A/N: The promised change in POV.
This short chapter will, I believe, give you a much firmer idea where we are in the timeline.
Thanks, as always, for the fine work of my beta, michaelfmx. Any errors you run across are my responsibility.
Don't own Chuck et al.
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AT LOOSE ENDS
Chapter 2: Him
At loose ends.
I looked it up.
Not knowing what to do, esp. because of an upsetting change.
I.E. Charles Irving Bartowski
No, not really. But they could've added that last bit. After all, my life is pretty much a perfect case in point.
Have you ever seen a baseball game where the hitter connects solidly with the ball, so solidly that he's already rounding first, confident he's hit a home run, but then the wind carries the ball into foul territory?
Stanford had been my swing for the fences. I'd worked hard, gotten my scholarship, then worked even harder. But just when home-plate was within reach, so close I could almost taste it, an ill wind blew and I suddenly found myself in foul territory.
That ill wind went by the name of Bryce Larkin. My best friend at Stanford.
He planted tests in my room. It could've only been him. I was expelled for cheating.
And, oh, yeah, he slept with my girlfriend, Jill Roberts, on the same day I was kicked out.
I lost Stanford.
I lost my friend.
I lost my girl.
Three strikes and you're out.
In my rush to flee from the gut-wrenching scene of Bryce and Jill in my bed, I tripped and fell flat on my face.
There I have remained ever since. Sort of.
Sent to the showers, back to Burbank. I had to move back in with my sister, Ellie, and her boyfriend, now husband, Devon.
(That'll be the last baseball metaphor, I promise. It's just that the Dodgers won a hundred games this year and the town's all abuzz about their chances of going all the way.)
Anyway, they're both doctors. Very good doctors. Very good successful doctors.
Which makes me feel really great about my life.
It's not their fault, though. They both take care of me, treat me kindly, patiently.
I've tried to pick myself back up.
I found work at the local Buy More. Put in my eight hours a day. It didn't take more than a month or two before Big Mike, my boss, made me supervisor of the Nerd Herd. If that seems quick, that's only because you don't know the competence level of the people I have to work with. They make my life sound like a success story.
Nerd Herd. I used to think that name was clever.
I don't anymore.
I hang out with my best friend from grade school, Morgan. He works at the Buy More, too.
Between work and gaming nights with Morgan, it may seem like I'm busy.
But I'm not. I'm just killing time. Or letting time kill me.
I lean towards the latter.
It's been six years since I was unceremoniously booted out of my dream school.
Six years of drifting, aimless, rudderless in a world that's far different than the one I'd hoped for, the one I'd planned for.
Did I mention that I'm alone? There'd been a brief interlude when I wasn't. Lou, the woman who owns the deli in the Buy More plaza, had seemed interested for a while, but nothing came of it.
I think we both realized that there wasn't anything there except a momentary physical attraction. And a mutual love for sandwiches.
I'd always thought that petite brunettes were my type, but it didn't hold true with her. Maybe Jill had broken me of the habit.
After we broke up, it didn't take Lou too long to find someone else. The right one. They're engaged.
In the last year or so, there have only been a couple of blips on what is the flatline of my life.
The first happened a year ago today, on my birthday.
Bryce Larkin decided to send me an e-mail. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw his name pop up on the sender line.
It was the first time I'd heard from him since the betrayal.
My instinctive reaction was to open it. Maybe he had some sort of explanation. Perhaps he contacted me to apologize.
I was just about to click on the message when an almost overwhelming rage flooded over me.
Good ole Chuck Bartowski always looks for the best in everyone.
Good ole Chuck Bartowski always gives people a second chance.
Not this time. I was done with Bryce Larkin. He could take his apology and…
You know how the rest goes.
I'm not much given to swearing. In fact, when I was young and the kids in school felt dropping the f-bomb made them feel grown-up, I came up with my private curse/non-curse word.
Mxyzptlk.
I know. An odd, little character from the Superman comics. I laugh about it now, but back then it was my way of differentiating myself from the crowd who wanted little to do with me.
But the more I thought about what Bryce had done to me, my life, I will admit that a few, choice four-letter words did come to mind.
But rather than just fuming, I did something.
I destroyed that message. I mean, I utterly obliterated it. I made sure that every copy of it, no matter what server it resided on, was shredded into tiny, little bits. 0's and 1's scattered randomly like digital confetti.
I'm good at that sort of stuff.
And I took steps to make sure that Bryce never got the satisfaction of thinking, even for a moment, that I ever read what he sent me.
If this had taken place back in the days of snail mail, this would have been one of those return to sender moments with the letter given back to the postman, unopened.
Rejected. Refused.
It seemed to have worked, because Bryce never tried to contact me again.
The second incident occurred about a month ago.
Morgan has this fascination with a certain Serbian—let's call her an actress—by the name of Irene Demova. Entering her website triggers a devastating computer virus.
As long as he stuck to his laptop or the ones on display in the store, I'd been able to contain it. But when, against my strongly worded warnings, he used one of the store's networked work stations to satisfy his cravings, all hell broke loose.
The virus spread through the Burbank Buy More like wildfire.
Within minutes the point of sale system was down. Customer records followed, then inventory control crashed. The air conditioning stopped working. Even the lights started going off and on randomly.
Big Mike had to shut down the store. Big Mike doesn't like problems, especially ones that hurt his chance of getting his bonus for reaching sales targets. A bonus he could use for more fishing gear.
He came to me. I told him a virus had gotten loose, despite the protections we had in place. I didn't let on I knew how it'd happened, but I'd told him I'd get right on it.
I grabbed my laptop from my locker and went to the cage in the back of the store.
I told Morgan to keep everyone away from me and to send someone—not Jeff—to get me a bottle of Chardonnay. It helps me think.
By the time I got going, matters had gotten worse. Much worse. To the point that the entire Southern California Buy More network was about to suffer the same fate as Burbank.
The IT crew at regional headquarters clearly had no idea what to do, so I had to fight the virus alone, tooth and nail.
It took me three or four hours, but in the end, I managed to contain it.
The Buy More would live to dispense value-priced electronics from China for another day.
And the world sighed in relief.
No, not really, but someone at Regional took note. I was called in, got a pat on the back and a small bonus from one of the vice-presidents.
But as I stood in front of his desk, an idea came to mind. Not a truly original one, I grant, but one that might help me find a way out of the day-to-day drudgery of the Nerd Herd counter.
I made a proposal.
The Buy More Corporate Cyber Security Task Force. Gather a bunch of elite hackers. After all, who better than the very people who were behind many of the attacks in the first place. Then form them into a sort of virtual mobile strike group.
If your company can't fight off its foes, we'll do it for you.
The vice-president liked my concept, bumped it up to National.
I was given a green light for a small scale trial. I was told to find some qualified individuals to test my concept.
I told them about the annual SecWest conference that was coming up in Vancouver. I knew from previous experience that I would likely find some qualified candidates there.
Twice in the last few years, I'd managed to scrounge up enough cash to attend. A chance to meet and spend time with people I'd only known online.
I hadn't had enough dough for hotels, so I'd crashed on the couches of friends of friends of friends. I ate at cheap places, food trucks, and the like. And I explored the city. Walking wherever the spirit moved me.
Fortunately for me, the weather cooperated both times and I hadn't had to deal with the rain the city is notorious for.
On this trip, however, there was no need for couch crashing as I was given a modest per diem. Enough for a decent hotel if I still ate cheap, which was fine with me.
It only took two days to come up with four names, three guys and a girl. I'd been familiar with their online work for years. I sang their praises to the VP who'd sent me on my recruiting mission.
It seems that I may have sung too well. Early this morning, that same VP called and told me that he was taking over the operation and that my services would no longer be required.
I'll give him this; he did try to let me down easy, to show some tact. But when you stripped away the sugar-coating, it became quite clear.
This project was potentially too important to leave in the hands of a Nerd Herd employee, one who'd been content to hide himself, his talents, behind the counter for years.
No, to be part of this project a person had to have drive, ambition, to go along with their talent.
And you, Chuck Bartowski, despite your efforts, don't qualify, either as a team leader or team member.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I did. Because as unfair as it was, there was some truth in what he said. I'd hidden my light under a bushel basket, content with obscurity.
He'd thanked me again, and told me that, as a reward for my hard work, I could stay in Vancouver for the remainder of the time that'd been booked.
Have a little vacation on us. However, I was expected to be back at the Burbank branch by Monday.
And just like that, I'm at loose ends. Again.
After the call, my first impulse is to go back to bed, pull up the sheets over my head, and stay there for the remainder of the day.
No. Enough with hiding. It's a beautiful day, get out there and enjoy it.
I head for the shower.
As I stand under the hot water, I wonder what I should do with my free time.
Then I remember a promise I made to myself the last time I was here.
Stroll the whole Stanley Park seawall, not just the popular sections. And visit the aquarium that I walked by a couple of times.
Sounds like a plan.
…
Coffee and breakfast sandwich in hand, I cross busy Georgia St. and walk by the fancy hotels that are well out of my budget.
After a few blocks, I find an unoccupied bench at the entrance of the park that gives me a nice view of the city and work on my breakfast. The day is just cool enough to wear my leather jacket. Refreshing after the heatwave I'd endured in LA a few days ago.
I finish my coffee, brush away a few crumbs off my lap and deposit the trash in a nearby container.
It's time to get moving. Seawall or aquarium first?
I flip a coin, one of those odd two-tone, two-dollar ones.
Heads.
Aquarium.
...
As I come around the corner, I see her standing, almost as if she's frozen, by the jellyfish tank, seemingly fascinated by the creature's slow, graceful movements.
She's stunningly beautiful, her shoulder-length blonde hair down in soft curls, a vibrant red blouse visible under her black leather jacket.
She's tall. Much taller than Lou. Taller than Jill. Slender.
She doesn't notice me, which is just as well, for I find myself staring. Entranced.
I avert my eyes to instinctively look around for her boyfriend. Fiancé. Husband. Whatever.
I don't see any likely candidates. Maybe he's in the washroom. Or wandered off somewhere on his own.
But a minute or two passes and no Adonis appears.
Doesn't prove anything, though.
I know this may sound cynical, but I'd learned the lesson long ago. In school, at clubs, even at the Nerd Herd counter.
Women of her caliber effortlessly attract men who are better looking. More charming. Wealthier.
Men who are sure of themselves. Of their path through this world.
If that man's not in her life right now, just give it a minute. He'll show up, swoop in and claim her.
Even when you thought you had a chance.
Jill. Bryce.
I close my eyes, try to push away the painful memories.
When I open them again, the woman in red is still standing exactly where she was a few moments ago. Still just as amazing.
Only a few strides separate us, but she's so far out of reach, she might as well be on the moon.
I sigh.
I'm just about to leave the room when a little blonde girl, eight or nine, part of a school group I'd noticed earlier, goes up to her and speaks.
Braver than me.
I can't hear the words, but it's evident that the topic is the jellyfish in front of them.
The woman glances at the tank.
She smiles at the little girl.
A fatal mistake on my part. Not looking away sooner, I mean.
You see, up until that moment I'd been about to walk away, determined to tell myself that while she was perfection embodied, it was a cold, lifeless perfection.
Like an exquisitely rendered sculpture.
Who knows? I may have even been able to fool myself into believing it.
The old fox and the sour grapes thing.
Now, of course, there's no chance that I can maintain that fiction.
That smile—oh, that smile—brings her to life.
Pygmalion. That's the myth.
He fell in love with the lifeless statue he created, only to have the gods grant his wish and bring her to life. Then they married and got the happily ever after.
Not here.
She can't be for you.
Still, I can't stop myself from watching the rest of the lovely, charming interaction between her and the little girl. Another smile—what I wouldn't give to be the recipient of one—the hug.
The girl rejoins her group. The woman turns to her right and walks away.
I leave by the opposite way.
Not for you.
…
From behind me, I can hear the happy crowd, the thunderous thwack from the splashes the Orcas make upon re-entering the water.
It seems almost everyone on this slow day is at the show, so it's quiet by the sea otter exhibit.
They're charismatic, endearing little creatures and I stand for many minutes watching them.
I recall reading somewhere that some otters mate for life. But I think it was river otters, not these.
Still, the idea is attractive.
I shake my head.
Not for you.
I hear the applause as the Orca show finishes. I think I'll head down to the underwater viewing area.
…
I reach the foot of the stairs. The gallery is seemingly empty.
No, not quite.
She's there.
Despite all my efforts to avoid running into her again, she's right there in front of me.
Again.
Only twenty feet away.
She's standing in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, in profile to me. Her jacket is folded over her arm.
As I watch, some trick of the light from the window illuminates her, almost as if she's in a spotlight.
Her brilliant red blouse seems to be…glowing.
Something beyond her, something big, moves through the water towards her.
It's Hyak, the big male Orca.
He brings his eye close to the window to gaze at her.
They contemplate each other, seemingly sharing a silent communion.
It's a magical scene. One I don't believe I'll ever forget.
I know I'm intruding on a private moment, but I can't tear my eyes away.
So I hold my breath. Stay absolutely still. Afraid she'll notice me and tell me to get lost.
She closes her eyes, thinking I know not what.
When she opens them a few moments later, Hyak seems to nod. Then he glides away, disappearing into the blue.
She stares into the void for another second to two, then, closing her eyes once again, she drops her head.
She's so quiet that it takes me a while to realize she's crying. No great heaving sobs, just silent, abject misery.
It's as if she's afraid to let anyone see her like this.
I watch her tears drip down onto the floor. She doesn't appear to have any tissues.
I have a couple of fresh ones in my jacket pocket, but what will she think if I offer them to her, knowing that I've witnessed everything?
All of which places me in a horrible dilemma.
She must be so tired of having men hit on her.
Will she think I'm doing the same? Just another jerk trying his moves?
I'm still weighing the pros and cons when I realize that my feet are moving of their own volition.
I can't seem to stop them.
It appears I would rather be damned for something I did rather than for something I didn't.
As I reach her side, she looks down at her sleeve.
I can't let her ruin that lovely blouse, so I reach out, place my hand with a couple of tissues in her line of sight.
She takes them, blows her nose, and dabs at her eyes.
She looks at me. Nods her thanks.
Even with puffy eyes and a reddened nose, she's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.
I feel sympathetic tears well up in my eyes.
I nod back.
I'm not sure what to say.
But as I glance back into the tank, the spellbinding interaction between her and Hyak plays back in my mind.
I look back at her and quietly speak the first words that come to me.
"That…that was extraordinary."
TBC
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A/N: The setup is now complete. Back to Sarah's POV next chapter.
A conversation ensues.
Thank to all who've taken the time to read this story and an especial thanks to those who have reviewed.
I would really like to hear from more of you. If you've never written here, you may not realize just how important it is to have feedback.