A/N: This is an AU story. Chuck Bartowski is special, his father told him so when he was very young. Chuck's life up to this point has been anything but typical and he has been isolated from normal life for much of that time. To add to his feelings of isolation, his gifts come at a price. Now, he is a new student at Stanford. Attending Stanford, finishing his education, and having a normal life is his dream. Sarah Walker is also attending Stanford. She, too, is gifted. Her life has made her guarded and tragedy has made her focused and driven. Finishing her education at Stanford and using her education to help others is her mission. What happens when two people's irresistible force meet each other's immovable object?

A/N2: This first bit is like the initial part of a rollercoaster. Building the anticipation of what's to come.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I make no money from Chuck. (I'll come up with some smart aleck author comments later.)

Chapter 1 – Running on Empty

October 1

Chuck Bartowski was running. He passed people as they walked along the path he was taking, dodging others if they happened to blunder into his way, and cutting around trees and bushes in an attempt to delay his pursuers. Following a zig-zagging course, he tried to limit the sight lines of anyone who might be following him. Chuck could hear voices behind, calling on him to stop and answer their questions. The voices just made him run faster and, soon, the voices began to fade in the distance. In his rush to get away, he was unaware of the people, usually female, taking notice of him as he tore across campus.

In that moment, as Chuck rounded the corner of another building and struggled to avoid having his Sherpa-sized backpack over-balance him, he felt as if he had been running his whole life. Running to something. Running from something. But mostly running in circles, like an airplane in a holding pattern waiting to land. Different places, but the same pattern repeating itself. Almost 3 weeks ago, he had landed. He had arrived at Stanford University.

Chuck was where he wanted to be. Where he dreamed about being. He could finally stop running. Or so he had thought.

17 Days ago

"That should be it," Chuck said, as he stuffed the last bag in the trunk and slammed the lid. Smiling as he heard it latch.

"We're really doing this?" Morgan asked, looking up at Chuck in the dim light.

"We sure are, buddy. Finally! Are those the trip snacks? And my driving juice?" Chuck asked, pointing to the bag and thermos at Morgan's feet.

"Yup," Morgan replied, popping the 'p' as he spoke. "You have your road trip mix ready to rock?"

"Do you even need to ask? And don't worry. These aren't my study tunes. I won't make that mistake again." Morgan laughed at the memory. "Ok, let's get going before my parents wake up and we have to have another round of good-byes and tears. It's almost 6am and we need to get on the road."

Chuck had picked up Morgan and his stuff the previous evening. The plan was for him to spend the night at Chuck's place, so they could get an earlier start the following morning. Morgan's good-bye with his mom had been tearful and poignant. Even then, she wouldn't let them leave until Chuck promised to look out for him. "I'll do what I can, Mrs. Grimes, but you know he is a handful," Chuck had said. Mrs. Grimes had smiled and nodded, while chuckling wetly. She stood waving until they were out of sight, then burst into full on sobbing. Her baby was leaving home for the very first time.

Chuck had completed his packing, arranged his gear, and said his good-byes to his parents, Mary and Stephen, the prior night, after they had gotten back from Morgan's place. Ellie wasn't there for good-byes, since she had already left for Stanford and her first year of medical school back in August. Her classes had even started by month's end, so she would have almost four weeks of work under her belt before Chuck and Morgan even began their classes. Well, Morgan, at least. Chuck had to start meeting with his professors almost as soon as they got on campus.

The senior Bartowski's would still be asleep when he planned on leaving in the morning and he didn't want them to feel compelled to get up to see him off. His good-byes were a bit more light hearted than Morgan's had been. After all, this wasn't the first time he had left home to go away to school. Those other times had been far more difficult than this parting and those schools had been much farther away than the five-hour drive from Burbank to Palo Alto. This was the final leg of the journey he had begun more than ten years earlier. To finally meet people and have time enough to just hang out. Something besides classes, labs, and projects. Wow. Be able to finish school and get on with his life. Chuck could scarcely believe it. He was excited and, if he were honest with himself, terrified in equal measure.

"Heelllooo," Morgan called, softly. "Ground control to Major Chuck. Can you hear me Major Chuck?"

Chuck pulled himself out of his musings. "Sorry, buddy. Lost in thought."

"Oh really?" Morgan grinned. "I couldn't tell."

Chuckling and shaking his head at his friend, Chuck unlocked the car and got in. Morgan did likewise, sliding the snack bag and thermos onto the floorboard beside him. As they buckled up, they each pulled on sunglasses.

Chuck looked over at Morgan. "It's 348 miles to Palo Alto, we have a full tank of gas, a grocery bag of snacks, it's mostly dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."

Morgan pointed towards the front of the car, out through the front windshield. "Hit it."

Whooping, they pulled out of the parking lot and began their college adventure.

After a couple of miles, Morgan spoke up. "Remember Walter, any Gnome-mobile jokes or comments on this trip means no snacks for you."

Merging on to I-5, Chuck grinned at his oldest friend. "We're way past that. You done all growed up, Cletus. The beard says so."

"I may be all growed up, but I'm still shorter than you are, Sasquatch. And I've had the beard since the start of middle school. It's old news." Morgan thought for a moment. "Hey, maybe you should be Chewie at Halloween this year and I'll be Han. You're certainly tall enough for it."

"Morgan, buddy, two things. Most people are shorter than me. Second, you're already halfway to Chewie right now. It takes less effort to get you into both costume and character. Not to mention that the Han stuff is all my size and the Chewie stuff is all your size." Chuck grinned, shaking his head.

"Ah, man! Guess you're right." Morgan grumped. "We should save our fun money for more important things like food. …And girls."

"Who's we, paleface?"

"Ok, ok. I know. You're the man with the plan and the dollars to prove it." Morgan acknowledged. Changing the subject, he continued, "Let's say we pop in some tunes. Huh?"

"Sounds good. The CDs are in there." Chuck gestured at the glove compartment. "Pick one, any of them are fine." Morgan popped the door, stuck his hand in, and pulled out a random CD. He took it out of its jewel case and slid it into the player in the dashboard. Music filled the confines of the car.

Rollin' rollin' rollin'

They looked at each other through their sunglasses. "Perfect," they said together and laughed.

He may have been laughing on the outside, but, on the inside, Chuck was concerned. He wondered about a number of things, just then. Classes, research, baseball, having a roommate, even if it was Morgan, especially if it was Morgan, and girls. Particularly, girls. They were almost entirely uncharted waters for him. He could deal with girls in class or labs. Working together on projects. But socially? Just hanging out and talking? Or…dating? Hell, just being around them with no school stuff to fill the awkwardness. Well then, he was as good as lost at sea on a cloudy night with no map and no compass. All creek, no paddle. He wanted to fix that, but no idea how to go about it. Compared to that problem, figuring out how to get Morgan to stop sleeping naked would be a snap.

The trip itself was pleasant and uneventful, no small thing on California highways. Besides singing along to the songs playing on the car's stereo system or talking about what snacks to consume next, they didn't talk too much. The only issue they faced was that they were so excited to be heading to Palo Alto that it was hard for them to avoid putting the pedal down in an effort to get there sooner. Not one to use cruise control, Chuck kept a level head, mostly, and followed I-5 out of Burbank and the northwestern Los Angeles suburbs. The sun was up completely by the time they passed Six Flags Magic Mountain. They both looked over at the park, wistfully remembering fun times there from their childhood. I-5 turned more northwest just south of Bakersfield, low dry hills in the distance off both sides of the road. As they got past Bakersfield, the hills dropped down and became lush fields, flat as a table in all directions. Some higher ground was visible way off in the distance, getting lost in the haze when the air heated as the sun climbed higher in the pale blue sky. Not a cloud in sight.

"It's a beautiful day." Morgan observed.

"Sure is, buddy. Even more so since we're heading to Stanford." Chuck smiled; excitement evident in his voice. Morgan nodded his agreement.

The miles rolled on and the snack bag slowly emptied, along with the thermos. Morgan changed the CDs as each one finished. After a few hours, they pulled off at a Chevron just south of the Erreca Rest Area to take a break at the truck stop, stretch their legs, and top off the gas tank.

"Where are we on the trip, Chuck?" Morgan asked, knowing Chuck had the route and distances fixed in his head.

Chuck calculated for a second before replying. "We're about 240 miles into the trip and have just over 100 miles to go. So, about an hour and a half more driving to get to Oz."

"We won't be in Kansas anymore, that's for sure."

Feeling refreshed and refueled, they got back on the road. I-5 gave way to route 33 which, in turn, led over to route 101 and that told them they were almost on the final leg of the journey. Just on the southern edge of San Jose, Chuck turned west to skirt San Jose before a final turn for the run in to Palo Alto. They looked at each other and noticed they were both wearing silly, excited grins.

They arrived close to 11am, so maybe Chuck drove a bit over the posted limit, but only a little. They didn't get noticed by the highway patrol. Driving in to Stanford from the west near the golf course meant they were on the opposite side of the campus from where they needed to be. Using his mental map, Chuck located Campus Drive and followed it around until he found a parking lot close to the athletic department offices in the Arrillaga Family Sports Center. Pulling into a spot, they took off their sunglasses and looked at each other.

"Here we go, buddy," Chuck said. They both took deep breaths and got out of the car. Locking the car, they walked side by side back up Campus Drive towards the athletic offices. There was a big sign by the main door that declared "Welcome Student-Athletes". Taking another deep breath and letting it out, they walked through the door.

Inside the building were a series of folding tables set up. Students stood in front of the tables and athletic staff members were sitting behind them. Standing in front of the tables, close to the main doors was a woman holding a clipboard. She was smiling at them, expectantly.

"Hello, my name is Mrs. Hershey," the woman said. "And Who might you two fine gentlemen be?"

Chuck wasn't used to talking much to people his own age, but he was very used to talking to school administrative staff. "I'm Chuck Bartowski and this is Morgan Grimes."

"Welcome to Stanford, Chuck. And Morgan. What are your sports?" she asked.

"Baseball, Ma'am, for both of us," Chuck replied.

Mrs. Hersey consulted the list on her clipboard. "Here you are. Now, I'll need to see some id and then I'll give you the rundown on what's happening behind me." Chuck and Morgan pulled out their driver's licenses and Mrs. Hershey checked them off against her list. "Perfect," she said.

"Ok, here's how this works." Mrs. Hershey explained. "You go to the left-most table and work your way to the right-most table. Each table will have you completing one step in the process of getting you settled here at Stanford. You will get your student id card, which will double as your dining card. Next, you'll receive your housing assignments and pick up your room key. You can make your dining plan selection at that time, too, or you can wait and do that next week at the dining services office. Then you'll make your parking permit selection, if you have a car on campus. The final table over on the right is where you'll receive your sport packet handout and any other information pertinent to your sport." Mrs. Hershey finished and took a breath before continuing. "Any questions for me, so far?" Both Chuck and Morgan shook their heads 'no'. "Ok, if not, head to that left-most table and get the ball rolling."

Chuck and Morgan thanked her and walked to the left-hand table and joined the end of the short line waiting there. While they waited, they took the free time to look around a bit. Behind their table was a white board fixed to the wall and a camera attached to a machine centered in front of the board. Students were being directed to stand on a mark in front of the board and get their student id pictures taken. Each student waited a few minutes until the machine spat out an id card with their information and picture on it. Afterwards, the students were directed to the next table to the right. By the time they had registered all of this, Chuck and Morgan found themselves at the head of their line.

The man sitting at the table spoke. "Say your last name and then spell it for me, please."

"Bartowski, B-A-R-T-O-W-S-K-I," Chuck said.

"Found it," the man declared, pulling out a pre-printed card from the stack in front of him. "Verify your personal information. If there is an issue, let me know. Otherwise, sign the card at the bottom." Chuck reviewed the card and, finding nothing wrong, picked up a pen from the table and signed the card.

"Ok, come around the table and give your card to the guy at the camera and then follow his instructions."

Chuck took his card, moved around the table, and handed the card to the man at the camera. The man inserted the card into the machine by the camera and directed Chuck to stand on the mark on the floor in front of the white board. "Look at the bright red mark on the top of the camera and hold still, please," the camera man said. The man fiddled with the camera for a bit, held his finger in the air, and pressed the camera button. After about 30 seconds, the machine spat out Chuck's new id card. The cameraman checked the card to make sure it passed muster. Satisfied, he gave it to Chuck and turned to take Morgan's information card and begin the process with him. Chuck waited for Morgan before continuing on to the next table for dorm assignment, since they had requested to be roommates. After a few minutes Morgan had his id and they headed for the housing table.

From that point on, the process seemed to move faster, especially since they were going to be rooming and dining together. They were assigned a double room in Roble Hall and were told they would eat in the Lakeside dining hall nearby. As athletes they were on the full meal plan. They knew that there would be a training table for baseball at some point, but they would adjust their plans then, if necessary. Completing those tasks, they moved over to the parking permit table.

After listening to the campus police officer sitting at the permit desk, Chuck picked a type A parking permit. It was expensive, but the most flexible, allowing him to park in the widest range of lots all over campus, if he needed to.

"Wow. Going first class I see," the officer exclaimed.

"Well, I think that I might need the flexibility that the A permit provides," Chuck replied.

Morgan's eyes widened and he gasped. "Dude, that's going to cost you a fortune. You're not dipping into the Morgan Emergency Money Fund, are you?" he asked uncertainly.

"No worries Morgan," Chuck said.

"If you're sure…" Morgan began to say.

Chuck interrupted. "Morgan… And stop with the puppy dog eyes."

The officer snickered. "Some things never change." Chuck grinned at him and shrugged. Once he paid, the officer handed Chuck his parking sticker, along with a paper that contained the instructions on where and how to apply the sticker to his car. Chuck thanked him and he and Morgan moved on to the last table.

A large, muscular man, wearing a Stanford baseball cap, sat behind the last table, the sports table, scowling. No one was currently standing in front of the table. The man was scowling at nothing or, maybe, at the whole world. When Chuck and Morgan arrived in front of him, his face didn't change.

"Sport and last name," he barked.

"Baseball. Bartowski." Chuck answered. "Base- "

Scowler interrupted Chuck, glaring at Morgan. "Are you mute or something?" Morgan shook his head. "Well? I'm waiting."

"Umm Base-Baseball. Gr—Grimes," Morgan stuttered.

"So, you're two of mine." Scowler growled. "My name's Coach John Casey. I'm the strength and conditioning coach for the baseball team. Retired Major in the Marines. I was out on a recruiting trip back in the spring, otherwise you would have met me when you came up for your campus visits. Call me Coach Casey, Coach, or just Casey. Call me anything else and you'll be calling your mommies. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Coach Casey." Chuck and Morgan responded in unison.

"Outstanding." Casey growled. "Now, Grimes, you're a catcher, right?"

"Yes sir," Morgan answered.

"Don't 'sir' me, boy. I'm retired." Casey barked. "Bartowski, you're a PO, right? Lefty?"

"Yes, that's right, Coach." Casey eyed him up and down for a second and grunted. He picked up two folders, one for each of them with their names on the top.

"Inside your folders, you'll find team information and forms you need to fill out. There is a brief team meeting at 3pm today over at the field. It's behind this building past the aquatic center. You're here early enough that you should be able to get into your dorm room and unpack before the meeting." Casey told them. "Read the information in the folder and fill out the forms before you come to the meeting. Don't forget to bring the forms you filled out with you. If you have any questions about the forms or anything else, we'll deal with them at the meeting. Any questions?"

"No Coach," Morgan shook his head.

"I've got a question, Coach. When do we get our class schedules?" Chuck asked.

"That's part of what's in your packet I just gave you." Casey growled.

"Good deal, thanks Coach. We'll see you at the meeting."

As they walked away, Morgan whispered. "Marines, huh? With all his barking and growling, I understand now why they're called Devil Dogs."

Before Chuck could whisper back, they heard Casey growl. "I'm not deaf, moron. You've just earned yourself your first set of poles, bright and early Monday morning. Welcome to Stanford, numbnuts."

"Yeep." Morgan squeaked. "Oh, man."

"Better mind your Ps and Qs, Morg. This isn't high school or travel ball. And we definitely aren't in Kansas anymore." Chuck snickered, while trying to look sympathetic.

With that, and fearing more retribution, Chuck and Morgan hurried back to the entrance, in silence. As they passed back by Mrs. Hershey, Morgan said. "That wasn't so bad. Hardly took any time at all. Well, expect for… you know who." She heard them and laughed. "You're lucky. When the regular students arrive in 5 days this place will be a madhouse. You'll see." Then she whispered. "Don't mind Casey. He's just a big ol' softie, once you get to know him."

"I hope you're right, Ma'am." Morgan whispered back. "My legs are kind of short and running poles takes me a long time." As they reached the door, they heard Mrs. Hershey giggling. There also might have been chuckling from over at the sport table, but they weren't sure. Whatever it was, it sounded like someone was grinding rocks together.

They got back in Chuck's car and drove back across campus to reach their dorm, Roble Hall. It was a beautiful building done in the Mission Revival style that was prevalent all over Stanford's campus. Chuck found a parking spot close by the dorm where they could stop and unload the car. Morgan found a couple of other early arriving athletes to lend a hand. Between the four of them, it took them very little time to move their stuff into their room and get things arranged. Chuck was very precise when he wanted to be and Morgan had learned long ago to follow his lead when he got in that groove. They thanked the guys who had helped, as they left for their volleyball team meeting. All settled in, Chuck and Morgan agreed to go grab some lunch before coming back and tackling the baseball packet and the forms it contained.

Morgan's nose for good, cheap eats led them to a sandwich place just a bit off campus. They ordered toasted sandwich combos and took them back outside to some tables. They enjoyed the nice weather while they ate and made small talk.

Checking his watch, Chuck saw it was just past 1:30pm. "We better get back to the room and tackle that packet and those forms." He said, getting up to discard his trash.

"Sounds like a plan." Morgan replied, as he got up, too.

Once back in the room, they each opened their packets and began to read. As usual, Chuck was done with the information pages before Morgan could even finish the first page. Chuck looked over his schedule. The schedule held no surprises, since he had worked it all out with his professors before leaving Burbank. He had meetings scheduled with all of them, the next week, to get the ball rolling. There was a note in the packet with a reminder that he had a meeting with the Dean of the Engineering School on Tuesday afternoon. All that was left were the forms that needed filling out. Chuck pulled a pen from his desk and got to work. He had no issues or questions with the forms and finished filling them out in short order. He sat looking out the window over his desk, while he waited for Morgan to complete his tasks.

Morgan eventually finished the forms. He had had a couple of questions, but Chuck was able to help clear them up so that Morgan wouldn't be going into the team meeting with his stuff incomplete.

"Thanks, buddy. I don't need to get into any more trouble with Casey today." Morgan said, checking his desk clock. "Speaking of which, we gotta get a move on. Don't want to be late to the first team meeting."

Agreeing, Chuck grabbed his car keys and, locking their room, they headed back to the car for the drive over to the baseball field. The trip was quick and they found a spot under a tree in the parking lot adjacent to the field. Getting out of the car, they walked towards the field. Chuck's watch showed 2:50pm when they walked through the unlocked gate beside the ticket booth. Entering the complex, they walked down the aisle to where they saw some other players sitting or standing around the front row seats. Waving to some of the guys they recognized from travel tournaments, they took a couple of seats and tried to relax a bit before the coaches showed up. They chatted with a few of the guys they knew and waited.

At 3pm sharp, Coach Graham and his four assistant coaches came out of the clubhouse and joined the milling players. Two other people, a man and a woman, trailed a bit behind the coaching group. Coach Graham was dark-skinned, tall, a bit taller than Chuck, and muscular. He carried himself with an assured sense of command. This was a man who was used to being in charge and getting things done, his way.

"Ok, listen up everyone. We're going to keep this short and sweet. To you new players, welcome to Stanford and Cardinal Baseball. For the rest of you, welcome back. I've met all of you, but to make sure we're all on the same page my name is Langston Graham. You call me Coach Graham or Coach." Coach Graham said, gesturing to the men arrayed around him. "On my right is Coach Mark Klein, infield. Next to him is Coach Brian Kelca, outfield. To my left is Coach Sam Bradbury, pitching. Finally, Coach John Casey, strength and conditioning." Each man waved a hand as he was mentioned. Casey just grunted.

To Chuck, all of the coaches looked fit, focused, and competent. Like they had spent most of their lives on one baseball diamond or another.

Graham continued. "During games, I'll be on third. Coach Kelca will have first. Coach Klein handles player positioning when we're in the field. Coach Bradbury has the pitchers, of course. Coach Casey will manage the dugout and all of you." There were a few groans with that last announcement. Casey growled, as the rest of the coaches tried to hide their smiles. Some of the older players snickered.

"The last two people here are the Turners, Craig and Laura. Mister and Missus." Coach Graham explained. "Craig runs all the team video production for both training and games. Laura is our director of operations. She wears a lot of hats around here. From your perspective she is your go-to person for all things relating to your life here off the field. Classes, books, tutoring, general health, housing, meal plans, etc. Any issues you have with that sort of stuff, you bring to her first. She'll come to me as needed." Graham pointed to his chest. "For anything dealing with you on the field or training room, you come to me. Don't worry, Mrs. Turner's office is right next to mine, so anything l know, she knows and vice versa. Between the two of us and the rest of the staff, we'll take good care of you." A few chuckles.

"Any questions? No? Ok, please get those forms Casey told you to fill out and bring them up to him. If any of you have questions about the forms, come up and talk to Mrs. Turner."

After a bit of awkward shuffling, the players sorted themselves out and turned in their forms to a gruff Coach Casey. A few of the players needed help from Mrs. Turner, but not many, and their forms were soon finished and turned in, as well.

Coach Graham got everyone's attention, again. At that point, he went over all of the other information contained in their packets. "Any questions on any of that stuff? No? Okay then. Follow me to the clubhouse. We've got some training gear and your backpacks to hand out. Practice gear will come a bit later. Game gear much later."

After trooping into the clubhouse, the coaches each hurried to a different table. Players got stacks of different team tee-shirts, sweats, shorts, socks, running shoes, training shoes, workout shoes, and shower sandals. They also received one of the famous red backpacks which identified them as Stanford athletes, along with their first Stanford baseball cap. Finally, they got a team duffel bag to dump all their stuff in.

"Ok, guys that's it for today. You're permitted to wear your team gear outside of workouts and practice, but remember that when you do, you represent this team and this school. You best not embarrass either one. If anything gets damaged, come see me. Be back here Monday morning at 6:00am. Wear your new gear with the training shoes. Bring the other shoes and sandals along in your duffels. We'll deal with the player introductions and go over the fall workout schedule and deal with any other particulars then. Until then, you're dismissed." Graham concluded, but then paused. He looked pointedly at Morgan. "Anyone, with an extra training session needs to be here at 5:30 sharp Monday morning." Morgan reddened, embarrassed. Chuck just shook his head and tried not to grin as he patted his friend on the back.

They both shouldered their duffels and headed back out to Chuck's car. Chuck's steps were lighter than they had been for a good long while. He felt like a weight was slowly lifting off his back and couldn't deny that he was happy. Happy to be at Stanford. Happy to be getting on with baseball.

Chuck was happy for 4 days. On the fifth day, the crazy day when the normal students started arriving on campus, they found him. The reporters.

Reporters. Pfft. More like vultures. They found him coming out of the baseball complex after a meeting with Coach Graham. He made the mistake of trying to talk to them. They wouldn't take truth for an answer. Didn't believe that he would turn down all that money just to go to school. As if Stanford was 'just a school'. They were sure that there had to be more to the story. There wasn't, but they didn't believe him. Chuck told them he would turn it down before they made the offer and no one believed him. Once he got the offer and he turned it down, like he said he would, everyone was stunned. Idiots. True, it was a lot of money, but Chuck had been adamant about what he wanted to do. It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone. No one believed and, so, the reporters swarmed.

First it was the reporters. Then the Annies got wind of it and joined in. It didn't take too long until the crowd chasers got curious and, wanting to put their two cents in, decided to add to the fun.

They staked out the field. They followed him around campus and hung around any building he went in. Chuck had no idea how they found out which dorm he was in, but they staked it out, too. He complained, but the reporters just kept a low profile and let the Annies take over the overt chase. The reporters had outfoxed him. The Annies and their followers were Stanford students and he had no way to call them off. As long as they didn't physically assault him, he was stuck dealing with it himself. Chuck guessed he could run to Graham, but he didn't take advantage of that unless he absolutely had no other choice. Also, they weren't around all the time, usually showing up just when he wished they wouldn't. They were annoying, not criminal. So, he started to run. Long legs came in handy.

Present – October 1

Chuck had learned, after enduring almost two weeks of people pestering him, off and on, to look around before he went anywhere. Trying to spot anyone lurking in wait. This time he looked down out of a window as he exited his computer science seminar. Noticing familiar faces milling around the Computer Science Department's main entrance, although, strangely, not that Jill-pain-in-the-ass person, he shouldered his overstuffed backpack and took the stairs down to the first floor and out the side entrance. Unfortunately for him, they learned, too, and had someone on the side door to watch for just such a move. And the chase was on.

He ran south across the road and past the Byte Café. Running down Pueblo, Chuck turned right into the trees bordering the Spiker Building, trying to lose them. He cut across the quad and ran between Hansen and Moore, zig-zagging around the line of trees there. Chuck hunched over to reseat his backpack and try to appear smaller and less conspicuous. All he accomplished was to look like a 6'4" hunchback carrying a small mountain on his back, causing people to point and start laughing. In other words, very conspicuous. It was harder to run that way and he did hear shouts back off in the distance, again. Giving up his 'disguise', Chuck sped up and ran on. More than one set of female eyes followed him with interest and smiles. He was oblivious.

Chuck ran down Lomita Mall, while trying to think of someplace he could hide to throw them off his trail. He was tired of running. He wasn't tired from running, though. After all the workouts, all the calisthenics, weight-lifting, laps in the pool, running poles, and all the other stuff he'd been doing forever, left him in great shape. No, Chuck was just tired of the running, this situation with stupid reporters. Tired of being part of a scene that reminded him of the end of that show, Benny Hill, that he'd watched with his dad when he was little. All that was missing was the goofy music.

After one of the previous incidents, Chuck knew not to run toward his dorm. They'd have that area staked out for sure, which annoyed him. Probably that's where Jill p.i.t.a. was lurking. If he could've run in that direction, he might have seen that tall blond with her equally tall, auburn-haired friend, he had seen walking together, in the distance, a few days ago. They had been too far away to know for sure, but, even from a distance, they appeared striking. Particularly, the blond. Chuck had wondered what color her eyes were. Pulling himself back to the present, with difficulty, he ran east around Geocorner and moved through the trees along the Escondido Mall. Feeling the beginnings of one of those headaches coming on, Chuck knew he needed to find a place to stop and go through his process to prevent it getting worse. He was now in an older part of campus and that gave him an idea. Turning south by the Archaeology Building, he headed for Helman Hall.

Helman Hall was tucked between TAP and the bookstore. It had been a classroom originally, but over the years it had played many roles. Currently, it was used for the odd special event, but mostly, it was used by various student organizations to hold their meetings. He hoped it was unlocked and unoccupied. His headache was getting steadily worse.

Running up to the entrance, he looked around to see if he could see anyone running after him. The immediate area was empty and he couldn't see anyone, in the distance, running his way. Holding his breath and praying, Chuck tried the door. Yes! He yanked it open and rushed in.

Chuck tried to close the door quietly to avoid having anyone outside hear it rattle. He squatted behind it, straining every part of his body trying to hear if anyone was outside. Being so focused on any noises outside, he failed to see the people arrayed behind him in the center of the room. Nor did he notice how the air felt charged, like during a summer storm. Just before a lightning strike.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" A voice yelled. A female voice. An angry female voice.

Chuck froze.

Slowly, he pivoted on the balls of his feet and faced into the room. He saw a group of girls … no … women … no … young women. Students? He was in the shadow of the entryway and couldn't make out any details due to the bright lights in the middle of the room shining in his eyes. The headache was really getting bad, making his brain sluggish.

"I said, what the hell do you think you're doing?" It was coming from the gi- the woman in the middle of the group. Was she the leader? The boss?

"Uh … I … uh," Chuck stuttered.

"Oh, get up off the floor and come into the light where we can see you." Definitely the boss said, exasperated.

Chuck started to move towards the group while slowly standing up. He reached his full height just as he came fully into the light. The charge in the air was increasing. Even sluggish Chuck vaguely noticed it, although it hadn't fully registered, yet. His head was really hurting. He didn't have much time.

"Oh, wow," said a voice.

There was a low whistle.

"Holy …," came a third.

"Tall …," said someone else.

"Dark …," another voice.

Chuck's brain registered that there were a number of young women in the room, but not how many. Not at that moment.

"What's your deal?" said the woman in the middle, irritated. The boss.

Chuck focused on the speaker. Laser focused. He registered blond hair. Tall. And … Eyes. Blue. Blue eyes. Deep blue eyes. Sparking. Sparking like fire on the surface of a crystal-clear ocean.

He dove in that ocean. And was gone.

A/N3: For those of you who may know the Stanford campus, Helman Hall is my creation. It's located where the Stanford Clubhouse stands in reality.

A/N4: Eternal gratitude and thanks to WillieGarvin for beta-ing this story and giving all sorts of good advice and encouragement. I promise I didn't slow down his writing on New Day. Owww! Stop hitting me! I told you I didn't impact his writing schedule. Oww! Stop it! He told me that himself.

A/N5: It's a beginning. Slow, but building up steam. Who's the blonde? What's her story? Find that out next chapter. Drop me a PM or a review. Let me know what you think. If you've gotten this far. Thanks for reading.