Critical Hellfire
By Steampunk . Chuckster
Summary: Chuck and Morgan are co-hosts of a locally popular streaming channel in which they discuss all things metal while playing video games. Their lives are uprooted when their demo guy hands them THE demo of the ages—a band called Critical Hellfire, fronted by singer and bassist Sarah Walker. AU Charah.
A/N: Never thought I'd see a storm this big go through my home. Hahahahahaha ooohhh shit. I wanted to get this up before it hits. Happy World Cup Final day, everybody!
Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or any of its characters. I don't own any of the songs mentioned in this chapter, this fic, or anywhere else for that matter. I am making absolutely zero dollars writing and posting this.
Gaming at almost midnight in the pitch dark of his bedroom had its perks.
One of them was that if anyone messaged him, his phone lit up in a way that alerted him, breaking him out of his gaming trance. It was how he never missed the really important things.
Like his girlfriend texting him, for instance.
Chuck paused the game, reaching over to pick up his phone he'd left on the bed by his hip.
He found himself grinning as he pulled up the text.
"You home right now?"
Chuck responded immediately. "Yeah!"
"I didn't wake you up?"
"You kiddin? It's me. This is EARLY."
She didn't respond with a lol or a haha or an emoji. Instead she texted: "Ok good."
Chuck furrowed his brow. He was still trying to figure out how to respond to that when he heard a light knock on the front door.
Oh shit.
She was here?!
Excitedly, he tore his headphones off and pocketed his phone, rushing out of his room, down the hallway, and unlocking the door, swinging it open to reveal Sarah Walker standing on the porch. "Hey. Shit, I didn't know you were outside. Nice surprise."
She smiled at him but it didn't really reach her eyes. "Yeah, I just—Um… Can-Can we talk?"
Suddenly, he saw the upset in her face. The nerves. The bright sparkling nature of her blue eyes had dimmed.
His heart plummeted. Nerves erupted so suddenly he almost felt dizzy.
Can we talk? was the universal intro to bad things.
"Uh…" He swallowed hard, tingles shooting through his fingers in the worst way. "Of course. Yeah. Come-Come in."
She pushed past him into the living room. "Can we go to your room to talk or something?"
And that made him feel worse, terror surging through him.
"No one's home. Just me. I-I left that lamp by the couch on so that when Ellie comes home from covering a shift in a few hours, it isn't pitch black in here. Are you breaking up with me?"
He thumped one hand into the other nervously, feeling like he might throw up and die at the same time.
Sarah's jaw just about dropped to her feet. "…What?" It was almost as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. Then she shook herself and snapped, "No! God!"
"Oh." He let out a rough breath, deeply embarrassed he'd jumped to conclusions as she gave him a look like he was crazy. "Sorry. I'm—Okay, thanks."
"Thanks?" She raised her eyebrows. "You're nutty, you know that? You just thanked me for not breaking up with you when that wasn't anywhere close to being in my head for any reason." She pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm definitely not breaking up with you."
Chuck was still dealing with the almost blackout levels of intense relief spilling through him. "I'm very glad."
"Why would you think that, you goof?" Sarah pouted a little and tugged on the flap of his zip up hoodie, forcing him to move closer to her, looking up into his face.
"You looked like someone who was about to break up with someone else and the first thing you said was 'can we talk?' and I watch a lot of movies and TV."
She giggled quietly, and still it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sorry I introduced the conversation with a really bad movie trope."
"It's okay." He grinned, leaning in to press his lips to hers.
Sarah clung a little bit, even when he meant to move back. He let her cling instead, until she was done. And when she pulled out of the kiss, she sighed. "We do have to talk, though. Not about us. Nothing to do with us. But it does…suck."
She bit her lip, looking miserable.
"Okay. Let's talk. Can I get you anything?" he asked, guiding her over to the couch and letting her sit, taking the spot next to her, giving her his undivided attention.
"No, I'm just gonna say it."
But then she paused for a long time without actually saying it.
Until she did.
"We can't perform on Games N Rock Sessions tomorrow night."
…Oh.
Wait…
"Wait, what?" He tilted his head in question. Had he heard that right?
"Critical Hellfire can't perform tomorrow night," she said again, looking him right in his eyes, a hard line to her mouth. She looked…angry. And sad. Disappointed more than anything.
"Wh-Why? Oh shit, is someone sick? Was there an accident? Or—"
"No, no. Nothing like that."
"Everyone's okay?"
Sarah sighed, melting closer to him as she cupped his face. "You are so sweet. That that's the first thing you're concerned about."
"Of course it is. But they're—?"
"Everyone's okay," she said emphatically. "No one's sick or hurt. Well, we're all…extremely…um, we have a lot of feelings we're going through. Mostly anger. Disappointment."
"What's going on?" he asked, his chest starting to ache. They weren't coming tomorrow. What he and Morgan had prepped for wasn't happening. The work they put into it, the way they'd built themselves up specifically, they excitement they'd been reveling in for days now.
They'd moved a bunch of furniture around, had put in a lot of decorating time, actually did a deep clean of the basement. He'd invested in a better web camera, too. He'd gone out and bought it, learned how to optimize its abilities. Shit.
"We all had dinner together after practice and watched your stream to see the big announcements. Seriously, it must've only been five, ten minutes later when Dylan got a call from Cole—Mr. Barker," she corrected quickly. He wasn't sure what that was about. "We missed something big in our contract. Apparently the lawyer we dropped money on didn't see anything wrong with it, either. Really earned his money." She clenched her jaw, meeting his gaze. "We aren't allowed to play any gigs, do any performances, anything like that, as a band…not without approval by CB Production's board of producers or whatever the fuck they're called."
He blinked. "I don't—I don't get it. Isn't CB—That's Cole Barker, isn't it? CB, Cole Barker. He's one of the producers, not just one of the producers, it's his company." She nodded. "So he can just approve Critical Hellfire performing live on our channel tomorrow night."
She shook her head, that thin line of her mouth getting thinner.
"What do you mean? Shaking your head like that. I don't get it. He is the production company, so he…doesn't have final say? Can't he just approve it?" he asked, frowning.
"He won't. That was why he called. To tell us that under no circumstances are we to perform on your channel tomorrow."
Hurt spilled through him. He couldn't help it. Swallowing loudly, he turned to face forward, his arms hanging limply down at his sides, flopped over the couch cushions. He immediately jumped to conclusions that made him feel an offended sting in his chest.
"Why? We're good enough for him to give us a contract to move up onto a big platform, and hand us those huge checks, but we're not good enough for your band to perform on our show?"
Sarah grabbed his arm tightly. "I don't know what the hell they're doing here. But this has rocked all four of us hard. We were so excited, so ready. Honestly, we were practicing tonight, and I've never felt so much joy. Like, all of us. We were playing with joy, Chuck. And then after your show, the call came in…and I'm so sorry. We all are. I'm sure they wanted to come tell you too, but they're… Um, everyone decided they needed space. That's how they put it. Never seen Dylan so angry. They're all really pissed."
Chuck nodded slowly, a deep frown not just on his face but coursing through his whole existence.
He felt the frown in his gut.
Disappointment was threatening to overwhelm him.
"Oh. Yeah. I-I just don't see how he gets off telling you guys what to do. Like he owns the band now or something."
She sighed tiredly. "I'm afraid that if I look at that contract again, I'll find those words in it." There was a long, uncomfortable pause and then she scooted closer. "Chuck, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so mad, and I'm upset and disappointed. I wanted this, and not just for the band, for your Twitch channel too. For you and Morgan. It felt so right and then it was like we had the rug pulled out from under us." Her voice shook. "I've got this…ugly bitter ball of…upset just churning right here." She clasped her hand to her breast.
He gave that a bit of time, swallowing hard again. And finally, he mumbled, "This sucks."
"Yeah…" She looked away, her chin tucking into her chest, guilt in her face.
"Hey. None of that." He reached over and poked her jaw gently. "It isn't your fault Cole Barker and his producers hate our guts."
He appreciated that she didn't try to insist that wasn't it. Because it obviously felt like it. It felt like they were shit and Barker didn't want his new discovery to be tainted by being on their channel.
Sarah responded, invading his dark thoughts.
"I could've actually read the fucking contract properly before signing it. Maybe used my own lawyer instead of hiring some other asshole like the band wanted me to so that there was no 'bias', whatever the fuck that meant. I'm trying not to strangle them for that," she groused.
So they at least had a lawyer look at their contract, only it seemed like said lawyer had botched it, so did it count really?
"And then what?" he asked, hearing how quiet his voice was. "Not sign it? This is a huge break for Critical Hellfire. And yeah, not having you there tomorrow will… It hurts, I'm not gonna lie. I'm super bummed. Morgan's gonna be heartbroken, too." The guilt in her face increased, her eyes getting a little glossy. "But you gotta look out for the band."
He heard and felt how much he meant that. Whatever CB Productions had up their sleeve for GnR, they were giving Critical Hellfire a massive opportunity, and this was what they'd worked for.
"Ugh!" she let out, burying her face in her hands. "No! I don't want it to be this way! We're looking out for the band and throwing you guys under the bus! It feels like shit! I feel like…we're shit for doing it but I'm…" She sighed, gnawing on her lip. "Dylan, Mac, and Zondra tried to kind of let me off the hook. That's what it was and all four of us know it." He sent her a curious look. "We voted on what to do. Whether to perform anyway or give you guys the bad news." Her shoulders slumped. "They all voted not to perform tomorrow to protect our contract with CB Productions. They voted to preserve our chance and do that car commercial. And I voted to perform tomorrow and say 'fuck you' to CB and their contract. But I think we all know—you know, too, I'm sure—that they were covering for me. They were keeping me from having to vote against my boyfriend, keeping me from voting to throw you and this opportunity you guys built for us under a fast-moving bus. …That contract isn't something that's likely gonna come around again."
It looked like it hurt her to say it. But she said it.
That stung, but he also knew she was absolutely right, and he appreciated the hell out of her honesty. That she trusted him enough to be able to handle that truth almost erased the sting.
Chuck clamped his hand down on her shoulder, rubbing her over the light sweater she wore. "Sarah, I think I can speak for Morgan too when I say that your band, the success of Critical Hellfire, ensuring that you guys ascend to the highest heights of the rock music scene, making album after album after album, is a lot more important—to us—than one performance on a measly little Twitch channel that's only watched by a certain subset of metalheads in Los Angeles."
"Measly… Fuck off, GnR isn't measly. Everyone watches it and loves it and you two work your asses off and it's the greatest. Anybody should be proud to be on it. It's a masterpiece."
"Oh, stoppppp," he teased, shaking her a little, leaning in to try to catch her gaze. When he did, he smiled, and she seemed to try to fight it a bit which was cute, but she finally smiled back at him.
"C'mere," he muttered.
The way Sarah Walker dove into his embrace and held on like her life depended on it, burying her face in his neck… Chuck had never felt anything better. He'd never felt more needed in his life.
Maybe it wasn't the right way to feel in that moment, but he was only human, and feeling needed wasn't something he was all that used to.
"I'm sorry, Chuck. Please forgive us for fucking you guys over. I know it isn't fair for me to ask that, considering everything you guys are gonna have to go through because of us now. You don't have to forgive us now, you can do it later if you want," she mumbled. He felt her soft lips moving against his skin and he shivered.
"I forgive you. I'm gonna let you guys appeal to Morgan because he deserves that, but I definitely forgive you. I'm okay hangin' out under a bus. I'll just climb out and dust myself off, 'kay?"
"You're being unbelievably understanding and kind and I don't deserve it. I picked a contract over the right thing. Our band just prioritized ourselves over you."
"Stop making it sound like you're being insanely selfish and evil, Sarah. You've been fighting for this band for years. You said that to me the other night, when we were lying in bed. Pillow talk." He turned his face into her hair and squeezed her tighter, kissing her head.
"You're good at getting me to pillow talk."
"Hehe. I'm a stinker like that."
She snorted, hugging him closer, her grip strong around him. And then she shifted her legs and crawled into his lap, straddling him, her face still tucked under his jaw, and she clung even tighter.
Chuck found he was fine with this development, as he was starting to realize he felt awful, and he needed the comfort, too.
He didn't understand why Cole didn't want Critical Hellfire performing on their channel. Weren't they technically going to be under the same umbrella now? GnR on the streaming industry side, Critical Hellfire on the music industry side. Wasn't it good for the CB Productions brand to have these crossovers, to get the band promotion?
He was mad, and then he was hurt again. And still, the sting persisted.
"I'm sorry," Sarah breathed again.
"I know. It's okay. It isn't your fault."
"It is. I could go into his office, tear the contract up in his face, and tell him we're performing tomorrow."
"You could. But you won't and shouldn't. And you really can't anyway, you got outvoted by the band. And that's something I definitely know about you, even if I don't know a whole lot just yet in this new and incredible relationship of ours." She giggled quietly, nuzzling his neck. "You guys make decisions together. Always. That's why you're destined for success."
She pulled back a little, pressing the little indentation under his bottom lip with her pointer finger. "You, Chuck Bartowski, are kind of wonderful. And I could actually use that drink…if that's okay?"
"What d'you want?"
"Whatever you're having."
"Bourbon. Straight."
"Fuck yes."
And he didn't know why…maybe it was the way she tightened her thighs around his hips, burying herself further in his embrace, but he stood up from the couch with her still in his arms, and he carefully stepped out from between the couch and coffee table, making his way into the kitchen. He didn't want to let her go, so he didn't. He just took her with him.
She didn't budge from her koala position wrapped around him even as he poured their bourbon for them. And when he finished, he kissed her ear. "Tired?"
"Exhausted. And pissed. And sad. It was gonna be so much fun and we were so ready for it," she mumbled near his own ear.
God, he'd been so ready for it, too. He took a deep breath, trying not to get bogged down in the rejected sensation that was flowing through him.
"Okay, we're taking these to bed with us."
He left the kitchen, a glass in each hand, thankfully not having to really hold her up since she was doing all the work with her arms and legs wrapped so tight around his body. He finally set the drinks down on the nightstand, peeling Sarah off of him finally.
She dressed down to her camisole and underwear, crawling into bed as he turned off the video game and TV, shoving the control and headset away. He dejectedly thought about how little he wanted to play the damn thing now. He just wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.
Chuck got into bed with her, handing her one of the glasses, and they looked at each other in the dark, his eyes adjusting finally. "It's okay, Sarah. We're gonna be fine. Me an' Morgan. We're always fine. We'll figure out what to say to our viewers about why you aren't performing tomorrow."
They would. And it would suck. He just knew they were going to lose some folks for good. People could be very unforgiving on the Internet. And that would suck. Maybe they'd come back eventually…?
"Okay." That seemed to be all she was capable of at the moment.
They clinked their glasses, both of them sad.
And then she shifted the glass just slightly, taking a sip. …Looking down at it.
Suddenly: "Chuck, are we okay?"
"Hell yeah, we are," he said without pause. And then he drank a good bit of the bourbon, enjoying the way it slid down through his cold insides.
God damn it, he was so deeply disappointed. Stinging bad.
And he'd have to find a way to tell Morgan in the morning.
}o{
Sarah stared at the Games N Rock Sessions bouncing around her laptop's screen, listening to Quiet Riot's "Slick Black Cadillac". She was going to watch it at her table like a normal human, and then she felt a certain type of sudden depression go through her that made her feel like she couldn't—or didn't want to—expend the energy.
So instead, she just slumped onto her side on her unmade bed, pulling her knees up and hugging her favorite pillow to her chest in fetal position, watching and waiting for it to start.
She told herself she wasn't going to drink.
And then she did it anyway.
Because she felt like shit.
She wanted to be in the basement of the Bartowski house, with her bandmates, their instruments set up, Chuck fiddling with the camera, everyone filled with joy, anticipation, nerves. Guesses about how many people would join the stream to watch Critical Hellfire's first streamed performance would be followed by high-fives.
She'd fallen asleep halfway through that glass of bourbon last night, lounging back against her boyfriend's chest. And when she woke up this morning, insisting on making him breakfast, the best she could do at least, she saw a text from Dylan.
Just two words: "Shit's fucked."
She hadn't known what to respond with. She only knew they all still needed the space. They needed to figure out how to at least justify their decision enough that they could do their jobs when the time came. Otherwise it was all for nothing.
As they'd leaned against her car in silence, she'd felt a nervous energy coming off of Chuck. Like he wanted to ask her something but knew he shouldn't.
And she was ninety-nine percent sure that something he wanted to ask was if she would want to stay and watch the stream. Thankfully, the observant, thoughtful sweetheart must've sensed it wouldn't be the right question for him to ask, or the right time. So he hadn't asked her to come and watch.
Zondra, Mac, and Dylan hadn't made contact with her, nothing in individual texts, nothing in the group text with all four of them in it. Besides that one depressed text from Dyl. And so she would torture herself by drinking rum and watching this episode alone. Drowning in guilt and the rum Cole Barker had gifted her when they'd signed the contract. Did he say he'd bought it in Martinique? Or was it Barbados? It didn't matter. It was delicious, and after the shit about GnR being too off-the-cuff and unpredictable for him to approve the performance, she would absolutely guzzle the rum. He did owe her this. Maybe if it didn't kill their whole big break, she'd break the empty bottle over his damn head.
The logo stopped bouncing around the screen, the song stopped, and there they were, Chuck leaning in close to the camera as he started the stream. She missed him. It had only been about nine or ten hours since she'd seen him and still she missed him.
In his Saxon T-shirt, with its knight in full armor on horseback.
His curls were looking particularly mussed, like he'd been pushing his fingers through them a lot.
She'd done that. The band had done that to him. She couldn't even imagine how difficult the conversation was between Chuck and Morgan before going live with the stream.
How do we handle this?
They'll be so pissed off.
Well maybe if your girlfriend kept her word she made to us…
No. That wasn't Morgan. Morgan would never say something like that, and her brain still conjured it up anyway, and it felt like a dagger in her side. Maybe it was worse that neither of these guys would actively blame any of Critical Hellfire for this. But they deserved some God damn blame.
Morgan did look incredibly nervous. And his usual excitement, the sparkle in his face, was dulled. God damn it, Chuck was right, he was heartbroken. Critical Hellfire broke Morgan Grimes' heart to keep their contract with CB Productions and get that music video for the car commercial.
They were all actually going to hell for this.
Sarah pushed herself up onto her elbow, reached for the glass with rum and ice in it that she set on her nightstand, and pulled it back to take another sip. She was going to need this. Already.
"Ah-ha! And we're live." Chuck sat back on the couch, turned to give Morgan a look that clearly read You ready for this, buddy?, and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Per usual—per the yuuuuge—I am your cohost Chuck, and this is cohost Morgan." Morgan gave a little wave. "So, um, yesterday…we made an announcement…the second announcement of the…announcement we made a few days ago, but bigger…ya know, and better." He cleared his throat. "Well, we weren't sure how best to break it to everybody, um, today…if we should go to social media, post it here, on our Twitch page, or just…"
He seemed not to know how to explain.
"We decided it best to tell you guys face to face, um as much as we can be face to face over a webcam…but face to face where there's accountability," Morgan helped his friend. "We want to do things right, as right as we…can, given the circumstances."
The chat was filling with things like: "uh oh wtf does this mean?" and "who died?"
"Critical Hellfire won't be here tonight," Chuck said. She was glad they were getting right to it. Ripping the bandaid off. "They couldn't swing it, so they won't be performing. Um, we apologize for all of this. We really do."
"Hold on no Sarah? No CH? BUSTED."
"WTF i rescheduled a date 4 this"
"WTF!"
"Fuck that false advertising."
"FALSE ADVERTISING."
"We trusted u guys! FALSE. ADVERTISING."
God damn it, Chuck and Morgan had trusted Sarah, had trusted all of them, Dylan and Zondra and Mac, and they'd thrown these guys under a bus. Now they were getting flames from viewers.
Contrary to what Chuck had said last night about being okay with being tossed under a bus because he could just crawl out again and dust himself off, this was miserable to watch. The bus was slamming into them, grinding their bones to dust.
Especially with the anger she was seeing in the chat.
"I know you guys are pissed off. We totally get it," Morgan was saying. "We told you they'd be here and they're not. But things came up, problems with…" This time, he didn't know how to continue.
"Critical Hellfire was all ready to be on tonight. They were excited about it. Stoked. But the plan fell through and they can't be here. It's that simple," Chuck said with a helpless shrug. "It isn't their fault. We'll take the L on this. Me, especially."
Morgan gave him an annoyed look. "Nope. No. Not you, especially." He nudged his taller friend. "Be pissed at both of us equally. We equally made the decision to announce the performance would happen tonight when we didn't have…as much of a confirmation as we should've had."
Chuck nodded. "Make sure you've officially booked a band before you announce them is, uh, the moral of the story." He winced. "It was our oops."
This wasn't fucking fair. They had officially booked the band. They'd done everything right. The lead singer and bassist of the band had jumped onto the stream to be interviewed and she'd confirmed it, too. And now they were taking the heat from their fans.
"We didn't mean to lie to you guys, we really thought this was gonna happen. We were ready for it. We-We even moved the furniture down here to make room for them. Deep cleaned the place, decorated." Morgan frowned sadly.
Fuck.
Sarah finished what was in the glass and reached over to pour more, climbing up to sit cross-legged, staring miserably at the screen.
They'd cleaned, decorated, moved furniture. And her band let them down.
Were still letting them down.
These were their friends and they were letting them get absolutely blasted. She had the worst lump lodged in her chest.
When the stream started there were almost five-thousand people waiting to see Critical Hellfire perform. And now the number was plummeting. People were pissed, and were getting out of the stream altogether.
Shit, had this tanked GnR's brand? Had she been the cause of people losing trust in these guys?
Her heart seized.
She would never forgive herself.
"Okay, listen." Chuck's tongue darted out to wet his lips and he looked down, his brow furrowed. She could see his brain going a mile a minute. And then he sighed, his shoulders slumping, and he looked up at the camera. "Things are changing. Change is on the horizon. Games N Rock Sessions will be moving to a bigger platform on Recruit Emperors. The production value will shoot through the roof. If we have boogers up here," he pointed to his nose, "you'll probably be able to see 'em."
"We'll have to blow our noses and brush our teeth before each show," Morgan said, lamenting. Adorable in spite of everything.
Chuck nodded. "But as for right now, we're just a couple of guys who love music and playing video games. Head banging in the car to Whitesnake—"
"I love Whitesnake," Morgan breathed, propping his chin in his hand and sighing.
"What I'm trying to say is we-we're still figuring shit out. You know, we started this thing because we wanted to scream at each other about how much we love metal. We wanted to connect with other metalheads. We wanted to create a community of gamers, rock fans, music fans, people who just like shooting the shit in our chat during the livestream. We wanted to talk to you guys. We wanted to play games. Hang out with each other, 'cause we're best buds for life."
"BBFL," Morgan breathed again. "Best Buds For Life."
"We got a webcam, we did all this research about whether Twitch was a good platform for this nonsense. We figured out how to use Twitch. Like…shit, we were working retail for fifteen bucks an hour at the time."
"You were getting fifteen. I was still stuck at twelve," Morgan groused. "Fuckin' corporations."
Chuck soldiered on and she was entranced with him, once again.
"Even now, we're still trying to make things work, trying to make shit come together. We still don't really know what we're doin' here. So when we met Critical Hellfire and got the opportunity to see how freaking radical they all are, as a band, as musicians, and as people, we hatched a plan between the two of us to see if we couldn't get them to perform live on our Twitch channel. Here. Tonight. We had these rollercoaster discussions, you know? Why in the hell would a band this cool wanna come on a show that's this small potatoes to talk with these two massive nerds? Yeah?" He gestured between himself and Morgan. "But then we were like…"
"Why not?" Morgan input. "It won't hurt to ask them and just see, yeah? So we asked. And they said yes. And they were excited about it. Like, stoked. We even went to their practices, helped them pick which song to perform. It was all set up, ready to go."
Chuck reached up to rub the back of his head, his eyes sad. "But the reason I wanna emphasize that we're kind of, um…amateurs, newbies to this whole…uh, entertainment industry business…thingy… is that we didn't know there were other steps that had to be taken before this could happen. We don't know how all the legal, contractual stuff is supposed to go down. We thought we could just have 'em on and it'd be a party. The end. That isn't…how it works. And we unfortunately found that out the hard way."
"Yeah, we sure did," Morgan said glumly. "For what it's worth, the members of Critical Hellfire were caught off-guard, too. So don't get nasty with them in the chat, either. I see some of you veering that way, but it isn't their fault."
"And I don't want to shirk responsibility here. It is on me. It's on us," her boyfriend corrected when Morgan pinched his arm in annoyance again. "We made a rookie mistake. You know? But we're trying our best. And that's with what is obviously a very limited amount of knowledge about how this stuff works. So if you can find it in your hearts to please, please forgive us, we'd appreciate that." He clasped his hands together, begging. "Please?"
"We know now," his bearded cohost said, clasping his hands together as well, giving the camera big green puppy dog eyes. "We're going to learn from this mistake. We're going to put it use and move towards growth."
Chuck dropped the praying gesture and gave his friend an affectionate shake, his hand on his shoulder. "Yes! This! We're going to learn and grow. And that's why I said things are changing. Because we're moving into this new environment. We're gonna have to learn at breakneck speed, from people who know the business, who are good at this stuff. This sort of thing won't happen there. They won't let it."
"They have lawyers 'n shit," Morgan said with a shrug. "Who keep you from making mistakes like this."
Yeah, CB Productions' "lawyers 'n shit" had been the ones to pull the wool over Critical Hellfire's fucking eyes, so they'd better know better than to "make mistakes", God damn it. She was angry and sad all over again, and then she liked them both so much, she was so disgusted by all of this.
"Yes. It's gonna be better. We promise. We're gonna do better," Chuck insisted.
"Promise."
Sarah watched it all unfold, that five thousand viewers dropping to a little over two thousand. And she watched it all with a certain amount of agony that made her put the glass back on the nightstand, for fear she'd give herself alcohol poisoning.
She was plagued with guilt.
These boys had just had to talk through a horrible, embarrassing situation, trying to mollify their fans, trying to keep the fans from abandoning ship. And she didn't know if it had worked. The stream had stopped emptying quite as quickly. The chat had calmed a little more.
But she was terrified that this situation had lost them viewership in the long run. And that was a lot harder of a thing for Chuck get out from under and dust himself off.
She grabbed her phone as Chuck and Morgan grabbed their controllers to play a video game.
She heard Morgan announce, "And now you all get to watch us play NFL Blitz. I mean, sure, there's no Critical Hellfire tonight, but can I interest you in me literally catching fire from sacking the shit outta Chuck's quarterback?"
"Fuck you, man. Ain't gonna happen."
"Yeah, we'll see."
She pulled up Zondra's number and texted her: "I know we're doing the space thing today but I am deeply fucking upset."
She sent it and set her phone down. Within moments, as she buried her face in her hands, she heard her phone beep. Grabbing the phone and pulling it up, she read the response.
"Watching too huh?"
"TOUCHDOWWWWNNNNN!" Chuck yelled, standing up and thrusting his hips as Morgan stared glumly at the TV screen. "What was that about catching fire? Where's your sack now, buddy boy?"
"Ohhh mannn, that's what she saaaid!"
Sarah looked away from the laptop at her phone again, typing. "Of course I'm watching. This is my man's show. And we totally threw them under a bus. That was agonizing."
"Ya. I have a guilt stomachache. Yr boy did well with that inspirational We're New At This We're Trying Our Best Pls Be Nice thing. Honesty's refreshing."
"Why u think I snatched him up so fast?"
"LMFAO damn ok. Good work blondie. How he take it when u told im?"
Sarah slumped onto her side again, looking at the screen.
"I'm taking a risk," Chuck informed them, the split screen showing which NFL plays each player was picking. In the top left corner was an option to take a free point for a kick. She assumed that was Chuck's since he'd just scored. "Because I believe in myself and I believe in my players. I'm going for two points."
"Brave. But you will soon see that you have made a graaaaave errorrrrrrr!" Morgan drawled in a fantasy villain accent.
Sarah typed back to Zondra: "Riz, he was so sweet. Somehow made me feel worse. If he'd been pissed and thrown shit, it woulda made more sense to me."
That was the truth. That was the way any of the rest of her boyfriends would've reacted.
"Sure cuz thats wut the other jerks you dated would do. He isnt them. They super upset?"
Sarah didn't know if she wanted to call Rizzo an asshole for that crack, but she wasn't exactly wrong about that. Considering she'd literally just thought the same thing before her friend's text dropped onto her phone. The other guys she'd dated would've been furious, would've blamed her. Chuck listened, absorbed, let her hear his disappointment, see his hurt, and he'd understood the choice the band made. …He probably would've made the same choice.
And then it was Chuck Bartowski. So she wasn't exactly sure he would've made the same choice.
Maybe that was what kept getting stuck in her ribs, aching as badly as it did. They'd thrown him and Morgan under the bus, and when faced with the firing squad, instead of rightfully blaming Critical Hellfire, instead of tossing them under a bus in kind, they'd taken the responsibility on their own shoulders, stuck up for the band.
She felt like shit.
"Disappointed. Morgan seems heartbroken which feels like shit. Chuck said he woulda done the same n picked the contract cuz who knows when something like this comes around again but they had the chance to make themselves look better and make us look like the villains n they didnt take it. So I dunno if I believe im."
Even though she wanted to pour more, she resisted the urge to guzzle the rum. Getting stupid drunk wasn't going to help.
"Oh hey, Morgs, your mom called…" Chuck was saying as they played.
"Oh yeah? What'd she say?"
Chuck sacked Morgan's quarterback, and then he made his player jump up and land on the quarterback again in some sort of wrestling move. That…wasn't legal in football, was it? What was this game?
"She said to SUUUUCK IIIIIIITTTTT HAHAHAHA!"
Morgan shoved at Chuck's arm, cracking up. "You are so lucky my mom refuses to watch our Twitch channel or she'd jump into her pickup truck to show up at your house and smack you upside your head for that." Chuck was still laughing as his friend made a thoughtful face. "In fact, maybe I'll just tell her anyway, see what she has to say about it… Hmmmm."
Chuck stopped laughing, turning wide brown eyes on the bearded man. "What? No. No, no, no. Don't tell Bolonia. Please don't tell 'er. She'll put me six feet under. She'll never bring us tamales again. No, no, no."
Morgan shrugged. "Nothing I can do about that. I mean, you had her say 'suck it' to her only child, her prized son she loves oh so dearly, her sun, moon, and stars…"
Sarah found herself giggling at their antics again.
"They're so dumb n I love em," Zondra sent.
"Hard same. Idiots. The best idiots. We need to find a way to make this up to them."
"Well Ima leave the tall 1 to u since yr tapping that. But ya we owe em big time."
Sarah blushed hard. Wow. Okay. Sure, it was true, she was having sex with Chuck, but she wasn't ready for it to be in text form like that.
She decided the best thing was to ignore it. "We'll figure it out, the 4 of us. Thx for the chat. I needed to be miserable at some1."
"Anytime. Reconvene 2mrw?"
Sarah sent a thumbs up and tossed her phone to the end of the bed.
Before she could refocus on Chuck and Morgan playing the football game, slipping back into their usual banter, arguing over the plays on the field, arguing over which 'eighties band had a better bassist, there was a knock on the outer door of her loft.
Frowning, she went into her nightstand drawer and pulled the blade she kept there out of it, just in case. It was almost nine-thirty, she was a little worse for wear after that rum, and she was alone. It wasn't Chuck, and besides her bandmates, that was the only person who would show up at her place this late.
Moving to the window next to the door, she shifted the curtain and peered out.
What the fuck?
She grabbed the door and opened it, just a foot or so, letting him see the knife in her hand just in case. "Mr. Barker? What are you doing here?"
Only then did Sarah realize she was in pajama shorts that showed a large swath of her long legs and an overly large tie-dye T-shirt with an alien head in the center along with the words LATER NERDS. She took it home from Chuck's when she slept over after a date in which she'd worn a tight dress she really hadn't wanted to put back on the next morning.
His eyes popped a little, and then he got control of himself, that charm sweeping over his classically ruggedly handsome features again. "Well, I couldn't help feeling like we left things on a bad foot. I don't like leaving things on a bad foot. Especially not with you, Sarah." He smiled. His eyes fell to the knife. "Oh. Well…erm…"
She looked down at it. "Sorry. It's late and I live alone. Just making sure."
"Smart. I admire that. I promise I won't do anything to require the use of that, though…" He winced then. "Am I allowed to come in? We should talk." He held up his hands. "We can talk out here, but it's…cold and you should…change first if we're doing that."
To her surprise, he kept his eyes away from her legs. She appreciated it.
Even though she didn't really want to, she was too drunk and lazy to change and she let him come in. "Come on. Wanna drink?"
He made a face as she shut the door behind him. "Not saying this in a judging way, but it seems you've already gotten started." She glared a little. "I said I wasn't judging!" He held up his hands in surrender again. She hated when men did that to her. She knew most of them didn't get that what they were doing was patronizing, but it was still patronizing. She bit back as much annoyance as she could, the alcohol still in her system, softening her ability to filter.
She couldn't toss their chance at this advertisement in the dumpster after they'd just screwed over their friends for it. All that couldn't be for nothing.
"Yes. I was drinking. Do you want one or not?"
She didn't mean to snap, but she also did mean to snap. He'd fucked a lot of things up and she still didn't get what in the hell it was all about. Why invest in Chuck and Morgan if he didn't trust his new clients to go on the show without it reflecting badly on the band?
"How about I get you a glass of water? Maybe that'll—"
"I'd still be living with my parents if I needed someone to take care of me."
He looked a bit like she'd struck him but she didn't have the patience for this at the moment.
"Do you want a drink?" she asked again.
"I'm all right. Thank you."
Sarah nodded. And then she crossed her arms and waited.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and made a thoughtful face, nodding, as if to himself. "You watched the show, then. That's what the drinking was all about?"
"I was drinking because I wanted to. There something in this contract that says a girl can't have a few drinks in the privacy of her own home?"
Cole winced. "I deserve the tone. I do. Don't think I don't know that. You're pissed at me, aren't you?"
"Yes, actually, I am. Why are you here? At my home?"
He sighed, sheepishly reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "To make amends? Ask for forgiveness? Offer something in return to make up for it? Please. I'm begging you. I'll get down on my knees if you need that." He teasingly moved to do just that, mirth in his face.
But she grabbed his arm and kept him standing. "Stop. Please. We wanted to be there tonight, you know? We wanted to be there, playing. For the guys. For their fans. For ourselves. I just don't get why you stopped us from doing it. You gave me that line about the board, like your hands are tied. Isn't CB your name? Cole Barker? You're the big honcho. You're the guy. You're the last say, aren't you?"
"It isn't always that simple," he said with a shrug. "I run my company through that board. So that it doesn't go to my head. And when the board makes a decision on something, sometimes I have to go with it."
"Sometimes," she caught, even though she was still pretty buzzed. "You said sometimes. So sometimes you overrule them."
"Hm. You're sharp," he said with a smirk, waggling his finger and winking. That felt annoyingly patronizing too. She carefully moved to set down the knife. She didn't think she was capable of cold-blooded murder, but… "Sometimes I overrule them. Yes."
"Why didn't you here?"
"I suppose I didn't want to." Sarah gaped. What kind of bullshit was that? He cleared his throat. "Look, Sarah… The truth is Critical Hellfire has an opportunity to appeal to a vast amount of fans. I mean vast. You're used to playing in a room with a hundred fans, max. You shoot this music video, it's on the Ocelot sedan commercial, that thing will run day and night, primetime on network television, during Hulu ad-breaks. We're talking millions who will want to know who this fantastic band is with the extremely beautiful badass singer. You'll be famous. This is how you get your start."
"Okay, great. So what's the problem with being on Chuck and Morgan's show tonight? That would get us fans, a lot of awesome LA metalheads were there on that stream, waiting to see us perform. They were excited about us! We could've gotten them in our corner first, and then go national, global, whatever."
Cole sighed, his hands digging deep into his pockets. "Unfortunately, Critical Hellfire is bigger than the LA metalhead scene. I'm a producer, I've been around the block, and I see your potential. There comes a time, you know, when you have to…grow out of the small boxes you find yourself in. Explore further. Away from…the box. You know what I mean by that?"
Sarah shook her head. "Mr. Barker—"
"Cole."
"Cole," she said instead. "These people supported us. They were there for us. They've been to our gigs. They've bought our demos at our gigs. We wouldn't have even gotten demos in the first place if Kurt Astor at JollyBop's hadn't loved our sound and taken us to a guy's little studio to help us get a demo of some of our songs recorded. These are the LA metalheads. I don't want to leave them behind. I don't wanna toss them out of a window so that I can go off and be famous. And neither will the rest of the band. That isn't who we are, Cole."
"Hm." He scratched the side of his nose. "I see. Well, I'll think on that."
"I just don't think the only way to get an album deal or sign on to a record label is by saying 'fuck you' to the Day Ones."
"No, no. I agree. I completely agree, Sarah. All I'm saying is… Look." He moved over to her table where there was a dime she left there from when she bought a snack at the corner store earlier. He set it in the middle of the table. "This is the LA metal scene. Right now, GnR is in there. Jolly—Whatever you called it. Mash Mountain."
"Mosh Mansion."
"Whatever," he said with a dismissive hand wave. "The other places you play gigs at, they're all in here. GnR's viewers are all in here."
He grabbed each edge of her round table then. "This is the audience you're going to get when you do this commercial with me, Sarah. And the table will only grow when we get you an album deal. Hm? Now… Tell me…" He picked up the dime, took it off of the table. "What's changed? Has anything changed here? The table is still huge, humongous, and there for Critical Hellfire to take."
Sarah wrestled the dime out of his fingers and put it back on the table. "I want both."
"Chuck will understand, Sarah."
"I know he will," she half-snapped. "He always does. But I'm tired of asking people to understand while I kick them under busses. It's happened once already, and I don't want it to happen again. Once was too many times. Not just because my boyfriend is here, involved in this stuff. But because it isn't right. I love LA. I love LA's metalheads."
Cole shrugged. "All right. It's up to you."
"No, it's up to my band. I'll talk to them but they'll agree with me."
"Fine, fine."
"And one more thing." He watched her expectantly, listening. "You gave Chuck and Morgan those big checks to let them know you were on the level, built a whole soundstage to look like Chuck's basement, are putting Games N Rock Sessions on this big Recruit Emperors site… Why? If you don't want Critical Hellfire to be seen on there, why promote them like this?"
The producer sighed, glancing away, running his tongue over his teeth with his mouth closed, thoughtful. Then he looked up at her again. "We think there's a lot of value in that channel, in those boys. And we think they'll appeal to, uh…Well, the folks on that dime. Maybe they'll get to a quarter's worth of people, reach outside of LA, but it's very niche." He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "I like 'em. I think they're great kids. They're going to do great things. But you are headed for…the stars, Sarah Walker."
She hated every bit of that. "I don't think you're right about them. I think they're much more valuable than you think." And maybe he wasn't all that great of a producer if he didn't see what she saw.
"I'll take that into consideration," he said with a solemn nod. "Still, I want to make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow."
"I'll ask Dylan, Zondra, and Mac if they're free."
He stalled for a moment, and she'd had too much to drink to understand all of the layers of why he'd reacted that way. He smoothly drawled, "Yes. Yes, you do that. I'll take all of you. As an apology."
"And you'll apologize to Chuck and Morgan, too?"
He blinked. She just stared.
To his credit, he smiled and nodded. "I will," he said sincerely.
"Thanks."
When he left, which took some doing, she went back into her room to find that the live stream had ended. She grabbed her phone and texted Chuck: "I want to see u. I did depressed drinking tho. Just as a warning."
He replied immediately.
"Lemme finish up w Morgs and I'll be RIGHT OVER!"
Somehow even more exhausted now than she'd been before Cole's sudden arrival, she gathered up the bottle of rum, closed it, and stuck it back up in the cupboard, tipping over the arm of the couch and falling into a heap against the cushions face-first.
A/N: Depending on this hurricane slash tropical storm, I'll post as soon as I can.
Please review if you're able.
-SC
