A/N: Because we deserved better . . .

And because I couldn't resist . . .

The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore; slow, methodical, lapping at the sand, kissing her toes and running over his feet.

The feel of his succulent mouth moving over her lips; sure, loving, nipping at her tongue and smoothing a path to her ear. Goosebumps prickle across her flesh: a whisper of heat licking her skin and reminding her that she's here, in his arms, safe, with someone she can trust.

The waves continue to lap, he tightens his arms around her quivering frame, holding her, moving her to the sandy shore; his kisses more fervent, his hands exploring a path down her sides, onto her belly; his fingers caressing her in a way she can't ever remember being caressed.

A spark: a tiny flame, flaring in the darkness; her fingertips follow the eager progression of his hands, moving through his curls, memorizing the smooth line of his jaw, dipping lower, lower, lower . . .

A memory; she's in a white dress . . . He's standing at the head of the aisle . . . Is this –

Oh, God; his lips feel so good, tasting the heated flesh of her neck . . .

Morgan's here, and Ellie – his sister, right?

Yes, Chuck, please, please, help me remember, keep kissing me like that –

He's in a tux . . . he's so handsome; she can't remember ever seeing anyone this handsome . . . a crooked smile lights up his face, spreading across his lips like a beacon in the dark, and she's there, and he's holding her hand, and he's looking at her, and

oh yes oh yes oh yes

A muffled groan escapes her lips, and she's rolling over him; now she's on top, now she's straddling him, now he's looking at her with that heated glow flaring deep within his luscious brown eyes – she's never seen lashes that long; they kiss the tops of his cheeks, fluttering against his face as she lowers her mouth, claiming his waiting lips . . .

He's dipping her; she's kissing him . . .

yes, oh God yes, there it is . . . A spark, a flame, a flash – a flash? – she's . . . yes, she's remembering . . . she remembers him, she remembers this, she's not sure how she ever forgot . . .

And still the surf continues to lap, and still the waves continue to crash, crash, crash against the sandy shore – he's close, but he's not close enough; she removes his shirt, unbuttons his pants – she knows someone could come along at any moment, knows they could get caught, knows this is dangerous, knows they should stop, but somehow she can't bring herself to care.

It's just a cover, right?

But it's not; it's never been just a cover. From the very first moment, from that day in the Buy More, from that date at the Mexican restaurant when he blessed her with that selfsame crooked smile; it's never been a cover. And it isn't a cover now. And she doesn't care that they could get caught, she doesn't care that it's dangerous. The only thing that matters is her, and him, and the way he makes her feel, and oh God, yes Chuck, that feels so good, so so good – And they've never cared about danger before, so why start now?

And the waves crash crash crash upon the shore as he enters her, and she impales herself upon him, and a moan pushes from his throat and she utters a quiet sigh, rocking rocking rocking . . . yes yes yes . . .

She gazes down upon him, and he looks up at her, and she leans down to capture his mouth in another kiss. "I remember," she whispers, and wraps her thighs so tight around him that she knows he will always be hers, she will always be his, and this is the way it was always meant to be. "I don't think I ever forgot."

"Sarah? Honey? Are you awake?"


Her whisper flutters through the house, caressing Chuck's ears, causing his crooked smile to light up his face. "Sarah?"

"We're in here."

The whisper comes from the smallest bedroom at the end of the hall; he shuts the red door leading to the white picket fence, across the grass rippling in the breeze, and tiptoes down his hallway until he's standing just outside the room. Moonlight spills onto the hardwood floor as he leans against the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the door. Crickets chirp in the distance, a car alarm sounds outside, but neither permeates his conscious mind. All he sees are her and him, two silhouettes bathed within the glow of the night's full moon.


"Hey yourself," she turns, a whisper grin flitting across her face. "We were wondering when you were gonna get home."

"Sorry." His crooked smile turns bashful, and he tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Long night at the office. Those computer viruses just keep coming; I think someone forgot to tell them Bartowski Industries is on the job."

"Darn. Guess we forgot to send the memo," she says with a smirk, shuffling across the room with their newborn son cradled within her arms.

Her face is brighter now, her step lighter: signs that they are no longer chasing the job, no longer locked into the mission. The sight causes his pulse to race even as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "What are you still doing up?" he breathes into her hair, gazing at the infant stirring in her arms. His tiny fist is pressed to his puckered lips, his soft brown hair bathed within the evening glow; Chuck runs his fingers down his chubby arm, smiling at the feel of his son's soft skin. "It's almost two in the morning. You should be asleep."

"We were waiting for you." Her mouth grazes the lobe of his ear. "It was too cold in the bed without you, and Stephen missed his daddy."

He shivers at her touch, his arm tightening around her shoulders. Stephen gurgles in his sleep, turning toward the sound of his father's voice. "Well, I'm here now." He leans down to smooth a kiss against his son's forehead. "Why don't you put him to bed so we can have some alone time?"

"Why, Chuck?" Her grin turns impish, a flare of mischief flickering through her eyes. "Is there something you wanted to do?"

"Mmm," he murmurs. "Come to bed and find out."

She nudges him with her shoulder. "Is that an order, Chuck?"

A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, causing a soft chuckle to emanate from her throat. "Would you like it to be?"

"Only if you plan on delivering," she replies with a wink, ducking from beneath his arm and stepping across the room to their son's tiny crib. Tucking their child beneath his covers, she runs her fingers over his forehead, playing with the wisps of hair curling against his baby soft skin. "Good night, sweetheart," she whispers, kissing two fingers and brushing them against his cheek.

Chuck's heart flutters within his chest, his eyes alight within the moon's golden glow as he watches her lay their son to sleep. When she turns to face him, he holds out a hand, his wedding ring glinting against his finger. "Shall we?"

"I've been waiting all night," she says, and in two long strides, her fingers are curled within his own. Together, they step from their son's room, closing the door behind them with a muffled click.

No, she realizes as he pulls her toward their room, stopping to caress her lips with a kiss. There's no way she could ever forget.