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 14: As You Were, Soldier

"No offense, Dr. Walker, but I don't think you're able to look at this situation objectively—at least not right now. Maybe you should take a little time to think things over." Beckman steepled her fingers on her mahogany desk, a mammoth piece of furniture that dominated her office, positioned to give whoever sat behind it a perfect view of the bay.

Normally, Sarah found being in Beckman's office calming. The walls were a serene blue, hung with vivid aquatic photos: a seahorse peeking out from a magenta coral reef; an otter lolling on its back, clutching a frond of seaweed; Echo herself, her mouth wide in what looked like a million-toothed smile. A diffuser hummed in the corner, permeating the air with the soothing scent of lavender. On the end table next to Sarah's navy armchair sat a ceramic jar with an octopus-shaped lid, its belly filled with caramels.

With its commanding view of the bay, cozy seating, and ever-available sugar rush, Sarah usually enjoyed her visits to Beckman's inner sanctum. Not today, however. Today, she'd come here—after a long day in the lab—to confront her boss about her ex honing in on her project … and it wasn't going well at all.

She'd always hated it when someone used the preamble 'no offense.' It was like a get-out-of-jail free card to offend someone without consequences. Well, screw that.

"Look, Diane, I know how this must seem to an outside observer." She leaned forward in the armchair, which threatened to swallow her whole. "But I assure you that my objectivity—or lack thereof—has nothing to do with my opinion. I'll admit that Bryce and I share an unfortunate history … but that was years ago, and I've barely thought about him since the day I graduated. Needless to say, we haven't kept in touch." She leaned forward even further, trying to hold Beckman's gaze. "Still … I know what I'm talking about. He's the one we can't trust to remain objective—not me. He told me outright that the only reason he offered to fund this project in the first place was to try and win me back. I've made it painfully clear that's not gonna happen … but trust me—when he wants something, he can be annoyingly persistent. Sure, he says he wants to underwrite the project now … but what happens when he realizes I'm never going to change my mind?"

Beckman frowned, rolling a highlighter between her fingers. "I appreciate your concern, Sarah, I really do, but I don't think it's warranted in this case. Bryce was very frank with me about your history—and his continued interest in you."

Sarah's mouth fell open. "He talked to you about that?"

"Oh, yes … he was very forthcoming. To be fair, I don't think that was his intention." Beckman shrugged. Sarah could've sworn she saw empathy on her boss' face … for Bryce. "He called yesterday evening to tell me that he'd had a chance to view your lab, meet Chuck, and see some of what you've accomplished so far. He was quite impressed. In fact, he invited me for drinks at his hotel bar to discuss his offer."

"And you went?" Sarah said, before she could stop herself.

"I did." To Sarah's amazement, the imperturbable Beckman was blushing. As disturbing as this was, it gave Sarah an inkling of hope that perhaps her boss realized that something was amiss. Normally, going out for drinks with a potential donor wouldn't be out of the ordinary in the slightest. But from the flush that had flooded Beckman's cheeks—not to mention the tenor of their conversation—it seemed like her meeting with Bryce had gone from "drinks with a donor" to "Dear Abby." Leave it to Bryce to lay on the charm, playing on Beckman's sympathies and her connection to Sarah while flattering her by soliciting her romantic advice.

"At first I told him I had a great deal of work I needed to catch up on, but he ended up persuading me to take a break—and honestly, Sarah, I'm glad he did," Beckman continued. "I think Bryce needed someone to talk to. He was extremely dejected about your decision to move on—not to mention your newfound attachment to Chuck … which took me completely by surprise." She shot Sarah a disappointed look. "I do wish you or Chuck had mentioned something to me first, so I wasn't blindsided. Suffice it to say, it was a rather awkward conversation."

Great. Instead of incurring suspicion, Bryce's boundary-crossing behavior had somehow endeared him to her boss … who now felt sorry for him. Welcome to the Bryce Larkin Pity Parade: Party of Two. Fuming, Sarah fought to contain her temper.

Move on? What the hell was he talking about? She'd done that almost four years ago, when he'd decided to be unfaithful. This was just like Bryce—his default M.O.: try to get Sarah's boss to side with him by playing the victim, while undermining Sarah's relationship with Chuck and spilling the beans. "First off, it's not anyone's business who I choose to date … or not date, for that matter. Secondly, Chuck doesn't work here," she said, a little more carefully. "He's not even an official volunteer. I didn't think it would be an issue."

Beckman waved a hand in dismissal. "It's not … officially. But it still would've been nice to know before I met with a potential donor who had more information about the two of you than I did." She set the highlighter back in its cup and folded her arms across her chest, as if bracing herself for battle. "Bryce was crushed, Sarah … I could tell—but still very determined and … persistent, as you so aptly put it. I think his actual words were, May the best man win."

May the best man win? He made it sound like she was a stuffed bear at a carnival … or a princess in a tower, waiting for the right prince to set her free. "I'm not a … a prize!" Sarah said, growing increasingly infuriated with each word that left Beckman's mouth. Her personal life was just that—personal. She'd never so much as mentioned her romantic history to anyone at the Aquarium or MBARI. Now somehow here she was, in the position of defending her choices to her boss. Well, if this was the situation in which she found herself, she might as well make her intentions clear. "I have no interest in occupying the same room as Bryce Larkin, much less making the colossal mistake of dating him again. Besides, I'm with Chuck now."

"Be that as it may," Beckman said, her tone laced with warning, "I trust you'll treat Bryce with the civility he deserves as we move forward with his investment in your project."

"That's just it," Sarah said, struggling to keep her voice level. "I don't think you should accept him as an investor."

Her boss' eyebrows drew down. "Yes, so you've said. May I ask why not?"

"Because … I don't trust him." That was the essence of the issue; she didn't know how to put it more plainly.

"I can see that. And do you have any reason besides the obvious?"

What the hell. They'd already left Sarah's comfort level in the dust long ago; she might as well be completely honest. Maybe her transparency would make a difference. "Diane," she said, sitting up straight, "I know it was personal, not business—and years ago—but the guy cheated on me. With my best friend! Is that the sort of thing a decent person does? Then, after years of radio silence, he swoops in right when my project's on the verge of a major breakthrough and offers to fund everything—while blathering on about how he still has feelings for me. The timing is beyond suspicious—and his behavior's more than unprofessional. Does that sound like somebody we should entrust with the future of this project?"

Beckman sighed. "I hear what you're saying—but as I said earlier, Sarah, I don't think you can be objective in this case. He was young; he made a mistake. Yes, his choices were less than ideal, but as you yourself said, that was years ago. As for the funding situation—you're the one who mentioned his company to Chuck, did you not?"

"Well, I—"

"And then," Beckman went on implacably, "Chuck reached out to John Reid, correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"So in reality, you reached out to him first, and not the other way around." Beckman heaved another sigh, this one heavier than the last. "Far be it from me to get involved in this kind of drama, but it sounds like Bryce was looking for an excuse to get in touch with you again—and you provided him the perfect opportunity. In retrospect, Sarah, you should be grateful for it. I know I am."

Beckman made it all sound so reasonable—like Sarah was the crazy one … like she was overreacting. As usual, Bryce had manipulated the situation so he'd come out smelling like a damned English rose.

"Grateful?" she said, the word tasting like ashes in her mouth. "Why? Because of the funding? We have other supporters—that big federal grant, and then the private grant from the Jensen Foundation …"

But Beckman was shaking her head. "I'm sorry to say, we no longer have Jensen's support. Not anymore."

Sarah's breath caught. "What! Why? What happened? I thought the board voted to give us the additional $250,000 we requested. You said they met just last week and approved it."

"They did." Beckman ran a hand through her auburn hair. "But somewhere between the vote and the check, they pulled out. I got the call this morning."

"Did they give a reason?" She wanted to scream. "The grant was good, Diane, really solid. I included the most current data I had, but maybe the project seemed too out-there for them. Maybe if we told them what's going on now, with Chuck's work, they'd change their mind …"

Beckman shook her head again. "They said they'd had a shift in priorities. They've already invested in something else. It happens sometimes." Seeing Sarah's dismay, her expression softened. "It's not a reflection on you, Sarah. Please don't take it that way. I read your grant; I know how good it was. But the thing is …" She sat back in her chair, giving Sarah the full benefit of her gaze. "Without Jensen's support, we need Mr. Larkin's donation to make up for the shortfall. And the fact of the matter is, other than making some unfortunate decisions several years ago, he's done nothing to persuade me not to take it. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be professional about this and get over the grudge you have against him. Otherwise ... you'll be out of a job and the dolphins will be left without a home."

OoOoOoOoO

Sarah settled back against the posh black leather seat, taking a sip of her wine. Just to spite Bryce, she hadn't ordered Evolution. Instead, she'd scanned the menu, settling on a crisp, fruity Sauvignon. The waiter had raved about it, and she was sure it was excellent. Nonetheless, it tasted bitter—or maybe that was just her wrecked sensibilities.

After her frustrating meeting with Beckman, she'd called Chuck and asked him to meet her for dinner. Somehow, they'd been able to snag a coveted window booth at Old Fisherman's Grotto, one of the flagship restaurants at Fisherman's Wharf. Sarah had wanted to eat here ever since she'd moved to Monterey—they were famous for their fried calamari, one of her favorites, and their macadamia-crusted halibut was supposed to be out of this world—but it had always struck her as a Date restaurant, with a capital D. Case in point: a votive candle burned in the center of the table, a vase of daisies peeped from behind the wine list, and the sun peered through the clouds that drifted over the water, setting them aglow, as if the romantic view had been custom-ordered just for them.

She didn't want to let her conversation with Beckman ruin their impromptu date … not after the amazing time they'd had last night. But damn, it wasn't easy … especially since Chuck looked just as pissed off as she felt.

"So let me see if I've got this straight." Putting his beer down, he scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair for the third time in so many minutes. "She's allowing Bryce to fund your project, even though you said you didn't trust the guy. Is that about right?"

"In a nutshell—yeah. And it just burns me up. I know she and I've only worked together for a month or so, but if I say the guy isn't trustworthy, I feel like she should take my word for it. But she says there's no evidence, other than what happened back in college … and when she puts it that way, I know she's right…" Sarah sighed. "I know you and Beckman are old family friends, and I'm not trying to speak ill of her, but I have a bad feeling about this, Chuck—and no, I'm not making a Star Wars joke. I don't know what I think he might end up doing—maybe pulling the plug on his funding if I don't change my mind about giving him another chance, or something even worse—but something just feels … off."

"You … um …" Chuck's voice was tentative. "Please don't be mad at me for asking, but … there's no way you'd ever consider doing that, would you? Giving him another chance, that is?"

Sarah's mouth fell open in surprise. But before she could reply, the waiter arrived at their table, notepad in hand. She listened with half an ear as he recited the specials—a grilled prawn spinach salad, with bacon-brandy vinaigrette and fresh mango, and, of course, the halibut, served with a pineapple-citrus sauce and maple sweet potatoes. Normally, she'd be drooling—but between Chuck's absurd question and her stress over Bryce, she couldn't give the food the attention it deserved … which, based on everything she'd heard about this place, was a damn shame. Absentmindedly, she ordered a calamari appetizer, the halibut, and another glass of wine; Chuck got the coconut shrimp and chicken marsala. Based on the offhand way he recited his order and the faraway look in his eyes—as if he was thinking about something else altogether—she had the unmistakable sense that he'd ordered as an after-thought as well.

This impossible, adorable man. How could he possibly think she wanted anything to do with Bryce … especially after last night? That gold-digging harpy he'd dated in college must've really done a number on him. If Sarah ever got her hands on her … well, she wasn't a violent person, but for Jill, she had a feeling she'd be willing to make an exception.

The moment the waiter stepped away, she reached across the table, feeling the heat of the candle flame on her skin, and took Chuck's hand. His fingers felt cold in hers—maybe from holding his beer, maybe from nerves. She really hoped it wasn't the latter—but just in case, she intended to leave no doubt in his mind.

His eyes met hers, and in them she could see uncertainty—mixed with hope. It nearly broke her heart.

"Chuck," she said, her tone hovering somewhere between exasperation and tenderness, "I thought I made my feelings crystal clear last night. And this morning, now that I think about it—many times, in fact." She lowered her voice, looking up at him through her lashes, and went for broke. "I don't make those kinds of sounds for just anyone."

It was worth it: The candlelight flickered across Chuck's face, illuminating his fierce blush, even in the restaurant's dim lighting. He opened his mouth, tried and failed to speak, and finally settled on, "Yes, you were—ahem"—he cleared his throat—"pretty transparent. Thanks for the, ah, clarification. As you were, soldier." He sketched a ridiculous little salute—and then blushed even harder.

Gratified, Sarah gave him a wicked grin. "Just so there are no misunderstandings," she said, picking up her glass of wine with her free hand and draining it, "I can't stand the guy. I don't even want to be in the same room with him. The thought of working with him makes my skin crawl, and the idea of anything else makes me want to shower with bleach and a steel brush. No, I don't want to be with him. I don't care if it does cost me my job."

Her mouth snapped shut on the last word. The last thing she wanted to do was dump her financial woes on this sweet, thoughtful man. No matter how close she felt to him, they'd just met … and she had no intention of burdening him in that way. He'd already invested so much in her work—what would he do if she told him that without Bryce's help, the project was in danger of imploding? Maybe he'd believe he'd wasted his time and energy for nothing. She didn't even want to think about how much money he'd spent.

"Cost you your job? What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed and she looked away, unable to face him. "Sarah?"

Shit, shit, shit. "It's just that … Beckman made it clear that she was accepting Bryce's proposal—and if I wasn't okay with that—well, there was nothing I could do about it. He's going to be underwriting my work no matter what I want. If I want to keep doing my work, I need to suck it up."

Her words lingered in the air as the waiter arrived with their shrimp and calamari, plus a second glass of wine for Sarah. There was a pause while both of them took a bite of their respective appetizers … and the throaty hum of appreciation Sarah gave when she tasted hers made Chuck's face turn lobster-red. God, he was so cute.

If she was being totally honest, she'd done it on purpose. It was just so much fun—and so easy—to tease him—despite the circumstances.

His blush fading, he speared a shrimp with his fork, a furrow between his brows. "I hate that this is happening to you."

"To me?" She gave an incredulous laugh. "I feel the same—about you. What must you think of me? This is the most unprofessional—"

Reaching across the table, he took her hand, his grip reassuring. This time, his grip was warm. "This has absolutely nothing to do with you. This is all on him. Don't hold yourself accountable for his behavior for one second." When she smiled, he brushed his thumb across her knuckles, sending a frisson of heat through her body. "It'll all work out, Sarah. I'll make sure of it. We've both got way too much invested in this project for things to fall apart now."

Guilt pressed down, heavy and suffocating—with panic on its heels. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of. "What are you going to do, Chuck? Confront him? Because that's not what I…"

"No, of course not." His gaze shifted, tracking a seagull that flew across the water. "Do I look like the confrontational type? I just … I've already..." His voice trailed off, and in the silence, Sarah tried to imagine the end of that sentence: I've already invested so much in this. I've already given up my vacation. I've already roped my friends into helping with this project and put my faith in you.

But whatever he had in mind was best left to her imagination, because he gave her a strained smile and veered off in another direction entirely. "Let's just say, I have a really good feeling about our situation. Right now, let's try to concentrate on the science and let the chips fall where they may. Personally speaking, I wouldn't bet against us."

It was such a small thing to say—but it meant so much to Sarah. Even if Chuck couldn't do a thing about the funding—or lack thereof—for her project, knowing he had her back counted more than any amount of money he could've thrown her way. Money came and went, and people's loyalty could be bought—growing up with her father and then seeing Bryce in action had taught Sarah that. She didn't care if Chuck was penniless; she would take his moral support and brilliance over wealth any day.

Silence fell between them again, broken by the murmur of conversation at other tables and the clinking of cutlery. Sarah stole a glance at Chuck's face; he was looking out at the water, his expression serene. He'd said 'us' so casually—as if he took for granted the fact that they were a team. As wonderful as that was, maybe he only meant it professionally … after all, despite everything that had happened between them, they'd never defined their relationship. As terrified as she was to hear that he didn't feel the same way about her as she did about him, she'd never know, if she didn't ask.

"Yesterday," she began, her heart pounding, "when I asked you to stay … I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. I know that came out of nowhere. Maybe I got carried away … you know, in the heat of the moment …"

His eyes flicked away from the water, focusing on her face. "You didn't. Put any pressure on me, I mean." His shoulders slumped, and he spoke haltingly, as if making a confession. "My sister gave me the third degree for not answering you. But in my defense … well, it's no excuse, but I was distracted. You kinda knocked me on my ass …"

He looked so embarrassed, it made her shake with laughter. "If I remember correctly, I was the one who ended up on my ass," she said, her tone teasing. Then she sobered. "But I know what you mean, Chuck. I was a bit distracted too. I just—I wanted to give you an out. I mean, who the hell considers moving to be near someone a week after you've met them? You must think I'm nuts. Or clingy … or …"

"I don't think you're either of those things. I don't need an out." His voice was fierce. "And I don't know who'd consider doing that, except … maybe, me?" He ran his hand through his hair again, roughly this time. If he kept this up, he was going to look like Einstein by the end of the evening. "I guess this might make me sound boring, but—I'm not what you'd call the spontaneous type. Not like this. I plan everything. Maybe that's because when I take chances, things tend to go horribly wrong. What happened with you, last night …" He lowered his voice, his cheeks coloring once again. "I've never done anything like that before."

Relief flooded Sarah's every cell. "I haven't, either," she admitted. "And I'm not impulsive, Chuck. Not with my personal life and definitely not with my professional one. But there's just something about you…" Her voice trailed off. Maybe she should quit while she was ahead…

One beat, two, and then he squeezed her hand. "There's definitely something about you, too. Something I've never felt before."

Her heart pounded even harder—this time, with happiness instead of anxiety. "So you don't think it's crazy?"

Smiling, he shook his head. "Oh, I think it's crazy, all right. Certifiable. But if it's crazy, then I've already gone around the bend … because I'm more than willing to consider it. I can work remotely from anywhere, so that's not an issue. I own my place back in Cupertino, but I could always rent it out. I want to give this—us—a fair shot, and I don't see how I can do that if we only see each other every once in a while. And honestly, when I think about being away from you…" He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "I had a hard enough time being without you when I went home to take a shower. If that's how I feel after an hour, I can't imagine how I'd function on a long-term basis. So really … when you look at it that way …" He gave her a what-can-you-do look out of those gorgeous dark eyes. "I don't think I have much of a choice."

Sarah slid out from her side of the booth, rounded the table, and threw her arms around him, heedless of who might see. He wanted to be with her; he'd felt as off-balance without her this morning as she had without him. The rest was just details. Surely, they could figure it out … Bryce Larkin be damned.

OoOoOoOoO

The rest of the week passed quickly, a blur of twelve-hour days, data input, and nights spent with Chuck—watching old movies, curled up in her bed, taking long walks on "their" beach, looking at the stars, and talking, always talking … about themselves, the dolphins, and what they hoped the technology might reveal, once it was complete. To Sarah's surprise and relief, Bryce acted uncharacteristically professional. He showed up every day to check on their progress, take a look at Chuck and Laszlo's work, and ask a few questions—usually with Beckman right by his side. She was courting his donation at every turn, which made Sarah grit her teeth.

Still, he didn't stay long, nor did he make any inappropriate innuendos or try to spend time with her outside the lab. He seemed to be respecting her demand for space, which was both welcome and unprecedented. It wasn't like Bryce to do anything other than what he wanted … or to place anyone else's needs above his own. He'd insisted he'd changed—and while that would've been lovely, she didn't believe it for one minute. Once a cheater—always a cheater. Something else was going on—it had to be.

A couple of times, she'd even thought about asking Beckman for his number so she could call him, to try and figure out what he was really up to … but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she'd be playing right into his hand. It would be just like him to back off in order to lure her into reaching out to him. There was no way in hell she was going to be the one to facilitate communication between the two of them … so she pushed her niggling feeling to the side, choosing instead to focus on the steps they needed to take to be ready for the demonstration on Monday afternoon—the date they'd set.

Thankfully, there was a lot to focus on. Laszlo had completed his work on the custom-built MRI table and misting system, and Casey had looked it over, giving it his grudging stamp of approval. With that done, Ellie had succeeded in renting the MRI trailer, which was parked in the Aquarium's employee lot, as close to the building as they could get it. Sarah hated the thought of possibly traumatizing Finn by removing him from the water, but at least the trip would be short.

As soon as Sarah had been hired at the Aquarium, she'd gotten permission for the trainers to start working with Finn, teaching him how to transition to a stretcher in order to be transported for an MRI. Even though she hadn't had a specific date in mind, she knew that inevitably, performing MRIs on the dolphins would be part of her research—and she'd started with Finn, since Echo was pregnant. Lou and Gertrude had been working with him on these commands—as well as teaching him to lie still out of water for ten minutes at a time, the way he would have to in the MRI tube—for over a month now, and given how quickly the project had come together since Chuck entered the picture, Sarah was grateful. Otherwise, they would've been operating on a considerable delay.

Still, she was incredibly nervous the day the MRI was scheduled to take place. Everything was well-organized—they'd done a few dry runs, they'd hired a tech to operate the machine, they had a team of folks on hand to transport Finn—but still, Sarah was terrified something would go wrong. She was determined to make the experience as easy for the dolphin as possible, to justify the stressors of removing him from the water—and she just hoped that the results made the experience worthwhile.

To her relief, Finn slid from the tank onto the stretcher without a hitch. Once, Sarah had seen a sick dolphin have to be forcibly transported for a CT scan, and it hadn't been pretty. It had taken a team of about ten people to surround the dolphin—who distinctly did not wish to be surrounded—and lift her onto the stretcher while she thrashed wildly, trying to break free. Watching, Sarah had felt miserable. She'd wished more than anything that there had been a way to communicate with the dolphin, to let her know that the trainers and vets were only trying to help. If her research bore fruit, it wouldn't just be an interesting scientific discovery—it would give vets and rescue organizations a way to talk with injured or sick animals, to offer comfort and explain what was happening to them.

Finn, thank goodness, was neither sick nor injured. He'd slid onto the stretcher, accepted his fishy reward, and cooperated the whole way down in the elevator and out to the mobile MRI. When the team had transferred him to the MRI table, Sarah held her breath, waiting to see if it would support him—and next to her, she could hear Chuck and Laszlo doing the same. But it took Finn's weight without complaint, and the misting system functioned perfectly as the technician went to work, playing a range of sounds as requested—including the ones that Morgan had already identified, like 'Sarah,' 'fish,' and 'Finn.'

She'd been thrilled that the whole process had gone so well. But the most exhilarating part—at least after Finn was safely back in the water—was working with Ellie and Casey to analyze the scans. They'd discovered that Finn's visual cortex lit up like the fourth of July every time the tech played certain sounds through the speaker, even when they covered his eyes to reduce stress. This preliminary finding seemed to confirm the prevailing belief that dolphins could actually "see" sound—and gave credence to Chuck's theory that sonic imagery might be the most effective way to communicate with the dolphins.

The cymatics research that already existed all had to do with output, or expressive language—that is, dolphins sending out sounds and waiting to see what information bounced back. The MRI was studying input, or receptive language—how the dolphins interpreted the sounds they were hearing. Seeing Finn's visual cortex light up like it did sent a thrill down Sarah's spine. They were on the right track, she was sure of it.

It was a good thing she was on such a high from the success of the MRI, because the EEG turned out to be far more challenging. The first hiccup was that Finn hated wearing the EEG sleeve. The moment the trainers tried to slide it on, he did everything in his power to get it off again—rubbing his head against the side of the tank, diving deep in an effort to dislodge it on the concrete bottom. He nearly destroyed the first one they created, then the second. Chuck had to redesign the sleeve three times before the dolphin would tolerate it—and when Finn finally did, Echo and Eden wouldn't come anywhere near him. Eden in particular was terrified, hiding behind her mom and emitting high-pitched, panicked whistles.

It took two days of experimentation until Echo was confident enough to approach Finn while he was wearing the sleeve. She'd swim up to him, poke him with her rostrum, and then dart away. Finally, after a thorough investigation of the alien sleeve, she gave a long, low series of whistles—evidently summoning Eden, since the small dolphin swam over, hovering at her mother's side. After a moment, Eden touched the sleeve with her own rostrum, mimicking Echo's behavior—then swam a short distance away, as if anticipating a threat. When nothing happened, she swam back and tried it again—and then again, this time with less trepidation. Lou and Gertrude cheered as Eden swam in a circle around Finn … then settled back next to Echo, all evidence of her fear gone.

Over the next few days, the team began collecting a wealth of data, seeing how Finn's brain activity correlated with the whistles and clicks he made in response to Echo and Eden—their social interactions captured for posterity as well as science. Ellie and Sarah spent hours studying it, eliminating what seemed irrelevant or unimportant. Then they fed it into Morgan, and waited as the AI cross-referenced it with every known database of peer-reviewed articles and experiments, including their own.

In the meanwhile, Laszlo and Lou had gotten into the tank together—after she'd given him a rundown on the scuba equipment and how to behave around the dolphins—to install five stereo pairs of tracking, unidirectional hydrophones. Sarah had been amused at the way Laszlo had hung on Lou's every word—like an attentive puppy waiting for a treat. She'd asked Chuck in private why he hadn't volunteered to go into the water with Lou to place the speakers; surely he knew how, just as well as Laszlo? His only response had been to raise a single eyebrow and reply, "Worst. Wingman. Ever."

According to Chuck—and Sarah had to take his word for it—the placement of the hydrophones in the tank correlated with the location of the voice coils he'd attached to the Cypher: on all four walls and the bottom. Inside the Intersect's housing was a sixth pair of hydrophones, this one designed to complement the bottom hydrophones and complete the sonic array needed to triangulate any sound's point of origin. This mirroring approach would tell Morgan which dolphin was vocalizing—a major challenge, since it was hard to trace a sound's source underwater. The AI would then be able to aim all of the hydrophones toward the target for the best possible recording. This would work in tandem with the legion of video cameras strategically placed throughout the habitat, so Morgan could 'see' the behavior each dolphin was engaging in when they made the sound.

Chuck had explained to the team that within the Cypher, the signal from each voice coil would combine to yield a unique visual representation or signature, captured by its own high-speed camera. Once the Morgan had the sonic image in its database, the AI would begin looking for repeating patterns and start discerning the sound-to-action correlation … in essence, the 'meaning' of the vocalization.

Sarah was still awed that Chuck had been able to create Morgan. It truly was a marvel. She knew he'd been working on it for years, but still, its capacity seemed limitless—as was her fascination with the man who'd built it. She'd never been around someone so brilliant, whose mind fascinated her endlessly. She thought she could listen to him forever.

One of the best parts of this week—other than the obvious—was having the chance to watch Chuck spend time with the dolphins. She hadn't been able to get his connection with Eden out of her mind. God, she wished she'd thought to film their interaction when she'd showed up at the Aquarium. As it was, she was insanely curious about what had spurred it—and if it could be duplicated. The most effective way to find out was to get Chuck into the water with the dolphins … on purpose, this time.

At her request, Gertrude worked one-on-one with Chuck for hours, teaching him about dolphins' behavior, warning signs, and what he needed to know in order to be safe. As used to humans as Finn, Echo, and even Eden might be, they were still huge animals, and Chuck would be entering their environment. He was more than game for the idea—in fact, she had to bite her lip to suppress her amusement at how excited he seemed—but the last thing she wanted was to put him in danger.

She had to stop from giggling again when she saw Chuck in a wetsuit for the first time. He looked completely out of his element, like he was dressing up in costume for a con—and the huge grin on his face made her think of what he must've looked like as a little kid, anticipating Christmas. He bounced on his heels at the edge of the tank as Lou gave him last-minute reminders: Don't approach the dolphins; let them come to you. Don't swim after them or chase them. Don't allow yourself to be trapped between them and the side of the tank. Don't initiate physical contact with them; only respond if they interact with you.

Chuck did his best to listen, but his body was practically vibrating with eagerness. He reminded her of a 6'4" tuning fork. "Got it," he said. "Don't chase them, check. Don't touch them unless they touch me first, also check. Sounds a lot like my love life, actually." Then he blushed a furious red—and this time, Sarah couldn't help it … she laughed out loud.

When he got into the tank, though, Sarah right beside him—there was no way she'd trust anyone else with his safety—his anxiety and her amusement fell away. All of the dolphins tolerated his presence without issue, but Eden in particular seemed pleased to see him. The little dolphin came right up to him, bumping him with her rostrum, as if inviting him to play. Then she swam off to fetch one of the floating rings—a toy that had quickly become her favorite—and threw it to him, whistling in what sounded like merriment when the ring landed right in front of him, sending a gout of water into his face. When he threw it back, she retrieved it and tossed it again. When they weren't engaged in playtime—and in between her frequent nursing breaks—she craved his attention, even when he wasn't in the water. She'd hang out near the edge of the tank, squawking until he responded.

As thrilled—and fascinated—as she was to watch this bond developing between them, Sarah had to admit she also felt a little jealous. She'd been so excited for Eden to come into the world, and had imagined so many times what her first encounters with the little dolphin would be like. Now here was Chuck, with barely any experience interacting with dolphins—and minimal time spent with Finn and Echo, other than the disastrous tank incident—connecting with Eden on a level Sarah had never witnessed before. Part of her wished that she was the person to whom Eden had chosen to bond in such an unprecedented fashion … but if it had to be anyone else, she was glad the little dolphin had chosen Chuck. Eden had good taste—and her connection with Chuck only served to validate what Sarah had known from the moment he'd walked into her lab at MBARI: he was an extraordinary human being.

She did film all three occasions that Chuck got into the water with the dolphins, watching the footage over and over again. What amazed her the most was how Eden showed no fear or reticence around Chuck at all … and how Echo had no trepidation about allowing him around her little one, though she did stay close, watching over the two of them. Finn showed the least interest, keeping his distance from Chuck but refraining from any signs of aggression. She couldn't wait to run all of the data from the three encounters through Morgan, to see how the dolphins' vocalizations correlated with their behavior.

As gleeful and childlike as Chuck could be while playing with Eden, he transformed into a different person on land—focused single-mindedly on his tech, except for the times that he and Sarah were alone together … and sometimes, even then. Sarah didn't mind. She loved to watch how his mind worked, especially when he was deep in the process of troubleshooting a problem. He and Laszlo had spent all week on the cymatics rig, sometimes staying at MBARI until the wee hours of the morning. She'd given him a key to her cottage, and once or twice, she'd woken to the sensation of her mattress giving way as Chuck slid into bed next to her, his lips warm against her own, then traveling lower as she drifted toward wakefulness…

Late last night, he'd woken her up all the way, his hand stroking her hair back from her face. "Sarah," he'd said, his voice hushed, "it's done. We finished it. And, Sarah … I think it's really gonna work. Holy shit."

Twelve hours later, here she stood on the dive platform, flanked by Lou, Gertrude, Casey, Chuck, and Laszlo—the Intersect in its foam case, the cymatics rig set up just a few feet from the edge of the tank, the cameras about to roll—waiting to launch the demonstration. They were just missing one crucial element before they could start—and she wished he would stay that way.

She checked her watch. "Where are they?" she muttered to Chuck, frustration clear in her voice. "I swear to God, if Bryce doesn't show up after all this, I'm gonna hunt him down and kill him myself."

Chuck shot her a look that was meant to be reassuring, but from the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, she could tell how nervous he was. "They'll be here, Sarah. Diane said two o'clock, and it's only 1:58. Just hang tight."

Desperate to keep herself occupied, she paced the platform. No one else looked quite as on-edge as she and Chuck did—Laszlo was making conversation with Lou, and Casey was talking to Gertrude about how to start Eden's training. Sarah didn't understand how they could be so calm, with so much on the line. Back and forth she strode, checking her watch.

She reached the end of the platform for the third time—and heard the door to the prep room click shut. Feeling an unmistakable sense of doom—mixed with anticipation, since this likely meant they could start the demonstration now—she turned.

There stood Beckman, with Bryce right next to her. His gaze fell on Sarah, and he lifted his hand in greeting, his lips rising in a smile.

"Okay, Sarah," he said, as if there was no one else in the room. "Let's see what our tech can do, shall we?"

A/N: Thanks so much to all of you for your fabulous feedback on this story—especially people like 2old2write, whose every review is like a short story in itself. We read each and every review, and your support keeps us going!

Oh, and sorry about the cliffhanger. Will the tech work, or not? Is Bryce really what he seems? We promise to tell you soon … just not today.

As always, thanks for reading—and please keep your reviews, follows, and favorites coming our way! They really do make this all worthwhile.