Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I in any way associated with, Chuck.

AN: I fully intend for this to continue into a series of some sort but I promise nothing.

Timeframe: Chuck vs. the Nemesis

Something Missing

Bryce Larkin did not want for much in life. He had long ago given up his need for the material comforts that most people took for granted and he was okay with that. He didn't need to know where he would be sleeping next and when he did sleep his dreams were most certainly not filled with quaint, two-story houses with white picket fences. He didn't need the great piles of stuff that filled the emptiness in so many people's lives. He didn't need a plasma TV or an ipod or a computer or a personal wardrobe. This last was particularly important considering that he'd just stolen a sweat suit from a homeless shelter.

As he zipped up the jacket he fingered the spot in his chest where Casey had put a bullet. He'd seen the scar when he pulled off the hospital gown but he didn't care to look at it for long. He could still feel the bullet slicing easily through his skin and barreling through his chest cavity, his organs. He shuddered. He knew it made no sense. Teachers and doctors alike had told him that his organs didn't actually feel, and he'd been shot before so he knew they were right. But something about this time, this shot, had left him ... not broken but lessened somehow.

A rumble from his stomach reminded him that he still needed to eat, miraculous resurrection or no. He should have eaten at the shelter, but at the time he was still trying to shake whatever agency it was that wanted him dead at the moment. He sighed, looking up and down the street. It was Thanksgiving so most smaller restaurants would probably be closed. He should be able to break in and make himself a sandwich without being caught. The sign for a sub shop caught his eye; he hadn't had one of those since before his last trip to Afghanistan. And anyway, he thought as he jogged down the sidewalk, they were sure to have turkey.

Another rumble from his stomach was all the push he needed to bypass finesse and take a rock to the glass doorway. He put his hand carefully through the hole and unlocked the door. A quick look around the small restaurant revealed no alarm system which, frankly, was disappointing. He stepped inside and headed straight for the counter. A moment later he realized that the food was probably in the freezer for the holiday. Feeling rather foolish for his mistake he turned to the heavy walk-in door and was surprised to see it opening. He grabbed for a knife off the cutting board and held it just behind his leg as the intruder came into view.

A petite brunette woman stopped dead upon seeing him. Her arms were full of bread and meats and cheeses and the look in her wide, red-rimmed eyes could be nothing if not fear.

"Hi," Bryce said.

"Wh- who are you?" she stuttered, stepping back into the doorway of the freezer.

"I- I was just hungry," he said, discreetly sliding the small knife in his hand up his sleeve.

She took in his clothing and rumpled appearance. He was sure he looked close enough to homeless to pass and sincerely hoped she bought it.

"Everyone should have a good dinner on Thanksgiving," she said with a small smile and glided easily past him to deposit her load on the counter. "Sit down. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

Bryce stood behind her for a moment, watching dumbly as her delicate hands sorted the various food stuffs into separate piles.

"Sit," she commanded with enough sharpness that he couldn't help but follow the order. He took a seat away from the windows, where he had a clear view of the door and her. She didn't look up at him while she worked but that was fine with him, he was accustomed to watching people without their mind. She was actually very pretty, though he'd always preferred blondes, and when she worked she smiled in a way that made it clear she didn't know she did it, which made her that much more beautiful. Her eyes had him worried though. She'd obviously been crying and why was she alone on Thanksgiving? Surely someone would want someone as sweet as her around.

"Dinner's served," she said brightly, cutting into his thoughts as she brought two footlongs wrapped in butcher paper to the table. She took the seat across from him with a smile.

"What is it?" he asked, belatedly wondering if she was an agent sent to bring him in.

She gasped at him as if affronted. "Do you ask Michelangelo who's on that ceiling? No! You crane your neck and look." She punctuated her statement by pointing angrily at his sandwich.

He raised an eyebrow and unwrapped it carefully. It took him a moment to balance the thing properly between his ten fingers. He cast her one more wary glance over the monstrosity as he raised it to his mouth and her eager expression was enough to win him over. He took a bite.

"Mmmm!" he moaned.

"You like it?" she asked eagerly.

"Mm-mmm!" He closed his eyes happily. He hadn't eaten anything this good in … years. And he told her so between bites.

"Oh, that's terrible."

His eyes flashed open and at her sympathetic expression he remembered she thought he was homeless. "No," he said quickly, not caring that his mouth was full, "even before. This is the best."

She smiled, clearly not convinced, and began eating her own sandwich.

"So," he said when he'd slowed down enough to savor the taste of his food, "what are you doing here today?"

She shrugged. "My parents live on the other side of the country and I didn't really want to impose on my friends."

"Cooking like this is not imposing," he said.

She laughed and ducked her head before looking up at him sadly. "I just broke up with this guy. He was really sweet but …" She took a shuddering breath. "He was a jerk too."

"Sounds complicated."

"It was. His ex was always around and I don't suppose it helped that I have a business relationship with mine but --" She saw his widening eyes and frowned. "He smuggles meat into the country for me, okay? It's not like we were sleeping together."

Bryce raised his now empty hands defensively. "I didn't say anything. I'm just suddenly really glad I'm not involved in a love triangle."

"You should be." She nodded to the crumbs and crumpled butcher paper before him. "Want dessert? I have a quart of Cherry Garcia in the freezer."

"As tempting as that is," he said, pushing back his chair and standing up, "I can't." Now that his stomach was full his mind was working properly and he realized just how stupid he was to have come here. Agents could storm through the door any second and Chuck was out there, completely oblivious to the real danger he was in. "I have to go," he said, heading for the door. He stopped at the broken glass on the floor and looked apologetically over his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said, waving it off. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"I'll find something."

"Wait!" she said as he opened the door. He saw her jump up and run to the cash register as it opened he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit guilty. He quickly rushed out. He really did have to find Chuck. Though, he smiled as the jogged towards the nearby residential district, that was the best Thanksgiving dinner he'd had in a long time.