It's July 15th, 2022, and Sarah Walker has finally scored her dream job—working with dolphins at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute. Socially awkward and academically driven, Sarah's never found love—but when she meets a tech genius whose inventions have the chance to make her research a reality, she finds herself falling for him. Together, their work could change the world … that is, unless someone else gets hold of it first.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…

Chapter 9: Lock & Key

As quickly as Sarah had hugged Chuck, she stepped away.

"Oh my God," she said, a flush tinting her cheeks. "That was totally inappropriate—I didn't mean to—I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Chuck refrained from favoring one of his ribs, which she'd come within a hairsbreadth of cracking. He shook his head. "Totally worth it," he muttered—which he'd only meant to think, but had apparently said out loud, given the amused looks on Laszlo and Ellie's faces.

Oh, to hell with them. They could think whatever they wanted, as long as it meant Sarah would hug him like that again.

Of course he found her project fascinating in its own right—he wouldn't be spending so much of his time, much less Laszlo's, on it if he didn't—but he had to admit that making Sarah's face light up like it did when Finn 'said' her name was a damn good motivator for his perseverance.

"Um, so," he said, trying as hard as he could to deflect, "should we keep going? Or maybe we should take a break and get something to eat? I don't know if you guys are hungry—"

"I'm starving,"Lou said. "But I've got a show with Finn in half an hour."

"No problem." Laszlo gave her his trademark grin, the one that usually made women swoon … right before they accepted his invitation to do—well, whatever he had in mind. "I'd be happy to grab you something while we're out."

To Chuck's surprise, Lou didn't respond to the grin the way most women did. Instead, she just shrugged. "That would be nice, I guess, but there's no need to go out of your way."

"But you just said you were starving," Laszlo protested.

"I mean, I am. But I didn't mean for you to—"

"Lou," Sarah interrupted, "I'llgrab you something while we're out." She looked back and forth between Laszlo and the trainer, her eyes narrowed. "At the café, maybe? It's not too fancy, but it's quick … and free," she said, giving Chuck's assortment of expensive-looking equipment a rueful glance. "Lunch is on me, Laszlo. It's the least I can do."

"Okay, that sounds great, Sarah. Thanks," Lou said, beaming.

Chuck—who was watching Laszlo with some fascination—saw his friend's face fall, just a little. Laszlo's eyebrows knitted, and he regarded Lou with abject puzzlement … as if he'd expected to find a helpless kitten and had come face-to-face with a lioness instead.

The four of them—Chuck, Sarah, Ellie, and Laszlo—made their way down to the café, where they settled in at a table by the huge glass windows that overlooked the bay. Ellie ordered the fried tofu and rice noodles; Sarah got a bento box; and both Chuck and Laszlo ordered loaded Impossible Burgers with fries.

The moment the food arrived, Chuck knew he'd made a huge mistake. The burger was a disaster in the making. It was Impossible all right—impossible to eat without making a complete fool of himself. Ketchup dripped down his fingers, the bun-to-faux-meat ratio was all wrong, and he kept having to grab more napkins from the dispenser in the center of the table to wipe mayo from his face. He tried to think of ways to make polite conversation with Sarah, but he was too embarrassed. Instead, he focused on not getting his food all over himself.

Laszlo, on the other hand, had no such compunctions. As usual, he was a flawless conversationalist, asking Ellie what she'd been up to since the last time they'd seen each other, quizzing Sarah on where she'd gone to school and why she'd chosen to work with dolphins. Sarah answered his questions readily enough—but when it came to the reasons she'd chosen her line of work, all she said was, "I've always been fascinated with dolphins … ever since I was a kid."

Chuck couldn't help but think there must be much more to her story. Something about the way she glanced down at the table, then redirected the conversation, tipped him off. He wanted to ask her about it, but refrained, sure she must've had a good reason for not sharing.

His bet paid off when she turned to him, her face aglow, telling him once again how amazed she was at what he and Laszlo had been able to accomplish in such a short amount of time—how she couldn't wait to see what his design's full potential might eventually yield. He forgot all about being shy and just smiled back at her, tingles trailing up and down his spine.

God, he hoped he didn't get her hopes up, only to let her down. He hadn't even wanted to show her that video—but Laszlo had insisted, telling him he was being too humble as usual, that he shouldn't be such a perfectionist.

At some point, Chuck knew he would need to come clean and explain the mechanical dolphin's limitations—not to mention the monumental amount of work that would be necessary in order to get the Intersect to perform the way he wanted. All Sarah, Lou, and Ellie had seen so far was a flashy demonstration of how some already-proven technology moved through water. That was small potatoes compared to what Chuck had in mind—what the project needed. He knew he and Laszlo were far from getting there—and he'd never been one to hang his hat on flashy sleight-of-hand, just to make himself look good. He was far more interested in meaningful results.

Then again, as impressed as Sarah had been by the Intersect's performance, it'd obviously meant way more to her that Morgan had been able to translate Finn's whistles. Chuck would never forget the awed look on her face when the speaker called out her name, followed by 'friend'… the tears of joy in her eyes … the way her body fit so perfectly against his.

"—getting back, Chuck?"

Chuck blinked, turning to look at his sister. "I'm sorry, what?"

Ellie rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. "I said, it's been almost an hour. Shouldn't we be getting back? We don't want Lou to die from hunger, and after your little demonstration before lunch, I can't wait to see what else Morgan can do."

Chuck felt his chest constrict. Letting Ellie down was one thing—she was his sister; she'd seen him succeed and fail a thousand times, plus her livelihood and funding didn't depend on what he might be able to accomplish. But Sarah—that was a different story.

"Okay," he said, more abruptly than he intended, dropping his third much-abused napkin onto his plate and pushing his chair away from the table. "Let's go."

"One second," Sarah said, getting up. "I still need to grab something for Lou."

Laszlo trailed after her on the way to the café's Grab and Go counter. As they walked away, Chuck could hear his friend's voice raised in yet another interrogative. His chest tightened even more—this time, with jealousy. He didn't think Laszlo was hitting on Sarah—not with the way he'd been looking at Lou—but how was it so easy for him to make idle conversation … with her? Chuck couldn't seem to manage a full sentence without stammering all over the place.

Chuck did his best to suppress his feelings—but they still rankled, troubling him. He'd never been the jealous type; it wasn't an admirable quality. And it wasn't like he and Sarah weren't dating or anything; they were just friends. Check your attitude, he admonished himself.

He was still giving himself a stern talking-to when Ellie and Sarah ducked into the restroom. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Laszlo punched Chuck in the shoulder … hard.

"Ow," Chuck complained, rubbing the point of impact. "What was that for?"

"For being an idiot." Laszlo glared at him. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Chuck shuffled his feet, discomfited. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean! You're so into this girl—it's written all over your damn face, not to mention the rest of you. She practically threw herself at you after Morgan did its thing. And what do you do? The first time you get to hang out with her in a social setting, you just sit there like a freaking bump on a log. Get it together, Bartowski!"

Defensively, Chuck drew himself up to his full height. He towered over Laszlo by at least four inches—and he made use of every one of them. "At least I didn't interrogate her like she was a POW," he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Laszlo just laughed at him. "Interrogate her? Dude, you're so afraid of saying the wrong thing, it's a wonder you can speak at all. I was trying to find out more about her background and interests—for you, you dumb ass."

"Ohhhh," Chuck said, rolling his eyes at Laszlo. "So that's why you followed Sarah to the counter—because you were trying to help a brother out. Not because you're some creepy stalker dude on a mission to discover Lou's favorite foods?"

For the first time since Chuck had met him years ago, Laszlo actually blushed. "I'm not a stalker," he said. "I'm considerate. Interested. And I was trying to help you out—since you paid more attention to your burger than the girl who basically thinks you're God."

"She's a woman. Not a girl," Chuck said, more annoyed than ever. "And that burger was a dripping hot mess!"

"I ate mine without any problems."

"Because you didn't mind getting condiments all over your face! I was trying to be a good dining companion."

Laszlo elbowed him in the ribs, adding insult to injury. "Great. When you're dying all alone on the floor of your apartment at the age of 90, and the neighbors find you after your horde of cats have eaten half your face—at least you can console yourself that you died having good manners."

Chuck's only response was an inarticulate growl—just as Ellie and Sarah came out of the restroom. His sister glanced between the two of them, raising her eyebrows.

"Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Laszlo said, his eyes sparkling. "Everything's just … peachy."

Chuck wasn't a violent person, but—seriously? If they'd been alone, he would've happily decked his friend.

OoOoOoOoO

The group made their way back to the dive platform, discussing what their next steps should be. After some consideration—and a courtesy phone call with Casey—Sarah agreed to let Chuck and Laszlo drop the hydrophone into Echo's part of the tank, to see if the translator worked with her as well. From what Chuck could tell, based on Sarah's end of the conversation, Casey seemed relatively excited about their progress—as excited as the vet seemed to get, anyway. Honestly, the guy was flat-out intimidating. Chuck had only been joking with Laszlo about the POW comment … but after how pissed Casey had been when Sarah had knocked him into the tank—which hadn't even been his fault!—Chuck could easily envision the big, muscular vet interrogating a prisoner.

"Casey's skeptical," Sarah reported when she hung up, "but he says as long as we don't upset Echo or Eden, it's okay with him. I'm on the same page there. So, we have a green light."

"Should we call Dr. Beckman?" Lou asked, taking a bite of the hummus wrap that Sarah had bought her. "I mean—she'll want to know…"

"Dr. Beckman's at a conference all day." Sarah shrugged. "And quite frankly—I'd rather have more data to show her. Let's see what the rest of our day yields, and then I'll call her with the results."

Her attitude—so similar to his own—made Chuck feel a little bit better. Sarah was a scientist, after all; her work was grounded in research and evidence. She wouldn't jump to conclusions based on a couple of incidences; she'd want extensive proof.

Still, that didn't mean she couldn't hope … and Chuck knew better than most people how dangerous that could be. Hope could save you—but it could also break your heart.

Well, if he had anything to do with it, Sarah's faith in his technology's potential would soon be validated. He'd work as hard as he could to make this dream of hers come true.

They spent the rest of the afternoon putting Morgan through its paces, with mixed results. With the names of people and dolphins, or objects that were as common and necessary as fish, Morgan performed perfectly. Sarah teared up yet again when the speaker translated Echo's first whistle as, "Sarah … Eden … Echo … Baby," the proud mother apparently introducing her newborn calf.

With more obscure objects, though—like the dolphins' toys, or as Sarah and Lou called them, "environmental enrichment devices"—the animals didn't seem to share any distinct identifying sounds … at least, not on the recordings Chuck, and by extension, Morgan, had access to. And, of course, the toys didn't exist in the wild—so any recordings that hadn't been made in captivity were irrelevant.

The dolphins didn't seem to have a common vocalization for, say, a hoop or a ball … or for the recycled-material duck that local schoolkids had made for them, which Lou dropped into both sections of their tank to further the experiment. Their vocalizations were clearly different, and Morgan had trouble identifying and correlating them. Where Finn might think of the duck as "Mr. Squishy," for all Chuck knew, Echo might think of it instead as her "Lovie," and there wasn't a way yet to ask either of them—at least not in a way that the dolphins could understand. Based on the limited data set at his disposal, Chuck started to think that within their tiny pod, there were universal sounds that correlated with certain identifiers … but with other, more complex ideas, that all went out the window.

Still, when he'd gotten tossed into the tank with Echo, Chuck was sure she'd managed to tell Finn—using some sophisticated form of communication—how to coordinate their efforts. They had to have another way to communicate that was not as obvious as mere whistles and clicks. Their communication when he'd been in the tank with them had been way too organized—with perfect intent—to be that simple, that much Chuck was absolutely certain of.

As Lou knelt by the side of Finn's tank in her wetsuit, giving the dolphin a series of commands and waiting for the speaker to translate his response, Chuck hung back, trying to think of better ways to convey more intricate concepts and ideas to the dolphins without having to rely so much on language of any type—theirs or humans'. Something hovered at the edge of his memory, just out of reach.

For some reason, a documentary he'd watched a few nights ago about the Great Pyramids of Giza popped into his mind. The pyramids were stunning, a marvel, even by modern engineering standards. The more he learned about them, the more awed he became. But why was he thinking about that documentary right now?

He thought and thought—and then it hit him. Hieroglyphs.

The pyramids were a beautiful, self-contained feat of engineering, just as hieroglyphs were an intricate, self-contained example of pictorial communication. They were a stylized picture of an object representing a word, syllable, or sound … in essence, an idea. Dolphins negotiated their world based on echolocation—basically, using sound to form a picture of the world around them. What if he could reverse-engineer that … present them with some kind of mental imagery in order to convey a concept? And if he could … what would be the best delivery system for a dolphin?

His theory nagged at him—but how could he test out his hypothesis? Did it have any real merit, or was he just deluding himself? He feared this was going to bug him relentlessly until he could figure it out. Such was his curse.

Sarah stood next to the speaker, a notebook and pen in hand. Since they'd started working again after lunch, she'd remained extraordinarily focused. She made notes, diligently documenting every aspect of their tests—what worked and what didn't. Chuck didn't have the heart to tell her that Morgan's AI did that kind of thing on the fly. Its core was built off of a probability engine, making it the perfect learning computer. But Sarah was in the zone, fully immersed and fascinated, and it was a beautiful sight to see, so he let her do her thing. She was the expert, after all. Maybe she'd pick up on something that Morgan missed.

As the afternoon wound down, Lou had to head out. Chuck was completely unsurprised when Laszlo said he had to go too, but thought he might stick around for a few days more to help out.

"I've got some vacation coming," he said with a shrug. "Might as well use it now. Bartowski, hit me up in the morning and we'll get back to work."

The man was a player—but Chuck couldn't argue, given that he himself had stayed up for two nights' running to try and create something that would make Sarah happy … and give him an excuse to see her again. Plus, with Laszlo's resources and intellect on board, the project had an exponentially higher chance of success. Playboy attitude aside, the man was brilliant—and the Intersect needed days and days' worth of work before it would even be ready to interface with Morgan, much less be the breakthrough they were all hoping it would be.

And then there was that new idea of Chuck's to explore …

Ever perceptive, Ellie gave Lou and Laszlo a chance to make it to their cars—and then she scooped her purse off the small table by the door to the prep room. "I better head home too. I feel like I've abandoned Devon. Don't feel bad"—she preempted whatever Sarah was about to say—"this has been absolutely fascinating, and he spent the day surfing and parasailing, so trust me … he's not suffering. Still, he promised me a nice dinner out, and I'm gonna take him up on it. Plus, I need to make some calls and see if I can rent us that MRI trailer."

"Do you want Casey's number?" Sarah asked, pulling out her phone. "He's got a lot of local connections—maybe he'd be able to give us a good lead."

"Absolutely—that's a great idea. Thanks." Ellie turned to Chuck. "Will a week give you enough time to complete the table and the misting system we talked about—plus the cover for the dolphins' melons?"

Chuck tilted his head, considering. "Normally I'd say I'm not sure—it's a lot to do—but with Laszlo here, I feel confident that between the two of us, we can make it happen. I hope you don't mind if part of your rental cottage becomes an IT workspace."

Ellie frowned at him as her phone beeped, signaling the arrival of Casey's contact information. "Oh, God, Chuck—how much stuff are we talking about? It's not that big a place …"

"I have an idea." Sarah raised her hand, as if they were in school—then dropped it, looking self-conscious. "I've got plenty of space in my lab at MBARI. What if you and Laszlo worked there? We've got resources you can use … and if you have any questions about how what you're developing would affect the dolphins, you can just ask me…"

"Are you sure?" Chuck's eyebrows rose. "It's a lot of equipment … and we'll need to spread out. Plus, we keep some pretty late hours—although I can take some stuff home with me to work on, if need be …"

"I'm absolutely sure." Sarah sounded more confident than usual. "It would be so amazing for me to have a chance to get a peek at this technology as it evolves. And I don't mind long hours. I work late myself, when I'm really getting into a project … and maybe I could persuade Dr. Beckman to give you a key, given that she knows you personally."

"Great!" Ellie said, dusting her hands together the way she did when she was ready to move on from a given topic. From the look she was giving Chuck, he could tell exactly what she was thinking—that if she didn't say something, he and Sarah would go back and forth about this until sunset. "It's settled, then. Tomorrow morning, you, Laszlo, and Sarah can all meet at her lab and get stuff set up. But in the meantime, I'm out of here. Sarah—as always, it's been a pleasure."

Slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she waved at them both, then walked away. Chuck wasn't a big believer in telepathy, but he could swear he could hear her thinking: Don't screw this up, little brother.

Gah. If only the dolphins had Ellie's telepathic powers, all of this would be so much easier.

The door to the prep room snicked shut behind her. Chuck and Sarah stood there, staring at each other, in a silence broken only by the splash of the dolphins. It was, Chuck realized, the first time they'd been alone together since that morning on the beach.

"Um," he said, shifting his weight, "so, big day, huh?"

She just looked at him, and he replayed his words, feeling like a total idiot. Big day? What was the matter with him? Laszlo was right—he was gonna die alone and become the food source for a bunch of starving felines.

"Yeah," Sarah echoed, looking as uncomfortable as he felt. "Big day. The biggest, really. Huge."

Surely Laszlo would have found a clever way to spin this innuendo on its head—no pun intended—but Chuck just felt more awkward than ever. "Okay," he said, "so—I should probably go. I want to do some more work on the Intersect tonight, and, um, I'm actually kind of tired, so …"

"Oh!" Sarah bit her lip, and Chuck had to look away. She smelled like vanilla and strawberries all the time—like some delicious sort of dessert. Maybe she tasted that way too. Maybe—

Maybe she was still talking, and he hadn't heard a word she'd said.

"Um, sorry," he said, trying to look like he hadn't been imagining what it would be like to pin her up against the wall and kiss her within an inch of her life—in full view of the visitors' window to the tank, no less. "I zoned out for a second there. You were saying?"

"God, you really are tired. I was saying, I'll help you pack everything up, and then I'll head out too. I can help you with that flight case thingy." She gestured at the ATA.

"I've got it," he protested.

"Don't be silly." She gave him an Ellie-worthy look. "I saw the way you and Laszlo wrestled with that thing. You've done so much for me—for us," she corrected herself, gesturing at the dolphins. "The least I can do is help you lug some of this stuff out to your car."

"Well…" he said, glancing at the giant pile of stuff, "if you insist…"

Together, they packed up the hydrophone, speaker, Intersect, and a few other things and made their way through the Aquarium. The security guard, Milton, was still on duty at the front desk; Chuck wanted to stop and say goodbye, but Milton was deep in conversation with someone, and he hated to interrupt. Instead, he just waved. Milton waved back—and then, sliding his gaze toward Sarah, he winked.

When Chuck glanced at Sarah in puzzlement, she was blushing—a reaction that bewildered him. Of course, so did Milton's actions. "Um … did the security guard just wink at you?" he said, guiding the ATA around a crowd of giggling teenagers.

Sarah, who was making sure the stack of equipment didn't fall off the crate, blushed harder. "Oh—maybe. Milton's very sweet … and also, kind of protective of me. I think he likes you—and that was his way of saying so. I guess it would bug some people, but I don't really mind. God, if I'd had him for a father, I'd count myself the luckiest woman on the planet."

Chuck squirreled that bit of information away for later analysis. He wasn't sure if that meant Sarah's dad was dead—or had just failed her horribly. But either way, her expression had turned wistful, her gaze distant … and he'd do anything to put a smile back on her face.

"Well," he said, trying to make light of the situation, "I'll do my best not to get on his bad side, then."

Sarah raised her eyebrows at him, looking amused, and he gave himself a silent high-five. "Maybe that's a good idea. He is an armed security guard, Chuck. If he took a sudden dislike to you—what could you do? Deploy your mechanical dolphin to defend yourself?"

She was teasing him—and he found that he liked it. "Hey," he said, dragging the case through the doorway into the southern California heat. "I'll have you know my mechanical dolphin is a pretty tough cookie. All it needs is a little bit of water, and it can take out Milton on any day of the week … and twice on Sundays. On land, however, I'll admit … you may have a point."

Sarah's laughter echoed off the building as they made their way to the parking deck. Once they stood beside his Tesla and he popped the trunk, he busied himself loading everything in, dreading the moment when they'd have to say goodbye.

Finally there was nothing left to put away. He stood, leaning against his car, tossing his keys from one hand to the other.

He should thank her. He should ask her out. He should—

"Do you want to have dinner with me?" Sarah blurted.

Caught off guard, he just stared at her. "I—"

"You're tired, I know that. You said so. We can do it another time … if you want. I just—I canceled on you last night because of Eden, which wasn't my fault, obviously—but then I hung up on you, because … well, it doesn't matter. But I thought that maybe you were mad, which you aren't—and anyway, none of this is the point. The point is, I thought maybe you'd want to have dinner tonight. With me. At my house. But if not, that's totally—"

Ellie was right, Chuck thought—as usual. He and Sarah could go around in circles forever if someone didn't put a stop to it. "Yes!" he interrupted her, his voice slightly too loud. Flinching, he tried again. "Yes. I would love to have dinner tonight. With you. At your house. I can sleep when I'm dead."

Oh, he really hadn't meant to say that aloud. But it was okay; she was laughing at him again, but not in a mean way. More like she understood.

"Okay, then," she said. "Dinner's at seven."

OoOoOoOoO

Sarah was determined to make everything perfect for her dinner with Chuck that night. She scoured her little cottage from top to bottom until the old wooden floors shone, picked up some wildflowers to put in a vase on the kitchen table, and shopped for the ingredients she'd need to make her favorite meal: Her mom's Mediterranean salmon, plus balsamic-glazed asparagus and parmesan risotto. She went to a local fish market to get the salmon, wanting to get her hands on a fresh catch, then took her time choosing the asparagus, making sure the stalks were a deep, vibrant green, their tops tightly furled. For dessert, she planned a simple chocolate mousse, topped with whipped cream and dark chocolate curls … the fancy treat her mother always made on special occasions.

Sarah's mother had worked so hard, she hadn't had a lot of time for cooking—but when she did, she'd made it count. She'd treated cooking like an art form, making sure whatever she served looked as appetizing as it tasted. Once she saw how much her daughter loved science, she'd found a way to marry their passions, buying Sarah books like Simon Field's Culinary Reactions: The Everyday Chemistry of Cooking. Even though her mother had often been preoccupied, Sarah had always known she was loved—and cooking was one of the ways her mom had expressed how much she cared.

Despite her mom's tutelage, left to her own devices, Sarah usually resorted to pizza and frozen dinners. She could cook, even enjoyed it—but she hadn't had anyone to cook for in such a long time. Still, maybe she and her mom had more in common than Sarah thought—because here she was, having dinner with a man she liked more than anyone she'd met in a long time … and making him a meal that she hoped would pave the way to his heart.

As she slid the chocolate mousse into the fridge to chill—right alongside the two bottles of white wine she'd purchased—she did her best to suppress the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach. It was just a thank-you dinner, not a date. Trying to soothe her nerves, she took a shower, then—after a great deal of deliberation—put on a golden-yellow sundress and a topaz pendant that matched her eyes.

It wasn't a date. But that didn't mean she couldn't look good … right?

Tying a flowered apron over her dress, she turned on some upbeat jazz, then went to work, drizzling glaze over the asparagus and popping the risotto into the oven to simmer. Just as she was pressing cloves of garlic for the salmon, her doorbell rang. She checked the clock—there were still fifteen minutes before Chuck was supposed to arrive. What in the world?

Wiping her hands on her apron, she untied it, then made her way to the door. When she pulled it open, Chuck was standing on her porch, a bottle of wine in one hand and what looked like a wrapped gift in the other. He was wearing a short-sleeved blue button-down, a pair of khakis—and an extraordinarily nervous smile. His curls were halfway rumpled, as if he'd tried to tame them and failed miserably.

"Hi," he said, sounding flustered. "I know I'm early—I'm sorry for that. I just … I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to find your house, and I didn't want to be late …"

"You're fine," Sarah said. In more ways than one. "Please, come in."

He stepped over the threshold, and she shut the door behind him. They stood there, looking at each other—and then Chuck held out the bottle of wine.

"Pinot Grigio," he said. "I don't know too much about wine, but the guy at the store said it was a good vintage. Let's hope he's right."

"Thank you." She took it, smiling.

"Um … hope this is okay." He gestured at himself. "Nice, but not too nice? And you … I hope it's all right to say this—but you look … beautiful."

Sarah felt herself coloring. Maybe this was a date, after all? "Thanks," she said again, at a loss for how else to respond. She'd never been very good with compliments.

"I, um, I got you something else." He held out the wrapped package. It was relatively small and square, swathed in navy blue paper covered in tiny silver specks, like stars in the night sky.

"You got me a present? Really, Chuck, you didn't have to—"

"I know I didn't. But flowers and chocolates just seemed cliché, and I wanted to do something special…" His voice trailed off.

"Do you want me to open it now?"

He shrugged, looking self-conscious. "If you want to. I know some people feel weird about opening a gift in front of the people who gave it, but I promise … if you hate it, I won't be upset…"

"How could I possibly hate it?" She motioned for him to sit down on the blue velvet loveseat in her small living room and then took the armchair across from him, ripping open the paper. And then she gasped.

Chuck had gotten her a painting. But not just any painting—an image of a dolphin and her baby leaping out of the water, the sun setting behind them. The colors were vivid, the dolphins gorgeously rendered. That was impressive enough … but as Sarah peered closer, she saw that every bit of the image was made up of tiny words—freedom, imagination, discovery, adventure, belief. Each wave was a poem; each dolphin, a story. She gaped at it, awed.

"Do you like it?" His voice was anxious.

"Like it? I love it. Where in the world did you find it?"

"Oh—at a little consignment shop just outside of town—when I was driving around the other day, shopping for materials. The artist had a whole series, but I liked this one the best."

It was all Sarah could do not to fling herself onto the loveseat with him and show him just how much she liked her present. Instead, she settled for giving him the biggest smile she could muster. "Chuck," she said, her voice huskier than she'd intended, "you're just too good to be true."

Now he was the one who seemed to have trouble accepting compliments. "Um," he said, glancing around, "how long have you lived here? This place is incredible."

Sarah beamed. "Just over a month. I took a long time decorating it, trying to get it just right. This is my first real job out of grad school—I spent a lot of time as a research assistant, which doesn't exactly pay well, and I knew I'd be moving, so I didn't invest in a lot of nice furniture. Most of my stuff was secondhand, picked up at thrift stores or inherited from friends. When I moved here, I wanted a fresh start … to make my place my own, you know."

His eyes roamed the room, taking in her mantel, with its framed photos of dolphins she'd worked with; her blue velvet loveseat and matching chair; her braided green rug; and the cool shade of aqua on the walls that evoked the sense of the sea. "It's beautiful," he said. "It's a reflection of you."

This was the second time in the last five minutes that he'd called her beautiful—in a roundabout way—and he seemed to realize it, because his gaze dropped to the rug between his feet. For a moment, neither of them said anything; then he drew a deep breath, lifted his head, and tried again. "What are we having for dinner? Whatever it is … it smells great."

"Oh!" Sarah leapt to her feet. "I should put the salmon in the oven. That's what we're having … salmon. Oh, and risotto and asparagus. With chocolate mousse for dessert. I hope you like it—because if not …"

He gave her a lopsided smile. "It sounds amazing. I had no idea you were such a talented chef. Honestly, is there anything you can't do?"

Have a coherent conversation with you without putting my foot in my mouth, Sarah thought. Aloud, she said, "Engineer a mechanical dolphin that frolics in the Pacific and obeys my every command … or create an AI interface that interprets dolphins' whistles with twenty-four hours' notice. How the hell did you do that, anyway?"

He shrugged again, looking uncomfortable. "Oh … that … I'm afraid it looks a lot more impressive than it really is. That's all just window dressing … showy stuff. Laszlo and I have a long way to go—trust me. I don't want you to think we're further along than we actually are … or to make any promises to you that I can't keep."

Somehow, she didn't think Chuck Bartowski was in the habit of making promises he didn't intend to fulfill. She might've only known him for a few days, but she already knew that much. "Why don't you tell me all about it over dinner," she suggested, walking back toward the kitchen. "You know, so I don't get the wrong idea."

Where the courage to flirt with him like that had come from, Sarah didn't know—but, eager for more of it, she opened the bottle of wine he'd brought and poured a glass for each of them. He joined her at the counter as she finished putting the garlic through the press, drizzled some olive oil on the salmon, and slid it into the oven. Then she grabbed the block of parmesan and the grater, and set to work.

He leaned across the counter, looking edible. "How can I help?"

You can kiss me, she wanted to say. So I can stop wondering what it'd feel like, and be able to concentrate on making dinner. Otherwise, you might wind up eating crispy risotto and salmon jerky. But instead, she took a demure sip of wine and said, "You can set the table. Placemats are in there … plates and glasses are over there … silverware's by the sink."

He set to work as well, looking happy to have a task. Sarah watched him surreptitiously, appreciating the long line of his back as he stretched to get the glasses out of the cupboard and the precision with which he aligned the napkins with the plates—just like an engineer, she thought with a fondness that surprised her. The breeze blew through the open window by the table, ruffling his curls and bearing with it the scent of the ocean, mingled with Chuck's aftershave. Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd been so … content.

When dinner was ready, she served each of them a plate. They sat opposite each other, and Chuck lifted his glass. "What should we toast to?" he said.

Sarah was afraid of what might come out of her mouth if the toast was left up to her. "You choose."

"Okay…" He tilted his head, pondering. "How about—to new beginnings. Echo and her baby. You and your career. And the two of us … working together."

Sarah clinked her glass against his, feeling more than a little disappointed. Was that really the way he thought of her—as his colleague?

They dug into their food in silence—and then Chuck made a throaty sound of satisfaction. "Oh my God, Sarah … this is amazing. Delicious. I feel like I'm dreaming."

She took another sip of wine for courage. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know." He waved his fork. "Sitting here … eating this incredible food … listening to the ocean in the background … it doesn't feel real. I've always dreamed of living in a place like this. Nothing big or fancy, but—homey … lived-in. A little cottage by the sea. Tonight—being here, with you—it's been absolutely perfect."

Sarah's mouth fell open. "Really?"

He met her eyes. His were chocolate-dark, his gaze soft. "You know, it's funny sometimes, how things work out," he said, setting down his fork.

Puzzled, she stared at him. "How so?"

"How we met," he said. "Me and Peaches 'running into' you."

She smiled, remembering. "Yeah, small world, huh? Who would've guessed that the guy whose sister's dog flattened me in the surf would've turned out to be the genius who held the key to my life's work?"

He looked away, as if uncomfortable with the 'genius' comment—or maybe, with something else. "You don't know the half of it."

The wine must've made her brave. "I don't?" she challenged.

He took another sip, then one more. "The morning after we met, I went back to the beach—without the damn dog, this time—and walked up and down for what felt like hours. I walked and I walked, but I couldn't find you. I thought it was hopeless. And then my sister called … not only giving me the chance to see you again, but the opportunity to help you with this amazing project—and now look at us. It's kinda crazy, don't you think?"

He drained his glass, setting it down on the table with a clink. Sarah stared at him, her mouth agape.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said. "Are you saying that the woman you were trying to find on the beach that first morning—the one that Ellie had to plead with you to call off the hunt for, so you'd come to MBARI and meet with us—are you saying that woman … was me?"

He stared back at her, looking surprised that she would even ask. "Of course it was you, Sarah. Who else would it have been? I thought you knew."

"Oh my God." She sucked in a deep breath, then another. "And all this time, I thought—I thought that you'd—"

"That I'd what?" His gaze was steady on hers. "Spend this much time and energy with someone I wasn't more than interested in?"

"Oh," she said again, feeling her face break into a smile as bright as a sun. "Well, that's good, Chuck. That's really, really good. And yeah, maybe this is crazy … but then again, maybe not. Maybe it's just … meant to be."

OoOoOoOoO

They talked the night away, until the sun was a flaming crescent on the horizon and the sky grew thick with stars. After they cleaned up the dinner dishes—Chuck insisting on loading the dishwasher—and finished their chocolate mousse, which he proclaimed "the most delectable thing I've ever tasted," she made some coffee and they settled in the rocking chairs on her front porch. Sarah couldn't help but remember how, just a few nights ago, she'd walked home from the beach alone, wondering if she'd ever find someone to share her porch—and her life—with. Now here was Chuck, like the answer to a prayer. He thought he was dreaming—well, she had to fight the urge to pinch herself, to make sure she wouldn't wake up.

"You know," Chuck said, setting his coffee on the small table between them, "listening to the ocean like this … outside at night … it makes me think of my parents. Growing up, we used to always take family beach vacations. We'd rent a little cottage just like this one, in a place where it was legal to have bonfires on the beach … and then my dad would build a fire, and we'd roast marshmallows and look at the stars together. We'd make a game of renaming the constellations. Those were some of the best times of my life."

His voice had gone quiet, nostalgic, and when Sarah glanced over at him, his gaze looked faraway. "How would you rename them?" she said, thinking of the way she'd hoped to one day find a guy who would sit with her and look at the stars.

"The constellations? Oh, just silly stuff. Kid things."

"Tell me," she coaxed. "Rename some for me."

"Right now?" He looked up at the stars. "Well, that—right there, to the left of Cassiopeia—that's the Elephant Armada. See their trunks? And over there? That's obviously the Breakdancing Squid. Two tentacles are moon-walking … two are doing the Egyptian …"

"Squid only have two tentacles." She shoved him playfully. "The rest are arms."

"It's a game, Sarah," he protested. "Realism doesn't play into it. For instance, this may come as a shock, but there's actually no constellation called the Breakdancing Squid."

She snorted.

"Okay, then," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "It's your turn."

"Me?"

"Yep. It's a game; that's how they work. I had my turn … now you have a go at it. Let's see if you've got what it takes to top the Breakdancing Squid."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh … I don't know, Chuck. How about … Orion's Seat Belt? … The Average Dipper? Or … the Northern Double-Cross?"

"You're way too good at this." He sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Sarah sipped her coffee, feeling vaguely smug. "You're looking at the Channel Hills High School Pun Champion, three years running. Don't mess with the best."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, and I also have a bridge I'd like to sell you." It was her turn to sigh. "I was way too busy doing research internships and trying to land merit scholarships—not to mention way too shy—to be the champion of anything, except maybe Scrabble with my mom."

Silence fell between them, but it wasn't awkward anymore—it was companionable. Staring up at Orion's Seat Belt, Sarah felt the warmth of Chuck's hand on her arm.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentle. "I know the feeling."

"Chuck?" she said, the kindness in his voice giving her the courage to ask. "You said you used to go on family vacations. Where are your parents?"

"Oh," he said, his tone laced with the sort of matter-of-fact sadness reserved for a tragedy with which one has come to terms. "Well, they're not with us any longer. It's just me and Ellie now."

Sarah felt the old shyness creeping back in again. Things had been going so well … and what had she done? Put her foot in her mouth even more spectacularly than before. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, really. Don't feel bad. It was a long time ago." He turned to face her. "They were in a car accident—hit by a semi. They were killed instantly. And before you ask—the driver wasn't drunk or anything. He was a good guy, working a double shift, just trying to get home to his family. He fell asleep at the wheel. He was devastated—completely destroyed—when he realized what he'd done."

"I'm so sorry," Sarah said again. What else was there to say?

"It's okay … at least, it is now. Ellie took care of me. She gave up a lot—I owe her everything. And now here we are—and we're fine. But that doesn't mean … sometimes I still miss them, you know?"

Sarah nodded in complete understanding. "I do."

"How about you?" In the dim glow of the porch light, she could see his gaze, intent on her face. "What you said earlier, about wishing Milton was your dad—"

"My dad is a selfish, narcissistic prick, pardon my language. He was a gambler, a confidence man. He lost all of our money in one of his get-rich-quick schemes, right before my mom booted him to the curb. She tried everything—begging him, yelling at him, freezing him out, even ignoring me in an attempt to save their marriage—but it didn't work. They divorced when I was seven, and I've barely seen him since. Sometimes I wonder what's worse—to have had wonderful parents, like it sounds like you did, and lose them … or to have a terrible father who's still walking around in the world, who wants nothing to do with you." She dropped her gaze to her lap, her tone morose.

"Well," Chuck said after a moment, "that took a dark turn. Let's talk about something else. Bunnies? Butterflies? Or should we just go inside, screen Schindler's List and Sophie's Choice, and finish the job?"

Sarah blinked, startled. "Why those movies?"

"They're the two most depressing ones I could think of, spur of the moment." He grinned at her. "Or … we could talk about your dolphins. How about I put that app on your phone? I forgot to do it before."

"Sure." She dug her phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. A minute later, he gave it back—and she watched Echo and Eden swim around the tank, diving deep, then leaping out of the water. Just watching them together, looking so happy and at peace, made her feel better.

"Chuck," she said, her eyes still on the dolphins.

"Yeah?"

"How in the world did you create that mechanical dolphin in such a short amount of time—let alone make that massive upgrade to Morgan's AI? It seems like a mammoth amount of work … even for you."

He shifted in his seat, and she lifted her gaze to look at him. "This is what I meant before, Sarah—I don't want you to make more of it than it is. The Intersect is a long way away from being a fully functional design. With luck—and Laszlo's help—I should be able to pull it off before we're ready to upload the MRI and EEG data into Morgan." He shrugged. "As far as Morgan's upgrade is concerned, I've been working on it for the past two years. It's just a happy coincidence that it was finished in time for this project."

"And Laszlo just happens to be able to stick around?" She couldn't keep the skepticism from her voice.

"I know how it looks. But Laszlo's a workaholic—like me. He's got so much vacation racked up, it's ridiculous. And, you know, I think he's got a thing for Lou…"

"I noticed that." She sat upright, waiting to see if Chuck would elaborate.

But all he said was, "Just so you know, with Laszlo involved, we've got some pretty extensive resources at our fingertips. He and I have collaborated before—we didn't build the dolphin from scratch. We actually had a mechanical shark lying around at Cupertino which we used as a jumping-off point. Over the years, just for fun, we've built all kinds of stuff … from mechanical bugs, to flying bats, to the shark that's at the core of what we're calling the Intersect. Like I said, it's not as impressive as it looks."

"...For fun?" Sarah said, her lips curling upward in a smile.

"I know, I know, my idea of fun is a little weird … that's what Ellie's always telling me, anyhow." He hung his head. "But yeah, we started building that stuff in undergrad together, trying to figure out what kind of programming it would take to replicate the ways different animals move. Our first project was something for robotics class … a spider, I think? … and it kinda grew from there. Once we had the shark, all we needed to do 'overnight' was modify the exoskeleton so that the tail went up and down, like a dolphin's fluke, rather than side to side, like a shark's … rebuild the speaker to fit inside the dolphin—which, as you know, I'd already created once … and skin it with a polymer that Laszlo swore was as close to the real thing that we could find."

"Oh." Sarah's laughter bubbled close to the surface. "Is that all?"

Chuck leaned forward, his voice intent. "All you saw our dolphin robot do so far was swim, Sarah—something the shark could do already. I just … I don't want you to get your hopes up."

She grinned at him. "Too late, cowboy."

He ducked his head. "But—here's the thing—I do have another idea. Maybe it's crazy, but …"

"You're talking to the queen of crazy ideas. Come on, Chuck … I'm the woman who thinks we can speak with dolphins." She edged her chair in his direction, trying to catch his eye. "Spill it."

"Well … okay." He sounded resigned. "I've been thinking about trying to find a different approach for relaying complex information to Finn, Echo, and Eden—and communicating with them in return. This project, as amazing as it is—please don't take offense, but I feel like in a way, we're too caught up in the traditional forms of language. It's humans' hubris to think that it's necessary for the dolphins to learn our way of communicating … but what if we're going about it all wrong? I could be nuts—but after spending time with Finn and Echo, I feel deep down that they've got a much more efficient way of communicating with each other. If we could only tap into that … well …"

He paused, peeking at her sideways as if afraid that he might have offended her. But Sarah was far from offended—she was intrigued. "Go on," she encouraged him. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, here's the really crazy part. The part where maybe you'll think I've had way too many glasses of Pinot. But I started thinking about hieroglyphics … how they convey complex concepts with a single intricate image. I wondered if we could communicate with dolphins that way … but I have no idea what the best delivery system might be." He looked up at her through his lashes, his gaze full of trepidation, as if waiting for her to tell him to take his ball and go home.

"It's not a crazy idea," she said slowly. "You know, some researchers have started postulating that dolphins actually communicate holographically. It's pretty new stuff … cutting-edge. A lot of people in the scientific community dismiss it. But if you're serious … maybe something like a CymaScope could help?"

Chuck sat up straight. Darkness had fallen in earnest, but she could feel the intensity of his focus, his gaze laser-sharp. "A what? I've never heard of it."

"A CymaScope. I'm not sure how all of the tech behind it works—but the basic concept is that you can capture the results of a dolphin's echolocation beam and analyze it as a still, holographic image. What the scientists saw—it was pretty incredible. Here … I'll show you."

With an internal sigh of resignation, Sarah pulled her phone out again and looked up DolphinSpeak's website—something she tried to avoid at all costs. It just figured. No matter how hard she tried, all roads eventually led back to … him.

She handed the phone to Chuck, who read … and read … and read. Just when she was about to ask him what he thought, he leapt from his rocking chair, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her every bit as tightly as she'd hugged him when Finn 'said' her name.

"That's it, Sarah! That's it!" he said, letting her go. "You're a genius." He bounced on the balls of his feet. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. You know—before I forget… Thank you so much for dinner. I loved it all. The food … the company … your home … and…"

Caught up in his excitement, he took a step forward, bent his head to hers … and kissed her, his lips brushing hers. Then he turned and sprinted for the steps—only to stop a few feet away, frozen in his tracks on the porch boards. He spun around, looking mortified.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry … I don't know what I was thinking. I should never have kissed you without asking—I was just so happy, but that's no excuse. I don't usually … that is, I never …"

Sarah had heard quite enough. She closed the distance between them, grabbed the blue button-down in her fist, and pressed her lips to his. He breathed out; she breathed in. Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the world; everything narrowed to this moment, the ocean breeze and the night sky and Chuck's mouth on hers. His arms tightened around her; his hands found their way into her hair; and he deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking into her mouth, his body hot against hers.

Down the street, a car horn honked, startling both of them and shattering the moment. Chuck's eyes met hers, wide with shock. Then he stepped back, stumbling, as if his legs wouldn't hold him. Steadying himself on the rusted wrought-iron railing, he made it down the steps and tottered away, tripping over his feet along the sandy path to his car.

Sarah watched him go, caught somewhere between desire and amusement—the way Chuck so often made her feel—and knew what she'd said at dinner had been right: For now or for forever, whatever was happening between them wasn't crazy … it felt like it was meant to be.

A/N: We'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for your continued support. We've been humbled by all of your thoughtful comments, both in reviews and IMs. It really does make all the effort worthwhile. As a side note—except for the Intersect, nearly 100% of the science presented in this story so far is factual and based off of a real-world effort to speak with dolphins. Here's to hoping they succeed. How cool would that be?

As always, thanks for reading—and please keep your reviews, follows, and favorites coming our way!