreography that we used. Even though I'm OK now, we're going to use the same routine and try to play it a little for laughs. That means I'll have my ankle wrapped like back then and I'll be wearing flat shoes and using those crutches," she pointed over at Carina, before continuing. "Songs we're singing are "These Boots Are Made For Walking" and "I'm Gonna Be (500)". The joke in the performance is I walked too long and too hard and sprained my ankle, hence the wrap and the crutches. For the actual performance, we're all going to be wearing black jeans, white tank tops, and black leather jackets. The rest of the girls will be wearing knee high black boots. OK?"
"Yeah, that sounds like fun, Sarah," Chuck smiled. "I do have one question, though. Are the boots flats or wedges or heels?" All of the women, including Dr. Beckman, just stared at him, open-mouthed. "What? I've got an older sister and a mother. I remember things," he tapped his temple and shrugged. The girls, and Beckman, all laughed, shaking their heads at Chuck being Chuck.
"Chuckles, you're something else," Carina managed to say, once the laughter had died down.
"Well?" Chuck persisted. When Sarah gave him a questioning look, he twisted his lips to the side and pointed at her feet. She looked where he was pointing and back at him, shaking her head, again.
"Heels, you goof," she grinned. "Two-inch heels, in case you were wondering about that, too."
"Thanks," Chuck saluted with a small grin. Sarah gave him a look and snorted in amusement, then turned and rejoined the rest of the singers, reclaiming the crutches from Carina as she did so. No one was fidgeting. Chuck's antics had relieved the group's tension.
With a signal from Sarah, the girls began singing. To Chuck's untrained eyes and ears, they looked and sounded wonderful. He could picture them in their matching outfits for their actual performance. The choreography, likewise, looked flawless. Sarah's performance, in particular, miming her injury and frustration with not being able to join the other girls to 'walk 500 miles to walk all over you' was letter perfect and very funny. The girls committed themselves entirely. And it showed. He had never seen this side of any of them before. Well, he had seen it, but only tangentially, since he'd been mostly focused on his studies last fall. Sarah was amazing and his heart swelled with pride at what she and the other Songbirds had accomplished. His chest filled with warmth and he couldn't keep from grinning wildly. The girls were so entrancing, that he never noticed Dr. Beckman glancing over at him and smiling to herself. When the song came to an end, Dr. Beckman and Chuck clapped. Well, Dr. Beckman clapped. Chuck, on the other hand, leaped to his feet, clapping and whistling his approval.
"Woo Hoo! Y'all were amazing. A-mazing!" Chuck gushed, smiling one of his full eye-crinkling, nose-wrinkling Bartowski smiles for all the girls, but his eyes were locked on Sarah's. Both he and Beckman walked over to congratulate the singers.
Watching him, Dr. Beckman smirked, he's not subtle at all. When she caught sight of the look on Sarah's face and in her eyes, she thought, Hell, neither is she. Goners, the both of them. Goners, she shook her head slightly and chuckled to herself.
January 26
The Songbirds had met for lunch in Lakeside Dining hall, back at Stanford, at twelve noon exactly and had eaten a low-key meal. With Chuck and Morgan still tethered to the training table at Branner Dining, the conversation had been subdued. Sarah and Alex had been forced to say their goodbyes before heading to lunch and, once they had wished them all luck and given their girlfriends good luck kisses, their boyfriends had started across campus for their own meal and afternoon practice. After they'd finished eating, each girl had gone back to her room and retrieved the garment bag holding her performance outfit, including the boots they would be wearing. The singers had gathered outside Meier Hall, where a charter bus had waited to take Dr. Beckman and them up to Berkeley where the friendly competition was scheduled for later that afternoon. Although they didn't see it, they knew that Dr. Montgomery and the ChoirBoyz were taking their own bus to the same competition.
The trip to the University of California, Berkeley wasn't very long since the two schools were just under forty miles apart. They'd left at 1 pm and the trip had taken a little over an hour, due to the weekend traffic. Their bus had been able to squeeze down a narrow street and drop them off fairly close to the site of the competition on the Berkeley campus, Hearst Hall. It had only been a short walk from the drop off to the hall, which they made while their bus navigated out of its tight spot to wait in a parking lot for buses until Dr. Beckman called for them to be picked up after the competition concluded. Upon entering the hall, Dr. Beckman had taken care of the registration details, then walked with the girls to their assigned dressing room. They'd helped each other change into their performance outfits and fix their hair and makeup. Then they ran through their warm up exercises, while Dr. Beckman returned to the hall to watch the buildup in order to be able to alert the girls when it was time for the competition to start. There were Berkeley students that had been assigned to knock on the various dressing rooms, but neither Dr. Beckman nor Sarah had wanted to leave anything to chance. After all, they'd had to deal with the Bumper Allen and the ChoirBoyz shenanigans before. A few minutes before the scheduled start time of 3 pm, their advisor knocked on the door and told them it was time. Before they left the room, Sarah stopped everyone.
"Remember doing this number last fall for the alumni and how much they liked it," Sarah had said, trying to instill confidence in her fellow singers. "Remember how much Dr. Beckman and Chuck liked our performance a couple of days ago. Think about Chuck hooting and hollering and clapping. And telling us how "A-mazing" we were," she had continued, even giving a pretty fair impression of Chuck's voice. Many of the girls had still had doubtful expressions on their faces, so Sarah had tried something else. She'd lifted a finger to get everyone's attention and spoken as seriously as she could, "But, most of all, remember how important it is that you guys are wearing boots. With two-inch heels." That had done the trick. Everyone had broken up laughing, remembering Chuck's interest in the style of their footwear. With the tension gone, they'd filed out of their dressing room and made their way to the concert hall itself.
Now, Sarah looked around the room at the other groups milling about. There were ten groups scheduled to perform. Even though it was just a friendly and not a sanctioned International Championship of Collegiate A Cappella (ICCA) event, the judges were going to be using the ICCA judging rules and scoresheets. Performances had to be 4 minutes or less in length. They were scored on 16 individual categories, 9 for vocal performance and 7 for visual performance, with an additional subjective category which awarded 'bonus' points to the top three groups, in the opinion of that particular judge and there were five judges. The seventeen scores were then added for a grand total score. The highest and lowest scores were dropped and the remaining judges' scores totaled to determine the overall ranking of the competitors. The performance order was randomly selected and the Songbirds lucked into the second to last spot. Unfortunately, the ChoirBoyz had gotten the honor of performing last. Sarah thought that they seemed to 'luck' out like that a lot.
It was expected that groups would sit in the audience and watch the other groups sing, until the act just before their own allotted place. At that time, they'd make their way backstage to make any last-minute preparations and do their final warmups. The Songbirds dutifully watched the other groups performances, some better and more polished than others. Bumper Allen had quietly started up his usual bad-mouthing routine, but was quickly silenced by a disapproving look from Dr. Beckman and a soft rebuke from his own advisor, Dr. Montgomery. Sarah could see him visibly gulp when she gave him her own murderous glare. When it was time for them to go, Sarah led the girls backstage where she wrapped her ankle and picked up her crutches. Zondra took charge of the folding chair they'd taken as their prop, then Dr. Beckman led them in their final warmups. Right before they were to go onstage, she gave them a final pep talk and turned them over to Sarah.
"Remember all of our hard work. We've come so far since last fall. We know this song and these moves. We've got this," Sarah said enthusiastically. "Now, let's go out there and knock 'em on their asses." Nods and determined looks all around.
"And always remember the importance of two-inch heels," Carina snarked. Everyone, including Sarah, cracked up. Perfect, she thought. She nodded her thanks to Carina, who winked and nodded back. Thank you, Chuck, whether you realize it or not, you've helped us a lot today. She knew he was there with them, especially in her heart.
The girls took their places in the wings, standing just on the visible edge of the stage. At Sarah's signal, they started to sing while they walked out toward center stage. Zondra and Cynthia Rose shared the lead vocals with the rest of the girls singing the melody and harmony. Lilly handled the beatboxing percussion.
So, I would walk 500 miles
And I would roll 500 more
Just to be the girl who rolled a thousand miles
To stand outside your door
So, I would walk 500 miles
And I would roll 500 more
Just to be the girl who rolled a thousand miles
And I will tell you something more
As the girls reached the center of the stage, still singing, Sarah appeared and hobbled after them, gesturing frantically to get them to slow down and allow her to catch up. The remaining CATS turned toward her, frowning and shaking their heads, while the other girls ignored her. Sarah mimed begging and the CATS relented with Zondra opening and putting the chair down at center stage. When she reached the chair, Sarah sat down, miming her frustration with her wrapped ankle. The audience caught their vibe and laughed. Sarah took over the lead vocals when they switched over to the Nancy Sinatra, "These Boots Are Made For Walking", parts.
You keep sayin' you got somethin' for me
Somethin' you call love but confess
You've been a'messin' where you shouldn't 've been a'messin'
And now someone else is getting all your best
These boots are made for walkin'
And that's just what they'll do
One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you
The mash-up shifted back and forth between the two songs and painted a picture of a girl who'd walked too far in order to walk all over her cheating boyfriend. It was a very humorous performance and the audience laughed at all of the appropriate places, cheering and clapping along. When it was over, the Songbirds received a rousing round of applause before exiting the stage. Sarah and Dr. Beckman compared notes and thought that they'd done well. All that remained was the ChoirBoyz performance.
And the ChoirBoyz brought the house down. Their performance was electric, with Bumper, Jesse Swanson, and Benji Applebaum trading off the lead vocals and a confident visual routine. It was clear to everyone that they were the team to beat. When the scores were tallied and announced that turned out to be the case with the ChoirBoyz coming in first place. The surprise was that the Songbirds came in a very close second, much to Bumper Allen's displeasure. With the competition concluded and the trophies awarded, the Songbirds said their goodbyes to friends at other schools and made their way back to their dressing room to change before boarding the bus back to Stanford.
"We did damn good today guys," Sarah said once they'd all taken seats and the return trip had begun. "You should be proud."
"Sarah's right ladies," Dr. Beckman agreed. "You did great. I'm very proud of you."
"Why'd those assholes win then?" Alex grumped. "Their routine wasn't better than ours. Not from where I was sitting, at least." She slid down in her seat, frowning. The bus got quiet. Even Sarah wasn't sure what to say right then.
"It's their attitude," Beca explained. "They give off this smug attitude that says 'we're the best and we dare you to say anything different'. Their routine reflects that. Every step, every motion is done with a kind of swagger. Or a strut. Even their arm and hand motions. They smirk more than they smile. They each make eye contact with a different audience member and appear to be singing just to that person. They exude confidence," she pursed her lips and nodded. "That's why they win. They come in expecting to win. They think they've won before they even set foot on stage." As she was speaking more and more girls were nodding their heads in agreement. Dr. Beckman was nodding, too. Sarah looked around at each girl.
"Beca's right," Sarah admitted. "They're all about confidence." She rubbed her hands together. "So, we know what we're up against and we know what we need to do. Rest up tomorrow. Come Monday, we're going to work even harder to get ready for the friendly on February 9. We're also going to double up and do more practicing for the real ICCA competition, the quarterfinals, on February 23. The goal is one of the top two spots in the quarters. Don't be surprised if we add some practice time on the weekends, too." No complaining. Sarah looked around, again. This time she saw fire in everyone's eyes. Good. They'd need it.
A/N2: Chapter title comes from the song by Barbara Streisand and Barry Gibb. Trying to find a positive song with the word 'law' in the title wasn't easy. There was one that might have fit the bill, but it was heavy metal and I just laughed at the image of the characters in glam rock wigs lip syncing to that song, so it's Barbara Streisand, instead. Yeah.
A/N3: Based on my reading of the current California laws, what I put in this chapter is accurate. The men threatening physical violence with no provocation from any of the players, where Chuck had reason to believe that they would carry through on their threat, committed assault (PC 240). When they actually started to carry out their threat, they committed battery (PC 242). Disturbing the peace is a typical charge that is tacked on to any charges stemming from fighting in public (PC 415). Chuck was in imminent danger of being injured by the men and so his fighting back was self-defense. He did just enough force to stop the threat and no more.
A/N4: Yes, I had the Songbirds change lyrics in their songs for their friendly competition. Even though the Pitch Perfect movies made a big deal about sticking to the cover song's original lyrics, I couldn't find anything in the real ICCA rules that forbade changing lyrics, so I did.
A/N5: WillieGarvin fought the law and he won. He also fights with my writing and beats it into an acceptable shape. You have my thanks for your legalistic pugilistic prose pounding.
A/N6: 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/N7: 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.