A/N the First: I was kind of remiss in some of my thank-yous in the first chapter. For instance, a lot of this fic was inspired by the person who could probably be called my evil partner-in-crime, Ayefah. Morgan started out playing table tennis, but she suggested trampoline, which I thought was even funnier (Sarah started out as the captain of the soccer team; Chuck would've had to exchange waxing tips with the entire offensive line). Anna as Chuck's coach? Also Ayefah. So thank you, Ayefah, for your special brand of crazy craziness.

And thank you to everybody who wrote a review, tweeted, or Tumblr'd about this story! I'm glad to see people are liking it! I hope you don't mind quick updates. I know mxpw probably does, but he's so awesome for betaing this anyway that I don't think he notices. Thanks, mxpw! You're one in six billion!

PS – if nothing else, this fic is really helping me find other Middlefans. Hi, Middlefans!


Chapter Two: The Vagaries of Video Games

"Let me get this straight," Chuck said, resting his elbows on the table and leveraging his weight to shift around in the booth, "if you spike somebody, you have to buy them a six-pack?"

"Or they buy you one," Sarah said. "It goes both ways, but basically if you hit somebody in the face, you're forced to drink with them. Lousy, right?"

"I don't know, I think that's a pretty neat rule. Really reinforces camaraderie."

Sarah gave him a droll look. "We play in bikinis. The camaraderie was there to start."

"Point." Chuck laughed. He didn't know if Sarah had known of this pub beforehand or if it had just been a lucky find during their wanders all over London. It didn't matter. If anybody asked him the next day to describe the pub, he would have only been able to describe the way the yellow light had glinted off of Sarah's hair, or the way the fish and chips had smelled, or how he'd switched drinks with her because she liked his ale better than her cider. He'd even stopped marveling at the fact that Sarah Walker didn't seem to mind spending time around him and genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself.

"Carina makes it a point to hit every guy we play against. Well, the cute ones," Sarah said.

"Of course. What's her deal? Is she really as bad as they say, or just a giant flirt like the media tries to tell everybody?"

Sarah took a long drink of ale. "This is Carina's second time in the Olympics, and she has vowed that by the end she will have sampled an athlete from every discipline. She's glad she nabbed some baseball players before they discontinued the event, by the way."

"Foresight," Chuck said, toasting her with his cider glass. "For the record, she, uh, she's got diver marked off that score card, right?"

Sarah laughed. "Why? Too good for my partner?"

"'Mildly terrified of' might be a better way to put it."

"Better be careful in case she decides to delineate between platform and springboard, though."

"Oh, God. Though I have to say, I'm impressed you know that there's a difference. Most people don't."

"Bryce," Sarah said by way of explanation, and Chuck's good mood deflated slightly.

"Yeah," he said. "That guy. I forgot that you—" Dated him? Went out with him? Were together? "—knew him. It's not weird for you, is it? Being here with his ex-partner?"

"That might have been a better question to ask before I saved your ass from falling in the Thames three hours ago."

"Hey," Chuck said, pointing at her with one of his fries—chips, "it's not falling. It's diving."

"Call it whatever you like, it's too cold to swim in there right now."

"It would have been a seven. At the very least. Seven point five, even. Beat that, China." The cider, as he was on his third glass, was providing a nice cushion against the rest of the world and things like his nerves. In addition, walking around London with Sarah had been fun. He didn't understand at all why she continued to talk to him, but he wasn't going to complain. He was going to seize the day, even if the day was completely surreal.

"And no," Sarah said, "it's not weird. It actually kind of gives us something in common."

"Can we find something else in common?" Chuck asked, making a face. "That's depressing."

"I was talking about how we've both been dumped by Bryce, actually. Which is even more depressing to think about, actually."

"Wait, get out," Chuck said. "Bryce dumped you?"

"I don't see how it's that shocking," Sarah said.

"It is, trust me." Chuck scrubbed his hands through his hair. He was well-aware that if Morgan had been there, he would have happily pointed out that this was one more reason Chuck was better off without Bryce, as Bryce was clearly an idiot. Chuck was about to say so when he saw Sarah glance down, her lips twisting to one side in displeasure. Oh, he realized. This went deeper than he had thought. "Do you—is it okay if I ask why, or is that too nosy?"

"It's not too nosy," Sarah said, "since the answer is obvious."

"It is?"

"Well, yeah. He dumped me because he believed the Persona."

"The what?" Chuck asked. He'd begun to lean forward. He tried to play it cool by leaning back, but unfortunately the booth was rather small for his frame, so he just looked awkward.

"You're an athlete, you know all about the Persona." Sarah gestured at him as though he should understand already before she flagged the waiter down for another round. "You know, the face you put on for the press."

"Oh, I don't have to worry about that," Chuck said. "NBC didn't even do any advertising about me. It's like they're ashamed."

"Their loss," Sarah said, and Chuck felt a gush of pure happiness that he was sure made him grin like a fool. "But—look, it's kind of hard to explain, but beach volleyball, it's not the most legitimate sport in most people's eyes."

"Hey, if anybody understands that, it's a diver with a trampoliner for a best friend."

"We're used to dealing with the scorn. It doesn't bother Carina, like, at all. She's like a duck. It slides off of her and she goes and does what she wants. I, on the other hand, developed, I guess you'd call them shields. I was always professional and polite, and people started thinking that was all I was. And eventually that grew into cold and serious, and then, you know. Everybody started calling me the Ice Queen, and it stuck."

"Even Bryce?" Chuck blinked. "But you're—you're awesome! How could anybody who spent more than like a minute with you not see that?"

Sarah didn't reply. After a second, he realized it was because she'd gone pink. Oh, crap. He'd embarrassed her.

"I didn't mean it like—I meant it in a non-stalker way, just a sort of 'you're a cool person' way, I promise. I'm not hitting on you. You really are awesome."

"Thank you." Sarah took a deep breath, but the waiter arrived with a new round for them both. "But anyway, I dated Bryce after we did that Nike ad together—which you apparently didn't see, as you don't believe I'm Sarah Walker."

"Hey, I believe it now. I looked up your profile and everything."

"But you're not stalking me, right?"

"Right," Chuck said, and figured if he kept saying it, at least one of them might believe him.

"Anyway, when I figured out that he didn't see anything but the Persona, or didn't want to, it was...a bad time. He figured out something was up and beat me to the punch."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "He does that."

"He said it was because our schedules were incompatible, and he was kind of right, but it got me thinking that maybe I'm the one that needs to change. I should be a little less serious. Show that I'm having fun some more. I mean, it's my second Olympics. I should enjoy it, right?"

"You don't enjoy it?"

"I love it," Sarah said.

"Then show the press that. It can't be that hard. I saw a match between Japan and Canada today that distinctly involved hip-bumping and shimmying."

"But that's silly."

"People having fun look silly," Chuck said. "Didn't you see the swim team? They did a music video for Call Me Maybe. Sure, it's ridiculous, but they're having fun."

"I don't know how to look silly," Sarah said, her voice quieter now.

"Well, here, just do this." Chuck flailed his arms and tried to shake his chest like he'd seen the Canadians do earlier that day, but unfortunately, his physique and coordination only made him look like he was wiggling to bad disco music.

Sarah stared at him. "And make them think I'm having a seizure?"

"I dare you to do it next match," Chuck said, grinning at her. It would be worth it if she did, he figured, for the Youtube videos alone. And she was a great deal more coordinated—on the ground, at least—than he was, so she'd look a thousand times better doing so.

"A dare? Isn't that a little juvenile?"

"Oh, straight to the heart," Chuck said. Sarah laughed, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an old Pac-Man video game machine off to the side. "Tell you what, I'll play you for it."

"I'd kick your ass at volleyball."

"I was thinking video games." Chuck rose out of the booth and headed for the game.

"Oh, no way. If you're anything like Bryce, you're really good at those." But Sarah followed him anyway.

"I'll give you a handicap. Which, admittedly, is not something I thought I'd ever say to an Olympic athlete." Chuck smiled to take the sting out of his words as he set a handful of coins on the game console. "Thankfully, a lifetime of growing up around the corner from the 7-11, combined with a love for Street Fighter, means I've got us covered."

"Oh yeah? Where's that 7-11 now?"

"Still in Tarzana. What about you?"

"San Diego. Though I guess my 7-11 was the McKinley High gym." Sarah raised her eyebrows, almost ruefully. "Go Cougars."

"Well, the beach part of your event makes more sense if you're from San Diego. Here, I'll go first and you can watch and see how it's done. If you can beat my score with the handicap, you don't have to look silly next match."

"What handicap?"

Chuck named a number that he felt was more than fair, given that he hadn't played Pac-Man in years.

"I think this system is skewed in your favor," Sarah said.

The opening sequence came up, introducing the ghosts and Pac-Man, which made Sarah shake her head. Chuck just grinned and set to beating the first level, which he did without any trouble whatsoever.

"Really skewed in your favor," Sarah corrected herself after he'd gone through three levels with hardly a blink. When he started the fourth level, though, he felt something brush his arm. Convinced it was nothing, he waved the feeling off—until Sarah did it again. She leaned in to get a better look at the console, rubbing against his arm. The scent of her shampoo was completely distracting. Chuck missed a corner and a few points when she turned to smile at him.

"Hey," he said. "Hey! Cheating!"

"How is this cheating?"

"Just because your sport is a contact sport doesn't make Pac-Man one!"

"Oh, so you're complaining?" Sarah raised her eyebrows at him, and his brain stuttered as it tried to provide an answer. "I thought so. You just died, by the way."

"Did I—crap, you're right." Chuck scowled and tried to concentrate harder. Sarah didn't make it easy. In that innate way some athletes had of knowing their own power, she leaned back against the console, her hip right against the edge of his hand. She crowded him, deliberately flustering him as she pretended to pay attention to the game.

"And my sport, by the way," Sarah said, "is not really a contact sport until Carina gets mad enough to go at the other team."

Chuck laughed—and was promptly creamed by Inky. "Hope she at least buys them a six-pack afterward."

"See? You're picking up on the culture. Though you seem to be getting worse at the game."

"Cheaters never win," Chuck said, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Sure they do. Just look at the history of the Olympics. Oh, look at that, you lost. My turn." She hip-checked him away from the console and laughed as he spluttered at her. But instead of putting new coins in, she swept the change up and handed it to Chuck. "I do believe that my handicap means I automatically beat you."

"By cheating."

"You never specified rules. But we'd better get back. The kayakers aren't going to keep Carina occupied for much longer."

"Oh, fine," Chuck said as he pocketed the change. "I still think you should do the dance next match, though."

"I'll consider it," Sarah said, but he figured she'd do no such thing, not that he blamed her.


The next day, he had an envelope with his name written on the outside waiting for him at the front desk. Inside were two tickets to the beach volleyball match between the US and Italy, set for that evening. There was a brief note accompanying them:

"Since I cheated. — Sarah. PS: Sorry for the late notice."

Confused about why she would apologize, Chuck glanced at the time on the tickets and swore. If he hurried, he could get a quick session in at the gym. He'd apologize to Anna later, he told himself, and dialed his phone to call Morgan. "Hey, buddy, got any plans tonight?"


It was chilly at the Palace Horse Guards, which explained why both teams had gone not with the regular bikini uniform but with the long shirts and pants that were, Chuck admitted, still nicely form-fitting. Morgan arrived before he did, as he'd picked up his ticket from Chuck earlier that day. "Man, you should've seen the last pair," he said as Chuck settled in, clutching an Olympic-sized drink and marveling how close to the sand they were. "All legs. Legs up to their ears. And the bodies of goddesses. It was amazing."

"I thought you were going to study this match for artistic purposes," Chuck said.

"The female figure has never been used in art before?"

"Point. How's your mom?"

"She's resting after her flight. I swear, she's more nervous about tomorrow than I am." Morgan continued to stare down at the court. Chuck understood perfectly. He himself hadn't taken his eyes off of Sarah yet. She was on the court, talking to Carina. The latter laughed and did a dance from foot to foot. The former's expression never changed. She'd donned the visor and sports glasses that were part of her look, her blond hair twisted back into a single braid.

With a startled flash of insight, Chuck realized she was antsy. He didn't know how he knew, but his hunch told him that this particular "shield," as Sarah called it, was one designed to hide nerves. When Carina did another butt-wiggling dance, Sarah gave her partner a tiny shove. In the press box below and to the left of his seat, cameras clicked away. More fuel to add to the allegations of Sarah being Ice Queen Walker? Chuck was still frowning at them when Morgan elbowed him. "Dude. Dude!"

"What?" Chuck asked, startled. His friend had been training since the age of four for gymnastics. He was more than a little strong.

"Look!" Morgan pointed at the sand.

Chuck obeyed, and barely had the presence of mind to wave back; Sarah and Carina were waving at the pair of them in the stands. Sarah had a tiny smile on her face. On anybody else, it would have been polite. On the face of the Ice Queen, the press probably figured it was a declaration of unending joy, as the camera clicking increased tenfold—and some of the lenses pointed in Chuck's direction.

Morgan needed no prompting to strike a pose in his Team USA windbreaker. The minute the cameras turned the other way, though, he tugged the sleeve of Chuck's jacket. "I knew she was the woman of my dreams, Chuck. I knew it."

"Er, yeah," Chuck said, squirming in his seat.

"We must have made quite an impression at the airport if they remember us," Morgan said, frowning. "I know I'm amazing and Carina Miller's the one for me, but usually other people need some convincing. So I must have been really charming at the airport and I've been wracking my brains, Chuck, but I don't think that's the case. I mean, I'm no slouch, and you're a handsome devil, but front row seats? I don't think we got these because I'm so suave."

"We got them because Sarah cheated at Pac-Man," Chuck finally said, and had another front row seat, this time to watch his friend work through the seven stages of confusion.

"Chuck, literally nothing in that sentence makes any sense, unless—oh, my God! You've been seeing Sarah Walker on the sly, you dog! How long has this been going on?"

"I ran into her the other night," Chuck said, casting a nervous look around. On the sand court, the four players were limbering up, jumping in place. "We sneaked out of the Village. I'd hardly call that seeing her on the sly."

"I think you're lying," Morgan said as the Italians were announced to rousing cheers from the crowd. "That's why you've been so weird lately! It's not nerves. It's because you're—"

"For the United States: Carina Miller and Sarah Walker!"

On the announcer's call, the crowd went nuts, surging to its feet. Despite Sarah's talk about being the Ice Queen, it was obvious to see that they were the sweetheart favorites.

"—dating Sarah Walker!" Morgan finished, and three or four people around them turned to look.

"Shut up, will you!" Chuck dragged his friend down to sit. "I'm not dating Sarah Walker. She's way out of my league, and I highly doubt she's interested—"

"Yeah, tell me that when we're not sitting in front-row seats she gave us."

"She's just being nice," Chuck said.

"Chuck, Ice Queen Walker just smiled at you."

"Don't call her that."

"Fine. But why the hell didn't you tell me you'd seen her again?"

"Because you've got enough on your plate. Now, can you shut up? The national anthem's starting, and I want to be as patriotic as I can before I lose the honor of representing the US by doing a belly-flop at from the platform."

"Oh, fine," Morgan said, but his eyes promised loads of questions when both anthems ended.

Thankfully, before Morgan could get into too many probing details—with a few questions about Carina intermingled, of course—the Italians had the first serve and Morgan was too fascinated by bikini-clad women to secure answers to all-important questions like, "Does she smell as good as she looks? Because she looks like she smells of wintergreen, my friend."

It really was a battle. Watching it on the monitor while he did his weight training or listening to it while on the trampoline was nothing to seeing it live, tracking the ball as it soared through the air, listening to the crowd boo and scream. Most of all, the movement got him. Seeing it from the first row as opposed to on a monitor, even an HD one, showed him just how much frenetic energy there was. Sarah, he'd learned, played in the back half of her side of the court, as the defender, leaving the slightly-taller Carina to play the part of the blocker. Not that having set positions seemed to matter, or so it seemed to Chuck. The second the ball smacked the palm of the server, all four of the women on the court began moving, and didn't stop. It was like a dance and only they knew the steps. In addition, they always seemed to know precisely where the ball was going to go. Just when Chuck thought, no, that's impossible, nobody could have predicted that shot, Sarah would be right there, diving in for a dig, letting Carina set it for her, and spiking it hard into the sand.

They always seemed to know where the other player was without communicating at all, too, which was spooky. The Italians chattered; Sarah and Carina remained eerily quiet, only speaking occasionally and between points. With every point lost or gained they slapped palms, first the left, then the right, then a smack to their own hip. It seemed like such an ingrained action that Chuck wondered if they even noticed that they did it anymore. He figured they probably didn't.

The first set was tenser than he'd expected. He'd kept an eye on the other teams as much as he could, so he knew that Carina and Sarah were favored to win, but the Italians put up a fight, making Sarah and Carina go to war for every point they earned. The announcer seemed to focus on how young they all were—twenty-one and twenty-two compared to twenty-five and twenty-six—but that didn't seem to detract from what looked to Chuck like high quality volleyball. Because Sarah was the shorter of the duo, the other team seemed to delight in serving to her. Chuck figured out early that this was because beach volleyball's three-hit rule (dig, set, spike) meant she'd have the dig, Carina would have the set, and Sarah would have to spike it, making her both play forward from her preferred position and taking the strike position away from the more lethal Carina.

Sarah proved that she didn't care by helping Carina win the first set for their team at 21-18. When they headed to their bench, she was breathing a little hard, but then so were all of the others. She glanced into the crowd as she headed for the sideline, and wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, my God," Morgan said, gasping. "Did she just do the Bartowski eyebrow dance? She totally did!"

"The Bartowski what?" Chuck asked.

Morgan gave him a pained look. "That's the look you totally use when you're hitting on someone, dude."

"What?"

But before Morgan could answer, Chuck's cell phone rang. He pulled it out, surprised to see the Los Angeles area code and not Anna's London-based number. "Ellie? Hey! What's up?"

"Chuck, are you at a volleyball game right now?"

"Wh-what?" Chuck plugged his other ear to hear better. "How do you know that?"

"I'm watching the Miller-Walker game and the commentators are wondering who the mystery guy in the audience Sarah Walker keeps waving to is, and I swear, it looks just like you. He's even got the same shirt with that blue phone box that you have. Chuck, is that you?"

Just then, the emcee put on LMFAO, which made Morgan groan and Ellie squeal. The noise of the crowd became unmistakable. "Oh, my God! The mystery guy is you! Chuck, they're talking about you on TV."

"Wh-what? And did you somehow miss Morgan? He's right next to me."

"They're not showing Morgan, they're showing you. Oh, you just answered your phone. Holy crap, this is freaky. Are you dating Sarah—oh, they cut away, it's a commercial break now—how long have you been dating Sarah Walker, Chuck? What have you been doing in London? Wait, no, don't answer that, my bill's going to be huge if I don't hang up. Get on Skype later and call me! I want details!"

"Uh, I will. Love you, bye!"

He lowered the phone and very, very slowly turned to look toward the press box. Indeed, there were not one but three cameras pointed his way.

"Uh, Morgan," he said.

Morgan was too busy doing the Party Rock Anthem Dance to stop. "Yeah, Chuck?"

"You might want to stop that."

"Why?"

"Because." Chuck nudged his head as subtly as he could at the cameras.

Morgan glanced over, brow furrowing, until it finally clicked. "No way! That's awesome! Hey, check it out." Without any warning, he ripped open his Team USA windbreaker, showing the glowing circle logo in the middle of his chest. "Yes, that's right, folks. I am Iron Man!"

Chuck only avoided facepalming at that because he knew he was now on international television.

The women jogged onto the sand, Carina and Sarah once again focused, and play resumed, but through the entire second set, Chuck felt the cameras on him. It felt like Anna's glare after he'd spent all night playing video games instead of resting before a big practice. He tried to avoid thinking about it by focusing on the match, which Sarah and Carina made it easier to do. Whatever they'd said to each other on the break seemed to have worked: they pulled forward with an early lead. Though the Italians volleyed hard to try and catch up, it never worked. Chuck and Morgan continuously jumped to their feet and cheered, shouting whenever Carina or Sarah—but especially Sarah—made a point.

The Americans took the second set, 21-12. The instant the ball skidded into the sand, just missing the outstretched arms of Darcetti by two feet, Carina leapt into the air, fists clenched. She landed and started the Carina Miller Victory Dance, which of course involved pelvic thrusting, another fist pump, and tackling Sarah. Past history indicated that Sarah would smile a little bit before politely trotting over to shake hands with the other team.

Today, however, as Carina jumped into the air, Sarah looked into the audience and did such a perfect imitation of the dance move Chuck had done in the pub that Chuck's mind went happily and completely blank. She tossed him a salute and then raced to hug a stunned Carina.

Chuck and Morgan stood there in completely shocked silence. For Chuck, the roaring in his head had nothing to do with the crowd but with pure and total—he couldn't even describe the feeling.

"Uh, Chuck," Morgan said. "I think Sarah Walker's hitting on you."

"I, ah, I…" Chuck said, as that was all the syllables he could seem to produce.

"Also, you might want to wipe up the drool before everybody and his brother sees it on the internet later."

"Oh, right." Chuck quickly ducked, hoping to avoid even more media attention. But Sarah didn't make things easy. The minute she and Carina had shaken hands with the referees, the line judges, the aides, and once more with the other team, who looked thoroughly dejected, she took off running toward the stands. Chuck only had time to blink before she made a huge leap—and he was enveloped in a sweaty, sandy hug.

He might have heard the shutters click, but this time, he wasn't sure. That may have just been his brain breaking. Sarah was hugging him. Sarah had leaped into the stands and had thrown her arms around him like they were old friends, and this was the most natural thing in the world. "Hi!" she said, laughing. "Sorry about the sand."

"It—it's okay. What—what was that for?"

"I wanted to." She flashed him a hugely bright smile, gave Morgan a kiss on the cheek ("From Carina.") and hopped down, heading off.

The cameras didn't miss a second of the dazed expression on the face of one Charles I. Bartowski, whom the media had managed to identify in the second set as the men's diving upset.


A/N the Second: And so it has come to this.

Preview for next chapter:

"You weren't acquainted before? After all, Sarah was romantically linked to your ex-partner up to six months ago," Janice said.

Chuck wanted to correct her that it was eight months, but he stopped himself in time. Play it cool, Anna had said. "Cool," he said. "Cool, cool. I don't see Bryce much, so I never met her then. And no, I don't know what happened between them, but I guess part of me wants to say that it's Bryce's loss because hey, he is the competition and I don't want to be too nice. But, you know, he's very focused on his sport, which makes sense. He's rated like, what, third in the world right now?"

"So diving is more important than Sarah Walker?"

"Oh, hell no," Chuck said before he could stop himself.