A/N: The board is set; the pieces are moving. We come to it at last... The great battle of our time. Appropriate words to describe this chapter.
A/N1.5: Fair warning. Lots of location and time shifts in this chapter. It's mostly chronological (you'll understand when you read it) and I've tried to clearly mark each location and time for context.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I make no money from Chuck.
Chapter 30 – The Sound of Silence
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
April 27 – New York about 11:00pm ET (8:00 pm PT)
The Songbirds had taken an extra-long time to change back into their street clothes after their victory. Crying, cheering, and jumping around the dressing room had made that task much more difficult than it otherwise would have been, delaying the group's return to the hotel. The CATS were still celebrating. Laughing and singing, they were dancing around their hotel room in joyous abandon. They were champions! They'd done it! The trophy on the room's desk announced that fact. Etched in brass, no less! None of them had taken the time to retrieve their phones from the locked safe in the closet.
That's why the scream down the hall came as a shock. It was followed by the sound of running feet and someone frantically pounding on their door. Zondra scowled at the thought of their celebration being spoiled as she stomped over and yanked the door open.
"What in the hell is going on?" she angrily demanded. Beca stood in the doorway, brandishing her phone. Her look of utter devastation was in marked contrast to the look of total elation she'd worn the last time the roommates had seen her.
"SARAH!" Beca cried in alarm. "It's Chuck! He's been HURT!"
Before Sarah could process what Beca had just told her, there were other cries, doors crashing open, and running feet.
"Wha-?" Sarah fumbled. "Huh? Chuck's hurt? What … ah … What are you talking about?" She looked around in confusion.
"Jesse called me and … um … left a message," Beca said. "He was at the game."
Thinking fast, Carina opened the safe and handed out their phones. Each woman turned theirs on and waited for them to power up. As Sarah began to look to see if there were any messages or missed calls, Dr. Beckman strode into the room, looking grim, bringing the rest of the group in with her. Her eyes bored straight into Sarah.
"Dr. Beckman, what's going on?" Zondra fumed. "Beca, just told us that Chuck is hurt." The advisor frowned and nodded, trying to keep her own emotions under control.
"It looks like that's the case," Beckman admitted. "I just got off the phone with Roan … Dr. Montgomery." She glanced at the roommates before looking back at Sarah. "He was at the game and saw it all."
"W- What happened?" Sarah barely choked out, terror rising in her throat.
"According to what Dr. Montgomery told me, about an hour ago or so, Chuck was pitching when he slipped on the pitcher's mound for some reason. He fell into the path of a line drive and it hit him in the head –"
"OH GOD!" Sarah screamed. "Is … is he … is he …" She couldn't say the words. Her knees started to buckle, but Carina and Amy rushed to her side to support her. There was a collective gasp from the surrounding women.
"NO! Sarah, no! No." Dr. Beckman quickly said, moving to grasp the young woman's arm. Then more slowly, she continued, "No, Roan doesn't think so. The medical support team got to him almost instantly. They got him stabilized and bundled him into an ambulance. Ellie was there, too, along with her boyfriend. Roan said that she threatened to kill a security guard if he didn't let her go to her brother. They both left with Langston Graham to go to the hospital." Despite her fear, Sarah could picture a fierce Ellie rushing the field. A wave of guilt washed over her and she began to cry in earnest.
"Wha—what do we do? I'm so far away!" She sobbed.
"I honestly don't know," Dr. Beckman apologized. "Roan said something about talking to Stephen. He and Mary were getting in the air, headed to Palo Alto when he hung up just before I came in here." The room suddenly got quiet.
"I've got the video up, Sarah. If you want to see it," Zondra said softly, sounding loud in the oppressive silence.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Beckman began.
"YES," Sarah shouted. More quietly, "Yes, I do want to see it. No matter how bad it is, my imagination is worse." Zondra pulled out a cable from her bag and linked her laptop to the TV, so everyone, who wished, could see the footage. All of the women, including Dr. Beckman, arranged themselves so they could see.
The video showed what Dr. Beckman had described. Chuck was striding forward to make the pitch when his foot slipped as he released the ball. He began to fall down. The women all heard the ping of the bat as the Arizona hitter made contact. They could see Chuck jerk his head back and turn away right before the ball hit him. There was an explosion of blood and Chuck's anguished cry as he crumpled to the ground. Morgan was rushing the mound and Coach Graham was running onto the field with another man carrying a first aid kit when Zondra stopped the video. Everyone already knew what had happened from Dr. Beckman's explanation, but seeing it play out on the video left them too stunned to speak, tears running down their cheeks.
Sarah turned and ran to the bathroom with Carina close on her heels. She was vaguely aware and grateful for her friend holding her hair out of the way while she emptied the contents of her stomach. Her gratitude increased because Carina was rubbing her back soothingly as she continued to retch until she was so exhausted she could hardly move. After a minute, the redhead softly whispered to her.
"Do you feel up to taking a sip of water, Sarah?" Carina asked gently. "You might feel better if you can rinse your mouth out." Sarah weakly nodded and allowed her friend to help her to her feet.
"Thanks, Red," Sarah said. "I'll do that." Grabbing a cup, she rinsed the awful taste out of her mouth. That perked her up enough for her to brush her teeth and swish some mouthwash so she wasn't disgusted by her own foul breath on top of everything else. Only then did she permit herself to think about Chuck again. I'm coming, baby, she thought. I don't know how, but I'm coming. I love you! Please stay alive!
Somewhere and Nowhere
Darkness. There was only darkness. Chuck was confused. He had been in terrible pain, but it was gone now. Abruptly. He couldn't see anything. He tried to move, but the effort was too much so he gave it up for the moment. Where was he? Was he asleep? Dreaming? This didn't feel like a dream. How to tell? He didn't know and when he tried to figure it out, the pain returned, so he retreated. Chuck had an impression of a maelstrom approaching, but that didn't make any sense. Did it? How could something be approaching when he couldn't tell what was here or there? How could something approach in this nothingness? He was still trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts when the maelstrom struck and he succumbed to an avalanche of memories.
April 27 – One hour earlier at Klein Field - a bit after 7:00pm PT (Songbird's victory 10:00pm ET)
Ellie saw Chuck's foot slipping as he released the ball and she knew what was going to happen. Could picture it in her mind before seeing it happen with her eyes. She grabbed Devon's hand and was out of her seat, running down the aisle toward the field right when the ball left the bat. People were staring at her as she passed. She ignored them. Chuck's anguished cry froze her heart, but she kept going. When she reached the lowest level, the security guard stationed next to the Stanford dugout tried to prevent her from getting onto the field. Ellie fixed him with a baleful glare.
"That's my brother out there," she yelled, gesturing over the guard's shoulder. "This man and I are medical students. We might be able to help."
"Miss, I'm really not supposed—" the guard attempted.
"Either get out of my way or there will be two people needing medical attention," Ellie barked as she shoved the hapless guard to the side and climbed over the short wall to reach the field. As soon as their feet touched down, the couple raced for the pitcher's mound and her stricken brother. They were met by a chaotic scene.
Morgan had run from behind home plate when he'd seen his friend fall to the ground. He was now cradling Chuck's head to keep his neck stable, his hands and uniform covered in blood. His catching gear was discarded behind him. Coach Graham and Brandon Moortgat, the team trainer, had arrived right before Ellie and Devon and were opening the first aid kit.
"We can help," she announced as she and Devon skidded to a stop next to the trainer. "Med students." Graham eyed her uncertainly.
"Ellie, you really shouldn't—" Graham tried, recognizing who she was.
"I've got to do something," she pleaded. "Don't send us away. He's my brother!" The coach reluctantly nodded, waving off the converging security guards who'd followed the pair across the field.
"Has someone called 911?" Ellie asked, trying not to look at her brother, fearing her reaction. Devon was calmly assisting the trainer in his first aid efforts. In the middle of everything, she felt her heart clutch with her gratitude and love for him.
"No need," Graham said. There's an ambulance and emergency medical staff (EMS) on site just outside. They're on their way in and should be here any second. The Adult Emergency Department at Stanford Hospital has already been notified and should be standing by to receive Chuck as soon as we can get him there." He laid a comforting hand on her arm. "We're going to do the very best we can for him, Ellie. The very best." She nodded her thanks, holding back her tears with an effort. Ellie had never felt so helpless and it made her angry with herself.
Ellie finally looked at Chuck and wished she hadn't. The skin was torn and peeled back from the middle of his forehead to someplace over his right eye. He had turned his head just in the nick of time. Otherwise, the baseball might have hit him squarely between the eyes. She couldn't tell if his skull was damaged or not due to all of the blood. It took an effort for her to swallow the bile that was rising in her throat. Mr. Moortgat had given Devon gloves and was directing him to use a sterile spray on the wound while he opened a clean sterile dressing. Concerned about a skull fracture, he very gently placed it on Chuck's forehead to stem the bleeding right when the EMS team arrived with their equipment.
The EMS crew took over, two women and a man. First, they fitted a brace around Chuck's neck to prevent furthering any possible injury to his neck or spine. After checking his vitals and ensuring that his breathing wasn't obstructed, they began to treat his injuries. Removing the trainer's dressing, they carefully cleaned the head wound, again, before covering it with a larger fresh dressing. While two of the team were working on Chuck, the third team member, one of the women, was getting a report from the trainer about his actions and eyewitness accounts from Ellie, Devon, Morgan, and Coach Graham to form a better picture of the accident. Graham promised that he would make sure that a copy of the game film was provided to the hospital as soon as possible. The third EMT then spoke to the other players on the field, who'd gathered in a group behind the pitcher's mound before moving to the umpiring crew, but they couldn't really add anything to what the others had already said. She thanked them for their cooperation and came back to assist her two partners and the trainer in lifting Chuck onto a backing board and strapping him to it, before lifting and securing Chuck and the board to the stretcher. The crew thanked everyone for their quick action then they expertly maneuvered the stretcher off of the field and up the steps to the waiting ambulance. All of the people in attendance, fans, players, and staff, stood and clapped in appreciation of the crew's swift actions.
Ellie took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. Devon walked over and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. Then she started to cry as it all hit her and she clung to her boyfriend as he rubbed her back and whispered soothing reassurance into her ear. After a minute, she realized that they were still in the middle of the field, so she gathered herself and pulled back from Devon's embrace, giving him an appreciative smile. Looking around, she saw Morgan with his head in his bloody hands, weeping, and her heart went out to him. He may have once been a pest, but he'd always been there for Chuck. Unfortunately, this was one time that he couldn't just pat his friend on the back and give him a shoulder to lean on. Ellie walked over and put her arm around Morgan's shoulders.
"Thanks, Morgan. Thanks for being there for him and thanks for doing what you could to help. I know that somewhere he appreciates it," Ellie sadly smiled. "And so do I." When he looked at her with his bloody and tear-stained face, she hugged him heedless of the dirt, blood, and tears.
"Morgan, why don't you hit the showers and get cleaned up," Coach Graham said gently. "I'll ask Dr. Montgomery, I saw him up in the stands before the game, to give you a lift to the hospital when you're ready, if you want. I'm heading over there right now, otherwise I'd take you myself. OK?"
"S—Sure, Coach. That sounds good," Morgan hiccupped. "I'll go do that. Thanks." Morgan smiled at Ellie and squeezed her arm before gathering his catching gear and heading toward the dugout. Ellie wished that Alex was here right now for Morgan.
"We're coming with you, Coach Graham," Ellie announced after Morgan had left. Graham's grim visage cracked a little and he gave a bitter one note laugh. He wasn't about to argue with a Bartowski right that minute.
"Let me take care of a couple of things first and we'll get going," he said. Ellie nodded in understanding.
Graham walked over and spoke to the umpiring crew and the Arizona head coach who were all standing close by home plate, telling them that he was turning the game over to Coach Casey while he went to the hospital. Then he asked the Arizona coach if he could talk to his team, briefly. They both went over to the Arizona bench and motioned for Nick Quintana to call time and come off of first base. Graham told them what was going on and that he would make sure they knew what Chuck's status was as soon as he could. He also made a point to tell Quintana that he'd done nothing wrong and that it was just a freak occurrence that wasn't his fault. The kid nodded his head, but Graham could tell that he was pretty shaken up by what had happened and his inadvertent part in it. Graham put his arm around the young man and assured him that none of the Stanford players or coaches held anything against him.
"I promise you this, too," Graham sincerely said. "Chuck Bartowski won't hold anything against you, either, when he comes out of his. The kid doesn't have it in him. In fact, he'll be the first one to say that 'that's baseball'. Trust me." He squeezed the distraught player's shoulder before letting go. After shaking hands with the coaches and players, he jogged back to the Stanford dugout. The players on the field had gravitated there while they awaited word from the coach.
"Casey, you're in charge. I'll let you know Chuck's status as soon as I hear something, but I'm heading over there now and taking Miss Bartowski and Mr. Woodcomb," he waved his hand over at Ellie and Devon, "along with me to the hospital."
"You want me to contact Bartowski's parents?" Casey asked.
"No, I'll take care of that, but thanks for the offer." Looking at the players. "Chuck got hit in the head. His skin was torn open. How bad, I don't know. He is alive, but unconscious. We'll get you all an update as soon as possible. In the meantime, put those guys away, but be good sports about it. No bullshit stuff. For Chuck." Lots of determined murmuring. He grabbed his bag and headed out, motioning for Ellie and Devon to follow. Making his way out of the stadium, he encountered Roan Montgomery standing near the Stanford clubhouse.
"Roan, would you do me a huge favor and call Stephen and Mary?" Graham asked. "I know I should be doing it, but I've got to get over to the emergency room and I don't want them to be in the dark."
"Sure thing, Langston. No problem," Roan nodded. "Anything else that you need me to do? How is the boy doing?"
"His head looked pretty bad, but what do I know? He's unconscious. That's all I do know," Graham said apologetically. "But there is something else you can do for me."
"Anything. What is it?"
"Would you bring Chuck's friend, Grimes, over to the hospital once he's had a chance to wash the dirt and blood off? Poor kid. Tough thing to see happen to your best friend. He'll want to be there." Graham shook his head sadly.
"No problem. I'll take care of it," Roan nodded. He turned to Ellie. "Don't worry Ellie. I'll make sure your parents know what's happened so they can get here as quickly as possible."
"Thank you, Dr. Montgomery," Ellie solemnly replied. She guiltily realized that she hadn't even thought about their parents before the coach mentioned them. Graham ducked into the clubhouse. When he exited, the young medical students followed him to his car.
Chuck is 7 years old, currently in the third grade. It's early January in Burbank, California.
Nicholas Quinn had Chuck up against the wall of the Ralph Waldo Emerson Elementary School. He had no idea what he'd done to provoke the bigger and fatter kid, nearly nine years old, but that didn't really matter now. Chuck was in trouble.
"You're a freak, Bartowski," Quinn taunted while Chuck squirmed in the older boy's grasp. "What're ya doin' in our class anyway, 'sides showing off how much of a little shit you are?" Chuck could see Jane Bentley, one of his very few friends in class, standing behind Quinn, looking uncertain and afraid.
"C'mon Nicky. Leave the kid alone. You're twice his size," Jane begged. "What'll it prove if you beat him up? Huh? That a big kid can beat up a little kid? We know that."
"Shut up, Janey," Quinn retorted angrily. "This is between the freak and me. Stay out of it." Other voices in the surrounding crowd rose to support Quinn. It made Chuck sad, but he already understood his place, he'd learned that very quickly. Nicky slapped his face. "I asked ya a question freakazoid. Answer me!"
"I'm in class because they put me there," Chuck said, trying to shrug. "I don't know."
"You're a dick, Bartowski," Quinn sneered. "You do too know. I've heard about you from other kids." He looked around and saw some of the others nodding. "You only spent a few weeks in first and second grade. I bet you think you're hot shit, don't ya?"
"No, I don't. Honest," Chuck shook his head, continuing to squirm.
"Yer a liar," Quinn growled. "Here's what we do to liars." He swung his fist, intending to punch Chuck in the face. Chuck jerked his head to the side just enough for Nicky's fist to miss his face and make hard contact with the wall. Quinn howled in pain.
"You little fucker!" Quinn blurted, furtively looking around. "I'll fix you!" With his good arm, Nicky threw Chuck to the ground. Before he could scramble out of the way, Quinn started to kick him with all his might. Chuck screamed in pain and curled up into as tight a ball as he could manage. Quinn continued to kick him.
Finally, one of the teachers on recess duty, Mrs. Fike, saw what was happening and rushed over to break up the lopsided fight.
"What happened? What's going on?" Mrs. Fike demanded. No one spoke. "Alright, you're both coming with me!" She took firm hold of both boys.
"I didn't do anything!" Chuck protested.
"He hurt my hand," Nicky whined obsequiously. He smirked at Chuck when he was sure the teacher wasn't looking.
"Chuck Bartowski, I think that you are more trouble than you're worth," Mrs. Fike sighed as she yanked both boys down the hall by their arms. Chuck winced in pain from getting kicked. Part of him agreed with her. He stumbled, but instead of falling to the ground, Chuck fell into black quicksand.
"Mommy?" he called in the emptiness. "Daddy?"
"Sarah? … Wait! … Who's Sarah?"
Stanford Hospital - a short time after Chuck's injury (around 7:45pm PT – 10:45pm ET)
Langston Graham turned left off of South Pasteur Drive and entered the underground parking garage. He quickly found a space and parked. Exiting the car, Graham followed Ellie and Devon as they raced up the stairs and made for the entrance to the Adult Emergency Department. As Chuck was still under 21, he would normally go to the separate Pediatric Emergency Department on the other side of the hospital. Since he had a possible traumatic brain injury, they were treating him at the Adult ED as it also boasted a Level 1 Trauma Center, the highest classification possible.
Slowing down to a brisk walk when they entered the sliding doors to the Emergency Department, the trio approached the registration desk, busy dealing with the inevitable line of people waiting to be helped. After what seemed like an interminable wait, right about at the end of Ellie's patience, they reached the head of the line.
"How may I help you?" the harried woman sitting behind the desk asked.
"I'm Langston Graham, head coach of the Stanford baseball team," Graham said by way of introduction. "I'm here about one of my players, Chuck Bartowski. He was brought in just a short while ago with a possible traumatic brain injury. Where is he?" The overworked staffer sat up straighter upon hearing who was standing in front of her and who he was asking about. Everyone in the ED had gotten the alert when it had gone out earlier.
"Let me check for you, Sir," she said, turning to her computer and typing away. After more typing and a few clicks of her mouse, she looked up at the coach. "He's over in Imaging right now getting a CT scan."
"What will happen after that?" Graham asked. "Will he be brought back here or will he go elsewhere?"
"That depends on what they see in the CT scan," the woman answered. "He could come back here or they could take him to the ICU (intensive care unit) or he might be taken into surgery. It all depends," she shrugged apologetically.
"OK. This is his sister and her boyfriend," he said, motioning toward Ellie and Devon. "His parents are on their way up from LA. Where is the best place for us to wait? Here or somewhere else?"
"Stay here for the time being," she replied. "I've put a tag on his record, so I'll be notified whenever it gets updated. That way I'll be able to tell you what's going on."
"Thank you, Miss …," Graham began.
"Clarke. Patty Clarke."
"Thank you, Miss Clarke. Nice to meet you. I just wish it were under different circumstances," Graham smiled weakly as he offered his hand for the young woman to shake. She shook his hand, nodding and smiling sympathetically.
"Now we wait," Ellie murmured. The three of them found seats. Graham pulled out his phone and started texting people. Ellie and Devon looked at each other wordlessly, holding hands. We're here, Chuck. We're here. More are coming. Please stay alive. Feeling useless, Ellie closed her eyes and prayed, before pulling out her phone and calling her parents.
In the air over California enroute to San Jose International Airport (about 8:30pm PT – 11:30pm ET)
Stephen and Mary sat side-by-side clutching each other's hand. One of the many things they'd feared for their children had finally come to pass. Chuck was seriously injured with a bad blow to his head. They'd seen it all, watching the game on their big screen TV in the family's entertainment room. Stephen had immediately contacted the flight and ground crews responsible for the CIB jet. The crews had gotten to the airport and completed their pre-flight preparations in record time once they knew the reason for the emergency flight request. Everyone involved knew and liked Chuck.
When Roan had reached them on the phone, they were already on their way to Hollywood Burbank Airport where the corporate jet was hangered, once they'd packed two light bags with essentials to cover them for a few days. After a brief conversation, Roan had hung up, promising to update them with any news as soon as he got it. He told them that he'd already informed Diane Beckman about Chuck's injury. Although sick with worry for Chuck and for Ellie having to witness her brother's injury, Mary spared some time to think about Chuck's girlfriend.
"You know Diane is in New York with Sarah Walker and the rest of the Songbirds," she looked over at her husband whose own fear was evident on his face. "The finals were tonight. This is going to just kill them. Sarah especially. Poor girl."
"I can charter a plane to bring the lot of them back here, ASAP," Stephen offered. "What do you think?"
"Stephen, that'll cost a fortune on such short notice," Mary seemed to demur. "If you can even do it tonight. It's so late back East."
"I don't give a fuck if it takes every penny we have," Stephen swore. "Charles needs that girl. I just know it. And she needs to be there for him just as much. I'm sure of that, too," he locked eyes with his wife. "I'm getting a jet. Hell, I'll throw in a doctor and nurse team on top of it. Some of the girls might need stuff to calm them down or help them sleep during the flight. I know I would. Shit, I could use a shot of something right now, myself. I know you could, honey." Mary briefly smiled at her husband and squeezed his hand. No wonder Chuck and Ellie were so stubborn and determined, they got it from both sides of the family.
"Later. We need to be awake and keep our wits about us right now. OK, you call Vivian and have her get on it and make sure it's big enough," Mary said. "I'm going to call Daddy and have him get in touch with Cole Barker. I know I could do it, but he doesn't know me very well, but he does know my Daddy."
"Cole Barker? Why?" Stephen asked while he opened his contact list to look for Vivian McArthur's phone number.
"If Chuck got hit in the head so hard that it knocked him out, there's a very good chance that his mental defenses were … um … compromised or … um … damaged," she shrugged uncertainly. Even she didn't know exactly what went on in her son's head or how he kept his hyperthymesia under control. "He was the one who taught Chuck those exercises and helped him set up his current defenses when he'd been struggling. If anyone can help him put them back in place, it'll be Barker."
"OK, you do that," her husband nodded, tapping Vivian's contact and putting the phone to his ear. "Vivian, it's Stephen … Not so good actually … We've got a situation … Charles is badly hurt … Mary and I are on our way to Stanford now … Yes, and we need your help …"
Mary took out her own phone and got up to move away from Stephen so her conversation wouldn't interfere with his.
"Hi, Daddy … It's Chuck. He's hurt … I need your help …"
The first troops were being rallied. Soon, others would answer the call. Before it was all over, an army would be assembled. All with the single purpose to bring Chuck Bartowski back, alive and whole.
New York – sometime after 11:30pm ET (8:30pm PT)
The wait had been agonizing. Everyone was almost beside themselves with worry. The one thing that united the group was their need and desire to support and comfort Sarah, as best they could, while also dealing with their own fear and sadness for their sweet, kind friend. When the waiting and uncertainty had almost caused nerves to snap, Dr. Beckman's cell phone rang. Stephen Bartowski was calling. She locked eyes with Sarah and tentatively accepted the call.
"Diane, I've got Chuck's COO, Vivian McArthur, on the line in a three-way," Stephen said. Hearing his old friend snort over the line, he added, "None of your quirky humor, either, Diane," he smiled, in spite of himself and the circumstances.
"I wouldn't think of it," Beckman said, smirking none-the-less, before schooling her features and getting serious. "Sorry to be meeting you in the middle of this … um … situation, Ms. McArthur." The advisor looked a bit embarrassed at the singers' questioning looks. They couldn't hear the other side of the conversation she was having.
"Likewise, Dr. Beckman," Vivian agreed.
"OK, let's get down to cases," Stephen prompted. "Diane, Vivian has worked her typical magic and found us a charter company, near Manhattan, with available jets and a crew to fly it almost immediately. How she managed to do it so quickly, I'll never know. She's also secured the services of a doctor/nurse team to travel with you on the plane to provide any medical care necessary, including administering sedatives, if anyone requires them. Are you and the Songbirds interested in catching a flight tonight to come back? I know it cuts into the girls' time in New York. Just say the word and we'll make it happen."
"I think I know the answer, but let me check, just to make sure," Diane replied. "Give me a sec." Muting her phone, the advisor looked around at the anxious faces of the young women surrounding her. "This is Chuck's father and the COO of Chuck's company." Girls exchanged glances upon being reminded of Chuck's business at so odd a time. "They can get us on a charter flight back tonight. If you don't mind cutting our trip short." The chorus of affirmative responses sounded unanimous, Sarah's was the most vehement of all, but Beckman wanted to make sure. "Does anyone not want to go back?" No one spoke, not that she expected them to. There were only shaking heads. Chuck meant a lot to all of them. Unmuting her phone, she spoke into it.
"Stephen. Vivian. It's unanimous. Everyone wants to go back tonight. I haven't talked to the event crew that's up here with us, but they'll fall into line, if they know what's good for them. I'll make sure of it," Beckman said confidently.
"Thought so," Stephen smiled into the phone. "How many people total are we talking about? We want to make sure we've got a big enough plane before we commit."
"Sixteen. Twelve Songbirds, me, and 3 people on the event crew. Plus, everyone's luggage and equipment."
"We're good then," Vivian confirmed. "I arranged for one of the new Gulfstreams. They can hold up to 19 passengers and reach top speeds just under Mach 1, so adding in the two-person medical team will still keep us under the limit. And it'll get you back here pretty quickly. You should be landing here before morning California time. You'll have to fly into San Jose, though. The closer airports both have issues that knock them out of consideration. The Palo Alto runway is too short and Moffett Federal Airfield closes at 11:00pm PT."
"Great! We're just glad to have a way to get back." Diane enthused. "Where and how soon? Also, how do we get there at this hour?"
"We'll use Teterboro Airport," Vivian answered. "It's the closest to where you are in Manhattan. In about two and a half hours. I'd like it to be sooner, but it'll take that long to get everything ready and prepare the plane at this hour. They're waiting on me to call them back and close the deal, so I'll do that right away. As for transportation, there'll be a bus downstairs outside in one hour to take everyone to the airport."
"What about security and bag checks and all of that?"
"It's a domestic charter flight. None of that needs to happen. The bus will pull up, everyone gets out, boards the plane, the ground crew puts your bags on board, and it takes off. Simple as that," Vivian replied reassuringly.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Diane smacked her forehead. "What about when we land in San Jose?"
"We're in the process of arranging a bus and an escort from the airport, but I don't have the final details yet," Vivian admitted. "We'll have to call you with that information while you're in the air."
"OK, then," Beckman smiled. "It looks like we've got a plan. I'll get the girls organized on my end. Let me know if anything comes up. Either here or at Stanford." Everyone knew what she was talking about, so everyone silently agreed not to talk about it.
"Great!" Stephen chimed in. "And, Diane. You've got my number if there are any hitches. Don't worry, we'll iron them out. Money is no object."
"OK, I've got a lot to do and little time to do it, so bye for now," the advisor said, hanging up without waiting for a response. Turning to the assembled young women, "Right. There's going to be a bus downstairs in one hour. Anyone who wants to get cleaned up needs to do that lickety-split. Everyone needs to be packed and outside waiting on that bus. You've got one hour, so I suggest you hop to it. I've got to corral the events crew."
"Thank you," Sarah said, starting to sob, again, this time in gratitude. "Thank you, everybody, for doing this."
"Silly girl," Dr. Beckman said affectionately, patting her cheek. "There's nothing we won't do for Chuck. Or for you. You're family. We're family." Sarah looked around and saw the loving smiles of all of her friends and she grinned so hard her cheeks hurt, even as her tears continued to fall.
Chuck is 13 years old, finishing his first year in graduate school. It's late May in Boston, Massachusetts.
"Why do you have to go, Dad?" Chuck asked, despondent. He and Stephen were sitting on the couch in Dr. Frank Simcoe's living room. He was a friend of his father's, a few years older, from their own graduate school days at Stanford.
Dr. Simcoe and his wife, Melody, had volunteered to sponsor Chuck and have him live with them when Stephen made the difficult choice to return to California. Their own children, Ryan and Becky, were already out of the house. Ryan to the Army and Becky to nursing school in New York.
"We've been over this, Charles," Stephen said slowly and carefully, trying to hide his exasperation. Chuck could hear it anyway. "I've got responsibilities that I can't meet here in Boston. Technology can only allow me to do so much remotely. I have to go back to continue my work. You understand that, don't you?"
"I understand that Ellie asked you to come home and you are," Chuck complained. "She always gets what she wants." He fought to hold back his angry tears. He was too old to be crying like a child. People kept telling him that, at any rate. Damn you, Ellie, he thought.
"You're not being fair to Eleanor, Charles, and you know it," Stephen scolded him. "I'll hear no more of that kind of talk." He spread his arms to encompass the room. "You're well established here in Boston with your professors and your teaching assistants. You're making excellent grades and everyone is proud of you. Your mother and I most of all. There's the baseball and swimming teams. And the Boy Scouts. Aren't all of those things fun to do? What does a teenager need his dumb old dad hanging around for?"
"Yeah, Dad. All of that is fun, but you're not dumb. You and I do all sorts of fun stuff together, too," Chuck tried, even though he knew it was useless. Didn't his father understand how he didn't fit in with just any people? Didn't Dad understand that he could relate better to him than anyone else? That they shared lots of interests? Sure, he shared interests with Morgan and being so far away from him hurt, too, but that was kind of kid stuff, movies, comics and video games. He and his dad shared technology and science interests, things that Chuck wanted to pursue for his whole life. When he left, Chuck would be alone. Like always. In the end, Chuck knew none of it mattered. His father was leaving and that was that.
"I'm sure Frank and Melody will do fun things with you, too, Charles. You won't even miss me," his father smiled. "You know how crazy they both are about baseball and the Red Sox –"
Chuck looked at his father, wondering why he'd suddenly stopped talking, but all he saw was darkness and he spiraled into it.
San Jose International Airport after 9:30pm PT (12:30am ET)
The CIB jet taxied to a stop. Thankfully for Stephen and Mary, the flight time between Burbank and San Jose was only a little longer than an hour. They'd talked with Ellie while in the air and confirmed that she was alright, as much as could be expected, at least, and at the hospital, along with Devon and Langston Graham. Ellie had profusely apologized for not calling sooner, her fear for Chuck had overwhelmed her. Langston had told them, via Ellie, that Sam Bradbury would be meeting them when they landed and would bring them directly to the hospital. It came as no surprise, when they exited the plane and entered the terminal, they could see Coach Bradbury right where Langston had said he would be. He hurried to help them with their luggage as they briskly walked out to his waiting car. The game had been over long enough for Bradbury to shower and change back into his street clothes and still get to the airport in time, barely, but Mary was grateful. She didn't need any baseball reminders just then.
"I'm so sorry that we have to meet again under such trying circumstances, Doctors," Bradbury said.
"As are we, Mr. Bradbury," Mary replied, careful to leave out any reference to his position with the team. The pain was too great. "Is there any new word about Chuck's condition?"
"Yes. I just got off the phone with Coach Graham right before you landed," Sam answered, not picking up on Mary's state of mind. "He told me that Chuck is in surgery, but he didn't have any information about what was being done or what the results of the earlier CT scan were."
"Nothing else?" Stephen pressed.
"No, Sir. Sorry," the young coach apologized. "He did mention that your daughter tried to get more information, but was rebuffed since she wasn't listed as next of kin on Chuck's medical records on file with the university." Stephen and Mary chuckled ruefully. Both parents are well aware of their oldest child's stubborn streak.
"Eleanor will not be happy about being refused," Stephen shook his head.
"No, she won't," Mary agreed. "I hope she didn't cause a scene."
"Coach Graham didn't say anything about that. To me, at least," Bradbury assured them.
By now, the bags were stowed in the trunk of his car and Sam was behind the wheel with Stephen next to him in the front, for the legroom, and Mary, being more petite, in the back seat. It was almost a straight shot from the airport to the hospital. They took Route 101 North and exited on to Embarcadero Road which they followed all the way to Stanford Stadium before turning right onto Arboretum Road, then left to Quarry Road before turning off on Welch to head toward the Adult ED. The pitching coach had been pushing the speed limit and the trip took less time than either of his passengers expected.
About the time Coach Bradbury parked in the same underground garage that Graham had used earlier, Ellie called Mary and told her that she, Devon, and Graham were no longer in the emergency department, but were on the second floor waiting lounge outside surgery. She said Morgan and some other people were with them and that they should join them as soon as possible. She sounded relieved that her parents had finally arrived. Mary shared her daughter's relief, even if it was so far, only illusionary, given their lack of information about Chuck's condition.
"OK, Stephen, Sam, that was Ellie. She and everyone else are now upstairs waiting outside surgery on the second floor. Let's go," Mary said, as she turned in the direction of the main entrance to the 500 Pasteur Drive building, the two men following in her wake. While the party hurried along, Mary couldn't help but be impressed at how the hospital and education complex had grown since her time in school there. This was a good hospital and she was proud of the fact that she and Stephen had been able to help with its expansion. If Chuck had to be hurt, he could do a lot worse than her old alma mater.
The main doors slid open silently as they approached the building. Once inside, Mary strode purposefully up to the information desk.
"My name is Dr. Mary Bartowski and this is my husband, Dr. Stephen Bartowski," she said, showing her credentials and gesturing to her husband as he came alongside her. "Our son, Chuck … Charles Bartowski, is currently in surgery. I understand that there is a waiting lounge there. Correct? It's on the second floor, if I'm not mistaken?" Stephen suppressed a grin at his wife's clipped discourse. She'd only just learned the location of the surgical suite and waiting area, but the person behind the desk wouldn't know it from how Mary was speaking.
"Y—Yes, Ma'am … I mean … um … Doctor," the flustered woman replied. "Just let me confirm that. Bartowski, you say?"
"Bartowski. Yes. B-A-R-T-O-W-S-K-I," Mary said, amazingly patient, as least in Stephen's mind. He had no idea how she refrained from reminding the woman that she could find their names on the donor list of people who helped fund the building of this new part of the hospital, but she did.
"Found him," the desk clerk announced. "Yes, he is in surgery. You can go right up. Elevator banks are located to the right and to the left. Second floor."
"Thank you," Mary said, politely, heading off toward the left bank of elevators at a brisk walk. Stephen caught up to her and took her hand which was shaking, proving that his wife's bravado was all an act. He already knew his own hand was shaking, so he empathized. Coach Bradbury trailed after them with a bemused look on his face. A formidable family. What neither the parents nor the coach noticed was how a number of people milling around the atrium had stopped and listened to the exchange.
The elevator doors opened on the second floor and the worried couple quickly located the waiting lounge area outside the surgical unit. Walking up the hall, the elder Bartowskis were presented with the impressive sight of a large number of people, mostly young men, but also some young women, loitering in the hallway outside their destination. They appeared to be students, likely Chuck's fellow baseball players and other friends. Although the Drs. Bartowski didn't recognize anyone in the hall, as soon as people noticed them, they moved out of their way respectfully allowing them to pass, having guessed who the older adults were and their connection to Chuck. It was after 10pm PT and still there were a lot of people awaiting news. Any news.
Stephen was the first to catch Ellie's eye when he walked through the doorway into the waiting lounge. She was up and out of her seat like a shot. Morgan wasn't too far behind. Devon followed, a bit more cautiously.
"Oh, Daddy," Ellie squeaked. "I'm so glad you're finally here." She bawled and clung to Stephen as if her life depended on it, drawing on his strength. "Both of you." She added as she transferred her hug to Mary, before stepping back. Devon was shaking hands with her father.
"I understand that you were able to assist the medical teams with Charles, Devon. You have our thanks," Stephen said gravely.
"All I did was help the team trainer clean Chuck's wound where the skin was torn," Devon shrugged. "Right after Mr. Moortgat applied a bandage, the EMS team arrived and took over."
"Nonsense, Devon," Mary disagreed. "You kept your head in the middle of a crisis and helped work on someone you know. That's no small thing. Trust me on that." She pulled him into an appreciative hug. Stephen turned to Morgan who'd been standing nearby distractedly wringing his hands.
"Same goes for you, Morgan. Maybe even more so," Stephen reached out and gave the shorter man a firm fatherly squeeze on his shoulder. "Holding Charles' head to keep him stable. I know that wasn't easy. You also have our gratitude and thanks."
"I couldn't help, Mister B.," Morgan shook his head. "Not really. I saw it all happen. Like it was in slow motion and I was too far away to do anything to stop it happening. I failed Chuck. He's my best friend in the world and I failed him when he needed me most." Tears began to trickle down his cheeks and into his beard. Stephen was emphatically shaking his head 'no'.
"No, Morgan. Don't say that. Don't even think it," Mary admonished him gently as she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his shoulders shake as he cried. "This was entirely out of your control. You said yourself that you were too far away to do anything about it. It was an accident, pure and simple. Please don't punish yourself by feeling guilty." Mary patted Morgan's back gently. "You've been Chuck's closest and best friend since you both were little boys. He's going to need his best friend more than ever to be there to help him once he wakes up. And I know there's nobody better to cheer him up and help get him through this. You'll do that for me, won't you?" Morgan sniffed as he stopped crying and a tentative smile broke out on his face.
"You know it, Mama B. Who else can recharge Chuck's nerd batteries 'sides me? Right?" Morgan grinned now and Mary chuckled affectionately. Ellie rolled her eyes, but smiled, as well. "But you're wrong about one thing. I might have been the best one to cheer Chuck up a year ago, but not now," Morgan shook his head, his grin actually growing. "Nope, the best person for that job is Sarah. I know that and," he swept his arm around the room, "everyone here knows that, too." Mary saw lots of people nodding and smiling in agreement with what Morgan was saying. Even Ellie's face wore a small smile and she nodded.
"I need to meet this girl," Mary mumbled.
"You will, Mom," Ellie assured her. "When she gets here, you'll know it. Trust me." She took Devon's hand and led him back to where they had been sitting. Morgan wandered off to talk with some of the other players and try to take his mind off what his friend was going through. The elder Bartowskis walked over and joined Langston Graham and the other coaches quietly talking with their wives.
Unbeknownst to the people crowding the waiting lounge, more and more people were arriving at the hospital. So many, in fact, were loitering in the street level atrium that the admittance and information desk staff had to ask them to please exit the building to allow patients and medical staff more easily traverse the space. They joined the crowd outside the building. Somber and respectful. Mostly quiet, it kept growing. They were waiting for a spark. A catalyst. A general to lead them.
She was on her way.
New York – about 12:45am ET (9:45pm PT)
The Songbirds, their advisor, and the events crew were all on board the bus. Their luggage and gear were safely stored in the compartments below the seating area. It had taken a herculean effort on all of the women's part, but they'd done it. All of the singers had even managed to shower. No one wanted to fly the whole way back to California still covered in the sweat they'd worked up during their performance. The last thing that had been stowed in the storage compartments was a huge cooler. Dr. Beckman hadn't said anything about it or what it contained, so the girls were definitely curious, despite the dire situation facing their friend on the other side of the country. The bus driver was the last one to climb on board. He closed the door and they were off. None of the women on the bus looked back, their entire focus was on what lay ahead of them.
The bus turned west on 45th Street, then down 9th Avenue to merge onto the ramp leading to the Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson River to New Jersey. Even at this late hour, the tunnel was a bit congested, but not so much that their trip was unduly delayed. Once on the other side of the river, the bus driver followed NJ-495 to NJ-3 to merge into NJ-17 in Rutherford, New Jersey for the final leg of the trip to Teterboro Airport and their charter flight. Vivian McArthur must have given the driver explicit instructions as it appeared that he knew exactly where to go. After the bus entered the airport, he maneuvered it as close as possible to the plane he'd been directed to approach. From hotel to airport the trip had taken a little over thirty minutes and would have taken less if the tunnel hadn't been so strangely busy, but no matter, they were at the airplane.
Looking out the bus windows, the Songbirds could see the ground crew frantically servicing the jet. The uniformed flight crew was standing off to one side along with two other people, both women, their bags sitting at their feet. Dr. Beckman had told them that a medical team would be meeting them at the plane to be ready to offer any assistance that the young women needed, so everyone assumed the two women were that team.
The driver opened the door and the singers and the event crew quickly exited and retrieved their various pieces of luggage and gear from the storage compartments, while Dr. Beckman went to introduce herself to the flight crew and medical team.
"Dr. Diane Beckman," the advisor announced as she shook hands with each person in the small group. Noticing the quirked eyebrows of the medical team, she added grinning, "My degree is in music, not medicine. I may be able to soothe the savage beasts, but I can't heal them." That elicited soft chuckles from the group. "You have all of our sincere gratitude for being willing to fly us back to San Jose on such short notice and at such a late hour."
"This young man, who's injured, must be very special," Captain Rob Mitchell, the pilot, said. He seemed young, but carried himself with quiet confidence. Beckman suspected that he was former military.
"Yes, very special to all of us, but to one of us in particular," Diane nodded.
"I'm guessing that she may be the one Consuela and I need to pay special attention to," Dr. Liz Huggins observed.
"Possibly," Beckman acknowledged, "but she is a strong woman, so you'll have to judge for yourselves. I could see that a number of the girls might need something to help them sleep. It's been a busy day and night for them, even before this crisis ensued."
"Yes, I hear that congratulations are in order," the pilot smiled. "Something about winning the national title in a singing competition, I believe, is what I was told."
"That's right," she beamed. "We're an acapella group from Stanford and they won this year's national collegiate championship a few hours ago."
"Wow, that's tough," Captain Mitchell said. "Having the thrill of winning and then having to deal with this unfortunate situation."
"Yes, it is," the music professor nodded, "but Chuck, the young man who's injured, has been friends with the entire group since last fall. He's helped them raise money for their competitions and trips and even helped some of the girls with their studies. He means the world to all of the group, me included. When it came time to decide about cutting our trip short and going back early, everyone agreed immediately. I'm so proud of these young women, more for their concern for their friend than I am for them winning that title. And I am proud of them for that, too."
"It sounds to me like you've got an amazing group of young women to go along with this special young man you're going back to help," chirped Suzanne Mumaw, one of the cabin crew.
"Yes, I do," Dr. Beckman smiled. Captain Mitchell stepped away from the group to speak to the ground crew chief. He checked his watch as he rejoined the small group.
"The crew chief told me that the cabin is stocked and the plane is almost fully fueled," he announced. "Let's get the passengers on board. Have them follow Suzanne to drop their bags by the rear exit ramp and then back around to the main boarding stairs." He turned to his crew. "Pete, would you head up and start the pre-flight check in the cockpit while I do the walk around? Gina, please escort Dr. Huggins and Ms. Vargas to the cabin and show them their seats, so they can do what they need to do to prepare for the other passengers. Dr. Beckman, see you on board," he nodded to the advisor. "OK, let's go, everyone." With that, he walked back to confer with the crew chief while the others did as he instructed. Suzanne Mumaw and Dr. Beckman walked back to the waiting women and event crew.
"Hi, my name is Suzanne, and I'm one of the cabin crew for your flight tonight," the flight attendant announced. "If you all would grab your bags and follow the yellow tape marked out on the tarmac, we're going to have you drop your luggage at the rear of the plane and then come back around to the front stairs to board the aircraft. Please stay together and be careful." She smiled and pointed at the yellow-bordered pathway, waving the group along with her other arm. Once they were moving, she began to walk along the pathway herself.
The singers' luggage was turned over to the ground crew who quickly stowed it on board the aircraft while Suzanne led the small group up the stairs and into the body of the plane. None of the young women had been in a jet this small or luxurious before. Suzanne and her fellow crew member, Gina Blackmon, helped each person find a seat and showed them where they could store their purses and other personal items for the duration of the flight. Once everyone was securely seated and the outer door closed and locked after Captain Mitchell came aboard, the cabin crew went into their standard pre-flight talk. With that task completed, the pilot was informed that the cabin was ready for takeoff. They were a little ahead of schedule, but without competing traffic at that late hour, a new flight plan with an updated departure time was filed. The plane taxied out to the runway, the engines spooled up, the jet raced down the tarmac, and shot into the sky.
As soon as the plane reached its cruising altitude and had leveled off, Suzanne and Gina got up. Gina stayed forward in the galley while Suzanne walked farther back to where the passengers were seated. The first people she encountered were the three event crew team members.
"If I could have everyone's attention, please," she began. "We're fully stocked for the flight to San Jose. Due to the late hour and the hurried preparations, we were only able to acquire light meals for right now, wraps, various chips and crackers, and fruit, along with cookies, nuts, and pretzels. We will be able to serve hot breakfasts to anyone who wants one about four hours from now or so. There are also a variety of sodas, fruit drinks, coffee, tea, and water. No alcohol is on board. Sorry about that," Suzanne grinned apologetically. A few groans from the older passengers. "I'll go help Gina with the snacks. Feel free to move about the cabin, but please keep your seatbelts fastened while you're seated." Looking at the medical team at the rear of the cabin, she added, "I believe the medical team wants to say a few words. Please, let me know if there is anything Gina or I can do to make this trip a little less stressful. Thank you," Suzanne concluded before turning back toward the galley. The medical team stood up and Dr. Huggins made her way to the same spot Suzanne had occupied.
"Hello, my name is Dr. Liz Huggins. I'm coming along with you to offer any medical aid you may need during the flight. Nurse Consuela Vargas," the doctor indicated the woman standing in the aisle in the back of the cabin, "will be assisting me in that effort. If anyone gets airsick or is having trouble falling asleep or is feeling anxious, we can help. Just let us know. Remember, you shouldn't eat much if you think you want to take a sleep aid. Thank you," she smiled and made her way back to her seat.
Sarah was definitely feeling anxious, but much less so now that she was going home to her Chuck. She was hungry, so she would probably try and eat something and then attempt to get some rest. She knew that there was an ordeal waiting for her at Stanford, whether Chuck was alive or dead. Either way, Sarah knew she'd need her strength, her wits, and every ounce of her courage. She looked out the window at the night sky and the lights far below.
I'm coming, my dear one. I'm coming. Please God, don't let him die. Not before I can tell him how much I love him. Awake or asleep, Sarah kept the prayerful mantra in her heart all the way to San Jose.
Chuck is 16 years old, close to the end of his year at Oxford University. It's late April in England.
Chuck had asked Alexandra 'Alex' Forrest where she wanted to go to dinner, after her father had told him that she wanted a second date. He wasn't so sure. Their first date to the cinema, as Alex called it, didn't seem to go all that well, even in Chuck's inexperienced view. The movie had been mildly interesting and Alex acted like she'd enjoyed it, but Chuck couldn't escape the feeling that she had been bored the entire time. And something else he wasn't absolutely sure about, but he was smart enough to have his suspicions that she was only going out with him because her father wanted her to do so. The possibility bothered Chuck, but he couldn't prove it. Either way, they were on a second date.
Alex had told him that she wanted to go someplace chic and she picked the Porterhouse Grill & Rooms. The restaurant was located just a short way south from the Oxford train station. It was a long drive from Wellingborough for Mr. Barker and Chuck, but it wasn't all that far from where Alex lived, so Chuck understood her interest in going there. Given the name, Chuck knew they specialized in steaks and, when he saw the menu, he knew that it was very expensive, not that that fact particularly bothered him. If Alex wanted chic, he'd give her chic. The plan was to have dinner and then head back downtown for a walk and, maybe, stop into a place for a drink (nonalcoholic) and some music.
When he'd arrived to pick her up, driven by Mr. Barker, since he didn't have a driver's license yet, either American or English, Alex had looked stunning in the blue dress she was wearing. It looked to Chuck like her dress matched her eyes and he'd told her so, which did elicit a small smile. Unfortunately, the conversation between Chuck, Alex, and Cole had been stilted and awkward on the way to the restaurant.
Once they arrived and Mr. Barker had made himself scarce, things seemed to pick up. Alex ordered the most expensive dishes she saw on the menu. Chuck thought it was a bit rude since she hadn't bothered to ask him if he could afford whatever she was ordering, but he assumed she figured his silence was his approval and if that was what she wanted, so be it. His silence really was about him not wanting to ruin the date. Alex had definitely enjoyed the potted crayfish starter and fillet, grilled rare, that she'd ordered. She didn't talk much, but she made a lot of appreciative sounds about the food. Wine was out of the question, given they were both underage, and Alex had pouted about it. It couldn't be helped. Now it was time for dessert.
"What would you like for dessert, Alex?" Chuck asked politely, looking over the dessert menu.
"That chocolate fondant with ice cream sounds marvelous, don't you think?" Alex smiled benignly. "With a coffee? Yes?"
"Sure, whatever you want," Chuck smiled back. "I kind of fancy the sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce and ice cream. Plus, a coffee, too, of course."
"Would you be a dear, Chuck, and order those for us?" Alex said sweetly. "I'm just going to pop into the ladies for a bit. Alright?"
"OK, Alex. No problem," Chuck replied as his date got up from the table. He placed the order when the waiter came back around.
The desserts had arrived and Alex still wasn't back from the ladies' room, but he refused to take a bite of his food or a sip of his coffee until she returned. That would have been rude and ungentlemanly. Chuck was beginning to worry about her. The coffee was cold and the ice cream melted when Alex came back to the table, looking ill.
"Chuck, I'm not feeling well," she announced as soon as she got close to the table. "Could you call Mr. Barker and take me home, please?"
"Sure … Sure, Alex," Chuck stammered. "I—I can do th—that." He pulled out his phone and called Cole's number.
"Mr. Barker, could you come get us please? Alex says she's not feeling well and would like us to take her home," Chuck said dejectedly.
"Sure thing, Chuck," Cole responded. "I'm just up the road and can be there in just a few. I'll meet you outside." Cole hung up and Chuck motioned for the waiter to bring him their bill, which he paid along with a generous tip. The desserts and coffees went to waste.
Once Chuck had retrieved Alex's light wrap from the coat check and placed it around her shoulders, she seemed to perk up a lot. As he followed her out the door to await Cole's return, she was almost chipper. Chuck's earlier fears returned. When Cole pulled up, he hurried to open the car's rear door and assist Alex in taking her seat. Safely in, he shut her door and trotted around to the other side of the car to get in. He opened his door and went to sit down, trying to hide the shame on his face and the ache in his heart, suspecting that Alex was rejecting him outright. Instead of finding the seat, he fell into the black abyss.
April 28 - Stanford Hospital after 2:30am PT
Three doctors, still in their surgical scrubs, came into the waiting area, together. A surgical nurse had been in about two hours previously to tell Stephen and Mary that Chuck was out of surgery and in recovery. She told them that he handled the surgery well, without any complications, but that was all the information she would share, saying that anything more would have to wait on the doctors coming to talk to them.
Coach Graham had sent all of the players back to their dorms with the promise that he would update them in the morning. He reiterated that they needed their rest because they had a game the next day despite Chuck's injury. Morgan had insisted on staying behind and Graham had agreed, he wasn't scheduled to play in the next game and the coach knew that there was no way he would be able to convince him to leave anyway. All of the coaches and their wives had left, too, except for John Casey and Kathleen McHugh. All Casey would say was that Marines didn't leave their men behind with a defiant thrust of his jaw. Graham knew what he meant and let the matter rest. That left Stephen and Mary, Ellie and Devon, Casey and Kathleen, Graham and his wife, Anna, Roan Montgomery, Morgan Grimes, and Craig and Laura Turner, who'd arrived late, sitting in the waiting lounge and fretting. It was this small group that was present when the trio of doctors arrived in the room.
"Good morning," said the oldest of the three doctors. "My name is Dr. Charles Kurtz. This is Dr. Clark McSparren and Dr. Bill Green," he added, indicating the men to his left and right. "We are the team who operated on Mr. Bartowski. I'm a neurosurgeon, Dr. McSparren is a neurologist, and Dr. Green is a plastic surgeon." Kurtz was medium height, stocky with wiry, very salt and pepper hair. McSparren was a little younger, his brown hair only beginning to gray at the temples, tall and slim. Green was, like the third bear, right in the middle tall, but athletic and clearly younger than the other two, with short blond hair. All three carried themselves with tired confidence.
"Hello, I'm Stephen Bartowski, Charles' father, and my wife, Mary," Stephen said. After going through the introductions for the others in the room, he spoke again. "What can you tell us? How is Charles?"
"What we can tell you is, Charles is alive. He suffered a skull fracture when the baseball hit his forehead," Kurtz explained. "We've seen the video that shows the accident and Charles can be given credit for saving himself from greater injury when he threw his head back and turned aside from the path of the ball right before it struck him. Otherwise, things could have been worse, much worse. As it is, he does have a linear fracture from the middle of his forehead to above the center of his right eye socket, a little over three inches long. Straight fracture, no depression. The skin was torn from the ball strike and peeled back in the direction of flight. The CT scan that was taken when he was admitted didn't show any more severe damage. A device has been surgically inserted into his skull to monitor the condition of his brain. So far so good on that front. The wound was thoroughly cleaned and sterilized. Dr. Green did a marvelous job sewing the torn tissue back into place." A few of the people listening gasped quietly, including Ellie. Poor Chuck, she thought.
"I'll be keeping a close eye on the healing process," Dr. Green interjected. "If we need to do any repair work to minimize any scarring, we will."
"Yes, correct," Kurtz added, taking over the conversation again. "We believe that Charles suffered a concussion due to the force of the ball striking across his head, but we won't know about that until he wakes up," the doctor sighed. "And that brings us to the big issue we face tonight. Charles seemed to handle the surgery well, no outward signs of issues with the anesthesia we used. Unfortunately, he hasn't woken up yet. The reason we haven't come to see you sooner is that we all have been monitoring him in recovery. There were no complications that we can find, but he isn't awake, when we would normally expect him to be. We're utilizing a LTM (long-term electroencephalographic monitoring) to track his brainwave activity. To say his readings are unusual is an understatement. He looks to be in a coma, but his LTM doesn't indicate that. We haven't had time to look over his entire medical profile, yet, though, so we're a bit mystified at the moment." Morgan started to silently cry. Ellie buried her face in Devon's shoulder as he stood there looking stunned.
"I might know what could be preventing Chuck from waking up," Mary tentatively said. Dr. Kurtz and Dr. McSparren's eyes both widened in surprise.
"What are you talking about?" Dr. McSparren demanded urgently.
"Do you know anything about hyperthymesia?" Mary asked, biting her lip.
San Jose International Airport about 4:40am PT
There was a San Jose police car waiting beside the Stanford bus, when everyone came out of the terminal at San Jose Airport after deplaning, much to the surprise of the returning singers. John Casey had called on his shooting friends with the local police departments and told them the situation. Everyone had insisted on lending a hand. Sarah was feeling remarkably chipper, considering the late hour and the stress she was under, thinking back to the just completed flight.
(Earlier)
Sarah walked back toward the seated medical team.
"Doctor, my name is Sarah Walker," she began. "The man we are going back for is my boyfriend, Chuck Bartowski." Dr. Huggins nodded in understanding. "I want to get some sleep, so I think I might need something to help me. I'm also hungry. Would it be OK for me to have some crackers? Maybe some pretzels or nuts? With water? And I can still have you give me a sleep aid?"
"Yes, Miss Walker. I can do that. Have your light snack and then come see me. I can give you a light sleep aid that should do the trick," Dr. Huggins smiled. "You don't have any issues with any categories of medication, do you?"
"Not to my knowledge, no," Sarah confirmed.
"Great," the doctor said. "Come see me when you are ready."
(Present)
Sarah had eaten her snack and gotten the medication from the doctor. The result was a solid almost four hours of dreamless sleep. She'd been awakened by her redheaded roommate and had time to eat a decent, if small, hot breakfast, drink some, not terrible, coffee (very much needed), and freshen up in the bathroom. Now she was on the Stanford bus headed to Chuck, behind the escorting police car.
As the bus sped from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, it was passed from one escort to another, lights flashing. San Jose to Sunnyvale to Palo Alto until, at the edge of campus, the last hand off took place to a Stanford university Public Safety officer for the final run over to the hospital. In Sunnyvale, Pete Campagna had been dispatched by Lt. Amos when they got the call from Casey. Both men remembered the remarkable kid they'd had in their precinct not all that long ago. A further fateful confluence occurred when it fell to Officer Joe Riley to lead the bus on the last leg of its journey. He vividly remembered his encounter with the lanky student and his beautiful blonde 'friend' back in the fall. He'd taken in some of the baseball games with his wife, Sue, and seen the Bartowski kid in action on the mound. It was impressive. Everyone knew about the kid getting hurt, but with Riley's personal connection, of sorts, it hit him particularly hard. Anything he could do to help Bartowski, he was happy to do it.
Dr. Beckman insisted that the bus make a stop, first, at the Lagunita dorm complex so the events crew could grab their equipment and go home while the girls ran into the dorm to drop off their own bags before jumping back on the bus. She planned on releasing the bus and driver for the night once he'd dropped the women off at the hospital. The young women complained, but their advisor was adamant. Eventually, the singers saw the wisdom and kindness behind her demand.
Sarah's nerves were beginning to jump as the bus got closer to the hospital. She'd texted Ellie, knowing that she would be there with Chuck, to find out what was going on. Ellie had tersely texted back "Alive, but unconscious in ICU." At Sarah's question, Ellie had told her where the ICU was and how to get there. The bus had barely come to a stop and the door opened when Sarah leapt out and took off for the main door to the hospital at a dead run, the rest of the singers and Dr. Beckman trailing behind. The people standing outside or milling around watched the surprising sight of the running women silently. After they had gone into the hospital, word spread through the crowd about who the blonde in the lead was. No one knew, at the time, but the catalyst, the general, had arrived.
Sarah burst through the doors into the atrium, waved off the clerk behind the information desk and gave a death stare to the security guard as she made her way to the Critical Care Unit. When she arrived at the ICU waiting area, she ignored everyone else besides Ellie. The rest of the Songbirds stopped near the other waiting people. Dr. Beckman walked over to be next to Dr. Montgomery.
"Where?" Sarah quietly demanded; her anguish clear for all to see. Ellie walked over to her and wordlessly pointed to a nearby door with a nurse standing outside. After a brief hug with her friend, Sarah marched over to the door, but the nurse blocked her path.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but I can't let you go in there -," the nurse began.
"Either through you or around you, I don't care which, but I'm going into that room. My whole life is in there," Sarah fumed, her eyes blazing.
"If you had just let me finish, Miss, I was trying to tell you that I can't allow you to go in there without suiting up first. We're still worried about infection," the stout, brunette nurse stated with a bemused expression on her face.
Behind her, Stephen and Mary were watching with their own bemused expressions. Ellie was fighting a grin of her own as were the CATS and a number of others, even in light of the circumstances.
"I like her," Mary whispered to Stephen. "She fights for her own like a Bartowski woman." Her husband nodded.
"Yup," he agreed. "She'll fit right in." Ellie softly giggled.
"Just wait until you see her cheer for him at a baseball game," Chuck's sister whispered, feeling more hopeful than she had all night. Even Devon chuckled at that statement.
"Oh," Sarah blushed with embarrassment. "OK, then suit me up!" The smirking nurse helped Sarah quickly step into a sterile hooded suit that covered her from her ankles to her head. Then she put on booties and a mask. Finally, the nurse handed her an antiseptic wipe so Sarah could clean her hands before she had her don latex gloves. The last piece of equipment was a face shield. Sarah felt like she was getting ready to go to the moon and not just to see her stricken boyfriend. Only then did the nurse permit her to enter the room. Another nurse, similarly attired to Sarah, greeted her upon entering.
"You must be Sarah," the ICU nurse said. She was so geared up, that all Sarah could see were her eyes. She had no idea how old or young or anything else about the woman, but she was surprised that the nurse knew it was her.
"How?" She stumbled.
"Don't worry, sweetie, Chuck's sister warned us that you were coming." Sarah couldn't see, but she could hear the smile in the nurse's voice. "She prepared us for your entrance. I must say, you didn't disappoint," the nurse giggled. Sarah's cheeks pinked again, inside her suit.
"How is he? Any change?" Sarah quietly asked.
"No, I'm sorry," the nurse shrugged. "No better, but also no worse."
"Can I go to him?"
"Sure thing, honey. Just be careful of all of the wires and tubes. And keep your gloves on, please."
Sarah moved closer to the bed. She could see the bandages covering most of his head. He looked terrible. Terrible, but alive.
"What is that thing sticking out of his head?"
"That's a probe that Dr. Kurtz inserted to help us monitor the physical state of his brain. Those wires taped to his head that are the LTM. That's like an EEG, but for longer. The LTM allows us to look at his brainwaves." Sarah snorted when the nurse told her about the probe, remembering his revelations from the fall. Chuck would love it.
"Are his brain waves alright?" she asked.
"Well, I will say they are unique," the nurse hedged. Sarah wasn't surprised.
"Did they have to shave his head to put the probe in?"
"Yeah, they did. Sorry about that."
"Damn. Oh well, his hair will grow back in time." Sarah pouted, but nodded to herself.
Finally, she permitted herself to touch him on a part of his arm that was exposed and not covered in wires, tubes, or attachments. She began to cry when she felt the familiar snap of contact and connection with Chuck. Her Chuck.
"I'm here, baby. I'm here. Chuck, I'm here," she said softly. "You need to know that I love you with all of my heart and I will do everything in my power to help you wake up and get well, so I can tell you to your face. I love you," Sarah sniffed, gently squeezing his arm. "Now, you fight, Chuck. You fight hard. I'm not going to lose you. Not after just finding you. Fight. I'll be here every day helping you fight. We've got victory kisses to share and I need you to share them with me." The ICU nurse couldn't help but overhear and she marveled at the intensity of the love the young woman had for her comatose patient.
Chuck is 16 years old, close to the end of his year at Oxford University. It's late April in England.
Chuck lay on his bed in his room in Cole's house. Bitter tears coursed down his cheeks. When they'd arrived back at Alex's house from the abortive date, she had scrambled out of the car before Chuck could even get his door open to be able to help her. It didn't look like she was feeling any ill effects from whatever had been bothering her at the restaurant. With a brief wave and a short "Bye" she was out of the car and into her house. Mr. Barker didn't say anything, not that Chuck wanted him to, but he could see the sympathy in the older man's eyes when they met in the rearview mirror. Chuck was so upset that he hadn't even bothered to move to the front seat to partake of one of their usual chats on the trip back home.
Now, Chuck was lying on his bed, cuffing at the tears that continued to fall, listening to his song. The one he'd recently discovered amongst the Barkers' vast collection of old vinyl records, "I Am A Rock" by Simon and Garfunkel.
,,,
Don't talk of love
Well I've heard the word before
It's sleeping in my memory
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died
If I never loved I never would have cried
I am a rock I am an island
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in my room safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me
…
What was that? A spark? What was that?
The room and the song were fading.
What … No! … Who was that? … Sarah? … Yes! Sarah! Sarah!
Where are you? Where am I?
SARAH! Help me! I'm lost!
The spark was gone and the blackness swept him away.
Stanford Hospital ICU - after 5:30 am PT
Sarah felt the warmth of her connection to Chuck. That didn't strike her as something a person in a coma could cause her to experience. Wishing she could dry her tears behind the shield, she pulled her hand away from him thinking hard.
Sarah turned to the attending nurse and spoke with a small, but growing, confidence, "I think I have an idea."
A/N2: Chapter title comes from the song by Simon and Garfunkel. The title and the lyrics say a lot about this chapter.
A/N3: Yes, I know that the Gulfstream I allude to in the chapter isn't supposed to be available to customers until 2022, but I waved my artistic license in their faces and they allowed me to rent one for the night.
A/N4: WillieGarvin is always ready to help me with my story, so that my words don't fall like silent raindrops echoing in the darkness. You have my profound thanks, my friend.
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. Thank you, too, to everyone who's followed or favorited this story.
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.