You know you make me feel so good

Yeah, like I never ever thought I would

You know you make me feel so strong

And now our laughter just goes on and on and on

So c'mon lay your hands on me

'Cause close to you

Is where I really wanna be

And if it ever gets too much

I see your face and sense the grace

And feel the magic in our touch

"Lay Your Hands On Me"

Thompson Twins

August 31, 2012

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

"Ok, ok, I'll allow it," Chuck kidded, a huge smile on his face.

They stood in the partially furnished office space that was soon to be the functioning headquarters for their new company. The carpet was new, and the chemical clean smell, like a new car, filled the space. There were three walls of windows, and the sunlight was intense inside the lightly colored interior.

Casey grunted, turning to hang his framed photograph of Ronald Reagan on the wall next to what would be Chuck's office door. He slid it onto the picture hook, took a step back. He readjusted it one more time. Then gave a quick, choppy salute to the photograph before turning to meet the others at the table in the center of the room.

"Now it's an office," Casey smirked, reaching down for his flute of champagne. Chuck, Sarah, Morgan, and Alex all stood with their glasses in hand, waiting for him.

Chuck jumped as his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Sarah made an impatient face as he pulled it out and looked at the screen. "Hey! Ellie sold her house," he told everyone, turning the phone outward to show the text.

"That's awesome, Dude," Morgan said with a smile. "Get those Bartowski's back together where they belong."

"Yeah," Chuck said, looking at his wife and smiling widely.

"Ok, ok. Toast!" Alex shouted. "To Carmichael Industries. Watch out hackers! You've met your match." She laughed, and stretched out her arm to tap glasses with everyone.

Chuck interjected. "To Morgan Grimes! Top negotiator for this and all future contracts with the U.S. government." A chorus of light cheers filled the room.

Chuck couldn't help but notice Sarah, a serious look on her face, her smile slightly fading as she cast her eyes toward the carpet. "You ok?" he mouthed to her, without volume.

She sighed, refocused, smiling at him again. Nothing got past him, she thought. He had to have noticed the quick slip in her attention. A memory had flashed, a champagne flute on the table in front of her, that voice on the phone, when she had been expecting it to be Chuck.

Before, this would have triggered her helpless rage, she knew. But now, the memory brushed by her, close enough for her to feel, but not affecting her. Her brain acknowledged it, accepted, filed it away, where it belonged. In the past. She took a deep breath, smiled as she nodded at the man who was her future. She was better, healed, or at least mended and on her way to being healed. Mostly because of him.

She could never have done what she had in such a short period of time without him. He was her rock, her safe harbor. She had no idea what she had ever done so right in her life to deserve him. A memory, in his voice, from what she now knew had been her honeymoon. Something he had told her, when she had said the same thing then that she now was thinking.

It's not something you earn. Love is a gift. All you have to do is give it in return.

She felt her skin flush, the room feeling warmer, as the emotions washed over her. It had been so long she had shown him her feelings in an intimate way. He was saintly in his patience. Standing here now, gazing at him across the table, she felt her body react.

Her eyes traced the lines of his body, her fingers twitching when she thought of running her hands across his shoulders, feeling his arms around her waist and his breath in her ear. She watched him put down his glass, her gaze fixated on his hand and his fingers. She felt warmer, flushed, when she thought of how it felt when he touched her, skilled like a piano virtuoso. Her mouth watered when she thought of kissing him, deeply and thoroughly.

Dreyfus had continued to tell her to trust herself. If she felt aroused, attracted to him, to take it as a sign that she was ready. She was aware of what could happen, and so was he. She trusted him, as she had done all along. Nothing was awkward when he understood completely. She didn't have to be afraid.

Standing there, feeling her legs nearly buckle when he smiled at her, she knew, at last. She no longer feared anything. They were a team, partners. In everything.

September 3, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

"You said the fountain!" Chuck panted, out of breath, as Sarah circled him as he stood at the fountain in the center of the courtyard.

"No I didn't," she teased as she ran past him to the door.

"Changing the rules! Someone's a sore loser," he said as he came up behind her.

"Who are you calling a loser?" she pouted, poking him as he was massaging out a stitch in his side. Laughing, Chuck took a step back, stumbling over something.

He looked down at his feet at the same second he realized he was stepping on a garden hose. Attempting to shuffle his feet out of the way, he ended up stepping on the trigger, sending a hard burst of water shooting directly into the air, straight at his wife. She shrieked, turning her head quickly and pushing both hands outward, which only succeeded in breaking the stream into an encompassing shower of water.

"Ooh, oh, no," he stammered, pulling the hose back with his foot. "I didn't mean to do that," he said, a nervous, goofy smile on his face.

"I bet you think this is funny," she said, mock menace in her voice as she approached him. Her ponytail was soaked, water dripping in a steady stream from the ends of her hair. Her t-shirt had adhered to her body, and her arms and legs were covered in water droplets.

"No, no, no. I'm not laughing," he said, backing away from her. "Do I look like I'm laughing?"

Unable to hold her harsh looking face, she cracked up laughing, at the same time she dove for the nozzle of the hose. He looked like a cartoon character, unable to get his feet underneath him fast enough to run away from her. "Isn't this funny?" she yelled, a wicked smile on her face as she aimed at him and pulled the trigger.

He walked into the stream, his hands pushed in front of his body, leaning into the stream as he approached her. He grabbed a handful of her side, right above her hip bone, causing her shriek and bend as he tickled her. With his other hand, he partially wrestled the nozzle out of her hand, only accomplishing soaking them both more completely. When the water finally shut off, his hair was completely saturated, water running in thick streams from his hair down his face, cascading from his nose and off his chin. His t-shirt and shorts were stuck to him.

Laughing so hard she couldn't catch her breath, she stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. "You're laughing," he said, giggling even as he accused her. She collapsed against him, trying to say something and completely unable to form a coherent word she was so hysterically laughing. Sputtering on the water covering her face, she tried to show him how they stuck together, which made him crack up laughing at the same time. She moved backwards to the door, reaching behind her to open it. He stopped at the entrance, wringing out his t-shirt in an exaggerated flourish, lifting it far off his stomach. A huge torrent of water escaped, renewing her fit of laughter.

They stumbled through the door, arms and legs tangled as they giggled, alternating between tickling each other. He shook his hair, spraying her with a fine mist of water, and she giggled again. Down the hallway and into the bathroom, then Chuck reached the bathroom door first. He grabbed a towel off the rack, turning to see her in the doorway, dripping wet but flushed. The most beautiful thing he could ever even imagine.

She saw him sober, his serious face as he just stood still, looking at her, his eyes glowing with admiration. He twisted the towel, gently tapping it against her nose before he handed it to her. She wiped her face, then pulled the towel away. He was doing the same.

Standing there, looking at him, his curly hair skewed in a hundred different directions, his cheeks ruddy from the scrubbing he had just given himself, he felt for a moment that she couldn't breathe. A crazy, swirling buoyancy bubbled up inside her, rising quickly like champagne gushing out of a cork-popped bottle. Like being in Paris, standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower, turning in a blustery breeze to see him–alive, excited, his beautiful smile brighter than the sun in the sky overhead. Joy, she remembered. He had taught her what joy was, in that moment in Paris. And now it was here, bursting through the frozen layer inside her like a radiantly blooming daffodil.

Everything she had ever wanted, everything she had never known she could want, or have. She had surrendered her dreams to him, and he had fulfilled them, even now as she stood looking at him, knowing it was because of him that they could come true.

He hadn't been able to look away from her, watching the emotions transform her face. Mesmerized, he watched as she stepped forward slowly, reaching for his hand. She threaded her fingers into his, pulled him closer to her. And then closer still, each time shortening the distance between them, and realizing there was no amount of space between her body and his that was acceptable, not when she felt the way she did.

She heard the suction as she pressed her clothes against his, the creeping chill suddenly gone as she felt the warmth of his body transferring to her. She looked up at him, her legs weak as he met her gaze, his desire burning behind his eyes, so dusty green in the light. Sagging against him, he held her, molded her against him as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She pushed herself up onto her toes, grabbing two fistfuls of his drenched shirt as an anchor, and kissed him.

His response was soft, gentle, restrained as he had been all along. She flicked her tongue against his lower lip, then against his teeth, opening her mouth and inviting his tongue to touch hers. His breath was hot inside her mouth. Unaware, she moaned softly, luxuriating in the taste of him. Her fingers were in his hair, holding him against her, even as he backed away slightly to catch his breath. He whispered her name against her lips, before she devoured him again, hungry for him.

She backed up, pulling him with her, until they were in their bedroom. He saw her desire on her face, in her eyes. But it was different, or in actuality, he understood, it wasn't new. It was old, what he had known was missing before, when things had been uncertain. This Sarah wasn't desperate for him, the wounded Sarah that had emerged from that nightmare. This was his Sarah, her need for him mixed with exuberance. Being with her before everything had gone wrong had always been this–joy, happiness, mutually shared intimacy and pleasure. He understood now why it had been absent in between, but was suddenly breathless as he realized that it had returned and was possible again.

She yanked her wet shirt up and over her head, tossing it onto the floor. Her shorts rolled down her legs, kicked away with her foot. Never taking her eyes off him, she reached behind her and unhooked her bra, then shrugged her shoulders forward to slide the straps down. Almost completely naked, she stretched, lying on her back on the bed, reaching up her hands to beckon him forward.

His first instinct was to ask her if she was sure, but he stopped himself. He trusted her to know, and he had told her that. Asking her was like doubting her, and he didn't. So he moved to stand in front of her, slowly removing his wet clothing. When he was completely undressed, he crawled forward, easing himself down beside her. He finished undressing her, then pulled her close to him. Feeling his skin against hers made every nerve tingle, as the warmth rushed to the center of her.

She kissed him passionately, even as she couldn't keep from smiling, laughing against his lips. Her blue eyes sparkled, aglow with her love and her passion. His touch soft like velvet, he gently caressed her breasts, taking his time. He felt her angle her hips upward, understanding what she wanted him to do. As his touch became more intimate, she moaned softly. She understood his caution, how slowly and gently he was moving. She concentrated on the sensation his fingers created against her, inside her.

All of her attention focused on what he was doing, both hands, his lips. The heat radiated from her, increasing with the friction he created against her. She felt the tension build, and peak the moment before it exploded, powerfully from inside outward. He held her against him, as she slowly settled.

"Are you ok?" he asked against her ear, lifting himself up on both hands to hover over her. He was just checking, making sure. Her heart felt as if it would burst open in her chest. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to just connect herself to him.

Her voice trembling with emotion, she answered him, touching his face. "Not until you're inside me." She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer to her, until they were joined. She immersed herself in him, how he was making her feel, alive in the just the moment, safe in the knowledge that at any time if she felt uncomfortable, he would stop. He had never been so deliberately slow, so exquisitely gentle. Time stood still. His measured ministrations had the effect of intensifying the next peak, focusing his attention on her face as he felt it happen.

When she caught her breath, she whispered against his ear, telling him it was ok for him to continue, to let her give him the same pleasure in return. Soon after, he was shuddering in her arms. She held onto him, unwilling to release him as she basked in the feel of his weight on top of her.

When he was beside her, breathing deeply as he relaxed, he opened his eyes. She was panting just as hard, the most beautiful, peaceful smile on her face. She felt him watching her, waiting until she opened her eyes. She felt the invisible wire that connected them at their hearts like she had never felt before. She was suddenly lost in his eyes.

"You know," he started, once his breathing calmed enough that he could speak. "In the Middle Ages, people used to think that the reflection you can see of yourself in your lover's eyes is actually seeing the children that you'll have someday."

His sweet habit of randomly interjecting his nerdy little factoids, something that had always made her smile, was suddenly so profound it cut to the center of her. She was still smiling, but her breath quivered. "What do you see?" she whispered.

"Well," he said sweetly, "I see myself. Gangly, with crazy hair, but a killer smile."

She guffawed, falling into him. "I guess I must see myself in your eyes, then."

Suddenly serious, he said, "The most beautiful baby in the world." She thought he would describe her using physical attributes. He brought tears to her eyes when he continued. "Strong, protective, fiercely loyal, intelligent, incredibly passionate and loving."

"Chuck," she said, touching his face again. "I want to have your baby. I want us to be parents together."

He laughed, and pulled her against him, wrapping her in his arms. "I do, too."

She smiled, then laughed as well. It wasn't really funny, per se, but the direct result of the joy that percolated from the deepest part of her soul. The blessed, relieved peace that came from knowing she had conquered her fear, and was ready for the rest of her life.