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{the island is lovely, but nobody lives there}

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It was his idea to come down to the beach - even the intersect needs a day off, right?. But at the sight of Sarah in her bikini, it suddenly doesn't seem like his brightest suggestion.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Beach Sarah has always been one of his favorite fantasies. There'd be a picnic and a fire going. Her skin would taste like the coconut sunscreen he would have rubbed in earlier and there would still be a few errant sand stuck to the back of her thighs as he lowered her down to their beach blanket…and stop that train of thought right there, man. He is only in loose swim trunks himself, after all.

He leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. It's cover maintenance, he promises.

And then, because he can't stop himself, "Why Miss Walker, where in the world did you find a place to hide a gun in that little number." She laughs and her eyes do that shiny-sparkling thing they do when they're in his living room and no one is watching. It fills him with a confidence that not even using the name Carmichael can touch.

There's a million things he should be doing instead. There are games to invent with Morgan, bad guys to stop…Casey to annoy. But she'll always be his favorite. It's for that reason alone, he swears, that he tugs her down to the shoreline. She squeals when the waves splashing over their feet turn out to be much colder than she expected. It's one of those little moments where Sarah was a real live human being and not solely a trained super-spy. He loved those little moments. Which was probably why the second she turned away, he splashed her with even more ocean water.

Of course, slashing leads to water fights, and water fights lead to play wrestling, and play wrestling leads to…well, you get the idea.

At the moment, she is winning, having securely pinned him down. She leans in close, keeping her center of gravity low, as she straddles his waist. She's forced to be more cautious now; she is well award she can no longer wins their little tussles by default. He takes a deep breathe. The closeness of her strawberry lip-balmed mouth is much more tempting than finding a way to flip her again. He doesn't bother hiding the need to kiss her, just leans up and seals his mouth against hers. And, hello…zero to making out in three point two seconds.

A set of little girls next to them giggling reminds them both that they're still on a public beach. He blushes bright red. He can't help but be further reminded of why Chuck Bartkowski never does anything like this. Or maybe that's just because Chuck Bartkowski has never had a Sarah Walker before now.

They both pause, and he's suddenly unspeakable aware of the non-existent distance between them. He's so aware, that she can probably feel against her stomach the beginnings of how aware he truly was.

"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this here?" It comes out embarrassingly as a question; he's still a little new on this maybe fake, maybe real relationship.

"You're right." She just agreed with him. That's never a good sign. And oh dear, she's got that look in her eyes. She tilts her head to the side, and takes his hand. Right…as if he wouldn't follow her anywhere. This was the woman he was prepared to chase around the globe.

She leads him to the edge of the beach, away from the noise and away (thankfully) from the prying eyes.
She swings open the first door she sees and they're pressed together in one of those little wooden changing room huts. It's much to dark to read her expression, but he can feel her heart racing in time with his and her giggling little breaths on his neck. He needs to kiss her again.

His swim trunks are around his ankles moments later.

But don't worry. It's just cover maintenance , he promises.