This story will have multiple points of view, each one depicted by the name of the character above each scene.

It should go without saying but … I don't own Chuck.

Chapter 2: The Nemesister

*** Chuck ***

I walked back inside, my heart pounding in triple-time. Luckily, it didn't appear that either of the two federal agents sitting at the dining room table had super-hearing to go along with their mad assassin skills. I could keep my secret a little while longer, while I figured out the best way to let Sarah know I was fraternizing with the enemy.

Honestly, I felt kinda cheated. What good was it having the Intersect embedded in my brain if it didn't at least alert me that Bryce Larkin, rogue agent and personal saboteur, was lurking in the shadows next to my apartment? Not to mention that both times I'd encountered Sarah's ex-boyfriend, it'd been in an extremely compromising position. First, there'd been the abduction and subsequent injection by said rogue agent. And now, here I was, walking back from the Herder—a car I only drove because Bryce had robbed me of my college degree and any possible future that might come with it—clinging helplessly to a bag of mini-marshmallows.

Talk about being emasculated.

Sarah smiled at me as I walked past the table to hand the stupid marshmallows to my sister. I smiled back, unable to do otherwise. I couldn't help it—she was so beautiful. She was everything I'd ever wanted in a woman and so much more. And her should-already-be-dead asshole of an ex-everything was sneaking through my bedroom window right this second.

"Thank God the marshmallows are back." Devon sounded like I had survived a week on the front lines rather than extracting a bag of Kraft Jet-Puffed from the back of the Herder.

At least my sister had managed to find a nice guy, despite the cluster fuck of our upbringing. She and Devon had a profession in common. They were building a lovely life together. Which begged the question—why was I such a screw-up?

Ellie held out her hand for the marshmallows. I relinquished them, having to make a conscious effort to unclench my fingers. I'd been gripping the bag so hard, my nails had left tiny half-moon indentations in the plastic.

"Thank you," she said, only half her attention on me. Fortunately, the other half was too focused on digging in the silverware drawer to notice something was amiss. And Ellie didn't miss much when it came to her little brother, which was going to make the next few minutes especially challenging. I needed a distraction. Any distraction would do.

Doing my best not to envision Bryce standing in my bedroom, inspecting it for additional ways he in which he could sabotage my existence, I slid back into my seat just in time to hear Anna tell Morgan, "I made this for you."

She was holding up the green bean casserole like an offering. A hideous burnt offering, like something out of those B-movie horror flicks Morgan and I used to watch when we were kids.

"Thank you," Morgan said, scooping some onto his plate—easier said than done, as it stubbornly clung to the side of the serving spoon as if magnetized. "Thank you," he said again—like over-complimenting Anna's generosity in preparing the Green Bean Atrocity would somehow save him from having to consume it.

Anna eyed Morgan expectantly. He eyed the green beans expectantly. Everyone else eyed all three of them expectantly. Under any other circumstance, this absurd tableau would've been hilarious, given all the players, but the last thing I felt like doing right now was laughing.

I forked a piece of turkey into my mouth and managed to swallow it. It plummeted, sinking heavily into the pit of my stomach like a pile of bricks.

I might've managed to fool Ellie, but Sarah was another story altogether. She was a spy, after all, and didn't have any wayward utensils to distract her. Her eyes narrowed on mine as she watched from across the table. "Everything okay?"

Everything was so far from okay, I didn't know where to begin. "Yeah, everything's great," I lied, attacking my turkey with vigor, imagining the fork impaling Bryce's face with each jab.

Her eyebrows drew down ever so slightly, the way they did when she didn't believe someone was telling the truth. If we were playing poker, it'd be a tell, for sure. I was surprised they hadn't trained the habit out of her at the Farm. Maybe they didn't think anyone else would notice—but I did. I noticed everything about her.

At the other end of the table, the Drama of the Repugnant Casserole was still in full swing. "Do you like it?" Anna asked, leaning forward to look at Morgan, whose mouth was crammed full of what I could only imagine was agony and remorse.

He swallowed hard, looking pained. "Mm-hm. Very much. It's devastating—" he winced, took in her anticipatory expression, and plastered the world's fakest smile on his face—"devastatingly good."

Devastating was the word for that casserole, all right. It was also the word for what Anna would do to Morgan if he didn't learn to lie better than this.

"Does anyone else want some?" Anna chirped. She held the casserole dish up hopefully, glancing around the table. Morgan took that opportunity to knock back the entirety of his glass of wine, likely in an attempt to neutralize the side effects of the casserole.

Neutralize. Damn. I was even starting to think like them.

Speaking of which—what the hell was I going to do about the rogue spy camped out in my bedroom? Bryce wouldn't stay in there forever. Much longer, and I was probably going to glance up from the table to find him plastered to the ceiling like Spiderman.

To everyone's surprise, Casey grabbed for the casserole dish. Nice to know I could add 'masochist' to the NSA agent's list of qualifications. Or maybe he was just testing himself. If I can withstand this apocalypse of a side dish, I'll be one step closer to resisting torture by the enemy.

Devon's eyes widened as Casey reached past him. Then, to my horror, he grabbed Casey's bicep, squeezing it like a roll of Charmin. Even in my panicked state, I knew this was the chance I'd been waiting for. My eyes met Sarah's from across the table. She looked as appalled as I felt.

Well, I had wanted a distraction, right?

Casey looked down at Devon's fingers, and for an awful moment, I thought he was going to break them one by one. But the NSA agent didn't say a word—instead, there was just a terrible, loaded silence.

"Nice and tight, John!" Devon said, finally letting go. "I'm impressed. You work out?"

Sure, I imagined Casey saying. I dismantle human beings for a living. Like what you do, except I have no intention of putting them back together again.

For once, I was grateful for Casey's aggravating tendency to speak in monosyllables. "Yeah," he grunted, slopping more of the toxic green bean sludge onto his plate. "Work keeps me in shape."

A curious look flashed across Devon's face. "How many calories would you say you burn at the Buy More?"

It was now or never. I leaned across the table, caught Sarah's eye again, and mouthed, Bryce Larkin is in my bedroom.

Sarah stared at me. Then her jaw clenched—which, for her, was practically the equivalent of a full-on nervous breakdown. I knew just how she felt.

Unaware of our mutual mental collapse, Devon and Casey were still engaged in Operation Calorie Counter. "You tell me," the Major said, a challenge clear in his tone.

"About three-fifty an hour, max. You look like a guy who needs an adventure," Devon said, with the conviction of someone who'd just come up with the worst idea of all time. "Two words: Water sports."

But as I watched Sarah set down her wine glass and square her shoulders, gearing herself up to confront the ex-boyfriend she'd thought was dead, I knew I had somehow managed to one-up Captain Crazy: The worst idea of all time was letting Bryce Larkin into my sister's home. And one way or another, I would end up paying the price.

*** Sarah ***

"Excuse me," I said, dropping my napkin next to my plate and pushing my chair back from the table. "Too much wine. Be right back."

Ellie raised her glass in salute as I headed down the hallway towards the bathroom—which happened to be in the same direction as Chuck's bedroom. Guilt stabbed at me, sharp as a blade. For the past hour, I'd forgotten that Chuck was my asset and I was his handler. Forgotten that I was a spy, an assassin, and a professional liar. I'd let myself start believing in the fiction I'd created—that I was just a normal woman sharing Thanksgiving dinner with her boyfriend's family. A family that wouldn't want anything to do with me if they knew the truth.

Frankly, I was amazed that Chuck still wanted anything to do with me after the way I'd been treating him over the past few weeks—much less that he'd agreed to let Bryce meet with me in private. Then again, Chuck was Chuck; the original nice guy. A great guy, actually. Brilliant and funny and charming and brave and forgiving, almost to a fault.

Since the very beginning, he'd been so patient with me, giving me every opportunity to come clean and be open and honest with him—to step into his light, as it were. He certainly had no qualms in showing me how he felt. It was so obvious, seeping out of every pore. The tragic part was, he'd asked for so little in return. Time and again, he'd begged and pleaded with me for even the smallest scraps of information, desperately trying to get to know the woman behind the badge. Even through all of my obfuscation, he still managed to find a way to keep trusting me—with his life as well as his heart. And what did I do to repay his kindness? I stomped all over his hopes and dreams, lying straight to his face about my feelings, finally pushing him over the edge and into the arms of another woman. If that wasn't bad enough, I'd then gone out of my way to sabotage any chances he'd had with said woman, unable to keep my jealousy at bay.

I'd told myself at the time that Lou Palone represented a clear and present danger to the mission. But besides her questionable tastes in illegally smuggled, salted meats, she was no real threat—at least not to Chuck's safety. She was just a semi-successful entrepreneur who was beautiful and feisty—and who looked at Chuck in a way that made my blood boil. She was normal in every way I knew I never could be. With her around, there was no way I'd be able to stay focused enough to keep Chuck safe and protected. So instead of sucking it up and allowing Chuck to have even a modicum of happiness, especially given all that he'd had to endure since I came into his life, I'd nixed the competition—fully aware that I'd never follow through and give us a real chance to be together. It was the most selfish thing I'd ever done to anyone, and given my sordid history, that said a lot.

The shame from that realization had been slowly eating away at me for the past few days. Chuck deserved someone like Lou, someone better than an armed holiday infiltrator who was sneaking off to meet her ex-boyfriend in her cover-boyfriend's bedroom, for Christ's sake.

This was work, I told myself. Just part of the job. But for once, I couldn't make myself believe the lie.

I'd been conning myself this whole time, believing that I actually belonged at the same table with Anna's horrendous casserole concoction and Morgan's favorite number two side dish and Casey's resting bastard face. Most of all, I'd let myself believe I belonged there with Chuck.

Deep down, I knew better. I didn't deserve to be anywhere. Except maybe here, turning the doorknob that belonged to a man I'd rather not be so crazy about, so I could confront a rogue spy who ought to be dead.

Bracing myself, I allowed myself one final cleansing breath and stepped inside.

I took everything in at once, as I'd been trained to do. Chuck's Tron poster. Gray bedspread, neatly made. Guitar nestled safely in its chair. But no Bryce.

He dropped down from somewhere above and behind me, hardly making a noise. "You're getting rusty," he chided.

Turning, I rolled my eyes. That was Bryce for you, always one for theatrics—in the bedroom and out of it. "Bryce, I have a gun. Do I need to use it?"

"I'm unarmed," he said, his hands open at his sides—as if that proved anything. "And I'm sorry."

I wanted to ask him what he was sorry for—maybe for vanishing into thin air without so much as a note, leaving me destitute, with a cloud of suspicion hanging over my head. The CIA had concluded that, since I was his one and only partner, I must've been in on his machinations. After he'd gone rogue, it had taken weeks of intense interrogations and scrutiny before I was finally cleared for duty again. Not that the next mission turned out to be a basket of kittens, but still.

Or maybe he was sorry for letting me think he was dead all this time, allowing me to grieve his passing, without sparing a second thought for how that might have affected me.

And then there was Chuck. Nothing Bryce had done to me could hold a candle to the way he'd treated his supposed best friend.

He really was a high-class bastard of the first order.

But all of that was irrelevant. Because Bryce was a fugitive. And I knew my duty. "Why shouldn't I arrest you right now?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

He called my brow and raised another. The expression he wore was familiar, and to my horror, I realized he was trying to seduce me—like he'd done so many times in the past. "Because I'm not a rogue spy," he said, stepping closer, that mischievous, bad-boy grin I'd once found so alluring spreading across his handsome face. "Because the Intersect was a mission." Could it be true—that he hadn't gone rogue, after all? "Because, Sarah, you're still in love with me."

Of all the things he could've said, that was among the most ridiculous. Contrary to his ego-driven edict, I'd never been in love with Bryce—not now and not before, when we were playacting as the Andersons. Over the past few months, I'd had the opportunity to weigh and measure my time with him, and it had come up woefully short. But as I opened my mouth to tell him as much, the truth hit me right between the eyes.

There was a reason I was no longer willing to settle for a half-assed relationship with a man whose only real allure had been unemotional, frenzied trysts between the sheets. I'd discovered what it felt like to truly have someone open up their heart … and God help me, have mine respond in kind. And as hard as I'd tried to convince myself otherwise, for the first time in my life, I was in love—just not with the counterfeit courtier standing in front of me.

I pictured Chuck's face. His laughter and radiant smile. The intimacy in the way he'd sometimes look at me, like I was the center of his entire universe. The joy in his voice when he spoke of his friends and family, but especially when he spoke to me. The warmth of his touch, so tender and reverent. The way his gorgeous eyes could brighten even the darkest of days, no matter the situation. His steadfast determination to always do the right thing, even at great cost or peril to himself. His brilliant mind, armed with a wicked sense of humor but bound by his innate humility. His passionate kisses, his desire for me so fierce, it would probably burn us both to ashes if I could only find the courage to say the words.

That was love—and the contrast between the two men vying for my attention was almost laughable.

Who was I kidding? It wasn't even close. My relationship with Bryce had always been defined by mission parameters, eventually expanding due to loneliness and convenience—an unfortunate byproduct of adrenaline-fueled nights mixed in with cover maintenance, cover feelings, and cover wedding bands to match.

What I felt for Chuck was wholly different—but perhaps equally doomed. I had no experience with romantic love; the concept scared the hell out of me. Besides the nearly-impossible situation Chuck and I faced on a daily basis as asset and handler, I knew without a doubt I could never give myself to him unless I was prepared to tell him absolutely everything. It wasn't fair to show him anything less than all of me—the good, the bad, and the truly awful. Could we survive that kind of reckoning, given the chance? Was it worth taking the risk?

In my heart of hearts, I knew the answer. Chuck wasn't destined to be with someone like me, someone who'd always lived in the shadows, constantly looking over my shoulder, never able to outrun my past. Someone who was more suited to be with the likes of the arrogant asshole standing in front of me.

Chuck deserved better. He deserved everything. And if I wasn't so selfish, I'd walk away and never look back. But just the thought of never telling him how I felt, or worse, seeing him with someone else because of my cowardice—it would end up leaving a lasting scar, no bullet or blade ever could.

I was so confused and conflicted by the emotions swirling inside of me, I barely noticed Bryce cupping my cheek, leaning in, and closing his eyes.

And then the bastard kissed me.

*** Chuck ***

Shit, shit, shit. Casey was right. I was a moron. This was bad … so very, very bad. What had I been thinking, letting Bryce into my sister's home? Allowing him access to my bedroom, no less—all so he could have a covert meet-and-greet with his ex-girlfriend, the same woman I was madly in love with? Given Bryce's proclivity for stealing or destroying all things I held dear, nothing good could come out of this.

All I could do now was cling to the hope that what I'd felt from Sarah when we'd kissed was something that was real, honest, and reciprocated. That she was just unable to reveal her true feelings for me due to the asset/handler protocol she was bound by and the unfortunate Top-Secret-Super-Computer-Lodged-In-My-Brain circumstance I found myself in, here of late.

But no relationship was perfect, right? And I didn't need to trust Bryce. I just had to trust Sarah—which I did, without reservation. Even if we were just friends, she'd never betray me in my own bedroom, with my nemesis, of all people. That thought was preposterous, unfathomable. She knew how I felt about her and what a touchy subject Bryce Larkin was for me in general. That was why she'd been so reluctant to tell me the truth about their relationship when Carina had blown through town. She'd seemed almost embarrassed by the fact that she and Bryce had any kind of history at all, much less a romantic one.

To distract myself from the nightmarish visions that were clawing their way through my overactive imagination, I ladled a heap of the green-bean sludge onto my plate. As I tuned back in to the conversation around the table, I realized that maybe I wasn't the only card-carrying member of the Morons' Club for Men. Even after my debilitating spiral into blackness and the panic attack that followed, my sister's boyfriend was still hard at work trying to talk Stone-Face Casey into joining him for a water sports extravaganza. I wanted to tell Devon that the last thing John Casey needed right now was another adventure, but I didn't trust myself to speak.

Devon was grinning like a madman as he plowed forward with his proposal. "Two dudes. One raft. White-water rapids."

Surprisingly, Casey returned Devon's grin with one of his own. Unlike Devon's, Casey's was shark-like, his eyes rolling toward the back of his head as he sank his teeth into yet another bite of Thanksgiving turkey. But Devon didn't seem to notice that Casey's smile never reached those lifeless, black orbs he called eyes. Instead, the adrenaline junkie looked my way, all hail-fellow-well-met. "I got some brochures I gave to Chuck. Hey, bro, those rafting brochures still in your room?"

My room—where that ridiculously handsome, debonair super-spy was currently having a private heart-to-heart with my girlfriend … who might be my girlfriend in name only, my cover. Or maybe not, given the way she'd kissed me in front of the not-a-bomb—which wasn't totally defused. If Casey found out that Bryce Larkin was anywhere in his general vicinity, this could still blow up in our faces.

To hell with Casey. If Ellie knew Bryce was in her apartment right now, she'd tear him to shreds with her bare hands, before Mr. Work-Keeps-Me-in-Shape could draw one of the seventy-nine weapons he'd doubtless concealed on his person.

Either way, this evening was bound to end in carnage if Sarah didn't come back soon.

The room fell silent. It took me a second to realize this was because Devon had asked me a question, which I'd been too busy pondering the prospects of Chuck Ruins Thanksgiving Through Another Act of Failed Espionage to answer. "What?" I managed, almost choking on a mouthful of what had to be the worst green bean casserole ever to emerge from an oven.

"Don't worry, Devon," Ellie said, pushing back from the table. "I'm headed that way. I'll get them."

Oh, frak! "No, no, no," I said, jumping to my feet so fast I almost knocked my chair over. Casey grabbed it with those creepy supernatural reflexes of his, giving me a look that was a mixture of suspicion and disappointment. Lately, things like that were bugging me more and more—it was so aggravating to be the dude with the world's most powerful supercomputer in my head, yet unable to navigate that same world without spy-fitted training wheels and a bib to match—but right now I couldn't care less. "I'll get them," I yelled, chasing after Ellie, who was already halfway down the hall.

"Don't be silly," she said, over her shoulder. "Go back to your green bean casserole. I hear it's delicious."

I couldn't manage a smart-ass comment. I couldn't manage anything. I didn't think I was breathing.

Because Ellie had already pushed open the door to my bedroom. And there, standing in the middle of the floor, right in front of my Tron poster, was Bryce Larkin, with his tongue shoved halfway down Sarah's throat.

I didn't care if she was my girlfriend or not. If she was my cover or something more. All I knew in that moment was, if Sarah had gone ahead and shot me when Bryce was using me as a human shield, it wouldn't have hurt any more than this did.

*** Sarah ***

"What the fuck, Sarah?"

The sound of Ellie's shrill voice filled my ears, sending my heart crashing to the floor. I jumped, shoving Bryce away, as the reality of this situation hit me like a sledgehammer.

Oh my God … what had I done?

Ellie Bartowski was standing just five feet away, cursing my name—while my lips were still tingling from making out with Bryce. The same guy who'd slept with Chuck's girlfriend, gotten him kicked out of college, derailed his career, put a target on his back, and, most recently, used him as a human shield—not that Ellie knew about the latter, but still.

I felt sick to my stomach.

Luckily, Bryce still had his back to Ellie. I stepped around him in the hope he'd be smart enough to make a run for it before Ellie could recognize him, and opened my mouth to say something—anything—that might explain what she'd just witnessed. I was, after all, the daughter of a gifted con man; surely I could think of something.

But one look at Ellie's face, and I knew it was a lost cause. She was turning five shades of red, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists by her sides. "Tell me," she said, unable or unwilling to make eye contact, her voice menacing enough to make Casey wet his pants, "that that's not Bryce Larkin. Tell me you put a hallucinogen in my wine. Because that would piss me off, but not nearly as much as what I think I'm seeing right now."

I wanted to tell Ellie that I would never, ever do such a thing. We were friends, for God's sake—except … maybe, not anymore. My heart constricted at the thought, a vise wrenching down, getting tighter and tighter with each twist of the screw.

"You're dead," Ellie continued, a comment that was presumably directed at Bryce but could just as easily been intended for me, given the circumstances. "Chuck went to your funeral, you worthless piece of shit. How the hell are you standing here?"

Bryce slowly turned around. His shoulders were up near his ears, his head down. Thankfully, he didn't say anything—not that there was anything he could've said at that moment.

"Ellie—" I started, but the word just hung there. For the first time in my career, I was at a total loss.

Tears shone in Ellie's eyes as she turned back to face me. "And you!" she said, her voice rising, her reluctance to make eye contact making an abrupt U-turn. There was fire there now, a focused intensity that nearly bore a hole through the back of my skull. "I invited you to my home. Entrusted you with my brother. And what do you do? Sneak away from our family's Thanksgiving dinner to do the nasty with the world's vilest human being in Chuck's bedroom!"

"I know how bad this must look," Bryce said, finally deciding to join the party. I wanted to kick him in his fucking throat, anything to shut him up, but touching him again in any context would have been a major tactical error.

"You're right," Ellie seethed, glaring at me as if she'd like to sling a dish of sweet potatoes at my head—or better yet, shoot me with my own gun. "It couldn't be worse."

Except that she was wrong. Because standing behind her, in the shadows of the hallway, I caught a glimpse of the one person I'd hoped wouldn't see this.

"Sarah?" Chuck said.

*** Chuck ***

Sarah's face went ghostly white. Her eyes flicked from Ellie's to mine and back again. I could see her calculating, taking in all the variables, trying desperately to figure a way out of this mess—and coming up short.

"Chuck," she said, her voice pleading.

Why the hell was she looking at me for help at a time like this? Was she out of her damn mind? She was supposed to be the consummate professional, the one with the CIA credentials and the Farm-fed training to go with them—always quoting the rules and regulations to me as if they were Biblical parables … usually in reference to why we could never be together. And yet there she stood—after getting caught by my sister, of all people, with her hair all mussed and her lips still swollen from sucking face with a guy who was a supposed traitor to his country … and had ruined my life … twice!

Some professional.

Even if I were so inclined, it wasn't like I had any idea how to make this screwed-up situation look any better in the eyes of my hyperaware, overprotective sister. Hell, I shared Ellie's opinions on the subject. I anticipated enjoying vivid Technicolor nightmares about this little peepshow for the rest of my life.

How could she do this to me?

A chill ran down my spine as I realized the implications. Sarah's cover was blown. Not just blown, but pulverized, eviscerated, vaporized. There'd be no coming back after this. When Graham and Beckman found out, they'd have a conniption. Sarah would be reassigned. This might be the last time I ever saw her.

That thought closed off my throat completely, rendering me speechless. Unsurprisingly, Ellie had no such problem. "Get out!" she growled, glaring between Sarah and Bryce.

"But—" Sarah said, her eyes still glued to mine.

If Ellie were a dog, her hackles would've been standing on end. "Don't look at my brother. Look at me. This is my house, and you're not welcome here. Not now, not ever. Get. Out."

"I—"

Ellie drew herself up to her full height. "Don't speak. You," she said, pointing an awful finger at Bryce, "leave the way you came in, which I imagine was through that window, for which I'll be buying the heaviest, most expensive lock I can find. And you," she said, swiveling back to face Sarah, "make an excuse. Anything. I don't care what. A sick grandmother. Cramps. Nuclear fallout in the Balkans that you're somehow uniquely equipped to mitigate. Just don't sit back down at my dining room table, or I swear to God you'll be wearing that abomination of a green bean casserole like a hat."

My mouth fell open. I'd never heard Ellie sound this furious, even after the Stanford debacle. Not to mention, of all of those excuses, the crisis in the Balkans was actually the most likely scenario. "Ellie," I said, trying not to sound as betrayed as I felt, "it's Thanksgiving. Maybe we should—"

She spun to face me. "No, Chuck. You're too nice for your own good. You always have been. After what happened with Jill—and this worthless excuse for a human being—I swore I'd never let anyone hurt you like that again. Well, I might not have been able to stop it from happening, but I sure as hell can keep these two assholes from kicking you when you're down. I don't care if it's Thanksgiving or Christmas or the freaking Fourth of July. You're my little brother, this is my house, and I'm not having it."

Hands on her hips, she advanced on Bryce, who—to my shock—retreated. "I'm not going to ask again. Get. Out. Now."

*** Sarah ***

With an indignant huff and a dejected look shot my way, Bryce slipped out the window, landing silently on the ground outside. Unfortunately, I knew I hadn't seen the last of him.

How the hell had this happened? One second I'd been buying flowers and exchanging isn't-Morgan-ridiculous glances with Chuck over the rim of my wine glass. Now I was standing in Chuck's bedroom, disheveled from kissing a man I hoped I'd never see again, watching Chuck stare at me like his heart was breaking.

No matter how I felt about him, it was a cover, damn it. Not a real relationship. How many times had I told Chuck that? He had no right to look at me that way.

But even as I summoned the justification, I knew I was lying to myself. If it was just a cover, why did my chest hurt like whatever beat inside of it had just shriveled up and died?

To make matters worse, not only was it a cover, it was a cover that I—not Chuck, as I'd always feared—had just blown to smithereens. Even if I had the slightest chance of getting Chuck to forgive me, Ellie would do everything in her power to keep the two of us apart. There was no way in hell she'd ever forgive me after this. She'd practically raised Chuck while she herself was just a scared teenager. As a result, Ellie had, over the years, become a fierce mother lioness and Chuck her brilliant, weaponized cub.

My world was spinning like a tilt-a-whirl, and the forces were threatening to tear it loose from its axis.

I hadn't just lost Chuck—I'd lost a sister in Ellie, the closest normal friend I'd ever had. I'd lost Captain Awesome and his optimistic outlook on virtually everything. I'd lost endearing Morgan, loyal to the point of an unhealthy obsession. I'd lost candlelit Thanksgiving dinners, game nights, and movie nights cuddled up against Chuck, so warm in his embrace without a care in the world. And I'd lost my only shot—however farcical—at a normal life with a real family, no matter how unorthodox, that truly cared about me and treated me as one of their own.

The ache inside my chest intensified until it was hard to breathe. "Please, Chuck," I said, in desperation. "There's a reason—I can explain—"

But he turned his face away, his eyes glistening under the hall light as he scrubbed the back of his hand across them to hide his pain and misery.

Goddamn it, Bryce. Why had he kissed me?

Better yet, why had I let him? I could have pushed him away, had him pinned to the floor with my gun in his back before his lips came anywhere near mine.

I'd just been so overwhelmed by my revelation about Chuck, I'd let it distract me—let Bryce get way too close for comfort. By the time I'd realized what was happening, it was already too late. Now, just the thought of it was making me nauseated, a gag reflex tickling the back of my throat.

All I'd ever wanted to do was protect Chuck. But instead, I'd destroyed him. One look at his face told me that. There was a hardness to his eyes and a set to his jaw I'd never seen before.

Even if I managed to somehow stay on this assignment, the trust he'd so freely given me that first night when I'd asked, the trust that I'd taken for granted all this time—it was gone forever.

"Chuck," I begged, but he shook his head.

"There's nothing left to say, Sarah."

I'd never heard him sound like that. So defeated, so remote, so closed off.

With his head down and his shoulders slumped, he turned, practically dragging himself into the bathroom before closing the door and locking it behind him.

"You heard my brother," Ellie said, vibrating with malice. "March your over-aerobicized butt down the hall, tell my guests that you've been stricken with Ebola, get into your fancy car, and go back to wherever the hell you came from."

My lips trembled, but I didn't say a word. Instead, I slipped past Ellie and walked down the hallway at a clipped pace. I needed to escape, before I completely fell apart.

I'd never wanted to hurt Chuck. And now I'd betrayed him like so many other people in his life had done. I was no better than his mother or father, than Bryce or Jill. I didn't blame Ellie for hating me.

But just the thought of Chuck feeling the same…

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them back as the dining room came into view. The table was still laden with delicious food. My half-full glass of wine sat, waiting for me. Morgan and Anna were making goo-goo eyes at each other; Devon was still quizzing Casey about his fitness regime. The scene looked just the same—and yet everything had changed.

"I'm sorry," I said, grabbing my purse from the shelf in the kitchen where I'd stashed it and slinging it over my shoulder. "Something's come up and I need to leave."

Five people swiveled to stare at me—Devon, Morgan, and Anna with confusion; Ellie with concealed fury; and Casey, with a 'what now, Walker' quirk of his eyebrow.

I crossed the living room in a few long strides, slipping out the door before anyone could start asking questions. As the latch bolt clicked into the striking plate behind me, I spun on my heel, my desperation hitting a fever pitch. I was prepared to confess any and all of my sins, as long as Ellie let me back inside for a chance to unburden them. But it was too late: as my hand closed around the knob, I heard the deadbolt slide into place with a grim sort of finality. A moment later, Ellie's footsteps retreated, taking all of my hopes and dreams with them.

This was it. Rock bottom. Somehow, I'd managed to become the one person even Chuck Bartowski couldn't forgive. With one thoughtless, idiotic action, I'd exiled myself from the only man I had ever loved, his quirky, endearing family, and the kind of life I'd always dreamed of having. Now I'd be tossed back into Langston Graham's clandestine dung heap, relegated back to the shadows, drifting from one mission to the next, with no end in sight.

Just a few months ago, that superficial existence had seemed like everything to me—but it was wholly empty, devoid of everything that made life worth living. I knew that now, with a surety that only came from experiencing its counterpart.

I lingered on the doorstep, my head resting against the cool wood of the door, sorting through all of my options. Each one seemed less appealing than the next. Finally, I steeled myself and took the first step away from Chuck's apartment and the redemption it signified, back toward a life that promised to strip the rest of what little humanity I had left.

A/N: Well, that's it, folks. We're—more or less—completely off the rails now. Nothing but original content coming your way.

A/N #2: I decided to try and rewrite canon from this point because, after this episode, I almost lost all respect for both Sarah and Chuck. I seriously thought about not watching the show anymore. In my humble opinion, it was the most idiotic plotline the writers had ever come up with.

Sarah: for thinking it was okay to shrug off being caught kissing Chuck's nemesis in his own bedroom, of all places, after all that Bryce had done to sabotage Chuck's life—expecting him to just deal with it, without ever addressing their kiss in front of the 'bomb.' Not to mention that Bryce was a fugitive at this point in the timeline. It just didn't make any sense for her to kiss him instead of arresting him on the spot, as a true protector or enforcer would do. She was just lucky it was Chuck that saw them kissing and not any of the other people gathered around their Thanksgiving table (especially Ellie).

Or Chuck: for taking it on the chin, without any repercussions for Sarah whatsoever. There were plenty of times in canon where I wished he'd stood up for himself, but this was the worst. He was so quick to accept Sarah's betrayal, and then went on to help Bryce out, placing his own life in jeopardy once again. In my opinion, this went beyond being a nice guy, and painted him as someone who allowed himself to be stomped on with high-heeled boots … repeatedly. It didn't do the complexity or strength of his character justice.

I wanted to envision a way to restructure the story from this point onward that gave Chuck the impetus to demonstrate his true worth. That's what I've started to do in the chapter after this one. I hope you like it!

A/N #3: If you would, please take a moment to leave a quick review. It could be as long or short as you'd like, but it would at least let me know that I'm not playing to an empty house. I get a treasure-trove of inspiration from your thoughts, ideas, or suggestions. And if you feel moved to do so, please hit that Follow and Favorite button. Your support and feedback mean the world to me!

Take care,

SmatterChoo…