A/N the First: This was supposed to be the final chapter of Fates, but as with all of my best laid plans, things got away from me, making this the penultimate chapter instead. I'm 100% okay with this fact, I think. It gave me a little more time to say good-bye to the story, and one more opportunity to thank my pre-readers and encouragers, the people that have read, the people that have reviewed, and most importantly, the best beta-wingman on the planet, the one, the only, the mxpw.

When I think of what life is, and how seldom love is answered by love; it is one of the moments for which the world was made. — E.M. Forster

Complicated

13 JULY 2008
RIOMAGGIORE, ITALY
11:13 ITA

It was hunger—of a different sort than the kind that had woken them up that morning—that eventually drove them from the apartment. Since Casey had called twice, wanting a team meeting, they agreed to meet up with him at one of the restaurants down the hill from their apartments. He beat them there, which Sarah claimed was Chuck's fault.

He denied it, of course. He hadn't been the only one unable to keep his hands to himself. Even so, they were nearly fifteen minutes late when they pushed their way through groups of tourists grabbing an early lunch.

Casey, sitting at a table in the back and glaring at the menu in front of him with his arms folded across his chest, looked up at them. For a split-second, there was silence (other than the tourists chattering in the background). Casey broke this by groaning. "Figures."

Chuck wordlessly held out a hand toward Sarah. With a grumble of her own, she dug into her pocket and handed him five euros. "Told you," he said, and pulled her chair out before taking his own seat. "Morning, Casey."

"I don't want to hear about it," Casey said. "Any of it. Do you understand me?"

"Not even if we give you a cigar first?" Sarah asked, her eyes alight with humor. She tilted her head, obviously considering. "Actually, no, that might be bad. We'd give you lung cancer."

Casey groaned again. "I hate you both so much right now."

"What's good here, do you think?" Chuck asked, picking up the menu. Thankfully, Casey had requested English menus; he still didn't speak a word of Italian (though Sarah had corrected him on the pronunciation of Riomaggiore), but he wouldn't have put it past Casey to torture him with an Italian-only menu. Given the fact that the man now had a face like a thunderclap, this sort of consideration had probably just gone out of the window. He glanced at Sarah. He didn't mind, he found.

"Try the pizza."

"Yeah? It's good here?"

"It's Italy," Sarah said. "And that way I can get pasta and steal some of your pizza."

Chuck raised an eyebrow at that. Casey groaned a third time.

"So this is a thing," he said, looking glum. "You two, back together."

"Was it so bad the first time?" Sarah asked.

"At least I don't have to deal with the two of you violating my apartment this time." The blood in Casey's face drained out of it abruptly. "Oh, hell. Our apartments share a wall."

"Don't worry, Casey," Chuck said. "We'll keep it down."

"We will?" Sarah asked.

Chuck immediately felt heat flood through him at the look on her face. For Casey's sake, though, he kept his eyes on the menu. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Casey, who looked as though he'd prefer to face a group Navy SEALS with only a sponge and some sarcasm to dealing with any more of the Chuck-and-Sarah antics. Chuck thought he heard the NSA agent mutter something about slow death and discovering the new form of waterboarding.

When the waiter appeared, he ordered a pizza with artichokes and a few other things he couldn't pronounce. He was feeling adventurous. Sarah, of course, ordered in Italian, and Casey got the blandest thing on the menu.

Once they had their drinks, Chuck raised his glass. "To Italy?"

Sarah clicked her glass against his. Casey, on the other hand, glowered. "I'm not toasting this country, Bartowski."

"Oh, c'mon, Case. We're on vacation." He'd gotten a text in the middle of the night from Devon: Ellie was fine, she was being moved to a regular room. As awful as things could get, right then, they weren't bad.

Casey's glower deepened; reluctantly, he tapped his glass against Sarah's and then Chuck's. "But not to Italy," he said. "I'll toast to vacation. God knows we need one."

"Amen."

"That said, work's not over quite yet. We have some things to talk about."

And that, Chuck thought, was the end of the frivolity. "I did some research last night. Er, not quite legally," he said. When neither Casey nor Sarah seemed particularly perturbed by this, he continued on. "The men that grabbed me were hired by Graham. It took a little bit of work to find, but they're ex-freelancers for the CIA. Graham used them on a project a few years back. Could be they owed him a favor. So that's the first mystery down."

"He wasn't going to let you go," Casey said, nodding slowly.

"Didn't look like it, no."

"Have we received confirmation that it was indeed Fulcrum behind the attack?" Sarah asked, changing the subject.

"Seeing as the words that flashed across the screen before they uploaded the Intersect and things went to pot were, 'Fulcrum thanks you,' I think it's a pretty safe guess," Casey said.

That was a gutsy move, Chuck thought. He absorbed the knowledge with a nod, thinking once more that they really needed to get out of the Intersect game and away from all of it. "Do they know where the bomb was planted?"

"In the cipher."

"The what?" Chuck and Sarah asked.

"It's an essential piece of the Intersect technology," Casey said. He sounded like he was repeating a briefing, which answered the question of whether he'd talked to Beckman. "It was stolen two weeks ago. Agents in California tracked down a well-known criminal named Colt, and retrieved the cipher from him. Turns out it was an incendiary device."

Chuck and Sarah stared.

"What?" Casey asked.

"This device was stolen by somebody and they didn't think to check it over before they plugged it into a system where they were uploading sensitive information?" Chuck asked.

"I'm sure they checked it over," Casey said, but he didn't look sure. Uneasy silence settled in over the table as they pondered the possibilities. "Either way, it happened, and we have to deal with the fall-out."

"The fall-out being that it killed the rest of the Lincoln subjects," Chuck said. When Casey and Sarah both stopped and looked at him, he swallowed. He still couldn't believe it. He was the only one left of Omaha and Lincoln—apart from the two subjects that had ended up in the mental hospital from Omaha. It was a sobering and almost terrifying reality. "I looked the list up last night. The other four were on it. I think they wanted them to upload the Intersect, and have a failsafe like the one I have."

"Poor bastards," Casey said. A sense of quiet settled over all three of them as they considered it. "Nobody deserved that."

"Yeah," Chuck said. Sarah reached across the table and linked her fingers through his, and this time, Casey didn't make a face at the public display of affection.

He did, however, straighten. "Provided we aren't discovered in the next few days, they'll move your sister over here with the rest of us for a little relaxation."

"Really?" Chuck asked, genuinely surprised, and pleased, at the thought.

"Right now, we're Beckman's problem team. It's easier to pay us to stay out of the way."

Chuck figured that Beckman was actually paying him to stay out of the way, as trouble followed him like a rat after the Pied Piper, but he didn't remark. It was a paid vacation. It felt like heaven. "I can live with that," he said.

"Assuming Walker doesn't kill you," Casey said.

Sarah rolled her eyes at him.

"Speaking of that, I kind of have something I want to bring up," Chuck said, clearing his throat. He'd thought about bringing up the newspaper clippings, which he now had in his pocket, all morning, but Sarah had distracted him. And maybe it was better to get it all out of the way at once. "But both of you have to promise not to kill me."

"No promises," Casey said.

"Seconded," Sarah said.

Chuck looked at the suddenly-stony countenances of his teammates and sighed. "Only fair. A few months ago, I was contacted in the bunker."

"By whom?" Sarah asked.

"A guy named Orion." Since neither Casey nor Sarah looked as though they recognized the name, Chuck plunged on. "He said he created the Intersect, and that he could help me."

"By doing what?"

"By taking it out."

Silence fell over the table. Then the questions began to tumble, one over the other.

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?"

"You didn't think to mention this before now?"

"How do you know who he says he is?"

"How on earth was he able to contact you in the bunker when we weren't?"

"Guys!" Chuck held his hands up for peace. "I don't know. He's got to be really insanely good with computers, whoever he is, since he took apart my firewalls like tinker toys. He then offered to help me."

"Did you say yes?" Sarah asked.

Chuck shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because it's the only thing holding Lincoln back." Chuck glanced down at his wrist, and at the nautical rope bracelet concealing the tattoos. "I couldn't take the risk. But if Ellie thinks she can remove both at the same time…. Maybe this guy can help. If he created the original Intersect, the fact that he's even still alive is a big deal, considering everything that's happened to everybody else involved."

He could see both of them working through that, Casey with his arms once again across his chest and Sarah frowning intently at her water glass. "How do we know if we can trust him?" Sarah asked.

Casey nodded. "And how do we find him? If he can out-hack you, Bartowski, then he's only going to be found if he wants to be found."

"We could try setting up a meet. He left me a way to get in touch." Chuck pulled the newspaper clippings from his pocket and held them out. Casey took them, but before the conversation could continue, their food arrived. Chuck wasted no time digging into his pizza. He was so hungry, he was a little surprised that his stomach hadn't rumbled all throughout the conversation. Next to him, Sarah tucked in with fervor as well.

"So this is why you insisted on buying that commie rag," Casey said, ignoring his food while he thumbed through the clippings. "What do they have in common?"

"Usually they have to do with hunting of some type. The first one was a clue—they all came on prime-numbered days."

"I'll see if we can get today's Post, then. You've deciphered it?"

Chuck nodded. Sarah held her hand out for the clippings, eating with her free hand as she studied each paper in turn.

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Casey asked, for the second time.

"I turned him down. I didn't think it was relevant."

"You collected the ads."

"I hedged my bets."

"Bartowski—"

"Casey," Sarah said, setting down her fork. "We're all going to make an effort to be a little more honest in the future. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," Chuck said quickly, though Casey's glare didn't lessen. "Last secret, I promise. Well, about Intersect stuff. You already said you don't want to hear about what Sarah and I—"

"I'm going to hurl," Casey said.

"See?" Chuck said.

"Boys." Sarah tapped her water glass with her knife, making both Casey and Chuck look over. "Back to the subject at hand, please. I think we should set up a meet with Orion."

"Are you sure about that? Right now, the world thinks Chuck is dead," Casey said.

Sarah shrugged. "Whoever this person is, he hacked a secure government bunker. Not only that, he knew Chuck's identity, and what he is. If there's one person we're not going to fool by pretending Chuck is dead, it's him. And I for one am curious."

"You just want your boy-toy to transfer to Quantico with you," Casey said, mostly under his breath.

Chuck blinked at him. "You knew about that?"

Sarah, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes. "When did you talk to Carina?"

"This morning. Somebody had to convince her not to come out here and blow all of our covers." Casey rolled his eyes. "And before you ask how I managed that, I'll tell you one thing: don't ask. Ever. Are we clear?"

Chuck, of course, immediately wanted to ask. He figured it was safer to stay on topic. "I agree with Sarah."

"Go figure," Casey said.

"Fulcrum is becoming more erratic and more aggressive. For some reason, they don't want the government having Intersect technology, and I don't think they'll take kindly to the government having an actual Intersect." Chuck tapped his temple. "If this guy can help—and if he can take Lincoln out at the same time—I say we go for it."

Casey nodded. "Now the question is: what do we tell Beckman?"

"Nothing," Chuck and Sarah said immediately.

Casey sighed.

"We're on vacation," Sarah said. "She doesn't need to know."

"Yeah," Chuck said. When that didn't do anything to lessen Casey's depression, he leaned forward. "Look at it this way: aren't you supposed to meet interesting new people on vacation?"

"Fine," Casey said. "Though I get to bring any and all firepower that I want to the meeting, and that is not negotiable."

"We wouldn't ever dream of getting in between you and your guns," Chuck said with a completely straight face. "I'll set up the meet later. I want to get a burn phone first. Do you think there's a place around here to get one?"

"If not, there might be one in Manarola or Monteresso," Sarah said. "We can take the train over and walk around. Do you want to come, Casey?"

For a second, Casey actually looked tempted, which surprised Chuck, but then the other agent muttered something about love germs, and that offer was declined. Once again, Chuck wanted to ask exactly what had gone on with Carina—he hadn't forgotten the mention of Prague the first time he'd met the DEA agent—but it was safer just to eat his lunch, even if Sarah stole part of his pizza. He snagged some pasta as payback.

"Check in every once in awhile so I know you're not dead of dehydration," he said once Sarah had asked the waiter for the check. "And whatever you do, don't set the meet here, for God's sake. We can travel."

"Got it."

They parted ways at the restaurant, with Casey heading back to their apartments and Chuck and Sarah wandering down the hill in search of a shop that might sell phones and SIM cards. "We should probably remember to get food while we're out," he said, smiling at her. "You don't seem to want to let me leave the apartment. We might need supplies for a few weeks."

Sarah laughed, but Chuck noticed she didn't deny it. His eyebrows went up.

Finding nothing in Riomaggiore, they debated. Since shops had already closed for Italy's four-hour midday break, Sarah suggested they walk over to Manarola. The temperature was about ten degrees cooler than it usually was in Washington D.C., which made for pleasant weather, especially with the sea breeze. "It's supposed to be the easiest of the paths," she said, consulting the map down by the train station. "And what else are we doing, anyway?"

"Point," Chuck said. They had to purchase tickets at the entrance to the path, the Via dell'Amore, so he let Sarah do that, listening absently as she chatted in Italian yet again. He stuffed the paper ticket she handed over into his pocket. "How'd you learn Italian?"

"Monterey," Sarah said. There was a flicker of self-consciousness across her face as she did so, and he realized that she hadn't revealed that to anybody else before. "I, ah, spent a summer there in college."

He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. "They teach Italian in Monterey?"

"Hmm," Sarah said, looking down at their hands, but she was smiling. The Via dell'Amore was paved and well-trodden, cut into the side of the mountain so that the sea spread below. If Chuck turned, he'd see the edge of the roof of the wine bar from the night before. He didn't turn. There were so many more fascinating things ahead of him, including Sarah. She looked past him at the sea. "I was there to study Russian, actually. It was one of my first covers."

"Oh, really?" Though he'd seen her shift personalities in a blink, he still sometimes had a hard time imagining her as anybody but Sarah Walker, even though that wasn't even her given name. It was almost like she was this immovable rock in his mind, anchoring him, as Sarah Walker and Sarah Walker alone. "Who were you, then? Foreign exchange student?"

"It was a military school. I was an Airman. Air Force. That was always the branch they picked for me."

Chuck laughed. "Air Force, Army, Marines. All we need is a Navy man, and maybe a Coast Guard lady, and we'll be set."

"We do seem to like to gather people," Sarah said, shaking her head. The path took them under an overhang, where the walls were covered with wildly colorful graffiti in all languages. "I was there to study Russian and Arabic, but as Steph, I didn't really have that great of a social life, so I picked up Italian from my roommate. I haven't had to use it much, though."

"Really? You sound pretty fluent to me."

"Only in Italian swearing."

"Really helpful in Italian bar-fights. Or maybe the running of the bulls."

Sarah gave him the side-eye. "That's in Spain."

Chuck winced at his gaffe. He knew the festival took place in Spain every year, but for some reason, it had just slipped out. "I think swearing should be considered a universal language when you are literally being chased by a bull."

The look she gave him told him she knew exactly what he was doing, but she let it go with a smile. "I think it would be interesting to do that, actually. I almost went one year, but we got called away for a mission in Sarajevo."

"You want to willingly be chased by a bull?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"A bulldog, maybe. A fat one. With three legs, and only if I am one hundred percent sure it can't catch me, or if I'm armed with a really big, meaty bone." Chuck shook his head. "The people that do that are crazy."

"Wimp," Sarah said, smiling.

"Damn straight."

They walked on for a minute and Sarah shook her head. "A three-legged bulldog?"

"Of course. He's a dog looking for the man who shot his paw."

Sarah groaned. "Where the hell do you get these?"

"Laffy Taffy wrappers, mainly." He had to smile. "Steph, huh? Short for Stephanie?"

"Stephanie Wilkins."

"Good initials."

"Sarah Walker," Sarah said, smiling.

"I was talking about your gun," Chuck said, and laughed as Sarah shoved him into the railing. Since he was still holding her hand, he had no choice but to tug her with him, and standing as they were, it was only natural to kiss her. He felt her smile against his lips before they heard a spate of muttered Italian as tourists had to move around them.

"What do they expect?" he asked once they'd started walking again. "It's literally called the lover's path. We were making sure it lives up to its name."

"Was I complaining?" Sarah asked.

It was a hike to Manarola, the next town over. Since most of the shops would be closed anyway, they took their time, wandering when the path led down to the stone beaches below. Sarah seemed to be trying the honesty hat on for size, for she either offered tidbits about her past that she hadn't shared with Chuck before or simply answered his questions when he asked. At one point, they wandered down a set of steps that didn't go all the way to the beach, instead forming a little balcony below the path. Sarah leaned against the railing, looking out at the ocean. Since there wasn't much room on the ledge, Chuck stood right behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. It was probably too warm for that, but he didn't care.

"I must admit, I'm having a little bit of a hard time believing this is real," she said after a few moments of quiet. "Like I'm going to wake up and be back in D.C. or something."

"It's a bit surreal," Chuck said. "But I like it. Almost like a dream."

He felt Sarah move—as if she were chuckling? Warily, he edged forward to get a look at her face: she was definitely amused at something. "What is it?"

"I probably shouldn't tell you. I'm not sure you can handle it."

"Is it bad?" Chuck asked, confused.

"Not bad. It's..." She shook her head, hitting Chuck on the nose with her hair and laughing apologetically. "It's bizarre, that's all."

"What is it? You're making me a little nervous here."

Sarah turned in place, so they were face to face, their bodies aligned. Her look turned devilish, and Chuck abruptly forgot everything up to and including his own name. He shook his head, a bit dazedly, but Sarah only made it worse by smirking more broadly. "Nervous, huh?" she asked.

The day before, he might have shuffled his feet. Now, he tried and failed to raise an eyebrow. Two could play at that game, though admittedly, she was probably a champion game-master to his noob-level skills.

"I might as well tell you," she said. "You'll go crazy wondering, otherwise."

"Yes," Chuck said, as that was a very real possibility.

"Remember the bunker? That first night?"

He bit his tongue before he could retort that he wasn't likely to forget the first time he'd met her.

"I went to take a nap while you and Bryce caught up," Sarah said.

"Yes, and?" Chuck asked, confused as to where this was going. Had she stolen something else from the bunker? It would have been remarkable: calling the space "cramped" had been an exaggeration of generous proportions.

"Well." Sarah tucked her bottom lip under her teeth, and Chuck's eyes were immediately drawn to the feature. He looked back up, muzzily, to find her grinning at him. "I kind of had a sex dream then."

He had to be hearing things. Why was she telling him this? She'd been with Bryce, then, so that meant the dream had to be—

"About you," Sarah said, and, ducking under his arm, headed for the stairs.

It took three seconds for normal brain function to return. By the time said normal brain function had brought up and dismissed all of the ways he might have misunderstood that, Sarah was at the top of the stairs. He stared up, helplessly. Had she...had that really...was she...?

"Chuck?" Sarah asked, her voice pure innocence. "Plan on joining me?"

He moved automatically, heading for the stairs and thankfully not stumbling. He remembered the trip to the bunker—it was hard to forget, even if he'd wanted to, and he definitely did not. If his timeline was correct, Sarah had talked to him and Bryce for a couple of hours, and then she had disappeared to sleep.

Not just to sleep, his brain chipped in helpfully. To dream.

She patted his arm, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. This only made her giggle.

Chuck was many things, and chief among them was a realist. He liked to think he was pretty open-eyed about himself and his own abilities. And while Sarah certainly had seemed to enjoy herself the night before, he couldn't deny the reality that it had been six years for him. And if she'd had a sex dream three years before...

Maybe she'd dreamed of really awful sex. He could only hope.

"Erm," he said, and his voice squeaked a little. He cleared his throat. "How..."

"Yes, Chuck?" He wished her eyes wouldn't glitter so brightly. The ocean, or her shirt, whatever, it was, they were impossibly blue today. And they made it difficult for him to think.

"If you don't mind me asking, how...how was I?"

Sarah rocked back on her heels, her face taking on a thoughtful look. When she eyed him from head to toe, more than a little lasciviously, he felt the blush start somewhere in his core. But she grinned at him. "Pretty good," she said.

Chuck's stomach sank.

"But," Sarah said, stepping up to him and kissing his chin, lingering close to him, "I think I prefer the reality more."

13 JULY 2008
OUTSIDE OF CORNIGLIA, ITALY
14:28 ITA

The shops had still been closed for the midday break by the time they arrived—a little breathless, a little more rumpled—in Manarola, the next town in the chain of the five villages. They'd grabbed bottles of water and had decided, in lieu of having other plans, that they might as well continue wandering. Chuck personally was the most relaxed he had been in months, possibly years. That was, until Sarah's adventurous side started getting the better of her and, clearly bored, she wandered out onto one of the large boulders that cast out into the sea.

"You coming?" she called over her shoulder.

"You'll protect me from falling off and dying, right?" he asked, picking his way across the rock, which wasn't the best surface for walking. It was also a climb, which made it worse.

"It's not that dangerous. You could jump off and go for a swim." Sarah leaned forward over the edge to get a good look. "Water looks nice."

Chuck imagined his bloody, mangled corpse being dragged to shore by dolphins. Still, with Sarah so completely nonchalant, it was hard to stay back and save face. He moved forward, swallowing hard.

"You have to admit, the view's a little better out here," Sarah said.

That, Chuck could agree with. The rock was situated at a spot where the path curved inward toward the mountain, forming a picturesque little cove. It jutted out far enough to where they could see around the corner, giving them dual views of the villages behind them and the cove in front of them. It was a little like being stuck in two worlds, if he thought about it. He wondered if that was poetic or not.

Sarah nudged him, smiling up at him. "Scared?"

"That I'll slip on this rock and hit my head and forget everything that's happened to us in the past twenty-four hours? You bet." Chuck managed to return her smile. The rock wasn't as uneven as he had thought, and it was a little thrilling to be up there.

"Don't worry. I'd make you remember. Even if I had to beat it out of you."

"You say the sweetest things," Chuck said, though he was laughing. He eyed the water below; truth be told, it didn't look that frightening from this angle. Plus, mid-afternoon had warmed the day so that his shirt was sticking to his back. A mischievous notion began to take hold. He glanced sideways at Sarah.

She apparently didn't notice, as she was once again looking out to sea. He'd have to figure out how to dump their cell phones, Chuck thought, as he didn't think Casey would appreciate having to find them new phones when saltwater destroyed the first ones. Was there a way to do that without giving away his plan?

Sarah glanced at him; quickly he schooled his features, hoping that his thoughts weren't showing on his face. But Sarah's smile was one of genuine happiness. "Chuck," she said. "I think you should probably kiss me now."

"Just probably?"

"Okay. Definitely. Definitely, you should kiss me right now."

He promptly forgot all about his evil plans. "This is awesome," he said, stepping carefully toward her since she was near the edge. She was also standing on an outcropping that made her slightly taller than him—which felt strange, but nice. Smiling, he leaned in…and went flying backwards as she gave him a gentle push. For a second, there was nothing but the feeling of freefall, his heart caught in his throat as he automatically straightened his body to hit the water. He thought he heard the distinctive note of her laughter just before he hit.

The water was cold. It sent a shock through his system, but thankfully he didn't shout and start swallowing seawater. Instead, he clawed his way to the surface and glared up at the rock. Sarah, of course, was bent over from laughter. "Your face!"

"Not funny!" He shoved his hair out of his face. He hadn't cut it since coming back to D.C. the second time.

"Yes, it is," she said. The sheer force of her grin could be seen from space, Chuck was sure.

He debated the idea of climbing the rock and getting his revenge—a wet hug, perhaps—and dismissed the idea. He'd have to go to shore, over on his left, and walk back around, which meant she would have plenty of time to evade. So he glowered until, something occurred to him. "Oh, crap, my phone!"

"Right here," Sarah said, waggling the object at him. "Grabbed your wallet, too. And my money."

She made a deliberate show of taking the five euros she'd given him out of his wallet and tucking it in her pocket.

"Thief!" Chuck called up to her.

"Come up here and say that to my face."

"No, you come down here so I can, then!"

"Okay." With a shrug, Sarah kicked off her shoes, peeled out of her shirt, and arced into a graceful swan dive. She hit the water with the tiniest of splashes, of course. When she surfaced, she was grinning. "What'd you want to say to me?"

Chuck squinted at her. "You were wearing a bikini this whole time?"

"There are beaches. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. Somehow, that's hot." Chuck flicked water at her. "A little warning might've been nice."

"You were thinking about doing the exact same thing to me," Sarah said.

"I was…too. Okay. You got me. Hold on a second." He managed to tread water with one arm and remove his shoe with his free hand, though it was tricky. He handed that to Sarah to hold while he repeated the process. "That's going to take forever to dry."

"It's canvas. It'll dry quick." Sarah didn't look apologetic in the slightest. They stored his shoes on a little shelf in the rock, though Chuck wondered if some sort of wildlife might crawl into them. Sarah, of course, seemed more than happy to distract him from that fact, so much that she nearly drowned them twice. Whenever he suggested moving to shallower water, she dunked him, clinging to his back and wrestling with him. They swam around, splashing at each other, cavorting, acting like lunatics, until the very real possibility of a cramp sprang up. With a put-upon sigh, Sarah directed Chuck to head back to shore while she climbed up to gather their things on the rock.

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"Yes." But even with the caution about their legs cramping up, she took her time kissing him. "Go on. I'll meet you on the beach, we can dry out."

He stayed where he was, though, treading water and watching Sarah scale the rock face. She turned to give him a perplexed look. "Why haven't you gone yet? This is child's play."

"The view's better from here."

She laughed and wiggled her ass at him before finding a new hand-hold.

He came to regret his lack of shoes. This wasn't a sandy beach of Southern California or even the one he and Sarah had jogged down near Athens. These beaches were rocks, pounded smooth by years of water, but painful nonetheless. He winced and flinched his way across the beach, heading for the bottom of the rock wall. The stones were larger there, good for resting. After so long in the cold water, the sunlight felt like a boon.

Sarah, of course wearing shoes, found him just as he was stripping out of his T-shirt and laying it out to dry on a rock. She paused as he turned. "What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," she said, breezily. "Water?"

"Please."

Something about the beach seemed to call for laziness. Clearly, the others enjoying the sunshine agreed, for there were groups clustered on the larger rocks, laying out and letting the sunlight work its magic. Chuck crouched to lay out his shoes, making sure that the tongues were sticking out so that the insides would get as dry as they could. Even so, he imagined he would probably be squelching the rest of the way to Corniglia.

When he turned again, Sarah suddenly found something in the sky interesting. That was strange. As was the too-innocent look on her face as she paid an inordinate amount of attention to the sole cloud in the sky. It was almost like she had been…no, that couldn't…she'd been checking him out! Chuck nearly gaped at first her and then himself, but thankfully common sense made him shut his mouth. He sat up a little straighter, feeling a sense of something he couldn't determine. Pride? Maybe not that far, but he was definitely flattered.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. He'd already discovered that morning that Sarah was far more sex-crazed than she'd given any hint of in the past—probably because she'd stood by her word at letting them take it slow during their first go-round in dating—and she had had a sex dream about him within hours of meeting him.

She was either crazy or maybe he was a little more attractive than he thought. Testing, he flexed a little—and his whole charade nearly broke as he thought of the volleyball game in Top Gun, one of his and Morgan's favorite scenes to mock. He doubted that anybody would ever try to play sand volleyball on a rocky beach like this.

Sarah looked over. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just thought of something."

Instead of asking him about it, though, she tilted her head and considered him. "Are you flexing?"

He still was. "No."

"Uh-huh."

Since Sarah was smiling at him, he couldn't relax without giving himself away, so he found a spot on a rock and continued flexing. "Oh, I think you got a text message," she said, turning away to grab his phone. Chuck immediately sagged, and tried to ignore the amusement in her eyes as she handed over the phone.

The message was from Devon, an update on Ellie's condition. Apparently they'd been told they would be leaving D.C., for it ended with, "Looking forward to seeing you."

"Going to give them a call?" Sarah asked.

Chuck, since the beach called for it anyway, moved over to the biggest of the stones and reclined back against it. This was millions of miles away from Siberia, he thought. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, lying on a beach in Italy. "In a little while. It seems unfair to call her from a beach while she's in the hospital recovering from shrapnel wounds."

"We'll get you some sackcloth and ashes for when you do call, then," Sarah said, dumping sunscreen on her palm and beginning with her shoulders

"Ha, ha," Chuck said. Though he wanted to keep watching Sarah, he felt his eyes begin to drift closed. The swim had worn him out, not quite to exhaustion, but to the point of drowsy relaxation. Lying down on the rock with the sunlight warming him only made him feel sleepier. He smiled as he felt Sarah settle against him a minute later, using his chest as a pillow. "Gah! Your hair's cold."

"Sorry. Do you want me to move?"

"I'll get over it," he said, already starting to fall asleep. He felt her laugh rather than heard it, and lulled by the sensation and the warmth, started to drift off.

"Chuck?"

"Hmm?" he asked.

She moved around, probably trying to get more comfortable. "You look good when you flex."

"Thanks." She smelled like sunscreen and saltwater. It was pleasant.

"Of course, you look good when you don't, too. Just for the record."

Chuck was smiling as the nap finally won out.

13 JULY 2008
IL NIDO D'AMORE
23:39 ITA

Sarah had been right: the bed was ridiculously hard. He'd been distracted the previous evening—and probably in some sort of state of dazed shock—but now, Chuck couldn't get comfortable. He should be comfortable, he knew. In fact, he should be exhausted, given the level of intensity in their after dinner activities, but the mattress was like a rock. Maybe Sarah had had it right when she'd said the floor might be better. He turned over to tell her exactly that.

Her side of the bed was empty. Wary, he lifted his head; he hadn't heard her leave. For one brief, terrifying moment, he remembered the last time he'd woken up to find her part of the bed empty. She'd left him for days, and all hell had broken loose.

And he really was acting paranoid, Chuck thought. She'd probably gone to the bathroom or something, and he wouldn't have heard her because she was a ninja. Keeping that in mind, he rolled over, trying to find a comfortable spot, any comfortable spot in the mattress. There wasn't one, but he dozed off again.

When he woke again twenty minutes later, the bed was still empty, apart from him. He rolled out of bed and pulled on shorts once again. He had a fleeting thought that she might have abandoned him for the couch, the traitor, but the living room was empty, as was the kitchen. The bathroom light was on, though, and the door was slightly ajar. Worried, he pushed it open farther, hoping that Sarah wasn't leaning over the toilet.

She wasn't, though she was in the bathroom. She sat on the floor, leaning back against the bathtub, her arms wrapped around her legs and her head down. She had the old book of poetry, the one Chuck had wondered about, in front of her feet.

"Sarah?" he asked, and winced when her head snapped up. "Is...everything okay? It's not the shellfish, is it? I thought those oysters looked a little suspect."

"I'm not sick," Sarah said.

"Then, um, why are you in the bathroom?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay." He lingered in the doorway, still half-asleep and now very confused. "Do you want some company?"

She moved a shoulder, which he took for acquiescence. The problem lay in where to sit: he didn't want to sit on the toilet, and he definitely didn't want to remain standing in the doorway and towering over her. With an inward shrug, he dropped to all fours, crawling across the tiles so that he could squeeze himself in between Sarah and the sink. "Something up?" he asked.

She didn't reply.

"Well," he said, because he couldn't figure out how to decipher the look on her face, "you should know: our bed really, really sucks."

She smiled. "It's awful."

"It left awful behind at a fork in the road ten miles back. Our bed is like the demon spawn of all terrible beds."

That got the giggle he'd been hoping for. "Flip you for the couch."

"No dice, since I know with you, the flipping is literal."

"And besides, you're a gentleman."

"Not about that bed, I'm not. It's the Worst, and I say that with a capital W."

"We could always share the couch," Sarah said, nibbling on her bottom lip. "Just throwing that out there."

"Sold," Chuck said. "I'm glad we got that settled. I was a little worried."

"You were?"

"You said you were going to flip me."

Sarah smiled, just a small one that showed no teeth, and rested her head on his shoulder. She curled a hand around his bicep. "I'd have kissed it better."

"That's very kind." Chuck looked around the bathroom, which wasn't anything special. "You know, I like the ambiance. It's soothing in a very taupe sort of way. I can see why you picked it for your thinking spot. Speaking of thinking, what's on your mind? Have I said something stupid already? It wouldn't be a record by any means, I know."

Sarah shook her head. Because she was still leaning against him, her hair tickled the back of his shoulder. "I needed to think. No, no, don't go. It's fine. I don't need to be alone."

Since he'd been about to offer to leave her alone to her thoughts, he let out a half-laugh. "You know me too well," he said, settling back against the tub, no matter how cold it felt against his spine.

"Sometimes. Other times, you're a complete mystery."

"Really? I think that about you all the time."

"Well, I am a complete mystery, so…"

"Maybe not a complete one," Chuck said. "A partial mystery. Hmm, no, that makes you sound like you're not a whole person."

"Some days, I think I am," Sarah said, her voice quiet.

Surprise made him turn his head to look down at her, though all he could see was the side of her head and her ear. That had sounded far more honest than he had expected. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing."

It hadn't been nothing, Chuck knew, but he said, "Okay," and let the silence return. He turned over possibilities in his mind, trying to figure out what she could have meant by that. Maybe it had been an offhand comment and he was reading too much into it, or perhaps this was something that went much deeper.

Next to him, Sarah began to shake. He looked down, alarmed, but it turned out to be laughter. "I can," she said, and took a deep breath to try and stop laughing. "I can hear your brain working."

He felt a flush begin to start at his sternum. "It doesn't really stop," he said. "You're pretty much the only one who's ever turned it off."

Sarah lifted her head. "Oh, is that so?"

"You must have missed the thousand times I nearly walked into a wall because you smiled at me."

"I just thought you were clumsy," Sarah said, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Only around you."

"You know, when you asked me out, I did a little dance, and I tripped over something. It was pretty embarrassing."

"You did?" He blinked at her.

"Of course. So you're not the only clumsy one."

"Look at us," Chuck said, feeling delight course through him and make the room a little brighter. "A pair of clumsy mysteries." Sitting on the bathroom floor, he added silently, as that fact hadn't passed his notice. "Guess this was meant to be."

"Yeah," Sarah said, though she didn't sound sure.

"You don't think it is?"

"I…it's complicated."

"My brain's always working," Chuck said. "Though I never really have answers. I could give figuring it out a try, whatever it is."

Sarah sighed. "It's silly. I'm probably trying to sabotage myself. We should forget it."

"Oh, I'm an expert on self-sabotage," Chuck said, faking enthusiasm. "I've had a lot of experience. What's on your mind?"

It took Sarah a minute to gather her thoughts, apparently, for she didn't move. When she did, however, she lifted her head and released his arm, even scooting a couple of inches away to put some space between them. She turned toward him, though. "It's like you said, 'Guess we're meant to be.' And I don't know, sometimes I feel like…I didn't have a choice? Like, I met you in the bunker and then you were just always there. I'd forget to think about you every once in awhile, but never for very long. And it wasn't things you see in those romantic comedies or anything. I'd wonder what you were doing, or what you would think of something I'd seen, and little things like that. I was a little convinced I was going crazy."

"Why?" Chuck asked. He wondered things like that about people all the time. Maybe it was part of his being put away from society for five years, though.

"Because that's never been how my mind works. I grew up always on the move, never really getting to know people—other than how to play them, that is. When I became a spy, they capitalized on that. If I made a connection, it was somebody like Carina, who's crazy, or Dave, who's afraid of me." Sarah pushed her hand through her hair and left it there, resting her elbow on her knee. "I never thought I'd ever have anything approaching a normal relationship or normal feelings for a guy."

"And you picked me," Chuck said. It was still daunting, in an impossible way, but he liked to think he was learning to accept the impossible as just another thing involved with having a life with Sarah.

"No, I didn't," Sarah said. "That's the thing: it wasn't a conscious choice. I didn't pick you. It just happened."

"Like fate?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah." Sarah wrinkled her nose.

"What's so wrong with fate? It led us here." Chuck looked around. "And when I say here, I mean here as in where we are metaphorically, rather than physically, which is the bathroom, a fact that I am still very curious about, if I might add."

"You're a lot more Zen about this than I expected," Sarah said.

Chuck didn't have a good answer for that, so he shrugged. "It's a little hard to believe how much you like me. I always want to ask you why. But I should know better than that. Ellie was always fond of saying, 'We feel what we feel.'"

"Even when it should be completely implausible," Sarah said, sighing as she leaned her shoulder back against the tub.

"That just makes it more fun." Chuck considered this. "Also, it's a bit of a relief."

"How so?"

"Well, if even you're confused about why you love me, it actually makes it easier to accept."

Sarah flicked him. "Stop that. I have loads of reasons."

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't pick me."

Sarah opened her mouth, obviously to argue that point, and went still. Her mouth shut with a snap, and she began to giggle. "Clever. You're clever. Good one."

"Does it matter how we got our start?" Chuck asked, lowering his eyebrows as the question came out more rhetorical than he had planned. He knew he overthought everything. Paranoia and life experience had robbed him of his ability to simply accept things, but knowing that Sarah had worries and reservations about them somehow made it easier. It brought to mind how she'd once told him she enjoyed being the optimist for once. He just wished there didn't have to be a pessimist to make that happen. "We got here. And I'm happy we did."

"Me, too. Though I have to admit, I'm freaking out a little."

"I thought that was my job," Chuck said.

"Trust me, I would love nothing more than to give it back to you." Sarah leaned in, kissing him slowly. "Or maybe not. Maybe we should leave the freaking out to somebody else and just be happy."

"I will do my best," Chuck said, moving closer to her. He winced as he bashed the back of his elbow into the bathtub. "Seriously. Why are we in a bathroom?"

"Oh. I was going to take a bath. I got distracted." Sarah picked up the book at her feet, which Chuck had forgotten about during their talk. She pulled the Orion ads out and handed the book to Chuck, absently. "I wanted to look over them again. I don't want us to walk into a trap."

Chuck, however, was more focused on the book. "What is this?" He turned it over to look at the back cover. It looked well-worn and well-read.

"Cipher," Sarah said, and her voice told him she wasn't truly listening. "Dad gave it to me when I was nine. We used to send coded messages—still do, sometimes. Chuck, there's something a little off about these ads."

"Poetry, rea—wait, something off? Like what?"

"I don't know." Sarah's voice rang with frustration. "All I know is that there's something. I can't tell what it is. I was sitting here for like half an hour trying to figure it out, but it's…it's like it's just on the tip of my tongue, you know?"

Chuck had pulled the clippings out of his wallet time and again. Apart from the fact that Orion knew he was a nerd, there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to them. But he more than understood the frustration of being so close to a solution and unable to find it in the darkness. "Why don't you sleep on it?" he asked, holding the book out to her. He saw the Jack of Hearts peeking out from a page, and it sent a pleasant fluttery feeling through his belly. "Might help to have a clearer head in the morning."

Sarah took the book back. "Okay." She let him pull her to her feet, but instead of moving toward the couch, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest.

"Sarah?"

"Hm?"

"Still in the bathroom."

"Oh, fine." But her eyes were mischievous as she pulled him toward the couch, and he figured it would be awhile before there would be any actual sleeping.

14 JULY 2008
IL NIDO D'AMORE
18:09 ITA

"Ellie, I'm fine," Chuck said for the third time. "Seriously, you can stop asking. I'm the one that should be asking that about you. You're the one in the hospital, after all."

"Don't remind me," Ellie said. Her voice was a little weak, but Chuck had nonetheless been overjoyed to hear it on the other end of the phone when he'd picked up. "You'd think I'd be used to the smell. But it turns out when you're a patient, the hospital smells different."

"You'll be out soon, right?" Chuck lowered himself onto the couch, which was only marginally more comfortable than the bed, much to his dismay. He'd just returned from a hike with Casey, which meant he was hungry and could use a shower, but Ellie trumped both of those.

"Couple of days, then a few days in physical therapy and then they're taking me to wherever you are. Where are you?"

"I can't tell you. But I can tell you, you're going to love it." Chuck glanced out the front window. "Seriously, Ellie. It's gorgeous."

"Maybe I'll get married there," Ellie said, and broke into a coughing fit that hurt Chuck's heart. She seemed to rally pretty quickly. "Always kind of wanted a destination wedding. Maybe we could get Devon's parents and brothers flown in."

"It's beautiful enough," Chuck said. "How are you, really?"

"I'm okay, I promise. You can stop asking that, too."

Chuck grinned. Ellie's grouchiness actually made him feel better than anything else could have.

"Tell me about what's going on out there," Ellie said. "You sound different. How are the others? I imagine Casey's not doing well with sitting around."

He actually was, Chuck thought. He'd expected to find a grumpy, agitated Casey, which was why he'd suggested the hike, but Casey had actually seemed more thoughtful than anything else. Granted, it probably helped that there might be the opportunity for gunplay whenever they set up their meet with Orion. But Casey had also radiated something like a sense of contentment.

It had been bizarre on far too many levels to count.

"Casey's getting along, though I'm not sure he likes the food much. Sarah's doing good, too. She sends her—"

"Wait a second," Ellie said, cutting him off. "Chuck, what's going on?"

"What?" Chuck asked, alarm flowing through him.

"Are you and Sarah together?"

Chuck squinted, though he knew his sister was thousands of miles away. "You got that from 'Sarah's doing good, too?'"

"No, no, not that. Geez, Chuck, keep up. I told you something was different! You sound happy, Chuck. Does that mean you and Sarah are finally together?"

Now he was beyond confused. "I thought you didn't like Sarah."

"Stop avoiding the question."

"I—yes. We're together. As of a couple of days ago."

"Yes!" Ellie said, and Chuck worried she might pull her stitches. "I so knew it."

"I'm really confused," Chuck felt the need to say.

"Chuck, this is great. You have to convince her to be a bridesmaid. She turned me down the last time I asked, something about not wanting to make things awkward with you, but now that that's not a problem, you have to convince her."

"I…" Chuck looked up as Sarah came in from the bedroom, wearing a pair of reading glasses he'd never known she needed before. They'd been discovering a lot of little things about each other over the past couple of days, things even traveling together extensively hadn't taught them. And, he thought, there was a lifetime worth of things left to find out. "I'll do my best."

Is that Ellie? Sarah mouthed at him. He nodded, a bit helplessly. Wordlessly, she held out a hand.

"El, she's here and she wants to talk to you. If you need anything, give me a call, okay?"

"You have so much to tell me when I get there," Ellie said. "Love you, bye!"

He handed the phone to Sarah, feeling bewildered. Was the difference so obvious in his voice alone?

"Hey, Ellie," Sarah said into the phone, settling in on the couch next to Chuck. "How are you feeling? Oh, really? He told you that? Hm." She glanced at Chuck, clearly amused.

Since it looked like Ellie was going to talk for awhile, Chuck pushed himself off of the couch and went to fetch them some water. Sarah had declined the offer of the hike earlier to stay in and work on her computer, as the Orion problem was still bothering her. But he wondered if he should attempt to cook dinner for them or if they should hit a restaurant.

It would be easier for somebody else to cook. He looked over at Sarah, who was wearing only one of his shirts and her underwear. On second thought, maybe dining in was better. They wouldn't have to get dressed.

She hung up the phone ten minutes later and smiled at him. "So, Ellie's a little excited," she said.

"A little?"

Sarah held her thumb and forefinger close together and managed to keep a straight face for three seconds. She then burst out laughing. "Okay, maybe a little more than that."

"Yeah, no kidding. My ear still hurts."

"Aw, poor thing," Sarah said, kissing said ear. "Have a good hike?"

"Surprisingly, yeah. Any luck on your end?"

"None whatsoever. I think I just want to relax and watch a movie and not think about it."

"I can get behind that plan. Any preferences?"

"Nothing by that guy we watched the other day, with the explosions."

"No Transformers, check." Chuck picked up his laptop.

"Transformers? Is that like, some kind of tool?"

"No, the director is some kind of tool. Transformers are robots in disguise." When Sarah still looked puzzled, he shook his head. "They hide themselves as cars. I was so obsessed with that show and Thundercats when I was a kid. I had all of the action figures: Lion-O, Optimus Prime, Cheetara, Starscream. Hell, I even had a Snarf, though I think that may have been Morgan's."

"Wait a second," Sarah said.

"Yes, I know. Really big nerd." Chuck began pulling up the website where he downloaded most of his movies.

"No, that's not what—what'd you call it? Optimus Prime?" Sarah leaned forward, moving around papers on the coffee table, obviously looking for something.

"Yeah, he's the leader. He turns into a semi-truck. Why?" Chuck asked, watching her.

Sarah finally located what she was looking for: her poetry cipher book. She flipped through the pages until she found the Orion clippings, an odd look on her face.

"What is it?" Chuck asked.

"Chuck, this is going to sound weird because you've never talked about him before, but what does your dad do?"

"My dad?" That was out of left field. Chuck tried to realign his thoughts, but nothing seemed to fit. Why did Sarah have such an intense look on her face. "He was…some kind of computer programming guy. I think the nicest way to put it is eccentric. He was never really there, even before he left me and Ellie. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I think I figured out why Orion wants to help you," Sarah said. She took a deep breath and licked her lips. "Chuck, I think he's your dad."