A/N1 Thanks, folks, for all the reviews and PMs, all the interest in the story. As I have said, writing for a responsive audience makes writing so much more rewarding. Please stay in touch. If I haven't responded to a review or PM, be assured that I will.

We are getting toward the middle of our second arc, the Look Homeward, Angel arc. A couple of characters come into better focus. Some horizonal events loom.

Don't own Chuck.

Sarah vs. Omaha

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Thorn Without a Rose

"Never a rose without a thorn. Yes, but many a thorn without a rose."

-Arthur Schopenhauer

Bryce had a morning meeting with Garland and a 'financial friend'. Garland had called to set it up. Sarah had not really been enthusiastically invited, and she had begged off anyway. The visit to the house yesterday was enough Garland for Sarah. And Bryce was clearly gaining more of her attention, and perhaps a little of her trust.

Sarah had the morning to herself. She put on a ballcap and a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and she caught a streetcar to Audubon Park. She walked around and fed the ducks, then sat down at a metal picnic table under a large, permanent canopy. Joggers and bikers went by, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She waited a few minutes more but saw no one a second time. No one had looked her way.

She pulled the burner out of her pocket. She had seen the text last night when she finally dared to look at it after Bryce had fallen asleep.

Are you ok? -C.

She had read it and silently cried into her pillow. Whatever Chuck might think of what she had done, however hurt or angry or betrayed he felt, he was Chuck. He would care to know how she was before anything else. No one in her life had put her first as Chuck did. He did it not for some other end or to get something from her, but for the simple reason that she came first in his life. The very thought of it thrilled her head to toe.

But she had thrown it all away because she could not face the consequences of the kiss. She huffed to herself: Like I escaped them. I just changed their zip code. She had not been able to decide how to answer. Absolutely miserable. Trapped for hours in a hotel room with my erstwhile lover fantasizing about the love you and I never made. Missing your curls so bad I want to pull my own hair out. My hands won't stop shaking unless I am thinking of you.

No, none of that would do. She did not know what was happening to Chuck, but undoubtedly he was bearing the brunt of the consequences of her decision too. Perhaps as miserably as she was. How should she reply?

Yes. But leaving Burbank was a mistake.

Are *you* ok? -S.

She finished the text but did not hit 'send'. But leaving you, Chuck, was a mistake. She could not get herself to change the words, although she knew that 'Burbank' meant 'Chuck'. Finally, she had understood that. What is he thinking? Feeling? Is there any way back? Fearful to send the text, but more fearful not to, she sent it, praying for a response. She held her eyes closed for a moment, opened them, put the phone away, and walked back down to the water. Standing still for a long time in the shady embrace of a live oak tree, watching the swans grace the lagoon, she felt quieter than she had since she said yes to Omaha.

ooOoo

June luxuriated in her bed. She had hustled the man she brought home out of it as soon as day broke. Kissing the Intersect had raced her motor; she had needed attention. But she did not need a companion. Not that faceless male body of last night, anyway. He served his purpose and she served him notice. She felt good.

Mostly, June had reckoned sex to be nothing more than two people sneezing on each other with their lower halves, sneezes that were often intensely pleasurable, admittedly. But, still, you know, sneezes.

Pleasure and secretions. A jetted thimbleful of fluid, and a warm, quick-seizing dampness: and...that was that. She had no idea...well, almost no idea, why anyone believed it had anything to do with emotions.

She gritted her teeth. Bartowski!

Clearly, the Intersect was emotionally roped to Walker. June wondered if Walker had been bedding him. God, how June hated Walker! Oh, yes, yes, I hate her.

June's hatred of Walker was old. It had started when Graham lost his prior Enforcer. June had coveted that position, eyed it as her prize. She had made sure that her missions were successes. More than successes. She had gone the extra mile every time to be sure Graham noticed her. She made it obvious she was every bit the spy Walker was, and then some.

Inexplicably, Graham had chosen Walker, groomed and favored her instead of June, gave Walker the high-impact, crucial, coveted assignments. So June labored in relative obscurity, hating every fiber of Walker's being all-the-day-long. And extra on Sundays. They had never crossed paths. June kept that from happening. She was certain if they met, she would dismantle Walker, regardless of where the meeting happened. She did not need that on her record, heartwarming though the thought of it was. Blonde in pieces. She smiled to herself, indulging the fantasy for a moment.

Oh, yes, she hated Walker. The Enforcer business would have been enough. But there were other things...She pushed them from her mind and snuggled under the covers, enjoying the feeling of the soft bedclothes against her naked body. She was almost sad that whatever endgame Graham had in mind, it would likely start soon. That was her gut feeling. Too bad! She kind of liked Burbank.

ooOoo

Casey had gotten out of bed and sat in his heavy chair, his thinking chair. He was thinking. The read-in with Ellie had gone better than he had hoped. He had expected more anger, more outrage, less steady logic, and insight. Damn these Bartowskis. There is no way of knowing with them. By the time her brother had finished his story, the team's story, and fell asleep in his chair, Ellie had worked out about all there was to know about the team, and she had ideas about the Intersect that Casey had never heard, never thought of. What a pistol! If I were younger...

With Ellie, the sticking point was going to be Thorne. For now, Bartowski had to take the punishment. Casey would try to mitigate it, to keep chances for June to have him alone, rare. But it was going to happen. And June was planning to introduce herself soon at Echo Park soon, hoping to step into Sarah cover-shoes there too. Ellie was not happy with Sarah, but when she heard about June, June's actions, there had been murder in Ellie's eyes. Did she curse Hippocrates? Yep. Casey grinned to himself, remembering that moment. He and the moron had to talk her down. They would have to keep her down, or the whole jig would be, as folks said, up.

And there was a jig. He had talked to Beckman, alone. She and Graham were evidently not spending time together. He had told her about June and she had shaken her head, unsurprised. Angry. She had encouraged Casey to stay on his present course, to protect Bartowski from her as much as possible, and to try to wait it out. Beckman was sure that Graham was running some kind of grand side mission, and that he was treating the team as a means to an end, an end of his own. June was part of that side mission, although Beckman doubted that Graham had entrusted her with any knowledge of it. She'd know when it was time to play her part, not before. Whatever Graham was willing to say about Thorne, it was clear he knew she was a loose cannon. In fact, it was clear he was counting on that.

Beckman had effectively told Casey to stop reporting to Graham, or to censor his reports to Graham. He was to stay in close, daily contact with her, however. She still believed she could outfox the old fox. With Casey's help. Beckman had given her consent to reading Ellie and Devon in. She had not liked it, but the situation had become so bizarre that she thought it was allowable. Besides, Beckman was clearly afraid for Chuck's family, afraid of what Graham and Thorne might eventually try to do. Better if they were on the lookout. Better if the numbers game in Burbank changed in a way Graham did not know or even suspect.

Casey was worried about himself in the plan, his role in it. Not his safety, of course, just his ability. To have to pretend to serve two masters while only serving one. To keep score on who had been read-in and who not. To keep the kid from getting killed and his sister from killing Thorne. The good guys and bad guys had gotten scrambled in Burbank. Scrambled like eggs.

Casey had also talked to his CIA cleaner buddy at last, after he had talked to Beckman. His buddy had been magniloquent, Shakespearean in his description of Thorne: "Psycho bitch!"

He told Casey about messes he had cleaned up after she finished. Casey had been a soldier, seen a lot of things. A lot of things, God help me. A couple of the descriptions made his stomach flip. The CIA cleaners all believed Thorne's psychiatric records at the CIA were being 'repainted' by someone, or that she was being evaluated by a doctor on the take, paid to give her a clean bill of mental health. He also shared some of the scuttlebutt about Thorne. Particularly her envy-driven hatred of Walker, her frustrated ambition. Casey had guessed at that already, so it was confirmation, not news. But then the news arrived.

"So, did you know Thorne was sleeping with Bryce Larkin? I don't mean now. A while ago. At least that's the other big rumor. It was going on at the same time Larkin was sleeping with Walker. Evidently, Larkin ended it with Thorne when he thought Walker had gotten suspicious. Thorne took it hard. Losing to Walker again, in an...intimate...battle."

Casey pulled his phone from his ear and shook his head, mouthing 'Goddamnit'. He could not have heard that right. "Wait," Casey implored. "I know Larkin. His womanizing reputation. I know he earned it. But even Bryce Larkin would stay away from Thorne. There's no way. No way."

"But there is. I believe it, Casey. Larkin's a frat boy, a frat boy playing at being a spy. His appetite wins. He's not completely a bad guy. He is a good spy; I'm sure he loves his mother and his country, in his way. But you've seen Thorne. Yes, inside she's Lizzie Borden; outside, though, she's Demi Moore, more or less. G. I. June. That's another name we have for her."

Casey laughed briefly, bitterly. Bartowski had called her that last night too.

His friend went on. "You know what a cesspool the Farm is, Langley is. Rumors all the time. And word is that Thorne makes the sheets hum. Normally, she's one-and-done. But not with Larkin, they say. She went all-in.

"Anyway, I believe it: Larkin was sleeping with her, for a while, anyway. He dumped her to go to go back to Walker or stay with Walker, something. Maybe he finally figured out Thorne was crazy, don't know that story. Never heard."

Casey considered Bartowski's claim that Larkin had slept with his old girlfriend, Jill. Maybe Larkin just was that guy. Incapable of personal fidelity except to an idol of himself, his romantic reputation.

Shit. Now I have to wonder who hasn't slept with Bryce Larkin. I need to distribute a fucking questionnaire.

Goddamnit. This situation kept getting worse. The steps to the jig were getting more and more complicated. The tempo of the music kept increasing. It was early in the day, and he would not give in, but, Lord, Casey needed a drink.

ooOoo

Bryce returned excited from the meeting with Garland and her friend. The man Garland had introduced him to was clearly a player, on or with ties to the wrong team. The meeting had gone well. The man wanted to meet with Bryce soon. He had told Bryce he would call. But, better still, Garland had invited Bryce and Sarah to dinner at her house the next day. Bryce thought they were making quick progress, although he knew the two meetings would both be treacherous, treacherous in different ways and for different reasons, but both treacherous.

Bryce grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower; Sarah heard the pitch of the water change when he got in. She quickly went back to the other room. She grabbed the burner and looked at it. A text.

Hanging in. New handler. June Thorne. :( -C

Sarah gasped out loud.

Then she wheeled around. Thank God, Bryce was still in the shower.

Juniper Thorne. Sarah had never met Thorne but she knew she her bad reputation: on the edge or over it. Vindictive. Likes to hurt people, end people. And she was in Burbank with Chuck.

Sarah had been told that Thorne hated her, had expected to be Graham's next Enforcer. Sarah had not given it much thought. She was too busy doing the job Thorne envied. And, Jesus!, it turned out not to be a job to envy. It was a damnation, not a promotion.

She put the phone away without responding to the text. She was frightened, really frightened for Chuck. Graham had given her a conditional kill order for Chuck before their first date, and Graham had done it as casually as he might order a coffee. Sarah knew she had frustrated Graham while in Burbank, kept him from doing all he wanted with, and to, Chuck. She had left Chuck - and now Graham had sent in a hatchet woman. Chuck, oh, what have I done? She'd been so mired in her own panic she had not imagined the fallout for Chuck. She told herself Casey could somehow get Chuck through it, protect him. And Chuck's response to her betrayal was to ask if she was ok. A wave of nausea went through her, pure self-disgust. Her response to the single greatest kiss, the single greatest moment of her life had been to sprint heedlessly into the dark. Chuck!

Bryce came out of the bathroom, a robe on. Sarah tried to take back control of herself. The images of Chuck hurt or being hurt. Maybe Bryce knows Thorne? She could ask; she had to assess the threat to Chuck. Bryce would not know why she was asking.

"Bryce?"

"Yeah, Sarah, what is it?" He looked at her closely. She could feel the flush on her face, knew she was still showing traces of being upset. She knew he could see it.

"Tell me about June Thorne." Bryce looked away immediately, swallowed hard. Color rose in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. Really. She meant nothing to me. It was a mistake."

ooOoo

Devon had not bothered Ellie. She'd been abstracted, preoccupied, untalkative all day. She had been in bed, staring at the ceiling last night when Devon got home. She had acknowledged him but not offered to talk. He knew she was to have had a big talk with Chuck; evidently, she had it.

Devon knew her. When Ellie was upset or when her mind was fully engaged, she took the plunge, went under. All that could be done was to wait for her to break the surface again. He loved his girlfriend so much he could think nothing but "Awesome!" when she came to mind. But he was also a little afraid of her focus. Surgical focus. She made most single-minded people look double-minded.

Ellie came out of the kitchen with two beers. She handed one to Devon. He took it and twisted off the top.

She gave him a speculative look. "Sit down, Devon, please. I have a lot to tell you and you are going to have to pretend you don't know any of it." Devon gulped. Pretending was like, well, his worst subject.

ooOoo

Graham examined the mousey young woman sitting in front of him. She was lost in the chair, almost swallowed by it. Graham was tempted to offer her a book to sit on. And maybe a sippy cup for her coffee. Graham smiled to himself. Yes, she looked twelve. But she was a computer genius of the rarest sort. She had taken the wreckage of the White Room, the first iteration of the Intersect Project, and put it all back together again. Luckily, Graham had been far-sighted.

He had distributed bits and pieces of the Intersect technology to CIA labs around the country, unmarked, only one or two at any location. After Larkin destroyed the White Room, Graham sent a team to collect the bits and pieces, and started over. But he started over with her. He wished he had found her sooner. Susie Lou LaRussa. She had the Project advancing faster than he had ever hoped.

Graham heard her name in his head as if the Coyote were saying it of himself as he chased the Roadrunner, the name stretched in unctuous enunciation. Suuusie Looouu LaaaRuuussa, suuupra-gennnius. Graham missed cartoons. He needed to visit the grandkids, spend a Saturday morning with them eating sugary cereal in front of Cartoon Network.

Something about Susie Lou made Graham always think of cartoons.

"So, Susie Lou, where do things stand with the Intersect Project? Do we have a functional Intersect yet?"

"No," she said, a faint drawl sweetening her nasal tones. "But we are close, Director. Very close. Maybe a couple of weeks, maybe a month."

He nodded hard. "Fine. But I want no effort spared to finish. I need a working prototype faster than that, if possible. My plans require impressing the President."

Susie Lou nodded fearfully.

"This is all on you, you know." Graham made no effort to disguise the threat.

She squinted at him, unwilling to put on her glasses although they were hanging from a chain around her neck. She frowned beneath her squint. "I understand."

ooOoo

Chuck sat at the Nerd Herd desk clutching the thumb drive in his hand. He was not going to look, he had decided. But he needed to figure out what to do with it. Casey had called a few minutes before. Nova had been captured. Casey said the hacker was claiming that he had lost the thumb drive. They were going to let the guy spend a night under wraps in the safe house and Casey would interrogate him in the morning. That gave Chuck until the morning to figure out what he would do about the thumb drive.

ooOoo

"What?"

Sarah found Bryce's words unintelligible for a moment. They were an answer too distant from the question she had been asking.

Then she re-parsed her own words and heard them in relation to Bryce's answer. Bryce hadn't given Sarah information about Thorne, or not as she wanted or anticipated. He had given her information about himself, and about them, her and Bryce, about the them that used to be.

"You...you were with Thorne? When we were together?" Tumblers tumbled, locks opened. "I was suspicious...I had a feeling."

Bryce tinged green, his still-damp hair suddenly looking sodden, muddy. He stared at the floor. "Not the whole time we were together. It started...later." He glanced up at her then back down.

"Like that makes it better?" Sarah paused. She felt no anger. "Cabo?" She frowned with one side of her face, knowing the answer.

Bryce nodded, shame-faced. "She followed us there. I was trying to break it off, but she is not an easy woman...not easy to...end things with."

"Was she the only one?"

"Yes, no, well…she was the only one it happened with more than once."

Sarah put her hand up and waved it. "I don't need to know, Bryce. I shouldn't have asked. Morbid curiosity, I guess...We are over. We were over a long time ago, even before you apparently went rogue." Words all-at-once began to tumble from Sarah; she could not stop them, boulders in a small-scale avalanche. "We were over when I started dreaming of something else, something real...a future. It was over because I realized that we would not be anything more than what we were: spies who shared a bed on missions, but who shared nothing but that bed, those missions. We were still the Anderson's when we were sleeping together, Bryce, still undercover.

"I just couldn't quite face my realizations or my dream...and so I let us go on after we were over. Facing things, facing the truth...is not my strong suit." She stopped, breathed in, breathed out. It was clear to her now. It had been so cloudy then.

"Frankly, Bryce, I never cared enough to follow up on my suspicions, to ask. That should have told me something. I never spent much time worrying about it. I was hurt by it, yes, my feelings and my pride, and I was...I am...fond of you." Sarah sighed. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings now. Or get back at you. I'm not. I just want to clear the air between us. I want to face some things." He nodded.

She continued. "What we had was not what I dreamed of, but it was better than being alone, and it made me begin to dream of more. I'm not angry. But, I have told you: nothing is going to happen between us. There is no need to wait. You could wait until the heat death of the universe, Bryce, and my answer would still be the same. It would be no."

Her voice was even, no rancor. She was not upset. She just felt tired. Tired of Bryce, tired of being a spy, tired of the never-ending, enforced and reckless shallowness of that life. Spies don't fall in love. Why? Because they are so cooly self-controlled. No. Because they are incapable of real emotions. They choose to pretend so as to mask their unreality.

What was she doing in New Orleans? With Bryce? She had not wanted Bryce. She had not wanted a deep cover assignment. She had abandoned what she wanted.

She had run from a man who threatened her by...loving her. And she had felt the threat so viscerally because...because...she loved him back.

Chuck. She loved Chuck Bartowski.

What was she going to do about it?

Outside, the trumpet player she had heard on her first night began to blast When the Saints Go Marching In.

"Bryce, we can talk about the past later, if you want. Your choice. I've said all I need to say. But right now, I need to know everything you know about June Thorne. Don't ask, tell."

A/N2 The great writer, Samuel Johnson, was once stopped on the street by a friend. "I've been trying to be a philosopher," the friend confided to Johnson, "but cheerfulness keeps breaking in." Ahem!

Tune in next time for Chapter 9, "Moments of Vision". June meets Ellie and Devon. Bryce and Sarah have dinner with Garland. Beckman gets a lead. And more. Leave a review, please! We're all pushing this thing forward together.