A/N the first: Thank you all so much for the anniversary greetings. I appreciate them, and you, so much. We had a wonderful time away. And thank you for the reviews, support and enthusiasm for this story. I always look forward to hearing from you.

As always, thank you to AgentInWaiting for his fantastic beta work.

Chapter 12 – Endogenous Morphine

It was a beautiful day to be outside and enjoying the warm spring sunlight now that the wildfire was out and the snow had melted. It was also a perfect day to start Chuck's training. Sarah had wanted to start his drills the morning after their return home, but circumstances conspired against that happening. It took a couple of days to get things back to normal and she didn't want to push at a time when they were all still recovering from the previous taxing days. Plus, the air quality needed to improve before they could run, and she needed to get her husband a decent pair of running shoes since all he owned were chucks.

Once the weekend had passed, and new shoes were purchased, they stopped at a nearby park to run after they dropped the kids off at school. Sarah made sure they stretched out before they began and she couldn't help but grin when she saw the appreciative looks he gave her as she bent, turned, twisted and stretched. When they were warmed up, they started off at a slow lope. Knowing how much he disliked jogging, she didn't want to make it completely miserable for him the first day. It wasn't long before she noticed his labored breathing, though.

"Whoever said running gives you a high was full of crap," he grumbled between pants of breath.

"Sometimes it only happens once you've pushed past the pain."

"Somehow, I don't think it'll be worth it."

"Keep at it for another ten minutes. If running doesn't release those endorphins, I promise to make sure they get released one way or another."

"Yeah? How can you guarantee that?"

"Sex."

He stumbled and had she not grabbed his arm to keep him from taking a tumble, the front of his body would have been one giant scab. They came to a stop so he could catch his breath. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. Wheezing, he asked, "Why are you trying to kill me?" He glanced up and frowned at two young men staring at Sarah as they jogged by.

She bounced on her toes in front of him. "I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to motivate you. I thought the promise of sex with me later would inspire you to keep going."

Apparently her voice carried more than she thought it would. The two men who had been gawking at her toppled over each other and crashed to the ground in a heap. Heat rose in her cheeks.

Chuck stood and put his hands on his hips. "Does this happen every time you go running?"

"What?"

"Guys ogling you," he said. They both turned to watch the fallen men untangle themselves and get to their feet. One of them paused, licked his lips, and said, "Hey gorgeous, if he doesn't want to be inspired then—"

Sarah raised her left hand and flashed her ring. "Married," she declared flatly while still bouncing on her toes. "Move along."

Her pronouncement caused the two men to run off as fast as they could. Turning back to her husband, she saw he was studying her very intently. "Chuck?" When no response was forthcoming she tried again, "Honey, are you all right?"

Chuck shook himself. "Sorry, your… bounciness is kind of distracting. You do realize you leave behind a wake of men crashing to the ground when they trip over their own feet, collide headlong into trees, or take headers over benches, all because they can't keep their eyes off of you?" He seemed quite amused by it all when he asked, "And how often do you get propositioned?"

She stopped her bouncing and stood flatfooted in front of him. She was aware of her effect on men. It was one of the things that made her a good spy. She knew how to use her appeal to get men to talk, to inform, to acquiesce. Shrugging, she answered, "I can't help what people around me do. When I'm out jogging, I'm out to get some exercise, not to get men to stare or talk to me. And even if they do, it doesn't mean anything. Hopelessly in love with you, remember?" She stepped closer, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Then she pulled at his hand to get him running again.

"Don't worry," he said, panting and grinning. "I remember. How could I forget?"

Tamping out a rhythm, they ran silently past a set of playground equipment. After another couple hundred yards, he gasped out, "What if—and by me asking this I'm not saying that it would happen in this universe—but what if women openly stared at me like men stare at you?"

She answered immediately. "For 'women' in general, I'd be proud that I have such a hot husband." He lurched again but this time managed to keep his balance. She gave him a quick sidelong glance. "And don't assume women don't look at you. They do." His face registered surprise and disbelief. "You may not believe me, but they do. Trust me. I've noticed."

They circled around a copse of trees and headed back the way they came. As they passed the playground again, Sarah noticed a contented smile on the face of a woman who sat on a bench, holding an infant on her lap while watching her older toddler go down the slide. Something in her stirred that she couldn't quite identify. Shaking off the strange feeling, she kept their pace steady. "As for the specific woman who gives you too much attention, I'd break her arm."

Her husband's response to that was a hearty guffaw. She smirked and continued, "You laugh. I'm not kidding."

He grinned. "Oh, I know you're not kidding. You are a wonderful, beautiful and frightening woman, Sarah Bartowski," he said, between breaths.

Laughing, she added, "And you're hopelessly in love with me."

"And I'm hopelessly in love with you."

She slowed their pace and dropped it to a walk.

"Why are we walking?" he asked, taking in one deep lungful of air after another.

Shaking out the muscles in her legs as they walked, she replied, "Because we finished our run."

He looked surprised. "We did?"

She took the water bottle from the carrier around her waist and handed it to him. "Mm-hmm. You survived. I'm proud of you."

"I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he said, taking off the cap and drinking half the bottle before handing it back to her.

She chuckled. "You just needed something to keep your mind occupied." She drained the rest of the water.

"I guess so."

"Did those endorphins ever kick in?" she asked.

He gave her a thoughtful look. "No."

Tossing the empty bottle into a recycling bin they passed, she smirked, "I had the feeling that would be your answer."

He goggled at her. "Think about it. Why would I say yes, given the motivation you gave me earlier?"

She grabbed his hand and sighed heavily as they approached the van. "I guess I'll have to follow through with my promise." She found herself sandwiched between his body and the side of the van. He gave her a leisurely kiss. "A promise is a promise," he answered.

~ O ~

Sarah Walker, agent of the CIA, was an excellent traveler. She had been all over the world and used nearly every type of transportation imaginable—including camels—and once, even an elephant. Sarah Bartowski, parent of seven children, now sat in her living room with feet resting on the edge of the coffee table and a yellow legal pad propped up on her thighs writing down every task she could think of that needed to be completed before their trip to Europe. Being the one in the family with extensive travel experience, it was primarily up to her to think though the logistics and make sure they had everything in place.

At the top of the list was obtaining passports for Chuck and the kids and securing any needed visas. Processing the passports would take some time, so that was the first project they needed to tackle. The idea of simply calling the CIA and having someone there take care of it crossed her mind, but she thought better of it. She didn't want to put their trip on anyone's radar, so she decided they would go through regular channels.

The first thing she knew they needed to do was to have Chuck and the kids have passport photos taken. She was thinking about where to get them done when her husband came in and groaned as he gingerly sank down to the couch next to her.

"My poor baby. Still a little sore?" she asked with a grin.

"I was okay once the endorphins kicked in," he said bouncing an eyebrow knowingly at her, which she returned with a knowing smirk. "But that was yesterday. So, yes, now I'm a little achy. What I want to know is how does jogging make your spleen sore?"

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I think we need to get those endorphins flooding your system again," she whispered in his ear.

"I think I can live with that," came his immediate reply.

"I have something planned for you… later," she said mysteriously. "Right now I'm making a list of things we need to do to get ready for our trip."

He nodded absently and said, "I just read that they figured out the cause of the Widow's Gulch fire. It wasn't due to natural causes."

Her head snapped toward him and she sat up, ramrod straight. "What did they say it was?"

"There were a couple of guys who had been camping and didn't make sure their fire was completely out before they left the area. The authorities said they didn't find any accelerants or anything to make them think it was arson, so they've ruled that out and are calling it accidental." He paused and then asked, "What do you think?"

She still had her suspicions, but since there was no direct evidence that Fulcrum had anything to do with the fire, she told him just that. Relaxing against the back of the couch again, she said, "We'll just keep our eyes open, as usual." She glanced over his shoulder and saw Megan wander into the living room. She flopped into of the chairs across the coffee table from them, sighed heavily and gave her uncle and aunt a helpless look. "I'm bored," she announced.

Sarah pressed her lips together and Chuck's snort turned into a cough. "Nothing to do, huh? Your homework's done already?" Sarah asked.

Megan nodded slowly, walking her fingers across the armrest. "I wrote as many words as I could think of that rhyme with 'sat.' I came up with a bunch." Her big blue eyes stared at them. "Kindergarten's pretty easy."

"I'm sure you'll find first grade much more challenging," Chuck said, his voice heavy with the appropriate amount of solemnity. His eyes, however, danced with mirth.

"I sure hope so," Megan replied pensively.

It was only through a great effort that Sarah didn't burst out laughing. Instead, she kept a straight face and said, "I have an idea. We have a couple of hours before we have to go get your brothers and sisters from school. Why don't we work with Uncle Chuck on some basic self-defense?"

At that, Megan perked up and bounced out of the chair. "I can help you learn, Uncle Chuck. I'm good at self-defense stuff."

His eyes widened. "Oh, I know you are. You're not going to flip me, are you?"

She looked at him gravely. "Only if Aunt Sarah says it's okay."

"We'll see. Run upstairs and get changed. Uncle Chuck and I will go get changed, too."

Megan took off like a shot and scampered up the stairs. Sarah stood and put out her hand offering to help him up off the couch. Taking it, he said as she hauled him to his feet, "Every muscle in my body aches and you're going to have my six-year-old throw me to the floor." He stared at her. "You, my good woman, are a sadist."

She kept his hand in hers as they walked toward the stairs. "Best thing to do when you're sore is to get up and move around. It loosens up the muscles." She raised an eyebrow. "Admit it," she said as they took each step up the stairs slowly, "fear made those endorphins flow again, didn't they?"

"Are you saying fear of bodily harm is what you had planned for me to 'get my endorphins going' again?" he complained with a teasing tone. "Because if it is, I have to admit I'm pretty disappointed. The other way is much better."

They reached the top of the stairs and turned toward their bedroom. "You like jogging better," she said. "Got it." She squealed as he chased her down the hall.

~ O ~

Sarah wanted to train Chuck, of course, but she was always training Megan as well and today was no exception. From everything Chuck had told her about Ellie and Devon, she already recognized the natural athleticism Megan had inherited from her father and the quick mind of her mother. Wanting to challenge them both, Sarah gave Chuck a warning before they entered the basement to stand tall against his niece and not bend forward toward her at all. Once someone did so, that person ended up on his or her back in a blink of an eye, no matter how large they were.

Megan scampered down the basement stairs and ran across the mats to stand directly in front of Sarah who sat on her stool. She handed Sarah a brush and an elastic hair tie and then spun around. As Sarah ran a brush through the little girl's hair, Megan eyed Chuck's t-shirt and sweatpants. "How come you don't have a uniform like mine?" she asked him.

He looked over at Sarah. "Yeah! Why don't I?"

Gathering Megan's hair together at the back of her head with one hand, she deftly pulled the long blonde hair through the rubber band and twisted the hair tie. As she secured the hair into a thick ponytail, her eyes danced merrily at her husband as she replied, "Don't worry. I ordered a uniform for you. It'll just take a little longer since pink in your size was on backorder."

"Pink!" Megan blurted. A hand flew over her mouth in surprise. "Pink is for girls!" she laughed.

Chuck looked affronted. "Pink is not just for girls. I think I'll look great in a pink martial arts uniform. Like a big marshmallow peep."

That got both girls laughing. Sarah tossed the brush on the floor and addressed them, her eyes twinkling. "Are you two ready?"

Megan nodded and moved to stand right in front of Chuck. "Do I get to flip him?" she asked, clearly sizing up her foe.

"Mm-hmm, if you can. He's a lot bigger than you, though," Sarah warned.

Chuck stood tall and stared down at their littlest niece. "You can try, but you'll fail," he taunted her with mock menace. "Your dark arts have no sway over me." Sarah saw something flash in Megan's eyes.

Oh boy. That was the wrong thing to say. "Now you're just waving a red cape in front of her."

Chuck's eyes never left Megan's when he answered, "I'm not afraid."

She snickered quietly to herself. You should be.

Megan stood in front of Chuck and looked up at him. Curling a finger beckoning him to lower himself toward her, she said, "Uncle Chuck, I have a secret I want to tell you."

He started to bend toward her and then snapped back up. "Ha! You're trying to trick me. Well, it didn't work."

Sarah could see Megan thinking. The little girl scratched her head and said, "You're right, I was."

Chuck began his boast. "My superior brain and size—"

Megan's movement was like a lightning strike. She zipped around behind him and kicked her foot against the back of one of his knees, causing it to buckle. Once he started to lose his balance, she reached up as high as she could, grabbed the back of his shirt with both hands and pulled. The air rushed out of his lungs with a grunt when his back hit the mat.

Megan placed a bare foot on his chest in triumph. "You were saying?" Sarah asked drily.

"I am in awe of your mad ninja skills, Miss Megan. Please don't hurt me," Chuck said humbly.

Grinning, she removed her foot. "I won't hurt you, Uncle Chuck. I want to be like Aunt Sarah and not hurt people."

Megan's words made Sarah suck in a sharp intake of air. From the floor, Chuck turned his head, gave her a meaningful glance and then a wink. Clearing her throat, she stood from the stool and offered a hand to Chuck. Pulling him to his feet, she said to Megan, "Good thinking. You remembered the move I taught you last week." Megan smiled at the compliment.

"Now that Uncle Chuck understands that his size won't keep him safe, shall we start at the beginning?" Sarah asked them both. Both heads nodded in the affirmative. "Since there's such a big size difference between the two of you, I'll work with you. Megan, you can sit on my stool and tell us what we should do."

Jumping up and down, Megan clapped happily and then scrambled up on the stool while Sarah and Chuck stood facing each other. "Okay, Aunt Sarah, you need to show Uncle Chuck how to do the shoulder flip."

"You mean like this?" Sarah asked as she, in one smooth movement, flipped an unsuspecting Chuck over her shoulder and onto his back. He made the same grunt as he had a few moments before. "My wife is trying to kill me," he groaned.

Once again, Sarah helped him up as Megan heaved a patient sigh. "Uncle Chuck, I told you what she was going to do. You need to always be prepared. Okay, Aunt Sarah, let's go slow and show him what you did."

Sarah followed Megan's directions and demonstrated how to do the shoulder flip, only needing to add a few details here and there along the way. Overall, Megan did an admirable job and before long Chuck had successfully flipped Sarah onto the mat several times.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Sarah said, "Sweetie, I think we're about done for the day." Chuck's "Thank God" was drowned out by Megan's "Aawww!" She gave her husband an amused look. "I was talking to our niece. Sweetie, why don't you run upstairs and get ready to go with us to get your brothers and sisters from school. We'll be up in a couple of minutes."

"Okay," Megan said as she slid off the stool and zoomed out of the room and up the stairs.

Chuck eyed Sarah questioningly, but stayed silent. "I want to show you one more thing," she purred. His gaze followed her warily as she slowly moved behind him. "Next time we work out, I'm going to teach you how to get out of a bear-hug like this one." She reached her arms around him and gripped her hand around her fist. Tightening the hug, her body pushed into his back as his arms were helplessly pinned to his sides. He merely stood there. "You're not struggling to get away," she observed.

"Your front pressed up against my back is not an uncomfortable position for me to be in. Why would I try to do something stupid like—ahhhhh!" he groaned and shivered when she stood on her tiptoes and blew gently in his ear. He immediately started struggling to get out of her grip as what she had just done clearly drove him crazy. Enjoying herself immensely, she blew in his ear again, eliciting from him another guttural moan. Taking pity on him, she released her grip and he instantly spin around, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. His fervor made her weak kneed and she nearly went limp in his embrace. Once again, she found herself on her back on the mat, only this time Chuck had used his own special brand of ninja skills to accomplish the feat. Not that she minded, particularly when she wasn't on the mat alone. We all have our skill sets.

~ O ~

On the way home from school, Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget chatted excitedly about the upcoming prom while the boys stared dully out the windows. It was now only a couple of weeks away and final arrangements were being made. Lizzie informed them that Brock had hired a limousine to drive them. Sarah glanced over her shoulder and noted the contrasts; the girls' faces were as animated as the boys' were nearly comatose. Sorry, boys, it really can't be helped.

Chuck frowned at the tidbit of information about the limo. "I'm not sure I'm very excited about the two of you alone in a limo," he said, looking at Lizzie in the van's rear view mirror.

"It's not just us. We're going with my friend Monica and her date, Roy."

Fred snapped out of his lethargy long enough to snark, "Is she the one that never met a donut she didn't like?"

"Shut it, Fred," Lizzie snapped.

Sarah turned and shot him a disapproving look.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"What's the theme for the prom?" Sarah asked.

"It was going to be 'Disco Inferno,' but after the fire, they changed it at the last minute to 'Arabian Nights.'"

"You mean like Jasmine?" Martie asked. "I don't think your dress looks very much like that."

"It's mostly for the decorations," Lizzie explained. "The girls wear dresses and the guys wear either tuxedoes or nice suits." Her eyes were full of excitement when she added, "Brock's going to wear a tuxedo."

"I'm sure he'll look very handsome," Sarah replied before she turned back toward the front of the van.

"Hey, Aunt Sarah!" Curtis called out. "Did you go to your prom when you were in high school?"

Chuck's head snapped toward her when she flinched. "You don't have to answer," he said quietly.

Huffing a breath, she said, "No, it's okay." She turned around in her seat and faced the kids again. "No, I didn't go to either my junior or senior prom. I was never asked." The van fell into a stunned silence as they all gaped at her.

"The guys at your high school must have been blind idiots," Fred said indignantly, breaking the quiet.

An unbidden smile reached her eyes. "Thank you, Fred. That's very sweet of you to say, but I have to confess, I was a late bloomer. Braces, bad clothes, bad hair…" She shuddered. "It was just bad."

"What about you, Uncle Chuck? Did you go?" Bridget asked.

Chuck raised his eyes to the rear view mirror again and said, "No, I didn't go either."

Surprised, Sarah asked, "Really?"

Shaking his head, he answered, "That wasn't high on the priority list. My junior year, Lizzie was a toddler and Fred was a newborn. My senior year, Ellie was in her first trimester with Lisa and tired all the time. Devon was in medical school so he was gone a lot. They needed my help…" He shrugged. "Like I said, it wasn't a high priority."

"We're just a couple of prom misfits, I guess," she chuckled.

"Hey! Maybe we can go to prom after all. They might still need chaperones—"

"No!" Lizzie shouted from the back. She apparently heard the slight panic in her voice because she moderated her tone and said, "I mean, no, they don't need any more. I heard they already had enough chaperones. And I think it's only teachers and administrators who do it."

Sarah pursed her lips and Chuck winked at her. "I guess we won't be able to fulfill our lifelong dreams of going to the prom," he said sadly as the van entered the garage.

"I think I'll survive," she deadpanned.

The kids piled out of the van and into the house where they all headed straight to the kitchen for a snack. Sarah strolled out the front door to get the day's mail. It was usually nothing more than bills and junk mail, but today, surprisingly, there was a rectangular box covered with brown postal paper wedged in the mailbox. Sarah glanced at it and immediately recognized Carina's large, looping handwriting. She assumed it was for her and then did a double take when she realized it was addressed to Martie and Megan. Checking the postmark, she saw it was from DC. Apparently, Carina hadn't been sent out on her next mission yet.

Once back inside the house, she went straight to the kitchen and set the box on the table in front of the two girls, who were sitting next to each other and dipping graham crackers in their glasses of milk. "You two got something from Aunt Carina."

Both sets of eyes grew wide. "Oh, Aunt Sarah," Martie breathed. "A brown paper package covered with tape is one of my favorite things!"

Lisa glanced over and said, "Oh good, it came." She took out her phone, typed and sent a quick text.

"What was that about?" Chuck asked.

Picking up her container of yogurt, Lisa stirred it with her spoon. "Aunt Carina texted me a few days ago and said she was sending something to these two," she said, tipping her head toward her little sisters. "She asked me to let her know as soon as the package came." She popped a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth.

Interesting. Slipping a graham cracker from the brown waxy paper package, Sarah probed, "How often do you hear from Carina?"

Lifting a shoulder, Lisa replied, "I dunno. Every couple of days I guess. Not real often. She said once she goes on the mission she's getting ready for, I won't hear from her for a while."

Sarah took a bite of her cracker and nodded. "That's what an agent has to do when she goes undercover. Her personal life has to be hidden away. It protects everyone."

"Is that what you did when you came here?" Bridget asked.

Sarah gave her a rueful smile. "As much as I needed to. I didn't have much of a personal life back then."

Megan picked the box up off the table and shook it next to her ear. "Can we open it now?"

"Yes, you've been very patient." Sarah removed the glasses of milk from the table and set them on the counter, safely away from being knocked over.

Megan turned the box over and over in her hands. "It has a lot of tape on it. I can't find a place to start ripping off the brown paper."

"Here, let me help you with that," Sarah said, reaching down to her ankle holster and slipping a throwing knife from it. In one smooth motion, she sliced through the packing tape at one of the seams and returned the knife from where it came.

"Whoa," Fred whispered with awe. "That is just so cool." She smiled, slightly embarrassed, at him.

A grinning Chuck, leaning a shoulder against the doorway, said, "It never gets old, does it?" He snagged a Fig Newton from the package on the table and came to stand next to his wife. "What's up?" he asked as they watched Megan tear the paper from the package.

"Carina sent Martie and Megan something in the mail."

"Is it ticking?"

Smirking, she bumped him with her shoulder. The brown paper was quickly removed and tossed haphazardly across the table revealing that the present was wrapped in boldly colored wrapping paper with a note taped to the front.

Megan tore off the note, opened it up and looked at it. Scowling, she quickly passed it off to Bridget next to her. Bridget read the note aloud as Megan and Martie both clawed at the paper.

"Dear Martie and Megan,

"I remember when I met you, Megan, you told Martie you were going to need to get another Barbie. I think you meant that blonde Spy Barbie needed a redheaded partner. I saw this and knew she needed to be part of the spy team. I hope Barbie and Dani will go on lots of fun adventures together.

"Love, Aunt Carina.

"P.S. – Just don't let her come between Barbie and Joe. He belongs to her. Haha."

Both girls' faces were full of wonder when they looked at the doll sealed inside the plastic packaging.

Fred glanced over at the box with mild interest. His double-take made him nearly fall out of his chair. "Wow!" he exclaimed under his breath.

"Turn it around so we can see it," Sarah said. Megan, still stunned to silence, turned the box around for Sarah and Chuck to see. There, in all her glory, was a Barbie with long red hair and gold hoop earrings.

"Oh boy," Chuck said, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

The doll was wearing lingerie. The silver satin nightie was trimmed with black lace at the top and bottom and stopped high on the thigh. It was the black fishnet stockings that ran all the way up the doll's legs and stopped just below the hem of the nightie, providing a gap of uncovered "skin", that made Sarah groan and shake her head. Only Carina would send a six-year-old and a seven-year-old Inappropriate Barbie.

"Why would she wear black high heels if she's in her pajamas?" Megan wanted to know. Five chairs scraped across the floor when the older kids jumped up and fled the kitchen.

"Cowards!" Chuck called after them as they sprinted from the room.

Martie nodded slowly, her face clouded with confusion. "You'd think she'd be wearing slippers." She sat up straight and her face brightened. "Or socks!"

Sarah dug her teeth into her lower lip and blinked several times in an attempt to stop the laughter that wanted to erupt. Leaning across the table, she gently lifted the box from Megan's grip. Completely ignoring the questions posited by Megan and Martie's accompanying comments, Sarah said, "You know, this doll's not wearing the right kind of clothes for a mission."

Chuck stepped up next to her and whispered in her ear, "Well, she is if she's really undercover." He chuckled despite her elbow jabbing him in the stomach.

"Why don't you two run upstairs and find some good spy clothes from Barbie's stash for this doll while we get her out of the box?" Her experience at Christmas taught her that one needed protective hand and eyewear when extracting a Barbie from her packaging. The little ones yelled out, "Okay!" clambered down from their chairs and raced out.

When it was just the two of them left, Sarah finally let out a laugh. "I think we successfully dodged a bullet there." She reached down to her holster and retrieved the knife she had used a moment before.

"Ready to perform the Barbie-ectomy, I see," Chuck quipped. Looking at the doll, he said, "I wonder why Carina called her 'Dani?' I don't see a name on the front of the box."

Turning the box over, she examined it top and bottom. "Here," she said, showing him part of a price sticker. The price had been scraped off, but the top half read, "Dani's Dollhouse."

"Ah. Dani it is, then," he said.

Since the box had been easier to open than the ones at Christmas, she only needed to use the knife to slit the plastic ties that fastened the doll to the cardboard backing. While she worked, Chuck slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I have to admit," he said slowly, "that I kind of wish there was a Sarah Bartowski sized version of Dani's outfit."

When he nuzzled her neck, she gently set her knife down on the counter. It wasn't good to be wielding a knife when her husband was so… distracting. The fingers that had gripped the knife seconds before were now stroking his hair. Just as she tipped her head to give him better access to her neck, Mrs. Smith bustled into the kitchen loaded down with four bags of groceries. Completely ignoring the couple in the middle of the kitchen, she set the bags on the counter and went about putting the food away.

"Hi, Mrs. Smith," Sarah said dreamily.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. B. You're having a good day I see."

"Mm-hmmm. We'll get out of your way," Sarah murmured distractedly.

"Just ignore me," the other woman sang as she bustled around them.

Chuck raised his head languorously and blinked slowly at their cook. "Oh, hi."

Mrs. Smith snickered and shook her head in amusement. "Hi, Mr. B. Sorry to interrupt, but I assume your kids want to eat tonight."

Chuck roused from his stupor and replied, "Yeah, I'm sure they will. We'll take this upstairs."

Mrs. Smith stopped in her tracks and stared at him slack jawed.

His eyes popped open and he paled slightly. "What? Oh no! No, no, no! That's not what I meant," he babbled. "I meant that we'll take this up to the girls' room," he said, picking up and showing her the box that held the still partially extricated doll.

Sarah snuck the knife off the counter with one hand and took her husband's hand with the other. Leading him away she said, "Let me get you out of here before Mrs. Smith files a report against us." The other woman's laughter trailed behind them as they climbed the stairs.

~ O ~

The darkness was overcome by the soft, glowing light radiating from the candles placed around their bedroom. The second movement of Bach's Orchestral Suite No. 3, more popularly known as Air on the G String—the name of which made Chuck giggle the first time Sarah told him the title of the piece—played softly in the background. She was pretty proud of the playlist she had constructed and was enjoying the soothing music as the notes drifted around them.

The aroma of eucalyptus from the massage oil wafted up, opening up her breathing passages. It wasn't the most romantic scent—she would have preferred lavender at this point in the evening—but she knew eucalyptus oil would best help heal Chuck's sore body. It was the least she could do, considering the "abuse" she had put him through the last couple of days.

Chuck, laying prostrate on the bed, hummed with pleasure as she pressed the heels of her hands into the small of his back and slowly slid them up the muscles on either side of his spine. She started off gently, gradually adding more pressure each time she repeated the action.

With his head turned to one side, he murmured, "If this is the reward I get for letting you and or Megan flip me, you have my permission to do it anytime, anywhere."

Shifting a bit, she straddled him over his lower back so she could better reach his shoulders. Smiling, she replied in a soft voice, "I'll remember that." She had rolled up the sleeves on the white dress shirt of his she wore hoping to keep oil off the cuffs. Now the bottom of the shirt rested on his oil covered skin. "I think I'm getting oil on your shirt."

He opened an eye, gave her a quick glance and closed it again. "Don't care. It looks better on you anyway." After releasing a contented sigh as she kneaded his shoulder, he said lazily, "Tell you what. It can be designated to be your 'give-Chuck-a-massage' shirt. You're welcome to wear it and give me a massage every night."

"Ah, that's very generous of you," she said, her smile growing wider.

"What can I say? I'm a giver." He was quiet for a moment and then said, "Someday, that shirt will end up in the Shirt Hall of Fame."

"There's a Shirt Hall of Fame?"

"Mm-hmm. Full of famous historical shirts."

Dribbling more oil onto his upper back, she chuckled and said, "I was unaware that there was such a place."

"Oh yeah, but only the coolest people know about it. Your shirt will be displayed between the paint splattered shirt Michelangelo wore when he painted the Sistine Chapel and the ink smudged one Shakespeare wore when he wrote Romeo and Juliet."

"Wow, it'll be in some pretty serious company."

"You wearing it makes it a work of art."

Her heart melted. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," she whispered. His only response was a pleased smile.

Sitting up again, she started working his left bicep. The largo movement from Vivaldi's "Winter" from The Four Seasons played as Sarah wondered if now was the right time to bring up something she wanted to discuss with him. Without realizing it, she heaved a deep sigh.

"Sarah, you can stop the massage any time you need to," Chuck said with concern. "That was a pretty heavy sigh."

"No, sweetie, it's not that," she said, moving her hands to his other arm. "I started doing some research today on all the documents we'll need to get together when we go apply for the kids' passports."

"I assume we'll need their birth certificates. Those are in the safe deposit box at the bank. What else do we need?"

"There needs to be proof of parentage," she said quietly. "We might need to bring Ellie and Devon's…" she swallowed hard, "death certificates." She could feel him tense for a split second. "We need a document to prove you're the kids' parent."

"I have the Final Decree of Adoption in the office. I think that should work." When she remained silent, he lifted his head from the mattress and turned to look into her face. "There's something else."

She nodded once. Her hands moved away from his arm and dropped limply onto his back. "It's just that, as I was doing this research, I realized something." She took a deep breath and said quietly, "I realized I'm nothing to the kids."

"What do you mean?" he asked in disbelief. "Of course you're something to them. They absolutely love you. You're like a mother to them."

When he turned over to sit up, she slid off him and sat cross-legged on the mattress. "I know that. What I mean is legally I have no standing with them. I'm not their mother. I'm not their legal guardian. I'm not their adoptive parent like you are."

He gazed at her, waiting. She took his hand and absently fingered the ring on his finger. She needed to touch him, to have a connection with him because she really didn't want to talk about this. It was one of those things no one ever wanted to talk about. "What if, God forbid, something happened to you?" she asked quietly. "What would happen to the kids? I'd want them to stay with me. What if someone came along and tried to take them away?" She drew in a breath and blew it out slowly. "It got me thinking. What if we looked into the possibility of me legally adopting them?"

His tone was gentle when he asked, "Are you sure? That's a big step."

Nodding she answered, "They're my kids, you know? It felt like that even before we got married."

The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. "I know."

"I can't bear the thought of not being a part of their lives. Every day." She stared at the gold ring she continued to touch. "I want to be the one in the graduation pictures." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I want to be 'mother' of the bride someday…" her eyes rose to meet his and she smiled shyly, "a bunch of times."

"Not too soon, I hope," he said with a small smile.

She felt a flutter of nervousness. "Do you think the kids will be okay with it? I hope they won't think I'm trying to replace Ellie."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Remember how they were going to disown me if I didn't marry you? And how they gave you Ellie's charm bracelet?"

She glanced at the chain laying on her nightstand and sighed. "You're right. I still think we should talk to them about it, though."

"Let's call my lawyer first and see what it would take to get it done. Then, when we have a better idea of what needs to happen and how long it would take, we can talk to them."

"Okay," she agreed.

He reached out and brushed at a strand of hair on her forehead. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured to—"

"I'm sure."

His gaze studied her. "Okay."

It was like a weight had been lifted. Scooting closer, she asked, "Are your muscles still a little sore?"

"Well, actually, your massage did wonders. I hardly…" His voice trailed off when she eyed him lasciviously. Catching her meaning, he said in a husky voice, "Now that you mention it, I think I am still a little tender here and there."

She shifted closer and raised an eyebrow. "I thought so. You know, I'm a little achy from our workout, too. I think it would benefit both of us if we, ah…"

"…release some endorphins?" he finished. Gripping a handful of her shirt, he drew her to him and gave her a kiss that left her breathless. Smiling lazily at her, he mumbled against her lips, "We have the best training routine ever."

~ O ~

A/N the second: Here's a link if you would like to see Inappropriate Barbie:

www . amazon . com (slash) Barbie-Silkstone-Lingerie-Fashion-Redhead/dp/tags-on-product/B0006VSTCY

I know!