It starts raining when they leave the restaurant, and Chuck scrambles to get his jacket off and over both of their heads.

It's such a Chuck move.

It's all so Chuck. The tiny Cuban place that mostly serves finger food, sharing around a bunch of little plates, encouraging each other to try one thing or the other. The glasses of sangria that he stabs his fork into to fish out the bits of apple and peach and pear as they talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing. About work and Morgan and Carina and Casey and Ellie and books and "You don't have a favorite band? How is that possible?"

He's standing close, shielding her from getting wet with his thin jacket, his arms raised awkwardly as they walk; It's more of a tender gesture than any bouquet of roses or expensive piece of jewelry.

"Of course it would rain on our third first date," he says sheepishly.

Sarah just smiles. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, this portion of the evening I thought we'd take a walk," Chuck replies. "But mother nature has other ideas, clearly."

"What makes you say that?" she asks. "It's just a little rain."

Rain makes her feel like a kid again. Some of her best memories of time spent with her father are when they would walk around town in the rain. No cons, no lies. Nowhere to be and nobody to hustle. She remembers jumping in puddles and her father's amusement at her antics.

"Who needs an umbrella?" her father would say. "We don't need a stinking umbrella!"

Sarah steps out from under the jacket and hops into a puddle with both feet.

She can hear Chuck fumbling for something behind her, and when she turns, he's taken a photo of her with his phone.

He gives her a sheepish grin and shrugs.

They walk around in the rain after that, no jacket above their heads, a couple of his fingers hooked through hers, wet but warm.

"I had these great red rubber boots as a kid," she tells him. She doesn't know why she tells him, but she does. "With a bow on the side of each one. I loved those things."

"Wellingtons," Chuck nods. "I had yellow ones, with hooks on the sides to help get them on, but I could never do it by myself. Ellie hated those boots. Sometimes when I'm being really annoying she still complains about them.'"

They laugh quietly as they walk, starting to circle back around to the car.

"So..." Chuck says quietly. "So this was good, right? Dinner and the rainy walk. It's not just me, it was good."

She nods and grins. "It's been great."

"I'm sensing a 'but.'" Chuck stops walking and turns to her.

She contemplates this for a moment. He's becoming a good spy; a great spy, and sooner or later he'll have to take his red test, and then...he might not be Chuck anymore. Not this Chuck, at least. This Chuck who talks about yellow rubber boots and is passionate and kind and awkward. She thinks about the person Bryce has become and how he can be so different from the man who was her partner. That seems like a lifetime ago now.

There are a million buts, covered in shadows and questions, and what ifs, and maybe it's selfish and unwise of her to ignore them. Maybe she should be pulling away; maybe she should be running away.

But she doesn't really know if she can anymore. And even if she should or could, she doesn't really want to.

Something has changed in her and it's all his fault. The Sarah Walker of two years ago would never have jumped into a puddle just to jump into a puddle, or admitted to owning red wellingtons.

But then, the Sarah Walker of two years ago would never have agreed to go on this date, either.

She didn't really like the old Sarah from two years ago very much anyways.

"No," she says finally, taking a step closer to him. "No buts. Not tonight."

"Oh," he says quietly. "Okay."

"You know, after what happened in Barstow, and then when Carina was here-"

He doesn't let her finish. "I'm so sorry about that. I'm so embarrassed, and I put you in a really awkward position, and-"

"Chuck."

He shuts his mouth, looking worried.

"I've never done this before," she tells him.

Chuck looks confused at that. "But...you and Bryce-"

"Was easy." She gets it out in a rush, afraid if she doesn't hurry she won't say it at all. "We were partners and it was convenient and I did have feelings for him and it was...good. But the job always came first, and that's not..."

That's not what it's supposed to be like, she doesn't say.

He steps closer to her, searching her eyes. "So...but..."

"You're different," she tells him quietly. "This is different."

This is real, she doesn't say.

Thunder rumbles above them as she leans up and kisses him.

00000

Bryce turns around as the door to the dingy bar opens up and Chuck walks in, soaked to the bone, but grinning like a friggin' idiot.

Bryce actually doesn't know what he's doing here, other than watching Jeff and Lester sing karaoke, sitting beside Morgan and Casey. They may dislike him, but they can all bond over how moronic the two men on stage singing "Living on a Prayer" are. So there's that.

Chuck wanders over and flops down next to Bryce.

"What's with him?" Casey asks, wrinkling his nose, a little weirded out.

"That's good date face," Morgan says.

Bryce nods. "It certainly is good date face."

"Sarah kissed me," Chuck nods. "She kissed me. It was...she kissed me! Not even the other way around. Not even when we thought we were going to die. She kissed me."

"Great," Casey grunts. "He's gonna be saying that for days."

Chuck looks to Bryce, ignoring Casey. "You can't call me Wussball anymore."

"You're right," Bryce replies, ordering Chuck a drink. "But I can call you Sappy Mccheesey breath."

"Sappy Mc- I hate you!"

"And round we go!" Bryce grins.

"Lazypants."

Bryce gives him a sour face. "I'm not lazy!"

"I don't know," Morgan muses. "I've seen you slacking off behind the counter quite a few times, Larkin."

"See? Lazypants."

Bryce pouts, but only a little, and Casey chuckles.

On the stage, Lester does the splits, and Morgan and Chuck cringe, while Bryce's pout turns to a look of slight horror.