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: Okay, now you get to see what Chuck's big MISSION is. Thanks for the messages and reviews!
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.
He didn't mean to speed, really.
But if he was successful in getting the band to leave with him, they'd have to speed back to LA with enough time to spare. First, Critical Hellfire would need to check out the basement and get the feel of the new space. Then they would need to pick a set list—Jake and Dan was ensuring that the MetalMania host would give them three songs. And then they'd have to rehearse.
Chuck needed to get a feel for those new cameras he bought, too. They needed to make sure the broadcasting tech worked, and that they could link with the MetalMania crew.
He had Awesome at the editing "booth", as he'd labeled it, which meant he would be the one switching between cameras. One camera would be stationary, and Chuck would have the other one on his shoulder, getting a few close-ups of the band members during the performance.
He'd been playing with it while Ellie cooked dinner the other night, even commentating on what she was doing.
Ooohhh she slices AND she dices, folks!
Get that out of my face before I use this knife to slice and dice you.
Ooohhhhhh ten out of ten on the line delivery, FOLKS! Look! There are her boogers up her nos—ah! Get that knife away from me!
He thought he had it down now. And it only had one thin wire, a long one, that meant he could maneuver with it pretty easily, hopefully without tripped himself and causing havoc.
Chuck slammed his foot on the pedal, whizzing around a PT Cruiser going about 2 mph on the freeway. He barked, "PT Loser!" as if they could hear him.
He was twenty minutes out from the park entrance, and he realized he'd have to find a way to get onto the set at Skull Rock. He imagined they had things cordoned off, but maybe not? Since it was a national park?
How did that work?
His phone rang and he grabbed it, noticing it was an unknown caller. He answered it, deciding not to take chances. "Hello? Chuck Bartowski…"
"Chuck! Hey, there. It's Jake! Jake Horne."
"Jake! Hi! What can I do for ya?"
He wasn't even going to wonder how Jake Horne got his phone number. Maybe he'd emailed again and asked for it and Morgan gave it to him.
"We need to talk."
Chuck's eyes went wide. "Oh. We do. We do? We do. Yes. What, um, what about?"
There was a pause. "Sorry, I'm just…realizing something," he said in his gruff voice. "I said the thing that's basically the worst way to start a sentence. That's my bad. Sorry. There's been a development but it may be a good one. Not maybe. I suck at this. It's definitely a good one."
Raising his eyebrows, Chuck cleared his throat. "Okay, sure. What's the, uh, development? We're still on, right?"
"We're still on. Only we have to bump you from Monroe Buch's half hour. Instead of nine-thirty, how's ten-thirty sound?"
"We can do ten-thirty! Not a problem."
"Well, here's the kicker…" Chuck held his breath. "The ten-thirty slot is in the middle of Vera Carlotta's hour. She runs a show ten to eleven, for the all-nighter metalheads. It gets a shit ton of viewers…"
"VERA CARLOTTA?" he asked loudly. "H'ooohh my God. She's an icon. A goddess. She's basically the reason why Morgan and I got started. She has so much fun with the genre. And the guests she gets? Alice Cooper shooting the shit with her in her studio, doing a duet? Oh my God, I remember watching that and just melting. And she's friends with Ann Wilson? Like, God. That is, hands down, legend tier connections. We are not upset about Vera Carlotta being the host. Are you sure she wants us?"
"We're the producers of these MetalMania shows, Chuck. It's about what we want. But after Dan and I listened to this Critical Hellfire band's demo you sent? Fuck. Ing. Hell. The way they capture the spirit of the original, completely just balls to the wall, tits to the grits, rock, we were losing our shit, man. But whoever their singer is, she is out of control. Not to sound like a sexist, but a cis girl's vocal chords…aren't the same as a cis dude's, just biologically. The way she somehow makes our guy Joe's signature growl her own, but also way sexier? And the back-up vocals? Who the fuck is on the drum kit? The guitarists? Listen, we were ready to have this band on just to do you boys a solid, we love your show so much. But now that we've heard how sick they are? We're giving you Vera Carlotta. She's gonna wonder what the hell we're doing 'til she hears them, and then she's going to thank us."
Chuck felt almost a little dizzy, which wasn't great for driving on the freeway, but holy shit. He bit his tongue before he told Jake that the singer of Critical Hellfire was his girlfriend. He was on very thin ice with said girlfriend, if they were even dating anymore in the first place.
That was yet to be determined. Shit.
"I'm pretty speechless. I promise they aren't gonna let any of you down."
"There's one more thing."
"What's that?" Could he take anymore?
"Guess who drops investment money into Vera's hour on MetalMania and therefore watches every God damn episode live?"
"If you say Jimmy Page, I'll faint."
"Whoa, whoa… Don't do that. Sounds like you're in the car driving," Jake chuckled. "And you're not going to believe me, but if you want good things for this band you're on a mission to shoot into the stars, this person is much better than Jimmy Page."
Chuck held his breath again.
"Diane Beckman, North Star Audio founder and CEO. One of the biggest labels signing metal talents today. She's single-handedly kept the art alive."
He almost had to pull over his car. "Jake. Jake Horne, you aren't pulling my leg, are you?"
"Better bring the A-Team, Bartowski. Not that you and Morgan ever miss, no matter what that fucker Cole Barker says. Let me just say, now that I've heard the whole story, Chuck… North Star Audio is so. much. bigger. than anything Cole Barker and his production company could ever even hope to do for Critical Hellfire. And we're talking if those fuck-ups were trying to help the band, which it sounds like they aren't." Jake whistled. "If this band you love so much wails when they perform live the way they performed in that recording, there's no way Beckman doesn't take notice."
Chuck took a deep breath.
"Only catch is she doesn't know we sort of hijacked her show and the host. We told Vera not to say anything. So Dan and I have our necks on the line too. No big deal!"
"Oh, yeah. Sure, no big deal," Chuck said with a nervous giggle.
Oh fuck, the pressure was massively big.
He needed to get them to come with him. Needed them to.
If he failed to convince them… He couldn't, and that was all there was to it.
He would succeed or he'd die trying. But first he had to get to Skull Rock in one piece, and that meant this Diane Beckman news couldn't make him crash his damn car.
}o{
"Okay, Sarah. Just know that this snake is real but it's also very well trained."
The trainer was off to the side, the snake crawling all over in his arms as he used the hand that wasn't entrapped in the scaly beast's strong grip to wave at her reassuringly.
"Look, I don't mind wearing a snake. If Britney could do it, I can. But what's, um…the point of the snake?"
"Well, we're in the desert," Cole said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing.
She didn't appreciate the patronizing tone. At all. And she half-glared at him for it.
"Big horn sheep also live out here. Maybe I can have one of those?"
"Snakes are sexier than big horn sheep."
Sarah sighed.
And there it was.
She turned to look at Zondra who was giving her a pointed stare of her own. Damn it.
"But shouldn't I be playing my bass?" she tried.
"You'll have your bass, too. We just want a really good show of you, with the hair, and your…everything." She raised her eyebrows and Cole rushed on quickly. "And the snake! With Skull Rock right there behind you. Most metal thing ever."
No, the most metal thing ever would be if they let them play their actual instruments, and actually let them play, instead of making them look like some kind of version of metal that was made up by a pubescent fifteen-year-old straight boy.
Sarah looked at Dylan. He just shrugged as if saying, This is what we signed up for, isn't it?
Whatever it took to get a record label, she told herself. And it seemed the rest of her band was on board.
"A'right. Hand me the beast." They carefully brought it over. She made sure the bass strap was adjusted well enough over her shoulder, and then she had a giant snake slung over her shoulders and draped along her arms. "Oh my God, it's heavy," she grunted. And with the way it lifted its head almost as if to look at her and survey whether she was worth biting or not, she was starting to think twice about this. "I didn't say fat, just heavy. Niiiice snakey," she sang nervously.
"She's a Burmese Python; they get heavy. But don't worry, she already ate. Ha ha," the trainer said, seeming to crack himself up.
"Ha. Great." She shifted the snake a bit to try to balance the weight better. "So am I lip syncing the song here, too?"
"Yeah. Kind of sway along with the music too." Tanner lifted his hand and the song played.
Now I just want to get close to you
And taste your love so sweet
Tanner snapped his fingers and the song stopped. "It's gonna be that part. Then we'll skip to the cello part. That work? Things will get extra sexy then. We'll splice it with the Ocelot driving through the Joshua Tree desert, trees passing the windows, maybe a storm out in the distance. Our cellists raging on their strings…"
It sounded ridiculous.
And still she muttered, "Right. …Okay."
They cleared the rock so that she was the only one there, standing right near the nose of the skull. And she used the word 'standing' loosely, because the heels hurt like fucking hell on this uneven, hard rock surface, and now with the billion-pound python on her, it was even worse. They wanted her to do sexy hip swiveling shit like this? Were they nuts?
"Rolling!"
She lip synced the words, bending her knees, swaying her lips left and right, then straightening her knees again.
"And cut!"
Tanner came to the front of the camera and shook his head. "You look very awkward with the way you're holding that snake."
"Right, well… She isn't really helping me out much."
"It's a snake, honey."
Fucking prick.
"Yes. True. Which is why this is so hard for me to do with her draped all over me. Because she is a wild serpent with a mind of her own. Unless the trainer here can make her dance, too? Can you do that? Make her sway?" she directed at the trainer, arching her eyebrows.
"Um. No." He blinked at her.
"Oooookayyyy, maybe we'll take five," Cole said, stepping in.
"No, we should keep going. I can feel this snake starting to lose interest and I fear what she'll do when she starts to get bored. I'm trying to cooperate. I'm doing my best," she said. "Let's keep going."
"All right. You're the star, Sarah." Cole winked yet again.
She didn't want winks. She didn't want placating. She didn't want a snake in her arms along with her bass. She didn't want these heels on. She didn't want to lip sync Whitesnake's version of "Still of the Night" when Critical Hellfire had their own version primed and ready.
"Okay, let's do the cello part and see how it goes," Tanner said, seeming exhausted. Oh, he was exhausted? Bullshit.
They set up both cellos in the foreground of the shot, down below the rock where she stood. So that she'd be in the back of the shot, towering over them, dancing with her bass and the snake. They moved the drum kit to her left on the rock she stood on, Zondra and Dylan staggered on the rocks below.
"Why are these cellists we've never even met before getting prime placement in the shot?" Zondra asked Sarah under her breath as she clambered down the rocks in her high heeled boots. Her foot slipped a bit, but she caught herself. "Fuck! I'm about to break my damn neck over here."
This was going…relatively poorly.
And her mood was taking a nosedive, Sarah realized. There was only so long she could behave as if all of this wasn't bothering her. It just wasn't Critical Hellfire.
Like Cole Barker and Tanner Astin and the rest of the production were just dropping four random people into a placeholder "metal band" that looked like wardrobe and hair had grabbed a couple random "Rock Star" costumes off the hooks in a Spirit Halloween.
"Okay, places!"
They got into place. And as the music started blasting, the camera rolling, they pretended to be playing, Sarah doing whatever she could to hit the bass notes even with the python putting its head weirdly close to the pickup where she was plucking. She didn't want to accidentally pluck its face or something and have it lunge up to bite her neck. Dear God.
But then it got a lot heavier, its body somehow more…limp?
"Cut! Cut, cut!" Tanner hurried around again, the music stopping. "I swear to God, what is it with you and the snake? What's going on here, Sarah?"
"I think the snake is falling asleep. Or it already…is asleep? It weighs a ton all of a sudden. She," Sarah corrected.
"Trainer. Can you wake your snake up?"
The trainer came over, apparently not having a name, stroked the snake a bit, which felt…really weird with it all wrapped around her like that. And the snake lifted its head again, its little tongue poking out. If Sarah was being honest with herself, she was kind of cute with her little eyes and nose and tongue. Granted, she hadn't seen her open her mouth yet, no fangs yet. She'd probably be less cute with the fangs out.
"Great. Let's go again please? Roll back the music."
Sarah moved back into place.
"Ready? Annnnnnd action!"
The music blasted, camera rolling. Yet again.
The cellists began bringing their bows across their cellos and the band bobbed their heads, but something caught Sarah's attention out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up to see a plume of…was that smoke? No, it was moving. It was dirt. Coming up from a car that was busting down the dirt road towards them at what felt like an unsafe speed.
She saw Dylan stop too. "What's that?" he asked. "Who is that? Because this is quite the fuckin' entrance, man."
"Cut, cut! God damn it! Will you pay attention for two seconds? We almost had the whole shot and—Who is that?" Tanner had turned to look as well. The music stopped.
Everyone was watching as the car swerved to a stop, the dirt billowing up into the air, making some of the nearby crew cough, waving their hands to clear the air.
Why was this car familiar…?
Oh. Oh God.
Are you fucking kidding me?
The door opened and out climbed the six foot four idiot she was dating. How…? "What the fuck?" she muttered.
"Hi!" he called out, lifting his hand to wave as he stepped out from behind the door and shut it. "Hi, everybody! Wassup? Uh, pretty cool…um, space?" He blinked at their surroundings.
Sarah just gaped.
"Helluva entrance," Dylan called back to Chuck.
"Oh. Yeah, thanks."
And then Cole came from the side, grabbing onto Chuck's arm. "What the fuck are you doing here? Get back into your little jalopy and go home." He tried to shove at Chuck back towards his car. She was two seconds from telling him to get his hands off of the nerd, in spite of everything. But Chuck's lanky mess of limbs climbed up onto the hood of his car and over it again, landing with a thump, using the car as a barrier between himself and the producer as he rushed towards the rocks.
"Sarah!" He scrambled up the first layer of rock, his sneakers slipping and sliding. He let out a squeak as he almost fell, but then he got up okay, shrugging. "Converse don't have great traction, I guess. Noted." Clearing his throat, he looked at the rest of the band. "Guys, you don't have to do this."
"That's enough. Get the fuck down off the rock! What are you, a child?!" Cole snapped, trying to stretch up to grab him. But Chuck snuck to the other side of the rock where he couldn't reach.
"Ha! Your fancy producer shoes have bad traction. too."
"Bartowski! Get down! You're costing us valuable time!" Cole yelled up at him. "This isn't your infantile clickbait Twitch channel! The grown-ups don't have time for this!"
Chuck seemed to ignore the barbs, instead looking at her. "Sarah. Sarah, we hafta talk."
"I don't really want to talk to you right now," she said honestly. "What are you doing here?"
His eyes finally dragged down and he made a face. "Are you wearing a snake?"
"She's a Burmese Python!" the trainer called up.
"Oh. Cool. Wait, I thought they're only found in tropical climates…" He turned back to the trainer. "I was a big snake fan as a kid. As in, like, big snakes. Really loved big snakes."
"Cool!" the trainer called up. "We should talk!"
"Chuck!" Sarah interrupted. He spun back to her, eyes wide. "When I said I didn't want to talk to you, I meant it. We're shooting here and…"
"Wait. Please. All of you, please hear me out. Dylan, Zondra, Mac…you guys, too. Please. I set something up for you. I've got a plan. Me and Morgan, everyone else, too. We've got something big. And-And I know I sound crazy right now," he said, shaking Cole's hand off of his sneaker as if he was nothing more than a fly that landed on him. "I know Cole is offering you guys this commercial for the Ocelot toaster or whatever, and that it'll be on TV and on Hulu ads. I know he's promising this'll get you signed to a record label. But what if I told you that I've got an idea that'll get you there, without all of this…bullshit." He gestured at everything. "Except for the python. The python is actually really freaking rad."
"Thanks, Chuck!" the trainer called up.
"You're welcome! You know what? You're very enthusiastic; I bet you're great at your job."
"Oh, I make do—"
"Chuck!" Sarah growled. She was getting really sick of this. It was mortifying. And unfortunately, she didn't know at that point that it would only get worse.
"Sorry! I'm here. I'm with you. And that's my point. I'm with you. All of you. The band. Critical Hellfire. I don't know what they have you wearing, but it's not…" His brow furrowed and he shook his head, sincere as he breathed, "It's not you. It's not your…essence. You're all fucking badasses and they have you looking like a joke. All white instruments? Where the hell are your instruments? And a white Stetson, Dylan? Come on. Leopard print vest…what the hell, Zondra? And Mac, I'll go ahead and say it, you do look pretty awesome in spikes." Sarah didn't see Mac's response but she heard a quiet heh. And then Chuck's gaze settled on her. "Your ankles must be killing you in those pumps and they're all scuffed from climbing rocks and… Okay, let me just be totally honest: they made you look like Sigourney Weaver after Zuul possesses her."
Sarah's jaw dropped. Somebody let out a strangled snicker and she glared at Dylan because she had a feeling it was him. He'd covered it well enough that she wasn't sure though.
"That's it. Somebody go up there and get this fucking child down. Now. Or call the police. Before I murder 'im."
"Oh-ho, that's fuckin' rich!" Chuck snarled down at Cole. "That. Is. Rich! You're gonna call the cops? On me? First of all, we're in the middle of a fuckin' national park in the middle of the desert! Go ahead and call 'em! You won't see 'em for at least a half hour, ya jaaaaag! Secondly!" He pointed at the producer. "Yoooou! Stole from meeee! Mother fucker! I should've called the cops on you!"
"Right." Cole scoffed. "See if that holds up in court."
"Have I got news for fuckin' yoooou." He stopped, thank God. But then he turned back to Sarah. "Sorry. Wait. I'm losing track. I hate him so much, it's distracting me." He shook himself. "Listen, he's just in it for you, Sarah. I know, you don't wanna hear it. And I get that." Fuck him, he was doing this again? Only in front of all of these people instead of in the privacy of her loft.
"Chuck, stop. Okay? I don't—"
"I love you!"
…
….
The complete and utter jackass.
Standing there precariously balanced on a rock, looking up at her with the wind whipping at his curls, sincerity etched all over his handsome face. Telling her he loved her now? Here? God damn hell, she was so tired.
Mac let out a quiet, "Ooooh shit" and Dylan hissed in a wince. Zondra was covering her face.
This was the most mortifying moment of her entire life.
And the python fell asleep again. Shit.
She grappled with it. "Chuck, this isn't—I can't—"
"I'm in love with you, Sarah," he said again, somehow even more sincerely. "And I say that so that you know the entire truth about me. My feelings for you. How badly I want you to be happy. More than I want my own happiness, I want yours." Oh. She wasn't expecting that. But she had to steel her resolve. This was ridiculous. He couldn't do this now. It wasn't fair. "So when I tell you that I'm not just doing this for you, I mean it. It's for the whole band. Because I know how much they mean to you. I found a way out of this ridiculous shallow mess of a music video—"
"Screw you, you little pisser!" Cole snarled from below.
"—and I've set everything up," he rushed on. He was getting really good at ignoring Cole and it was clearly making the older producer incensed. He looked like he might literally blow up. "Me and Morgan. We have a plan. We've got you guys. And I mean it. Sometimes…sometimes the nerds get the band. And I mean we get you. We get who you are and what you're about. You're fuckin' metal. Not all this extra showmanship. Just you, whatever the fuck you wanna wear, and the magic you work with your instruments. We've got it all set-up and all you gotta do is be the most Critical Hellfiriest Critical Hellfire you've ever Critical Hellfired. Which I know you will be. But you all gotta come with me. Now. We have no time to waste."
Sarah gawked at him. "You must be out of your mind. You think we're just gonna drop our instruments, crawl into your car, and drive off from this insanely huge opportunity? A music video that'll be on TV…"
"I know, I know it sounds crazy. But…well, those aren't your instruments." He had a point. "I don't know where your instruments actually are…"
"In our van," Dylan said. "Along with the clothes we came here with. Before they stuck me in this John Wayne-ass outfit."
"Dylan," Sarah said through her teeth. He wasn't helping. He merely shrugged back at her. "Chuck, please. Just let us be. We've got our vehicle. Our way up to the big time. Here. It's this. We'll talk later. You and me. But this isn't the time."
"This is the time. It's the only time. I need you to come with me. Please. You have to trust me. I know I don't deserve to ask you for that right now. So…" He glanced away, searching for what to say, and his amber colored eyes swung back to her again, determined. "Sarah, if you don't trust me, then trust Morgan. And you and me can have this extra convo later. But this is about the band. It's always been about the band for me. Even when I was falling for you."
Damn her body for shivering at that. And her heart could go to hell too for all of that ramming against her ribcage it was doing, the traitor. The shivers were probably just the desert breeze that swept through here. She was kind of high up, after all. And her heart? Well, she'd had a lot of coffee earlier. The coffee on set was pretty strong.
"It isn't about the band for any of these people. They're just going through the motions, the way they'd do for any job. Point the camera here, then there, move this microphone, turn on the giant fan to make fake wind…Whatever. They don't care about any of you." He glared down towards Cole dismissively. "And this guy, this guy down here? He doesn't care what happens to you," he pointed at Zondra, "or you," he pointed at Dylan, "or you, Mac." Then he met Sarah's eyes. "He doesn't even care what happens to you. As long as you're properly grateful for this opportunity, whatever happens to Critical Hellfire after, he doesn't give a shit." She clenched her jaw at him and he winced apologetically. "What I mean, Sarah…is that this isn't going to get you signed to a record label. A bunch of Aunt Sally's watching late night TV because they can't sleep don't drive Ocelots and they don't care about metal. You need something directed at metal fans. At people in the metal industry. Cole has no power in the metal industry. I guarantee he doesn't even know who Poison is!"
Cole puffed out his chest in fury. "How dare you?! I did amazing in my chemistry levels!"
Chuck gestured at the producer down below with both arms. "Come on!"
"Jesus Christ," Mac muttered next to her.
"He's a conman with a lot of money and influence!" Chuck continued.
She was getting even more pissed now because he was making sense, and he really did just say in front of fucking everybody that he was in love with her.
This man's timing was atrocious.
"He just wants you to think he's gonna get you signed to a record label with all this pomp and circumstance. Because he wants you, Sarah. You'll see I'm right when it stops being 'Ohh I'll take the band out for dinner tonight!' and instead is, 'Sarah, why don't you and I go out for dinner tonight?' Just watch." He swallowed hard enough she heard it even from up on her rock. "And I-I want you, too. I won't pretend I don't, because I do." His eyes got all big and brown and pleading. "But I have a real way to get you what you want. Because that's more important to me than what I want. I have a way for you to get what you want in the form of-of an audition…of sorts." He shrugged. "But you all have to come with me now. Please."
"Get the fuck down!" Cole blurted, Tanner climbing up to grab Chuck's leg. They finally got hold of Chuck, and he was so intent on Sarah, looking into her eyes, pleading with her, that he didn't shake them off in time. With Tanner and Cole on each leg, they were able to yank at him hard, sending him toppling and staggering, bashing his knees on the rock as he was dragged to the ground.
They clearly didn't seem to care about his safety at all. And her heart seized terribly.
Before she could yell at them, Dylan stepped forward with a, "Hey! Get off him!"
But Chuck was already on the ground, off of the rock, and they were dragging him back to the car he pulled up in.
"Stop!" she yelled, getting down with Dylan's help, his strong hand clasping hers.
They stopped wrestling at Chuck and the hopeful look he cast at her from between his assailants made her chest ache so badly she wanted to die.
She walked in closer to him. "Let go of him. Let me talk to him for a second."
They reluctantly did as she asked. Chuck gave him both cocky looks, fixing his clothes. And then he sent her that hopeful look again.
"We can't just throw this away because you've made this breathless appeal to us like you're some…character in a movie. That isn't how real life works. We have to do this, Chuck."
He sagged, his brow furrowing in hurt.
"Fine. Fine, I, uh…get it." Then he shook his head. "Actually, no. No, I don't get it. You have to see how insanely stupid all this is, Sarah." He looked at the band again. "Guys! Come on! The—Look at that! Is that a fake cactus?" he called out, pointing at…a fake cactus. It actually was a fake cactus. A prickly fake cactus just propped against one of the rocks. When had they hauled that piece of shit out of the prop trailer? What in the hell?
Then Chuck ran over to the camera, poking at it.
"And this! I bet this doesn't even have film in it!"
"It doesn't," Cole confirmed. "Because it's a digital camera. You jackass."
Chuck frowned as a mean trickle of laughter went through the crew. "Oh."
"Chuck?"
She waited for him to look over at her. And she delivered the coup de grâce she didn't want to deliver. Only he'd made this very mortifying scene and… Damn it.
"Go home, Chuck." She heard how miserable she sounded as she added, "Just go home."
He chewed on his bottom lip, desperate for a moment, and then she saw the resignation there. She watched his face fall, his shoulders slump, as he turned on his heel with a nod and trudged back to his car.
A/N: Please, I'm begging y'all not to break into a trillion pieces and die in your reviews.
Thanks for reading! More very soon!
-SC
