A/N the First: So many people to thank! Thank you to the people I saw this weekend for ensuring that I have no voice left and my feet are killing me (both things are totally worth it). Thanks to the people here that were patient enough to let me having the weekend off. Thanks to everybody that's reviewed, Tweeted, Tumblrd, emailed, sent up smoke signals, told their friends about this story, told their enemies about this story (hell, I'll take schadenfreude if can get it), and so on and so forth. You guys are amazing and I'm just really that happy that people are enjoying themselves with this little tale.

More specific thank-yous go to my beta (I just typed "besta" which fits!), mxpw, as he's a remarkable human being. Granted, this probably isn't as magnanimous as his usual beta work because hey, Sarah in a bikini is probably worth it, but you know what? I'll take it. And special shout-outs go out to my diving coach, Lindsay, for being patient with me and teaching me about chamoises, and Nervert. He says my volleyball scenes were passable before he went in and made them sound all official, but I think he's just being nice. Thanks, Joel!


Chapter Five: Golden Standards

The diving heats were fully underway now. After synchros—ladies first, men second—came the three-meter event. Chuck watched the finals because that was expected of him, but he sat as far away from Bryce as possible in the USA diving team section. He entertained twin feelings of horror and relief for the German diver that did a full back-flop. At least he wouldn't be the first one to be pulling such a stunt. As each day passed, Chuck began to feel that sense of anticipation clawing at the back of his head. Anna became more and more terse. More of Chuck's thoughts were taken up in form, execution, take-offs, landings. Nerves walked around with him like a constant companion, and tension settled in to make itself at home.

More and more cameras showed up during his pool time, which he cordially shared with Bryce, to get a look at the Americans. The diving hopes of a nation rested on the blue-eyed golden boy and the lanky underdog. When he wasn't on camera for diving, he was on camera being interviewed, or shuffled through some of the promotional Team USA events, like the P&G house. Of course, on top of all of that, he tried to get as much time in the gym and with Sarah as he could.

It wasn't easy. With the gold medal match looming, Sarah and Carina's training intensified. They plowed forward, taking down all opponents. Chuck wasn't able to make it to another game, but he listened or watched during his work-outs, and it seemed like each team came more determined to knock down the pair of secret ex-criminals going for their second gold. Though Sarah seemed at ease during their breakfasts together, exhaustion started to drag at her. The day after her quarterfinal match, she smiled at Chuck in greeting, put her head on her arms and slept. Chuck pulled out a paperback Fleming novel and read until she woke up. The sleep seemed to do her well, though, for she met Chuck for a late night game of pool down in the lounge that same night. He taught her the Stanford swim team dance. She beat him resoundingly at pool and kissed him.

Morgan, who'd left the Village due to his event being over, called every day. Chuck managed to see him, but it wasn't the same as having his best friend around constantly. Morgan understood the pressure: he'd been there through Bryce's betrayal, Chuck's decision to get back in the pool, and those first couple of weeks after the Olympic announcement. But it was down to Chuck now. He dreaded the upcoming preliminary round. He longed for it to be over.

And before he knew it, Sarah and Carina had fought a minor land war against China on the volleyball court and had beaten them—barely—to head to the finals. They would be playing Forrest and Rizzo, the other American team, which meant that America would take home silver and gold in beach volleyball. It was only a matter of figuring out which team got to be prouder at hearing the national anthem on the stand.

Sarah had given him most of the tickets that were reserved for family, as she was estranged from her mother and Carina had no family. Chuck made it to the Palace Horse Guards right after Cole Barker, with whom he'd struck up a friendship over the past couple of weeks.

"Not sure I should be cheering for you yanks," Cole said as Chuck joined him, "but I can make an exception. Well, at least for Miller."

"I'm sure she's just your type," Chuck said, and heard his name called from the court.

One of the volunteers in a purple and pink jacket was craning her neck, looking up into the stands. "Are you Chuck Bartowski?" she asked.

"That's me," Chuck said.

"Ms. Walker says I'm supposed to give you this."

Chuck leaned down to accept the envelope. "Uh, thanks. What is it?"

"Dunno. She says to wait until you read it."

With a small shrug, Chuck opened the envelope and retrieved a glossy photo. It was from the last game he'd attended, a clear shot of him being tackled by Sarah—and of the stunned stupid, almost fearful look on his face. Sarah, on the other hand, was laughing with sheer joy.

On the back, she'd written in Sharpie: "Bet you five bucks we kick their asses."

Chuck laughed. "Hey, Cole, you got a pen and paper on you?"

"A pen, yes."

It took some scrounging, but he found a receipt from a slushie he'd sneaked from a convenience store outside of the Village the day before. On the back, he wrote, "No bet. My money's always on you. Knock 'em dead." He handed the envelope back to the volunteer, who took off with it.

Cole looked over Chuck's shoulder at the picture. "Lucky git," he said, shaking his head.

"Chuck!"

Chuck turned just in time to catch Ellie as she barreled into him with a rib-compacting hug. "You made it! You're here!" He had his hand likewise crushed by Devon "Captain Awesome" Woodcomb. Morgan, who'd collected them from the airport, hit him from the side in a hug much like Ellie's. "How are you? How was the flight? Do you like London so far?"

"I'm good, it went well, and we've only seen the airport," Ellie said. She looked around the stadium. "This is amazing! Is it always this crazy?"

Chuck confirmed that it was. She immediately began to question him about his diet, sleeping habits (Captain Awesome, of course, winked at him, jerking his head toward the practice courts on the other side of the stadium; Chuck smiled sheepishly, as he'd done little more than kiss Sarah a couple of times), how his practices were going, was he getting enough protein, enough calcium. "Ellie!" Chuck said with an agonized laugh. "I'm fine, I really am."

"Are you nervous?"

"He'd be crazy not to be," Cole said. "Since I'm the one he's up against."

"Oh, right. Everybody, this is Cole. Cole, my sister Ellie, her boyfriend Devon, and you've met Morgan."

Cole shook hands with all of them and assured them with a wink that the next time they saw him, they would see a great deal more of him.

"Speaking of diving, where's Anna?" Ellie asked. "Do I need to go pry her away from her laptop?"

"No, she's on her way. I just got a text." He didn't think Anna cared much about volleyball, but she'd begrudgingly agreed to come along only to "Meet this upstart trying to steal her diver." In truth, he wasn't sure he wanted them to meet. It was surreal, like all of the pieces of his life were clashing together at this volleyball game: his coach, another diver, his best friend, his family, his odd romance with a woman he'd met in an airport less than two weeks before. "She's looking forward to seeing you."

"Has she said so?"

"It's Anna. She hasn't said anything about anything but diving in over three days. You have to read between the lines." Chuck pantomimed opening a book, which made Ellie laugh and wrap her arm through his. She rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"Worried?"

"That I'm going to belly flop in front of millions and millions of people and humiliate myself in front of the entire world? Nah."

"I bet you're going to win a medal."

"No, Ellie, you have too many med school bills for me to take your money."

Ellie poked him in the side. Chuck, always ticklish, wiggled away, and right then, the volleyball players were announced. Alex Forrest and Zondra Rizzo came out to ear-splitting cheers, waving. When Carina and Sarah were announced, the crowd surged to its feet, cheers growing even louder. Chuck was positive at least a quarter of that noise came from Ellie. He clapped a hand over his ear in jest. Ellie stuck her tongue out at him. Neither Carina nor Sarah looked toward the stands, just as Chuck had suspected. For all Carina joked and danced, the minutes before the match began were crucial to both of them. They needed their concentration.

Anna arrived as everybody stood for the national anthem. Chuck had to figure that most of the crowd was American by the number of people singing along. It was a wild, raucous atmosphere compared to that of diving. The emcee-deejay was back at his post, trying to pump the crowd up with Maroon 5, which made Chuck's indie-loving heart wince. He chose to ignore it and appreciate the fact that all four players had decided to thumb their noses at the criticisms about the sexist uniforms by wearing their bikinis.

Sarah's answer to those criticisms had been a terse-yet-thoughtful sound bite about the culture of beach volleyball and how it had never bothered her because hey, she was at the beach anyway. Carina had simply said, "What's the big deal? Have you seen this body? Why shouldn't I show it off?"

She had then struck a strongman pose.

He'd spent enough time around them to know that Carina was nervous, too, as she and Sarah held a quick conference by their bench. Carina had on her usual multicolored, futuristic shades and her ball-cap despite the fact that it was already dark. Sarah wore the clear sports glasses and visor she preferred. She matched opponent and fellow digger Zondra Rizzo—the two of whom apparently had a rocky history, according to the press—in height, though Sarah was regarded as the better player. Alex Forrest, the oldest woman on the sand, had a solid three inches on Carina and had proved herself rather Cylon-like in her lack of mercy so far. The press hadn't lied when it had said that this was going to be an interesting match.

"Wow, are they going to do that the whole game?" Ellie asked.

Confused, he followed her line of sight to the cameras and counted four or five of them pointed at their group in the stands. "Ready to be on international television?" he asked, nudging Ellie with a shoulder.

She immediately fixed her hair. "I should have put on more makeup. Can you tell I've been on a plane all day? Oh, this is so not fair!"

"You look great, babe," Awesome said, kissing the side of her head.

"Chuck, flex!" Morgan said, leaning around them. "Show off those muscles. C'mon!"

Since Morgan, Cole, and Awesome all flexed, Chuck laughed and joined them. Why the hell not? Carina chose that second to glance into the stands. She elbowed Sarah, who looked up, right at them. For a second, she stared. The stare broke off into a small smile as she rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly and headed onto the sand. The cameras clicked away furiously.

"Awesome!" was Awesome's declaration.

Sarah had the first serve. It was nearly an ace, but Zondra streaked across the sand, getting under the ball and pushing herself to her feet almost in the same, fluid moment. Sand flew as she made the vertical leap, slamming a hard shot down the line. Sarah, in an odd precognitive move, was waiting for it, and the fury began.

First point went to Zondra and Forrest, which made Ellie groan. "Don't worry," Chuck said. "The others are strong starters. Sarah and Carina are more tenacious."

Indeed, Carina and Sarah did their high-five and set back up to take the serve. The next flurry was even more intense, the ball going back and forth over the net five times before Carina hammered a deep angle shot that just found the enemy sideline. She did a fist-pump as she jogged back to serve.

It wasn't precisely a matched battle: Zondra and Sarah might have seemed comparable to some, but Chuck felt Sarah was the better all-around player, bias or no. If he had to be honest with himself, Forrest was probably the better blocker, but Carina certainly had zeal to make up for it. Sarah and Carina pulled forward with an early lead, but it was only by three points, and Zondra and Forrest fought to keep up. The score seesawed, the other team almost reaching Sarah and Carina, and then the dream team pulling ahead again.

By the time they reached set point—20-17 in favor of Sarah and Carina—Ellie had chewed through her fingernails. Even Anna was on her feet, shouting and slapping her hands against the rail. Chuck hoped that nobody had a microphone trained on them, as his dive coach's favorite threats were a little too creative for the FCC's tastes. He cheered, gripping the edge of the stands so hard that his fingers hurt, but mostly he stayed focused, concentrating, hoping, trying to figure out what the next move would be. In his spare time, he'd become a bit of a volleyball scholar, so he knew the names of kills, passes, sets, the dreaded lift, but watching it play out in fast, furious real time was completely different than watching recaps.

Carina served for set point, but her jump floater sailed past the end line. Groans arose from the stands. Carina gave them a "WTF is your problem?" look as the score was adjusted to 20-18. Sarah's face never changed as she high-fived her partner and set up to receive from Forrest. It was a hard jumper; Sarah got under it easily, but she shanked the pass, knocking it nearly out of bounds. Carina sprinted and dove for it, but couldn't get all the way under the ball, sending it careening into the crowd.

20-19. If Zondra and Forrest got this next point, Sarah and Carina would have to win the set at 22 points due to the win-by-two rule. The screens in the corners of the stadium all blared SET POINT #2 in huge font. Ellie's grip on Chuck's wrist tightened, and he nearly laughed as he thought about Morgan's time on the trampoline, and how Bolognia Grimes had gripped his hand so tightly, he hadn't been able to feel it the next day.

They needn't have worried. Sarah easily lofted Forrest's serve to Carina, who set it up. Sarah then hit a high, looping shot off the side of her hand, over the block and into the corner, paralyzing Zondra with the misdirection.

Chuck's entire group jumped into the air, hollering as loud as they could. The first set belonged to Carina and Sarah.

"I don't know how they do this," Ellie said as the volleyball players trotted to their benches, out of breath. "I thought diving meets were intense. This just doesn't stop."

"Killer cardio," Awesome said, nodding sagely in agreement. "Think they could give me some tips, bro?"

"I'm sure they can. I'll ask," Chuck said.

"I just can't get over it. Chuck, you've got a girlfriend."

"One who looks like that," Morgan felt the need to point out to Ellie, literally pointing at Sarah.

Ellie ignored him. "And we're watching her try to win a gold medal. This is just surreal! This beats your tenth-grade girlfriend, the one who was trying to be a vegan, oh, what was her name—"

"Hey, Shelly was very set in her beliefs. She just believed in changing them every week. And just for the record, I don't know if Sarah is my girlfriend or not."

"How do you not know?" Morgan asked.

"Because I just met her like nine days ago and we've both been a little bit busy," Chuck said, giving his best friend a look. "It could just be a fling."

"I don't think it's a fling, dude."

"Hush," Anna said, waving at all of them to shut up as Forrest prepped to serve the ball and start the second set. "I want to see this."

Zondra and Forrest started on the better side of the net, which had something to do with the wind, but Chuck had no idea. It must have been a big deal, as the announcers always talked about it, but in his opinion, the playing didn't seem to change. Whatever they had said to each other on the bench seemed to have worked wonders, agonizingly enough. They came back in the second set somehow stronger, scoring four of the first five points and sending Sarah and Carina scurrying all over the court. Sarah's Ice Queen mask slipped into place. Carina looked downright pissed. She nudged her glasses up her nose, her lips were set in a narrow line. The gloss of sweat clung to both of them, making them look even more determined under the lights.

Forrest served to Sarah, who went down to one knee to get under it. She passed it tight to the net. Carina raced forward to set it. Sarah made the leap. For a split-second, she hung in the air, legs up like a runner's, left arm extended, right arm cocked. It was like watching in intense, focused slow-motion as Sarah spiked the ball.

Forrest blocked it.

Chuck groaned, but miraculously, the ball was in the air and no whistle had blown. Sarah had somehow dug it in on her way down to the sand, setting it up perfectly. Carina easily dumped it over on the second hit, catching the other team off guard. Carina and Sarah let out a screams that were part frustration-part happiness as the ball landed, earning them the point. Carina tackled Sarah, who shook her head and shoved her teammate off of her, though the Ice Queen mask had disappeared. Sarah trotted back to serve, and at that moment, the game changed.

"Wow," Ellie said, blinking as Sarah and Carina nailed home their sixth point in a row on an ace from Carina. "They, uh, they had their Wheaties this morning."

"If those two had been on the Wheaties box when I was growing up, I'd have cheated on Cap'n Crunch in a heartbeat," Morgan said.

"Amen," Cole, Anna, and Chuck murmured, while Awesome only nodded.

Ellie turned to give them a dirty look. Morgan apparently elected himself to be the one to dig them out of their collective hole. "In the interest of promoting fairness," he said, "I would also say that about the other team, too. See? It's completely fair."

"I don't think that's quite what she means, mate," Cole said, but Chuck hushed them. Carina and Sarah had once again taken the lead, even though the other team broke their point streak by finding the sideline with an easy looper. That was followed by a furious, desperate bout that ended with three of them lying face-down in the sand while Carina hammered it home. Laughing, the redhead jogged over to pull her teammate to her feet.

"How much sand do you think they eat a year?" Morgan wondered, and Anna shushed him.

Even though Zondra and Forrest rallied to bring the score back, Carina and Sarah had found their groove. Within a few short minutes, they were ahead, 16-12, and Chuck could feel the tension mounting. They were potentially five points away from taking their second gold.

He felt nerves in his belly like a sick ball of dread. "C'mon…c'mon…"

"How is that helping them?" Anna asked him, giving him an annoyed look.

"It's not. It's helping me."

"Oh, God. I can't look," Ellie said as play resumed. She buried her face in Awesome's sleeve. "Just tell me when it's over. Tell me when they've won. Tell me when they've—GO CARINA! GET IT!"

"Can't look, huh?" Chuck asked when Sarah and Carina trotted back, point achieved.

"Shut up. Ooh, at this rate, I'm going to need an antacid. I'm going to be a wreck by Friday, I just know I am. GO SARAH!"

"She was always louder than the moms at all the dive meets, too," Chuck told Cole, who was giving his sister an impressed look. "You sort of learn to live with it."

The other team took the next point, which made every single person in their row groan. Four points to 21, Chuck reminded himself. Four points until they won. Sarah just barely dug a shot aimed at her face, which Carina then put over on two, just out of Zondra's reach. Three points.

Forrest hit the ball over. Carina missed the block, falling backwards. Chuck wasn't sure what happened, but she yanked her elbows in as she landed, somehow hitting the ball with the back of her wrists. Sarah threw herself sideways and horizontal, digging the ball right in front of Carina, who jumped over her teammate to crush the ball. Zondra tried valiantly, but couldn't keep the ball on her side of the net; Sarah sent it back with a chop shot off of Carina's set, dropping the ball just over the net and earning them a point. The minute it hit, Sarah threw her hands up, but Carina held her hands in front of her like a T-Rex and let out an actual roar.

Half the audience roared back.

Two points to gold.

Zondra and Forrest won the next point on a service error. Ellie by this point was watching through her fingers; the rest of them were gripping the edges of the stands, shouting encouragement through throats that were rapidly growing hoarse. Carina nearly lost a joust, but managed to hold out long enough to drop the ball on Forrest's side and into the sand. Every single monitor in the stadium seemed to explode with the words "MATCH POINT."

"They have to win this," Ellie said. "I literally cannot take a third set of this. I have no stomach lining left."

"Ditto," Morgan said.

Every single camera on that side of the court, Chuck thought, had to be showing a close-up of Sarah's face under her visor, as she stared in grim determination at her opponents. It was the look of a warrior about to face a final battle after a long siege and—that was dopey, he thought, nearly hitting himself on the back of the head. He was getting hyperbolic, which meant the next step was reciting love sonnets.

He leaned forward, both hands white-knuckled as they grabbed the barrier at the front of the stands. Ellie grabbed onto his jacket. Whether out of excitement about the game or to keep him from vaulting down, he didn't know. They all watched, completely transfixed by the hush of the crowd, as the ball was served and play began. Every single time it crossed the net, Chuck forgot to breathe. Sarah and Carina wanted that point; Forrest and Zondra wanted them not to have it even more. All four women fought hard, throwing themselves down, springing to their feet, sprinting. There were a couple of spectacular near-misses until finally, Carina set it perfectly on the first hit and Sarah moved to spike on two. Forrest leaped, ready to eat it with her massive block, but instead of spiking it, Sarah bumped it with her fist back to Carina, who'd already made her approach. She leaped a clear three feet in the air to pound the quick set home. With no one to block her, Carina slammed the ball into the sand two feet in front of the stunned Zondra.

Even as the audience surged to its feet, Sarah and Carina fell off of theirs, gasping. Chuck had no clue what was going on, save that he was shouting, his heart pounding, his arms over his head, and that every single person around him seemed to be doing exactly the same thing. Carina jumped to her feet and tackled Sarah, who laughed and hugged her back, holding on tight. They'd won gold. They'd won their second gold.

With a whoop, Carina jumped to her feet again and began to run around the sand, hugging everybody that came near her—the other team, line judges, volunteers. She ran along the bottom of the stands, exchanging high fives with crowd members while Sarah slowly rose to her own feet. The blonde kept her composure long enough to hug the other team, saying a few words to Zondra. She shook the ref's hand. And then, heading back across the stands, she suddenly broke into a dance for a couple of steps.

"Holy crap!" Ellie shouted.

"Chuck, that's the Stanford swim team dance!" Morgan called at the same time, as though Chuck hadn't recognized it.

He didn't get time to reply, for Sarah ran after Carina straight for their section of the stands, jumping up for a hug. To keep her from breaking his neck and pulling him over, he hauled her up to their level, giving her a hard hug despite the sweat and the sand. "You did it!"

Sarah balanced on the edge, keeping one arm wrapped around him as she leaned back to beam at him. "Your turn next," she said, and gave him a smacking kiss that made everybody in the vicinity immediately shut up. Sarah turned to grin at Ellie briefly, and hugged her with her free arm. "You must be Ellie. Hi, I'm Sarah, but I've gotta go."

She hopped down easily and ran off, leaving the entire group stunned silent in her wake.

"Okay," Ellie said. "Chuck? That is definitely a step up from Shelly."

"No kidding," Chuck said, his grin threatening to break his face.


Your turn next.

Less than forty-eight hours after Sarah had whispered that to him, Chuck felt the words bounce around in his skull like ping-pong balls shot out of a cannon. It was almost giving him a headache. Your turn, your turn, your turn.

Preliminaries had arrived. After what felt like an age and a blink, Chuck's event had come up. He'd gone to the semifinals and finals for the women's ten-meter platform diving, as he'd made friends with Lou, the sole American in that event. She'd placed seventh. He'd be lucky to place thirty-first.

Nerves ate at him the night before and morning of the preliminaries. He wasn't afraid of diving. There had never been a fear of jumping. In the air, he knew what he was doing. He loved diving. He loved that moment of quiet in his head as he stepped to the edge of the world, looked down, and jumped in. He loved the plummet. He loved the entry. What he didn't love was the rest of it.

He'd gone through his warm-up routine with Anna, who'd given him a stoic "Good luck" and promised to see him on the other side. The other divers were still getting pep talks from their own coaches, but Anna didn't believe in hand-holding. By her reasoning, Chuck knew what he had to do. He just had to go out there and do it. So he stood apart from everybody else, waiting until he could get his warm up dives in. Nerves and fear tangled in his gut like a palpable force, threatening to twist him into a pretzel.

"Chuck! Psst!"

"Hey, Speedo! Over here!"

Confused, Chuck turned. He'd distinctly heard Sarah and Carina—their voices were unforgettable, even if he hadn't seen them since they'd stood on the platform with their gold medals—but he could see nobody in the ready-area that even looked like them. After a second, he spotted a hand poking out around a corner. Sarah crooked a finger at him.

He glanced around to make sure nobody was paying attention to him before he wandered over. Carina and Sarah had stuffed themselves into an alcove, off to the side. They had a volunteer with them, so he figured they hadn't actually sneaked in, but they apparently didn't want to be seen. "Hey," he said. "How'd you get in here?"

Neither woman answered for a minute. When Chuck figured out why, he nearly flushed all over. The Speedo really, really did not cover much.

Sarah wrenched her eyes up to his face first. "Gold medals get you everywhere," she said, grinning at him. "We wanted to wish you luck."

"Thanks. Um, Carina, eyes are up here."

"Oh, fine."

"Thirty seconds," the volunteer said. "They're calling for all unnecessary personnel to clear the area."

"Going to be okay?" Sarah asked. "You look a little green."

Chuck felt a little green. "I'll be fine."

"Well, okay." Sarah gave him a hug and held on. Chuck hoped she didn't feel him shaking. "You can do it, remember. You belong here just as much as any of these mostly-naked men."

"I've never heard it put that way before, but thank you."

When Carina moved to hug him, Chuck held out a hand. "Maybe just a handshake?"

"Oh, fine," Carina said again, and Sarah elbowed her teammate when Carina did nothing to stop the wandering eyes. "Knock 'em dead, Speedo."

"Ellie says good luck, and we'll see you on the other side." Sarah gave him a peck on the cheek and then they were being ushered away by the volunteer, who did not look overjoyed in the least to have Carina as a charge.

"Some blokes have all the luck," Cole said, appearing at Chuck's side to watch the women walk away. "You never did get me that introduction."

"Tell you what. We both make it to the next round, and I will."

"Deal," Cole said, and they shook on it.


He'd drawn the fifteenth slot in the middle of the pack of thirty-two divers. Some of the divers he recognized from a few of the events he'd competed in alongside Bryce, though there were plenty of new faces. It was a young man's sport. He wasn't anywhere near the oldest, but his age put him toward the older range, especially since he was considered inexperienced compared to others his age. Like Bryce, for instance, who had a silver from Worlds the year before in men's individual ten-meter. Chuck had a few JO titles, his Olympic qualification, and the awards he'd won diving with Bryce. He had as many hours in the pool as most everybody else his age, but what he lacked was the fancy coach, the sponsorship, and the prestige. And for the world, all of those were hard to ignore.

He went through his practice dive on autopilot, knowing that the people in the stands were already watching. His form was a little loose for his liking, but at least he nailed the entry.

When the event began, there was little fanfare. The stands weren't even full. With so many divers, the volunteers had to shuffle through them quickly, so it became less about presentation and more about efficiency. There was only enough time to get the score from the judges before the next diver was up.

Chuck clutched the chamois—it was a new one, a gift from Morgan, in Superman red and blue—and counted divers, listening to the roar of the crowd. He tried to ignore the scores, but it was difficult. 7.5. 6.0. 4.5—ouch—8.5. 9.0. 10.0. His first dive was a 3.6 degree of difficulty, not his hardest but certainly difficult. It was his armstand dive, too, which meant he got that out of the way early. He hated armstands.

Finally, Garcia, diving fourteenth, headed up the stairs, and Chuck was shuffled to the front of the line. He heard his very first coach's voice in his head. "If you're gonna lose your lunch, now's the time, kid."

Chuck swallowed hard and kept his lunch down, like he always did.

Garcia hit the water, applause breaking out. Chuck began the climb. Nerves coated the inside of his esophagus with a slick film. There weren't any cameramen, but he could see the beady black eyes of the lenses suspended from the ceiling, cameras that would catch his every move and play it in heartbreaking slow-motion for the rest of the world.

He mentally recited what he needed to do. Walk forward. Toss the chamois over the side. It would be waiting for him poolside. Step forward. Ignore the crowd. Your turn. He tensed his arms as he walked, feeling his muscles, feeling the points of his elbows, down to his knees, his hips, his ankles, his toes.

One final breath. When the volunteer gave him the nod, he moved forward, deliberately. He walked to the edge, eyed the water. He chose his point of focus before he crouched facing the water and placed his hands on the ground. He leaned forward until all of his weight was on his hands, raising his feet into the air with his back to the pool. Years of practice let him know when he was perfectly vertical, presenting a firm line to the judges. And the second he hit that point, he began to hum The Legend of Zelda theme.

When the trumpets kicked in for real, he coiled all of his power into his arms and pushed off. And then he was airborne, every muscle taut, body rigid, toes pointed. One somersault, two somersaults, twist, kick out to straighten, and BOOM. In the water. He tried to course correct and save the dive, but even as he swam toward the side of the pool, he knew he'd come in at too much of an angle. That didn't seem to deter the crowd at all: they screamed and cheered, and he heard chants of "U-S-A! U-S-A!" as he surfaced.

He hauled himself from the water, snatching up the chamois on the way, and headed to hop in the hot tub before his muscles tensed. Cameras followed him. He tried not to look at them, like he didn't look for Ellie and the others in the crowd.

The first dive was the worst because it broke the ice. He was already itching for his second dive, which was a lower degree of difficulty and meant to build his confidence up for his third dive, ranked his hardest at 3.7. Still flying high from his first dive, Chuck wanted to get out there and do it right away. The problem was, he had to wait for thirty-one people to go before he could.

Cole, who was diving twentieth,

caught up with him after the hot tub, while they were waiting to climb the stairs to the next platform. "How'd you do?" he asked.

"Eighty-one," Chuck replied. "You?"

"Sixty-six," Cole said, wincing. "Botched the take-off. Practically felt the platform go by." He flicked a hand through his hair, sending a spray of water across the platform and annoying the two Italians standing nearby. "I swear, this part is the worst."

"No kidding."

"Were you at Shanghai last year?"

Chuck had still been in the comatose, eating-cheese-puffs-by-the-barrel part of his post-Bryce stage. It was easier to shake his head than to admit that.

"Took an hour and a half to get to the next dive. I was doing push-ups on the platform to keep warm."

"Sure it wasn't just showing off for the ladies?"

"Of the two of us, who has had not one but two visitors of the beautiful and feminine variety, mate?"

"Point," Chuck said, and went silent as Bryce walked by.

He and Bryce, whenever they'd had to be in a room together, had fallen into an uneasy peace. Today, Bryce gave Chuck a nod as he walked by. He was wearing a Speedo with an American flag on it. "Nice dive," he said, and headed up the stairs.

"Huh, that's the first thing he's said to anybody all day," Cole said.

"Yeah. I wish he'd kept it to himself." He didn't want compliments from Bryce. He wanted Bryce to keep to their unspoken agreement, and leave him alone.

"You okay?" Cole asked.

Chuck shook off the intense feeling of dislike. Five dives left to go. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine. Just want to get going."

"Don't we all."

They reached the thirty-second diver, who hailed from Israel, and the second round began. Chuck was separated from Cole to go up to the next platform, where he waited with the other six in the twelve through eighteen group. His second dive was inward, his least favorite. He'd conked his head on the platform on an inward dive when he was seventeen, an experience that still gave him nightmares. Repeating that trauma at the Olympics would just be a giant feather in the cap of failure.

Garcia, the diver before him, took the platform. Chuck took a deep breath, bouncing in place to keep his muscles loose, and thought about things that made him happy rather than that day at the Los Alemedos High School Pool Complex. The end of Final Fantasy VIII. Seeing Morgan's face on the medal platform. Sarah as they played pool in the Village. Ellie's reaction when he'd told her he was going to the Olympics.

Garcia dove. Chuck began climbing. His happy thoughts turned to technical ones. In synchros, this was where he and Bryce would have split to go to separate platforms, walking down those platforms together. Now, Chuck walked alone. He heard the brief roar of the crowd before it fell into hushed anticipation for the American diver. No matter that Bryce was the more well-known diver, the one expected to win, Chuck wore the stripes today, so they would cheer for him, too.

Once again, he walked to the edge of the platform, standing on his toes with his heels hanging over the edge. He picked his point and spread his arms—his wingspan, he knew, was the largest out of everybody in the group—to gain his balance. This time there was no Legend of Zelda. For inward, he heard, "Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na," in his head. When he hit the first "Batman," he took off, springing backwards and somersaulting into a tuck. Three and a half somersaults. It was a better vertical landing this time, but he'd been loose, and he knew that even as he hit the water.

The crowd didn't give a damn. When he surfaced, they were chanting his name. He hauled himself over the side, gave them a wave. His scores rolled in. One 8.0, which was nice, but the other two kept scores were 7.5. He'd been hoping for 8.5s on that dive to make it worth the lowered difficulty score. No matter. He was still in the top eighteen, which was what he needed to do to go to the next round.

Over halfway done, he thought as he headed to the platform for his fourth dive. It was a reverse, which he wasn't fond of, but he'd paired it with the Superman theme, which cheered him up. There was just something freeing about being able to launch himself into a forward hurdle, almost as though he were going to take off flying. And at 3.2, it was his easiest dive.

Which meant, of course, that it went horribly, horribly wrong. He felt it even as he left the platform. His balance was off, his ankles weren't together, and his pike was so bad, making even the most novice swimmer wince. He lost sight of the water. He didn't straighten out in time, and Shamu would have been proud of his splash.

Stupid, stupid mistake, he thought. Stupid. He pulled himself from the pool, acknowledged the audience with a wave, and headed off as fast as dignity would allow. The camera followed him to the hot tub. Chuck jumped in, submerged himself for one glorious moment of heat, and sat for a moment, hoping to gain some semblance of equilibrium. Hadn't he expected every dive to go that badly? And maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe it could be salvaged.

His scores were read, and Chuck winced. He hadn't even made a 50 on that dive.

Because the cameras were watching, Chuck tried not to let his disappointment show. He understood better than ever in that moment why Sarah had developed the Persona. Thousands watching live in Europe and Great Britain and streaming everywhere else had seen him all but back-flop. For all he'd talked about doing a belly-flop and humiliating himself, he'd hoped that his dives would all be 70s or above. It burned like a firebrand applied straight to his abdomen to have a dive score less than 50. To buy a minute, he leaned his head back against the lip of the hot tub, placing the cold chamois over his face. What a lousy dive.

A moment later, Cole came over and dropped straight into the hot tub. He stayed in, his chamois hanging over his shoulder. "How's it going?"

"Oh, it's fantastic." Chuck managed a shaky laugh. "Nothing like a near belly-flop to really put your life in perspective."

"Could be worse," Cole said.

"How?"

"Did you hear about Guatemala?"

"No. What happened?"

Cole spread his hands wide.

Chuck's eyes widened. "He Monty'd it?"

"Diver went one way, suit went the other. The ladies seemed to really appreciate it."

Chuck immediately adjusted himself, just to make sure. He winced. "Holy crap," he said. "I really hope that doesn't happen to me. I've got somebody in the audience I'm trying to impress, you know, show her I'm really not a total spaz."

"And how do you know dropping trou won't impress her?"

Chuck didn't blush. Years on the Stanford swim team had mostly cured him of that. In fact, the only one he seemed to blush in front of was Sarah, and that was usually accompanied by stammering. "Well, I may be wrong, but I think she doesn't really want the rest of the world, or maybe specifically her partner, there when she sees...you know what?" He finally remembered the camera, which was hovering a few feet away, watching the pair of them. "That camera probably has a microphone. I'm shutting up now."

"Good point. Let's go up to the platform. Fewer nosy buggers there." They trotted around the corner, hurrying past the seating area where the coaches and support staff watched the dives, and headed for the stairs. "You know what impresses the ladies, mate?"

"Being Bruce Wayne?" Chuck asked.

"Nah. Spending as much time as you can looking like this." Cole swept a hand up and down his torso like Vanna White showing off the goods. "More reason to qualify so we can do this tomorrow."

"Good point," Chuck said, though with that awful dive, he doubted he had a shot in hell unless he pulled off a miracle with the next dive. He didn't, though his score improved by over thirty points. He was ranked 21st at the end of the fifth round of dives, according to the boards. Cole was ranked fifteenth, Bryce at seventh. He needed to be in the top eighteen to continue, and it looked seriously like his Olympic career was over as the sixth round began.

As he waited by the stairs, he spotted a few American flags off to one side. Probably there for Bryce, he thought, but did a double-take at the flash of bright blond and red among the group. Could that be? He squinted, but it wasn't clear from this distance. Breaking his regular rule, he kept an eye on that little patch of the stands as he climbed to the top.

And then, as one, all five members stood up and he saw his name spelled out on five individual shirts.

"Whoa," he said, a grin automatically spreading. "That is cool."

He had to school the smile from his face when the volunteer on the platform gave him the go-ahead, as the judges didn't like people smiling. A towel had been placed on the end to prevent him from slipping. As he tossed his chamois over the side and went through the motions, a little voice slid through his concentration, a voice that reminded him that if this was going to be his last dive in the Olympics, he might as well make it worth it.

Why the hell not? What the hell did he have to lose?

Chuck took his stance on the edge of the platform, his heels hanging over, balancing on his toes. Every muscle in his body—weary from the past three hours—was taut, every limb perfectly placed. He thought, "Spider-man, Spider-man, friendly neighborhood Spider-man" to himself, and he launched himself into the open air.

He didn't need the roar of the crowd when he surfaced to let him know that they'd forgotten all about the 44.55 dive. He ignored the hot tub and instead hurried around to the coaches' area. Anna hit him on a flying leap of a hug. "Where the hell did that come from?" she asked, giving him a wide-eyed look. "Where have you been hiding that all day?"

"I have no idea!" He spun her around in pure happiness. "What's my score? How'd I do?"

"They haven't—" Anna began to say, but was cut off by the scores. When the final tally was called, both she and Chuck stared at each other in pure shock. 452 points total, off of a 92 point dive, his highest of the entire night by over ten points. "Chuck, that just put you in thirteenth place!"

"But I was in twenty-first—"

"And now you're in thirteenth. Now, shh, I want to watch this." Anna kept her gaze transfixed on the next diver, her pen hovering above her clipboard in anticipation. Meanwhile, Chuck reeled. Thirteenth place. That was far better than he had expected. There were fifteen divers left. He only had to beat two thirds of them to go forward.

The two divers after Chuck stayed ranked after him. The third bumped Chuck up to fourteenth. Anna swore, viciously, and marked it down on her clipboard. Chuck looked toward the stands, trying to see how the others were taking it, but they were too far away to tell.

Cole bumped him to sixteenth place, but Chuck remained there for three more divers.

At thirty divers, he was in seventeenth place, and he had officially stopped breathing. If both of them beat him…

"I'm going to puke," Chuck said, watching the second to last diver take the platform. "I'm going to puke, and then I'm going to retire and take up something that won't destroy my nerves, like knitting or beat-boxing, and I'll pretend like I've never seen a pool before in my life. Oh, God, I can't watch."

"Shh," Cole said.

"Easy for you to say, you're already in for tomorrow," Chuck said.

The diver took his mark. Chuck wondered if he should start praying. The diver raised his arms. Chuck wished he knew how to say a Hail Mary. The diver launched.

Chuck closed his eyes. He heard the splash, the noise of the crowd cheering, and then Anna hit him from the side like a linebacker. "You did it!" she said, and Chuck opened his. "Chuck! You did it. He didn't beat you. Even if this next guy does, you're at least—"

"Eighteenth," Chuck said. "I'm at least eighteenth. I'm going to the next round?"

"You're going to the next round." Cole gave him a smack on the shoulder. "See you at the pool bright and early, mate. You can introduce me to the ginger then."

"It would be my honor," Chuck said before he collapsed against the wall in a boneless pile of disbelief.


A/N the Second: Next chapter, things get really fun. See you then! Oh, you want a preview? If you insist. Here you go:

"Gah," Chuck said, both because that was incredibly hot and incredibly unfair. "Is there anything you're bad at? Anything at all?"

"Nope," Sarah said, and proceeded to dance-walk around him as he set up for his shot. When he lined up to take out the eleven, she hoisted herself onto the side of the pool table right next to him and gave him an innocent look. "What?"

"You're kind of blocking my shot."

"Oh, that one?" Sarah leaned over—the fact that her hair brushed his neck and shoulder had to be deliberate—to get a look. "You won't make that shot. Not from this angle."

Her hair tickled, breaking his concentration. She didn't sit back up, so her face remained inches from his. Through sheer willpower, he kept his focus. "I bet I can," he said, his voice deeper than usual. He almost cleared his throat, but he didn't want to alert Sarah just how much she was getting to him. This would not be Pac-Man all over again.