A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: Chuck trying to pamper Sarah with a well-orchestrated chill-out of burgers, vodka, and bubble bath took an unexpected ending. Or three unexpected endings, whichever way you like to look at it. That said, the temperature remains hot for the first half of the chapter, so read with a cool drink in your hand.

Sharing horizons that are new to us.
Watching the signs along the way.
Talkin' it over, just the two of us.
Workin' together day to day.
Together.
And when the evening comes, we smile.
So much of life ahead.
We'll find a place where there's room to grow.
And yes, we've just begun.
"We've Only Just Begun" (Paul Williams & Roger Nichols)

Chapter 46: Sarah vs. The Blackmail

The morning sun, softly bringing out pastel shades in every object, was lightening their honeymoon suite and peeking in every nook and cranny as if it knew that a critical day lay ahead for Chuck and Sarah. They couldn't know that their future was discussed in conferences and that they would be confronted with the outcome, or, as usual, when agencies talk with each other, the compromise, sooner than their slumbering minds would expect.

But for the time being, Chuck's eyeballs moved in an intense dream that he simultaneously would have liked to stop immediately and to continue indefinitely. As in all tales that sleep induced, his possibilities of influence were rather non-existent. It was a stage, and he was merely a player, possibly not even that, only an extra who had no lines, only some stage directions in the written play. He lacked the power of change yet directly experienced what was happening to him. It could not be a coincidence that this dream's content mirrored the very nature of a dream, holding the same dilemma of who was in control and who was under control.

Or, who was the giver and who was the receiver?

Chuck's dream took place right where he was sleeping, in the bed of their suite. Since he associated his most vivid memories, both pleasant and terrifying, with that room and that bed, he was somehow prepared that the location would show up in his sleep, either good or bad, for many years to come.

Having little to no mastery of what was happening, he had plenty of time philosophizing about the events unfolding. The story followed the events of last night.

Chuck had eventually found sleep, the exhausted, naked form of the human being he loved more than anything else in his life cuddled to him, her closeness somehow already familiar, somehow still new and exciting. He perceived the whisper of her peaceful breath, the fresh scent of her skin, enriched tonight by a whiff of lavender, and the warmth of life she exuded.

Sarah slept deeply, pressed against him, and utterly unaware of her surroundings, abandoning the light sleep she had learned as an agent, fully and blindly trusting Chuck to protect her. That, and not the understandable emotions her silky skin emanated, made it hard to find peace. He had a responsibility, and her speech last night had finally caused him to accept it fully. So he held her weary body with a tenderness that wasn't originating in carnal desire but the care of true love. Once, watching her face depleted from all strength in the pale light of the moon, he cried silent tears of affection, his feelings for her overwhelming him.

Sometimes, he slipped away too, finding rest in an always alerted slumber, taking her place in being vigilant even in sleep. But the morning and its friendly light eased his defenses, and he glided into the intermediate world of his subconsciousness.

The blankets were thrown to the side. Sarah was not in his arms anymore as he laid there stretching out his long limbs. Her blonde shock of hair was way down where every one of her touches promised fire as hot as the center of the sun. She took her sweet time and applied her lips and hands to drive him crazy in a shrewd way, controlling his excitement completely.

Even in his dream, he had an issue with the situation but couldn't do anything about it.

He strongly disliked the uneven balance of power in that act of sex. Superficially, as Morgan's Irene Demova collection proved, the power seemed to be on the side of the woman, but Chuck figured it out and understood that pleasure was the primary key. Consequently, as inactive and receiving the male's role was, the man was still the powerful one while the giving woman would find no release.

On the other hand, Chuck had been quick to initiate similar pleasure for Sarah. He immensely enjoyed making her squirm and gasp and whimper and, in Casey's words, lick the sweet custard from her pudding until she had to give no more. Therefore, he very much understood that Sarah honestly wanted to spoil him, finding joy in his satisfaction as he found in hers.

Chuck's concern stemmed from his uncertainty if the woman in his dream and of his dreams was committed to making him happy or if she saw it as something she felt obliged to because he had done so enthusiastically already, and not only once. But he had no choice. He had to accept what was happening.

In the strange ways dreams occur, he had an unreal view of the scene unfolding. He was an innocent victim who inevitably would turn to the culprit as soon as his blonde girlfriend, strikingly well versed in her art, would decide to bring her work to an end. She would trigger the sensational moment when all his contemplations would vaporize like a kettle under steam exploding. Yet, in the meanwhile, he watched her, trying to catch her gaze. But she was so devoted to her labor of love that she never gave him the tiniest confirmation that the lanky rest of him even existed.

The usual blur of the dream gave way to a soft-sketched morning light clarity. Chuck's emotions increased. Sounds filled the air now, his and hers, where everything before had been fog-like muffled, and the feelings filling his chest turned so primal that he began to feel dizzy. He watched Sarah as she comfortably knelt over him and her velvety shoulders slightly swayed, emphasizing the enthusiasm she put into her deed.

At last, his dazzlingly stunning girlfriend paused and slowly tilted her head to look flirtatiously at him. Her radiant eyes greeted 'Good Morning', and her lips formed a slightly open-mouthed foxy smile that he could feel from his head to his toes and everywhere in between. She shifted to remain in eye contact with him, and without wasting another second or muttering even one syllable, returned to what had kept her busy before.

Within another heartbeat, the heat in his chest turned searingly hot as Chuck realized that he wasn't dreaming. His first instinct was to interrupt her immediately and tell her that he couldn't do that, only to remember that these had been her identical words last night. He had volubly persuaded and convinced her to let everything happen and allow him to reign supreme over her body and soul, soaking not only in the bubble bath but also in the hot tub of pleasure he had prepared.

It was an erotic epiphany for Chuck - Sarah was reciprocating because she loved him. Last night, she had, first hesitantly, then jubilantly, granted him access to her all for the sole reason to be spoiled. At the same time, he experienced nothing but the joy of doing so, gladly sacrificing his own desires on the altar of their love. The lust given right now or the one a few hours ago was a one-sided affair, but as for the passion – the passion was born out of love. It was as mutual and as satisfying as if both of them were receiving. 'Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies' he remembered the bards' words, understanding that they had both and that nothing was off-limits as long as the two of them were into it together.

Sarah had caught the inner conflict and also that he solved it because she affectionately winked at him. She seemed to draw even more energy from the fact that he understood this act of love as what it was.

She did not falter one second until his breathing returned to normal. Then she stretched out over his long legs and laid her head on his thigh, looking up to dreamily studying his serenely beaming face, gleefully proud of the work she had accomplished.

•••••••••••••••••••

Chuck was so speechless that he knew he should record the exact day and time just in case he ever would write his biography, naming the chapter "The Day When Charles Irving Bartowski Lost The Ability To Speak". His brain, still reverberating from the pleasure his love had given so selflessly, did not find the proper expressions, failing to ignite the engine of his otherwise tirelessly running mouth. He tried to force a coherent sentence anyway.

"I'm totally... totally... totally..."

Before he began to sound like a broken record, Sarah helped him out while featuring a most mysterious smile that would put the Mona Lisa to shame.

"Drained?" she offered, a confident saucy undertone in her voice contrasting her still dreamy eyes. Chuck had no reason to, but reddened furiously and shuddered forcibly.

"You're not off the hook yet," she reminded him, her smile turning more outrageously mischievous than anything he ever had seen in his life, foreshadowing the loving wickedness of her intentions.

"I'm curious to find out how often I can make you happy today before you collapse," she grinned, clearly referencing his marvelous deeds the previous night.

Chuck felt horribly inadequate while struggling for words to express his sentiments, struggling with this all-new experience. He was saved from the effort in an abrupt way when the lock clicked as someone swiped a key card through on the outer side, and then the door swung open, allowing more than just a keyhole peek at the honeymoon bed.

"This place has as much privacy as my room at Echo Park. All that's missing is a Morgan door," Chuck grumbled, having the presence of mind to quickly throw the duvet over his middle, covering Sarah's head and torso as well in the process.

"Morning," Carina hollered as she rolled the serving cart into the room and closed the door with one foot kicking back. She took inventory of the scene that looked like an old-style Playboy cartoon with triumphant Gotcha eyes.

The staging could not have been saucier for a risque artistic rendering. Chuck was covered from the waist down, his hairy chest exposed, his face showing the unmistakable signs of bliss and, it wouldn't be Chuck, wonder and gratitude. Over his midsection and under the duvet was a considerable bulge that was Sarah's head. She had not voiced her opinion about the swift maneuver yet, but her legs stuck out at the other end of the duvet, long, silky, and alluring. The suggestive impression was overwhelming. To round it up, an attractive green-eyed woman added a blob of red hair to the image. The only thing missing was a salty caption, which Carina was quick to add.

"Gee, the things we girls do if we are bored before breakfast."

"You've got no shame whatsoever," Chuck accusingly gasped, pointing the finger at her as the starting signal for a more extended rant, but she didn't give him a chance and shot back a retort from the hip.

"Says the guy with a pair of lips wrapped around his-"

"Carina!" he exclaimed. "That's not what it is!"

Thank God Carina didn't arrive a minute earlier, Chuck thought, or this would have been a lie.

"Nothing to be ashamed about, curls. As long as you go down on blondie as well," Carina exhorted with a face as serious as the White House Press Secretary. "You know, she's legally entitled to that as a woman. We can sue for that at the United Nations."

Sarah huffed from under the blanket and came to the surface, scooting up to Chuck with a thankful look as he quickly pulled the duvet over her chest, leaning against him and giving Carina a bold stare.

"There'll come the day when someone will handcuff your mouth, don't say I didn't warn you," Sarah remarked.

She adjusted to Carina's presence much easier than Chuck. She had endured the redhead's fresh character way longer and was resistant against most of her constant innuendos. Besides, she had found a boy she loved, and he loved her, and she should be damned if she allowed Carina Miller to put a damper on that.

"Worry about your own," she advised. "I've got mine covered by a sweet man-" the man referred to blushed profusely, stunned how Sarah paid back in kind "-and the gentleman knows how to dine."

"Since when do you dish out stuff like that?" Carina asked, taken aback.

Sarah had a raunchy quip handy that would make Carina blush but decided against it to avoid that Chuck would faint. The situation already stretched his idea of PDA from Santa Monica to the outer planets of the solar system.

"Since I have a boyfriend," she replied instead and instantly realized she had told a third person for the first time. She gasped the exact moment as Chuck, who heard it too. Then their eyes met, and both beamed at each other before she leaned in and gave him a long and tender kiss, both not caring that someone else was present.

She should get used to me kissing my boyfriend or else get the hell out of here.

"Save me a piece of that, whatever it is," Carina grumbled, feeling defeated, and grabbed a coffee cup.

"So, to celebrate that blondie finally's off the market-" she began.

Sarah interrupted. "Totally off."

Carina was not conceding yet that she had no chance today to get at Sarah, so she prolonged her visit by playing super-friendly. She had finally accepted that Sarah had found someone who made her happy and wished them all the best, but she couldn't help herself - she just loved to needle blondie.

"I brought you lovebirds breakfast."

I see. You just want to get under my skin and make me nervous, I know your game, but not today, Sarah thought while she demonstratively ignored Carina and put even more feeling into her kiss.

The redhead rolled her eyes and tapped a foot on the floor to no effect.

"How do you like your coffee, Sarah? Sugar? Cream? How much?"

Sarah broke the kiss but stayed close to Chuck's lips and only turned her head to gift her friend the sweetest smile she had in her catalog.

"Thank you, Miller. Black, nothing else." She licked her lips lasciviously. "I already had my cream today."

•••••••••••••••••••

Though there were smiles all around, a certain tension of changes on the horizon spread an ominous nervousness among the people gathering in Casey's surveillance room at the Palacio del Mar hotel. Casey, Carina, and Roan stood in the middle while Sarah was on the left and Chuck on the group's right side. The setting had drawn a smirk from everyone but Roan, but Sarah had insisted on it.

When the video call from General Beckman came in, she took almost five minutes of her time to praise the mission's outcome and each individual member, including Chuck. However, she seemed to put extra weight on Sarah's leadership of the operation.

Roan silently listened with that polite, knowing smile of his. Carina looked impatient. Chuck was nervous as so much praise certainly would come at a price. Casey wore his inscrutable Marines' face. Sarah turned a bit bashful when the General lauded her. Chuck was not sure if she played that for tactical reasons or if it was genuine. He gazed at her so intently from the other side of the group that it was utterly irrelevant where Sarah had placed him. A discreet shove from Casey reminded him to concentrate on the screen.

Meanwhile, Beckman had dismissed Carina and even sat through a minute of hugging and goodbyes as the agent left immediately. Muttering under her breath how thankful she was that she could leave this hole behind. The Generals' patience was very suspicious - at least for Chuck.

"This mission taught us two essential lessons," Beckman segued into the next point on her agenda. "First, the Intersect and your group, with its dynamics as we have seen the past few days, are a most powerful team to face the problems ahead of us. I've talked about each of you individually, but you have proven that as a team, you are more than simply four agents and one-" she looked at Chuck, her thoughts impossible to read –"well, one civilian."

Amazed that he was not relegated to his objectified role as an asset, Chuck wanted to blurt out the only question logical to him, but Roan suddenly had a coughing bout. Pulling out his dress handkerchief, he apologizingly waved at no one in particular and eventually bowed his head to the large flatscreen.

"Beg your pardon, Diane. You were saying?"

"Second," Beckman continued with emphasis, "the lesson I could have done without is that our enemies do know that there is a human Intersect. The time when we could have kept this at least an uncertainty is definitely over. Dr. Zarnow, Tommy Delgado, Lizzie Shafai, we could keep all these threats under control. This time, a considerable group of our enemies cooperated in staging a trap to catch the Intersect."

The smiles from earlier disappeared, and a certain chill had spread in the room. General Beckman seemed to take the time to explain that it had become necessary to relocate the Intersect to a safer place.

"Before we detail the consequences, I want to introduce Brigadier General Leonard T. Dunford."

A tall black and well-trained man stepped into the view of the camera. Even if he hadn't worn a uniform, his stance made clear that he was military.

"Agents," he greeted, "Mr. Bartowski, as the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, I have the honor to serve on an interim basis in the position of the Acting Director until a successor of Langston Graham is appointed."

Beckman chimed in.

"General Dunford is read into the Intersect. We had long and productive discussions about the future of the project, both the computerized form that, as you all know, recently has suffered a severe setback and the human Intersect, which is our trump card in the battle against Fulcrum and invaluable on many other occasions."

Dunford took over.

"As for the latter, we decided that keeping Mr. Bartowski safe in an undisclosed facility and having him solely checking files hoping for those so-called flashes would be inefficient. Yes, Mr. Bartowski?"

"I'm sorry, General, it's nothing," Chuck pressed out. He looked down at his left foot, wondering if he ever would be able to walk without crutches again after Casey had stomped down on it when Chuck wanted to join what was not a conversation.

"As a result of our considerations, we will expand the Intersect operation. We will set up this so far only improvised cooperation as a CIA/NSA joint operation in the cloak of an experimental collaborative post of our agencies."

"We provide you with two analysts and an advisory consultant. That consultant will supply you with the necessary details about how the analysts are incorporated since they do not know about the Intersect. Mr. Bartowski will be a CIA employee with back pay for the last year. Our advisory consultant has all the exact numbers. We thought of an analyst position first. Still, given his background and the threat against the Intersect, we felt that an official low-level technical position, taking care of the posts' IT, would be more suitable as a second cover. His initial cover will still be the Buy More. However, we managed to promote him to a marketing position for South-California, based in Burbank, so any absence is readily explained. Again, our advisory consultant will provide details. Yes, Mr. Bartowski?"

Chuck had stepped aside to be out of reach of Casey's large feet and politely raised a hand. "General, who is this mysterious advisory consultant?"

"That would be me," Roan Montgomery said, a small smile on his face that was equally sentimental that his days as the consummate vintage spy seemed over and relieved that he had been given the opportunity to live until retirement.

"You'll be based in Burbank?" Chuck could not believe it. It was as if James Bond would retire to Stratford-upon-Avon and begin to write plays.

"Mr. Montgomery will report personally to me," Beckman complacently added before Dunford continued.

"Major Casey, Matt Hancock, and Jerry Fletcher will be a small two-men combat team that will be under your command, in accord with the post manager, of course. But they will report to you. And, Major, I'm going to need you to visit us in DC at your earliest convenience. You're going to need some new insignia soon."

"Of course, Sir," Casey confirmed before losing a bit of his calm.

"Matt? Jerry? They are not with us anymore?"

His strange wording was at least clear to Sarah. Casey was employed nowadays by the NSA, but she knew he had served in the Marine Corps. Once a Marine, always a Marine. It was child's play to deduce that Casey knew Matt and Jerry, had served with them in some hideous places, and also that he knew General Dunford, and that Dunford himself was a Marine. Which, as Sarah knew, was no contradiction to head the CIA. But the Marine Corps was a mythical entity, and once you made its ranks, you were a Marine forever, regardless of where life took you. Consequently, 'us' referred to the Marine Corps.

"I'm sure they will fill you in later," Dunford said casually as Casey suddenly stiffened, and everybody else who caught the comment about the 'new insignia' laughed.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir!" he shouted as if in boot camp again when it sunk in that a promotion was due.

"At ease, Casey, at ease," Dunford calmed bonhomous before proceeding.

"Agent Walker," he said with a stern voice. "It has come to my attention that you and Mr. Bartowski seem to be more attached to each other than the handbook recommends."

God, he's hilarious, Sarah thought. More attached. What do you answer to that? That any more attachment than Chuck and I have is physically impossible? I love serving my country, but I have found an ever greater love, and I will not hide it from anyone anymore.

Sarah took a deep breath, knowing all her future was at stake. She loved to be Chuck's girlfriend and loved to be an agent. Forcefully blinking as if to bolster up her determination, she made her decision. Contrary to Chuck's frantic, 'No, no, no!' looks, she walked over to him, took his hand, and smiled very politely at Dunford.

"Yes, sir, that's very true."

General Dunford looked at her lengthy, doubtful, and searching. This was not how things ran in Iraq and Afghanistan. He switched his gaze to Casey.

"Major?"

Casey squared his shoulders.

"Sir, there's a time when the glazing of the Boston Cream Pie needs to be licked off, when the thick custard between the two layers has to be savored, when that whole darn cake demands to be relished. … The time is ripe, Sir."

Everybody gaped at Casey. He had just ruined his career. To detail one of his dessert innuendos to the head of the CIA was nothing but disastrous. Also, whatever he thought to accomplish with such a crazy move, he bombed the new team into more oblivion than an armada of B-52 Stratofortresses could. God rest John Casey, former Major and short-time Lieutenant Colonel.

"Thank you, Casey," General Dunford said, an amused but not surprised smirk on his face as if he had seen that side of Casey before, was comfortable with it, and understood each word. "Your insight is as always much appreciated. I'm glad to hear that the years have not changed you."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir!" Casey bellowed.

"We didn't need so many 'Sirs' back then," General Dunford smiled, knowing perfectly well Casey's understanding of hierarchy and that his remark was a token of appreciation and not a free ticket to privileges.

"We served together," General Dunford mentioned casually, not explaining about the whens and wheres and whats. If a Marine said that you served with him, that was as good as a Federal Reserve guarantee. He topped it with a last comment.

"When you're over here, we'll make room for a bit of catching up, having a Wild Turkey and a ... Johnnie Walker, right?"

Casey beamed.

"It would be my pleasure, Sir. Yes, Sir, still Johnnie Walker."

"Nobody is perfect," Dunford allowed himself to smirk before turning his attention to Sarah.

"Agent Sarah Walker," he began, and she felt compelled to throw in a 'Yes, Sir!' as well.

"You're responsible for the CIA/NSA Burbank post with immediate effect. Given the critical situation that the Intersect should be under surveillance 24/7, we took the liberty to rent a vacant apartment at Echo Park, where you will live with Mr. Bartowski under your cover of being his girlfriend."

Beckman coughed, and Dunford friendly gestured to her to proceed, but she had difficulty accepting the information on her laptop. She sent Casey a stern look. Whatever he had done, he had not discussed it in time with Beckman, who currently looked like a woman that only had a few seconds to come up with a face-saving remark if she didn't want to disturb the amiability of the moment.

"Walker, in order to work on your cover as Mr. Bartowski's girlfriend," she began and gulped but decided to go with the flow, "Major Casey has extended your booking as the Carmichaels until the end of the week."

She looked at them with a distinct I-can't-believe-I-just-said-this expression while Casey's cheekbones displayed a tang of quiet amusement. Chuck was speechless, but Sarah's practical side was elated, and she had no trouble expressing that in a way that made Roan smile and Beckman wince.

"Thank you, Generals. We'll make the best use possible out of that week and meticulously perfect our cover relationship."

Beckman gave her a look as dry as the perfect vodka martini.

"I have no doubt about that."

•••••••••••••••••••

"We have a word or two to discuss with Agent Walker personally," Dunford said, and everyone else understood that they had to leave, except for Chuck, who needed a reassuring look from Sarah.

"Agent Walker, I'm informed about Langston Graham and have seen the video where he confesses that he had you set up at Miami," he began a topic that Sarah knew had been inevitable. "I'm sorry to say that we possibly never will fully find out the extent of his schemings. It seems you're the last survivor, now that Westlake is dead."

Beckman nervously tapped on the table. "Unfortunately, not everyone seems to think that way."

A tense Beckman was something that made Sarah edgy too, but she kept to her agent profile that was not half as lively as a water corpse.

"The agencies were threatened by an unknown person who's not up-to-date and assumes that a handful of agents who got mixed up in Graham's machinations are still alive."

To say that Sarah was able to follow Beckman was an exaggeration. She had not a clue where this was leading.

"We got hacked," Beckman angrily said. "An old acquaintance-" her voice was sarcastic "-has revisited us. Since there had been no sign of life for years, we thought we got rid of him or her. To cut it short, the Piranha is back."

"The Piranha," Sarah echoed. "I remember. Graham sent me on a wild goose chase through Europe - Rome, Vienna, London, Dublin, and finally Paris, until we gave up and concluded that he had never been at any of those places."

"He went silent about five years ago, but he's still our Most Wanted on the list for IT criminals," Beckman continued. "The weird issue is that he never did any harm, and none of the classified files he hacked ever was sold or leaked anywhere."

She puffed.

"He even sent us messages on how we could improve our system against hackers."

Sarah was close to asking if the agencies had followed the advice but thought better not to. Agencies were large and remiss entities, and five years were short.

"This time, there's real damage. Except for the one video log you have seen, all of Graham's personal files disappeared for good. Our tech guys can not find the slightest trace that these ever existed, although they knew, of course, because they tried to crack the encryption without success. Before you ask, the backups from the various workstations where they worked on the decryption vanished too, and due to only having discovered the files recently, we didn't have off-site backups yet."

Top of her trade or not, Sarah had a hard time veiling her contradicting emotions. It was a huge relief to hear that these files had not been cracked, but to know that someone else owned these files and found out about, among other things, the Spartan project and her traumatic past, was possibly even worse.

"He's blackmailing us?" Sarah asked the obvious question.

"No… yes!" Beckman exploded, irate that an unknown hacker could pull the agency through the arena by a nose ring. "Sarah, he's asking us to apologize to you and eleven other agents for what we have done to them. We have an idea that they shared a similar fate as you, but missing the files, we can't say for sure. But that's where the Piranha made his first mistake: All but you are deceased now that Westlake is dead. Apparently, he does not know that."

Sarah was flabbergasted. Her brain was screaming at her to accept what her intuition just had told her, but she could not. Meanwhile, Beckman spoke to her with a tormented face.

"Agent Sarah Walker, as per request, I apologize in lieu of Langston Graham for any harm done to you while in service of the CIA."

Beckman's gaze directed at another spot, talking to someone who was not present.

"Piranha, you lose your touch - you weren't thorough enough. The remaining eleven agents are all deceased. We can't deliver those personal apologies anymore."

She turned to Sarah again, who made an effort not to look lost.

"That bastard blackmailed us into apologizing to each of the Spartans, or else he would send the files to more newspapers and broadcasters than I have bling on my uniform. And we must send him a video of us doing so."

"That's weird… geeky… almost quixotic," Sarah mused. "What does the Piranha gain from it? And won't we be able to get him now? He has to provide some kind of contact to receive the apology, whichever way he may chose."

Beckman sighed.

"Walker, this is our first order in your new position as the leader of the Intersect team. The fight against Fulcrum still has top priority, but I want you to devote every free minute to the Piranha. Get him alive. We will force him to work with us unless he chooses to rot in a secret CIA facility. And… congratulations, Walker. We put a lot of hope into you and see a fine career ahead for you."

Sarah saw Dunford nod approvingly, and then the screen went black. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and let it flow over her wrists for a minute. After drying her hands, she placed them on the mirror. It all fell into place so easily and suddenly as if that mysterious Piranha knew more about her than those Spartan files. She absent-mindedly watched herself in deep contemplation for another minute, then winked at her reflection.

"Oh, I'd love to go out fishing, in a river or a creek," she mumbled.

•••••••••••••••••••

A/N (2) Center of the sun: The center of the sun, the innermost 20–25% of the Sun's radius, where temperature and pressure are sufficient for nuclear fusion to occur, reaches almost 15.7 million Kelvin. The energy produced can take between 10,000 and 170,000 years to escape the core, and the sunlight then takes only about 8 minutes and 20 seconds to reach the earth.

A/N (3) Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies: Quote from 'Venus and Adonis' (1593), a poem by William Shakespeare and probably his first published work.

A/N (4) Oh, I'd love to go out fishing, in a river or a creek: Taken from 'Cheek to Cheek', a song written by Irving Berlin, for the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movie 'Top Hat' (1935).

A/N (5) The sunlight then takes only about 8 minutes and 20 seconds to reach the earth, but I assume you could let me know in few words if you liked this chapter or not in half the time. Now that's a challenge!