Scene XII – Master Kwan's Dojo
Chuck entered the martial arts studio just before 7:00. With Sarah and Casey having no luck finding out anything useful from their two captives, both were distracted enough for Chuck to slip off to class without letting them know exactly where he was going. Telling them he was staying at the Buy More plaza until 8:00 or 9:00 and then planned on heading home seemed to be enough for them.
The training room was a large rectangle, stretching about seventy feet away from the door and forty feet across. The floor and the walls were covered entirely with wood, the walls accented with small reed carpets suspended on strings and Oriental-style artwork.
Large, square, plush blue athletic mats covered the floor down the center of the room, with a pair of mats about four feet wide running down the majority of the two long sides of the room. At the far end of the room sat a small, slightly raised wooden stage with a pair of thin reed mats set opposite each other. The room smelled of a combination of linseed oil, incense and sweat.
Twenty or so people populated the room, all dressed in white robes cinched shut by cloth belts of varying colors. To Chuck's left, two men sat on a mat, legs spread apart with the bottoms of their feet pressed together, grasping arms and pulling each other to and fro. Several people stretched in ways that Chuck vaguely remembered from high school gym class; his confidence grew slightly. Then he noticed other people were taking turns running down the long mats, executing shoulder rolls and other deliberate tumbles, and his burst of confidence quickly evaporated.
Chuck spotted some cubbies along the side of the room, and dropped his bag containing his Buy More uniform, wallet, phone and keys into an empty one. He found a spot on a mat towards the back of the room and lowered himself down. As Chuck stretched his legs for the first time in months, his hamstrings felt a little uncertain at the unfamiliar strain. Chuck totally understood; they matched his mood.
To distract himself a little, Chuck glanced around the room, studying the other students. They seemed to range in age and fitness level; he was particularly relieved to see he is not the only student with a white belt, the lowest ranking in aikido. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. His expression relaxed as he switched to stretching out his groin.
An ornate wooden door at the back of the room opened, and in strode a gentleman who could only be Master Kwan; nobody but a martial arts master could pull off the Fu Manchu moustache with the elongated goatee. He wore a red robe emblazoned on the back with pictures of birds and nature scenes, with a taut black belt cinching the robe closed. Chuck's expression tightened; the guy looked like he was plucked out of a book on martial arts stereotypes.
In a faintly Korean accent, Master Kwan said, "Welcome, class. Please take your places." Students immediately scampered to open places on the central mats; Chuck moved forward to join them.
Master Kwan bowed to the group, one fist in the palm of the opposite hand. The other students bowed in return; Chuck quickly mimicked the bow as best he could. When teacher and students finished their bows, Master Kwan pressed downwards with his hands. The students immediately knelt.
Chuck dropped to his knees and studied the woman kneeling next to him. Her toes pointed straight behind her as she sat on her heels; Chuck tried assuming the same position, and his hips and ankles immediately protested.
Master Kwan gave another hand signal to the class, and the students began doing breathing exercises. His palms pressed together, Master Kwan slowly raised his hands directly over his head as he breathed in, and then lowered them as he breathed out. Again, Chuck tried to mimic the other students, but was having trouble blocking out the pain in his legs enough to focus. The other students had their eyes closed, peaceful expressions on their faces; it was all Chuck could do not to show the pain in his face.
About a minute into the exercise, he couldn't help but peek at the clock. It was 7:03.
"Enough." Master Kwan glanced in a friendly way around the room as the students met his eyes. In a quiet but commanding voice, he said, "I assume everyone has stretched, so we will move right to shoulder rolls. Line up!"
The class burst into action, with people leaping to their feet and rushing to form lines facing the long mats in opposite corners of the room. Each line adjusted so a student wearing a black belt stepped to the front. Chuck moved to the back of the line at the front of the room, a surprising hush permeating the room.
Master Kwan stepped to the center of the room, seeming to float across the mat. "Remember your form," he said, his voice echoing through the room. Almost more quickly than the eye could follow, he performed a tumble with the grace of a champion gymnast. Too bad Chuck couldn't interpret the blur of movement; he had no idea what the sensei had done. "Begin."
The black belts began at the same time, taking a step and tumbling onto their right shoulder and rolling right back onto their feet. Taking another step, they rolled onto their left shoulder, and back up again. With each move, the sound of their rustling robes broke the silence.
As the black belts began a second set of rolls, the next person in each line began their first, each line progressing as the students moved down the mats. Soon, five people were on each mat, the noise of their maneuvers adding to the growing din. Chuck's tension grew, especially when the black belt who first tumbled down the opposite mat stepped into line behind him.
Four people were left ahead of him. Chuck desperately tried to study people's form as they tumbled down the far mat. Three people were left in front of Chuck. Then two. Chuck's expression grew panicked. A 6' guy, his gut nearly bursting out of his robe, did a perfectly executed roll onto his right shoulder, then his left. A rail-thin red-headed girl who would have looked perfectly at home in a sorority picture followed suit. Chuck took a deep breath, and started to step forward when he felt a light but commanding touch on his shoulder. Master Kwan was standing right beside him.
"You are new, correct?"
Chuck, relived at the inadvertent rescue, could only nod.
"Please come with me."
A bit puzzled, Chuck followed Master Kwan onto the stage at the front of the room, where he assumed the same kneeling position that people assumed at the start of the class on one of the two mats. He beckoned Chuck to do the same on the opposite mat. Chuck gradually worked himself into the same position, trying not to wince at the strain the pose put on his inflexible muscles.
Master Kwan studied Chuck intently for a moment; Chuck began to feel a little uncomfortable. He was about to ask the teacher a question to break the silence, but the teacher spoke first.
"So, why aikido?"
Chuck was taken a bit aback by the question. "I'm sorry?"
A gentle smile crossed Master Kwan's face. "Why aikido?" he repeated.
Chuck's mind immediately went to the scene in the street, the shadowy figure racing through the night, his decision to sneak out of the car to try to take him down. Of course, that thought couldn't help Chuck answer the question. He stammered rather lamely, "Well, my roommate took aikido for a summer, and it, um, sounded like fun."
"What did he tell you about aikido?"
Crap. Captain Awesome had said very little, actually. "Only that it was a great way to improve flexibility and get some good exercise."
"And is that what you want?"
"Well, that and to learn how to defend myself. Can aikido help with that?"
Master Kwan's face crinkled, but Chuck couldn't tell if he was smiling or just puzzled. "Why do you want to learn how to defend yourself?"
Again, Chuck thought of the scene on the street, and quickly grasped for a suitably vague answer. "I guess I found myself in a couple of situations lately where I felt unsafe."
Once again, Master Kwan's expression changed, but Chuck had trouble reading it. Stupid moustache. "Hmm. So you look to regain a feeling of … confidence … in certain situations?" Master Kwan asked. The students continued their shoulder rolls.
Chuck felt safest just nodding, so he did.
Master Kwan directed a kind look at Chuck. "I like to speak with each student before they begin. It is important to have your mind in the right place as you begin. It is also important to me to ensure aikido can provide what each student searches for." Master Kwan paused, just long enough not to be considered overly dramatic. "Aikido can certainly help build confidence."
Chuck pressed, "And defend myself?"
Master Kwan definitely smiled. "I suppose, in time, you will learn self-defense. The class is currently working on a routine designed to defend against five men, one with a knife. But aikido is mostly about balance, self-discipline, and overall fitness."
Chuck's head spun a little; he had somewhat stopped listening midway through Master Kwan's explanation. If the class was learning to take on five attackers at the same time, surely he could handle one or two on his own in short order. Chuck nodded.
"What is truly important to remember is that aikido is the art of using the momentum of an opponent against them. Every move that you make should be in perfect harmony, and very gentle. Think … spring-like."
"Spring-like?" Chuck repeated, confused. "What, like the season?"
"Yes: spring-like. Each aikido move takes very little force to employ. You will learn."
Chuck didn't know what to say. He had never thought of fighting as gentle or spring-like. But he was willing to learn.
Master Kwan stood up, and bowed. Chuck responded with an awkward bow of his own. "Feel free to stop to ask any questions you have at any point of the class."
He then turned to survey the class, giving a satisfied nod at the shoulder roll form he witnessed. Master Kwan called out, "Enough. Class, please pair up. We will now practice throws."
Looking across the room, he called out "Jenny, please pair up with … " He looked quizzically at Chuck.
"Chuck."
"Jenny, please pair up with Chuck and show him the throws. Chuck, you will be the attacker."
Jenny turned out to be a twelve-year old girl with a brown pony tail and freckles dotting her face. A blue belt cinched shut her plain white robe. She was a good two feet shorter than Chuck, and more pounds lighter than he cared to admit. She was going to throw him?
Jenny and Chuck found a place on a mat, faced each other and bowed. She held out her right arm, and instructed, "OK, grab my right wrist with your right hand." She stuck out her right arm straight at Chuck, arm angled slightly downwards.
Chuck gently reached out, tentatively placing his right hand gently around her wrist. "Like this?"
Her left hand whipped across, settling on the back of his. Her fingers wrapped around the butt of her hand, with the thumb at the base of his pinky. Before he knew it, she torqued his hand, and the pain in his wrist caused him to flip himself over to avoid having his wrist broken. Chuck landed very roughly on his back, eyes open in surprised, mouth agape. He looked up at her, "That wasn't very spring-like," he gasped.
She offered a hand to help him up. "Ready to go again?" she inquired. "Try to shoulder roll this time." Chuck didn't bother to explain he missed that part of the class for the little heart-to-heart with the sensei.
Jenny threw Chuck again. And again. And again. Each time he landed almost flat on his back, and it was beginning to take its toll. After the tenth time, a painful landing after she had turned his wrist particularly hard, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "You're not a girl scout, are you?"
Jenny just smiled. Chuck groaned as she helped him up.
Scene XIII – Casa Bartowski
Chuck stumbled through the front door, still in his white robe, obviously in pain. Ellie was gathering some things off the kitchen table into her bag, wearing her customary blue scrubs. Her face lit up when she noticed Chuck. "Hey, stranger!" She headed into the kitchen, grabbing Tupperware containers and food from various places in the kitchen and assembling them into a refrigerator pack.
"Hey, yourself," Chuck shot back wearily, dropping his bag and collapsing on the couch. He was very glad it was Ellie and not Devon in the kitchen; he couldn't handle Awesome right now.
Ultimately, the class had turned out OK. Chuck was finally getting the hang of landing when the command to switch roles was given. When Chuck struggled at first to get the grip for the throw right, Master Kwan had come over to offer some pointers. Eventually, Chuck was able to get the grip well enough to flip little Jenny.
Later, they spent some time learning the routine to fight five men, although the instructor focused on teaching the class the individual moves rather than explaining how the moves translated into fighting off multiple attackers. Still, it was a start, albeit a painful one.
"What's with the robe?" Ellie finally asked with a puzzled expression.
Chuck sighed. "Oh, Awesome was talking about an aikido class he took one summer. I've been looking to get in better shape, so I tried one out." OK, at least that wasn't a lie. It wasn't the whole truth, either, but Chuck was used to winning the battles and not the war these days.
"Huh, I didn't know Devon ever took aikido. Still, I love the way you keep trying out new things. Beats sitting around and playing shoot-'em-up games with Morgan. Which reminds me, I think I heard the Morgan door a little bit ago?"
Chuck wasn't too happy to learn Morgan was there. He wasn't sure whether Morgan would mock the robes or feel left out because Chuck went to the class without him, and he wasn't looking forward to finding out. "Well, I'd better go say 'Hi.'"
"That's fine; I'm heading out for the late shift anyway." She dropped her refrigerator pack into her bag, and moved quickly towards Chuck. Chuck managed to get to his feet as she approached. Stopping when they stood face-to-face, she threw an arm around his shoulders; Chuck stifled a pained groan. "It's sad we never see each other any more," she said as she let go.
He smiled, especially since they were back on stable ground with regards to the truth. "I miss you, too. Hey, but tomorrow night: Casa Bartowski, right? Awesome's margaritas, your Tex-mex…"
Casa Bartowski was a bit of slang: about once a month, they would invite only their closer friends over. Ellie would throw a bunch of Tex-Mex fixings on the counter alongside a pitcher of margaritas, and people would just help themselves. Very casual and very relaxed. Chuck realized he could use a little relaxation. And a masseuse armed with a syringe of painkillers.
"I can't wait. Sarah is coming, right?"
Chuck grinned despite himself, "Yep."
Ellie's smile grew to match his. "Man, has she got you wrapped around her finger."
Chuck's grin shrank a bit. He put forth what he hoped was a strong denial, more for his own sake than for Ellie's. "Oh, c'mon. She does not."
"Whatever. I'm just glad that if I have to lose you to somebody, it's somebody who makes you smile like that." She kissed Chuck on the forehead, and turned for the door. "Good night, Charles," she said fondly.
"Good night, Eleanor."
The door closed behind her and the house got quiet in a hurry.
With Ellie's words echoing in his head, Chuck stumbled back towards his room. He wondered for the umpteenth time what he was going to do about Sarah; he had to figure out a way to get over her.
After opening the door, he immediately noticed that his window sat slightly ajar, with the open blinds fluttering in the breeze. Remembering what Ellie said, he called out, "Morgan?"
There was no answer. Odd. Chuck grew suspicious: Morgan almost always closed the window when he came or left. And with no sign of Morgan…
He took a quick look around the room; there were a few things that looked out of place. A couple of boxes stuck out from under the bed, and one of his white Buy More shirts lay on the ground, sticking out of the mostly-closed closet door, hanger still intact. It was then he heard a creak come from the closet.
"Casey," Chuck hissed, hoping his neighbor could hear him through the bugs in the room. He had no real idea whether Casey would be back from the interrogation facility yet.
Stubbornly ignoring his instincts, Chuck tightened his belt to close his robe and slid further into the room. He looked around for some kind of weapon, but the controller for "Guitar Hero" wasn't going to cut it. Some spy you are. Again, his resolve tightened.
Chuck crept towards the closet, trying to move like Sarah or Casey did when they wanted to stay silent. Ready for the door to burst open at any moment, he inched the last few feet across the floor. After what seemed like an eternity, he was close enough to be able to touch the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he quickly grabbed the door knob and yanked the door open … and saw nothing but a poorly organized closet with the Buy More shirt lying on the ground.
Suddenly, he realized how stupid he had been. Had some attacker lurked in his closet, what would he have done? His insecurity over the other night was obviously getting to him, and the results weren't pretty.
Sighing with relief, Chuck stepped into the door of the closet and bent over to pick up the shirt. As he stood up, there was a blood-curdling yell from high in the closet and the sound of wood cracking. Chuck looked up to see Morgan, along with the closet shelf and its contents, come crashing down from the top of the closet. Morgan's full weight knocked Chuck to the ground, and Morgan landed squarely on top of Chuck. Chuck couldn't breathe.
Morgan jumped to his feet, "Dude, I totally got you!" Chuck still couldn't breathe, but he had enough strength to shift his head slightly to glare incredulously at Morgan.
Morgan didn't seem to mind. "Nice robes, man. You gonna show me your crane style?" Morgan's hands moved in an exaggerated imitation of Bruce Lee.
Chuck's glare deepened; he would have bet money the moment before that wasn't possible.
"Totally nailed you," Morgan said, joyfully emphasizing the statement with his hands. He strode towards the bedroom door, then turned around. "I'm thinking pizza for dinner; you in?"
Chuck looked at Morgan upside-down from his prone position, unable to speak; even Chuck couldn't have said if it was due to anger or pain.
After a long silence, Morgan decided for Chuck. "I'm gonna take that as a 'no'." He headed through the door. "I'll just grab some leftovers from the frig, then."
Chuck slowly lay his head back down. Catching his breath, he managed to mutter, in a bad French accent, "Ah … the old closet ploy. I do enjoy a good closet ploy."
Chuck pushed himself up onto his elbows. Well, there was only one way could feel worse, and that was if…
"Wow, now Morgan's taking you down?" Casey shot an evil grin at Chuck through the blinds in the window, his gun pointed down at the ground at his side. "That's worse than a girl scout."
Chuck lay back down. There didn't really seem to be a good reason to get up.
"Looks like you need a couple more lessons, sensei. Heh."