A/N (1) The first chapter saw a flashback of Sarah from the Lon Kirk episode ("Chuck Versus the Crown Vic"), which easily could have been a cut scene of the episode (and fitted canon). Now we move up to 2008, right to the end of "Chuck Versus the Seduction". Beware that I'm taking the story off-canon immediately when Chuck knocks on Sarah's door, although the scene seems familiar.

I might mention that I don't own Chuck. They never would give it to a rookie writer like me, but there would be fine contenders on this site.

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Got my tweed pressed, got my best vest, all I need now is the girl,
Got my striped tie, got my hopes high,
Got the time and the place and I got the rhythm,
Now all I need's the girl to go with 'em.
"All I Need Is The Girl" (Jules Styne & Stephen Sondheim)

Chapter 2: Chuck vs. The Failed Montgomery (Burbank, 2008)

His step was light and confident, his feet the nimble feet of Fred Astaire, his shoulders the broad shoulders of Gene Kelly.

"I'll teach you how to get her too!" Roan Montgomery promised when the American incarnation of James Bond trained him for the Sasha Banachek mission. Montgomery's ever-upbeat mood – though significantly relying on copious amounts of gin – uplifted Chuck's spirits as well. Roan explained a maneuver d'amour that could not fail to have the desired effect on one particular blue-eyed, blonde-haired, long-legged, curvaceous CIA agent. Her heart of gold was, to Chuck's dismay, so far, hidden away under her no-nonsense agency persona. Yet the past few days he thought to have seen glimmers of it, so he was determined to unearth it tonight.

As he entered the building and waited for the elevator, he bolstered up his courage even more by reminiscing about the last couple of days: Wedged in between the hair-raising hunt for the Cypher were two moments that gave him tremendous hope that miracles can happen.

The way she looked at me when I asked her for a real date at the Orange Orange - as if she was not surprised and not the slightest annoyed. Dutifully, she told me there were about 100 reasons why this wasn't a good idea. Still, she named not one of those reasons but listened expectantly.

I didn't think first when I promised her a night of fun; do I ever? My mouth completed the sentence before it connected with my brain.

Anyway, she didn't flinch. Her face was curiously friendly as her eyes rested on me for a few nerve-wracking moments lasting about twice as long as a game night with Morgan. Finally: "Okay." All I could utter, surely sporting one of my goofier grins, was, "Really?" She nodded, hmmm-hnnn-ing, keeping her lips together as if there was something nice she did not want to tell me yet.

The elevator arrived, spitting out a large group of jolly young people who should have made a bulge into it to carry them all. They were on their way to their own nights of fun. Chuck heard excited tittle-tattle, a cool venue, a new band in town. The girls looked him up and down, and he half-nodded. One of the boys bestowed him a conspiratorial Go-Get-Er look. He was relieved that on the way up, he was alone with his flower and his bottle and the dull lounge music from invisible speakers. It gave him precious seconds to relive the date with Sarah.

God, how extremely beautiful she was, how relaxed and unguarded. She was not a spy. She was a woman. As for me, I only could gaze at her face and try to catch her eyes - which she made so easy that evening.

I thought the conversation would turn serious (or find an abrupt ending) when my mouth jumped to warp 9.975 while my brain still dawdled along at one-quarter impulse power: "And Morgan's never found it remotely unbelievable that a guy like me could be dating…" I finally trailed off. It was not an awkward moment, and there was no embarrassment sinking in. It all felt so relaxed that I was beyond pushing, pressing, or playing for a reaction.

Boy, did she have different plans! She challenged me to elaborate on what I had left out. I fell for the trap, but I fell like Newton's apple: The fall gifted me a eureka-type discovery: She wanted to hear it. Waving those lipstick-red chopsticks playfully, she murmured, "What?". I confessed: "Y'know, you."

Sarah kept eye-contact with me while nonchalantly catching some noodles, fishing a stray one from the corner of her mouth with her tongue darting out cheekily, and inquired softly, her voice tinged with a hint of huskiness, "What about me?"

I had the notion that in that game, she held all the aces in her hand and was good-naturedly teasing me about the spot she put me with her question, but as the gentleman that I'd like to be, I gave Sarah a chance to opt-out of the game: "You really are gonna make me say it?" But she raised the ante, only tilting her head left and right in a way that nearly made me melt right on the spot, like a changeling losing its form and never to come back again to the state I was before. So I came clean. My flurry of heartfelt compliments was well received. "You're not so bad yourself," she said with her mouth and her eyes. Those hypnotizing blue orbs made me quip, "Please, I'm fantastic." My pulse began to quicken as all her playful tease disappeared, and she said earnestly: "Yes, you are."

I have no idea anymore about the rest of the words we exchanged. These were white noise that surrounded my ever-growing consciousness of Sarah's intoxicating nearness. As my vision narrowed to soulful blue globes and lips of unspoken promises, I almost startled to detect a tender but firm resolve in her face: She wasn't going to back out of the kiss. Don't freak out, Chuck! Don't ponder, don't theorize, don't expect, don't assume, don't demand – solely kiss her, and put your big Bartowski heart into it.

The doors of the elevator opened at her floor as his musings reached the harsh end of the romantic moment. Mr. Colt had interrupted whatever was about to happen, but if Roan Montgomery was right, the magic of that moment could be revived tonight.

Plain green door, room 832. Chuck checked one last time if he had everything for the planned coup d'amor. There was no speck of dust on his white dinner jacket. He carried the expensive bottle of Château Margaux as casually as possible, considering what he had to shell out. He also, nearly tenderly, held the red rose he selected himself at the flower shop. The genuine smile on his face needed neither check nor rehearsal. Everything was ready for the perfect Montgomery.

He knocked lightly with an almost musical rhythm only he could hear in his head. He estimated her height and gazed at the particular spot on the door. That door flung wide open and so did his mouth. His happy grin contorted, vanished, and turned into a shocked grimace. He was the living equivalent of Edvard Munch's The Scream, but as the painting, there was no sound coming from him. The silent scream in his heart, though, was loud enough to shatter the glass windows of his soul.

"Bryce!" he exclaimed between clenched teeth. His grip on the Château Margaux nearly broke the neck of the bottle.

The man on the doorstep offered him his smooth trademark smile, apparently busy with his apparel.

"Bless you!" Larkin said, misunderstanding the sound coming from Chuck and: "Hello, Chuck! Did you miss me?"

Chuck stumbled into Sarah's flat. His gaze fell on the impeccably made bed, then wandered to one of the plush green chairs where an open suitcase sat that apparently belonged to Sarah's guest. An open window brought fresh air. He thought he heard the shower in the bathroom. Yeah, one is already dressing, the other is showering…, he thought bitterly. But actually, he felt too numb to notice anything but the presence of his friend-turned-nemesis. Every time the super-spy stepped into Chuck's life, it meant doom and heartbreak.

The hopeful mood in which he came over evaporated. How could he fall for Roan's slick words, promising to teach him how to win Sarah Freaking Walker? Chuck had saddled his horse, shut his visor, and reached for the unreachable star. Reality shattered his impossible dream. He not only stretched for something unattainable - someone else had reached out and grabbed it.

Bryce Larkin was back, and Sarah Walker apparently had welcomed him with open arms - and obviously open legs. The situation was painfully clear. Chuck could not ignore the fact any longer: She was not made for a dull regular existence. She craved the exciting, action-filled life with Bryce Larkin, basking in the glory of the power couple made for each other that single-handedly saved the world every other day. On their days off, Larkin and Walker would consummate their love: on heavenly beaches, in glamorous luxury hotel suites, in chalets up in the Swiss alps, mile high in a private CIA plane on the trip to the next mission - or about anywhere exclusive and luxurious where their adrenaline-pumped bodies would need relief.

Chuck did not care to put anything resembling a smile on his face or a friendly tone in his voice.

"What are you doing here, Bryce?" he asked with sudden hoarseness emanating from the emotions raging inside him.

Bryce raised an amused eyebrow as he closed the top buttons of his shirt. "Oh, I see. It seems you're the last to hear about tonight's mission." For a moment, it seemed he would elaborate, but then apparently decided it wasn't worth the effort and said with a shrug: "We'll have a briefing soon anyway."

Chuck threw the rose and the wine on Sarah's bed in disgust. Like an echo from the past, a framed photo of Sarah and him stood on her nightstand. The rest of the room oozed the atmosphere of a future that did not include him. Larkin's jacket hung over the other of the two green chairs, a man's wallet lay on the small one-legged glass table between those chairs, a second pair of male shoes stood near the door, the open and now empty box of cufflinks was on the dressing table. Here was a man who had staked his claim.

Chuck took a first conscious look at Bryce, noticing that the agent was dressing for a special night out. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, the smaller man looked dashing.

"You stay here?" he asked sourly, knowing that there could be no answer that could calm him – not when Bryce Larkin was involved.

"We'll see," Larkin replied as if it was upon him to play house with Sarah Walker whenever he desired to. As he turned back to the large double mirror and took care that the broader end of his bow-tie finished adequately in front of the thin one, he added: "It would be suitable for the cover."

"What cover?" Chuck demanded to know as he stepped next to Bryce, not looking at him.

"The usual: husband," Larkin replied nonchalantly, watching himself in the mirror and apparently liking what he saw.

"Husband?" Chuck echoed agitated to his reflection before he began to rant: "What kind of operation is this here? Do we get girls upon email order for every spy-related requirement? Or is there a toll-free number? Oh hello, this is Carmichael, I need a hot blonde for two nights and then a buxom brunette next Tuesday? Why, yessir, but if you book the blonde simultaneously for two cover roles, we will offer a 20% discount."

His arms flailed the air angrily. Bryce again raised an eyebrow, this time mildly inquiringly.

"Chill out, Chuck, what's the matter? She's my cover wife, so what. Better her than anyone else – she's the best partner one can wish for." There was a touch of smugness in his eyes that rivaled the friendly cheerfulness that Chuck remembered from Stanford. Chuck didn't like the tone that – at least that was his impression – left open what meaning Bryce gave the word partner.

"I certainly do not know what you mean! She is my handler and my cover too – she's my cover girlfriend. What do you think the wine was for? What does your agency think anyway? What happens when you meet folks who know Sarah as my girlfriend? I don't get you people."

Chuck gazed fixedly at the other man's image in the mirror, willing him to acknowledge his point; however, Larkin remained unmoved.

"I don't think that will happen. We do not move in such circles," he shrugged it off.

When had Bryce become so presumptuous? Chuck had nothing to offer against the friendly arrogance he met.

Larkin shot him a glance. "Everything alright with you guys?"

"Why are you asking?" Chuck inquired but instantly became nervous as he anticipated what was coming. His gaze shifted to the mirror, and he was afraid that his uneasiness was easy to decipher.

"She's a beautiful girl and your cover girlfriend," Bryce explained. "Sometimes, the lines get blurred, and people mistake the cover for the real deal."

"Me? Ridiculous!" Chuck laughed despisingly, desperately trying to be as relaxed about it as Bryce. "She's an agent doing her job, and I am learning quickly. Besides, in case you forgot, I'm more interested in brunettes."

Larkin inhaled thin-lipped through his nose as if he remembered a minor nuisance, shooting him a glance that was almost as compassionate as an alligator in the Everglades watching his next meal swimming by.

"Touché, Chuck. If it means anything after all this time, I'm sorry for what happened."

Chuck suppressed his bile. He would not give Bryce the satisfaction of displaying his temper, but he still was fuming. For what happened! Like it happened to rain, and nobody was to fault. What happened was that in addition to having me kicked out of Stanford, you slept with my girlfriend!

"Don't think about it, Bryce. That's water under the bridge."

He took a few steps and gazed out the window to hide the emotions playing on his face. After a pause, Bryce stepped up behind him and put his hand on Chuck's shoulder. There had been a time when that was a comforting gesture by a great buddy. Today, regardless if Bryce meant it that way, it felt patronizing.

"So," Chuck asked, "everything alright with you guys?"

Larkin chuckled at the attempt to turn the tables and kept himself from running a hand through his perfectly combed hair.

"Sure, Chuck. As I said, we're partners and each other's cover. As for everything else, sorry, that's just between her and me. But if Sarah and I are thriving on this immensely important mission, who knows if the powers-that-be may decide to team us up again for good."

Larkin looked out the window as well with a mysterious faraway look.

"Would be terrific. She's really a good, good girl."

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A/N (2) Heaven, where is she? What I loathed most was when there was so much screentime without Sarah Walker, and now I'm doing it myself. Shall we have a look at Sarah in chapter 3?

A/N (3) As the big guys and dolls always say: Feedback is welcome.