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: Pro-tip: leaving an anonymous review for a fic telling the writer you don't like this fic and you can't wait for it to be over so that said writer will go back to posting other ongoing fics you actually like is a good way to never see another chapter of your fave ongoing fic ever again. Don't think I won't, because I can and will. :) Enjoy!

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.

Sarah was in a complete haze as she listened to their little basement audience make a ruckus. She laughed breathlessly as Zondra's hand swept in front of her face. She grabbed it and they stepped into each other's bodies in a handshake-hug hybrid around their instruments, both of them beaming.

And then Chuck and Morgan were in front of the camera, clapping, gesturing back over their shoulders at the band. She thought they said something, maybe they were talking to Vera. Dylan was maybe waving at the camera…? Oh, so was Zondra.

Sarah lifted her hand to wave, still beaming. She hadn't had that much fun performing in a long-ass time, if ever. And that was saying something because Critical Hellfire was always fun. Even on the hard nights, during difficult gigs when they knew they'd get shit-all out of it from the venue, they had fun.

But this eclipsed all of that.

And millions of people were watching apparently. Around the world.

"Cut! We're off! That's a wrap!"

Chuck and Morgan each let out a loud whoop, turned to one another, and raised both of their hands up over their heads to high-five.

The one thing that seemed to snap her out of her haze was the nervous energy she was sensing from Chuck once he turned away from Morgan.

Why was he nervous? They did it. It was over. And now they waited…

On second thought…

Maybe they didn't have to wait.

Because she followed Chuck's nervous gaze and standing next to the steady camera was Diane Beckman. She would know the severe business suit, the red hair piled on her head, and that scowling, permanently annoyed pretty face in any crowd. Sarah could only stare as the women uncrossed her arms and made her way towards the band.

There was only a slight smile on her face as she approached (slight smile on this woman's face was good, wasn't it?!), and Sarah was close to fainting. She'd ruin all of this if she fainted though, so she kept her footing, simply staring. Gaping even. Gawking.

What in the fuck was happening?

Did Chuck know she'd show up like this…?

By the startled look on his face as he scampered after Diane Beckman, Sarah was relatively sure the woman had shocked him with her appearance in his basement as well.

"Uh-Uh, Ms. Diane Beckman. I'm-I'm-I'm Chuck Bartowski. This is Morgan Grimes. We're the hosts of Games N Rock Sessions. Well, form-formerly a show, but it's gonna be one…again. We just have to procure legal counsel to get a production company off our asses—backs. Off our backs," Chuck was rambling.

But Diane had already stopped right in front of her.

All Sarah Walker could do was continue gawking.

Here was an absolute Goliath in her own right, the most powerful woman in the rock music industry right now, and she was standing right in front of her…in the flesh, looking her right in the eye.

She stuck her hand out for Sarah to shake. Holy shit, she'd better figure out how to make her hand move. And quick.

"And this is Sarah Walker, lead singer and bassist of Critical Hellfire," Chuck said.

The pride in his voice… Oh, she couldn't take this. She was crumbling. She had to fucking keep it together. She'd never been this close to freaking out before in her life.

"Diane Beckman," the much shorter woman said in her crisp, clear tone. "Founder and CEO of NSA."

"She runs the NSA?" Sarah heard one of the Buy More guys hiss.

"Sh!"

"Diane Beckman," she heard come out of her own mouth. Her voice was oddly calm as she took the other woman's hand. The grip was firm, but it was also steadying. Reassuring. "I know who you are. Of course I know who you are. You're a tentpole for the entire metal genre. We wouldn't even be here if you didn't work so hard to keep this music alive. North Star Audio is-is a beacon. For all of us."

How was she even getting these words out? What in the good God golly fucking shit hell was happening?

"Yes, well… That's what I set out to do." Diane let go of her hand, turning to glance at the rest of the band. "I always do what I set out to do."

She waited a bit expectantly…

Oh. Oh, shit!

Sarah spun towards Rizzo. "This is Zondra Rizzo, our rhythm guitarist, but, uh, she shares lead guitar duties sometimes."

Zondra grabbed Beckman's hand almost forcefully. "Diane…"

Beckman tilted her head a bit, standing up a bit taller, a small smirk growing on her tight lips. "Zondra…"

"And Mac—"

"Malcolm Tucker, ma'am. I do the beats." He rushed forward and shook her hand enthusiastically, her smaller hand trapped behind his two larger ones.

"Good to meet you, Malcolm."

She turned to Dylan and he shook her hand as well, the same awe and confusion Sarah was dealing with reflected in his face.

"Young man, that cover of 'Dirty Little Mind' was absolutely filthy," she said, giving him a severe look. She waited a beat, before announcing, "I fucking loved it."

The room erupted and Sarah found herself doubled over in laughter.

"Dylan Sinquah," Critical Hellfire's typically lead guitarist said, shaking his head with a beaming grin that lit up the whole basement. And how 'bout that, he was blushing. She didn't think she'd ever seen this man blush before, not for anything. "It is an honor to meet you, Diane Beckman, ma'am." He pressed his free hand over his heart.

"Honor is mine."

Finally, as the music mogul turned on her heel to regard all of them, not just Sarah, she noticed, but every member of the band, there was a real smile on her face. The severe lines in her forehead smoothed out, and her body language was open, inviting.

"I'm going to kick those two producers of mine's asses when I see them next for pulling this trick without giving me a heads up. They gave me zero warning, the little assholes. Trust me, they're in big trouble," she said, narrowing her eyes with a smirk that made Sarah think—hope—she was being droll. "But my girl Vera has been receiving endless comments, emails, messages all over her social media. Her show viewers want to know where they can hear…Critical Hellfire, you said you were called?" Sarah nodded eagerly, scared to breathe. Literally terrified to breathe. "They want to know where they can hear more from you wild kids."

Sarah felt the pressure of someone's hand on her back… likely one of her bandmates giving her the go ahead to be their collective voice. She cleared her voice. "Well, we don't have an album…as of yet. I put up the money for us to get a demo or two recorded for our, um, booking agent to give to venues while getting us gigs."

"Ex-booking agent," Dylan muttered. "We…sort of fired him."

Oh, yeah. They did do that. A quick phone call, an adios, and…oh boy…oops… This probably wasn't the best time for them to not have any representation whatsoever. No booking agent, no agent of any kind. Just two incredible guys with a webcam (well, two expensive cameras now) and a basement, two guys who believed in them.

But no agents.

"Right," she said, her teeth clicking on the t.

"So you're just floating around out here with no record deal, no booking agent, no representation?" Beckman asked, raising an eyebrow. "With this kind of talent?"

"At the moment…yes?" Sarah answered, wincing.

"We've paid agents in the past, but our Games N Rock Sessions guys have given us the best representation we've gotten in the three years since we got together as a band," Mac said.

And what he said was the God damn truth, wasn't it? For as lackadaisical as Bob had been, and Cole Barker's shallow guise at being their band's "savior", the short stint they had with an "agent" named Gil who ended up prioritizing cocaine over everything else and got fired within two months of representing them, Chuck Bartowski and Morgan Grimes had stuck their necks out, climbed out onto limbs, put their own careers on the chopping block, their reputation, any amount of future they might have in the business they wanted to be in… And they'd done all of that for Critical Hellfire.

Sarah turned to look at Chuck, the way he stood with his arm propped on Morgan's shoulder, grinning so hard she thought he might explode. Just watching it all unfold, everything he'd done, everything they'd both done.

"Mac's right," she said. "They set all of this up and we've never had this many people see us perform before. Just gigs that paid us with beer and Guitar Center gift cards, sometimes cash in hand as we walked out the door, depending on how business had gone that night. They…built this, too." She gestured to the performance and rehearsal area.

"Well, they did good work. Great work, even. In fact, I don't even know how in the hell they pulled this off." Chuck and Morgan brushed off their shoulders for one another comically. "But I think North Star Audio can do better."

Beckman folded her hands together in front of her, tilting her head. "We're going to talk in a, uh, more professional setting when I get back from Chicago." She snapped her fingers and a young man rushed over to her. He handed her a business card, which she held out towards Sarah. "This is my personal information. That's how you can reach out to me, directly."

Oh God, it was happening. It was all happening. Right there in Chuck and Ellie Bartowski's basement. Sarah's bass still slung around her neck.

Oh.

She should probably take it off.

She did, hurriedly setting it in its nearby stand, and she stepped in to take the card. "Wow. Yes. Okay. Oh my God, thank you. Thank you, Ms. Beckman."

"Diane," the woman corrected. "I think we're all gonna be on a first name basis in the coming months. Now, I have a private jet that's been waiting for me." She turned to the young lackey. "Len, get their info for me." As she turned to leave, she called back over her shoulder: "I'll get in touch with you all in a week. Then we'll talk business. We'll find the right label for you. And then we're gonna cut an album."

Fuck.

Sarah's knees wobbled.

"Ms…" She stopped herself. "Diane, thank you. You have no idea how much we—"

"Oh, I know." The woman stopped at the bottom step in the utter silence of the room, and she looked around the place. "I understand more than you know."

Morgan cleared his throat. "It was so amazing to meet you!" he rushed out.

She smirked. "Oh, I know that, too."

And she laughed, throwing her head back as she left.

"What. A. Fucking. Legend," Sarah heard Ellie blurt in the stunned silence.

Laughter exploded through the basement. Zondra, Mac, and Dylan tackled her then, all four of them letting out high-pitched squeals, jumping up and down awkwardly and messily in a mass of stupid, joyous, glorious rockers.

"RELEASE THE KRAKEN!" she heard the toga-wearing Nerd Herder yell.

When Critical Hellfire let go of one another, Sarah threw her head back with a breathless laugh, covering her face in her hands, giving herself a moment to just stand in the utter rapture of what this all meant. Not just for her, but for her band.

The biggest music mogul in the business, a woman who'd clawed her way to the top of a male-dominated music industry in the the male-dominated rock genre let alone in the metal sub-genre, just walked up to them, learned they had no representation, and stepped in to be their representation.

She could have pegged them as unprofessional, as naive, inexperienced beginners with no idea of what they were even doing. And instead she took them in. She was taking care of them. Holy shit.

Sarah pushed her fingers through her hair, still not able to really absorb what had just happened.

"A record deal!" Mac squealed, lifting his drumsticks out of his belt loop where he'd stuck them and holding them up as if to the Heavens. "We're making an album! With NSA!"

Their crowd closed in on them, patting their arms, shoulders, backs, hugging them, people Sarah hadn't even met yet, some of them giving her hugs that were maybe a little too long, but fuck it. Who cared?

This was the biggest moment of her life.

Where was he?

She realized suddenly that she hadn't shared this moment with the one man, more than anyone, who had made it possible, who'd given them the opportunity to do what they did best in front of people who could make something happen for the band.

And he'd put himself out majorly to do it. He'd finagled what should've been impossible. No, he hadn't even finagled. He'd pushed, with determination and hard work, to put all of this together.

But then his sister was there instead, gathering her up in a tight hug. "I'm so proud! This is so amazing!" the older woman said through tears. "I don't even know why I'm crying! I think I'm just overwhelmed!"

Sarah laughed, squeezing her back. "I don't know that any of it has hit me yet, and I'm sure when it does, I'll be sobbing," she said though her laughter.

Ellie pulled back, wiping at her cheeks, nodding vehemently. "Well, when that happens, you call me, and I'll come over with buckets of wine."

"Deal!"

Suddenly a pair of arms lunged around her from behind and she squeaked in surprise, cracking up at feeling a familiar pair of lips against her cheek, hearing an equally familiar, joyous tinkle of laughter in her ear.

He lifted her off of the floor with an, "Ahhhhh! Congratulationnnnnns!"

And when he set her down again, his embrace loosening just enough, she spun to face him immediately, her hands on his shoulders, their eyes meeting.

"You fucking nut, you did it," she mumbled, shaking her head, moving in for a proper hug. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, taking a deep breath. She squeezed him for all she was worth, loving the way he tucked his hand under the blanket of her hair and slid his cool fingers over the hot skin of the back of her neck. She knew she was sweating, there especially, and he didn't seem to care as he pulled her even closer.

"Hey, no. We merely built the stage. You had to put in the performance an' you fuggin' did," he finished with a cute silly drawl.

"Without this stage you built, we wouldn't have a place to show our worth, Chuck. I don't think I can ever repay you for this. None of us can."

"I'm not asking for repayment. Don't need it, don't want it."

They both pulled back to look each other in the eye.

"There's a particular pleasure I get in knowing I had a hand in sharing Critical Hellfire with the whole world." He shrugged. "That's repayment enough."

"Sharing, huh? You plan on sharing me?"

Chuck narrowed his eyes, making her giggle. "Don't you go being cheeky now. I'll share the band, and I'll share you with the band, but then I'm drawing a line."

She hummed. "Ooooo. Well, don't worry." She leaned in to press her lips to his in a hot but quick kiss. "I don't wanna be shared."

"Right, because that's objectifying anyway."

She giggled, shaking her head. "You're right." Then she bit her lip at him, feeling a certain thrill making itself known in her lower body. "Hey," she said in a quiet voice, feeling a heady bit of mischief rise in her breast as she remembered there was a bedroom with a lock on the door right upstairs. "Since everyone's down here celebrating, what do you say we—?"

"WE'RE GOING TO A CLUB AND DRINKS ARE ON CRITICAL HELLFIRE!" Dylan bellowed from the place he'd taken on one of the Buy More guys she had yet to meet's shoulders. Things had apparently gotten to piggyback-ride levels as she'd been convening with her boyfriend.

And damn it. That sounded fun. She'd had something else, a different fun, in mind. With a little bit of a pout, she turned back to Chuck and shrugged one shoulder cutely. "Rain check?"

He must've figured out belatedly what she'd been about to suggest and he gasped, his face crumbling in disappointment. "Noooooo, what if we just meet them at the club laterrrr?" he whined, making her crack up and hug him again.

"I love you so much I can barely stand it," she said through her laughter, pulling him close. "You made a promise earlier, before we started streaming. I am expecting you to follow through." She paused as she felt him buzzing under her fingertips. "…After we go clubbing."

Chuck groaned, stepping back from her and leaning forward, bracing his hands on his knees dramatically to make her laugh. It worked. She was filled with glee at his antics, pushing her fingers through his hair adoringly. "You do realize that Warlock song you guys performed is about you, yeah?" he asked, looking up at her though his eyelashes.

"Oh, I know it," she said with a wink. And then she turned to face her guitarist. "Where we goin', Dyl?!" she bellowed, hearing Chuck groan again behind her.

}o{

"Earth to Chuck…"

He snapped out of it, shaking his head, turning to look at Captain Awesome who'd been regaling him with his expertise at editing the stream for the MetalMania performance earlier that night. "Sorry, I'm listening. You were brilliant, bro. Seriously. Can't thank you enough."

"Ahhhh…" Awesome shook a chastising finger at the younger man even as he grinned toothily at him. "I see what's got you so distracted. Your girl is out there on the dance floor gettin' her groove on."

Chuck laughed, shaking his head again. He took a drink from his bottle of beer and shrugged. "No, I was listening, I swear."

But he had been watching Sarah dance with Mac and Zondra. There was so much unbridled joy in her, nothing held back, nothing behind any facades, no fortress walls raised. Like a weight she'd been carrying for what ended up being years had been lifted tonight.

And he realized he didn't care that it was him who'd done it. It wouldn't have mattered if it was any other Tom, Dick, or Harry who'd done it. The weight had been lifted, and her band was finally on a trajectory, a good trajectory. An epic one. Out of the squalor that had been the gig scene they'd traveled around in for the past three years.

She was free.

He could see it in her, spilling out of her even. Singing along with the song, arms raised to the ceiling, bouncing her weight between her boots, back and forth, hips shifting.

And it made him so overwhelmingly happy.

The smile on her face, the light in her eyes.

This was the meaning of life. He'd solved it. This was bliss. Happiness. He'd solved all of those age-old mysteries. Tonight. Case closed.

The answer wasn't 42. It was the sight of his girl—the woman he loved more than anything—dancing, weightless and happy, her dream she'd been working on for years clutched in her hand now. Not out of reach, not even just out of reach. It was in her hands.

"You're doing it again."

Chuck sighed, chuckling, giving Captain Awesome a side-eye. "Okay, fine. But come on. I can't help it. Look at how happy she is, dude. This is everything. My insides are filled with puppies, kittens, and little baby chicks."

The blonde laughed, throwing his head back. "Well, man, you did it." He pointed at Sarah with his own beer. "That was you. You put that happiness there."

He shrugged. "I dunno. It doesn't matter that it was me. I don't care about that. She's happy. That's all I care about. The band is gonna get all the stuff they deserve, through people who care about bands like Critical Hellfire. People who care about music, about metal."

"Ahhhh, but Chuck…Chuckster, my good man." The surgeon put his hand on Chuck's shoulder with a thump. "That right there is love. Spoken like a man who is truly in love."

"I am not disputing that at all." He smiled, taking another drink. "That feeling has rooted itself deep inside me."

"Oooooh ho ho hoooo, welcome to the Love Club, brother." Awesome gave him a side hug, kissing his temple. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, man."

Ellie came back around to their standing table, pushing hair out of her face. "D'you know how long it has been since I was in a club? I almost forgot that there are lines at women's restrooms in these places. There are like twenty-three stalls and still, there's a line. What the fuck is with that?"

"Women pee slow?" Awesome asked.

Ellie glared. He shrugged innocently. But then Chuck watched as his sister looked around the club, eyeing the dance floor, looking at the bar as well, her lips moving as if she was…

"El, are you doing a headcount?" he asked then, giving her a look.

"What?" She gave him a pretty terrible attempt at an affronted look. "No."

"You promised yourself you weren't going to go all adult supervisor at a field trip on us when we went clubbing tonight," he reminded her. "Remember? You were like, 'I'm not going to supervise this time, I'm going to let myself actually have fun!' Rememberrrrr?" he repeated, raising both eyebrows.

Her shoulders slumped. "I am having fun."

"Everyone is over twenty-one, adults, we're all good. Relax, sis. Anyway, do you really wanna know what Lester's up to?" He shivered as he added, "Or worse, Jeff."

"I do not want to know what Jeff Barnes is doing, no," she said with emphasis, her green eyes going wide.

"Oh damn, I can tell you what Dylan's doing," Awesome cut in.

He pointed at something over Chuck's shoulder. He and Ellie turned to look at where he was pointing.

The guitarist of Critical Hellfire found the hallway that led to the bathroom and a very eager young woman to join him there. He had his hand on her thigh as she wrapped one leg around him, and they were making out heavily.

Chuck couldn't help the sensation of envy in him. He hadn't forgotten the promises he and Sarah had been making each other all night. The heavy touches and blatant flirtation, the bedroom eyes she refused to stop flashing at him all night. But it had also been close to an hour since she went out on the dance floor without him and he was letting her enjoy herself.

He didn't need to be a part of her enjoyment every single second.

…And also, he wanted to find a corner like that with her.

Really, he wanted to go home, lock his bedroom door, and make good on his promise to her.

But he would have to wait.

"Huh. Good for him," Ellie muttered. "Makes sense, though. He's super hot."

Chuck gave Awesome a significant look at that. Awesome shrugged. "She's right. He's a certified babe." He counted off on his fingers. "The talent, the looks, and the charm? Knockout status, bro."

Ellie beamed at her boyfriend, fisting his shirt and moving up to press a sizzling kiss to his lips. Chuck wrinkled up his face and sighed, rolling his eyes. When his sister broke the kiss with her boyfriend, she muttered, "And that right there is one of the many reasons why I adore you. Let's go find another hallway. Or maybe there's a back door into an alley somewhere."

"Really?" Chuck complained. "Right in front of me?"

Ellie sent him an arch look. "What? You told me to have fun. I'm gonna go have fun."

She wiggled her fingers in a wave, grabbed her boyfriend's hand, and dragged him away as Awesome shoved the last quarter of his beer into Chuck's hand with an excited, "All right!"

Sighing, he set the beer down, along with his own now empty bottle, leaning back against the club's carpeted wall and grinning out at the throngs of dancers.

He wished he liked dancing a bit more but he kind of sucked and after about five minutes, he got sloppy and frustrated and it ceased to be as fun anymore. He was more than happy watching.

But then a body crashed into his side and he let out a bubbly giggle, hugging Sarah back as she hummed, pressing her chin into his shoulder and beaming at him. "Hi."

"Hello."

She reached around him, picking up his bottle, shaking it, finding it empty, and moving onto the next one. "Whose is this?"

"Captain Awesome's."

"Think he wants it?"

"Ellie dragged him somewhere to make out so probably not."

"Can I have it? I'm having it." She pulled it to her lips and finished it in a few gulps, letting out a sigh and thunking the bottle back onto the table, empty this time. "I'm still not blackout drunk," she explained with a cute pout. "I'm gonna buy another drink. Wanna come?"

Chuck pursed his lip and narrowed one eye, humming. "Well, listen, I think you get to do whatever the hell you wanna do tonight, and if that means getting blackout drunk, I support you…"

"Thank you for your tacit permission, Curls McGruder."

He giggled at that random freaking nickname. She was so freaking dorky when she was buzzed.

"Thing is, if you do get blackout drunk, I'm not even remotely comfortable engaging in any level of sexual acts with you. Not any of the bases. Maybe first base…" He thought about it. "Yeah, first base is okay."

Her jaw dropped. And then it snapped shut and she blinked. "Okay, I'm gonna get a giant glass of water. Wanna come?"

He cracked up as she gave him a wolfish grin and dragged him with her to the bar. She was struggling to have the bartender pay attention to her, though, and as she continued trying, he felt another presence at his elbow.

Chuck turned to see Zondra Rizzo standing there. She gave him one of her enigmatic smiles, then nudged him with her shoulder. "Hey, hot shot."

"Sup. Having fun?"

"I am." She cleared her throat, almost as if she had something she wanted to say. And then she snorted and gestured at Sarah who again failed to get the bartender's attention, thrusting her hand out with an incensed Ugh and slapping that hand against the bar top in annoyance. "Look at Blondie over here. Finally someone immune to her pretty blue eyes with her supermodel good looks. She ain't used to it."

He grinned, eyeing his girlfriend. "Immune? Pffft. Couldn't be me."

That made the brunette laugh. "Uh, yeah. I can tell." She cleared her throat again, sobering up a little. "Hey, um…Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm…sorry."

Chuck furrowed his brow in confusion. "Sorry? What for?"

"Yeah, uh…about the phone yesterday. When you called Dylan and I took it from him and basically…dragged your ass. As nicely as I could, but still…"

"Oh." This time he cleared his throat. "No, hey. Listen, don't be sorry. I'm not. I appreciated it. Still do. You told me stuff I needed to hear, Zondra. And I'm glad Sarah's got people who'll stick up for 'er the way you did."

She winced. "Well, you're a solid dude, so you're being real nice about it. But I'm a hypocrite."

"What? Why you say that?"

He didn't understand where she was going with this.

"After you and I hung up, we got into the van to head out to the desert… It was me and Sar in the front, guys in the back. They fell asleep pretty quickly into the trip and it kind of, uh, left me and Sarah to talk. Girl talk. You know." He didn't really know. "We got to talking about, um…well, you. What happened between you two." His face crumbled in misery. "No, no. Hey. You fucked up, my guy, but nobody's immune to fucking up here and there. It's all water under the bridge now." The guitarist gestured around them. "I mean, look where we're at, thanks to you."

"Technically, Morgan drove my car and you guys took the van. The Buy More fellas came separately in—oh, oh you mean…not literally…here. At this club. I see. Gotcha."

Zondra snorted, giving him a what the fuck look and shaking her head pityingly. He blushed. "Well, my point is, we were talking about everything. I brought up all her skirmishes she had with guys before, and now the thing with you, and I pretty much dragged Sarah to hell and back again over her emotional constipation."

Chuck winced. "Oof."

"Yeah, oof. Here I was asking you not to distract her with your couple fight thing because she had to focus on the music video, and right after when I get her alone, I tell her she needs to figure out how to allow herself to feel shit when it hits her instead of pretending she doesn't feel it." She shrugged. "So I'm sorry for bein' a hypocrite."

"Oh. Wow." He swallowed hard. He was definitely curious about what that conversation sounded like between the two musicians. But he knew he couldn't and shouldn't ask that. Not that she'd ever tell him if he did ask. "It's okay, Zondra." He shrugged. "I really appreciate your apology, though. And I also, um, understand your need to bring that up when you did, how you did. I'm sure Sarah appreciates it, too."

"Not so sure about that," Zondra said with a snicker. "She hates when people try to pull feelings out of her. And I can say that because I hate it, too. Bugs the crap outta me." She shrugged. "Only she playacts, you know? Ol' stone-face, not bothered by anything. Pfffft, dudes treating her like dirt? Bah, whatevs. She'll leave 'em in her dust. Easy. No feelings." She rolled her eyes. "Every single one of them hurt her, but she'd also set herself up to be hurt on purpose because she thought it was easier to be hurt by douchebags than find someone who actually gives a shit, have him turn out to be a dud, too, find out the hard way that all straight guys are duds, and plummet headfirst into a disillusioned depression."

Chuck stared at her, not sure what to say, simply blinking slowly.

She patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, you saved us all from that fate. And I mean, there was always Dylan, too." Chuck made a face. "I just mean as far as good straight guys go," she rushed out. "Not for Sarah to date. She'd never. He'd never. They'd never. No way. They aren't—I mean, that'd be like you dating Ellie."

Chuck pressed his lips together and puffed out his cheeks, widening his eyes.

"Jesus fuck, I'm terrible at this. I'm going to walk away now. I think you get the point. 'Kay bye."

She hurried off, leaving Chuck alone again. "Wow," he muttered to himself.

Then he turned back to Sarah. His very own extremely talented blond mess that fit so perfectly with his less talented but good-hearted dark-haired mess. She was getting mad, he could tell. She just wanted water.

Chuck came up behind her, squished between her and the guy next to her so that his belly button pressed into the edge of the bar, and he leaned in, holding up a hand. "S'cuse me? Can I get two bottles of water, please?"

The bartender came over, took his credit card, ran it, and handed him the bottles and his card with a smile.

"Thanks," he chirped, leaving Sarah slack-jawed.

He slung his arm over her shoulders and led her away from the bar.

"It's sexism!" she argued.

"The bartender is a woman," he chuckled.

"A-ha." She turned and glared back towards the bar. "Then she thought you were cute. While I can't blame her at all, I kind of wanna go smack 'er around for it."

He laughed, blushing. "I'm flattered, Sarah, really. But I don't think she thought I was cute. I think she liked the look of my credit card that I held up, and I raised my voice."

"Could be all three." She moved onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Then again, I like the look of your everything."

Chuck whistled low. "Wow. Good line."

"It was terrible, but I guess I'm in good company."

"Hey!" He rocked forward with a cackle.

The song switched then, the sound of an organ filling the club.

Madonna's voice flooded the place then and Sarah gasped, halfway through her water bottle. "Chuck! I love this song!"

"'Like a Prayer'?" he asked. "I mean, it's a good one, but—"

"Come on!"

He found himself on the dance floor, some of their group there with them, and because Sarah's mood was infectious, he decided to stop letting his own insecurities about dancing fall by the wayside.

Who cared?

Diane Beckman was signing Critical Hellfire to one of her labels, they were going to make an album. Who cared if he looked stupid on the dance floor?

It would take more than that for him to lose this particular girl. He'd done worse than look stupid on the dance floor already, merely a month in on this relationship, and she was still here, giving him a second chance.

He wasn't taking it for granted as he sang every single bit of the lyrics, Vogue-dancing terribly, stomping his feet, jumping around, knowing he wasn't even slightly on beat. And Sarah was eating it up, beaming, laughing, actually dancing like a normal person, singing with him, her voice way more melodic even as she half-yelled it.

And the entire room all sang together, "Leeeet the chooooir siiiiing!"

With a few more wild hops into the air, he couldn't resist the woman in front of him, the way she looked at him with adoration brimming in her face, the joy she was emitting, and he dove in to wrap her up in his embrace and kiss her.

A few of their friends nearby let out the immature, "Wooooooooooooo" and whistles, and he ignored them. He ignored his dumb fear-of-PDA thing. He just kissed her. With everything in him. She tasted like whiskey and Stella Artois and a taste that was purely Sarah Walker.

He wanted more of it. So much more of it.

And when they finally broke for air, the song had ended, moving onto something else, another crowd pleaser, but he just grinned at her, nuzzling her nose.

"Hey," she called up at him, loud enough for him to hear over the music.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sober now."

"I'm not sure if I should say that's good or that's bad," he said loudly back to her.

"Good." She waited a breath. And then: "Think they'll be mad if we ditch outta here and go back to your place?"

Chuck felt a delicious heat curl through him like a lurid plume of warm smoke. "Is the answer 'I don't care either way' sufficient for you to wanna ditch outta here and go back to my place?"

"Yes," she said after a moment's thought.

"I don't care either way," he replied immediately.

"Great, let's go."

They laughed together as they snuck out of the club, to the parking lot and his car. Chuck sent Morgan a text letting him know he'd have to hitch a ride with someone else. There were things Chuck needed his car for.

And those things caused him to slam his foot on the gas pedal in a way that jolted both of them back against their seats, sending Sarah into peels of laughter.

A/N: Sarah said GIMME THAT FRESH AND REJUVENATING WATER hahahahahahaha!

-SC