Tequila!
Title: Tequila!
Fandom: Chuck/Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Rating: G
Spoilers: I didn't notice any particular spoilers, but let's say the first season of both series to be safe.
Description: Chuck Bartowski and John Connor walk into a bar. No, really.
Note: True nerds will note that there's a bit of a time discrepancy. There obviously wouldn't be a Justice League panel/preview in the same year as Star Trek/Watchmen. Suspend your disbelief and work with me here, people.
One Tequila
"You don't look twenty-one," the bartender said suspiciously as he examined the immaculately forged California driver's license in his hand. Of course, he'd never be able to tell that it was forged.
"I get that a lot," the young man said somberly. "It's a gift. And a curse. Ask him." The young man nodded towards his companion.
"Uh," the other man stuttered. This one was slightly older, of the awkward-and-nervous variety, who wore an expression of slight bewilderment underneath dark brown curls. The bartender's seen his type before. They come in swarms every year. "Well, I really only just met him, but…"
"Justice League, Chuck. Justice League," the younger man said. Chuck turned to the bartender with renewed confidence.
"You know what? Give him a break, okay? He's had a rough day," Chuck said, unusually defiant. "I'm sure that he's who he says he is."
"All right," the bartender shrugged. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he was the end of a double shift. He had dealt with an entire week of non-alcoholic beer, bottles being wielded as a lightsabers, and peanut allergies. Comic Con was spring break for the nerds, and at the end of it, he just didn't give a shit anymore. "Here you go, Mr. Dawson."
John Connor (for that was his real name, unbeknownst to… well, just about everyone) took back the ID and the tequila shot the bartender just poured.
Neither John Connor nor Chuck Bartowski were drinkers. Alcohol didn't have a place in their lives. But that was before they watched the sneak preview of the new Justice League movie. After the movie was over, they took a look at one another's stricken and horrified faces, and simultaneously decided that the agony of seeing Adam Brody in a bright-red, tightly-fitted, package-enhancing bodysuit could only be alleviated with copious amounts of alcohol.
"You are twenty-one, right?" Chuck asked nervously.
"Of course," John assured him. He downed the shot, but as a sixteen-year-old, he wasn't entirely accustomed to its sensations. The tequila burned his throat as it went down, and his eyes watered immediately. He looked over to Chuck, fearful of discovery, but Chuck was too busy coughing and gagging to notice.
Two Tequila
"The best day of my life," Chuck said. The two of them had relocated to a corner of the bar, where they first painstakingly dissected all that was wrong with the Justice League movie (The Green Lantern, they'd both agreed, was a much more developed character in the cartoons), then moved on to whether the destruction of the Death Star was an inside job, and finally to their fondest geek memories while they played darts. They both played poorly, but Chuck especially. "1989, I was seven years old. My dad took me to see The Abyss. That scene where Ed Harris descends into the abyss? It changed my life. I didn't understand most of the movie, but that scene changed my life."
"I remember that movie," John said. "My mom took me to see All Dogs Go to Heaven for my birthday, and we ended up in the wrong theater. She couldn't get me to leave."
"Weren't you like, two in 1989?" Chuck asked, puzzled. John turned his attention back to the dartboard. He was actually five. But he couldn't tell Chuck that without going into the time travel. And the time travel isn't a topic you want to broach with anybody on the first meeting. Or second. Or third. Or ever.
"Well, I was a very stubborn two-year-old." He threw the dart. It landed on the outer rim, but at least it hit the board. Then he waved to the bartender for another round, which they drank immediately. They were slightly more dignified this time in that they still coughed violently as the liquor went down, but at least there were no tears.
The two of them had met en route to San Diego. They had boarded the same bus in Los Angeles, and both got off in Santa Ana, only to take the next bus on the same route. It became apparent that both were in precarious situations which required painstaking stealth as they journeyed down to the Holy Land. The people in their lives did not approve of a trip like this. In a rare act of defiance bolstered by the alluring promise of a Star Trek preview, they both decided to break free from their respective evil oppressors who had dared to deny them young Spock.
They bonded while waiting for the next bus in Oceanside, over a heated but friendly discussion over who would win in battle-to-the-death: MacGyver or Knight Ryder? Their friendship was cemented in San Diego during the Watchmen panel, where they discussed the finer points of programming a Pentium chip's APIC in an NT DLL to issue timer interrupts. Even for Comic Con, their geekery was unparalleled.
"I know a guy named John," Chuck now said. He was starting to feel happy and warm. "Let me tell you, he is intense. He's like that professor from Harry Potter, Professor Moody? 'Constant Vigilance!' Or maybe Rambo. Yeah, Rambo. No, John Casey is like a cross between Professor Moody and Rambo."
"He sounds like my mom. 'No one is ever safe!'," John mimicked, although not very well. "She never lets me do anything."
"Casey never lets me do anything either!" Chuck exclaimed excitedly. "It's always 'Chuck, stay in the car. Chuck, get out of the car. Chuck, don't touch that. Chuck, stop talking.'"
"Why don't they trust us?"
"They treat us like children. We're adults!" Chuck said, which was true for him. For John, not so much.
"They spend all their time telling us how valuable and important we are…"
"…And then they turn around and tell us that we can't be trusted to cross the street by ourselves!"
"Exactly!" John nodded his head enthusiastically. Of course, neither men knew what the other was talking about. But they knew that this conversation applied to themselves, and that was enough.
"It's like they think if they take their eyes off us for one second, we'll start spilling national secrets to every Joe Schmo on the street."
"It's like they think we don't realize how dangerous it is."
"It's like they think everybody is some foreign secret agent out to kidnap you and whisk you away to Slovakia for torture and brainwashing."
"It's like they think the entire world will end if we stay out past curfew!"
"You have a curfew?"
John squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "No."
"Because if I'm gone for more than two hours without Casey knowing, he'll send the SWAT team after me," Chuck said solemnly. At this, John cracked a grin.
"Yeah? My mom sends RoboCop."
"Maybe your mom should go out with Casey," Chuck suggested, only half-joking. If Casey had a girlfriend, surely he would devote his time to better things than listening in on Chuck's private conversations? "I have to warn you though, Casey's got a thing for guns."
"Trust me," John said. "That won't be a problem."
Three Tequila
"Her name's Cameron," John sighed happily. "Cameron, Cameron, Cameron. Isn't that a beautiful name?"
Their third tequila shots sat on the table, every last drop gone. It didn't take much to get these two boys drunk, or at least very much buzzed. They've both given up on the darts. Not only did they suck terribly at it, but they were at the point where it would be a public safety hazard for them to continue playing.
"It's a very pretty name," Chuck replied, slurring only slightly. "Not as pretty as Sarah though."
"Sarah!" John tsked contemptuously, a simple knee-jerk reaction to Chuck's challenge. "What kind of name- wait, that's my mom's name. Are you talking about my mom?"
"I don't know," Chuck said, amused. "Is your mom's name Sarah Walker?"
"No, it's Sarah Connor-" John quickly realized his mistake. "-bund."
"Connorbund?"
"Cummerbund. Her people made sashes. But we were talking about your Sarah. Walker, is it?"
That was all the distraction Chuck needed.
"Oh, god, she's wonderful," Chuck happily gushed. "She's amazing. She's beautiful, she's smart, and she can kick my ass."
"Cameron can kick my ass too."
Chuck looked over to John, and the two men felt a sense of camaraderie wash over them.
"What does Cameron do?"
"She's a-" John paused to consider his options: a) a lethal cyborg from the future or b) a high school student. Neither seemed to be appropriate answers for the situation. "She does ballet," John decided. "What does Sarah do?"
Chuck considered his options: a) a deadly undercover CIA agent or b) the Wienerlicious girl. He went with:
"She's in the food service industry."
"Cameron's little. Dainty, I mean. But don't let that fool you. She's… strong."
"Sarah's strong."
"No, I mean like Cameron's dangerous. Lethal, even. She's the cutest little thing, but sometimes when she looks at you, it feels like ice is being poured in your veins."
"Casey does that," Chuck said. "But he's not a cute little thing. He's not even cuddly."
"I bet Cameron can take Casey," John said, bragging almost. "No, I know she can. She could kill him with her-"
"Brain?"
"Well, I was going to say pinky, but yeah, maybe."
"I would pay money for that," Chuck nodded. Then instantly feeling guilty, he amended, "Maybe not kill. I'd settle for severely maimed. Think she'll do it?"
"If I ask her to," John replied. "Cameron can beat up everybody in this bar if I asked."
"Everybody in this bar right now watches Battlestar and owns ewok blankets. Beating them up is not that impressive."
"Could you do it?"
"Me? No, no," Chuck shook his head. "I'm a strict pacifist. Sarah and Casey do all the heavy lifting. I stay in the car."
John nodded in understanding.
"My mom and Cameron do all the heavy lifting too." John's brows furrowed in confusion as he came to a realization: "So what do we do?"
"We look pretty, my friend." Chuck gestured for another round. "We sit and look so very pretty."
Floor
"I love Sarah," Chuck drunkenly slurred.
The two of them were now stretched out on the floor of the bar, their fourth and fifth shot glasses upturned besides them. They were conspicuous, but not attracting any attention. Everybody else were much too engrossed in the fisticuffs breaking out in the corner to notice them - somebody had declared that Lost was a superior show to The X-Files. It was going to get ugly.
"I love Cameron," John responded, his speech not any clearer than Chuck's.
"I want Sarah to be my girlfriend."
"I want Cameron to be my girlfriend."
"Sarah would be my girlfriend if I didn't have this computer in my head."
"Cameron can't be my girlfriend because she has a computer in her head."
Chuck turned his head slightly sideways to look at John. It was as much as he could move at this point.
"Is Cameron an intersect too?"
"Sure," John said lazily, not knowing what the hell Chuck was talking about. "Cameron's an inter-insect."
"But I'm the intersect."
"And I'm the future savior of mankind, but if someone else wanted the job, they can have it."
"John?"
"Yes, Chuck?"
"I love you, man."
"I love you too, man."
"But not in that Jack and Ianto way."
"No, not at all."
"John?"
"Yes, Chuck?"
"I feel compelled to tell you that if you continue to hang out with me, there's a distinct possibility that either secret agents will try to harm you in an attempt to get to me, or the federal government will make you disappear in an attempt to protect me."
"That's fine. As long as you're okay with time-traveling robots trying to kill you."
"Sure," Chuck shrugged. "The more the merrier."
"Chuck?"
"Yes, John?"
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Chuck babbled a reply, but John had passed out by then, and Chuck himself lost consciousness soon afterwards.
Let's hope that neither will remember this conversation in the morning.
Fandom: Chuck/Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Rating: G
Spoilers: I didn't notice any particular spoilers, but let's say the first season of both series to be safe.
Description: Chuck Bartowski and John Connor walk into a bar. No, really.
Note: True nerds will note that there's a bit of a time discrepancy. There obviously wouldn't be a Justice League panel/preview in the same year as Star Trek/Watchmen. Suspend your disbelief and work with me here, people.
One Tequila
"You don't look twenty-one," the bartender said suspiciously as he examined the immaculately forged California driver's license in his hand. Of course, he'd never be able to tell that it was forged.
"I get that a lot," the young man said somberly. "It's a gift. And a curse. Ask him." The young man nodded towards his companion.
"Uh," the other man stuttered. This one was slightly older, of the awkward-and-nervous variety, who wore an expression of slight bewilderment underneath dark brown curls. The bartender's seen his type before. They come in swarms every year. "Well, I really only just met him, but…"
"Justice League, Chuck. Justice League," the younger man said. Chuck turned to the bartender with renewed confidence.
"You know what? Give him a break, okay? He's had a rough day," Chuck said, unusually defiant. "I'm sure that he's who he says he is."
"All right," the bartender shrugged. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he was the end of a double shift. He had dealt with an entire week of non-alcoholic beer, bottles being wielded as a lightsabers, and peanut allergies. Comic Con was spring break for the nerds, and at the end of it, he just didn't give a shit anymore. "Here you go, Mr. Dawson."
John Connor (for that was his real name, unbeknownst to… well, just about everyone) took back the ID and the tequila shot the bartender just poured.
Neither John Connor nor Chuck Bartowski were drinkers. Alcohol didn't have a place in their lives. But that was before they watched the sneak preview of the new Justice League movie. After the movie was over, they took a look at one another's stricken and horrified faces, and simultaneously decided that the agony of seeing Adam Brody in a bright-red, tightly-fitted, package-enhancing bodysuit could only be alleviated with copious amounts of alcohol.
"You are twenty-one, right?" Chuck asked nervously.
"Of course," John assured him. He downed the shot, but as a sixteen-year-old, he wasn't entirely accustomed to its sensations. The tequila burned his throat as it went down, and his eyes watered immediately. He looked over to Chuck, fearful of discovery, but Chuck was too busy coughing and gagging to notice.
Two Tequila
"The best day of my life," Chuck said. The two of them had relocated to a corner of the bar, where they first painstakingly dissected all that was wrong with the Justice League movie (The Green Lantern, they'd both agreed, was a much more developed character in the cartoons), then moved on to whether the destruction of the Death Star was an inside job, and finally to their fondest geek memories while they played darts. They both played poorly, but Chuck especially. "1989, I was seven years old. My dad took me to see The Abyss. That scene where Ed Harris descends into the abyss? It changed my life. I didn't understand most of the movie, but that scene changed my life."
"I remember that movie," John said. "My mom took me to see All Dogs Go to Heaven for my birthday, and we ended up in the wrong theater. She couldn't get me to leave."
"Weren't you like, two in 1989?" Chuck asked, puzzled. John turned his attention back to the dartboard. He was actually five. But he couldn't tell Chuck that without going into the time travel. And the time travel isn't a topic you want to broach with anybody on the first meeting. Or second. Or third. Or ever.
"Well, I was a very stubborn two-year-old." He threw the dart. It landed on the outer rim, but at least it hit the board. Then he waved to the bartender for another round, which they drank immediately. They were slightly more dignified this time in that they still coughed violently as the liquor went down, but at least there were no tears.
The two of them had met en route to San Diego. They had boarded the same bus in Los Angeles, and both got off in Santa Ana, only to take the next bus on the same route. It became apparent that both were in precarious situations which required painstaking stealth as they journeyed down to the Holy Land. The people in their lives did not approve of a trip like this. In a rare act of defiance bolstered by the alluring promise of a Star Trek preview, they both decided to break free from their respective evil oppressors who had dared to deny them young Spock.
They bonded while waiting for the next bus in Oceanside, over a heated but friendly discussion over who would win in battle-to-the-death: MacGyver or Knight Ryder? Their friendship was cemented in San Diego during the Watchmen panel, where they discussed the finer points of programming a Pentium chip's APIC in an NT DLL to issue timer interrupts. Even for Comic Con, their geekery was unparalleled.
"I know a guy named John," Chuck now said. He was starting to feel happy and warm. "Let me tell you, he is intense. He's like that professor from Harry Potter, Professor Moody? 'Constant Vigilance!' Or maybe Rambo. Yeah, Rambo. No, John Casey is like a cross between Professor Moody and Rambo."
"He sounds like my mom. 'No one is ever safe!'," John mimicked, although not very well. "She never lets me do anything."
"Casey never lets me do anything either!" Chuck exclaimed excitedly. "It's always 'Chuck, stay in the car. Chuck, get out of the car. Chuck, don't touch that. Chuck, stop talking.'"
"Why don't they trust us?"
"They treat us like children. We're adults!" Chuck said, which was true for him. For John, not so much.
"They spend all their time telling us how valuable and important we are…"
"…And then they turn around and tell us that we can't be trusted to cross the street by ourselves!"
"Exactly!" John nodded his head enthusiastically. Of course, neither men knew what the other was talking about. But they knew that this conversation applied to themselves, and that was enough.
"It's like they think if they take their eyes off us for one second, we'll start spilling national secrets to every Joe Schmo on the street."
"It's like they think we don't realize how dangerous it is."
"It's like they think everybody is some foreign secret agent out to kidnap you and whisk you away to Slovakia for torture and brainwashing."
"It's like they think the entire world will end if we stay out past curfew!"
"You have a curfew?"
John squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "No."
"Because if I'm gone for more than two hours without Casey knowing, he'll send the SWAT team after me," Chuck said solemnly. At this, John cracked a grin.
"Yeah? My mom sends RoboCop."
"Maybe your mom should go out with Casey," Chuck suggested, only half-joking. If Casey had a girlfriend, surely he would devote his time to better things than listening in on Chuck's private conversations? "I have to warn you though, Casey's got a thing for guns."
"Trust me," John said. "That won't be a problem."
Three Tequila
"Her name's Cameron," John sighed happily. "Cameron, Cameron, Cameron. Isn't that a beautiful name?"
Their third tequila shots sat on the table, every last drop gone. It didn't take much to get these two boys drunk, or at least very much buzzed. They've both given up on the darts. Not only did they suck terribly at it, but they were at the point where it would be a public safety hazard for them to continue playing.
"It's a very pretty name," Chuck replied, slurring only slightly. "Not as pretty as Sarah though."
"Sarah!" John tsked contemptuously, a simple knee-jerk reaction to Chuck's challenge. "What kind of name- wait, that's my mom's name. Are you talking about my mom?"
"I don't know," Chuck said, amused. "Is your mom's name Sarah Walker?"
"No, it's Sarah Connor-" John quickly realized his mistake. "-bund."
"Connorbund?"
"Cummerbund. Her people made sashes. But we were talking about your Sarah. Walker, is it?"
That was all the distraction Chuck needed.
"Oh, god, she's wonderful," Chuck happily gushed. "She's amazing. She's beautiful, she's smart, and she can kick my ass."
"Cameron can kick my ass too."
Chuck looked over to John, and the two men felt a sense of camaraderie wash over them.
"What does Cameron do?"
"She's a-" John paused to consider his options: a) a lethal cyborg from the future or b) a high school student. Neither seemed to be appropriate answers for the situation. "She does ballet," John decided. "What does Sarah do?"
Chuck considered his options: a) a deadly undercover CIA agent or b) the Wienerlicious girl. He went with:
"She's in the food service industry."
"Cameron's little. Dainty, I mean. But don't let that fool you. She's… strong."
"Sarah's strong."
"No, I mean like Cameron's dangerous. Lethal, even. She's the cutest little thing, but sometimes when she looks at you, it feels like ice is being poured in your veins."
"Casey does that," Chuck said. "But he's not a cute little thing. He's not even cuddly."
"I bet Cameron can take Casey," John said, bragging almost. "No, I know she can. She could kill him with her-"
"Brain?"
"Well, I was going to say pinky, but yeah, maybe."
"I would pay money for that," Chuck nodded. Then instantly feeling guilty, he amended, "Maybe not kill. I'd settle for severely maimed. Think she'll do it?"
"If I ask her to," John replied. "Cameron can beat up everybody in this bar if I asked."
"Everybody in this bar right now watches Battlestar and owns ewok blankets. Beating them up is not that impressive."
"Could you do it?"
"Me? No, no," Chuck shook his head. "I'm a strict pacifist. Sarah and Casey do all the heavy lifting. I stay in the car."
John nodded in understanding.
"My mom and Cameron do all the heavy lifting too." John's brows furrowed in confusion as he came to a realization: "So what do we do?"
"We look pretty, my friend." Chuck gestured for another round. "We sit and look so very pretty."
Floor
"I love Sarah," Chuck drunkenly slurred.
The two of them were now stretched out on the floor of the bar, their fourth and fifth shot glasses upturned besides them. They were conspicuous, but not attracting any attention. Everybody else were much too engrossed in the fisticuffs breaking out in the corner to notice them - somebody had declared that Lost was a superior show to The X-Files. It was going to get ugly.
"I love Cameron," John responded, his speech not any clearer than Chuck's.
"I want Sarah to be my girlfriend."
"I want Cameron to be my girlfriend."
"Sarah would be my girlfriend if I didn't have this computer in my head."
"Cameron can't be my girlfriend because she has a computer in her head."
Chuck turned his head slightly sideways to look at John. It was as much as he could move at this point.
"Is Cameron an intersect too?"
"Sure," John said lazily, not knowing what the hell Chuck was talking about. "Cameron's an inter-insect."
"But I'm the intersect."
"And I'm the future savior of mankind, but if someone else wanted the job, they can have it."
"John?"
"Yes, Chuck?"
"I love you, man."
"I love you too, man."
"But not in that Jack and Ianto way."
"No, not at all."
"John?"
"Yes, Chuck?"
"I feel compelled to tell you that if you continue to hang out with me, there's a distinct possibility that either secret agents will try to harm you in an attempt to get to me, or the federal government will make you disappear in an attempt to protect me."
"That's fine. As long as you're okay with time-traveling robots trying to kill you."
"Sure," Chuck shrugged. "The more the merrier."
"Chuck?"
"Yes, John?"
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Chuck babbled a reply, but John had passed out by then, and Chuck himself lost consciousness soon afterwards.
Let's hope that neither will remember this conversation in the morning.