A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: Chuck and Sarah must be cleared of every suspicion that they could be anything else but a loving couple on their honeymoon. To accomplish that, General Beckman orders them to spend Friday afternoon at the beach. But let's not hurry and get ready for the beach first.

There's not a thing in the world that I'd rather do
Than just sit and stare at your face.
You're so doggone pretty that you made the world
A whole lot happier place.
"Rainbows Are Back In Style" (Dave Burgess)

Chapter 20: Chuck vs. The Catwalk

"If the bikini fits, throw it out," Sarah laughingly explained her motto regarding swimwear.

She had convinced Chuck that they should select her bikini for their afternoon visit to the beach together. To turn the honeymoon suite into her personal catwalk with him as her sole audience and to charm him - a little bit and totally innocently, she told herself - was her plan. Like a woman in love bewitches the man she fell for. Modeling bikinis should support that approach... or would the CIA have packed a belly-dancing outfit into her suitcase as well?

Finding out what Chuck and Carina had talked about her would be a non-essential bonus. He would tell me, just among the two of us, would he? We are… we are… what are we after last night? Something has evolved, and it feels… sweet...

When she point-blank asked him about that conversation, her interest was spiked for good when Chuck unusually taciturnly murmured, "Only a few words about the mission." It rarely happened that Carina talked about any mission at all - improvising her way past all obstacles didn't need much talking about it -, so Chuck's reply was at least evasive.

A further, "What about?" only yielded a nervous, "Nothing in particular!" That was reason enough for Sarah Walker to investigate, and she did not need spy senses to come to that conclusion.

I'm entitled to know what is said about me, I am!

"You know I could try to persuade you to tell me," she purred, but Chuck thought he could escape that treatment - Wait, did she just say she would flirt it out of me? - by returning to the previous topic.

"Why throw a bikini out if it fits?" he inquired doubtingly.

"Charles, do you remember the last time you've been on a beach?" Sarah asked in return. "Checking the girls out?"

"I don't check girls out!" he protested.

But she waved his objection away and patted his hand soothingly. "It's OK, Chuck, that was before our marriage."

He blinked, irritated. Sarah was deliberately mixing their real and their cover identities. She was confusing him. Deliberately, without hiding it. Her droll glances in between told him she was like a girl that wanted to coax her boyfriend to tell her what gift she would get for her birthday.

He wasn't ready for this. Yes, he complemented his Science Fiction perusals with a good list of spy novels and has seen a fair number of Agatha Christie cinematizations in his childhood. Consequently, he thought he was prepared to deal with fake identities and people not being what they seemed to be. But being a part of such schemes was very different. He was not sure if he could keep track of when to be Charles and when Chuck. In comparison, Sarah was going nicely and efficiently, switching names and characters as if she was on a multi-layered mission.

What mission could she pursue while we two are alone? There is no other mission than the one Beckman gave us – and that is officially on halt for the two of us to get us out of the crosshairs!

"But when we go down to the beach today, Chuck, I wanna be the only one you check out. Mr. Carmichael is head-over-heels in love with his young wife, in case you don't remember."

He tried to throw her a swift and sharp glance but knew he failed and probably looked like Stan Laurel before scratching his head in despair.

"I'll force myself to it," he eventually quipped weaker than intended, "but what does all that have to do with throwing out bikinis?"

Sarah sighed. Was he so naïve? No wonder every time a pretty brunette crossed his path, their cover relationship was in danger. She needed to educate him on women.

Yeah, Walker, of all people, a wreck like you wants to teach him about women. That's like a whale telling you about the proper way to fly.

"Chuck, if a bikini that fits makes me look nice, what would you think a bikini that's a tad too small would do?"

He banned the image from his mind, forcefully closing the mental window that allowed him to vividly envision it, pulling imaginary curtains closed, and shoving an equally imaginary cabinet in front. But he understood what she was trying to say. Deciding it was best for his blood pressure to treat her question as rhetorical, he simply nodded and came to the intriguing point.

"Why do you need me to pick a bikini?"

She innocently smiled at him and spoke with a helpless-girl voice.

"The CIA packed so many, I can't decide. Since you'll have to face it for hours, I thought we could pick one together. I don't want to wear something you don't like to look at."

This is a very remote danger, he thought. Morgan would give up Grape Soda, Ellie and Devon would split up, and Elvis would come out of hiding before Chuck would get tired of looking at Sarah Walker. Besides, that thing would cover less than 5% of your body so the challenge was where not to look. And, God help me, she is flirting with me.

She held a one-piece bathing suit to her frame, black with diverging white lines.

"This looks like the USS Enterprise going at warp speed," he commented. Sarah threw aside without a word and laid three bikinis she carried over her arm on the bed.

"What do you think? What would look good on me?"

Chuck's mind momentarily was occupied by fighting the memory of a rather raunchy come-on that Morgan once had used on a date, which got The Beard slapped, so he stumbled through his next words.

"Uhm… all are nice… you know, it's hard to decide by looking at these like they are on the clothes rack, … I mean, ..."

Put out a trap for Chuck Bartowski, and he will walk into with the sureness of a sleepwalker, Sarah figured.

"I see, Chuck," she nodded understandingly in a patient saint-like voice. "You need to appraise these on a real rack – that can be arranged."

Her words came with a contradicting, most innocuous intonation and the most angelic expression on her face. As she sauntered off into the walk-in wardrobe, Chuck didn't have a chance to correct her because he was rendered speechless by the soft glimmer of the halo that hovered over her head. He would swear an oath there was one.

What have I gotten myself into? That was not what I implied! … Oh, she had told me she would find a way to make me talk… she's playing with me and told me so ahead, giving me… a fair chance? he wondered, while unseen to him, Sarah browsed through the bikinis, picking out those that would make his eyes bulge and his lips loose. She decided on the first she would spring on him and changed.

Sarah knew she wouldn't wear that almost-nothing at the beach as it would make a hopefully peaceful afternoon complicated, but merely showcasing it for Chuck should make him react powerfully. Hence, she pushed her shoulders back and her chest out and began the show.

It would be an exaggeration to say that Chuck Bartowski fainted when Sarah Walker strutted out of the walk-in wardrobe wearing a tiny white bikini. He only fell back on the bed like a marathon runner who collapses after finally crossing the finishing line. Sarah knew he exaggerated but nonetheless rushed over quickly after grabbing a bottle from the mini bar, leaned over his form stretched out on the foot end of the bed, and gently poured cold water down his throat.

"Chuck," she cooed, "wake up."

She anticipated that her fashion show could turn into a screwball comedy, but not so soon.

I'm only trying to flirt with him. Planting the idea in his mind that my intentions are honest and real. If, in the passing, he will answer my question about Carina, all the better. I will not trick him but ask him straightforward, so he'll know and don't feel outsmarted. I'm only setting the mood… I can, can I?

Why does he always politely avert his gaze and study something else, currently the ceiling, when she tried to pursue her personal mission as she had discussed with Roan?

How can I innocently flirt with him when he never looks at me?

Chuck raised one hand as weakly as Peter Sellers raised his trumpet as a dying bugler in "The Party", and like the actor, managed to press out a few sounds, and then let his arm heavily fall.

"It's Charles, please, Charles Carmichael, let's have the obituary correct!"

She shook her head. Her dilemma got more challenging as he reverted to humor to dodge her attempts of flirting and of letting him see a little bit of what she got. The problem was that he had experienced her acting talents as a fake girlfriend for the past year and was privy to her abilities. She couldn't merely be Sarah Cover-Girlfriend Walker as he would assume she was only playing her role.

"We're safe. You don't need to be in cover."

"But you should be…" he burbled without looking up, "…covered. - My Way, Blue Eyes, Rivers And Roads. In the order named."

Ok, this is just a little bit zany. Perhaps I should join his game.

"You fantasize," she sighed with mocked worry, "Is it too hot in here?"

His arm came up once more and made what she guessed was a gesture of affirmation.

"Yeah, right," she compassionately said, "I noted it as well. Roan got rid of the camera, but he actually cranked the temperature up too."

Sarah leaned over him even more and studied his face. It was a friendly face, ready to break into a heartwarming smile every instant. She really really liked it. She only needed to get used to the fact that there were prolonged periods when his eyes were closed.

Such a pity! I love looking into these dark eyes! It seems I am going too fast for him - and probably for myself also.

Sarah fanned his face with a hand, which he acknowledged with a tight-lipped smile. The motion suddenly made her very aware of her scantily-clad body. She lowered her head and glanced at herself.

That is almost like wearing nothing. You shouldn't hover over him like that, his eyes closed or not. You are offering yourself to him. You are lucky he's such a gentlenerd because you are not ready yourself.

She missed the easiness of last night, innocently snuggling to him. It had been the best night of her life, and it had not even remotely included sex.

Why Walker, he didn't have any, but what about you? she mused. He almost made you lose your mind with the love we faked but never had.

The mental cinema his nearness had set into motion nearly had led to her losing control. It wasn't what he said - it was what he mimicked to do and how she accepted it hungrily. She was sincerely grateful that he had not brought up anything from last night. At the same time, she was alarmed – he was a talkative person. He needed to process everything by words spoken out. Was he possibly as confused as she was? Was he wondering, like she did, how it would have been? Or had he finally enough of the spy business and one spy in particular, fed up with the fact that absolutely nothing was sacred and everything turned into yet another deception for the good of the mission?

What was love anyway? Last night crushingly proved that there was more than the physical component. She had learned that fact deep inside her since she was teamed up with Bryce Larkin. For a while, she lived the illusion that life held more in store for her. She didn't look out for any other man and refused temptation quite a few times, only to find out that Larkin's approach was soberingly different and more on the practical side. Agent Walker was lovely to have around, and Bryce didn't mistreat her, yet when other pretty interests appeared he wanted to pursue, he did not hesitate.

In the end, Bryce was not more for her than any other man she ever shared the bed with, and their number was nothing that would impress Carina. She had had some fun, but that distinctive cold emptiness in her soul had never filled up with all the beautiful feelings corny movies promised. Her heart kept yearning for something she could not describe and consequently could not search for as she didn't know what it was.

Was that why she never truly fell in love? Was it her fault, was she a wrecked person? Or was it nobody's fault – did she have to fail again and again until she finally found someone where body and soul would be in harmony? Was that what life was all about? Was it human destiny to falter, pick oneself up, and try again?

Deep thoughts, Sarah, no good.

She slowly pulled away until she only rested with her right knee on the bed. Chuck knew that she was still too close for comfort and kept his eyes closed.

"Room's ok," he gurgled, breaking the spell he never noticed, and she finally realized he was pointing at her without looking. "Too much."

"Too much?" Sarah asked, confused. "Too much? The bikini's too large, you mean? But I have no smaller ones, I don't think so. This is a micro bikini."

"A mouse would be too risqué clothed with what you're currently wearing," he explained. "It's too little, and that's too much."

"Wow!" she exclaimed, and Chuck was sure he detected a pleased tone in her voice before she conceded. "I see. Not beach-suitable?"

"Only for a nudist beach. No one would realize you wear anything wearing that thing. You are one respectable wife, are you, Samantha Lisa?" he reminded her. She flinched and willed herself to proceed playfully.

"You guys are all the same," she sighed, not too convincingly. "And we girls obey. Being sexy or demure, sinful or prude, depending on how you want us to be in any given moment. You know, someone said the world's a stage, and each must play our part, but a woman's part is rather predictable."

She pressed the bottle into his hand, gave his cheek a little two-finger squeeze, and dashed back into her dressing room.

Chuck slowly lifted his head higher, checking if Sarah was gone and then sat up fully.

"Oh, woman," he murmured with profound veneration. "This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last."

"What did you say?" her voice came out of the wardrobe. "Nonsense! I won't wear that on the beach. Not at all. That sounds like a fetish, actually. I have to look pretty for my hubby and not like a clown. Should I put on a red nose too?"

Chuck guffawed heartily, imagining Sarah as a clown, but stopped, still unaware of what she referred to when her head peeked out from the wardrobe. She indulgently shook it. "You don't want all the people to laugh at what I look like."

He squinted. "What do you think you're talking about?"

A naked arm pointed at him.

Could I jump up and run over, kissing her fingertips first, followed by her hand, continuing on her lower arm, and working my lips up to her shoulders? And from there, play it by ear?

Her voice shook him out of his reveries, "Don't look like I'm driveling! You said you hoped I would wear suspenders, right?"

Chuck gaped wide-eyed at her. "Suspenders? I didn't say anything like that. Ah, I get it. No, I wasn't talking about suspenders. Suspense, in fact."

"Were you talking to me at all? Do I have to worry?"

"Actually, no, I wasn't. Doesn't matter. No worries. Have you found something civil in your suitcase?"

"If I wanted to be civil, I'd quit the CIA," she summarized her philosophy of life in a one-liner. "And what was that about My Way, Blue Eyes, Rivers And Roads?"

"These are the songs I want to have played at my funeral in case I pass away in the next few minutes. In the order named."

Such a goofy way to make a compliment! Sarah thought but was well pleased nonetheless. "That's an eclectic selection. Does not go well together."

"Oh yes, it does," he began to explain. "My Way is way before my time and way too dramatic, but it seems I won't get this thing outta my head any time soon, so it can't get dramatic enough, and I'd like to think that I live my life my way – as much as your agencies permit."

"I agree you do," she confirmed warmly.

"I don't even explain why I chose Blue Eyes," he continued, matter-of-factly referring to her without his usual agitation over the hopeless issue, "but I want to mention that I don't admire Elton very much otherwise. He became a caricature of himself, musically, so often spoofing himself, musically, that is, that anyone with one good ear can hear in his music that-"

"Chuck?" she interrupted him so tenderly that he stopped immediately. "I get it."

"Ok, and Rivers And Roads expresses my fears and hopes regarding that certain Blue Eyes, and it seems it will be precisely like that until the end of my days. So it's a perfect selection."

Sarah disappeared into the wardrobe. She needed to consider what he said. Obviously, he still loved her. But there was a sober undertone in his voice as if he was having second thoughts.

I presumed I could make his head explode with my bikinis if I wanted to, but then he calmly says something so devastatingly hopeless. I am the Blue Eyes he is referring to, and he made no excuse that he meant me.

And that last song - she knew it as it was on his playlist. It was a lament about someone trying to reach their love with patient determination, as long as it would take. Still, at the same time, it clearly said that if the person addressed did not understand the message and reciprocate the emotion, then all hope was lost anyway, and all the struggle was in vain.

Chuck could not have been clearer if he used his own words. It was so unlike him. It lacked the sadness and frustration he normally loaded his voice with when discussing the relationship she stoutly denied but then revived with a few words, a gesture, or a simple look again. What is going on with him? He was harder to figure out than before, and it worried her.

She didn't step out but tentatively stuck out a leg as Chuck turned as red as the lobsters served all along the Californian beachside.

"Sarah?" he groaned. He saw her face and an arm and the shoulder belonging to it, a bit of her upper-body, but foremost one long leg. Barefoot, a bare calf, equally bare thigh, she leaned with her crotch on the door frame, and his gaze wandered up to her leg and up and up - and all he could see was naked skin. She cleverly didn't give him a view into paradise, but in case she leaned out another inch or two…

"What's this? I see a string, but where's the bikini?" he asked, not comprehending how this piece of beachwear worked.

"Right," she confirmed and blushed.

Sarah Walker, in a mysteriously flirty mood, blushes. Almighty flux capacitor, what is she wearing?

"It's a bikini," she eventually explained, not moving an inch. "But it's just the strings. There's no fabric to it. I'm sorry, Chuck, I got carried away in my sexy wife role."

She lowered her head slightly in her typical fashion with that lost look that seemed to go nowhere when she was embarrassed and then backed away. He heard her rummage.

"And you said you don't have anything smaller. It's OK. Ehm. I mean, not OK… I don't mean you to wear this… eternal golden braid…"

"What?"

"Not so important. I just thought of a very scientific book I once read."

Her face appeared again, looking a bit insulted. "Are you in cover or what?"

"Should I be? You just said-"

"You're thinking of science while I present my bikinis?" she asked incredulously. "Obviously, the things I try still have too much cloth to get your attention. Do you want me to go fully nude, or will you think of science books in that case too?"

No, science books won't help then, he pondered. Crime scene photos, splatter movies, that possibly could do the trick. And the chances that these help are slimmer than my prospects of getting that thing out of my head.

Sarah knew exactly what she was doing to him. The fact that he was unable to reply for a while – something unheard in the Bartowski universe – told her everything she needed to know. It was the ideal moment to ask him.

I only beguile him a little, do I? I am honest about it… I really am. It's a bit of play and tease and flirt … I only want to know what Carina told him… about me obviously… because I care about him. Gimmie a chance to set straight what Red said about me! OK… let's try again...

"By the way, what did you and Carina discuss? It would be good if I knew so I can adapt to any changes."

Ah, reality calls, Chuck realized instantly. I wish reality was a phone call, so I simply could hang up.

"This'n'that," he replied non-committal, looking at the other side of the room, because what he saw of Sarah - and the imagination of how she described the glorious rest looked like - would make him instantly confess everything Carina said, admit being the true kidnapper of the Lindbergh baby, and take responsibility for anything from the Hindenburg disaster to the Chino Hills earthquake this July. Managing that, he could reply calmly. "She came out of the night as empty-handed as we all, so there's nothing you need to worry about."

Sarah chuffed. Chuck smiled. She wanted to know something and wasn't used to Chuck withholding anything from her. But being prepared to do everything for her happiness also meant protecting her from the foul-mouthed speech Carina had given him. Which was also protecting Carina, in a way.

"I talked to her as well about this'n'that," Sarah gossiped using his own evading words, and then nonchalantly followed up, "and she told me you'd be in the market for a threesome with her and me."

If this were tennis, Sarah just would have scored a successful break ball, Chuck blushed deeply. Somehow the pendulum who had the upper hand in their friendly and never pugnacious competition for prevalence was swinging back and forth. Aside from her playful behavior, she is a bit different today, and I can't grasp what it is. I need to turn the tables in our game again.

"Do you really think," he began, "that I would expect something like that, as happy as the freshly married Carmichaels are?"

"You could try to push your luck on that," her voice rang out half-heartedly accusatory, "Assuming that I would be so happy in the first days of our marriage that you can spring anything on me."

He grinned inwardly. While Sarah threw him off balance repeatedly, she also involuntarily offered him the option to throw a curveball.

"Sarah," he began, mixing her real name with the cover role as she did earlier, "in our marriage, I'll keep you so happy for the rest of your life. And the only threesome for us will be nachos con queso and jalapenos with three different dips."

He would make me happy for the rest of my life? Was that a promise? Why did he call me Sarah this time and not Samantha?

"But I think Carina was serious," Sarah cautiously said, still deciding which bikini she should present next.

"I think so too, but you know how she is... better than I do. I think she's a little jealous that we have our cover marriage and are active in the mission, while she's relegated to the bench until now."

"Charles, hang on," Sarah continued, satisfied with his words, but Chuck finally had enough of the ever-changing names.

"Sarah, we're changing from Saruck to Sares and back faster than Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I think I need a bit of guidance on that part of the mission."

He loved seeing her face appear out of the wardrobe as she leaned out a bit, loved seeing her neck, her bare shoulders, a wee and decent bit of her torso - and nothing else. It allowed him to look at her without frantically concentrating on her eyes, which, on the other hand, wasn't an ordeal either. She was easier to look at than a million dollars.

"Saruck? Sarles?" she frowned. "Gimme some footnotes."

"It's easy. It's our names. Saruck stands for Sarah and Chuck, and Sarles stands for Samanta and Charles."

"I don't want to be a Saruck," she said, shuddering. "Sounds yucky. And Sarles sounds like a new flu from Asia."

"Hmm," he made before lightening up. "What about Charsa for Charles and Samantha and Charah for Chuck and Sarah?"

"Say that again!" she demanded, and he repeated, "Charsa and Charah."

She beamed at him. "I don't care about cover names. I changed them faster than my panties," she began and hastily added, "I'm a very clean person, and still that is true. I flew out of Copenhagen as a Danish student and less than two hours later arrived in London as an Australian tourist once. But I like the sound of Charah. Sounds fluffily warming."

"So Charah it is. Could be our codeword for… well, whenever spies need to talk in code."

She was gone again for a while, and then her voice rang out. "Ready?"

"Always!" he shouted back.

"I might take you up on that," she retorted even before he saw her.

She walked into the middle of the room, struck a pose like out of a mail-order catalog, and discerned that Chuck was splashing water on his face from the bottle she handed him earlier.

"Just trying to avoid spontaneous human combustion," he creaked like a tree tortured by heavy storms. "One more such outfit, and we'll find out if the fire extinguisher works properly."

"What is it this time?"

"You won't deny that this is a see-through bikini top?"

She looked down at herself and forcefully twisted her lips to the side to keep from smiling.

"Ooops, I missed that," Sarah said casually without trying to sound convincing or rueful. She didn't give him a flirty look, but her words made clear that she messed with him.

"I thought you agents were better liars," Chuck rebuked her softly, no accusation in his voice.

"And what about the bikini bottom?" she dared him. His reply was frantic but decided.

"I ain't lookin' there, no ma'am, no way! And I'm done looking at the rest of you too if you keep coming out with things like that."

She pranced back into the walk-in wardrobe with a satisfied grin. "Be back in a jiffy!"

When she eventually came back, Chuck watched anything but her.

"Hey," she said softly. I didn't go overboard, I was only a little flirty, now, c'mon, don't ignore me. "How do you like my bikini this time? This is my favorite, seriously now."

She stood without posing, just a young woman wearing a bikini.

The bikini top was not the usual twin triangles but one piece covering her chest almost decently. It reminded of the bandeau-type workout tops she wore when torturing her punching bag, but it was thinner in material and tightly cut, so her chest was held delicately, showing not much cleavage, but its swell pronounced.

It had a thicker white hem extended into spaghetti straps that went straight up over her shoulders but crossed on her back where they met with the strings from the bottom edges of the top and were tied in a single bow. The material was white, and to Chuck's relief, not transparent. It was stylish and decorously covering her, yet it displayed enough to recognize the perfect shape of her breasts and to let everyone's fantasy shift up a gear or two.

The g-string thong bottom was considerably larger than the size of a postal stamp and strategically covered her crotch, yet not much else. Her slender hips were bare and playfully accentuated by the self-tie side strings left and right. The lack of any other fabric except the strings emphasized her endless, finely trained legs.

She was tenderly bewitching and smoking hot at the same time.

He searched her gaze and found the confidence of a woman who knew how to dress exactly on the fine line between stylish, pretty, hot, and raunchy, and the expectation of a friend waiting for an honest assessment.

Chuck smiled as he struggled for words. "You… you… you know the world needs a new dictionary to describe your beauty, a Sarah-nary, so I say it simple and from the bottom of my heart: You're beautiful, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, the most charming girl that ever wore a bikini, the most…"

He failed to come up with more words momentarily, and Chuck stretched out both arms to his side. It came so naturally for Sarah to instinctively close the distance between them, ready to step into the embrace he offered. She sensed something was off when his arms didn't close around her. She looked up at him and hypnotized him to do so, but her magic powers didn't seem to work.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Checking how far I can keep men and women at bay from you," he replied. Befuddled, she took a step back and wondered about his words. Why did he mention women? Was there something to Carina's comments about him hoping for a threesome despite his assurances?

"And orcas, finbacks, dolphins, porpoises, and everything that walks and crawls and swims and flies within a twenty-mile radius from you," he added.

"Why is that?" she asked after a snorting laugh. This conversation is an emotional rollercoaster.

"Because everything that breathes will be enamored once they see you from near or far - or from the International Space Station," he explained calmly. "The latter only about every ninety minutes."

"And what about everything within a twenty-inch radius?" she threw him a clue. She was disappointed to see him drop his arms.

"If I understand marriage properly, then only your husband would be in that radius," he explained, "and I hope you don't want Charles Carmichael outside of that distance, Samantha Lisa!"

Are we a bit slow today? she wondered as hearing her name felt like a pinprick. She concentratedly eyed him. Ever since their first night of the mission, there was something different about him. She produced a nixing hum.

"You're the most charming mermaid I've ever seen," he added another compliment.

"How many mermaids have you seen?" she shook her head in humorous disbelief.

"Plenty!" Chuck merrily boasted.

She was going to tease him by asking how many of them were sketched by Disney artists, but refrained from it. It would be condescending. The disarming, easy charm he displayed when flirting with that sandwich girl told her that Chuck had more experience than the crushing disaster named Jill Roberts. He was just Chuck. He didn't talk about these things.

"I wanna be like that gal on the river," she smiled, having an idea.

"The Lorelei?" he inquired.

"Hmm-mm," she confirmed and looked him sweetly into the eyes. "I could charm every man I wanted."

What more can a girl do than say those words and gaze longingly into a man's eyes? Can you hear what I say, Chuck?

"No, you couldn't," he corrected her dryly.

For a moment, she felt a yell of anger about to escape her, then she calmed.

It's your own fault, you fool. How many times have you baited him with that tactic? Telling him that if he could get the Intersect out of his head, he could have the life he wanted with whom he wanted, applying a hopeful expectation from under your eyelashes? Like when you wanted him to look at the Montgomery file? Now, I want him to look at me as a woman, and suddenly he is calm and collected and does not stumble when he possibly assumes that you once more dangle a carrot in front of his nose. You have to say something, Walker!

"But she was quite a Mermaid Fatale, was she?"

"Sure, but it's a sad story," Chuck elucidated. "She could charm everyone except the one she truly loved. The tale of Lorelei is based on Greek mythology, on the legend of the nymph Echo."

"What's so sad about the story?" Sarah asked.

"Hera, the wife of Zeus, cursed Echo for… well, it's not important. The curse only allowed Echo to repeat the last words another person spoke to her. Hence the word echo."

Sarah looked at him, fascinated. Was there any limit to his nerdism?

"Echo was a nymph and a most beautiful creature and could have had anything she wanted, but she fell hopelessly in love with Narcissus."

This time she nodded. "Narcissus? She couldn't have picked a worse man. Well, possibly Dorian Gray."

"Exactly. Since Echo couldn't tell him how much she loved him, only repeating the last words of each sentence he spoke, no business resulted, and Narcissus refused her. She couldn't get over it, wilted and wasted away, and her bones turned to rock in the form of a beautiful woman. All that remains of her is the echo."

Sarah was silent. She knew a woman who never failed to make a lasting impression on every man she met but also could not tell the one she really wanted how much she loved him. Were those old myths simply dressed-up stories of human triumphs and failures, clad in ancient words but holding lessons for human beings of the 21st century as well? Am I a Lorelei? Am I doomed to be able to bewitch every man except the one I truly long for?

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at another piece of clothing she held in her left hand, ending her musings.

"A beach dress to cover up while going down to the beach," Sarah explained. She grabbed it with both hands and raised her arms to slide into it, which did something spectacular to her upper body that made Chuck look away quickly, for what seemed the thousandth time.

As her head appeared again, she noted that he checked out the wall.

"C'mon, Chuck, you can't complain about that!"

He really couldn't. Like Sarah's bikini, the silky-seeming chiffon beach dress was white, short like a shirt, and not transparent. It covered her torso and her buttocks and invited to admire her legs. The sleeves were short and, as the bottom hem of the shirt, nicely tasseled. Within one single move, she turned from sexy to fashionable.

Chuck was relieved to see that her beach shirt was demure compared to her bikini. However, he still was under the impression of the innocent moment when she put that dress on. Her arms coming up, her body slightly stretching into the bottom opening of the shirt, her shoulders flexing, her bosom moving, wiggling into the dress not because it was tight, but so that the light fabric fell nicely around her curves. How can anything so mundane be so breathtaking, he jumpily mused. This will be the longest day of my life, he anticipated.

"Ready for the happy honeymooners to storm the beach?" she expectantly asked, stretching out her hand to his. Her impression clearly expressed that Sarah Walker looked forward to it too – and made no attempt to hide it from him. "This will do us good. As long as we convincingly maintain our cover, we are on vacation for the rest of the day."

"Sounds good," Chuck agreed, although as a civilian, he had different views of a vacation. The only permitted threats, according to Chuck, were too much sun, too many cocktails, and the necessary penny-pinching to afford such life, given his princely wage at the Buy More.

Chuck slowly stretched out his hand. Both followed the movement with bated breath as they knew what would happen.

As he took her hand, a jolt originated in their fingers. Sarah looked mesmerized at their joined hands. The feeling spread through her arm to her shoulders and rushed over her back and chest so deliciously that she shivered from joy.

God, Walker, you're not a schoolgirl, keep your reactions under control!

She chastised herself, only to realize that she did not want to quell the experience. She shyly looked up to him and found that he went through the same emotion. They stared at each other for a long second with slightly opened mouths barely breathing, and as Chuck too realized that the sensation was mutual, shared a liberating little laugh.

•••••••••••••••••••

A/N (2) This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last: Oscar Wilde.

A/N (3) An Eternal Golden Braid: "Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid" (1979) is a science book by Douglas Hofstadter which won him the Pulitzer Prize.

A/N (4) Next coming up: The sun, the sea, the beach, the sand, the girls. No, wait: THE girl.

A/N (5) A review would be welcome. You can write it however clothed or unclothed you are, I am not looking, just reading.