A/N the First: Thanks to all of the wonderful, sweet-smelling, brilliant people that left reviews and tweeted at me or sent me stuff on Tumblr (Tumblr'd?) to let me know how much they're loving this story. I'm happy that people are liking this. It's probably not as cool as the actual Olympics (I'm going through serious Olympics withdrawal; hold me), but hey, if it ignites an Olympic fever in anybody and inspires you to go win a long-jump or something, let me know so I can start writing motivational self-help books and profit off of you, okay?

Thanks to my wonderful beta reader, mxpw, who laughed at my apologizing for a 13-page chapter and called it a minor bump compared to the San Francisco hill that was What Fates Impose. I love that he has just as many wake-up-in-a-cold-sweat nightmares about that beast as I do. Thanks to Lindsay for being my diving coach, quistie for being the greatest cheerleader, Crumby for being French, Nervert for being my volleyball coach, and Ayefah for really inspiring me to align my Chi and find my truest evil.


Chapter Four: Teammate Troubles

The next day, Chuck turned off the Google alert on his name. In less than a day, it seemed like he'd gone from being one of the most unknown athletes on the US team to being notoriously hated. Sarah Walker had a huge following thanks to her previous time at the Olympics. It only made sense. She competed well in a sport where the uniform was literally a bikini, and with a face like hers, she was bound to draw notice. Just like, Chuck discovered when he checked his email the next morning, the person she set her romantic sights on was bound to draw a butt-load of vitriol from jealous fans.

After the third "What does she see in him?!" caption combined with a meme-style picture of one of his diving faces—which were never pretty—Chuck clicked out of his email and climbed back into bed, staring up at the ceiling. The world thought he was dating Sarah Walker. Because, Chuck knew, for some reason, he was apparently dating Sarah Walker.

After a moment to process that rather momentous news, he sat up and headed to the closet for exercise gear. There wasn't pool time available until much later but he was due to meet Anna in the gym. As he reached for his lucky T-shirt, he spotted the number written on his hand and lost at least thirty seconds, grinning like a fool.

He called Morgan after he'd finished breakfast, this time sitting at the same table with friends he'd made on the Swedish swimming team. "So, don't freak out, but—"

"You're getting down and dirty in the sand with Sarah Walker for real?"

"What?" Chuck asked.

"How else can I put this? You're serving it to her? Taking the plunge? Getting ready to spike it home? A facial for—"

"Morgan!"

"Okay, okay, that was a little uncalled for. But have you seen the news, dude? It's basically, like, your face."

"With a bulls-eye on it, yeah," Chuck said. "How are the interviews going?"

"Forget the interviews! I want to hear what's up with you and your lady-friend. Did you talk to her last night?"

Chuck left his tray on the revolving table that would take it back into the kitchen to be washed and headed for the downstairs gym. "As a matter of fact, I did, yes."

"And?"

"And what? She dropped by my room—don't you dare make another facial comment, nothing like that happened—we talked, she flirted, and I managed to stick my foot in it big time because I'm the reason I can't have nice things."

"Oh, man." Morgan's tone immediately turned to one of sympathy. That was one of the things Chuck liked best about his friend. In addition to not finding a single thing unbelievable about Sarah being interested in Chuck, for all of his faults, Morgan was the best wingman a guy could have. "Can I talk to her and do anything to fix it? I'll go over right now, tell her what a great guy you are, get her to give you another chance."

"Don't you have an interview with ESPN?"

"Screw ESPN. This is a matter of the heart, Chuck! And the heart is the greatest muscle of all."

Chuck had to laugh. "You're right. But there's no need, I promise. She gave me her number."

"You got digits?" Morgan's voice jumped up an octave.

Chuck looked at the inside of his hand, where Sarah's number was still scrawled. He'd put it into his phone already, but it was a nice reminder. "Uh-huh. Of course, that was after she kissed me and—"

Morgan let out a high-pitched—well, it wasn't a squeal and it wasn't a squeak, but Chuck didn't know exactly how to classify it. Excitable fourteen-year-olds might be familiar with the noise. "This is the best," Morgan declared. "Chuck, you've got a girlfriend. You've got a girlfriend and you're at the Olympics."

"I've had girlfriends before!"

"Girlfriends like Sarah Walker?"

"Okay, point, but—"

"Oh, crap, I've gotta go. They're coming in to trim the beard for the interview. Hope they got new blades on that razor because this thing is super strong. Talk to you later!"

Chuck hung up with a baffled shake of the head as he headed for the shuttle that would take him to the gym, where Anna was waiting for him. As he walked up, she held a hand to stop him from speaking, gesturing at her cell phone with an impatient look. Chuck raised his eyebrows at her, but she turned away. "Yes, Mr. Pearson, we'd be very interested in that opportunity. Two o'clock? Sure, I'll have him there, no problem. We look forward to meeting you."

"What was that about?" he asked. "Where're we going at two?"

"Sponsorship meeting. That was a swimwear company. They're interested in you. Which means…" Anna looked him up and down, frowning. "You're probably going to need to shave."

"What? Aw, man. No. The competition's not until Saturday."

"They may want pictures. You can either shave now or later on."

Chuck sighed. "This sucks."

"Hey, if you never wanted to be hairless and nearly naked in front of the world, I'd say you picked the wrong sport."

"No kidding," Chuck said, and decided to try and forget about it during his workout. As much as he would have loved to get on the trampoline, Anna had him lift weights and work on his form on the ground before she forced him onto the treadmill. He scowled. Running was his least favorite aerobic activity.

"Your girlfriend probably runs like twenty miles a day," Anna said. "Do you want her to think you're a wimp?"

"My 'girlfriend,'" Chuck said, using air quotes because he really didn't know what this thing with Sarah should be called, "plays a game with three other people that's normally played with twelve people altogether, and does it on the sand in a bikini. It's perfectly fine if she thinks I'm a wimp."

"Get on the treadmill," Anna said through her laughter. She waited until he'd settled in to his pace. "So how's Morgan doing?"

"Over the moon. We'll be seeing more of the beard all over the intertubes today. He was being interviewed by ESPN when I talked to him earlier."

Anna grimaced. "Did Big Mike warn him about a repeat of the Bounce Today magazine disaster?"

"He's learned his lesson about mooning reporters. In his defense, he really was just trying to show off that mole that looks like Abe Lincoln."

Anna grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"Do you think the normal coaches and divers talk about moles that look like Abe Lincoln?" Chuck asked.

"I don't care. Get in at least a couple of miles and then go shave."

"Back to my days of looking like Rufus the naked mole-rat," Chuck said. In truth, it didn't bother him as much as he complained about it to Anna, but they had habits. He complained about having to shave his chest, Anna listened to his complaints and told him to do it anyway. Every coach and athlete had some kind of ritual. Theirs just happened to be loaded with pop culture references.


He hit the hot tub after his workout, though he hadn't over-extended himself. It was easier to shave after he'd soaked for a bit. Back in his room, he lost his shirt, sighed to himself, and set in to shave in the tiny shower stall. Hopefully he wouldn't have to shave again until the night before his competition, or else he'd spend the week looking too red dot special for his tastes. Some divers didn't shave, and as much as he'd prefer to be one of them, it really was better to present a sleeker look to the judges. At least he wasn't a swimmer and didn't have to shave his legs.

He was finishing up when he heard the door open. "Morgan?" he called. "That you? How'd you get in?"

He wandered out of the bathroom and pulled up short. "You're not Morgan."

"Who's Morgan?" Carina Miller gave him an odd look. She was sitting at his desk chair in workout gear and the multicolored shades she wore on the court. Her feet were bare—and sandy.

"Uh, you saw him win a medal just yest—Carina, what are you doing in my room? How did you get in here?"

"Picked the lock." Carina shrugged. "You think Sarah's the only ex-criminal around here?"

Chuck turned in shock to look at his door, which was closed and locked, before her words registered. "Ex-criminal?" he said.

"What did I interrupt here?" Carina looked him up and down, her eyes roving over him. Chuck felt an embarrassed blush begin to start at his chest. He grabbed the closest shirt and hauled it on, cursing under his breath. "What is it you divers do when you're alone, anyway? Is this some kind of ritual?"

"No, it's shaving, which is part of the lifestyle and, you know what, I don't have to explain myself to you. What are you doing in here? What are you talking about, ex-criminal? Where's Sarah?"

"You have to shave all over?" Carina looked oddly delighted at the prospect. "Even your back? Can I do that?"

"Carina."

The delight switched to a wounded look. "What? It's an honest question. I've got wonderful fine motor skills."

"No offense, but I don't let women I barely know near me with sharp blades, no matter how good they claim to be with them," Chuck said.

"Aw."

"What are you doing? You're not here to add me to your score-sheet, are you? Because I mean this in the best way possible, but I'm not interested."

"Are you sure about that?" Carina rose slowly, languidly. By Chuck's estimation, she had to know exactly how powerful she was and how to twist people around her finger.

He took a step back and told himself it wasn't out of fear. "Yes," he said. "I'm sure."

"Really?" Carina reached for the hem of her shirt.

"Don't you dare take that off," he said, pointing at her.

"Aw, but Chuckie, you've seen me in less."

Chuck put his hand on the thermostat. "I will turn this place into an icebox, Carina. Don't think I won't. And—" Crap, he thought, this was the weirdest conversation he'd had in a long time. "And would you please answer one of my questions? Does Sarah know you're here?"

Carina started to give him a sulky smirk, but halfway through the motion, she seemed to give up. She stopped posing, choosing instead to cross her arms over her chest and study him a bit like a specimen in a zoo. "Huh," she said. "Icebox. I was not expecting that. Original."

"My head hurts so much right now," Chuck said. "I'm not going to ask you again: what are you doing in here?"

Carina dropped back down into the desk chair and propped her feet on the bed. Her incredibly sandy feet. Chuck winced; Carina shot him an arch look. "Scoping you out. And you're going to have to get used to that, pal. You run with a volleyball girl, sand's pretty much part of the lifestyle."

"If I'm going to get sand in my bed, I'd rather it be from Sarah," Chuck said. He finally put it together. "Wait, what? Was this some kind of test?"

"Bingo," Carina said.

Chuck put his hand on his face and counted to five. When that did nothing, he counted to ten. "You need to leave," he said. "You need to leave right now."

"I don't do this for just anybody, you know." But Carina gave him a little nod and started walking toward the door. "She really likes you. I had to make sure you were acceptable."

"And what business is it of yours?" Chuck asked, ignoring the fact that only hours before, Morgan had made a similar offer to see Sarah on his behalf.

"Some people have family. All I've got is Sarah." Carina reached the door, shaking her head a little (possibly at the fact that Chuck, still wary, edged even farther away). She opened it, but didn't leave. "And because of that, you're a little scary."

"What? I'm not scary. Why am I scary?"

"You're got her to smile during a match. Nobody's ever done that before." With that thought, Carina left him standing alone in his room, completely befuddled by the whole exchange. Because she was barefoot, he didn't hear her footsteps recede, but he did hear a catcall and Carina's reply of "Maybe later, babe" from down the hall, which was fitting.

The second the door clicked closed, his phone chirped. He snatched it off the desk. "Sorry, Anna, I'm running a little late, but I'll be down in—"

"Chuck, it's Sarah."

"Sarah! Hey. Uh, hi. Wait—how'd you get this number? I haven't called you yet."

"Oh, I had it the whole time." Sarah's voice was brusque. "This is a weird question, and I don't have much time, but where are you? Is Carina there?"

Chuck looked at the mostly-faded numbers on his hand. Sarah had had his number the whole time and had still come to his room the night before? He didn't know how to feel about that. "I'm in my room," he said. "She just left, but not before picking my lock and hitting on me."

Sarah let out a ripe curse. "Chuck, I am so sorry. I should have known she was going to do that. I am so sorry she pulled you into it."

"It's—okay. I didn't have to physically defend myself from a razor blade attack or anything. But what the hell is going on with you two?"

"Team politics. You're really okay?"

"You make it sound like she was going to cut me to pieces or something."

"No, she's mostly non-lethal, but I really can't get into it other than to say sorry. But I have to go. If you'll excuse me, I've got a teammate to kill." Sarah hung up.

"O…kay," Chuck said to the empty air. In a bit of a daze—Sarah was an ex-criminal? Carina haddone some sort of seduction test? This was a regular thing? Sarah had known his phone number the whole time?—he crossed over to the bed and tried to brush sand off of the comforter. At least he made his bed, which meant that the sand wasn't too much of a problem. Still perplexed, he sat down on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is the weirdest week of my life."

Possibly proving him right, his cell phone rang. "Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. The company's sending a car for us," she said, terse as usual.

Chuck swore and headed for the bathroom to finish shaving. He hoped that the meeting didn't take as long as he feared it would, as Sarah and Carina had a match coming up in a few hours and he didn't want to miss it. Whatever the problem between them was, they needed to get over it before then.


"And neither Walker or Miller looks happy with that ace."

"As well they shouldn't, Spencer. That was a rookie mistake at worst. What is up with America's golden girls today?"

"I don't know, but these are not the Miller and Walker that pummeled the Italians into the sand, and definitely not the Miller that said in interviews that they would prove today why Álvares is right to idolize Sarah Walker."

"What is it? Are they just not communicating? Is Walker's shoulder acting up?"

"She's not favoring it, Burt. I don't know—"

Chuck reached over for the remote and hit the mute button. He'd been enjoying Spencer O'Hara and Burton Lassiter's commentary on every one of Sarah and Carina's matches, but even if Sarah and Carina were noticeably flagging against the Brazilians, he couldn't help but think they were being more than a little unfair. It was only the first set, but Sarah and Carina were behind by five points, which was pretty much unheard of in their Olympic career. They had never lost a single set in volleyball. And with the Brazilians about to take this set, it looked like that was going to change.

Chuck gripped his water bottle as the camera lingered on a close-up of Sarah's face. She was staring at the net, waiting for the next serve, a glimmer of sweat on her skin. The Ice Queen mask was in place, except for her eyes. They were angry. Carina's regular mien remained unchanged, and she did her inappropriate dancing after points gained, but Chuck kind of got the feeling that Sarah wasn't alone in that anger.

The swimwear interview hadn't taken long. They'd paraded him around their London offices, which were sleek and lush and covered in sports photography of beautiful people doing amazingly athletic moves. While the Olympics were in session, they weren't allowed to offer Chuck anything official, but there had been lots of hints that if he did well, there would be a substantial sponsorship in his future.

Anna had kicked Chuck under the table before he could snort his opinion of that.

As awed as he had been by the offer, he'd been relieved that the meeting had ended in plenty of time for him to come back to the Village and watch the game. The minute he'd arrived at his room, he'd received a call from the front desk that put the kibosh on that plan: he needed to report for a blood test. Thankfully, the waiting room had a TV, which was why he was sitting alone in a lounge, watching Sarah and Carina lose their first set to the Brazilians while he waited to go pee in a cup.

Álvares served to Sarah. She knocked it to Carina, who set it up for her to spike. Sarah made the leap. Brazil blocked it, sending the ball careening away from Sarah. Carina tried to dive for it, but the Brazilians took the point.

"Dammit," Chuck said, and made the receptionist look over. "Sorry."

She shrugged. Chuck took that as permission to focus his attention back on the game. He grabbed hold onto the edge of the faded couch cushions below him as the ticker at the top of the screen announced that this was a set point. "C'mon," Chuck said. "C'mon, c'mon."

This time they rallied, hitting it just within the lines on the third volley. By that point, Chuck was on his feet; at a look from the receptionist, he sat down, sheepishly. Sarah and Carina took the next point, too. Things seemed like they might be looking up…until Carina couldn't get under the ball in time and it shot into the audience instead of toward the Brazilians.

The Brazilians celebrated. Carina and Sarah headed for their bench, identical stormy looks on their faces.

"Bartowski?" A man in a lab coat appeared by the door, and Chuck rose with a sigh. No matter the country or state, it seemed that the drug testing never changed. On the TV, Carina, almost to the bench, hip-checked Sarah. The blond stumbled sideways and turned, fist clenched and raised. On TV in front of the entire world, Carina wiggled her eyebrows—and Sarah burst out laughing.

"Oh, they'll be fine," Chuck said.

"Sorry?" the doctor asked.

"Never mind. I guess it's time to give you some fluids."


He didn't see Sarah or Carina again that day, which disappointed him. Sarah called, but didn't leave a voice mail and didn't pick up when Chuck tried to call back. He left a message on Sarah's phone to congratulate her and Carina for coming back to smash the Brazilians for pieces in the second and third set. After that, he funneled his frustration into watching the three meter springboard men's competition, which he'd recorded on his laptop. He fed it into a program he'd created, which would take several hours to render, leaving him plenty of time to look over the results with Anna in the morning. He went to bed early, exhausted from two very strange days in a row, and woke up in the morning to a text message alert, from Sarah, inviting him to breakfast. He was out of bed like a shot.

"You know, I wouldn't have been offended if you'd wanted to sleep," Sarah said as Chuck yawned.

At five in the morning, the cafeteria was a lot busier than any of the all-night Stanford cafes would have been, but it still felt like a bit of a ghost town. There were a few athletes about—the games were half-over and quite a few had gone—but mostly, they had the place to themselves. Chuck was still in his pajamas. He'd shoved his hair under a team USA ski cap to avoid letting Sarah see the "animal shapes," as his sister put it. Sarah, on the other hand, was wide awake and already in workout gear.

"No, it's okay. I've got a light day, so I can sleep later."

"If you're sure," Sarah said, doubtfully. She scooped a handful of blueberries onto her oatmeal.

Chuck did the same, with a sigh. He hated oatmeal. If it were up to him, his diet would be nothing but processed foods and sugar. "I'm sure. Congrats on the win yesterday."

Sarah made a face. "You mean congrats on the last two sets, right?"

"Hey, a win's a win. I do have to wonder what would have happened if you'd slugged Carina, though."

"We've already faced interviews about 'trouble in paradise.' Speaking of which, I am so, so sorry she did that to you, Chuck. Usually she waits a couple of months."

"It's the Olympics. Everything's on a tight schedule." Chuck tried to keep his voice light. "I have to admit, I'm a little impressed. You couldn't even tell the lock had been jimmied."

"I'm going to kill her," Sarah said under her breath.

"Probably better to wait until you've won gold for that."

"If you insist." They set their trays down at one of the empty tables. Sarah let out a long sigh as she eased herself into a chair. "I'm sorry I didn't come find you after the game. Coach sat us down and blistered our asses, and there were interviews and I wanted to get away from it all and sleep, you know?"

"It's not a big deal. Just because I seem to have loads of free time to think about how horribly I'm going to lose doesn't mean everybody else does."

"Hey," Sarah said, kicking him gently.

Chuck blew out a breath. "I should've done springboard. Three-meters means I'd be done already."

"But then you wouldn't get to feel like Superman," Sarah said.

Chuck blinked at her, wondering where she had heard that. It took him a minute to put it together, but when he did, he groaned. "You saw the interview? I didn't even know that was out there. Oh, God, do I have anything I need to apologize for?"

Sarah laughed. "I thought it was sweet. Especially when you were talking about Morgan and your sister."

"Uh, thanks. The local NBC affiliate came out and interviewed her, you know." Chuck crunched into toast with unnecessary vigor. "At least she finds it exciting rather than intrusive."

Sarah toyed with her spoon, looking away from him. "Speaking of intrusive, I think that interview may have been the thing to set Carina on you. She's not used to anybody talking about me without mentioning…"

"The way you look in a bikini?"

"Oh, so you have noticed."

"I, um, uh…"

"It's okay. You can notice—I won't be offended." She nudged him with her foot under the table, her smile cajoling. It quickly faded into a serious look once more. "She didn't say anything about…anything, did she?"

"She called me scary. I don't see it, personally."

"No, not at all." Sarah grabbed her knife and began peeling an orange in an easy motion. "Tallest guy in your sport, work out every day, crazy enough to launch yourself off of basically the third story of a building and land head-first."

"Okay, put it that way, I sound kind of scary. I still maintain that I'm not."

Sarah squeezed his bicep. "Right. Like you're not totally ripped under that T-shirt."

Chuck's eyebrows went into his hairline. "And how do you know what's under my T-shirt? Unless you've been internet stalking me."

"You're not the only one who knows how to work Google." Sarah finished peeling the orange and set the unbroken peel on her tray. "Oh, look, you're turning red again. That's cute."

Chuck sighed. "I don't think she meant physically," he said. "She really cares for you."

"She does." Sarah went quiet, once again looking down as she plucked slices of orange free and arranged them on a plate. "You heard about how Carina and I started playing on the same team in high school, I'm guessing?"

"I read that somewhere, yeah."

"It's not exactly the full story. Carina and I, we met in a group home."

"A what? A group home? For orphans?"

"She's a reformed pickpocket. I'm a conman's daughter." Sarah looked up, finally, and met his gaze. There was almost a challenge in the look, as though she were expecting him to say something bad. As though she had prepared for it.

Chuck wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. "Like Frank Abagnale? For real?"

"He never did check-fraud, but yeah, for real. He ended up mixed with some bad people, and the feds busted him. When they couldn't find my mom, they put me in a home. Carina was my roommate."

"I'm surprised NBC hasn't been all over that story," Chuck said.

"They don't know. None of the other girls on the team even knew where Carina and I stayed at night, only that we hated each other. You know how in those sports movies, they put the two people that hate each other in a room and make them work out their differences?"

"So you two are a sports movie cliché?"

"Sort of." Sarah sighed. "Our coach locked us in a room together, but it only led to bruised ribs and a black eye. After that, what he did was put us on the same team, the two of us against two seniors—we were juniors at the time—and he told us that if we lost, he'd make sure we would spend every moment of the day together."

"And?"

"We pounded their asses into the gym floor. It was a hell of a lot of fun."

"And the Walker-Miller domination was born?"

"Not quite. Coach signed us up for beach volleyball that summer, so it was a lot of time with the two of us, practicing together. And in that situation, you either grow to really hate each other or you become friends. We became friends. I think we've both always felt a little different, you know? Neither of us had regular childhoods or anything, and it's hard to understand that from the outside. So we bonded, and in senior year, they found my mom, I moved in with her, and Carina followed." Sarah frowned. "And now, she's just there. She's part of my life, I'm part of hers, and neither of us would have it any other way."

"And how many black eyes have there been since?" Chuck asked, finishing off his oatmeal before it congealed too badly.

"A few." Sarah smirked. "We're rough drunks. The other teams always look worse."

Chuck laughed, making a couple of the other early-birds look over at them in annoyance. "Well played," he said, and Sarah dipped her head. "I'm glad the two of you found each other, then."

"So am I, when she's not being a pain in my ass. Anyway, this isn't something we like to talk about. Please, don't tell anybody about it."

"Yeah, no, trust me, your secrets are safe with me." Chuck mimed zipping his lip and throwing away the key, and winced. "But only if we can pretend I didn't do that."

"Deal." Sarah gave him a smile from under her lashes and finally started eating the orange slices. "So that's the whole sordid tale. We're ex-criminals and now we're going for our second gold medal. Rags to riches at its finest, I guess."

"I think it's impressive," Chuck said. "And the Carina thing yesterday? Not a big deal. Her heart was in the right place. Hell, now I'm convinced she has a heart. She was coming off a little bit like a sex vampire."

"Preying on the weak, undersexed athletes of the 2012 London games?"

"All these unsuspecting victims walking around." Chuck feigned remorse as he shook his head. "The poor souls."

"Oh, stop." Sarah laughed and shoved at his shoulder, gently.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Want?" Sarah asked, holding out an orange slice.

Chuck shrugged and took it with a nod of thanks. "Why tell me any of this? You barely know me. I mean, I'm flattered, don't get me wrong."

"I knew of you before I met you," Sarah said, "so I wasn't worried about that."

"Bryce talked about me?"

"Yeah, there were some pictures in his apartment of the two of you at Stanford. That's how I recognized you at the airport. Bryce still has a lot of respect for you."

"Could have fooled me," Chuck said.

"Going to try to beat him on Saturday?"

He didn't have a Sno-cone's chance on Tatooine of beating Bryce, but Sarah's eyes sparkled with such fun that Chuck gave a modest shrug. "Of course. He may have won silver in synchro, but please, c'mon, I'm Chuck Bartowski. No diver in the world can compare with all of this." He made a show of leaning back and flexing.

Sarah mimicked his pose. "Oh, please, like you're the only one around here with guns."

"What the hell?" Carina's face was a portrait of confusion as she set her tray down next to Sarah's. Sarah broke off into a fit of giggles even as Chuck attempted an innocent look. "Did you two drink the Kool-Aid?"

"Morning, Carina," Sarah said. "Wasn't there something you wanted to say to Chuck?"

"Huh? Oh. Right. Sorry, Speedo," Carina said to Chuck before she dug into her oatmeal. Sarah cleared her throat; Carina glared at her teammate for a second. A brief, silent, furious conversation seemed to happen before Carina gave the most long-suffering sigh Chuck had ever heard, turned to him, and said, "I'm sorry, Chuck, that I attempted to seduce you with my awesome body in order to find out if you were good enough for my beloved teammate. And I would have rocked your world, for the record."

"Uh, apology accepted," Chuck said.

"I didn't get too much sand in your bed, did I?"

"N-no, it was fine," Chuck said as Sarah gave Carina a boggled look. "Let's regard it as behind us and move on, yes?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Do I even want to know?" Sarah asked.

In reply, Carina plopped one foot on the table in a feat of gymnastic grace.

"Ew! We're trying to eat." Sarah shoved Carina's foot, making the redhead fall backward. Both of their cell phones buzzed at the same time. Carina scowled and scooped oatmeal into her mouth; Sarah checked her phone. "That's Beckman, telling us to get to the track. I'm sorry, Chuck, but we're going to have to abandon you."

"It's okay. Have fun at the track."

"It's going to be a hectic few days for us, but…breakfast? Tomorrow?"

"I look forward to it," Chuck said.

Sarah gave him one last smile before they left. As they walked away, Chuck heard Carina say, "Ooh, we're having breakfast with Speedo again? How exciting."

Chuck didn't see why it would be, but he was definitely not complaining.


A/N the Second: I like to think that if Carina named this story, it would be called That One Olympics Where My Best Friend Pretended She Didn't Ogle The Guy in a Speedo Every Night While She Waited for the Stupid Ass to Call Her. Also, His Friend Martin Was There, Too. Cool Beard, Dude.

There's a reason I don't let Carina write my story titles.

Also, here's your preview:

"You going to be okay?" Sarah asked. "You look a little green."

Chuck felt a little green. "I'll be fine."

"Well, okay." Sarah gave him a hug and held on. Chuck hoped she didn't feel him shaking. "You can do it, remember. You belong here just as much as any of these mostly-naked men."

"I've never heard it put that way before, but thank you."

When Carina moved to hug him, Chuck held out a hand. "Maybe just a handshake?"

"Oh, fine," Carina said again, and Sarah elbowed her teammate when Carina did nothing to stop the wandering eyes. "Knock 'em dead, Speedo."