It's July 15th, 2022, and Sarah Walker has finally scored her dream job—working with dolphins at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute. Socially awkward and academically driven, Sarah's never found love—but when she meets a tech genius whose inventions have the chance to make her research a reality, she finds herself falling for him. Together, their work could change the world … that is, unless someone else gets hold of it first.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…

Chapter 1: Peaches and Cream

Sarah Walker sat cross-legged on the sandy shores of Monterey Bay, staring out at the vast horizon. Royal blue, white-fringed waves charged towards her, crashing with thunderous percussion, like the pounding hooves of wild horses—only to canter away for reassembly and another surge. Salty mist lingered in the air, coating her bare arms, legs, and sand-encrusted feet.

The ocean was something she'd always loved, something she respected. She understood its beauty as well as its power. Ever since she was a child, she'd been fascinated by the way the waves crashed against the beach, their curling fingers scouring smooth each stone, pebble, and shell as the wind ushered them ashore. She'd been lulled by the way the sun shone off the rippling water, its golden light warped and fragmented in the reflection of the waves.

This evening's sunset was as vivid as any she'd ever seen, with smudges of coral, lavender, turquoise, and a fiery orange that blended together to create a sight so breathtaking, it swept away all of her worries. Just like the waves that held dominion over the seashells, the sunset stole her troubles, driving them back into the heart of the sea. A warm feeling of serenity suffused her as the sun dipped lower and lower, seeking refuge at the edge of the skyline.

The Pacific Ocean was now her back yard, thanks to the beachside bungalow the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute had seen fit to provide her—a home where she belonged, a place to escape from all the naysayers and skeptics she'd had to put up with over the last few years. It was the first real home she'd had since she was a child all those years ago, living with her mother in San Diego.

For a moment, Sarah let her thoughts drift back to her early childhood—to the vicious fights her parents had had before they split up, the way her mom had been forced to work two, sometimes three jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When they divorced—shortly after Sarah turned seven—her dad had disappeared from the picture entirely, contributing not a dime in child support or alimony. Hell, she'd considered herself lucky to receive a Hallmark card on her birthday every few years, with nothing inside but a hastily-scrawled "Love, Dad."

Yes … poverty or not, she had to admit that her parents' breakup had been bittersweet—a blessing in disguise. Emma Walker and Jack Burton were as different from each other as a swimming bird and a flying fish. The only things they'd had in common were their love of a good Courvoisier—something her mom had set aside after she'd gotten pregnant—their disdain for each other, and, of course, Sarah herself.

She was sure she owed her introduction into the world to the one-two punch of inebriation and poor judgment. Motivated by an abstract notion of morality rather than true love, her parents had gotten married by a justice of the peace just seven months prior to Sarah's birth. There'd been no fanfare, no celebration, no wedding photos preserved in leather-bound albums chronicling their happy union. It might as well have taken place at a Taco Bell drive-through. The fact that her birthday fell on April Fools' Day only added to the sadistic irony. In retrospect, Sarah was surprised she hadn't been christened 'whoops.'

Well, none of that mattered now. Her mom had done her absolute best to raise Sarah on her own. No matter what captured her imagination—whether it be poetry, her love of science and science fiction, or bottlenose dolphins—her mom had supported and facilitated it. Without Emma, there was no way Sarah would be sitting here right now … half a mile from the most adorable beachfront cottage she'd ever seen, a month after starting her dream job. She owed her mother everything … including a phone call.

Emma Walker might be tiny in stature, but what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in tenacity. Grinning at the thought of the riot act her mom would read her if she failed to call as promised, Sarah rose to her feet. It would be getting dark soon, and aside from calling her mom, she still had to make dinner and finish unpacking—another promise, this time to herself. There were just a few boxes left, after all. She'd taken her time over the past month deliberating over each piece of furniture and every knickknack, meticulously deciding where everything should go. Since this was the first place she could officially call her own, she wanted it to be perfect.

She stood and stretched, arms above her head, relishing the sensation of her toes in the sand and the breeze in her hair—then turned, heading along the shoreline towards her new home. There were still a few people milling about—a thirtyish couple holding hands and a little girl dancing along the shore, scooping up shells every two seconds to show her parents. Further down the beach, she could see the tall figure of a man, walking a huge dog … well, to be honest, it seemed more like the dog was walking him.

Sarah watched the couple wistfully. She'd never dated much. In high school the guys had been interested—more than interested, actually—but after going out with a few of them, trying desperately to find some kind of real connection, she'd realized that their interest in her was only skin deep. Then in college, she'd met a boy—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—who seemed to share all of her interests and said all the right things. For four glorious months, she thought she'd finally found 'the one.'

Well, he'd turned out to be 'the one' all right … the one who'd betrayed her trust and destroyed her faith in humanity in the process. After their rocky breakup, she'd resigned herself to remain focused on academics, and, later, on her career. She'd never been the other half of a couple that strolled along the beach, gazing into each other's eyes as if they held the answer to the ultimate question.

Feeling a little voyeuristic, she diverted her gaze from the happy couple to the little girl scampering along the beach, so sure of her parents' love and attention that she brought them shell after shell, never worrying if she was interrupting or annoying them in any way. An unfamiliar, visceral feeling bubbled up inside her—a feeling that, after a moment, she recognized as jealousy of a past she'd never be able to have.

Emma had been a good mom, all things considered, but the times that she and Jack had gotten along were so few and far between that she'd sometimes seen Sarah's presence as a hindrance, an imposition. She'd never said so, of course, but Sarah had seen it in the set of her mother's jaw, the way her eyes had flicked to Sarah and away, as if trying to pass along a subliminal message: Trying to save a marriage here. Do you mind? Sarah had never been sure whether her presence would be welcomed as a buffer, weaponized to illustrate all the ways her parents had failed each other—and, by extension, her—or viewed as an inconvenient distraction from their ill-fated attempts to prevent their marriage from falling apart at the seams.

She'd loved the beach as a kid, but if she'd brought her parents one of her discoveries, it would've been in the form of an offering—Please love this as much as I do! Please … love me!—not with the pure, uncomplicated joy she'd seen in the little girl's face and body language as she danced up to the couple, her treasures proudly extended in one of her tiny hands.

They'd never talked about it, but Sarah was sure guilt over the way her mother had occasionally dismissed her was one of the reasons that, after her parents split, her mom had dedicated herself to putting Sarah first. Still, those early years had marked Sarah in a way she'd never been able to shed, driving her to rack up accomplishments the way other people racked up credit card points: Surely, if I have enough of these, I'll be worthy. Of what, exactly, she'd never been able to define … and in her darkest hours, she'd admitted to herself that no matter how much she'd achieved and how meaningful she found her work, at her core, she still felt empty.

Well, her life in Monterey was a fresh start. Who knew what would happen now or who she might meet? Her mom was always telling her to be open to new experiences, not to spend so much time in the lab or out in the field that she ended up missing out on life. She'd promised her mother that she would do her best, and Sarah always kept her promises.

The gleam of something half-buried in the sand caught her eye. Bending down, she unearthed a piece of gorgeous blue-green sea glass, rubbed smooth by the relentless tides. She prized sea glass, always had, and finding this piece now felt like a good omen. Maybe she would start a collection, put it in the Mason jar she reserved for the bits and pieces of her life that felt too precious to part with: The black button-eye from her first stuffed animal; a silver dollar that was the last thing her dad had given her; the conch shell she'd found on the best day of her life, the day that changed everything.

"Wow." It was the little girl's voice, hushed and reverent. She'd come to stand in front of Sarah and was staring up at her—or, more specifically, at the piece of sea glass she held. "That's super pretty. Can I see it?"

Sarah had envied the little girl for what she represented—the idealized childhood that Sarah had missed out on. But now, as she looked down at her, the envy dissipated, drifting away on the breeze that stirred in the bay. With the girl's tangled blond hair and wide blue eyes, the flecks of sand on her arms and legs that glittered in the fading light, she might as well have been an eight-year-old version of Sarah herself. And instead of the hollow dismay and resentment that had dogged her just moments before, Sarah felt something completely unexpected … hope.

There was something else, too—up close, she could see that the girl wore a Monterey Bay Aquarium t-shirt featuring images of Finn and Echo … the dolphins that had brought Sarah to Monterey. It felt serendipitous, like their encounter was meant to be.

"You like dolphins, huh?" Sarah asked the little girl, pointing at her shirt.

The girl's smile lit her face, teeth gleaming white in the backdrop of her sun-kissed face. "I love them! My mom and dad let me pick where we should go for our vacation, and I picked here, 'cause Finn and Echo are my absolute favorites. I have stuffed animals of them and stickers and posters and everything. We went to see them today and my parents got me this shirt."

Sarah smiled back. The little girl's enthusiasm was contagious. "Well, guess what? I get to work with them every day."

"You do?" The girl hopped in place, practically vibrating with excitement. "Like, for real?"

"Yep ... Every day. I'm studying the possibility of something called 'interspecies communication.'"

The girl's brow furrowed. "What's that?"

Oh, only something that the majority of the scientific community enjoys mocking me for on a regular basis. Sarah couldn't count the number of people who'd been impressed with her grades and recommendations, only to scoff at her once they'd found out about her field of study. If she had a dollar for every time she'd heard, "That's not science, it's science fiction," she'd be able to fund her own damn research for the rest of her career.

"It means I'm trying to figure out how dolphins talk with each other so that we can talk with them, too. Maybe one day we'll be able to communicate with them at a much higher level than just hand signals and voice commands. Wouldn't that be awesome?"

The little girl's mouth fell open. "Wow," she said reverently. "So we could tell what Finn's thinking every time he steals one of Echo's toys? Or if Echo's mad at him for it? Or if they miss the ocean?"

The girl had obviously seen the show at the Aquarium today, where the trainers had Finn and Echo perform for a crowd … sneaking in some tidbits about the dolphins' history, environmental conservation, and marine biology along the way. Sarah hated the way the shows put the two dolphins—who she now considered her friends—on display, even though it brought in much-needed revenue for the Aquarium. Finn and Echo didn't seem to mind, but it killed Sarah that she couldn't ask them.

If her research ever bore fruit, all of that would change. The director of the Aquarium, Dr. Diane Beckman, believed in her—it was why she'd brought Sarah to Monterey, after all—but Sarah knew she only had so much time, and more importantly, money, to prove her case. She was betting a lot on the insights that would hopefully come from the neurologist Beckman had recommended—assuming the woman agreed to meet with her. If the doctor refused to work with dolphins, Sarah would need to find another way.

Although Finn and Echo were the stars of the Aquarium, it was nice to see someone else who loved them for who they were, not what they represented. The little girl had noticed how mischievous Finn was, and the way Echo turned her back on him, as if she were sulking, every time he snatched one of her favorite things. She'd wondered the same thing Sarah did, watching them swim back and forth in their confined tanks … did they miss the open ocean?

"I wish I lived here," the little girl said wistfully. "Then I could see them every day, too."

Sarah could relate. She still couldn't believe this was her life—that she woke up every morning in a cozy cottage just a stone's throw away from the ocean, that she actually got paid to spend time with the creatures she loved more than anything else on earth (except, of course, for Emma, and sometimes Sarah thought it might be a tie). She couldn't believe that someone had actually believed in her research enough to fund it.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Sarah asked, her tone conspiratorial. "Echo's going to have a baby."

The Aquarium hadn't made this public knowledge yet, but Sarah felt like the girl would treat the knowledge of Echo's baby like the precious gift it was. She wanted to give the little girl something special, insight she couldn't get just by paying a fee to see Finn and Echo perform on command.

The girl's eyes widened in wonder. "So … if we come back next year … there might be a baby dolphin?"

"If everything goes well, then yes. And I'm sure it will."

"Do you think Echo will like being a mommy?"

"I don't know," Sarah said, honestly. "I hope so."

"If your inter … interspecial communication thingy works, maybe we'll know for sure!" The girl looked at Sarah with such faith, as if she had no doubt that by the time she and her parents came back to Monterey, they'd be able to sit down and chat with Echo about the dolphin's views on parenthood. It was invigorating to have someone look at Sarah that way—as if they believed in her, as if her work really mattered.

Seized by a sudden impulse, Sarah leaned down and decanted the piece of sea glass into the girl's cupped palms. "Here," she said. "You keep it."

The girl looked down at the sea glass in amazement, then up at Sarah again. "Really?"

"Sure. It's yours." Sarah fought the overwhelming urge to brush the girl's tangled hair back from her face, to tell her everything would be okay, if she could just hold on. This girl didn't look like she needed to hold onto anything—not like Sarah, whose life felt like a tightrope had been stretched over an abyss, pitching and yawing in hurricane-force winds. She looked like she'd been born in a rowboat on a calm sea, loved and cradled by the ocean itself. Like someone who knew that if she fell overboard, she would never, ever sink.

"Thank you," the girl said, with the solicitousness of someone in whom good manners had been instilled since birth. "I promise, I'll keep it safe."

"I know you will."

They regarded each other, navy blue eyes into aquamarine … one, the color of the ocean after a storm; the other, the shade of the waves on a clear, still day. Then a voice broke the silence—a woman, calling, "Remy! Sweetheart. It's almost time for dinner."

"That's my mom. I've got to go," the little girl said, her tone apologetic. "Nice to meet you." She waved, then turned and ran up the beach. "Mom!" Sarah could hear her calling. "Look what I got, look what I got!"

Shocked into stillness, Sarah stared at Remy, showing the sea glass off to her parents—then back out at the waves.

Meeting her had been a sign. Surely, it had to be.

Here in Monterey, everything would finally work out for her. She'd have a breakthrough in her research … the research that had been inspired fifteen years ago, on a southern California beach much like this one, by a chance meeting that would change Sarah's life forever.

Of all the memories she'd amassed in her twenty-seven years, it was the one she cherished the most. She'd been twelve, swimming in the ocean, floating free of gravity and all the worries that awaited her onshore. The sea had been an unbroken calm, speckled by a million fragments of light. Sarah drifted on her inflatable blue raft, dangling her fingers over the side into the cool, soothing water. She'd splashed, idly—and then squealed with surprise when her fingers brushed against something that was distinctly alive … and, from the feel of it, big. Whatever it was glided beneath her fingertips, and Sarah had a moment of cold, stomach-dropping fear. Shark, she thought, measuring the distance between herself and the shore.

A moment later, she saw fins circling her raft—at least six of them. There were no swimmers near her, and she cast a desperate glance toward shore, about to scream for help.

Then a shiny grey head poked up through the frothy water, observing her with such intelligent eyes, she forgot to be afraid.

It wasn't a shark. It was a dolphin.

Sarah had seen one before, but never up close, in the wild. This one regarded her, bobbing in the waves—as if, Sarah thought, it was trying to understand what, exactly, she might be. From what Sarah could tell, it seemed small … like a baby.

She glanced around; no one seemed to have caught sight of them. This incredible moment belonged to her and her alone.

A smile lifted her lips. "Hi. I'm Sarah," she said in a hushed, awed voice.

She thought the sound of her voice might spook the dolphin, but it didn't move. It just stayed there, gazing at her, looking … expectant.

Sarah had never been a very good conversationalist, even when the other parties in question were human. Somehow, this encounter seemed more important than every single one she'd ever had put together. Desperate to keep the dolphin from leaving, she scrambled for something to say … but she couldn't think of a single thing. Instead, she lifted a hand and waved in greeting.

Immediately, she'd felt like a moron. Come on, Sarah. That was so lame. It's not like dolphins understand waving. The most amazing thing that's ever happened to you, and all you can think to do is wave—

To her surprise, the dolphin swam closer and bumped the raft with its snout—but not in an aggressive way, Sarah was sure of it. If the calf had wanted to, it could've upended the raft in an instant, dumping Sarah into the sea. Instead, the raft-bump felt like a gesture of … friendship.

Sarah's smile widened. "Are you saying hello?"

The dolphin had nodded its head, looking so much like it was returning her smile that Sarah burst out laughing. Though the day was hot, she felt more warmed by the dolphin's grin than by the brilliant rays above. It was as if they were having a conversation, one she never wanted to end.

Then one of the other dolphins had come closer—the baby's mother?—surfacing next to Sarah's friend. The larger dolphin gave Sarah a curious look; then the two of them dove beneath the waves, and the whole pod headed west, out to sea. Sarah stared after them, incredulous, wondering if the encounter had really happened. It had been incredible … the stuff that dreams were made of …

"Ooof!" Something struck her in the shins with the force of an enthusiastic cannonball, jolting her out of her reverie and off her feet. She went into the water, landing in the shallows just as a wave came barreling in. It soaked her white tank top and shorts, drenching her hair.

She surfaced as the wave retreated—and then a huge body pinned her down. A sandpaper tongue licked her face from chin to hairline. Instinctively, she raised her hands to push whatever it was away, just as a man's chagrined voice yelled, "Peaches, no!"

Worried that her mind had somehow gone out with the tide, Sarah succeeded in shoving the creature away long enough to open her eyes. She blinked—and then blinked again.

A giant Great Dane stood over her, one massive front paw on either side of her shoulders, eyeing her with concern. It barked, a deep, resounding baritone, as if asking why she hadn't gotten up to play.

"Peaches!" As Sarah struggled to her elbows, a man came pounding up beside her, leash in hand. "I'm so sorry," he said, panting. "This is—I can't even begin—"

Sarah rolled over and got to her knees, brushing herself off, as he leashed the dog. She glanced up at him—and froze.

This was the same guy she'd seen on the beach, the one whose dog had seemed to be taking him for a pull. He was indeed tall, with dark curly hair, a neatly trimmed beard and gorgeous hazel eyes. And there was something about his expression—open and self-deprecating, yet pellucid with intelligence—that called to her.

He stared back at her, speechless—and small wonder, since she was sure she looked a fright … covered in sand, dripping with saltwater, and barely recovered from his dog's assault.

"It's all right," Sarah said, unsure whether to laugh or cry. That's what she got for thinking the little girl had been a sign of good things to come. "It was a hot day and there's no harm in a little dip to cool myself off."

He held the dog's leash tightly, pinning the animal to his side. "You're being really nice about this. I am so, so sorry. And so is Peaches. Peaches, tell the nice lady you're sorry."

They both looked expectantly at Peaches, who wagged her tail at the attention and then promptly shook herself … splattering Sarah with water all over again.

"Oh my God. No, Peaches! Bad dog!" The man glared at the Great Dane, who, unfazed, lunged in the direction of a jellyfish that had washed up ashore.

He looked so upset—as if the dog had breached some kind of social contract by which it should've known to abide—that Sarah couldn't help but smile. She of all people knew that you couldn't hold animals and humans to the same behavioral standard. They had different priorities—and different mechanisms for judging what was acceptable. Four-legged mammals weren't her field of study … but it didn't take Cesar Milan to read Peaches' body language. As far as the Great Dane was concerned, this encounter had been a roaring success.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Sarah said, getting to her feet and wringing out her shirt, "but I think your dog's pretty proud of herself."

The man reined Peaches in with difficulty, sighing. "She's not my dog. She's my sister's. I'm in town visiting her for a few days. Peaches is just a puppy. Clearly, she needs to go to finishing school, where she'll learn to balance a book on her head and not accost a beautiful woman who's just minding her own business."

Startled into laughter, Sarah giggled—a sound she hadn't heard herself make in years. The man smiled in return, looking adorably self-conscious.

"Um, well, so," he said as her laughter died down, "Peaches and I are gonna go now, before she goes over to the Dark Side completely. It was great meeting you. And, um, sorry about the, you know—" he gestured to her, encompassing her head-to-toe baptism—"…everything."

"Apology accepted," Sarah said, and then, in an unexpected, reflexive display of nerdiness, "and may the Force be with you."

She walked off before he could say another word. May the Force be with you? Had she really said that? Sure, he'd made that little Dark Side reference, but she hadn't needed to complete the circuit like they were fellow cosplayers at the San Diego Comic-Con. It was no wonder she didn't have a boyfriend. He probably thought she was insane—

As if the thought had compelled her, she glanced over her shoulder. She'd expected to see the guy walking away, but instead he was still standing there, Peaches prancing at his side, his eyes fixed on her with what looked like the same wistful expression that had been on her own face when she'd seen the couple holding hands.

Embarrassed that he'd caught her staring, Sarah whipped her head around again. His expression probably hadn't been wistful at all. He'd likely been stunned into immobility by the sheer power of her social awkwardness.

Oh, well. He didn't live here, after all. She'd probably never see him again.

As she made her way up the beach and into the path between the dunes that led to her cottage, she kept thinking about him, though—how he hadn't ogled her even though she'd been drenched, how he'd made her laugh and called her beautiful. Maybe there was a guy like that in her future—preferably one without an overzealous dog the size of a baby Clydesdale.

She emerged from the dunes and onto the wooden path that led to her cottage, her bare feet leaving sandy, wet footprints on the boards. She could see the welcoming glow of the cottage's porch light, set to come on as the sun went down. Her little refuge was a warm shade of yellow, with white trim slightly weathered by the salt air and a front porch that stretched the width of the house. Two wooden rocking chairs sat on the porch, separated by a small wrought-iron table.

Since Sarah had moved in, she'd taken her morning coffee in one of those rocking chairs. In the evening, even when it rained, she sat with a glass of wine in hand, watching the palm trees bend in the breeze. Sometimes, she'd felt purely content—and other times, she'd found herself distracted by the fact that the other chair was empty. Once or twice, she'd imagined someone else sitting there … a kind man with a sense of humor, who appreciated her little cottage and the privilege of living near the ocean as much as she did. She could hear his voice and feel the emotions he evoked in her—happiness, completion, a sense of belonging—so clearly … but she couldn't picture his face.

For just an instant, Sarah imagined the guy from the beach in the other rocking chair, tipping Shiraz into her glass, then his. She envisioned him leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles, looking up at the darkening sky. "Did you know," he'd say, "that most stars come in pairs? Imagine how gorgeous sunsets over the ocean would be, if we lived in a world that had more than one sun."

Ugh. Even in her fantasies, Sarah was a science geek. There was just no escaping herself.

Sighing, she unlocked the cottage's door and shed her dripping clothes. She showered, heated up a frozen pizza, and chatted with her mom while she ate it. Then she forced herself to unpack the last of her boxes, promising herself a bowl of Ben and Jerry's Rocky Road-ish ice cream—her new favorite—when the job was done.

She was putting a picture of herself with Astra—one of the dolphins she'd worked with in the Keys—on the fireplace mantel when the phone rang. Giving the frame one last adjustment so it caught the light just so, she went to answer.

"This is Sarah."

"Good evening, Dr. Walker." It was her boss, Diane Beckman—a woman to whom Sarah was infinitely grateful, but who seemed to have no sense of the boundary between work and home. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered Sarah—it was how she'd lived for years—but this time, she felt a prickle of irritation.

"Hi, Dr. Beckman," she said, readjusting the picture of Astra. "What can I do for you?"

"It's what I can do for you, actually. I wanted to let you know that the doctor I thought might have a good perspective on your research is available tomorrow morning. She'll meet you at the Aquarium at eight to discuss Finn and Echo and then you can bring her to MBARI and show her your lab if everything pans out. I'm assuming that suits you?"

Sarah's irritation fizzled, replaced with excitement. Maybe the little girl had been her good-luck charm after all. "Absolutely. Eight would be fantastic. Remind me—what's the doctor's name?"

"Ellie Woodcomb," Beckman said, her voice crisp. "I'll let her know you'll meet her there."

A/N: As you can tell, this is our first attempt at a purely AU story. We might give a nod here or there in homage—hello, Rocky Road-ish ice cream!—but almost everything will be completely original. After the events of the past week, we needed a break from the world of espionage and felt compelled to write something lighter—a story that we hope will be uplifting in these dark times. As with our other stories, we'll update this at a rate based on the reception and feedback we receive from you. Rest assured, our next chapter will be after we update 'Guy' and possibly even 'ASITHOC' (gotta reread through that one to refresh our memories) … but now that the school year is over and we're no longer moonlighting as high school teachers, maybe we can finally get caught up. Please be patient, though. Life happens, and all that.

As always, thanks for reading—and please keep your reviews, follows, and favorites coming our way! They really do make this all worthwhile.