Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started on Chuck's birthday. Well, technically it started quite a few years before that at Stanford, but that was just asking for the beginning to be way more complicated than it really needed to be. So, Chuck's twenty sixth birthday. A wonderful occasion, for most people.

In true Bartowski fashion, his big sister Ellie had arranged a birthday party for him. A party where the only people he knew were his best friend, Morgan, his sister and Captain Awesome. The rest of the guests were Ellie and Awesome's doctor friends. The kind of people who would intimidate him even if they came to the Nerd Herd for help with a computer problem. The kind of ridiculously high achieving, good looking people that could be summed up just by pointing at Captain Awesome. The kind of people who were a complete social opposite to nerds like him and Morgan. Which is why Chuck felt that he couldn't entirely be blamed for trying to escape ninja-like from his bedroom window.

Unfortunately, Ellie - because she was as awesome as Awesome - caught him and Morgan in their daring escape attempt, banished Morgan from the party (some people had all the luck) and dragged Chuck back out into the throng of people he had absolutely nothing in common with. Chuck knew he should be grateful that his sister cared enough to try and set him up with beautiful, single medical professionals, but he really just wanted to sit down and play more Call of Duty. Real, live women were great and all, it was just that Chuck rapidly developed a case of saying the worst possible thing. Also known as, telling the truth.

Real, live women, it turned out, were not impressed with a tech nerd who worked at a BuyMore. They were really not impressed by hearing about his marathon Call of Duty sessions with Morgan. His Stanford education was the one thing that did impress a real, live woman - it impressed Chuck too, despite his status as chief nerd of the Nerd Herd. It wasn't exactly what he'd imagined for himself during his last year at Stanford, but it was stable.

"I graduated in '02!" Stanford Doctor announced perkily. "What was your major?"

"Engineering." Even now Chuck had to smile a little remembering it. Those really were the best years of his life. Coding his own version of Zork, playing Gotcha in the library, planning for the millennia of the Geek.

"Oh my God," she cried, grey-blue eyes growing impossibly wider. "I knew this great guy. He was an engineer, he ran track. I think he was a gymnast too."

Chuck looked down at the cobbled ground, heart growing heavy in his chest. A track running engineer who also was a gymnast? He knew exactly who that great guy was.

"Bryce Larkin," he recalled, voice a monotone. A flash of blue eyes and a Hollywood worthy smile appeared in his mind. "He was my roommate."

"Oh, yes," the latest in a line of real, live women who Chuck would not be seeing again recalled. "What's he doing now?"

And that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? The truth was, Chuck had absolutely no idea. They'd completely lost touch the minute he'd carried his boxes out of their shared frat house. Bryce hadn't even bothered to send him a Facebook friend invite. But that was fine. Chuck absolutely did not care.

"I think he's an accountant." Least sexy profession in the world. Take that, Larkin.

"So, do you have a girlfriend?" Stanford Doctor asked curiously.

Chuck's heart twisted uncomfortably in his chest. "Yeah, I did. At Stanford. Her name was Jill." The girl of his dreams at the best time of his life. Chuck met his companion's uninterested gaze and sighed. "She dumped me the day before graduation, walked right out the door to have dinner with- well, not me."

Five years ago, he'd had it all. A great girlfriend, the best best friend anyone could ever have asked for, a job lined up, a five year plan that didn't need constant font alterations. Now, he had Morgan and Ellie, his job at the BuyMore. But he didn't have Jill or Bryce or any of it.

And telling people so? It turned out that was a downer. In true Chuck Bartowski fashion, he bummed out everyone at his party until he ended up back in his bedroom, watching Morgan play video games.

Somewhere top secret and definitely not a birthday party filled with real, live women, Bryce Larkin (definitely not an accountant) was having an equally not awesome night. Dropping from a ceiling vent onto cold white tile with a bleeding head wound, covered in his own blood and with bruises he knew he'd be feeling for days, Bryce would have given a lot to be on the other side of the country enjoying tedious small talk. Unfortunately, he had a mission to accomplish. And The Mission always came first.

He slid across the polished floor to a computer terminal that would not have looked out of place running Windows '95, and began frantically typing on the keyboard. Already he could hear them coming for him, he knew he had precious little time. He plugged his personal device into the Intersect computer, slipping shades over his eyes in the next motion.

"It's hard to say goodbye," he announced, pressing return firmly.

Thousands of images flashed on the screen before him, slowly transferring to his handheld. Finally, too long afterwards, the images stopped. Bryce could hear the agents banging on the door, trying to get to him. But he wasn't a superspy for nothing. A few precious seconds later, an explosive device was in place on the terminal, Bryce's jacket dropped on the floor for a logical aerodynamic reason (and not just how hot he knew he looked in bloodstained shirtsleeves). He took off towards the door at a sprint, the force of the explosion behind him propelling him out of the door just as it took out the guards waiting to apprehend him.

Using a combination of Kung Fu and gymnastics, he blazed through the guards, crashing through a pane of glass to make it away from the destroyed vault. Relatively safe in a stairwell, Bryce wasted time he didn't have, pulling up email on his handheld. More guards arrived to stop him, shooting inches above his head. Bryce fought his way up the stairwell and onto the roof with barely more than another handful of bruises to add to his tally.

Ducking and rolling, he jumped across rooftops, staggering his decent to drop to the ground outside the facility. He went down hard, the wind knocked out of his lungs by his impact with the concrete. Too slow. He was back on his feet, fingers flying over the screen of his device. His distraction cost him - a rookie mistake. A bullet tore through his chest, knocking him to the ground.

"Don't move."

If he'd been capable of smiling above the unbearable pain of the new hole in his chest, Bryce might have done so. That was almost funny for John Casey. Bryce found he didn't care much about Casey finally - maybe - discovering a sense of humour.

Darkness was already creeping around his vision, the warmth of his blood seeping onto his chest contrasting with the chill rapidly sinking into his body. If this was what dying felt like, Bryce really wasn't a fan.

"Too late, Casey," Bryce smirked, pressing down on his device. As last words went, he supposed he could have chosen worse. Beating Casey at their game never got old. He didn't need to look at the screen to know the email went through. This was in Chuck's hands now. As last acts went, there was no one he would have trusted more. He closed his eyes, hoping he hadn't just made another of the worst mistakes of his life.

Back in Chuck's bedroom in Echo Park, Chuck was once again wondering how he could have sucked so badly at talking to literally every woman at his party. Morgan tried to give a bracing pep talk, but bracing pep talks weren't really Morgan's speed. Instead, his lifelong best friend changed the subject.

"Wow. Blast-from-the-past wow."

Chuck cut a glance at his friend, waiting for what was so astounding.

Morgan did not disappoint. "Bryce remembered your birthday, dude."

"What?" After five years of silence, there was no way that Bryce Larkin had just gotten in touch with him. Birthday or not.

Morgan seemed to take his disbelief as confusion, helpfully clarifying. "The guy you almost replaced me with, ghosted you after graduation. You remember that guy?"

There was not a single person who had ever met Bryce Larkin that had subsequently forgotten him. It was physically impossible.

"Yeah, Morgan, I think I remember Bryce," Chuck dryly commented, moving over to his computer.

Despite knowing it was likely to be a bad idea, Chuck clicked on the attachment in the email. On screen came a single line - The terrible troll raises his sword.

Zork.

Chuck hadn't played in years. Not since the night before graduation, when he and Bryce had played tipsy and ignoring the raucous party the rest of their frat was hosting.

As if he had room to judge, Morgan mocked the coolness of Chuck and Bryce at Stanford, wearing the look that said their nerdiness was too much even for Morgan. Chuck helpfully sent Morgan home, racking his brain for the contents of his hero's satchel.

He closed his eyes, for a moment he was back in his dorm room at Stanford, sitting cross-legged on the floor, trading ideas with Bryce. A grin appeared on his lips, fingers falling to his keyboard.

"Attack troll with nasty knife."

Thousands of images appeared on his screen, flashing through at the speed of light. Chuck couldn't blink, he just stared at the screen, letting the images beam directly into his brain.

When the last image faded from the screen, Chuck toppled backwards, banging his head on his rug. He awoke to Morgan's concerned face and a headache worse than successive all nighters at college. Behind Morgan, his computer screen was innocently blank. Chuck had no idea what Bryce had sent him, but whatever it was had to be the worst birthday gift ever. And that included socks.

Several days later, Chuck was still feeling pretty certain about Bryce's gift being the worst ever. Who sends top secret government secrets to a Nerd Herder? Bryce Larkin apparently, because that was just what Chuck's life was now. He was a computer. A human computer. They called him the Intersect. He wanted to punch Bryce Larkin so hard in his perfect face.

Except he really didn't want to at all. Because Bryce Larkin, the guy who had kept him alive throughout college, who could light up a room with a smile and a twinkle of his blue eyes, who had been the best friend a guy could ever asked for - Bryce Larkin was dead. Killed by Casey as he sent the Intersect to Chuck.

Chuck really didn't know how to process that particular nugget of information. On one hand, apparently Bryce had been this terrifying superspy who went rogue when he sent the Intersect to Chuck. But on the other hand, he'd been Bryce. Chuck's friend, Chuck's room mate. And Casey had killed him. Casey. The guy Chuck had to trust to have his back until the CIA and the NSA worked out how to remove the Intersect from his head.

So, yeah, it was safe to say that Chuck was kind of conflicted about how he felt about that.

Killing his former best friend aside, Casey seemed like a pretty decent guy. He hadn't killed Chuck or dragged him away to some secret underground holding cell. His sense of humour could definitely use an upgrade (or an installation) but he was terrifyingly competent and Chuck knew that - as long as he was ordered to - Casey would protect Chuck with his life.

There was a not insignificant part of him that wanted to hate Casey, to demand another handler, to refuse to be in his presence. But, hating Casey wasn't going to change what he did. Bryce was dead and gone. If Chuck had to have an NSA handler, he might as well have the best. And, apparently, the best was Casey. He had to trust him. He had to trust Casey and Sarah both.

So, when Sarah and Casey each took the time to call him and ask him to come to the deserted BuyMore, Chuck followed orders. He did not panic, he did not tell Morgan to call him in exactly one hour with a fake emergency. He picked up his jacket and his car keys and he drove to work. At night. Because this was his life now.

Casey and Sarah were waiting for him in the home theatre room of the BuyMore, Casey pacing in his suit while Sarah watched patiently as he came in. They'd said they wanted to "talk about how this was going to work", something that made Chuck only marginally more nervous than he felt he entirely needed to be.

Chuck sat down on the table, keeping an open view of the BuyMore. "What's so urgent, guys?"

Sarah shared a loaded look with Casey, communicating in a way even the Intersect couldn't translate. "There's been a slight change in your protection detail."

"You're still my handlers, right?" Chuck heard himself demand, only slightly hysterically. Conflicted he may be about Casey - and that was saying nothing about whatever had been between Sarah and Bryce - but Chuck didn't want to have to deal with new people. New people might not care about Chuck and the life he had. He didn't want new people.

"We're still your handlers, Chuck," Sarah reassured him over Casey's judgemental grunt. "We're just not your only handlers."

Chuck felt his stomach threaten rebellion. "I'm getting a new handler?"

Casey nodded, offering a grunt Chuck took to be an affirmative.

"Who?"

"No idea," Casey shrugged, looking unconcerned. "We're going to meet them now."

"How can you not know?" Chuck demanded, looking from Casey to Sarah. "You're spies! Aren't you supposed to know things?"

"We know things when we're told them, Chuck," Sarah informed him, far too calm for Chuck's peace of mind. "The Director and the General felt that this new addition would provide an element of security for your cover that Casey and I don't have."

Chuck's voice leapt into a higher register. "What is that supposed to mean?!"

Casey nodded towards the front of the BuyMore. "I guess we're going to find out."

A tall, suited figure stepped through the doors of the BuyMore, the florescent lights reflecting off his sunglasses. He walked slowly, purposefully, his measured strides leading him towards the home theatre room. To Chuck, it was as if he walked in slow motion, but since nobody but the Six Million Dollar Man moved in slow motion, it was probably just the ever-increasing anxiety in Chuck's mind playing tricks on him. The man leaned against the doorframe, uncaring of the fact that he was probably wrinkling a suit that cost more than Chuck had made in his entire BuyMore career.

"Lovely night for a secret rendezvous," the man said, voice like a blast from the past.

On either side of him, Casey and Sarah froze. Chuck himself wasn't much better, he shakily lowered himself onto the couch. He knew that voice. But that was impossible, because the man the voice should have belonged to was dead.

The man, the imposter with a dead man's voice, reached his right hand up and removed his sunglasses. And just like that, Bryce Larkin was looking back at him. A little older and a little more jaded, but still the same handsome face he remembered so well.

"How?" Sarah demanded.

"I shot you," Casey growled at the same time, gun appearing in his hand.

"Settle down," Bryce sighed, eyeing Casey's gun with distaste. A smirk replaced the vaguely distasteful look, eyes glittering with amusement. "You didn't think a little gunshot would kill me, did you, Casey?"

Casey flipped the safety off his gun. "How about we test that theory right now?"

Sarah moved around Chuck, lowering Casey's gun with a severe glare. She turned that glare on Bryce, eyes like daggers. "How are you not in prison right now for what you did?"

The smirk on Bryce's lips turned a little sharper, his eyes losing some of their sparkle. "Classified. You're more than welcome to check with the Director and the General though. They debriefed me personally."

Casey and Sarah took a step away, both pulling their phones out while keeping watchful glares on Bryce and Chuck.

Chuck didn't know what to think. Three days ago, he had been told Bryce was dead and now here he was acting like they'd never lost touch after Stanford. But this was Bryce, and he was wasn't dead and he was here... and he was nervous. Chuck could tell. Superspy or not, Chuck had known Bryce Larkin since freshman year, he could mask his feelings but he couldn't entirely hide the wariness in his eyes.

Bryce noticed Chuck's attention, challenging smirk transforming into his usual easy smile. "Hey, Chuck. How's the noggin?"

Chuck felt himself grin. "Stuffed full of government secrets? Yours?"

Bryce waved the sunglasses in his right hand. "A little fuzzy. Painkillers." He looked at Chuck as if imparting a great secret. "I was shot a couple of days ago."

That Chuck didn't need reminding about. "How did you survive?"

"I have no idea," Bryce admitted, voice pitched low. "One minute I was thinking my last act was sending you the Intersect, the next I was waking up in medical, in cuffs, with the heads of the CIA and NSA glaring at me."

And three days later, here he was. "It should take months to recover from a gunshot."

"Weeks for the CIA," Bryce shrugged, a flicker of a wince passing over his face.

"You're still healing," Chuck guessed, and accurately judging by the guilty look on Bryce's face. "Sit down."

Bryce shook his head. "I'd rather leave my exits open."

"Bryce," Chuck warned, letting his tone be enough. "Sit down before you fall down. Casey's not going to try to shoot you again." Chuck paired the statement with a pointed glare at the NSA agent. "Are you?"

"No," Casey agreed through gritted teeth. "He checks out."

Bryce gave Casey the most sarcastic smile he'd ever seen, slowly lowering himself to the couch beside Chuck.

"What's the plan, Bryce?" Sarah asked, watching him warily. Chuck wasn't sure if she was wary because Bryce had just been shot, or wary because it seemed very much like Bryce might outrank her.

"Same as it was," Bryce replied, leaning back a little into the plush couch cushions. "Your covers remain as is. Casey watches over Chuck here. You're his cover girlfriend. As for me, well, I'm just an old college friend who just moved back from Washington and wants to catch up with his old roommate."

"And your cover?" Casey asked, a challenging little curl to his lips.

Chuck knew Casey was hoping for something tedious and in the same vein as Casey's BuyMore job and Sarah's cover at the Weinerlicious.

Bryce's blue eyes fell on Chuck, amusement twinkling within. "Apparently someone said I'd become an accountant," he said, Chuck meeting his gaze as innocently as he could. "I've just been hired to do this place's books."

"That's Big Mike's job," Chuck offered, leaning towards Bryce.

Bryce grinned, a flash of a thing, warm and amused. "And how much of his job does this Big Mike actually do?"

Chuck grinned back, caught. "Touche."

Casey interrupted their moment with a grunt. "Much as I'm enjoying you two ladies' reunion, I've got to get my beauty sleep. Let's get out of here."

Sarah nodded. "You'll drop them off?"

Casey grunted an agreement, Sarah bidding them a slightly distracted goodnight.

"Where are you staying?" Chuck asked, offering Bryce a hand up off the couch. His friend took it, closing his eyes a beat as gravity reasserted itself.

"Next door to Casey," Bryce sighed, almost displeased. "I think it's part of my punishment for stealing the Intersect."

"It's so you can keep an eye on Bartowski and I can keep my eye on you," Casey announced, prodding them out of the BuyMore.

The drive back to Echo Park was quiet, Chuck processing the fact that Bryce really was alive beside him, and Bryce seemingly succumbing to the effects of being shot a couple of days before. But, he got out of the car with more grace than Chuck had ever possessed, letting Chuck walk him to his front door.

Chuck watched as Bryce unlocked his door, looking around at his new home with approval. He could see luggage and unpacked boxes waiting inside and had to push down the offer to help him unpack. "You'll still be here tomorrow, right?"

"I'll still be here," Bryce faithfully promised.

"And you're sure it's safe for you to be by yourself tonight?" Chuck couldn't stop himself from asking. "Ellie and Awesome are both doctors, and I will drag you over there if I have to."

Bryce only smiled, stepping through the door of his apartment. "Goodnight, Chuck."

Chuck knew when he was beaten. "Night, Bryce." He began the short trudge back to his home, knowing he was going to have a lot of explaining to do before he would get any sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

As someone who knew first-hand how much life could change overnight, Chuck was still astounded at how much it could change in a week. A week ago, his college best friend sent him an email which turned him into the human equivalent of a government supercomputer, he'd earned two terrifying spies as his personal handlers, had saved the world, and then found out that said college best friend was dead and then apparently not dead and assigned as his additional third handler. It was a lot.

But, a little over a week on, Chuck thought he was adjusting to things quite well. True, having Casey always in his space, working as a Buy More green shirt wasn't ideal, but he got Sarah as his terrifyingly beautiful (and just plain terrifying) cover girlfriend. And, as the cherry on top, Bryce was easing himself into working as an accountant for the Buy More while recovering from the gunshot wound Casey had nearly killed him with.

So, all in all, Chuck thought he could be adjusting worse. It wasn't as if he had to constantly hover around Bryce or remind himself that Sarah's affection was only because of her job. And stopping Casey from beating seven kinds of crap out of shoplifters did add an exciting element to the monotony of Buy More workdays.

And, for everything that changed, a lot stayed the same. Harry Tang was still a massive dick, Morgan was still Morgan, and Ellie and Awesome were still making every other couple in the entire world look bad.

All in all, life was pretty good. Head full of really nasty government secrets aside.

That morning, after stopping Casey from going full Rambo on a shoplifter in the Buy More parking lot, Chuck followed Sarah into the Wienerlicious across the lot. Sarah strode behind the counter, complaining about burning another batch (clearly hot dog preparation was not one of the many skills taught by the CIA), Chuck trying to wrap his head around the reality of Sarah's cover.

"Why are you working here?" Chuck asked, not bothering to hide his confusion. He'd been pretty sure that this had been a joke when Sarah had announced it a few days into their working together.

"Surveillance," Sarah replied, disposing of the blackened wieners. "I can monitor the Buy More from here while you work."

Chuck had flashed on some of the things Sarah was capable of. Keeping her here seemed like a waste of her talents.

"It's just a cover, Chuck," she reassured him, reading the befuddlement on his face.

"All part of the plan," Chuck mumbled, suddenly not so sure he wanted to be here.

Casey and Sarah and Bryce getting jobs implied that this was a long-term thing. And a long-term thing implied that there wasn't a plan. And if there wasn't a plan, Chuck was screwed. Chuck didn't want to be screwed. Chuck would very much appreciate it if he was unscrewed as quickly as possible.

"There is a plan, right?" he checked, feeling his old friend anxiety come join the party. "Because, making gourmet wieners isn't exactly why you joined the CIA, and Casey isn't exactly a natural-born appliance salesman, and the whole kinda government-secrets-locked-in-my-brain thing, uh, that's, I'm sure, not really a boon for national security, so I'm hoping, I mean, I'm hoping that you'll tell me there's a plan. Is there a plan? I need there to be a plan. Tell me there's a plan."

"Breathe, Chuck," Bryce called, warm amusement colouring his voice.

Chuck spun on his heel, wondering how in the hell he had failed to notice Bryce Larkin - in another very expensive suit, by the way - leaning against one of the tables. He had thought he'd heard a chuckle at his comment about Casey.

"Bryce! How did-? When did-?"

"I'm a spy, Chuck," Bryce reminded him, flashing one of his Hollywood worthy grins. "And before you start, yes, I'm allowed in the field. So stop worrying."

Chuck crossed his arms, meeting Bryce's amused gaze. "I wasn't worrying."

Bryce held his hands up, grinning again. "Sure."

Now that Chuck was calmer, he noticed Sarah watching them. "We have a plan, Chuck," she announced, casting a grateful look over Chuck's shoulder. "But we can't talk about it here. I'll pick you up at eight tonight."

Chuck really wanted to know the plan now. He'd feel much better knowing it now. Besides, he had plans. "Actually, Bryce and I were going to have another look at reprogramming-" His voice trailed off, noting the look on Sarah's face. A look that said he was going on a date with her tonight even if she had to tranq dart him and drag him to her car herself. "Yeah, see you at eight."

Laughter shone in Bryce's eyes, the superspy pushing himself to his feet. "I'll walk you out," he offered, slipping his customary shades back over his eyes.

It wasn't that Chuck wasn't glad to see Bryce - in fact he preferred it when he could personally keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn't off somewhere getting himself hurt again - but he was a little confused. "I thought you weren't due to come back in for a bit?"

"Two words, Chuck: Harry Tang." Bryce affected a shudder, moving around a parked Taurus. "Since both you and the General are adamant that I can't shoot him a little, I have to keep an eye out and make sure he doesn't mess with my work."

"He really wants that promotion," Chuck sympathised, all too familiar with the annoyance Tang produced.

Bryce cut an amused glance at Chuck, avoiding a stressed soccer mom without even looking. "I really want to shoot him, looks like neither of us are getting what we want."

Chuck sympathised. "And I want to know the plan, but I'm not getting that either."

"But you will at eight tonight."

"You know where Sarah is taking me?" Chuck asked, homing in on the one person who did know what it was like to kind of date Sarah Walker. "Is it somewhere romantic?"

"Yeah, buddy," Bryce agreed, a stifled sort of smile playing on his lips. "I'm sure it's somewhere romantic."

After work, where miraculously Casey didn't nearly kill anyone and Bryce didn't undo all the hard work the CIA doctors had done, Chuck was standing in front of the sparse contents of his closet. He held a blue shirt up to himself, turning a little towards Ellie. "Hey, sis, what d'you think of this one?"

"Another date with Sarah, huh?" Ellie asked, proud. Her smile shone in the mirror. "This is very exciting."

"Yeah, well," Chuck shrugged a little, playing it as casual as he was able - it was a fake date, after all. "Bryce thinks we're going somewhere romantic."

Morgan scoffed on the bed, still sore about another best friend muscling in on Chuck. "You'd better go romantic, Chuck," Morgan announced, barely looking away from his video game. "She is hot. You want to keep her."

"I get Bryce meeting her before me, but Morgan?" Ellie shook her head. "That's it. I want to meet this girl."

Chuck zoned out a little, distantly hearing Ellie and Morgan continue their habitual bickering.

Ellie handed him a shirt, smile bright and brooking no disagreement. "Tomorrow night, bring her. We're having dinner. And bring Bryce too, it's been ages since he's had dinner with us."

"I'll clear my schedule!" Morgan called after her, turning wounded puppy eyes on Chuck. "Does the Accountant really have to come?"

Chuck resigned himself to hearing Morgan complain about Bryce while he readied himself for his not-a-date. "If I don't invite him, Ellie will. Sorry, dude."

"I don't get why he's even back in California, anyway."

Chuck rolled his eyes. This complaint he had heard many times. "He got shot, Morgan."

Chuck's concern for his friend's health had made any other story impossible to spin.

Morgan, correctly reading Chuck's annoyance with this line of conversation, held his hands up. "Fine. But I'm still your best friend."

"You will always be my best friend," Chuck reassured him, grabbing his clothes to shower and change before Sarah arrived.

Chuck wasn't exactly used to second dates, even fake ones, but he was almost certain that they didn't involve the Buy More, a super secret CIA doctor and examinations. Sarah talked him down from his panicked ledge, reassuring him that this was the best way of removing the Intersect from his head.

Casey and Sarah remained outside the Home Theatre room, the former giving him a headset and a confident statement of Chuck's managing to screw this up somehow. Chuck shuffled warily inside, noting Bryce sprawled casually on the couch, popcorn bucket in his hands.

"You have a twisted idea of romantic, my friend," Chuck announced, glaring a little at the smirking figure of his superspy friend.

"You don't find secret rendezvous and a slideshow romantic?" Bryce asked in surprise. "Huh."

Chuck slumped onto the couch beside him, grabbing a mutinous handful of the popcorn he was pretty sure Bryce shouldn't even be eating. He grabbed the bucket and dropped it on his lap. "You're the worst."

"Lies," Bryce said easily. "I'm the best. Everybody says so."

"The Doctor's here," Casey called, hitting the button to close the curtains.

Chuck turned to Bryce, confusion plain in his voice. "You're not meeting him?"

Bryce rolled his shoulders in an elegant shrug. "Met him once, wasn't a fan."

"You of him or him of you?"

"Either." Bryce rescued his popcorn and smirked. "Now hush, and remember to do what they tell you."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, muttering mutinously. "The worst."

What followed was a long and only mildly excruciating show of pictures that forced him to flash over and over again. He was only peripherally aware of Bryce watching him in awe, his eyes wide and head shaking slowly. When Chuck finished with "...and that's just a picture of a turtle", Bryce hadn't touched so much as another kernel.

Chuck, who honestly could use a snack after all that, reappropriated the popcorn, letting Bryce return the theatre system to it's usual setup. "Do you think I did okay?"

"Okay? No." Bryce turned to Chuck, an unidentifiable light in his eyes. "You did incredibly, Chuck. That was- We never thought anyone could retain all that. That was..." Bryce shook his head again, trailing off.

"Awesome?" Chuck offered lamely.

Bryce could only nod.

"Speaking of Awesome," Chuck continued, deciding to bite the metaphorical bullet while he was here. "Ellie invited you to dinner tomorrow. It'll be me and Sarah, Ellie and Captain Awesome, and Morgan invited himself. So, if you don't want to come, I don't think anyone will mind."

"For Ellie's cooking, I'll put up with Morgan." Bryce scavenged a few kernels from the bucket. "Now, you'd better let Sarah drive you home so you can tell her too."

Chuck did. And it went well.

Sarah was definitely the best fake girlfriend he'd ever had. When he finally managed to mumble something about the evening, she seemed enthusiastic enough about meeting Ellie and Awesome even though Chuck knew the evening was bound to be excruciating. So, Chuck returned to his eager family inside his apartment, confident in his assertion that this had been the best second date he'd been on in years.

Bright and early the next morning, Chuck arrived at the Buy More to find a sullen Bryce Larkin. His Hollywood smile was shade too bright, the light in his eyes more irritated than warm. And Harry Tang wasn't even due in for another ten minutes.

"What's up, buddy?" Chuck called, crossing the floor to his side. "Casey bang on the wall all night, keep you awake again?"

A tiny sparkle came back into Bryce's eyes. "If he'd done that, I'd be happy. Because he'd be in the ER."

Chuck decided not to step into the Bryce-Casey minefield. "Then what's up?"

"Casey and Sarah are out in the field and I wasn't allowed to go."

If Chuck didn't know that Bryce was incapable of petulance, he would say that was exactly what he was showing. Chuck tried hard not to look too pleased by Bryce's presence out of the field. Still, he lowered his voice and whisper-hissed:"You were shot ten days ago."

"I'm a fast healer."

"Well, then you're keeping an eye on me."

Bryce got that look on his face that questioned Chuck's sanity. "How much trouble can you really get up to in a Buy More?"

"You don't want to know the answer to that question."

His friend narrowed his eyes. "No. I don't think I do."

Chuck saw the hint of longing in Bryce's face as he looked towards the carpark. He couldn't imagine how hard it was for someone as skilled as Bryce was to be grounded - even with a good reason. "If it will make you feel better, when you're properly healed we can play Gotcha here and we won't let Casey or Sarah play."

Bryce considered that for a moment. "Add Morgan to the banned list and I'll cheer up."

The thought of Morgan unleashed on the Buy More in a game of high stakes Gotcha was nothing short of terrifying. "Fine. Morgan isn't allowed to play either."

Bryce rewarded Chuck's capitulation with an all too rare bright, easy smile. "For the record, I could beat you at Gotcha right now."

"And, for the record, if you miss dinner because you're back in the hospital, you might as well go back to DC because Ellie will kill me."

Bryce slung an arm around his shoulder, steering him towards the employees only area. "I'd never let that happen, Chuck."

Chuck was almost certain that Bryce was only slightly teasing him when he said that. But, now that Bryce was back in a good mood, Chuck could risk satisfying his curiosity. "Why're Casey and Sarah back in the field anyway?"

Bryce's face took on a haunted, shadowed look Chuck instantly hated. "The CIA doctor got himself blown up last night. They're on the scene now."

Chapter Text

Chuck longed for the time when the only worries in his life involved computer viruses, controller chafe, and Harry Tang. He felt it was a little cruel to add in government secrets and exploding NSA doctors when you considered how awkward and nerdy he was. And that was to say nothing of the fact that The Plan - as Chuck understood it - had hinged around the dead doctor removing the Intersect from his head. Which meant they had no plan. And, the whole no plan thing was nothing short of terrifying. Still, he took comfort in Bryce's promise that he wouldn't let anything happen to Chuck (and the sparkle in his eyes as Bryce added that he knew Kung Fu), and tried his very best to go about his workday.

A workday that, for some slight he must have made in a previous existence, involved teaching Casey customer service skills. At least Morgan was there to suffer with him. And Bryce was somewhere around, popping up every now and then in the corner of Chuck's vision as he strolled around the Buy More like he was scouting out the best spots for their upcoming Gotcha games. Chuck was also certain that he took great pleasure in appearing out of thin air around Tang just in time to give him the fright of his life.

Casey came striding up to Chuck, grabbing his arm and pinning him with a look that told him to listen up because this was some serious stuff he was about to say. "You can't trust Sarah," the NSA Major told him quietly, not once breaking his intense stare. "And watch your back around-"

"Chuck! John!"

Chuck, Casey and Morgan spun in unison, chorusing: "Big Mike!"

"How's customer service training?" Big Mike asked, some sugary baked good in his hand. They sounded off a vague positive agreement, Big Mike still looking unimpressed. "Good. The better my employees, the less I have to work."

"Very inspiring, sir," Chuck informed him.

"A regular call to arms," Casey agreed, only mildly sounding like he would cheerfully shoot him at the earliest opportunity.

Big Mike dismissed them, telling Chuck to make Casey better at his job and prove that he was worthy of the promotion to assistant manager.

Training Casey was, as Chuck had already said, nothing short of a punishment he felt he didn't deserve. He told him to be careful with the scanner, Casey reminded him he'd flown a stealth fighter. Chuck demonstrated how to use the scanner, Casey made a comment about screaming making him feel at home. Chuck tried to get on with his job, and Casey shoved the scanner under his chin.

Logically, Chuck knew that it wasn't possible for him to die by scanner, but somehow he didn't think a little thing like logic would get in the way of Casey inflicting bodily harm.

"I don't want you to have any more private meetings with Sarah," Casey stated, tone brooking no disagreement. "Or Larkin. Am I understood?"

"No. What? Why?" Chuck didn't understand. First Casey tells him not to trust Sarah and now he wasn't supposed to trust Bryce either? It didn't make sense. "Is this because of the doctor?"

"How do you know about the doctor?" Casey growled, digging the scanner deeper under Chuck's chin.

How did Casey think Chuck knew? ESP? "Bryce told me. You know? The guy you shot the last time you didn't trust him?"

As if knowing they were talking about him, Bryce came into view, leaning against one of the displays. He nodded to Chuck, raising a pointed eyebrow at Casey until the scanner was back safely on the counter. Chuck offered a half wave, feeling his phone vibrate with an incoming text in his pocket.

Casey's jaw jumped. "Fine," he growled, eyes boring holes into Bryce. "Private meetings with Larkin are allowed - as long as you have them in one of your apartments where I can keep an eye on you. I don't think I could stop the two of you anyway. But no one on ones with Sarah. Got it?"

Chuck nodded, holding up his hands. "Got it." And he meant it, honest he did. Until he got a look at the text message. It was from Sarah, asking him to meet her at the Wienerlicious. Chuck frantically searched for a way out of Casey's sight, falling on Bryce. "You know what would be great for your customer service skills, Casey? Role play!"

Casey looked as though he'd rather have his fingernails pulled out than do any such thing. "Bartowksi-"

"Morgan!" Chuck beckoned his friend over. "You're going to be a customer and Casey will be the sales rep he is. Practice some drills, really get into your roles. I'm gonna go talk to Bryce about some stuff for a bit and, yeah, it'll all be good."

Chuck moved towards the television wall, jerking his head in a way that he hoped Bryce would get as a request to follow him and not like he was having some sort of a fit.

Bryce appeared by his side, a concerned frown on his face. "Everything okay, buddy?"

"Mm-hmm, yeah. Of course. Everything is great. Wonderful. Why wouldn't it be wonderful? Do things not look great? It is obvious? It shouldn't be obvious. You know, because things are great. They're great. Great. I think I'm saying great a lot. Too much? Yeah."

Bryce just stood there, watching him with his head tilted a little and an amused smirk playing about his lips. "You still babble when you're nervous," he announced, crossing his arms. "Care to share? Or are you happy with all your run-on babbling?"

"I need your help."

Instantly Bryce lost all traces of playfulness. All Chuck could see was the scary competent superspy. He looked like he would leap tall buildings and go hand-to-hand with a squad if ninjas if Chuck only said the word. "Anything."

"Casey doesn't want me to see Sarah. Sarah wants me to go over to the Wienerlicious. I've got to meet her. But-"

"You want me to keep an eye on Casey and make sure he doesn't follow?"

Chuck sighed in relief, glad Bryce could still read him like a book. "Please."

Bryce looked delighted. "Always happy to ruin Casey's day a little."

"What is it with you two?" There were important spy things he knew he should be doing, but Chuck would be lying if he said he wasn't a little curious.

"Aside from the fact he shot me?" Bryce quirked a grin. "Tell you later. Maybe. Now go meet your girlfriend."

Five teenaged boys were standing in front of the counter, watching Sarah like she was their new Queen and they were humble worshippers. Chuck absently spared a thought for the increased sales the Wienerlicious would be bringing in, wondering if there was any way to send some of the customers the Buy More's way.

Sarah glanced around the shop, a frown on her lips. "You didn't bring Bryce?"

"You didn't say to," Chuck said slowly, trying to work out if his cover girlfriend was mad he hadn't brought her ex with him.

Sarah gave him a look that said she knew he was smarter than that. "I figured I didn't have to, the two of you seem joined at the hip since he arrived."

Chuck poked a thumb over his shoulder, grinning easily. "I can go get him if you like."

Sarah shook her head. "Just catch him up when you get back."

Chuck barely had time to frown slightly before Sarah announced that he shouldn't spend any private time with Casey. Which, not that Chuck was going to - of all his handlers, Casey was the one Chuck had the least in common with and the least motivation to spend time with - but he had thought that Sarah and Casey were somewhat friendly.

"What is it with you guys?"

"Did Casey say the same thing?" Sarah's eyebrows lifted. "Of course he did."

"Is there something wrong?" Chuck asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was getting really tired of all the conflicting information. Trust Sarah, don't trust Sarah. Trust Casey, don't trust Casey. It was enough to give him a headache.

Sarah leaned over the counter, eyes serious. "The doctor from last night-"

"Was killed in an explosion last night, yeah," Chuck agreed, still not seeing why he shouldn't trust a combination of his handlers. "Bryce told me. What's that got to do with Casey?"

Sarah wordlessly slid a shell of a phone over towards him.

NSA incinerator. Really nasty.

"You think Casey killed the doctor?" Chuck glanced back across the parking lot to the Buy More. "Why would he do that?"

"He's an assassin, Chuck. It's what he does for a living," Sarah reminded him, blue eyes burning into his with a quiet sincerity. "He tried to kill us on that rooftop. He nearly killed Bryce. And he'll probably try to do both again. Maybe he was ordered to or maybe Zarnow just rubbed him the wrong way."

Chuck felt his old friend anxiety emerge, bringing it's best friend panic along for the ride. "That's great, Sarah," he uttered sarcastically. "What am I supposed to do?"

Sarah's stare was hard and uncompromising. "You go back to work and you pretend you know nothing," she ordered, as if Chuck wasn't panicking at the very thought of walking into the arms of a murderer. "And, if anything happens, Bryce will protect you."

"Okay," Chuck heard himself agree over the blood rushing in his ears.

He could do this. He could go back to work like nothing was wrong and he could trust Bryce not to get either of them killed. He could do that. Right?

Feeling like he was underwater, disconnected from reality, Chuck reentered the Buy More. By the CDs, Morgan was pulling out his best surfer bro routine and Casey was looking vaguely murderous. Morgan began rambling about the Ramones and Casey pushed him to the ground with barely a touch to his forehead.

Bryce emerged on Chuck's other side, a dry grin on his lips. "Your customer service skills are incredible, John," the CIA agent smirked.

Casey shrugged, eyes shrewd on Chuck. "I found him the Ramones, didn't I?"

"That approach isn't in the Buy More manual, Casey," Chuck sighed, catching Bryce's gaze and nodding infinitesimally towards Casey.

Casey seemed to read Chuck's conversation with Sarah in the slight widening of Bryce's eyes, turning on his heel and striding from the Buy More.

Under the guise of brushing some fluff of the shoulder of Bryce's jacket, Chuck leaned in and muttered "Zarnow was killed by an NSA incinerator" in Bryce's ear.

"Ghuy'cha'," Bryce cursed, Chuck echoing his sentiments exactly.

Morgan picked himself up off the floor, staring at Bryce like he couldn't believe his ears. "You speak Klingon?"

Bryce raised a single eyebrow. "You don't?"

"No," Chuck announced, stepping between his two best friends before more than scathing looks could be shared. "Morgan, you should get back to work. Bryce, you too."

Bryce flashed a playfully wounded grin. "You were more fun at Stanford."

Chuck chuckled, moving off towards the Nerd Herd centre. "No, you were just busier then."

Half an hour later, Chuck really wished he was back at Stanford having any manner of safe fun. Because being involved in another car chase and minor collision with Casey in a black SUV was really not his idea of a fun day out. Not only that, but he had left Bryce and Sarah behind him on his way to the fake call-out Casey had orchestrated. Which Chuck was beginning to realize had to be the universe's way of saying Chuck was not one of it's favourites. He was all alone, with an NSA trained assassin. Not a win for Team Bartowski.

Casey emerged from his SUV looking a little the worse for wear, accusing Sarah of attacking him and saying she'd gone rogue. Casey started making a whole lot of sense, starting with the NSA incinerator being a convenient black market item and ending with Sarah's inability to grab him because of Casey and then Bryce and Casey. His explanation was bookended with Sarah calling Chuck (to which Casey pointedly hung up) and the pair of them nearly getting blown up by - surprise, surprise - an NSA incinerator hidden in the back seat of Casey's SUV.

And, it turned out, getting nearly blown up wasn't even the worst part of Chuck's day. No. That dubious honour went to telling Bryce. His college best friend was waiting for him in the courtyard of their apartment complex, dressed down from his typical suit, seemingly trying to decide between two bottles of wine. He turned at the sound of Chuck's panicked footsteps, smile dropping at the sight of him.

"What happened?" Bryce demanded, eyes scanning him from head to toe.

"NSA incinerator," Chuck mourned, shaking ashes out of his hair.

"You nearly got blown up?!" Bryce whirled on Casey, emerging from a car just behind them, fingers stabbing into his chest. "What the hell were you doing?!"

"Nearly getting blown up myself," Casey retorted. "But I'm fine, thanks Larkin."

Bryce's eyes were burning with fire. He looked about ready to finish the incinerator's job for it. "I don't give a damn if you're alright, your job is to protect the Intersect. Chuck!"

Chuck put his hand out, touching the silk fabric of Bryce's deep blue shirt. "Bryce, buddy, you can tell at us all you like later, but Sarah-"

Bryce took a deep breath, calming himself enough to ask "What about her?"

"She's rogue and in my apartment with Ellie and Awesome."

Bryce deployed another vigorous Klingon curse, pushing Chuck towards his own apartment. "Looks like we're going to dinner."

Ellie, Awesome and Morgan were sitting around the kitchen island, drinking wine and smiling at Sarah when Chuck opened the door. For a brief moment, Chuck could almost forget that this wasn't a real family dinner he was sharing with his family from his two worlds. But, as soon as Sarah turned and smiled at him, he remembered it was all a lie. A very dangerous one.

Ellie smiled brightly at him, silently conveying her approval of his (fake) girlfriend. "Sarah is amazing, Chuck," Ellie announced, offering him a brief hug.

"I know, she's really something else," Chuck agreed, hoping he didn't look as crazed as he felt.

Behind him, Bryce cleared his throat, a quiet reminder for Chuck to keep his cool. "Thank you for inviting me, Ellie," he smiled, effortless charm bringing an equally warm smile to Chuck's sister's lips.

"I'm glad you came," she replied, scanning him critically. "I would have invited you earlier but Chuck said you needed some space." Chuck caught a glimmer of concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Better now I'm back in California," Bryce smiled, nudging Chuck who stopped internally making plans to drag them all out for dinner. Something told him Ellie would not appreciate that. "I've brought wine-"

"That he can't drink," Chuck cut in, self-imposed duty to aid Bryce's recovery flaring over his panic.

A flash of irritation crossed Bryce's face, his eyes locking onto Chuck's in a pointed reminder that he was a spy and had undoubtedly survived worse things than drinking wine after a bullet wound.

Chuck, however, wasn't about to back down. He might not be able to control rogue CIA assassins trying to kill him, and he certainly couldn't control whatever happened tonight at dinner, but he could ensure his other best friend didn't do anything stupid and ruinous to his health. Even if said best friend didn't appreciate it.

Ellie, Awesome and Morgan looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed as they tried to work out exactly what was going on. Ellie's eyes sparkled with dawning understanding, her mouth opening to say-

"I've brought quiche," Casey announced, bringing the attention away from Chuck and Bryce's stare down.

Bryce tore his gaze away from Chuck's, turning instead on Sarah in a manner that looked totally calm and polite and not at all a silent promise to stop her from doing anything to hurt the innocents at the table.

Sarah met his stare evenly, something like hurt shining deep in the tepid blue of her eyes. If Chuck didn't know better, he would swear she was promising Bryce and Casey that she wasn't rogue. But Chuck did know better. All the evidence pointed to her. And wasn't that going to make for a fun dinner?

Chapter Text

This morning, all Chuck had wanted was a passable dinner with his family, to introduce Sarah and to make his sister proud of his life choices. Now, all Chuck wanted was for them all to survive dinner without getting poisoned. His new mission was to hide Sarah's souffle and not make anyone in his family think he was freaking out any more than absolutely necessary.

The latter part, on reflection, Chuck was not exactly excelling at.

"We, uh- we never made a toast," Chuck heard himself say, only a half octave higher than his normal voice. "Which, you know, I'll do now." Chuck reached forward for his wine glass, desperately searching his mind for something normal and totally not poisoned souffle related to say. "I'd like to propose a toast. To my sister. To my wonderful sister and a meal that looks so, so great. And Devon, you're great."

Awesome smiled, accepting the praise as his due.

Chuck nodded, only slightly frantically, hoping upon hope that at least one of the terrifying superspys at the table would pick up on his unsubtle cues. "And Sarah for a great dessert. And to John Casey and his mini quiches, which are equally as great."

"And what about me, Chuck?" Morgan asked, mouth full of quiche.

"For what?" Ellie muttered in a carrying aside.

Out of the corner of Chuck's eye, he saw Bryce smirk into his pot roast.

"To Morgan, for his great comic timing," Chuck continued, turning his gaze finally onto his smirking college best friend. "And to Bryce for being just a big a nerd as I am, but being better at hiding it."

Bryce raised his water. "Why, thank you."

"Cheers!" The spies dubiously sniffed their wine, but otherwise the toast was finished as non-poisoned souffle related ones were.

"That souffle looks delicious," Ellie announced, Awesome making a move for it with his fork. Chuck caught Bryce's questioning gaze and shook his head as subtly as he could.

Almost faster than Chuck could see, Bryce had spilled Casey's wine onto the souffle. He feigned shaking hands, apologising profusely to everyone at the table.

"I'm so sorry," Bryce repeated, staring at Sarah with sorrowful eyes. "I don't know what happened."

Sarah mutely shook her head, Ellie stepping in to assure Bryce that everything was fine and that accidents happened.

"At least it wasn't my fault for a change," Morgan offered in an unusual display of solidarity. "Have a quiche."

Bryce looked at the plate of mini quiches like they were grues coming to eat him. "No offense, but I don't trust anything Casey's cooked." Chuck narrowed his eyes but Bryce only smiled like an angel. "He might try to kill me. Again."

"Bryce." Chuck glared out of the corner of his eye, pasting a smile on to his face for Ellie. "He still has to watch what he eats for a while."

"Of course," Ellie nodded, falling easily into Doctor Mode. "Chuck said you were recovering from surgery. What was it again?"

"Gunshot," Bryce said succinctly, tapping the air over his chest with a still trembling hand. "Robbery. Wrong place, wrong time." He shrugged. "It's why I left New York. It's also why Charles is acting like a mama bear."

"What did it feel-"

"Morgan!" This time Chuck didn't bother hiding his glare. "Not cool, man."

A soft chuckle came from Bryce. "It's okay, Chuck." Blue eyes turned towards Morgan, a tiny sparkle of amusement glittering within. "It stung a bit." Bryce shrugged his right shoulder, eyes flashing briefly towards the resident NSA agent. "It could've been worse. The guy who shot me had really bad aim."

Chuck swore he heard Casey's teeth grind.

"Well I, for one, am glad that he did," Ellie smiled, warm and affectionate as she had always been. A soft spot for strays of all kinds, the Bartowski siblings had always had.

"Funnily enough, I feel the same way," Bryce replied, flashing his Hollywood grin. It faltered a second later, his right hand coming up to rub at his chest. "Will you excuse me a minute?"

"Of course," Ellie agreed, Chuck rising to his feet with Bryce.

"I'm fine, Chuck," Bryce said, not even needing to turn back to see him. "I just forgot to take my pills. I'll be back in a second."

Reluctantly, Chuck sank back into his seat, meeting Ellie's concerned gaze with a helpless shrug. "He's very stubborn."

"I'll check on him," Sarah offered, already on her feet. "Sometimes a woman's ear is helpful."

There were no words for how little Chuck wanted to let that happen, but Awesome and Morgan were announcing that was a good idea and Casey was glowering at Chuck, promising severe bodily harm if he so much as had to use the bathroom. So, Chuck pasted a smile on his face and pretended to fall into conversation with Morgan.

Sarah emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, announcing she had fun but had to go. Bryce, paler and with features more pinched than they had been moments before, followed soon after, making an excuse about being tired. Casey, because he wasn't an idiot, immediately said his goodbyes too. And Chuck, even though he knew it was a bad idea to get in between spy stuff, found himself making a comment about checking on Bryce and hightailed it outside in their wake.

By the time Chuck made it outside, Sarah was already out of view, Casey and Bryce almost by the gate.

"Casey!"

Sarah's urgent cry was silenced by two muted shots.

Casey, Bryce and Chuck rushed to the gate in time to see a man - the not dead Doctor Zarnow, apparently - close the boot of his car. Zarnow shot Casey with his tranq gun, Bryce bodily hauling Chuck behind the fence.

"We were wrong," Casey admitted, words slurring. Chuck looked over Bryce's shoulder, judging that making the protective spy move right now would not be in his best interests, and had to break away in time to catch Casey.

"You could have let him fall," Bryce remarked, taking great delight in watching the NSA agent slump to the pavement.

Chuck ignored his attempt at distraction, easing Casey to a seat. "He's got Sarah, we've got to save her."

"Brilliant deduction, Nancy Drew," Casey growled, trying to see the dart. "Now pull out the tranq dart!"

"Chuck doesn't like needles," Bryce announced, coming to a crouch beside them. A quick motion of his fingers had the dart out of Casey's arm. He slipped it into his pocket, rocking back on his heels. "We have to move, Chuck."

Each taking one of Casey's arms, Chuck and Bryce hauled the tranquilized NSA agent towards Chuck's Nerd Herd car. They settled him in the backseat, Bryce taking the wheel with a grin and a reminder that he was the trained operative here.

"Where are we headed?" Chuck asked, hoping Bryce had a better idea than just driving vaguely in the direction Zarnow had headed off in.

"Towards the water, I think," Bryce replied, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Chuck turned wide eyes on him. "You think?!"

"Chopper," Casey cut in, his head appearing between the driver and passenger seats. "I'd use a small airfield near the water, closest I could find."

Bryce inclined his head, silently agreeing. With his free hand, the CIA agent unlocked a computer, waving Chuck towards it.

"Satellite search?"

Bryce nodded once, meeting Casey's gaze in the rear view mirror. "Get ready. We'll be going in hot."

"You're not cleared for field duty."

"I've got news for you, Casey, you're not exactly at fighting fitness yourself," Bryce snarked, pressing harder on the accelerator. "Sarah is in danger because we didn't trust her. I hardly think a healing gunshot should stop me from having her back."

Casey pulled his gun from out of thin air, nodding grimly. "Agreed."

Bryce pulled the car to a stop outside the Port of Los Angeles, Casey arming himself in the back seat. Chuck looked between the two agents, watching them find places on their bodies for weaponry he didn't even know his car held. "What's the plan?"

"We're going to go in there, rescue Sarah, arrest the doctor, and kill anyone that gets in out way," Casey announced, Bryce inclining his head in agreement with the plan.

"And what am I going to do?" Chuck asked, having a feeling he already knew the answer to that.

Casey and Bryce shared a look. "Stay in the car."

"Be back soon, buddy." Bryce clapped a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Let's do this."

Chuck watched the once rival agents run off into the night. He stayed in his seat, scanning the port and feeling ants crawling over his skin with every passing second. He began to fidget with his seatbelt, the onboard computer, then turned and saw Zarnow emerge from a door marked Harbor Master Office.

That had to be where he was holding Sarah.

And Casey and Bryce had headed off in the other direction.

"Stay in the car. Stay in the car. Do not leave the car. The car is your safe space. No leaving the car." Try as he might, the affirmations didn't seem very useful. In fact, he was still muttering them as he crept across the slick asphalt towards the office.

Sarah was cuffed to a pipe, duct tape over her mouth and around her ankles, a fine sheen of sweat covering her upper body. Muffled protestations and orders for Chuck to go back to safety came from beneath her duct tape gag, Chuck ripping it off as gently as he could.

"Chuck, you shouldn't even be here," Sarah said, eyes burning holes in him. "I have this well in hand."

"Uh-huh," Chuck muttered dubiously. "It looks like you have it well in hand."

Sarah shook her head. "Just find me something to pick this with."

He found something metal just in time to replace the tape and hide behind some machinery.

Zarnow strutted in, crowing about helicopters and last chances and really awful threats of torture. Chuck hadn't even been properly introduced to him and he already agreed with Bryce that he wasn't a fan. In fact, Chuck kind of hoped either Bryce or Casey would come in and shoot him, just a little.

Unfortunately, Zarnow pulled out a wicked looking needle gun, threatening Sarah.

"Oh crap," Chuck uttered, feeling his nausea rise at the sight of the needle. He really hated needles. "Oh crap!"

Panic crested on the next breath, adrenaline pushing him to make a run for it. The tranq gun thudded into the door above his head. He turned and met Zarnow's gaze, flashing on his nasty history.

"You've been passing American science to North Korea for years," he accused, watching Zarnow reloading his tranq gun. Zarnow monologued about his plans - as evil dudes tended to do, Chuck was quickly learning - and it began to hit him, how screwed he was.

Sarah was chained up. Casey and Bryce were God knows where. And crazy traitor doctor was going to shoot him with a tranq dart. And did he mention, he really hated needles?

Chuck came to in the back of a helicopter, hearing the pilot say something about a fifteen minute flight. His old friend panic was there for the ride, keeping him company as he often had. But, underneath it all, Chuck felt calm. Well, as calm as he could be in a helicopter with a crazy scientist who wanted to sell him to the highest bidder. Casey, Sarah and Bryce weren't there, but he knew what they would do if they were. They'd perform some wicked hand to hand and take out the pilot and Zarnow and then pilot the helicopter back to safety.

Chuck couldn't fly a helicopter or do more than the Morgan in an emergency situation, but he didn't need to. Right in front of him, conveniently within reach, was Zarnow's tranq gun. He picked it up and pointed it at Zarnow.

"Don't move!"

Zarnow turned, a despairing expression on his blank face. "You must be kidding."

He made a grab for the gun, Chuck squeezing his eyes shut as he grappled Zarnow for it. There was a sound like a pop, then the helicopter began bleeping dangerously.

"You shot the pilot, you idiot," Zarnow cursed.

They carried on grappling, tossed to and fro with the motion of the helicopter. Zarnow nearly had the upper hand, his hands near Chuck's throat, when the helicopter jolted upright. Zarnow's head hit the ceiling and he crumpled to the floor. Taking his chance, Chuck scrambled into the front of the helicopter, grabbing the controls and trying his best not to die.

Chuck's phone rang, his nervous fingers fumbling his Bluetooth earpiece into his ear.

"I told you to stay in the car!" Casey barked, and Chuck did not have time for his lecture. He already knew he was going to cop it when he was back on solid ground. His current predicament was getting there first.

"You know what, Casey, forget about the car. Tell me how to fly a helicopter."

"All right, there's a collective in the cyclic control."

Chuck was a professional nerd and even that made no sense. "What?"

"One's the stick. One looks like an emergency break. Grab 'em both."

Chuck hurried to do as he was told. "Okay. I got it. I got it. I got them." The helicopter spun around him and he almost couldn't breathe. "Oh my God. Oh my God! This is not working!"

"Push the stick just a bit forward while doing the same thing with the emergency break."

Chuck did so, but the ground was coming up far too quickly.

Casey's voice rang urgently in his ear. "Pull up! Pull up! Pull up on the emergency break! Level off! Level off!"

Chuck tried. Honestly, he tried so hard. But he didn't know how. Nothing he did was working and the ground was coming up and - oh God, he was going to die. He was going to die in a helicopter and Ellie would never understand and-

"Listen, moron," Casey called in his ear. "You wanna die?"

There was a slight scuffle on the line, Sarah's voice briefly telling Casey that he wasn't helping.

"Okay," Bryce's voice filled his ear, calm and soothing. "You're going to be fine, Chuck. But I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?"

Chuck did as he was told, feeling a hint of calm in an ocean of panic.

"You and Morgan ever play any flight simulators buddy?"

"I've done those, yeah."

"Any helicopter ones?"

"Apache Chopper Patrol."

"That's a good one."

"Yeah."

"Right now, buddy, that's just what you're doing. You're back in your room with me and we're playing that game. None of this is real. It's just a game. Just fly the helicopter."

"It's just a game?" Chuck repeated, nodding a little. "It's just a game. I can do this."

"Of course you can, just ease to the right a little," Bryce directed, Chuck following the soothing order almost instinctively.

The helicopter shuddered around him, but it landed safely on the rain wet ground. Hysterical laughter burst from his lips, Chuck forcing his white knuckled grip on the controls to loosen.

Casey clapped him on the back, moving in to secure the doctor and the pilot. Bryce and Sarah stayed back, identical glares on their faces and steel in their blue eyes.

Sarah stepped forward first. "What the hell we're you thinking?!" she demanded, an angry crease forming between her eyes. "The secrets in your head are incredibly important! You compromised everything when you stopped trusting me."

"And when you got out of the car," Casey added, his own glare joining the ones already being shot at Chuck.

"Listen, I know I messed up-"

"Yeah, you messed up," Sarah agreed bitterly. "Don't ever accuse me of betraying you again." She turned on her heel and strode away, Casey following her a moment later.

And then it was just Chuck and Bryce.

"I should have cuffed you to the steering wheel," Bryce growled, eyes flinty and seriously pissed off.

Chuck felt his shoulders slump, guilt and worn off adrenaline dropping several tonnes on his back.

Bryce stepped forward, crushing him in a hug that was two parts relief and one part enthusiastic pride. "You did good up there."

Touched at the rare praise, Chuck hugged his friend back as tightly as he dared. "Thanks, buddy."

Bryce pulled back, eyes soft and warm again. "Just don't ever scare me like that again."

That much Chuck could easily promise. "Believe me, pal, I don't want to get in another situation like that any time soon."

Bryce stared at him, a considering frown on his lips. "You know, I think I might have to schedule you in for some time on simulators," he said, leading him back to the car. "Just in case."

"Really?" Chuck blinked, trying to work out if that was a terrifying gesture or a sweet one.

Bryce shrugged. "Yeah. And in the meantime, we're playing Apache Chopper Patrol until you can fly a helicopter in your sleep."

Chapter Text

In the last few weeks, Chuck had been slowly getting used to being a part of a crime fighting, world saving team. If it wasn't a bomb that needed disabling with a porn virus, it was an evil doctor trying to sell him on the Black Market, or dealing with three incredibly talented super spies who barely seemed to tolerate one another from one day to the next. But, in all the top secret government craziness, Chuck had forgotten more ordinary worries. Like the race to become Assistant Manager of the Buy More.

In his infinite wisdom, Big Mike decreed that all the broken hard drives in the Cage had to be fixed within two days - or else Harry Tang became Assistant Manager. Even Chuck, with his brain so thoughtfully packed with all manner of nasty and deadly government secrets, couldn't think of a more horrific thing than Harry Tang in a position of greater authority.

Well, at least not in relation to the Buy More.

And, instead of being in the cage fixing the hard drives with his team, Chuck was back on the floor, awkwardly avoiding kissing his (fake) girlfriend with an excuse about not being a fan of PDA. It wasn't that Chuck didn't want to kiss Sarah, in fact kissing Sarah Walker would probably be one of the greatest things that could happen to Chuck (if their relationship was even remotely real), but Chuck recognised the preoccupied light in her eyes. This wasn't a cute social call to keep up their cover. This was business.

Chuck felt Morgan's approving gaze on him as Sarah led him into the Home Theater Room (AKA, the room where serious spy stuff went down). The curtains were drawn, but Chuck could still hear Morgan get Casey's palm in his face, pushing him to the floor. It was practically Casey's signature move when it came to Morgan.

Casey and Sarah launched into one of their inter-agency bickering sessions, making Chuck feel strongly like a child stuck between parents about to divorce. "... I wouldn't dream of starting without you, Agent Casey," Sarah was saying, bending over to put photographs on the table in front of Chuck.

Chuck glanced at the first photo, deciding in that moment that this was not going to be a good day for Chuck Bartowski.

"Where's Bryce?" Chuck asked, looking between his original handlers. "I don't think we should start whatever this is without Bryce."

"I'm here," Bryce called, walking in behind Casey. He offered Chuck an easy smile, sinking into the couch beside him.

"No suit today, Bryce?" Since his friend had moved back to LA, Chuck had never seen him walk into the Buy More in anything less than an impeccably tailored suit. And yet, here he was looking like they were back at Stanford with his red hoodie and worn black jeans.

Bryce rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug. "It's my day off, something I was intending to spend catching up on some Call of Duty, but here I am."

Chuck patted his knee. "Your sacrifice for the country is appreciated."

"Now it's your turn," Bryce smirked, tapping the photos with a finger.

Chuck looked plaintively at Sarah. "I don't want to look at dead guys."

"Sorry," she offered, perching on the arm of the couch nearest him. "But they were killed and we have to know why."

Chuck pointedly did not look back at the photographs. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Look again."

When Casey said things like that, Chuck knew non-compliance was not an option. Still, he glanced at Bryce, raising half an eyebrow in a silent question.

Think you can take him?

The corner of Bryce's lips twitched, amusement and apology shining within his eyes. I could, but we've got to know. Sorry Chuck.

Fortunately - and this was definitely one of the first times Chuck had ever been glad of Jeff's presence - Jeff opened the door, sighing with disappointment at the sight of them.

"Sorry," Jeff said, sounding anything but. "I was going to take a nap. I'll come back in five. I kinda called dibs on the couch."

Chuck normally would have assured his fellow Nerd Herder that they would be done by then, but his attention was pulled to the advertisement of an art auction on Jeff's newspaper. Information flashed through his mind almost faster than he could make sense of it. La Ciudad.

Sarah's concerned face was the first thing Chuck noticed after his flash. "Chuck, what did you see?"

"I, uh, I'm not quite sure. Um. Water Lily painting. Weapons. An art auction tomorrow night. Does the name La Ciudad mean anything to you?"

Bryce, Sarah and Casey shared identical looks full of super secret spy stuff meaning.

"Why?" Casey asked warily.

Chuck turned to Casey, "Because I think he's going to be at the art auction tomorrow night."

Chuck could only see Casey and Sarah this time, but he still knew an 'oh crap' look when he saw one. "Right then, I'm gonna go fix some hard drives. Good luck with the spy stuff."

"Hold up, Chuck," Bryce called, emerging from the room after him.

"Aren't you needed in there?" Chuck asked, nodding his head back to the super secret spy planning undoubtedly going on back in the Home Theater Room.

Bryce tilted his head, pinning Chuck with an almost sad smile. "They're just going to ground me anyway. I'm still not cleared for active missions."

Chuck really did not like the helpless look on Bryce Larkin. "You wanna fix some hard drives? We fix 'em all, Harry Tang is going to look bad."

"You had me at fixing hard drives," Bryce grinned, Chuck leading him down to the cage with a smile he couldn't quite contain.

"Chuck I am so proud of you!" Ellie cried, her smile bright enough to power LA for at least a week. "Morgan told me about the assistant manager job. Congratulations!"

Chuck laughed a little, buoyed by his sister's enthusiasm. Still, he knew how getting his hopes up for a job worked out. "First of all," he said, letting Morgan out of the kitchen. "The job is not mine yet. And second of all, you can ease up on the enthusiasm. It's only a two dollar an hour raise at an electronics store. And I don't even get my own parking space."

"You could try sounding a little psyched, buddy," Bryce suggested from the other side of the island, seated about as far from Morgan as it was possible to get. "I worked on my day off to help you get the job."

"And I enjoyed spending the day fixing electronics with you, Bryce," Chuck instantly replied, earning a flash of a grin from his friend. "But I just. I don't know."

Ellie moved back towards the island, firmly back in big sister mode. "Does this lack of interest mean you're finally open to leaving the Buy More for a real profession?"

"Real profession?" Morgan echoed, confusion wrinkling his forehead. "Sorry, I'm going to need clarification on that."

Ellie pointed at Chuck's chest. "He went to Stanford, for God's sakes, Morgan."

Morgan jerked his own thumb at Bryce, Chuck watching the CIA agent restrain himself from reaching out and breaking it on instinct. "So did the Accountant. And where does he work? Oh, yeah, the Buy More."

"He used to work in a bank," Chuck offered loyally, knowing it had to be hard for Bryce not to just play the coolest friend Trump card and annouce he actually worked for the CIA.

"Where he got shot," Morgan pointed out brutally. "I'm not trying to be cruel, man. I'm just saying we oughta be realistic about our long term goals."

Chuck let Ellie and Morgan argue it out about his own future plans, turning to a strangely silent Bryce. "Living room?"

Bryce stood up, pilfering one of the carrot sticks Ellie had set out as an after dinner snack. "Oh yeah."

"Are they always like this?" Bryce whispered, the sounds of Awesome trying to convince Ellie all the reasons Chuck should go white water rafting falling over Chuck's ears.

"Pretty much," Chuck agreed mournfully, nudging more carrot sticks Bryce's way.

"Bryce, you ever been white water rafting?"

Bryce paused in his meticulous selection of his next carrot stick, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Actually, that's one thing I haven't yet done," he admitted, sounding almost surprised at the revelation.

Chuck did not like the sound of that. "Haven't you already had enough near death experiences lately?"

"What?" Bryce asked, all innocence. "I didn't say I wanted to try it right this minute."

"I know that look in your eyes, Larkin. You are not going white water rafting."

Bryce set his jaw in the expression of challenge Chuck recognised from their worst ideas back at Stanford. "And you're going to stop me?" Chuck heard the 'and who's army are you going to borrow for that one?' that his friend left implicit.

Chuck set his jaw right back. "Yes." And, although he wasn't a CIA trained superspy, he did have allies. "Ellie, Devon, it's a bad idea with a recuperating gunshot wound. Right?"

"Bad idea," Ellie instantly agreed, something shrewd in her eyes.

"Not awesome," Awesome faithfully seconded.

Chuck smirked his little I-told-you-so smirk, feeling Bryce glare back with only mild irritation. He patted Bryce's knee, getting up before the conversation could turn back to what to do with Chuck part II. "I'm going to hit the sack. Night everyone."

"Night, Chuck," Morgan called, narrowing his eyes at Bryce.

Bryce seemed quietly content to continue to ignore him. "Goodnight, buddy."

Casey peered through Chuck's Venetian blinds, giving him the glare that said he had been waiting for him for far too long. "Congratulations, Chuck," he said, Chuck immediately not getting the impression that this was a congratulatory matter at all. "You just got your first mission. Tommorow night. Hope you're ready for the real world." Peering at him a moment longer with his typical creepy intense stare, Casey returned to the shadows, leaving Chuck on the verge of a panic attack.

"Bryce!"

Bryce immediately appeared in the doorway to Chuck's room. Unfortunately, so did Ellie, Awesome and Morgan. "What's wrong?" Bryce asked, scanning the room for any threats. And if he didn't tone it down a bit, everyone was going to start suspecting that he was definitely not an accountant.

Chuck forced himself not to sound like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. "I think I accidentally deleted most of our progress on Zork?"

Confusion flickered over Bryce's face, but the tension began to leech from his frame. "Okay," he said soothingly. "We'll have to work on that again then." He turned his charming smile on the rest of Chuck's family, who were already backing out of the room at their incomprehensible geek stuff.

When they were alone again, Bryce turned impatient eyes on Chuck. "What's really going on?"

And hello again panic, old friend. "Casey. Mission. Tomorrow night. Me. Screwed?"

All the tension that had leeched out of Bryce's frame snapped instantly back into place. Bryce leaned forward, blue eyes burning. "I beg your pardon?"

"I think I'm going to the art auction tomorrow night?"

Bryce stood there, just in front of Chuck's door, slowly nodding to himself. "Right," he said. "Okay. I'll be right back. Just going to kill Casey."

Bryce crossed in front of Chuck, clearly about to make use of the Morgan door. Chuck closed his hand around his wrist, fully aware that Bryce could shake him off like a bug if he wanted to. But, Bryce let Chuck stop him.

"I know why I'm freaking out, Bryce, but I don't know why you're freaking out. Who is this La Ciudad?"

Bryce closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. "Arms dealer. One of the worst. We have no idea what he looks like and everything we know about him is up there," Bryce tapped Chuck's forehead. "Thanks to me."

"So I am screwed," Chuck decided, releasing Bryce's wrist.

"You'll have Sarah and Casey to watch your back," Bryce reminded him, carefully not telling Chuck he wasn't in fact not screwed. "And me. Of course."

No. No, that sounded like a bad idea. "But you're not cleared for active-"

This time, Bryce's stubborn glare promised that no matter how many armies Chuck summoned to his defence, he would not be besting Bryce on this. "Shut up, Chuck."

Chuck didn't shut up. But he did switch the subject back to the relatively safe discussion on the last Star Wars Prequel film. Bryce, it turned out, had missed opening day being stuck in a cell in some Central African compound, but he had opinions. Opinions that were definitely good for distracting both of them from the upcoming mission.

The next morning, Chuck decided to feign enthusiasm until he felt less like terror was going to reduce his insides to melty things. So, he followed Casey around the Buy More, pestering him for details. "Dress attire for this evening. Sneakers, or are we classifying this as more of a shoe event?"

"We rented you a tux," Casey replied, walking purposefully through the shelves.

"Oh, that's nice," Chuck said, almost touched. But then... "How did you know my size?"

"NSA. They have copies of your rental information from prom night."

Okay. Not touching. Vaguely invasive and creepy.

Casey rolled his eyes, silently pitying how gullible Chuck was. "Larkin told me."

And Chuck was back at touching. Nevertheless: "This is my first foray into actual undercover spy work, so if you could ease up on the sarcasm, that would be great. And I was kinda wondering, how am I supposed to recognise La Ciudad? Bryce says there's no picture. Am I supposed to just wander around and hope I flash on someone?"

"Pretty much."

"Great," Chuck squeaked, pulling himself back together. "Now, hand-to-hand combat. In all seriousness, if it comes down to me and La Ciudad in some fisticuffs or something, is there, like, a 20-minute tutorial you can take me through?"

"What did Larkin say?"

Not a chance in hell, Chuck.

"He wasn't open to the idea."

Casey tried on something that actually resembled reassurance. "Don't worry. You're going to be fine." He paused then added. "Assuming you know how to tango."

Chuck couldn't tango. He could barely do the funky chicken. "Seriously?"

"Oh, I don't joke about your life."

No sooner had Casey gone about his cover job than Morgan announced Sarah had come to visit him. Chuck really didn't think he could face any more pre-mission pep talks, and he still had a job to do. "I have computers to fix."

Anna and Lester assured him they had it - nerds sticking together in the aim of getting another nerd laid (or so Lester would later tell him), so Chuck found himself walking arm in arm with Sarah out of the Buy More.

Sitting with Sarah in the sunshine, talking over his cover details was actually kind of nice. It was certainly a relaxing change of pace from Casey's sarcasm and Bryce's unsubtle watchfulness (it had been a relief when Bruce had stayed home again to argue the case for his admittance into the field tonight).

"The idea with a cover is to keep it as simple as possible without revealing true personal detail," Sarah advised, talking him through it while restocking paper napkins. "Any thoughts on a name?"

"Charles Carmichael," Chuck found himself saying. "Simple, dignified."

"Easy to remember and not far off," Sarah approved, but Chuck wasn't really hearing her.

"Graduated with Honors from Stanford." Like me and Bryce. "Runs a hugely successful software company. Semi-retired and is considering entering America's Cup."

Sarah sat back, impressed. "You've done this before?"

Chuck wanted to shrug and say "my best friend at Stanford was a CIA agent" but, he had been totally clueless about that until very recently. And, Chuck didn't like the idea of lying to Sarah. "Let's just say, uh, that Mr Carmichael and I share a small kinship."

Sarah stopped pretending to do her job, just sat back with an expression saying she was open to listening. "How's that?"

Chuck smiled sadly, thoughts of what could have been passing through his mind. "When I first entered Stanford, it's kind of where I envisioned myself being by now, except for the sailing part. I don't really know where that came from." Chuck shook his head, regret weighing heavy in his heart. "But, he's where most of my class already is. Except Bryce, but you know, I think he's living the dream anyway. Bullet wounds aside."

There was honest curiosity in Sarah's eyes as she watched him. "So what happened?"

"Oh you know." Chuck shrugged, trying to convey that it wasn't a big deal. "My life took a little detour senior year. One of my favourite professors had a job deal lined up for me after graduation, but one day he called me into his office and said I wasn't at all what they were looking for and I should try my luck somewhere more suited to my limited skill. And then my girlfriend dumped me for some older guy, and my life kind of fell apart."

Chuck saw the sadness flickering into Sarah's face. "Hey, it's not all bad. I've got my family, I've got you guys, and I've got a head full of scary government secrets keeping me in a constant state of fear, anxiety and danger. So there's that."

Sarah, because she was a brilliant spy as well as a kind and insightful person, met his gaze easily. "Don't worry about tonight. No reason to be nervous." She reached out and covered his hand with her own. "I'm not going to leave your side," she promised.

Chuck smiled slightly. "Me? Nervous? Come on. Never."

Sarah glanced down at his hand. "Your hand is a little moist."

Only a little? Sarah was being generous. "That happens when I'm freaking out."

Sarah squeezed his hand comfortingly. "I'll get you something to eat, then I'll call Bryce to get you home to prepare for tonight."

Preparing for tonight was perhaps one of the worst ideas Chuck had ever had. He didn't know how else to describe willingly tangoing with Captain Awesome (wearing little else but a blue bathrobe and boxer shorts) in their cleared living room. Ellie and Bryce - because Chuck was pretty sure they both secretly sucked aside from being the most incredible people ever - were seated on the dining room chairs, watching avidly.

Awesome was weirdly intense, moving Chuck's hands and body where he felt they needed to go. And with little regard for Chuck's increasing levels of discomfort.

Eventually, when Chuck was beginning to think Awesome was just making this stuff up - and Ellie was grinning like everything was wonderful and totally normal - Bryce's laughter filled voice sounded above the tango music. "This is the best thing I've seen in years."

"You could help, you know," Chuck said through gritted teeth.

Bryce's grin sparkled wickedly. "It only takes two to tango, Chuck, not three."

"He's not wrong, Chuck," Ellie offered helpfully, her smile twinkling in her eyes.

"I do have one minor criticism," Bryce offered, correctly reading Chuck's dwindling patience in his eyes. He stood, making his Stanford tee and even more worn jeans than yesterday look like the tux they both knew he would soon be donning. "If I may, Devon?"

Awesome spun Chuck - gently - into Bryce's body, Bryce taking his hand as if this was something that happened every day. Bryce's hands made a few small adjustments to Chuck's hips and stance, expression never wavering from polite helpfulness.

"What are you doing?" Chuck whispered as Bryce took on the role Chuck had just been learning.

Bryce quirked a slight grin. "He was teaching you the woman's part."

If having Awesome teaching him had been oddly intense and vaguely unsettling, Bryce was something else. He kept his gaze on Chuck's, occasionally putting a hint of pressure on his hand or hip, just to remind Chuck what he was doing. At some point, he closed his eyes and instructed Chuck by feel.

"No, you're supposed to be leading me, Chuck," Bryce said, not annoyed just gently reminding. Then, a little later, after Chuck had stumbled over his own feet again; "Confidence, Chuck. The tango is a dance of passion, it's not the robot."

Awesome chuckled a little at that, Chuck feeling a wave of determination wash over him. "Start it again, Ellie," he called, moving them back to the starting position.

As soon as the sultry notes began, Chuck led them throughout the floor. Calm and confident and remembering that he was in charge and not the blue eyed man strangely content to be led about in his arms. They ended as the music did, with a flourish, Bryce dipped in his arms and Ellie and Awesome cheering in the background.

Chuck grinned a little, moving them back upright with a sheepish shrug.

"Bravo," Bryce approved, sounding a little out of breath. He stepped away, his smile bright and warm. "Tuxes. Our car is going to be here soon."

"This isn't fair," Chuck grumbled, slipping on the watch Sarah had just given him. "Even with this beautiful watch - thank you, by the way, Sarah - I look like a waiter and he looks like James Bond."

"I really should use that as an alias you call me that so often," Bryce quipped, leaning back with a glass of scotch on the rocks.

Chuck narrowed his eyes, silently laughing sarcastically at his relaxed friend. "How can you joke?"

Bryce shrugged a shoulder. "Considering the last mission I was on, Casey shot me, allow me my coping mechanisms."

Chuck felt himself begin to panic. "Am I going to get shot? Is this going to happen to me? Is La Ciudad going to kill me?"

"No, Chuck," Sarah announced, shooting a glare at a repentant Bryce. "You're going to be fine. Just keep out of the way once you flash."

"I'll be fine," Chuck repeated, trying to believe it.

"As long as you know how to tango," Casey cut in, smirking over his shoulder.

"I've done some preparations," Chuck said, glancing to the left. Bryce took a sip of his scotch, pointedly looking out of the tinted window.

Casey snorted in the driver's seat, even Sarah looked as though she was holding back a laugh.

"Spy humour," Chuck sighed, shaking his head. "Did you know I didn't need to tango?"

"In a tux, you always need to know how to tango," Bryce replied, setting his empty glass back in the bar. "Now, it's your stop. Casey will swing back around and drop me off soon."

Chuck paused just before the door opened. "Bryce, do me a favour?"

Bryce chuckled under his breath. "I'll do my best not to get shot, Chuck. Now go."

Chuck found La Ciudad in the men's room. In true spy noob style, he spilled sauce on his shirt, and ran into him at the sink next to his. Fortunately, Sarah was on hand to spirit him into the main room, where she told him to go wait at the bar and presumably went off to do something scary and spy related that Chuck wasn't trained for. At the bar, while Sarah was apparently flirting with their mark, Chuck was accosted by an old 'friend' from Stanford who just wanted to brag about his successes. Chuck bragged right back, pointing out Sarah in the crowd. Unfortunately, La Ciudad added girlfriend stealing to his list of despicable crimes, wrapping his arms around Sarah and making it obvious she probably wouldn't be going home with Chuck that night - you know, if their relationship was real.

"Ouch," Watterman consoled, watching the same disaster.

"We have a very open relationship," Chuck lied, vainly trying to salvage something of his reputation. Bryce appeared at the other end of the bar. He caught Chuck's gaze and started towards him. And, it was like something had taken control of Chuck's mouth because the next words out of his lips were not anything he ever intended. "And there's our third," Chuck announced brightly.

Casey shot him a what the hell look over the bar, but Chuck was not longer in control of himself.

Watterman turned and saw Bryce approaching, his eyebrows skyrocketed.

"Bryce, honey," Chuck said, eyes wild and panicked. "You remember Allan Watterman from Stanford, right?"

Bryce's eyes narrowed infinitesimally but he rolled with it as the consummate spy he was. "Of course, darling," Bryce replied, stepping in close by Chuck's side. "Allan, congratulations on the sale."

Watterman stared at the pair of them for a long minute. "You know, this makes a lot of sense," he muttered, stepping back a little after meeting Bryce's gaze. In fact, he stepped back a lot, looking vaguely panicked and feigning a call on his phone.

"He's being investigated by the SEC for insider trading," Bryce announced, turning expectant eyes on Chuck. "And, what the hell was that?"

Chuck realised how close he and Bryce were when he automatically dropped his head on Bryce's shoulder and not the bar top. "I panicked," he mumbled, feeling Bryce's hand come to rest on the back of his neck. "He was bragging and then I bragged about Sarah and then she started flirting with La Ciudad and you were right there and you're the only person at this party as good-looking as she is and," Chuck trailed off in a groan. "I'm sorry."

Bryce's chuckle reverberated through Chuck. "Don't be," Bryce said warmly. "I'm here to protect you, Chuck. Even as the third in a very strange open relationship."

Chuck lifted his head in time to see Bryce's wicked grin. "You're the worst."

"Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?" Casey smirked, earning death glares from both Bryce and Chuck. The levity vanished from Casey's face, the NSA Major jumping over the bar to follow Sarah. He stopped, turning to glare at Chuck. "You? Stay here. You?" He pointed at Bryce. "Protect the Intersect."

Chuck made his way through the room to the painting he'd flashed on at the start of this mission. Dimly, he heard Bryce curse and get up after him, but all he could see was the painting. And then, a very beautiful woman who seemed enthralled by the painting too. He started babbling about Bob Ross, feeling Bryce's judgement from a pace away.

"I'm Malena," the very beautiful woman introduced, holding out her hand to Chuck.

"Hi. Chuck. Charles." Chuck paused, pulling on his best impression of Bryce's charming suavity. "Charles Carmichael." Bryce softly cleared his throat. "And, my partner, Bryce, uh-"

"Anderson," Bryce finished, simply nodding at Malena.

Malena nodded back, turning her attention back to Chuck. "You don't like the painting?"

"It seems lovely, but I'm more interested in the frame."

A waiter came by and Malena snagged them champagne, Bryce stepping back to take a phonecall that bore the CIA cover name. And, before Chuck knew it, he was on the dancefloor while tango music filled his ears. Unfortunately, without Bryce's brilliant blue eyes staring into his, Chuck blanked on the male part of the dance. He found himself mirroring the motions Awesome had taught him, Malena taking on the role of the male lead. It was simultaneously mortifying and exhilarating.

Until the moment Chuck flashed on her scar and realised she was La Ciudad.

"Thank you for the dance," Chuck said, trying to keep his calm. "But I really should get back to my partner. He's just coming off surgery and I really think we should think about calling it a night." Sadly, Malena appeared to think the same thing. A gun pressed against his back and Chuck was escorted by two hulking men up to Malena's room. Whether he wanted it or not.

The only good thing was Bryce following him out of the room, the look on his face promising imminent retribution.

Knowing Bryce was coming for him and he just had to buy him some time, Chuck stalled. Well, he babbled a bit and made up some lies about sneaking into the party to impress a girl and a guy - a two for one deal as it were. And then he kinda told the truth about the frame and the probably fake painting. Well, and the talking about computers to prove he was a geek was definitely easy - and definitely time wasting. And Chuck really, really hoped that he had bought Bryce - and maybe Casey and Sarah, if he was really lucky - enough time.

Because, Chuck was beginning to think he was out of time.

"...the trouble is, you've seen me and now I have to kill you."

"No, you don't have to kill me," Chuck announced, forcing down the urge to cry for help. "I protest. I protest vehemently. I won't tell. You can ask anyone. You don't know the secrets I've never told." Chuck sent up a prayer for Bryce Larkin to hurry the hell up. "Please don't shoot me."

"They're not going to shoot you, buddy," Bryce called, a muffled thud accompanying his words.

Chuck knew if he turned, he'd see Bryce crouching on the balcony after having jumped down onto it. Apparently, that was exactly what La Ciudad and her goons saw, as they began shooting through the open balcony doors.

Bryce slid into the room, shooting a spray at the goons that had them diving for cover. His momentum took Chuck's chair to the ground, Bryce slicing quickly through the ropes holding him. Then, it was kind of a blur.

Casey kicked the door in and he and Sarah joined Bryce in an epic hand-to-hand grudge match in the middle of the room. La Ciudad managed to get her gun and fired into the air, making the agents drop to the ground by Chuck. And, when they stopped shooting, La Ciudad and her remaining bodyguard were gone.

Sarah helped Chuck off the ground, hands fluttering over him to make sure he was unharmed. Bryce met his gaze across the room, face pinched with pain but smiling in a kind of apologetic relief.

Chuck got home to an Ellie who wanted to talk about things that Chuck couldn't talk about with her - like Sarah and Bryce and relationships. And Chuck wanted to talk to her, of course he did, but he'd been in a firefight and he'd tangoed with a murderess and he was exhausted. But, apparently having a head full of government secrets wasn't enough for the universe to let him sleep, because Chuck had to haul himself down to the Buy More to let Morgan out of the storage cage.

Morgan put up a fight as Chuck sent him home, protesting that he never would leave his wingman when he needed him. But, Chuck stayed firm. After the night he had had, it was nice to settle in and do something he knew he would always be good at. He might not be able to fix people or find out where La Ciudad was, but he could fix broken electronics and make some sense out of his universe for a while.

About half an hour into his solo fixing endeavour, the smell of coffee filled Chuck's nose. Bryce, still dressed in his rumpled tuxedo, stood in the entrance to the cage, a tray of takeout coffee in his hand. "Need some help?"

Chuck stared blankly at him for a long moment, trying to process the question. Honestly, he'd love the assistance, but if he were Bryce right now he'd be popping a painkiller and sinking into the ludicrously high thread count sheets Bryce had dragged him out to buy. He certainly wouldn't be clearly ignoring his body's need for rest and standing in the storage cage at a Buy More.

"You saved my life tonight, you don't need to-"

"I just got reamed by the Director and General Beckman for letting La Ciudad go," Bryce announced, wincing at the memory. "Let me pretend we're back in Stanford for a bit, yeah?"

There was nothing Chuck could do but push a chair out with his foot and pick up some delicious coffee. And, for a little while, he and Bryce didn't talk about the Intersect or the failed mission. They chatted about the teething troubles preprogramming Zork and playfully bickered over Kirk and Picard's position as Best Captain. And it really was like they were back at Stanford, earning some extra cash as the go-to computer fixers on their campus.

By the time Big Mike walked in the next morning, Chuck was finishing the last repairs and Bryce was leaning against the cage fence, timing him with a silly grin on his face. They were both sleep deprived and a little loopy because of it, hopped up on the coffee they'd been consuming steadily since about midnight. Yet, strangely, it was the most normal Chuck could remember feeling in weeks. Big Mike coming in and actually being impressed was just the icing on a night that ended better than he could ever have hoped.

Of course, that was when Harry Tang walked in. The slippery little weasel carried in a half dozen empty beer cans, showing them to Big Mike. "Sir, there's been a major infraction," Tang announced. "Drinking alcoholic beverages on the property."

"Nothing wrong with a man wetting his whistle every once in a while," Big Mike dismissed, sending a flash of surprise through Chuck. "Keep it out of the store, Bartowksi." The manager paused and registered Bryce's presence. "You working today, Larkin?"

"Just offering moral support," Bryce replied, sipping nonchalantly at his latest takeaway coffee.

Big Mike shrugged, nodding back at Chuck. "You get extra points for style, Bartowksi. Looking sharp."

Chuck preened, glad someone had noticed.

Tang tossed the empties into the nearest bin. "You look like a waiter."

"I think he looks like James Bond," Bryce smirked, Tang glaring at them before storming out of the cage.

"Connery?"

"Lazenby," Bryce smirked, laughing at Chuck's groan. "Hey, it could be worse. You could be David Niven."

"Does he even count as James Bond?" Chuck wondered, staring unhappily into the empty interior of his cup.

Bryce wiggled his hand from side to side, shrugging. "Not really." The CIA agent pressed his coffee, still half full, into Chuck's hand. "You need this more than I do, 007. I'll make a run for some more."

"You're the best," Chuck called to Bryce's back, humming happily as the dark roast spread over his tongue.

Chuck's good mood lasted well into the morning, beyond the time he had to give up his spiffy rented tux for his Nerd Herd uniform. He worked the customer service desk, returning the fixed electronics to their rightful owners. It wasn't quite as fun as fixing them, but it was its own unique reward. Like watching Bryce - still in his tux - trail after Casey, Morgan and Tang at alternating times, forcing them to be polite to him in front of customers.

Which was really great and all that, right up until two obviously armed goons walked in through the doors. They couldn't have broadcasted 'coming to kill Chuck Bartowski' louder if they'd been yelling it through a bullhorn. Having no wish to experience first hand what a bullet felt like, Chuck hid behind the customer service desk, trying desperately to work out a way out of his current predicament.

"Chuck." Harry Tang's voice interrupted Chuck's burgeoning panic attack. "Hiding from work again?"

Chuck patted the ground around his huddled form. "I think I dropped something," he said in the lamest excuse his brain had ever summoned. "Go away, Harry."

"I'm never going away, Chuck," Tang replied. And he would, if Bryce ever had an off day and decided to forget his morals and shoot him. "When you go to sleep at night, all you're gonna see is Tang in your face."

Chuck had experienced a lot of threats in the last few weeks, but that was one of the weirdest.

Tang turned to deal with really big, probably could be a pro wrestler if he wanted to, Goon from last night. And Chuck took his chance to crawl away, knowing Tang would happily throw him to the pro wrestler goon. He crawled to the main checkout, grabbing the mic and sending a quick prayer that this was going to work. "Chuck Bartowski to the storage cage. Chuck Bartowksi to the storage cage."

Casey and Blond Goon moved off in the direction of the cage. Chuck knew he could follow, but for once he decided to leave the scary spy stuff to the actual scary spies. Chuck poked his head over his cover, catching sight of Morgan pointing Pro Wrestler Goon over to him. Chuck slipped his Bluetooth into his ear, dialling a speed number and beginning to crawl away again.

"Larkin," Bryce answered automatically, sounding preoccupied.

"In a bit of a situation here, buddy," Chuck whispered, looking around before crawling ahead. "I really hope you're not on another coffee run."

"Already on it, Chuck," Bryce said, tone a cross between eerily calm and comforting. "Just stay down."

"Stay down. I can do that."

Chuck stayed down all the way to the storage cage, tucking himself under the desk as small and as quiet as a very small, very silent mouse. Pro Wrestler Goon entered the cage, and Chuck saw his chance. He slammed the cage door shut, counting on the busted lock to save him. He waggled his finger at him, feeling very proud of himself. Right up until the minute PWG opened the door and started towards him.

"That was so broken this morning," Chuck told PWG, as if he actually would care one way or another.

He stared down the barrel of PWG's gun, wondering why every cool spy thing he tried didn't work out for him. Chuck waited for his life to flash before his eyes - he'd heard that happened when someone was about to die - but all be saw was a white blur slamming into PWG's head and knocking him to the ground.

Bryce appeared next, not even mildly winded. "I thought I told you to stay down, not try and lock an armed man in a storage cage." Chuck's friend paused, tilting his head in consideration. "I mean I see how you might think they sound similar, but Chuck they really don't."

Chuck pointed to the appliance on the ground. "You threw a microwave at him?"

A grin brighter than the overhead lights shone on Bryce's face. "Aren't you the one always reminding me I'm still recuperating, Chuck?" Bryce winked under tousled hair. "I'm not cleared for field duty. And even if I was, going hand-to-hand with that guy would not be my idea of a fun morning."

Casey came in behind Bryce, glanced at the prone body of PWG, then at the microwave. "That's what I call moving the merchandise, Larkin," he quipped.

Chuck wasn't sure what it was - the sleep deprivation, the adrenaline, the gallons of coffee he'd ingested - but he started giggling.

"We have knockout prices," Bryce added, almost doubled over with the force of his own laughter. Giggling harder than he could remember in years, Chuck reached out, grabbing a hold of Bryce to make sure the spy didn't fall over from his laughter - and maybe to stop himself from falling over too.

Casey shot a vaguely disgusted look at the pair of them, grabbed PWG by the leg and started to drag him out. He left them, giggling like maniacs, and shut the door behind him.

Eventually, after their laughter had dwindled and they'd stopped finding the most inane things funny, Chuck found himself laying on the cold floor with Bryce by his side. Bryce turned his head to look at Chuck, eyes impossibly blue at his close distance. "You got plans with Sarah tonight?"

"Don't think so," Chuck replied, only mildly curious why that mattered. "You?"

"No," Bryce smiled easily. "Sarah and I were over long before I stole the Intersect."

Chuck definitely frowned that time. "Then-"

Amusement flared warm and bright in Bryce's eyes. "I was thinking, while I'm as good as benched, if you want more spy pointers, there's still plenty of dances a good spy might want to draw on."

"You offering to teach me, Bryce?"

"Somebody has to," Bryce sighed as if it was such a hardship, then he grinned. "And, I promise, I won't stop teaching you the dance until we're both sure you won't fall back on the woman's part."

Chuck swatted at him absently, Bryce letting out a grunt of almost pain. Chuck's hand was on Bryce's heart and that was almost exactly where Casey had shot him and- "Sorry. Sorry!"

Bryce, for some reason, found that terribly amusing. He stared up at the ceiling, laughter bubbling out of his lips. "You really are a dork sometimes, Chuck."

The way Bryce said it, was like it was the best thing Chuck could ever be.

"You're dorkier, Larkin," Chuck pretended to grumble, pushing himself off the floor.

Bryce smiled, genuine and surprised. "You're the only one who thinks so, Chuck."

"That's because the CIA think they've trained the dorkiness out of you," Chuck said wisely. "But they can't fool me." He reached down and helped pull Bryce to his feet. "Come on, buddy. Back to work."

Chapter Text

Bartowski family game night was a tradition Chuck could remember participating in ever since, well, he was old enough to remember. Over the years they'd played Scrabble and Monopoly, Risk and Candyland, Pictionary and Charades, and everything in between. At Stanford, Chuck had altered the bi-weekly tradition to allow video games and Bryce Larkin, and that had been his Stanford tradition. When he graduated and moved in with his sister and her boyfriend, the tradition altered again - allowing Morgan and Devon entrance and opening the games to more couple orientated genres. And, now that Chuck was outwardly dating Sarah and Bryce was back in his life, Bartowski family game night was finally full of everyone Chuck considered family.

In honour of Sarah's inclusion into the tradition, Ellie had insisted on playing Know Ya! A game Bryce referred to as the unholy offspring of the newlywed game and a team bonding exercise from hell. Naturally, as the only real couple in the room, Ellie and Awesome were winning by a mile, excelling as the awesomest couple always did. Sarah and Chuck were not doing so awesome, and Morgan and Bryce both automatically picked Chuck for their own questions, so he was doing a lot better with them than he was with Sarah. Which was really not the greatest showing for a couple who had apparently been dating for several weeks now.

It would have been a much better showing for Team Charah if Morgan didn't take such perverse enjoyment in pointing out all the times Sarah didn't get quite the right answer. Like the Peaches debacle. And Chuck would be having words with Ellie soon about her little fib on the matter.

"Most humiliating childhood nickname," Morgan called, scribbling something on his paddle.

Chuck picked a piece off his pizza and grimaced at his friend. "I swore I'd never say it out loud."

Morgan beckoned with his hand, silently requesting that Chuck say it aloud.

"Okay," Chuck shrugged. "Organ."

Morgan made a circuit of the living room, avoiding the plates of pizza and showed the paddle to everyone. "Boom! That's what I'm talking about! What's it say? What's it say? Organ! Organ! Boom!"

"I'm not sure that's something you should be bragging about," Bryce commented, sipping at the tall glass of green juice Awesome had foisted at him upon arrival.

"I'm not in this game to brag," Morgan retorted, dropping back to the couch. "I'm in this game to win. Your turn, Accountant."

The CIA agent rolled the dice, picking up his allotted card. "Worst experience," Bryce read out, rolling his eyes.

Chuck watched as Bryce's expression grew shadowed and he rubbed out some writing before scrawling something else in it's place. Part of him wanted to know what in Bryce's past could cause such an expression, but he knew Bryce would never say.

Bryce took another sip of the juice, nose wrinkling. "Chuck?"

Chuck only knew of one thing that currently counted as the worst thing to happen in Bryce's life. "You got shot?"

Bryce, because he was always a little dorky when he was relaxed, grinned and made a finger gun. "I got shot," he agreed, turning his paddle around.

"And if you could try and make sure that never happened again, I'd be appreciative," Chuck commented, earning a far too common head shake from his friend.

"Roll the dice, 007," Bryce smirked, throwing the dice to Chuck.

Chuck picked up a card and groaned. Loudly. "Oh, come on!"

"What's it say?" Sarah asked, absently plucking olives off her slice of pizza.

"Most embarrassing moment," Chuck muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up as he grudgingly wrote out his answer.

"That time your swim trunks fell off in the school pool when we were nine?" Morgan guessed.

Chuck dropped his head into his hands. "No," he muttered, laughter echoing around the room. "Sarah?"

"The time you accidentally showed me the Demova virus?" Sarah teased, gracefully conceding her loss of this round.

"He did what?" Ellie cried, torn between laughter and secondhand embarrassment for her brother.

Chuck's cheeks felt hot enough to bake pizza. "I did do that," he admitted, Morgan giving him an almost approving thumbs up. "But that's still not my most embarrassing moment."

Bryce smiled slowly. "I think I know."

Chuck nodded equally as slowly. "I think you do too."

Bright, undisguised mirth lit up Bryce's face. "Don't worry, Chuck. I won't say."

"You have to," Awesome said, ignoring Ellie's half-hearted glare. "It's in the rules."

Chuck sighed, knowing he had to let this happen. "Go on, Bryce."

Blue eyes smiled almost apologetically. "Pledge week."

Turning his paddle around, Chuck showed the others his writing: pledge week.

Morgan sat forward, expectations shattered. "You can't just leave it at that," he cried. "Come on. What happened at pledge week?"

Identical grins curled Chuck and Bryce's lips. "Gamma Delta Phi secrets are only for Gamma Delta Phi brothers," they chorused, utterly unapologetic. "Sorry."

"My life is ruined because I never pledged a fraternity," Sarah quipped, startling laughter from the others.

"You wouldn't have pledged to us anyway," Chuck said, mournful. "Believe it or not, we were kind of a nerdy fraternity."

Bryce tossed a celery stick at him, frowning playfully. "Speak for yourself."

"Fine," Chuck conceded easily, tossing the celery stick back. "We were a nerdy fraternity except for this guy."

"Thank you."

The game continued and, apart from a few awkward moments with more personal questions, was a rousing success. Ellie and Awesome won as expected and, though Chuck and Sarah came in last, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. Afterwards, like the good (fake) boyfriend he was, Chuck walked Sarah to her car, then swung around to Bryce's to watch the last hour of Tron on the sci-fi movie channel before going to bed via the Morgan door.

The next morning, fortified with a travel cup of the excellent Italian roast coffee neither he nor Ellie could remember buying, Chuck left to go to work. A beautiful redheaded woman stood in the courtyard, smiling at him as he walked past. Once, that would have been that. But, one more glance at her face sent images flashing through his mind. An Argentinian passport, a redacted DEA file, a syringe.

Chuck spontaneously decided to make a detour before driving to the Buy More.

Casey and Sarah (dressed in their work uniforms) and Bryce (in another of his apparently endless expensive suits) were standing in front of Casey's computer as he rushed in. Their backs were ramrod straight, expressions clear and unreadable. They looked more like soldiers awaiting inspection than spies.

"Guys," he called, voice steadier than it had been in past experiences. "Guys? Did you know that there is an undercover DEA agent out in the courtyard?" In case they were unaware of the direction, Chuck helpfully gestured with his thumb.

"Relax, Chuck," Sarah said brusquely. "We know."

"Okay," Chuck replied, relieved. "Shall I go?"

A male voice sounded from the speakers. "He can stay."

Chuck glanced at the screen and frowned. "Who are they?'

"Our bosses," Bryce muttered, narrowing his eyes marginally in the way that meant it would be in Chuck's best interests if he stayed quiet now.

"... The diamond is heavily guarded inside of Peyman Alahi's Malibu compound. Mr Alahi is an international financier for the opium cartel, which is why the Drug Enforcement Administration has asked us to cooperate."

That did not sound like Chuck's idea of fun. Bryce, however, was silently vibrating with enthusiasm beside him. He could just imagine that this was the kind of mission he would have excelled at, before his job responsibilities changed to being Chuck's overqualified babysitter.

The female general that Chuck assumed to be General Beckman took over the briefing. "You'll assist Carina in acquiring the rock."

"Acquiring?" Chuck repeated, a little confused. It sounded an awful lot like stealing would be involved. And Chuck was fairly certain that stealing from a drug financier was not on the list of healthy things to do. In fact, it sounded like something that ended with certain death.

Casey hissed at him to be quiet.

On screen, the man Chuck assumed to be the Director of the CIA continued talking as if Chuck had never interrupted. "You'll take Chuck to Alahi's compound to get his Intersect data on the alarm system. Set up the grab for the following day."

"Sir," Sarah began respectfully. "Carina is a tremendous field agent, but..." Sarah shared a troubled look with Casey. "We can't trust her. Chuck is way too valuable."

"Alahi has friends outside the opium trade," the Director replied, not unkindly. "We have received Intel that he plans on moving the stone within the next 72 hours."

Casey cleared his throat. "Uh, I've had dealings with Carina in the past too," he admitted slowly. "She could be a bit of a wild card."

"We're aware of what happened in Prague, Agent Casey," the Director assured him. "Which is why the diamond will be returned to us. Under no circumstances will Carina be entrusted with it."

"What happened in Prague?"

Casey turned his eerily intense, I will murder you eyes on Chuck.

"I don't want to know."

"No. But I do," Bryce smirked, meeting Casey's murderous glare head on. "She kick your ass, Casey?"

"Agent Larkin," the Director snapped, glaring out of the screen at him. "Do not make me regret signing your clearance back into active duty."

Bryce turned a calm, unsettlingly blank gaze on his superior. "I shall be the model of interagency cooperation, sir."

Chuck admired him for being so believable and yet so insincere at the same time.

"Mm-hmm," General Beckman muttered dubiously. "I think it would be best if you focused your attention on protecting the Intersect. Leave dealing with Agent Miller for Agents Casey and Walker."

Chuck glanced sidelong at Bryce, expecting to see minute traces of irritation or disappointment in his expressive eyes. The spy, however, caught his gaze and winked, the tiniest trace of a grin flashing over his lips. If Chuck didn't know better, he'd say Bryce had just gotten exactly what he wanted.

Bryce drew Chuck a few paces away, muttering something about not needing to be there for the rest of it.

"What was that about?" Chuck whispered, nodding back to the computer where the briefing was just finishing.

"I don't trust other agents," Bryce shrugged, eyes watchful and shrewd. "Especially not with you."

"I flashed on her," Chuck protested, knowing exactly how overprotective his friend was being. "She's not dirty, Bryce."

"You don't have to know you're being dirty to be dirty," Bryce said enigmatically. "Now, hurry up. You're going to be late for work." Bryce nudged Chuck aside, picking up his own travel mug.

"Italian?" Chuck guessed, having a feeling he knew the origin of the coffee blends appearing in his cupboards.

The corner of Bryce's lips lifted in an approving smirk. "Ecuadorian, actually."

Chuck frowned, trying to recall if he had seen any of that in his apartment.

"Look behind the Oreos," Bryce suggested, following Sarah and Casey out of the apartment.

The redheaded DEA agent, Carina, smiled at Sarah, watching the other file out into the sunny courtyard. "Is this your team?"

Sarah nodded slightly, Casey strutting forward. "Actually it's mine."

Bryce hovered at Chuck's shoulder, breath brushing over his ear. "It's actually my team," the CIA agent murmured. "But I'll let Casey have this one."

"...nice to see you with your pants on," Carina said, glancing down at Casey's legs.

Chuck suddenly had a vivid image of what probably happened in Prague. So did Bryce, if the little huff of laughter he let out was any indication.

Carina's blue eyes, colder than Sarah's, flittered towards Bryce and Chuck. "And who might you be?"

Chuck waited for the Hollywood charm, but Bryce merely nodded professionally. "Bryce Larkin."

"Ah," Carina made a soft sound of recognition. "The infamous partner. And you?"

"Uh, I'm Chuck," Chuck said intelligently. "The new guy."

"He's an analyst," Sarah explained, because she was the best like that.

Behind the female agents, Morgan stepped out of Chuck's apartment, making a beeline for them. "Hey, Chuck!"

Eyes wide, Chuck turned towards his friend, wishing he had some sort of super cool spy excuse for getting his innocent friend away from the government agents.

"Another member of your team?" Carina asked in a low aside.

"No, that's Morgan," Sarah explained quickly. "He's Chuck's best friend. A civilian." Then, as Morgan finally joined them; "Hey, Morgan! This is Carina, an old friend. We used to work together."

Morgan acted as smooth as Morgan ever did, catching Carina's hand and bending to place a kiss on her knuckles. "Madame Carina."

Bryce caught Chuck's gaze, laughter reflecting in his eyes. "Next movie night choice says this is all he'll talk about at work."

Chuck knew it was a sucker's bet, but he nodded loyally, hoping Morgan would prove him wrong.

Morgan did not prove him wrong.

The Nerd Herders, Morgan and Bryce gathered around the Nerd Herd centre, where Morgan was holding court (and Bryce was barely holding back laughter). "...And I say, "Madame Carina", right? And she goes "A pleasure to meet you sir". But it's her eyes," Morgan said, widening his eyes in demonstration. "Man, her eyes say everything."

"Like what?" Jeff asked, curious.

Chuck couldn't stop himself. Not that he wanted to. Morgan having a thing for Carina would be bad. It would be very, very bad. So, like a good friend, he felt it was his duty to dim Morgan's hopes a little. "Like, Martin?"

Bryce let out a little snicker, not even bothering to pretend to read something on his phone.

"Huh?" Lester turned to Chuck for clarification.

"She kind of got my name wrong," Morgan admitted, but he didn't sound daunted. "She goes Martin instead of Morgan. It's completely fine though."

Chuck moved off the desk he was leaning on. "Tang's coming."

Morgan suddenly developed a need to be somewhere else. Hopefully doing his job and not mooning after Carina, but Chuck wasn't hopeful about that.

Under the guise of looking at Chuck's computer, Bryce sidled closer to Chuck. "I don't know about you, Chuck, but I'm thinking Phantom-"

"Don't even joke," Chuck hissed, feeling like an outraged cat. Bryce laughed, holding up his hands and grinning.

Meanwhile, Jeff was muttering something about being suited for the ladies (a horrifying thought all around), and Lester just made the whole situation worse. "Chuck, how are you supposed to get any female friction action with him third wheeling you all the time?"

Chuck had a head full of secrets and yet no secret way to decode Lester speak. "What does that even mean?"

"I think he's talking about sex, Chuck," Bryce idly commented.

"Then couldn't he just say that?" Chuck asked plaintively. Female friction action was not a phrase he ever wanted to hear again.

"Yeah," Lester acknowledged. "I mean, I could. It's just, it lacks, uh, flavour."

Chuck's brain actually hurt.

"Lovely spending time with your new friends, Chuck," Bryce muttered, sarcasm plain under the sincere tone of his voice.

Instinctively, Chuck reached two fingers out and curled them under the sleeve of Bryce's jacket. "Don't leave me alone with them," he muttered, relieved when Bryce just smiled and leaned back against the desk.

Not long afterwards, Chuck was bringing some paperwork back to the Nerd Herd centre when he heard Lester commenting about a place where the beautiful people shopped. There were places like that, he knew. He'd been there with Bryce buying furniture and other homemaking things - no IKEA for Bryce Larkin. Still, Chuck followed Jeff and Lester's unsubtle gazes and found Carina. In the Buy More. Talking to Morgan.

He did not have a good feeling about this.

Carina gave him a sparkling smile and a flirty wave, Sarah (vaguely annoyed) appearing in the Buy More behind her.

"Hmm," Bryce hummed, appearing suddenly enough to give Chuck's heart a jolt. "Definitely a wild card."

"Chuck, you have to fix me up with Carina," Morgan announced, for once ignoring his chance to glare with acerbity at Bryce.

"No. I mean," Chuck floundered, trying to think of a way out of this. "No. Actually, I don't think that's such a good idea, Morgan."

"Chuck," Morgan said with an unusual seriousness. "I know what a third wheel is. I know it is me." Morgan craned his head around Chuck and nodded at Bryce. "And him. But give me a chance here, man. Let, let me be a fourth wheel. For once."

Chuck felt more than saw Bryce move and he saw his out. "Hey, Morgan, buddy. You know I would love to be a good friend and help you out but maybe Bryce is interested too. And I couldn't in good conscience support one of my best friends over the other."

Morgan's dark eyes all but bored into Bryce. "You interested, Accountant?"

Bryce frowned, lost. "In what?"

Morgan's glare said he thought Bryce was being deliberately stupid. "Carina, man."

"Not a chance in hell."

That wasn't a deflection, that was plain, unbridled honesty. Chuck half glared at him, wondering why he couldn't have acted like the superspy he was and lied like Chuck wanted him to.

"She's not good enough for you?" Morgan hissed, offended.

Chuck had never in his life seen Bryce flounder. But for an instant, that was what he saw. Then, Bryce smirked as easily as it was false and shrugged. "Never trust a beautiful woman, Grimes. Especially a redhead."

"You know what?" Chuck asked, deciding to step in before this situation got any more out of hand. "I'll see what I can do, Morgan. Bryce? Come with me."

Bryce followed him a few steps, managing to look both utterly unruffled and vaguely apologetic. "Sorry for not having your back there, Chuck," he said, honestly contrite. "But my assignment is to protect you, not act moonstruck over Little Miss DEA." In a show of support, Bryce called Sarah over. "Sarah might have more sway, though."

"You're the best," Chuck sighed, relief filling him. Of course Sarah would shoot this down. He had nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about at all.

Except the most awkward double date in history. And Chuck included the time before he got together with Jill when he and Bryce double dated sorority sisters and spend the night talking more with each other than their dates. And, though he counted that night one of the more painful experiences of his college career - prior to senior year - he would rather be back in that grubby diner than watching Carina toy with his oldest friend's affections.

And yet, the sheer uncomfortableness of the double date had nothing on the middle of the night.

Carina faked a computer emergency, dragging him out of his bed and across the city to her hotel room. There, she tried to ply him with champagne and seduce him. Why? Because his big mouth had opened and said she was in Argentina. A little fact that required high security clearance - much higher than a humble analyst. And, though he didn't think Carina was dangerous exactly, Chuck still felt quite irrevocably screwed.

And then- And then, Carina had to try and sow seeds of chaos.

She crawled up behind him on the bed he was perching on, trying desperately not to snatch for his phone or just flee without it, and started asking all kinds of personal questions. Sarah related questions. Like whether he was sleeping with her or not.

Now, Chuck wasn't, but he had a feeling that he oughtn't to admit that much aloud. "A gentleman never-"

"I see," Carina sighed, her breath uncomfortably hot and close on his ear. "I suppose that makes sense. Given, Bryce."

"Bryce?" Chuck repeated, wishing he'd thought to let his self-appointed bodyguard know he was leaving the complex.

"Bryce Larkin, on your team?" Carina murmured, soft and sultry. "He's sleeping with her." Carina drew back, looking apologetic. "Didn't they tell you?"

"Nice try, Agent Miller," Bryce called, leaning against the open door. "But you've got to try much harder than that."

Chuck bounced off the bed, scurrying away from Carina as quickly as he could. "Bryce," he smiled, relieved and happy and a whole mess of other things that directly related to feeling more in control now that Bryce was there and Carina probably wasn't going to try and sleep with him anymore. "How did you find me?"

"GPS tracker in your watch," Bryce replied, nodding to the helpful gadget.

Chuck supposed he ought to feel annoyed about that, but right now all he could feel was grateful.

Carina, on the other hand, looked almost annoyed. "Are you denying that you're sleeping with Sarah?"

"Yes," Bryce said bluntly. "Chuck already knows I used to sleep with her. He also already knows that we broke up months ago. We just never would have worked out. Now, if you're through trying to cause trouble in my team, I suggest we all get some rest. We've got a mission to fulfill."

Bryce steered Chuck down the corridor with a hand at his back. The minute they were in the elevator, Chuck wrapped his arms around his friend in a tight hug. "Thank you for following me."

"Any time, Chuck." Bryce clapped him gently on the back and pulled away. "Sarah and I, we really are over, Chuck. I care about her and I always will, but she's not, uh, the one for me."

Chuck knew Bryce was a professional liar, that he could lie to his face and that Chuck would never be any the wiser, but he also knew Bryce. Bryce wasn't lying to him. Not about this.

"I know," he agreed simply, grinning and bumping into his side. "She's too good for you, anyway."

"Ain't that the truth," Bryce grinned back, earnest seriousness gone. "But, you do realize, I'm never letting you live this down."

"Live what down?" Chuck asked slowly.

Bryce's grin sparkled. "Charles Irving Bartowski, the pledge who once performed a daring panty raid on the sorority sisters of Gamma Kappa Gamma, running scared at a little light seduction."

"Light seduction?" Chuck repeated, askance. "She was practically undressing me with her eyes! And don't start with the raid, Larkin. I remember who masterminded that little mission."

Bryce laughed, leaning his head back against the elevator wall. "God, I miss Stanford."

"Simpler times," Chuck agreed, missing the exhausting classes and late night study sessions so much it almost hurt.

"For the most part," Bryce agreed, a hint of the same shadows from game night covering his face. Feeling Chuck's concerned gaze on him, Bryce pushed off the wall, smiling almost sadly. "I was recruited out of Stanford. Junior year."

Suddenly, a lot of Bryce's habits those final years made abrupt and perfect sense. Avoiding windows in restaurants, always facing the door, all the mornings that Chuck apologetically woke him from dead slumbers where it looked like he'd barely slept at all. "I wish you could have told me."

A spasm flickered over Bryce's face - guilt and pain and sadness. "Well," he said, smiling a shade too bright. "Now you know."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, hearing years of silence and loneliness between them. "Now I know. And you should know, I'm here if you ever just need to talk."

Bryce snapped his eyes to meet Chuck's, hope flickering dimly within. "I might just take you up on that, buddy," he said, smile much more genuine. "But not tonight. Tonight, we've gotta rest up. My first mission back on active duty tomorrow."

"Any advice?" Chuck asked, really meaning 'any more dances I'm going to have to pretend to be fluent in and then totally flub like the awful spy everyone can see I am?'

Bryce, because of course he could read Chuck like Chuck could sometimes read him, chuckled. "Just stick to me like glue."

Stick to Bryce like glue. Chuck was pretty sure there were worse ways to spend a party. "I can do that," Chuck agreed easily. "Besides, someone has to watch your back."

Bryce made a show of groaning and looking at the ceiling. "You get shot one little time."

"I'm just saying," Chuck shrugged, feigning lack of concern. "If you get hurt again, I'm letting Ellie deal with you. And, Ellie now she knows you've been shot? That'll make the way she was summer break between second and third years feel like a vacation."

Bryce didn't quite manage to hide his shudder. "I'm a spy, Chuck. I've been shot, stabbed, interrogated, locked in more prisons than I can count, and my apartment shares walls with Casey's. Ellie Bartowski doesn't scare me."

Chuck crossed his arms, rocked back on his heels and smirked. "Yes, she does."

"Yeah," Bryce admitted mournfully. "She does."

Chuck patted Bryce on the shoulder. "If she ever finds out about the whole CIA agent, Intersect thing, let's make a break for Mexico."

"I've got go bags ready," Bryce replied, not a trace of a lie. "But we're not going to Mexico. She'd get in her car and follow us there. We're taking a rail tour of Europe. Or hiding out on a beach in New Zealand. One of the two."

The image of his sister in full blown protective fury popped into his head, Chuck replicating Bryce's almost shudder. "I vote both."

Chapter Text

The Malibu mansion of their drug cartel financier target reminded Chuck of the kind of place he'd always seen himself - or Bryce - living in after they inevitably made their millions post-graduation. Unfortunately, while their covers were partners in a large international technological conglomerate (or something along those lines), neither he nor his former roommate were quite up to living this kind of lifestyle. A multi-million dollar mansion filled with beautiful bikini-clad women probably would put a crimp in the whole superspy, Intersect thing.

"Stop tugging on your suit," Bryce sighed, pausing a few paces from the pool filled with the aforementioned beautiful women.

"I feel like something out of Miami Vice," Chuck muttered under his breath, shooting a glare at Bryce. His friend, as usual, looked carelessly handsome in his beach formal attire, while Chuck felt horribly visible in his linen suit. His very see through linen suit.

"I don't know, Chuck," Bryce teased, because he was the worst. "At least it answers the age old question."

"Huh?"

Bryce nodded down towards Chuck's lower body, a wicked smirk dancing over his lips. "Boxers or briefs."

God, Chuck hated him sometimes. He really did. "You knew that at Stanford."

Bryce laughed, clapping Chuck on the shoulder. "I knew a lot of things at Stanford, buddy," he grinned, a hint of seriousness creeping into his gaze. Chuck knew if he turned, he'd see Sarah and Carina entering the back garden. "Now, speaking of things to know, see that guy over there?"

Bryce gently maneuvered Chuck so he saw a man sitting on the edge of the pool, four beautiful women fawning over him. Well, when he said 'man'...

"Are you talking about Señor Wookiee?"

Bryce let out one of the full belly laughs he so rarely made, Chuck noticing Sarah and Carina glancing over in question.

"What about Chewbacca's ugly cousin?"

"That's Peyman Alahi," Bryce murmured, mirth sparkling along his voice. "The guy who's diamond we're planning on liberating."

"So what do you need from me?" Chuck asked, trusting that Bryce hadn't brought him here just for a giggle.

"Security sweep," was his answer. Bryce nodded towards the drinks area, his hand sweeping out in a questioning gesture.

They wandered around for a bit, Chuck following Bryce's instructions and limiting himself to subtle sweeps of his gaze rather than outright staring at the security. "I count six SVB-54 explosion-protected security cameras with infrared surveillance," Chuck murmured, nodding towards one as subtly as he could. "We sell them at the spy shop in the Buy More Plaza."

"You have a spy shop and you never told me?" Bryce took a sip of whatever watered down substance he'd chosen to pass as alcohol. "Ouch."

"Like you need any more spy things," Chuck snorted. "I've seen the inside of your apartment." Casey had actually whimpered at some of the tech Bryce kept in his safe.

Bryce feigned hurt. "See if I share my special access to pre-release video games with you," he threatened, and Chuck almost believed him.

Still, "The CIA has early access to video games?"

"The CIA, me," Bryce shrugged impishly. "It's a grey area."

"What's a grey area?" Carina asked, merging seamlessly into their ambling group, Sarah at her side.

Bryce didn't miss a beat. "Whether stealing this diamond is actually illegal."

Sarah offered a slight shrug. "Orders are orders," she said, Bryce's lips thinning minutely. "But, let's take a walk up to the house. We need Chuck to scan the security there."

Wandering up a greenery lined path, Chuck caught sight of more cameras. "Thermal imaging cameras. North and west walls."

Sarah peered at the house, a considering frown on her lips. "Someone really doesn't want us getting in there."

Carina seemed to take that as a challenge, picking the lock to the sliding door. Bryce and Sarah shared a loaded look, communicating something to do with trouble before reluctantly following the chaotic DEA agent into the house. From the inside of her purse, Carina pulled a hacking device, opening the door to a room full of valuable things.

"There you are," Carina purred, eyes fixed on the diamond.

"I really think we should go now," Sarah urged, Carina utterly ignoring her.

Chuck was all up for leaving. He really, really didn't want to be involved with the whole stealing a really valuable diamond from a really dangerous, low budget wookiee thing.

Bryce stayed by the door, tension coming off him in waves. "I think it's a little late for that," he commented, sounding almost bored.

The sound of guns cocking filled the air moments later.

Once he could look past the machine guns pointed at him, Chuck shot a 'what the hell man?' glare at his assigned protector. Bryce shrugged a shoulder minutely, relaxing insouciantly back into the wall like he owned the place. His eyes met Chuck's, lightly prompting.

Chuck vaguely recognised the arrogance. It was the cocky frat boy routine. Something neither he nor Bryce had ever pulled off even when they were cocky frat boys. But, he supposed, a multimillionaire tech mogul would have reason to view the world as his possession, so Chuck tried to look a little less terrified and a little more bored with the world.

He wasn't entirely sure it worked, but then again he wasn't entirely sure it needed to. Not with how much attention Chewie was paying to Sarah and Carina.

"You like my diamond?" Alahi asked, his gaze directed at Sarah.

Sarah froze a moment, then her face subtly transformed. "Oh... Yeah. It's really pretty."

Alahi took a few steps into the room, shaking his head at them. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Oh, I'm really, really sorry," Sarah pouted, Chuck knowing it had to be killing her to play it this way. "The door was unlocked." She shared a look with Carina, Chuck betting that she was telling her to follow her play or face the consequences. "Who are you?"

"Pretty girls call me Peyman," Alahi replied.

"Hi Peyman," Carina cooed.

"Hi, Peyman," Sarah echoed.

Chuck mumbled along with them, trying his best to pretend he didn't exist.

"I'm Carina," Carina continued, brightly playing along with the cover story. "This is Sarah, and this is our brother Chuckie."

Chuck raised his glass in greeting. "Yo."

"A brother?" Alahi questioned suspiciously. "My lucky day." He nodded towards Bryce. "Another brother?"

"No," Carina smirked wickedly. Bryce narrowed his eyes in subtle warning. "He's Chuckie's partner. Brycie."

Bryce's eyes hardened to shards of ice, glaring furiously at the DEA agent while he continued to smile idly. Chuck wasn't sure if Bryce objected to the cover - which Chuck himself had leapt to once - or the cutesy nickname.

Alahi glanced between Bryce and Chuck, then shrugged. "More good news for me."

Carina and Sarah stepped up to Alahi, his arms covering their shoulders. Bryce sidled around the room and stood, imposing, at Chuck's side.

"So," Carina wondered, putting her hand up to the diamond. "What would I have to do to get this on my finger?"

"Ask Tarfful for permission?" Bryce whispered into Chuck's ear. Chuck bit his lip hard to stop from laughing.

Fortunately, Alahi was oblivious to Bryce. "It is said that he who owns the Nadan-I-Noor rules the world."

"What if, like, someone tried to steal it," Carina asked with overblown innocence.

"It's impossible to steal," Alahi informed them, Chuck hoping for a villain monologue. The kind where the bad guy tells them everything they need to know. He wasn't disappointed. "If touched, the vault will seal itself off, the gas will fill the room, and my security team would eliminate the threat."

Carina and Sarah giggled, feigning awe at Alahi's brilliance. Chuck personally just felt queasy.

Alahi continued on, flirting with female agents, and Bryce moved in closer again. "I think I'm going to throw up and I don't have to fawn over him."

Carina stayed by the door, but Chuck barely noticed. His attention was fixed on the flash that overtook him when he saw the plinth the diamond was resting on.

Bryce hovered in front of him, concerned but just about hiding in. "You okay, buddy?"

"Our furry friend back there failed to mention one fairly significant security detail," he muttered, Bryce biting back a curse. "20,000 volts of electricity protects the diamond."

"Well, that's a problem," Bryce sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"How are you going to solve it?" Carina asked, now much closer to them.

"That's not his job," Bryce glared, Carina pouting and muttering about interagency cooperation.

"I might use compressed air to knock it off the pedestal," Chuck offered, just wanting to get this over with and go home.

Carina brushed past him, picking up the fire extinguisher.

"Carina, stop," Bryce glared, stepping in front of Chuck.

"No can do, sweetie," she smiled. "I'm improvising." Then, before anyone - Chuck - could say that this was a very bad idea, she turned on the extinguisher and blew the diamond right off it's stand.

Chuck dived for the rock, catching it from the air with some sort of grace he imagined must come from the Intersect (or proximity to Bryce), Carina and Bryce already knocking over plinths to keep the vault doors from closing on them. They slid under the door, the agents taking down the security while Chuck tried not to drop the diamond.

Once outside, Bryce let Sarah and Carina take point, his presence a solid point at Chuck's back. "This was a very bad idea," he announced, stepping aside as Bryce punched a guard into unconsciousness and took his gun in the same move. "And that was cool."

"Thank you," Bryce grinned, shooting him a wink over his shoulder.

"Beach!" Sarah called, pointing to their extraction point.

Bryce pushed Chuck ahead of him, urging him onward. Chuck was getting pretty tired of running, but he managed not to fall on his face as the path changed to slippery sand.

Sarah and Carina emerged just behind them, Sarah nodding at Bryce in a way Chuck guessed meant Casey was on his way. Carina grabbed the diamond bag from Chuck's hand, running off towards the ocean and the hidden jet ski she had clearly planted there before the mission started.

Bryce raised his gun, pointing it at her back. Sarah shook her head, pushing the barrel down towards the sand. "That won't do any good, Bryce," she chided, though Chuck had to admit she didn't sound particularly thrilled about stopping him.

"Uh, guys?" Chuck called, nodding towards the two armed guards who were heading right for them.

Casey, in a very large car, stopped just ahead of them. "Get in!" Casey yelled, shooting at their pursuers. Bryce shot towards them too, buying them time to climb into the car.

"Bryce," Chuck snapped, leaning out the window. "Get in the damn car!"

Bryce glanced towards the ocean, where Carina was just a speck on the horizon. Frustration flickered on his face before he slipped into the back seat with Sarah.

There followed a very awkward car ride, where Bryce crouched behind the centre console while Sarah got changed into her Wienerlicious uniform. Then, Carina called to gloat, Casey tracked her using some NSA magic, and Chuck tried to remember that Bryce was doing his job not trying to give him a heart attack.

He really needed to get better at doing that.

"I can't believe you nearly got yourself shot again!"

"The operative word is nearly, Chuck," Bryce replied, doing a very good job of not sounding like Chuck was frustrating him. "And, as much as I wish it were otherwise - for your peace of mind, if not the excruciating agony - it is, regrettably, a part of being a CIA agent."

"And you thought that was a good idea?"

"I was twenty," Bryce protested, wide eyed and a little frustrated. "They offered to turn me into James Bond and let me play with guns!"

Casey inclined his head, silently conceding his point.

Chuck had to admit that, at twenty-one (and a little bit right now, if he was honest), it would have been pretty hard to say no to. But, didn't he get that Chuck worried about him? "Your health, Bryce."

"To date, they haven't done anything to me I haven't bounced back from," Bryce shrugged, and if Chuck couldn't see the shadows in his eyes, he might have dropped it.

Also, Casey really had to stop being helpful. "It's true," the NSA agent confirmed. "They call him the human cockroach."

Bryce shot him a baleful glare. "Not helping, Casey." Sincere, he turned to Chuck. "I never had your dreams, Chuck. So, when I got offered a chance at an exciting life, I took it. And, yes, the CIA have made me sacrifice a lot, but I love my job and that's not going to change just because my best friend is worried about me."

The conversation stalled until Casey and Sarah had dropped them off at the Buy More. Chuck took a five minute break and found his friend in front of the television wall. Bryce, as if he knew Chuck was coming, held out his travel mug. Chuck took it and they wordlessly sipped coffee for a long minute.

"You scared me," Chuck admitted, looking at the nature programme Morgan had chosen for the wall.

"I know," Bryce sighed, turning a little to face him. "And we both know I'll continue to do so. As will Sarah and Casey. But, we're the best the CIA and the NSA have. Not much is going to take us down."

Chuck could tell Bryce really believed it, that he wasn't just trying to reassure Chuck.

Then, his best friend's nerdy side came out. His free hand brushed at the fabric over his heart, grinning. "Puny bullets."

"You, my friend, are a nerd," Chuck pronounced, hiding his laughter in a sip of his coffee.

Bryce grinned, bright and easy. "You knew that at Stanford."

Chuck wasn't entirely sure that he was quite okay with Bryce putting himself into danger on a daily basis, but at least he was doing it here where Chuck could see he was okay and not somewhere dark and unpronounceable where Chuck wouldn't have the slightest idea.

"I did," he agreed, realising he'd been staring at Bryce without saying something for a possibly uncomfortably long time. "Just glad you're still a nerd."

Bryce grinned again, possibly a little softer. "Go home, Chuck, and stay in tonight."

"No video games?" Chuck asked, frowning.

Bryce looked almost gentle. "With Carina gone, I think Morgan could do with a little one on one time with his best friend."

Chuck paused, touched. "You sure?"

Bryce nodded once. "But, when the video games and crying gets old, come round to mine. I've been thinking about an Original Trilogy marathon all afternoon."

Chuck tried everything he could to keep Morgan's mind off the disappointment in his relationship with Carina. He chatted about work, but was met with silence. He offered critiques on Harry Tang, again silence. He even set Morgan perfectly up for an aside about Bryce, but nothing.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Chuck realised, glancing back at the depressed figure of his friend.

"Sorry," Morgan offered unapologetically. "I stopped listening to you when it wasn't about Carina. And how she kissed me. And then dumped me."

Chuck frowned, almost certain something was firing in his mind. "You kissed Carina?"

"Yeah man. At her hotel, on the lips."

Chuck felt his jaw drop. Not that Morgan getting a kiss was a shock, exactly. It was just the whole hotel thing, and the on the lips thing.

"Her loss," Morgan pronounced, tossing his can of grape soda to the floor.

"Yeah, it is," Chuck agreed, offering to go get Morgan another round. Morgan agreed and mentioned something about a new game in his bag, if Chuck minded getting it.

No sooner was Chuck in the kitchen, staring at the diamond bag that had just popped out of Morgan's satchel, then he heard his front door open gleefully.

"Chuck!" Bryce called, laughter in his voice. "Sarah just sent me an early Christmas present!"

"Betcha it's not as good as mine," Chuck called back, grinning at his friend.

Bryce cocked his head, silently daring Chuck to prove it.

Chuck poured the diamond out on to his hand, holding it up to the light. Then flashed. "The diamond belongs to an Afghani terrorist group," he announced, shocked. "It's way, way more dangerous than we were told."

Bryce deployed a vicious string of Klingon curses, good mood washed away. "This is why I hate spy agencies," he glared, Chuck slipping the diamond back into it's pouch. "They only ever tell you half the damn story."

Chuck passed Bryce, stopping off to deliver pizza and soda to Morgan. Then he came back and tried to smile encouragingly. "What's your good news?"

"I'll show you later," Bryce sighed, fleetingly looking as exhausted as Chuck felt. "Call Sarah and update her."

Sarah barely even let Chuck get his explanation out before cutting him off. "Chuck," she said, voice deadly serious. "Find Carina and tell her to bring me the diamond."

"Bryce," Chuck called, looking around for his friend. "We need to find Carina." Chuck felt himself freeze as a slender figure in a balaclava appeared in front of him. "I really don't have much, but feel free to take whatever you want."

The figure gestured for the diamond in Chuck's hand.

"I can't give you this."

"He really can't," Bryce agreed, his words accompanied by the sound of a gun safety disengaging. "Now, Agent Miller, I really don't want to have to shoot someone in Chuck's apartment but I will if you don't back off."

Chuck glanced at Bryce, pointing at the figure. "That's Carina?"

Bryce said nothing, merely gesturing with his gun at the figure's head.

Carina removed the mask and glared at the pair of them. "Give me the diamond!"

"No can do," Chuck declined. "We need your help to rescue Sarah."

"What's wrong with Sarah?" Bryce demanded, not taking his eyes - or his gun - off Carina.

"I think she's in trouble."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Sarah's fine. She's a very resourceful girl."

"She's also your friend," Chuck snapped, watching Bryce's finger twitch ever so slightly. "And she saved your life in Pakistan. So, are you helping us or not?"

"If your attack dog lowers his gun."

"I think I'll keep it, just in case you change your mind and try to screw us over again," Bryce said, undercurrent of steel in his perfectly calm words.

If Chuck didn't know exactly how little Bryce and Carina trusted one another, he might have thought they'd been a team forever. They prepared in almost the same way, stocking up on guns and knives in the parking lot of the hotel. The only minor snag was when Carina told Bryce to act as backup, the CIA agent pointedly tapping his gun and reminding her that Chuck wasn't to leave his side. Chuck reinforced that point by keeping Bryce between him and Carina. There was something about the DEA agent that just scared him - and not in the "totally hot, totally scary competent" way that Bryce and Sarah scared him.

Sarah was cuffed, sitting in a chair with a gun pointed at her head. Alahi, holding the gun, removed the safety, smiling pleasantly as Bryce, Chuck and Carina walked up.

"You have what I want?" Alahi asked, pointing the gun closer to Sarah.

"Maybe," Carina shrugged. "Maybe I pawned it for front row tickets to Justin Timberlake."

"And maybe I sold it for an unbelievably in-depth tour of Skywalker Ranch," Bryce added, glancing at Chuck out of the corner of his eye.

Nerd, Chuck thought fondly. And then he thought, holy shit, Chewbacca's going to shoot Sarah.

"Why do you always have to provoke people?" Sarah sighed, glaring at Carina.

"I want to see the diamond," Alahi demanded, Chuck all but fumbling the stone out of the pouch at Bryce's nod. "Now give it to me."

Carina knocked the stone out of Chuck's hand, daring Alahi to come and take it from her. Alahi, helpfully, informed them that everyone in the room was with him. And likely armed too.

"What are you going to do?" Alahi asked Carina. "Fight them all, all by yourselves?"

Bryce shrugged, a hint of the reckless and ruthless spy that worried Chuck so much peeking through. "I've had worse situations."

"And they're not alone," Sarah added, speaking in a language Chuck didn't understand with Carina.

It must have been a cue though, Bryce pushing Chuck to the floor and then joining the female agents in unleashing hell on Alahi's men. In the chaos, Chuck grabbed the diamond again, watching in awe as Bryce (and Sarah and Carina) moved elegantly through their hand-to-hand.

Chased by an angry guard, Chuck locked himself in the business centre and hurriedly readied the diamond to be FedEx-ed to safety. Casey came in, brandishing what appeared to be some of a bedhead, and knocked the angry guard unconscious before he could do something bad like shoot Chuck. Unfortunately, Chuck dropped the diamond package down the priority mail chute, but he hoped FedEx would at least deliver promptly.

Bryce hurried in moments later, nodding gratefully at Casey. "Nice to see you with your pants on, Casey," Bryce smirked, tossing Chuck his phone. On the screen was a picture of Casey, cuffed to that very headboard, wearing nothing but his undershirt and boxers. "What do you think, Chuck? Have we found our Christmas card?"

"Where can I buy a basket of knives for Sarah?" Chuck wondered, Bryce's grin promising that he knew a place.

Casey grumbled something under his breath and stalked out, leaving the two of them alone again.

"You eaten yet, Bryce?"

The CIA agent hummed, shaking his head. "No."

"Pizza?"

"Sounds good to me," Bryce grinned, steering them out of the hotel and away from all the tedious cleanup.

Tomorrow the diamond would arrive in Washington, Carina would probably leave for parts unknown, and Chuck would undoubtedly be in fear for his life some other way. But, for now, they had survived another dangerous mission - none of them had been shot - and they could celebrate. They deserved to celebrate.

"And while we get the pizza," Chuck announced, bumping lightly into Bryce. "You're telling me all about how you get pre-release video games while the rest of us have to slum it and wait for release day."

Bryce shot him one of his sparkling grins. "Buddy, I would," he said, all earnestness. "But it's classified."

"Oh don't give me that, Larkin," Chuck groaned, rewarded with Bryce's laughter. His friend had never had a problem with Chuck knowing classified secrets. It was just another of their games. But, he knew, before the night ended, he'd get that story.

Chapter Text

"An evening with Morgan starts at seven sharp, bring your A game."

As sentences that herald beginnings of adventures, that one was not particularly promising. Yet, Morgan was Chuck's best friend and, as he told Sarah, he was looking forward to spending time with Chuck and Sarah. And, given the way supersecret spy things had taken over his life lately, Chuck could definitely use some easy fun with his best friend and his only-real-in-public girlfriend/one half of his CIA handlers.

"For an evening with Morgan," Sarah could not have sounded less enthusiastic if she tried. And that was a good thing. It meant she was still on board with the whole being real about some things - very small, mostly unimportant things, but still things - thing.

"I thought being stationed in the Khyber Pass for six months was brutal," Casey cut in, giving them the benefit of his completely unasked for opinion.

Chuck smiled easily up at his grumpiest handler. "If you're so sad about not being included, Casey, you can just say so."

"Dinner with you and Morgan?" Casey hummed in consideration, breath whistling through his teeth. "I'd rather Afghani warlords bleed me from my liver." Casey flashed a hint of a grin and pushed his cart away to do whatever it was he pretended to do around the Buy More when he wasn't lurking around and being scary.

"He's a happy person," Chuck remarked to Sarah, trying not to smile too fondly at the way she drank a soda from the Weinerlicious. "I really appreciate that about him."

"He just lights up every room," Bryce commented, leaning against the Nerd Herd centre with a travel cup of steaming coffee and a tired grin.

"How's the audit going, buddy?" Chuck asked, trying to remember if he'd seen Bryce looking anything less than exhausted (for Bryce Larkin, anyway) in the past few days. Big Mike - undoubtedly spurred on by one of Harry Tang's bids for assistant managerial favour - had lately gone on a rampage to know exactly how profitable each and every one of his employees was. Something that left Bryce having to be the one to actually work out the figures.

"Excellent," Bryce sighed, sarcasm falling off every letter. He turned to Sarah. "Remind me that shooting civilians is frowned on?"

Sarah merely grinned around her straw, patting Bryce sympathetically on the hand.

Chuck, however, dutifully fulfilled the task his friend needed. "It's bad to shoot people, Bryce," he reminded him, trying on his best I'll be very disappointed frown he copied from Ellie. "Even if they deserve it."

Bryce slid a little closer to Chuck, a questioning frown marring his brow. "You aside, buddy, is this place completely staffed with inept morons?"

"Well, there's Morgan and Casey," Chuck loyally supplied.

Bryce's expression did not change.

Chuck grimaced an agreement he would never admit to. "You get used to it."

Bryce sipped aggressively on his coffee. "I used to be one of the best international agents the CIA had," he mourned, Sarah's eyebrows jumping ever so slightly in the way Chuck had learned meant she was hiding laughter. "Now, I'm an accountant. I used to be able to shoot people and blow things up, and now I have to put up with Harry Tang." Chuck felt a sudden pang of sympathy, worsened at the sigh Bryce let out. "I speak Klingon and even I can't decipher some of the things he writes down."

"You could always come to an evening with Morgan," Sarah offered, her laughter plain in her voice. "That might cheer you up."

"I already spend more evenings than I ever cared to with Morgan," Bryce informed her, his voice taking on the perfectly calm, perfectly clear tone it did when he was restraining his real emotions. "No. Tonight, while you are out enjoying Chinese food and the dubious pleasures of Morgan's company - no offense meant, of course, Chuck - I'll be treating myself to Italian for one (which is only pathetic if you let it be) and obliterating Casey's high scores at the range."

No. The last time Bryce had done that - just after being let back into active duty - Casey had spoken in monosyllables, glares and grunts for three days. It would be just Chuck's luck to flash on a big case and have to deal with Major Monosyllabic just because his other best friend was having a bad day.

"Come to dinner with us," Chuck asked, almost certain Bryce would gently but definitely brush him off. "It might be good for you and Morgan to bond on Morgan's terms. And, Casey won't sulk."

Bryce didn't look convinced. In fact, Chuck might almost think that upsetting Casey was exactly what Bryce was going for with his evening. So, he turned pleading eyes on Sarah.

Come on, his gaze said. Help me out here.

"Bryce," Sarah said, fixing him with her severest gaze. "You got us assigned here. If I have to spend an evening with Morgan. So do you." Then, she smiled so sweetly and softly that Chuck knew any man would have to be blind not to immediately want to fall to his knees and give her everything she wanted. "Morgan? Bryce is having a bad day and I know he could really benefit from coming with us tonight. You don't object, do you?"

Chuck wasn't sure if it was Sarah's smile or Bryce's immediate glare of don't you dare agree or I will make you pay Chuck's best friend or not, but Morgan grinned and flashed his thumbs up, smirking at Bryce as he walked back to deal with a customer.

"Larkin!" Big Mike's voice boomed across the store. "How are my figures coming?"

Chuck saw Bryce's eyes roll towards the ceiling. "Don't choke him with that pretzel. Don't choke him with that pretzel." Bryce smiled innocently and strolled across the floor, right fist clenching minutely at his side.

"I think Bryce needs a holiday," Chuck observed, Sarah snorting a little as her pigtails bounced.

"He needs to blown off some steam is all," Sarah replied, laughter still shining in her eyes. "I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but we're all kind of adrenaline junkies who default to beating the crap out of something when we're annoyed."

Chuck's eyes widenened in perfectly faked astonishment. "No," he said, stunned. "Surely you jest."

Sarah laughed again, a bright sound Chuck immediately slated into his top three laughs ever. "I'll see you tonight, Chuck. Seven o'clock, sharp."

Seven o'clock sharp found them dressed casually and as warmly as a Californian evening ever required, walking through Chinatown while Morgan laid out his plan for the night. The first part was dinner, feasting upon sizzling shrimp.

"Sounds like quite a night," Sarah smiled, Morgan practically vibrating with excitement between her and Chuck.

"Dinner will be followed by a screening over at Chuck's," Morgan decreed, Sarah watching him with what Chuck thought was fondness. "The greatest Kung Fu movie ever made."

"Enter the Dragon," Chuck said in unison with Morgan. Then, as Morgan turned to face him and made a martial arts move, Chuck continued. "Prepare to die my bearded friend." Then, because they were just that cool, they began to hit each other's hands and say things along the lines of 'bring it on'.

"You two are so cool," Bryce muttered, still a little sulky about being dragged along.

Chuck grinned, knowing Bryce really didn't have a leg to stand on in the nerdiness stakes. The dude might have access to guns and kick-ass Kung Fu moves, but he learned Klingon. Willingly.

The minor hiccup was averted as Morgan and Bryce began to commiserate with each other over Chuck's - perfectly reasonable - insistence that they not buy fireworks. He liked his limbs. He was very attached to all of them. Morgan thought he was a buzzkill and Bryce laughingly teased him for being a party pooper and uttered the never again to be mentioned reminder of New Year's freshman year. Which, coincidentally had something to do with Chuck's whole aversion to fireworks.

Chuck, happy to indulge in both his victory and the rare sight of Bryce and Morgan both willingly behaving around the other, didn't even quibble as Morgan led them through the kitchen door of the Bamboo Palace. In fact, with the promise of sizzling shrimp and a nice movie night with his family, Chuck felt that finally the terrible week was beginning to look up.

Right until Chuck flashed on a waitress's tattoo and identified her as Mei-Ling Cho, a Chinese Intelligence operative who had never before set foot on US soil. Which, pretty understandably, put a bit of a crimp in the whole evening.

Bryce and Sarah, after both asking Chuck if he was absolutely sure he'd flashed on what he thought he had, dragged him over to Casey's apartment. There, Casey was in a fine mood. He slammed a series of files into Chuck's stomach, knocking the wind clean from him, and demanding to be notified immediately if Chuck flashed on anything. Which Chuck would have done anyway, but he thought it was a little rude to demand it of him like they hadn't been working together for a long while now.

Clearly oblivious to Chuck's lack of breath, Casey turned to Sarah. "Call the Director, tell him we've got a Priority Code Orange."

Chuck had been in the spy game long enough now to know when things were serious and important. He judged it by the severity of the flash and how syllabic Casey was, the tension Sarah held herself with, and how utterly calm Bryce appeared. But, even with all his criteria for a serious situation met, Chuck felt he had to ask one thing.

"Is there any way this can wait until morning?" He knew better than to get his hopes up, but still. "I kind of have a Priority Code Ellie and Morgan-"

Casey stood up and loomed into Chuck's personal space. "China's top spy is in Los Angeles. We don't know why she's here or what she's planning to do. You, my friend, might be the only one who can figure that out." He slammed a hand into the files, re-knocking the wind out of Chuck. "That's your priority."

"Come on, buddy," Bryce took the files, a tight smile on his lips. "Let's go next door. I'll help you go through the files. I'll order pizza. And I've got the best coffee."

It was true. Bryce did have the best coffee. And Chuck had a feeling he would be needing that excellent coffee just to keep his eyes open and going through the files.

Chuck's first ever stakeout did not go entirely according to plan. For a start, it was just him, Sarah and Casey, with Bryce stuck back at the apartment in an apparently top secret conference with Director Graham and General Beckman. Then, Casey got all grumpy because Chuck ordered in some sizzling shrimp to the car. And then, well, they trailed Mei-Ling and the guy who Casey said owned half of Chinatown to a building where Chuck flashed on a possible assassination attempt. And then Chuck got to sit alone in the car while his handlers did spy things without him. At least he got to help wheelchair guy escape. And he was feeling pretty good about that for about five whole seconds until a couple of men carried a bound and gagged man into the trunk of Wheelchair Guy's limo and then drove off while Mei-Ling shot at them.

And then casually dropped a bombshell about the old guy being Triad and that bound guy being her brother. Which meant that Chuck, instead of helping like he thought he was, totally and completely blew it.

After a long and sleepless night, tossing and turning and trying to work out how he could have been wrong about his intel, Chuck convinced himself that it was going to be okay. Casey and Sarah didn't seem to hold it against him, and they were professionals; they would find a way to make this right. And Bryce too, when he was brought up to speed, Chuck knew his handlers would help him make this right. It was what they did.

Even learning Mei-Ling was here rogue, well that didn't change anything. Except, apparently it did. Casey told him not to worry about someone even the Chinese didn't care about and Sarah reassured him it wasn't his fault. She said that Mei-Ling chose to go rogue and that eventually he had to learn that they couldn't save everyone. But all Chuck could think about was if it was Ellie and what he would do. What he would want the people close to him to be able to do.

"I'll drive by myself today," Chuck said, staring stonily until Sarah and Casey had both driven off towards the Buy More and Wienerlicious. Then, despite the dire warnings of what would happen to all his saved game files if he so much dared to breathe heavily near Bryce's apartment on his day off, Chuck rapped his knuckles on the wood so hard they stung. And then he slammed his fist against it several times for emphasis.

Muffled curses sounded behind the door, Chuck picking up on the words 'gun' and 'shoot'. Chuck barely had time to preemptively pull on an apologetic smile before the door was wrenched open.

"What?!" Bryce Larkin, clad in just a pair of boxer shorts and a murderous glare, was before him and Chuck forgot all the reasons why he thought this was a good idea.

It wasn't the bags under his eyes that even a spy couldn't hide first thing in the morning, and it wasn't just the air of vaguely homicidal promise that felt quietly like Stanford (even then, Bryce had not been a morning person), and it wasn't his first sight of the still nasty looking scar barely an inch from Bryce's heart. It was all of that, and the fact that Chuck couldn't bear to be disappointed by another person he trusted to have his back.

Bryce, apparently not armed despite his threats, grabbed Chuck by the wrist and tugged him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Wordlessly, he pointed Chuck towards the kitchen, where Chuck had the common sense to start the coffee, and turned back to see Bryce pulling an old Stanford tee over his already hopelessly tousled hair. Armed with coffee and some french pastries Chuck couldn't pronounce, they adjourned to Bryce's couch - all without saying a word.

After Bryce had taken a couple of long swallows of his too-hot coffee, and the light in his eyes had changed from you woke me, you must die to grudgingly alert, the concerned side of his friend came out. "What's wrong?"

In front of anyone else Chuck might have at least considered playing it cool. But, this was Bryce, and he'd literally just woken him knowing how little sleep he'd gotten this past week. So...

"Ellie's annoyed at me because I'm not spending enough time with her. Morgan's coming last in the sales competition at the Buy More, which means he's going to lose his job, and I couldn't help him practice his technique because I was too busy on a stakeout for Mei-Lin that I totally blew because she wasn't trying to kill the old guy in the wheelchair who's apparently a Chinese mafia boss, and all she was trying to do was rescue her brother. And Casey says that there's nothing we can do and Sarah says she chose to disobey her government and go rogue and that we can't save everyone. And I really was counting on them because it's wrong Bryce, it just is. No matter if she went rogue or not, that's her brother and they threw him in the trunk right in front of me. And all I can think about is what if it was Ellie or it was Morgan or you. And we can't turn our backs on her, Bryce. We just can't. And I know I shouldn't have woken you, but you're the only person who I know always does what's right."

Bryce was quiet for a long moment, toying with a tiny piece of pastry he'd pulled off. "The Chinese government won't help?"

Chuck shook his head, eyeing the final pastry speculatively. "No, and Casey says we're not risking an international incident just to help someone the Chinese can't be bothered about."

"And Sarah thinks that she went rogue and deserves whatever happens?" Bryce checked, anger beginning to flare again in his eyes.

"Pretty much."

"Right," Bryce nodded, swallowing the last mouthful of his coffee. "Right." The CIA agent pushed the pastries towards Chuck with a look that said to eat them or he'd be force fed them, then stood up and strode back into his bedroom.

Chuck heard him muttering to himself in various languages Chuck couldn't even place, his voice rising and falling through curses of all kinds. Glancing at the unpronounceable pastry, Chuck shrugged and ate his second breakfast of the day.

"Here's what we're going to do," Bryce announced, strifing out of his bedroom now fully dressed and undoubtedly hiding more weaponry than any sane person ever needed. "We're going to go help Mei-Ling save her brother, then we're going to find out some way of making Morgan the least incompetent sales person of all the green shirted idiots. And then, if we're really lucky, we'll get you home in time to celebrate Mother's Day with Ellie."

Chuck awkwardly swallowed the mouthful of pastry, washing it down with the dregs of his lukewarm coffee. "You remembered?"

Bryce merely shot him a smile and picked up his keys. "Come on, Chuck. Busy day."

Chapter Text

Chuck knew that Bryce had a lot of experience in the whole being a scary superspy thing, but he didn't quite know why Bryce had driven them here of all places. "This is the Buy More."

"Well observed, Chuck," Bryce smirked, getting out of the car in one of those annoyingly graceful moves Chuck could never hope of replicating. Bryce ducked down to peer through the window. "Come on, sunshine, time's wasting."

Grudgingly, Chuck clambered out of the car, feeling about as graceful as Bambi on ice. "What are we doing here?"

Bryce stopped, leaning against a parked minivan. "First rule of tracking down a rogue agent? Don't. Let them come to you. Preferably in an open, public space with lots of witnesses."

"Like the Buy More."

"Exactly." Bryce flashed a grin that was half innocence and half impish excitement. "Besides, I think I'm going to need a new television soon."

Chuck frowned. He had just been in Bryce's apartment and he was pretty sure that his television was both state-of-the-art and perfectly fine. "What's wrong with your television?"

Bryce displayed another of his impish grins, pushing off the side of the van. "I haven't decided yet."

Well that was all well and good, but... "How are you going to afford a new television? I mean, I know being an accountant you get paid more than me, but-" Chuck trailed off, noticing the soft and exasperated look on Bryce's face. "Let me guess. The CIA pays more than $12 an hour?"

Bryce nodded once. "Considerably more. Especially when you regularly get shot at."

"When you say regularly...?"

A warm hand clasped Chuck on the shoulder. "You don't want to know, Chuck."

Somehow, Chuck had a feeling that would be his answer.

"You know, buddy," Chuck began, walking through the doors of the Buy More. "You spend way too many of your days off here."

Bryce's eyes twinkled. "When I'm here as a potential customer, everyone has to be nice to me. This little vein on Casey's forehead starts throbbing." He grinned nostalgically. "It's the little things, Chuck." His friend nodded towards a woebegone Morgan. "Speaking of, let's go get me a new TV."

As if that was some sort of bizarre call to arms, two of the Buy More green shirts (Marvin and Riley) snapped to attention and all but sprinted towards Bryce. The CIA agent looked momentarily nonplussed, then seemed to chalk it up to the Buy More weirdness.

"Sorry, guys," Chuck said, stepping between the green shirts and their potential sale with a regretful smile. "He called ahead. Morgan's waiting."

"Morgan doesn't even like him," Riley muttered, glowering towards Chuck's oblivious best friend.

"And the feeling is mutual," Bryce replied wholeheartedly. "But, I happen to be very fond of Chuck. So," the CIA agent shrugged in a what can you do? manner.

"Morgan!" Chuck called, deciding to put an end to this before Tang tried to muscle in on the sale too. "Customer!"

Morgan sullenly walked over to them, peering around in confusion. "I don't see any customers, man. I just see the Accountant."

Bryce crossed his arms, Chuck not needing to look to know he'd be grinning like Casey was cuffed to another headboard in his underwear.

"Bryce is the customer."

Morgan honestly looked as though his day could not possibly get any worse. "Oh come on, man."

"Be nice, Morgan," Bryce grinned, rocking on his heels a little. "I'm a customer."

Looking like it physically pained him, Morgan pasted on his customer service smile, saying through gritted teeth. "Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?"

"My television had an accident, I need a new one."

Morgan looked between Chuck and Bryce, silently asking if Chuck had put him up to this. Chuck shook his head slightly (well aware that Bryce was a part of this nonverbal conversation). Grudgingly, Morgan nodded and turned fully to Bryce. "You thinking plasma or LCD?"

"LCD," Bryce replied immediately. "Gaming."

"Yeah," Morgan nodded in commiseration. "Plasma retention issues are a bummer."

Chuck was relieved his best friends were getting along for a change, and he thought maybe he could slip off to the Nerd Herd desk without it degenerating into chaos. Unfortunately, both Morgan and Bryce dragged Chuck into the conversation, so it strangely felt more like Bryce and Chuck were buying the tv than just Bryce doing so. Still, a sale was a sale, and even Chuck had to admit that he couldn't wait to get the new television installed in Bryce's apartment.

Quite why Chuck of all people was going to do the installation, he didn't know, but it seemed to be widely understood that he was.

Morgan rang up the sale, bouncing a little at the surprised looks Jeff and Lester were - for some reason - giving him.

"That puts you about level with Harry Tang," Bryce announced, sending a smug smile over at his least favourite Buy More employee. "Don't mess this up, Morgan."

"Thanks, Accountant," Morgan said, nodding with something like grudging respect. Bryce inclined his head back, watching Morgan disappear into the back to finally mark a sale on the graph.

"You really didn't have to do that, Bryce," Chuck smiled, touched that he had done so nonetheless.

"I know," Bryce replied easily. "But he's your friend. And, I've screwed up your life enough lately without getting him fired too."

"You didn't screw up my life, Bryce," Chuck protested, watching a sad little smile curl his lips. "You just made it a lot more interesting."

"Speaking of interesting, buddy," Bryce grinned, seamlessly changing the conversation. "Don't get kidnapped by a rogue Chinese agent while I'm taking this new TV out to the car."

As a matter of fact, Chuck didn't get kidnapped by a rogue Chinese operative while Bryce was taking care of his new purchase. He didn't get kidnapped all morning, in fact. There was a rather frightening incident during lunch where Mei-Ling phoned him up and demanded his help in saving her brother. For a moment, Chuck considered telling Casey and Sarah that Mei-Ling had phoned him and probably been in the Buy More watching him. But, then he remembered that morning and how they'd dismissed his wishes to help, so he chose not to. Instead, he and Bryce ate a quick lunch in the Buy More break room, amused as the green shirts rushed in and out checking on the progress of their competition. Between hurried entrances and exits, Chuck told Bryce all about the brief phone call, and his friend looked encouraged - as if his plan was coming together.

A little later, Jeff came and got Chuck, saying something about a delivery of hard drives he had to sign for in the storage cage. Chuck made his way there, met with a gun in the stomach and an angry Chinese operative.

"You really don't want to do that," Bryce commented, tone idle except for the steel running through it. He had a gun in his hand, held up in a way that promised he would use it but he really didn't want to.

"Put the gun down and walk away," Mei-Ling demanded, clearly wrong footed by not knowing that Bryce was one of Chuck's handlers.

"Can't do that as long as you've got a gun on Chuck."

"Bryce," Chuck called, hoping his friend got the true depth to which Chuck hated the whole having a gun held on him thing.

"Don't worry, buddy," Bryce said, easily as if they were taking a stroll through the park. "You ever seen White Nights? Hunt for Red October?"

Chuck wasn't proud of how long it took him to work it out, but when he did, he almost smiled. Only Bryce could work out a solution where they could do what was right and probably not face too many consequences for it.

Unfortunately, Mei-Ling seemed to be on the same wavelength. "I will never defect."

"Your government turned it's back on you and your brother," Bryce reminded her, gently but for the gun in his hand. "Do you really still have any loyalty to them?"

Chuck couldn't see Mei-Ling's face, but he could hear the pain in her voice. "If I defect I cannot go home. I will never see my brother again."

"I know a thing or two about going rogue for the right reasons," Bryce offered, taking a minute step forward. "And I know how hard it can be to make the right choice. Right now, what I'm asking you to do sounds impossible. But," Bryce met Chuck's eyes trailing off into silence.

"But," Chuck said, picking up where Bryce had left off. "If you don't do this, you will lose your brother forever, and we all know that's not what you want."

"What about the other two?"

Chuck was certain he didn't imagine the flicker of irritation that passed over Bryce's face. "The other two aren't involved. And, if they get involved?" This time Chuck knew he saw Bryce smirk. "I haven't pulled rank on them yet. That'll be fun."

Chuck felt the cold barrel of the gun begin to lower away from the side of his head, only to jam hard against his neck again. Bryce spun on his heel, hands wide. "Casey, Sarah! Lower your guns."

Casey narrowed his eyes. "Give me one good reason."

Chuck indulged himself in imagining the smirk on Bryce's face. "Mei-Ling is defecting. Her only condition is that we rescue her brother first."

While Casey and Sarah escorted Mei-Ling into Casey's apartment, Bryce personally escorted Chuck to his own. Ellie was already working in the kitchen, readying their famous mother's day meal. "The prodigal brother returns," Ellie called, sending a beaming smile Chuck's way. "And Bryce too. Hey, Bryce."

"Evening, Ellie," Bryce smiled, offering her the bouquet he'd made Casey stop the car to buy. "Happy Mother's Day."

Ellie came out of the kitchen and took the flowers, smiling in bemusement. "Thank you." She shot a questioning look at Chuck, who could only shrug. Who knew why Bryce Larkin did what he did? He'd never understand.

"You're welcome," Bryce simply said. "Now, my present to you. One Charles Bartowski, present and accounted for. And," Bryce pulled Chuck's phone from his pocket, turning it off and dropping it in his own pocket. "No interruptions guaranteed."

His phone. Chuck needed his phone. How else was he going to be contacted in case they needed him on their rescue mission. "Bryce."

The agent skillfully avoided Chuck's grabs for his phone. "You'll get it back in the morning, Chuck. I'll bring the coffee, you bring the leftovers." He stopped, offering Chuck a quick hug. "I've got this," he promised in a whisper. "Just enjoy the night. Okay?"

Then with a jaunty grin and a wave, Bryce left the apartment and Chuck could only stutter approximations of his name.

"I hate it when he does that."

"I think it's sweet," Ellie said, a wealth of meaning Chuck wished he was good at reading in her tone. "Now, you coming to help?"

"Sure thing, sis," Chuck agreed, throwing himself into spending their mother's day with his sister. He hadn't realised how much he needed it, this touch of normality, his time with his sister. They'd both been so busy lately, it was good just to relax and spend time with just the two of them.

And, yeah, a part of him did spend the night worried about what was happening with Mei-Ling and her brother, but the four of them were the best spies Chuck had ever met, he knew they had this. Bryce wouldn't lie to him about a thing like that.

The next morning, armed with a lot of questions and a Tupperware container full of leftovers, Chuck found himself again knocking on Bryce's door. Bryce opened it before Chuck had knocked more than twice. "Mission was a success. Mei-Ling's brother is safe and she's on her way to a debriefing."

Chuck let out a sigh of relief, stepping past his friend into the apartment. "And you didn't get shot?"

"At? Yes. Hit? No." Bryce flashed him a grin. "I do have bruises in a few uncomfortable places, but par for the course there."

"Ellie sends leftovers and an invitation for a family dinner tonight," Chuck announced, sidestepping the awkward issue of his friend brushing off injuries as normal. "I want my phone and the coffee you promised."

"Kitchen counter," Bryce called, walking towards his bedroom to finish dressing.

Chuck stowed the leftovers in the fridge, grabbing both his phone and their coffees from the counter. Deciding to wait for his friend in the living room, Chuck went to take a seat. To the end of his days, he would forever deny that he yelped.

"Bryce! What the hell happened to your old television?!"

The CIA agent strolled out of his bedroom with a wicked grin. "I told you, it had an accident." Bryce picked up a bowl of cereal from the table and carried on eating like it was no big deal.

"This looks like you-" Chuck peered closer to the suspicious hole in the flat screen. "Did you stab this with a bat'leth?"

Bryce turned innocent eyes on Chuck. "Did you want me to help bump up Morgan's sales figures or not, Chuck?"

It was too early for Bryce Larkin logic. "I didn't want you to murder an innocent piece of technology with a Klingon weapon, you nerd."

"Hey, it had it coming," Bryce shrugged as if he was the victim in all this. "I have an engineering degree-"

Chuck flashed him a grin, giddy because this was the one person he could say this too and not sound like an entitled ass. "Who doesn't?"

Bryce's eyes twinkled slightly, but he continued as if Chuck had never spoken. "And it took me two whole days to set it up."

"And for that, it deserved to die?"

"I've killed people for less."

When Bryce said things like that Chuck could never quite tell if he was joking or not. But, it was Chuck's policy to pretend that he was.

"You'd just been shot. It wasn't the television's fault you were loopy on pain meds."

Bryce seemed to consider that - correct - argument for a moment. Then he shrugged again. "It happened, it's dead. Let's mourn it and move on."

Chuck adopted what he hoped was a suitably mournful demeanour. "Fare thee well good television. You lived but a short time, but you shone brightly."

"Today was a good day to die," Bryce added, Chuck losing the battle with his laughter.

"Wait," Chuck gasped, something Bryce had mentioned occasionally coming into Chuck's mind. "You're really Casey's boss?"

Bryce didn't reply, but his eyes danced and his grin turned wicked. "Let's get to work, we don't want to upset Ellie because Big Mike makes us work late."

"I really hope I don't flash today," Chuck muttered, following after his best friend. "I could use a break."

"You weren't the one who had a firefight in Chinatown last night," Bryce retorted, practically bouncing towards the car.

Chuck couldn't help his grin. "Had fun, buddy?"

"Oh yeah."

And Chuck got treated to all the details during their morning commute. As a member of a family who made up their own traditions, Chuck decided that adding this one wouldn't be so bad either.

Chapter Text

Chuck ducked and rolled behind his couch, sucker dart gun in his hands. "You're a dead man, Larkin!"

Bryce's voice carried on the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "Many have tried, none have succeeded."

High stakes Buy More Gotcha! was currently out of their reach, but high stakes Chuck's apartment Gotcha! was alive and kicking. He and Bryce had decided to take advantage of the empty apartment, and the recent news of Chuck's assistant managerial interview time, to finally restart their Stanford tradition.

Chuck saw a flash of movement in the television screen, a dart landing on the surface with a muffled pop. Seeing his window, Chuck turned and fired as quickly as he could.

"Too slow, buddy," Bryce called, laughter tripping over his voice.

"I'm thinking this superspy thing is giving you an unfair advantage," Chuck complained, fully aware Bryce knew exactly where he was and was undoubtedly biding his time. He crawled on his stomach around to the front of the couch, hoping to catch Bryce in his next move.

"Take it up with the CIA," Bryce smirked, still doing the thing with his voice that made it impossible to pinpoint.

Chuck risked a peek over the top of the couch, scanning from the kitchen to the corridor. "I don't think Gotcha! was what they had in mind when they trained you."

A considering sort of noise drifted on the air. "Perhaps not, but you can't hide all day."

That was annoyingly true. Ellie would be back with Halloween decorations any time now. And when she came back, Chuck would be expected to help decorate, not play a slightly silly game with his friend. "I can hide long enough to wait you out, Bryce."

Bryce's chuckle echoed around the apartment. "It's cute you think that."

Sensing Bryce was about to make a move, Chuck shimmied along the floor, hoping to hide in the kitchen before his friend could get to him. He heard a whistle of air, a mild stinging sensation accompanied a weird suction in the middle of his forehead.

The CIA agent dropped down from the kitchen island, ignoring Chuck's glower with an ease born of endless repetition. "Gotcha," Bryce smirked, spinning the gun on his finger. "I win."

Chuck pulled the dart off his forehead, tossing it onto the couch. "Really, Bryce? Right between the eyes? Again?"

Bryce shrugged, still grinning his victorious grin. "Got to keep my aim sharp, Chuck, if I'm going to be protecting you."

"You know, you could protect me by not shooting me in the middle of my forehead?"

Bryce considered that for a moment. "Doesn't sound fun," he decided, shaking his head.

Chuck pulled his best annoyed frown on his lips, covering the smile he wanted to let out. "I'm beginning to understand why Casey shot you."

Bryce staggered back against the island, hand pressed over his heart in exaggerated pain. "Ouch."

Ellie walked in, eyes widening as she noticed the suction cup darts on the walls and the television screen. They widened further as she saw the guns Chuck and Bryce were still holding. "I don't want to know," she decided, walking into the apartment to drop her bags on the kitchen counter.

Chuck met Bryce's laughing gaze, both shrugging in identical expressions of innocence. "High stakes Gotcha!"

Despite saying she didn't want to know, Chuck recognised the curiosity in his sister's face. "What exactly are the stakes?"

Chuck's innocent smile melted into one of confusion. "You know, we never exactly worked that out."

"Bragging rights?" Bryce suggested, as if that were as good a stake as any.

Chuck snorted, playfully shoving his friend. "Like you need another reason to brag."

Bryce's shoulders shook with quiet laughter. "Wow, buddy, I'm really feeling the love today."

"You shot me," Chuck protested, pointing to the spot on his forehead. "Right here."

"It's a little sucker dart, Chuck," Bryce retorted, bright and playful. "I wouldn't be complaining if you'd ever managed to shoot me."

Well, that was just unfair. Truthful, but unfair. Except...

"Hey! I got you once," Chuck protested, glaring at Bryce's smirk. "Week before Thanksgiving, senior year."

"Doesn't count," Bryce predictably retorted. "I had a cold."

Chuck made the verbal equivalent of throwing his hands up in the air. "You insisted on playing to prove you didn't have a cold."

Undaunted by little things like facts, Bryce tilted his head and reminded Chuck; "When we finished playing, you dragged me back to the frat house and force fed me chicken soup."

Chuck may have done that. But that was beside the point.

"You said you didn't have a cold, so for the purposes of that game you didn't have a cold. So I still beat you fair and square."

"Whatever you say, Chuck," Bryce agreed, amused. He turned to Ellie, who had been silently watching their exchange. "Need any help with decorating?"

"That'd be great, thank you," Ellie smiled, handing Bryce a packet of fake cobwebs. "I take it you're coming to the Halloween party?"

"I wouldn't miss my chance to see Chuck and Morgan's infamous sandworm costume," Bryce smirked, blue eyes laughing.

"I know you know what it actually is, so you're just saying that to annoy me," Chuck sniffed, struck with the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him. "And, besides, what are you coming as? James Bond?"

"If you want me to," Bryce replied easily, displaying a flawless British accent. And of course he had a British accent, because there was apparently nothing that Bryce Larkin couldn't do.

"Stop showing off," Chuck grumbled, accepting the fake cobweb Bryce tossed him.

"I have my costume and it is awesome!" Awesome announced, striding through the door. "Give me a moment and I'll show you."

"Hello to you too, Awesome," Chuck muttered, tilting his head as he analysed the drape of the cobwebs. Bryce made a tiny adjustment and Chuck gave a thumbs up. "Looking forward to Halloween?"

"It'll be my first back in the States since Stanford," Bryce murmured, aware Ellie had ears like a bat. "Spent the last one in Paraguay. No candy, but I did get a nice infected knife wound that got me some downtime."

Chuck really hated the casual way Bryce mentioned his injuries. He knew it was Bryce's way of sharing his past with Chuck, of letting him know that a few bumps and bruises protecting him was really nothing at all, but he still really hated it.

"Well, this year, no wounds. Just candy, some alcohol and Ellie's party."

"Sounds refreshingly normal," Bryce offered, a dry smile on his lips. "You do realise it's never that simple for us. Right?"

Chuck pointed his finger at his friend, not even catching a glimpse of the instinct to reach out and break it. "Do not jinx this, Bryce."

"Five Halloweens with the company, never a dull one so far."

Chuck opened his mouth, ready to remind Bryce that he was in California now and things were pretty boring here when Chuck wasn't Flashing. Unfortunately, Awesome chose that moment to come out of his and Ellie's room wearing nothing but skin coloured underwear with a giant fig leaf over the crotch.

Recognising the look on Bryce's face as a mix of barely restrained amusement and horror, Chuck couldn't help but grin. "Suddenly the sandworm is looking pretty good, huh?"

"It's certainly another option," Bryce agreed non-committally. "By the way, buddy, your phone's been ringing for the past five minutes." He displayed the offending device between two fingers, and did Chuck mention how annoying it was when Bryce pickpocketed his phone?

It was Big Mike calling and Big Mike wasn't happy.

"Morgan's gone AWOL from a double shift, I've gotta go find him."

"Go," Bryce said, all traces of playfulness gone. "I didn't buy a new TV just so Morgan could lose his job now."

Chuck nodded, but he caught his sister's gaze. "I don't want to ditch Halloween decorating day."

Ellie, because she really was the best sister ever, just smiled and ushered him to the door. "Go find Morgan, Bryce and I have got this."

Chuck already felt bad enough about ditching decorating day, but forcing Bryce to carry on in his stead? That just felt wrong. "Buddy," he began, knowing Bryce could read the rest of his sentence in some combination of his voice, body language and face.

Bryce definitely could, if the momentary annoyance on his face was to be believed. "I swear to God, Bartowski, if you don't get going right now, next movie night I am going to put on Phantom Menace and you will watch it even if I have to tape your eyelids open."

Chuck held his hands up. "I'm going. I'm gone."

"Good," Bryce smirked, nodding victoriously. "Drive safe."

Morgan was, for some reason Chuck could not comprehend, ditching work to play Guitar Shredder in an arcade by the ocean. He had already picked up their costume from the drycleaners, which was great, but still Chuck worried a little. Morgan was known to goof off every now and then, but he never usually did anything that put his job at risk. Something that he was doing right now.

"Come on, Morgan," Chuck sighed, watching him put the guitar strap over his head. "You've gotta be at work."

"I know," Morgan replied, waving over a guy from the sideline. "But I've got ten bucks at stake in this quote unquote video game. He's been kicking my ass all week, so time to return the favour."

As he spoke, Morgan and his challenger pressed the start button, rock music beginning to play from the speakers. Chuck looked past Morgan to the other guy, something about his blue eyes (but not Bryce Larkin blue - and where did that thought come from?) triggering a flash.

He saw a wanted poster for a Lazslo Mahnovski, that he was considered dangerous. He saw a couple of others things too, but nothing that stuck with him as much as those red letters spelling out the word dangerous.

"Morgan," Chuck said through gritted teeth, trying to be as quiet as possible. "This guy is dangerous."

Lazslo met Chuck's eyes, almost spooked.

Morgan, however, just continued playing the game. "Well, Morgan's dangerous, Chucky."

Lazslo left the game and Chuck, stupidly, followed him. Something he knew was a bad idea, but he just couldn't stop himself. Laszlo grabbed him, eyes wild and scared. "How did you find me? Who else knows I'm here? Who do you work for?"

Chuck did what Chuck did best. He babbled. "No one. I don't work for anyone. Let me go. Look, I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you're a spy," Laszlo cried. "Your watch? I designed that watch for the CIA."

Chuck couldn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Well, besides the fact that his girlfriend gave it to him, which was technically the truth. You know, from a certain point of view.

"Are there other agents waiting for me outside?" Laszlo demanded. "Are there other agents waiting for me outside?!"

Morgan popped out of nowhere, crowing about his victory, and Laszlo rabbited, running from the arcade like the cops were chasing him.

Chuck dropped Morgan off at the Buy More then called Sarah and updated her on what he'd just flashed on. He considered calling Casey, but he figured Sarah would prefer to do that herself, when she had actual intelligence to share with the NSA third of his handlers. Bryce, however, was another story.

It was dark when Chuck made it back to Echo Park and, instead of collapsing on his bed and going to sleep (which sounded like a really great idea right now), he knocked on the door of Bryce's apartment. Technically, he had a key for emergencies, but Chuck was still a little wary of invading a spy's home unannounced.

Bryce opened the door, the questioning smile on his face melting into a toothy smile at the sight of Chuck. "Hey, buddy," he greeted, opening the door wider so Chuck could enter. "Find Morgan?"

"He was playing Guitar Shredder at an arcade on the boardwalk."

Bryce inclined his head, moving past Chuck to go back towards the kitchen. "Good for him."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed hollowly. "Good for Morgan. Not so good for-" He stopped within sight of the kitchen, frowning at the meal cooking away on the stovetop. "Am I interrupting something?"

Bryce's eyebrows furrowed in a nearly identical frown to Chuck's. "No, Chuck, I'm just cooking dinner. It's quite a significant meal we have at the end of the day."

Chuck slid onto one of the kitchen stools, aiming a scowl at his friend's back. "Smartass."

Bryce favoured him with another sparkling smile, saying easily "It's practically finished. You hungry?"

Chuck hadn't really considered food in the aftermath of his flash, but now he did, he was a little. "Yeah."

Skillfully, Bryce plated up the food, maneuvering around Chuck to deposit the plates on his table. "You wanna eat then tell me what's bothering you? Or would you prefer to do so while we're eating?"

Despite himself, Chuck grinned. "An actual home cooked meal by Stanford's most notorious Ramen connoisseur? Nothing's going to ruin that experience for me."

"Haha," Bryce deadpanned, giving Chuck a playful shove when he reached the table. "Don't judge me for my broke college student past, buddy."

Chuck raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, no. I was right there with you."

Like everything Bryce did, the meal was perfect. Chuck didn't know the name of it, but it was creamy and chicken-y and pasta-y and delicious. And Bryce only preened a little when Chuck said so. The second time. The first time Chuck said so, his mouth was half full and Bryce had nearly choked on his wine. So, Chuck decided not to count that time. They loaded the dishwasher in easy conversation, Chuck regaling Bryce with tales of living with the Awesomes and their most awesome moments and Bryce returning the favour with some of his own highlights (fortunately not containing any mention of injury).

Then, with another glass of wine each that Chuck was probably going to regret in the morning, they settled on the couch. He swiped the remote and put on some sci-fi show he hadn't heard of, strangely reluctant to break the mood with Intersect talk. It wasn't even that Chuck was apprehensive about talking about his flash, but with dinner and the wine and - it just felt nice not to be Chuck Bartowksi, human intersect for a moment.

Bryce lasted until the first commerical break, lifting the remote from Chuck's knee and muting the television. "Much as I'd like to think otherwise, buddy," he began, tone gentle. "You didn't come over tonight just for my cooking and company. What's up?"

Chuck took a fortifying gulp of wine, settling the glass on the coffee table. "I was with Morgan in the arcade," he said, choosing his words slowly.

Bryce heaved an almost apologetic sigh. "You flashed."

Chuck nodded tiredly. "His name is Laszlo Mahnovski. I saw a wanted poster. Didn't get much else, but apparently he's dangerous."

Bryce hummed in the back of his throat. "Never heard of him. You told Sarah?"

Chuck nodded.

"And Casey?"

Chuck's nose wrinkled just a little, the way it sometimes did when he had done something a little bit wrong.

Bryce just grinned. "Don't blame you on that one." He sobered moments later. "Aside from the not telling Casey thing, what's bothering you about this one?"

Chuck's shoulders rose in a helpless shrug. "I don't know, Bryce. He looked more scared than dangerous."

"Fear is a very powerful motivator," Bryce said, shadows covering his face. "I'd be more concerned about facing someone who thinks they're cornered over someone who's just holding a gun and trying to shoot me."

Chuck knew that. He did. It was just- "He was playing video games in an arcade."

"And this afternoon, I was playing Gotcha! with you in your apartment. Last night, we were marathoning Call of Duty in your room. You think I'm any less dangerous for it?"

Considering Chuck had seen Bryce in action once or twice and had flashed on a couple more of his highlights, the answer was readily apparent. "No."

Bryce sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. "So, you flashed and then you got Morgan and left?"

Chuck shook his head. "I flashed, he saw my watch, knew I was involved with the CIA - apparently he designed the watch - and demanded to know how I got it. I told him my girlfriend gave it to me - and I know that put Sarah at risk, but I panicked - and then Morgan came and he ran."

"First of all, you didn't put Sarah in danger," Bryce said, blue eyes intense. "We're your handlers, it's our job to bear the risk in this mission. Secondly, and I'm sorry to pull the overprotective act again, but until this guy is back in custody one way or another, you've got a permanent shadow. 24/7."

"I hardly think he's going to track me down to my apartment, Bryce."

"No, he's not," Bryce agreed brightly. "Because you're not going to be in your apartment."

"Bryce," Chuck began, tone warning. He really did not need this. He just wanted to brief his friend and then sink into his mattress and sleep.

The CIA agent stood, acting as if Chuck's staying was a matter of fact. He pointed to the windows. "Bulletproof glass." A nod to the door. "An alarm system Casey could only dream of." A smirk towards the corridor leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. "Clothes your size in the guest closet. And," Bryce spun on his heel and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Literally the finest selection of coffee in this entire apartment complex. Not that that's saying overly much but, come on, you've had my coffee."

Someone else, who wasn't used to Bryce Larkin's overprotective nature manifesting in all manner of strange ways, might be surprised at what Bryce was prepared for. As it was, Chuck didn't find it odd that his friend had a closet full of clothes that would fit him. There was, however, one detail that stuck with him. "You really have bulletproof glass?"

"I'm a paranoid spy who moved in days after being shot by my nextdoor neighbour," Bryce reminded him, a hint of a smile about his lips. "Of course I have bulletproof glass."

Chuck debated arguing his stay here, reminding Bryce that Chuck was an adult and could take care of himself. But, he knew he'd still be pressing that argument when the sun started to rise, and he just didn't have the energy to try and out stubborn Bryce. "Shower?"

Bryce dropped back onto the couch, crossing his ankle over his knee. "You know where everything is. Fresh toothbrushes are under the sink."

"I know," Chuck sighed, trying to work out if the warm feeling he was feeling was annoyance or something irritatingly more fond. "I'm gonna grab a shower and then go to bed. Night, buddy."

Bryce smiled, soft and small, unmuting the television with an absent press of a button. "Goodnight, Chuck."

Later, as Chuck was slipping between silk sheets, he fully intended to mull over the reasons why he both felt so at home here and didn't feel irritated at his friend's high-handed ways of keeping him safe. But it had been a long day, the meal was still resting comfortably in his stomach, and the bed was like a cloud. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

Far, far too early the next morning, Chuck was awoken by the sound of his friend's laughing voice. "Come on, buddy. Rise and shine. We're going to be late for work."

Part of Chuck was tempted not to reply, but two years of rooming together had taught Bryce all Chuck's diversion tactics. "Don't care," Chuck grumbled, burrowing deeper into the heavenly sheets and soft pillow. "Never leaving."

"Suit yourself," Bryce chuckled, the sound of his footsteps moving away from Chuck's little paradise.

Chuck knew Bryce, knew that he was even less of a morning person than Chuck was. Also, Bryce was a devious, sneaky man who never let things like that rest. He certainly never had when they were at Stanford, anyway. Waking each other up for their early morning classes had become something like a war between them, each developing their own underhanded tactics for winning the battle each time they took the metaphorical field.

Mere moments after Bryce had beat his (hopefully lasting) retreat, Chuck's nose began to tickle. Drifting faintly, enticingly, on the air were the two most irresistible scents in the world. Bacon. And coffee. Really, really good coffee.

Of all the sneaky, low, underhanded tactics.

Grumbling and yawning, Chuck stumbled into Bryce's kitchen, sending a glower at his irritatingly awake friend turned handler turned current bane of his existence.

"Good morning, sunshine," Bryce sang, grinning all the wider when Chuck's glower deepened.

Bryce, because he only sucked about half as much as Chuck would admit right now, deposited breakfast and coffee in front of him, hands returning to warm on his own mug of coffee.

Chuck made grabby hands for his coffee, reluctantly abandoning the bacon and eggs until he felt awake enough.

"That was low even for you, Larkin," Chuck grumbled, feeling marginally more human just by inhaling the steam from his coffee.

Bryce's eyes twinkled, not even a little put out at Chuck's grumpiness. "And remind me how you used to wake me up at Stanford?"

There were a couple of ways. "Pulling the covers off your bed on my way to the shower?" Chuck suggested innocently.

Bryce's gaze conveyed that that was the wrong answer with nothing but the power of a head tilt and a frown.

Chuck set his mug back on the island with a frown of his own. "You're really still holding a grudge for the Celine Dion thing?"

"Chuck, buddy," Bryce began, tone deadly serious. "You are literally the only person in the world I count as a friend. But I will always hold a grudge for the Celine Dion thing."

"Do you know how hard it was to wake you otherwise?"

"Do you know how hard it was to be a college student and a CIA agent in training?"

Arguing with Bryce Larkin was like arguing with a wall. You could do it, but you always came out of it feeling a little crazy. And, besides, Chuck did feel a little guilty about the way he used to wake his friend. If he'd known he wasn't just trying to get an extra five minutes of sleep, maybe he would have chosen a less annoying song - maybe the Macarena.

"Hey," Bryce nudged Chuck's hand with his own. "Don't look so glum. It was good practice at resisting torture."

Chuck felt laughter bubbling up in his chest, his head shaking at his friend. "How are you so awake this morning?"

Bryce looked into his coffee mug, a bitter little smile on his lips. "Didn't get much sleep," he admitted softly. "One of the many joys of being a spy."

"You can always," Chuck heard himself offer, not really forming it beyond that.

"I know," Bryce replied. His face was open and thankful but Chuck knew he would get nothing on the subject out of him. Not now. Bryce wasn't so open to the whole talking like a healthy adult thing when his eyes were as shadowed as they were now.

"So," Chuck began, searching for a subject that wouldn't hit on any of the unspoken taboo topics - Jill, the CIA, whatever kept Bryce from sleeping through the night, their respective relationships with Sarah. "Will today be the day you finally shoot Tang?"

"Don't tempt me," Bryce smirked, shadows banished from his eyes. "I'd have done it already but the paperwork for shooting a civilian is nothing short of torture."

Chuck snorted inelegantly. "Yeah, because paperwork is the reason not to shoot someone."

"It's Tang, and I think his level of sheer irritating deserves all he might get and more," Bryce began, peering with mock severity at Chuck. "And, I was going to let you drive today, but if you're just going to be sarcastic, I'll drive us myself."

Chuck had a mental image of their college years, driving down from Stanford with Bryce in the passenger seat, hands gesturing around as he spoke. He hadn't realised how much he had missed those long car journeys.

"If you're coming in with me, we've gotta take the Nerd Herd car," Chuck announced, grinning into his coffee. "So, I'm driving."

"And what makes you think I won't just take the keys while you're changing?"

Well, that one Chuck already knew the answer to. "Because you are one of my best friends and you know that letting me drive will make me happy."

Apparently without an argument for that, Bryce nudged Chuck's plate closer to him. "Eat your breakfast."

Chuck was still riding a little high on his victory when Casey cornered him alone in the Buy More break room. The victory was a little diminished by the just above terrible coffee the break room carried, but Chuck knew he was a little spoiled on the stuff Bryce made and smuggled into his cupboards.

"You!" Casey called, slamming the door behind him. "What do I have to do to get timely intel out of you, Bartowski?"

"Look, I briefed Sarah and Bryce last night, okay?" Chuck sighed, not in the mood to get into an argument with Casey. He figured obstinacy and the inability to lose an argument had to be part of the stringent requirements for recruitment into spy agencies. He turned back, trying on an obstinate frown on his own. "You know, I thought we were supposed to be part of the same team here? Team Chuck?"

"We are," Casey agreed, beginning to circle around him. "But I'm starting to feel like the guy who always gets picked last. I don't like feeling like Team Chuck's little fat kid."

"Well I'm sorry that my CIA handlers happen to be my fake girlfriend and my college best friend," Chuck snapped, beginning to feel a headache creeping in at his temples. And the day had started so well. He heaved a tired sigh. "Listen, Casey. I would have told you after I left Bryce's, but he decided that dangerous apparently means Chuck can't be left to sleep in his own apartment, so take it up with him."

"Oh, I plan to."

Oh, Chuck did not like the angry glare on Casey's face. "With words, Casey, not bullets."

Casey's eyes rolled, as if Chuck was overreacting. "I only shot him once."

"And yet, the once is kind of what I have the problem with. Along with the whole nearly killing him thing."

"He should take it as a compliment. Guy like Bryce Larkin? If you're going to shoot him, shoot to kill."

Chuck supposed he could kind of see how that might vaguely seem like a compliment to Casey, but Chuck could really do without the thoughts of someone - anyone - trying to shoot the people he cared about. Even Casey. "Just, long as you're my handler, don't shoot my best friend?"

Casey folded his arms across his shirt. "I'll take that under advisement."

"You do that," Chuck nodded, wondering why it didn't entirely feel like he'd won this argument. "And, maybe, if you feel like it, you might tell Bryce that this Laszlo guy really isn't as dangerous as Bryce thinks he is. And, you know, that I don't need to be babysat every minute of the day?"

Casey smiled one of the most unapologetic smiles of apology Chuck had ever seen. "Sorry, Chuck," he said, as unapologetic as his smile. "But when it comes to matters of your safety, Larkin outranks Sarah and I. But if you tell him you're a real, live boy now, maybe your boyfriend will ease off on his own."

"Thanks, Casey," Chuck smiled sarcastically. "You're a real help."

Aside from reaming Morgan out in front of the store, Chuck's workday passed by fairly uneventfully. He fixed some computers, helped a woman be able to video chat with her son, and actually didn't really notice that everywhere he went he had an impeccably dressed shadow. So, he really did have to give props to the CIA for the whole incognito watching thing. That was pretty awesome. Maybe Bryce might teach him that one day, during those rare times when he didn't think Chuck's life was in danger or he wasn't mysteriously absent for no apparent reason.

"Buddy, I'm going home now," Chuck called, heading towards the exit. He couldn't feel Bryce's eyes on him, but he knew his friend would pick up on his exit quickly enough. Besides, it wasn't as if Chuck was actually going to leave him behind. He was his ride, that would just be rude.

It was incredible though, how quickly Chuck regretted not waiting for his self-appointed bodyguard. No sooner had he left the safety of the Buy More than a guy in a creepy clown mask jumped out from behind the Nerd Herd cars and pulled a gun on him. Because of course that was just the way his life went now.

The guy pulled off his mask, and of course it was Laszlo. "I didn't kill anybody," he announced, and Chuck believed him. Honest, he did.

"I never said that you did," he reminded Laszlo, remembering Casey's crash course in getting a gun pointed at you. Don't say anything clever and don't piss the other guy off.

"Then why am I on the FBI list?"

"I don't know," Chuck said, his hands pulling wider in an attempt to show he really meant no harm. "Just calm down." And maybe put the gun down, because that would certainly make Chuck feel a whole lot better.

"I was framed, okay?" Laszlo insisted, jabbing the gun a little closer for emphasis. "You have to believe me, I am not a murderer."

"I believe you," Chuck soothed, lowering his hands. "But, FYI, you're kinda acting like a murderer."

"I'd really have to agree with him on that one." Low, calm in the way that meant he was really working hard not to show how angry he was, Bryce's voice drifted from behind Chuck. Bryce came to stand by Chuck's side, his own gun pointed unerringly at Laszlo's head. Without so much as looking at Chuck, the CIA agent glared at him. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"Are we really doing this right now?" Chuck asked, trying to convey just the right amount of hysterical disbelief. "I've kinda got a gun on me, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I can see that, Chuck, yeah," Bryce replied, and that was definitely a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Great. Bryce only got sarcastic when he was annoyed with him.

"Okay, I get that you're mad at me, but could we maybe do this later?" Preferably at a time when Chuck wasn't being held at gunpoint.

Chuck felt Bryce's sigh echo through the parking lot. "You? Move and I'll shoot you in the leg," Bryce growled, then his attention was all on Chuck. "What part of dangerous and don't leave my side did you fail to comprehend, genius? I'm just asking because the next time I tell you not to leave my side, I kinda need to know how to make sure you understand that."

If there was one thing worse than the sarcasm, it was the worry masked fear Bryce couldn't hide from him. "I understood it, buddy," Chuck sighed, trusting he could read him well enough to know that he really regretted naively walking out of the store without him. "Trust me, I'm really getting the whole correlation between not listening to you and getting a gun shoved in my face. I don't like being held at gunpoint."

"I'm not a fan of it either," Bryce grumbled, both turning their attention back to a bemused looking Laszlo. Chuck was kind of hoping that their brief bickering session might have made Laszlo smarten up and run again, but they weren't that lucky.

Chuck bumped slightly into Bryce's side, conveying an apology that he didn't quite know how to voice. "We good?"

"We're good," his best friend replied, nudging him back. Chuck was close enough to feel the way the agent's body tensed, Bryce taking a step closer to Laszlo. "You're kidding me, right?" Bryce sighed, visibly restraining himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're holding my best friend at gunpoint with a water gun? Seriously? I could have shot you. And, you know, the mood I'm in, I just might."

"Who are you?!"

"I'm Chuck, this is Bryce."

"Laszlo. CIA or NSA?" Laszlo asked, then shook his head. "No, CIA. You don't have the giant stick up your butt the NSA does."

Bryce smirked, a tiny little thing that was barely amused at all. "If our first meeting wasn't you holding my friend at gunpoint, I might've liked you."

Noting the lines of tension around his friend's eyes, Chuck tried to take control of the situation. "You know he's going to have to take you in, right?"

Without the gun in his face, Laszlo looked impossibly young and scared. "I need your help. But first, I could really use some pancakes."

In his eyes, Chuck saw himself. The way he would have been if things had gone differently with the Intersect. If he didn't have Sarah and Casey, if he didn't have Bryce looking out for him.

"I think we can help with the pancakes at least," Chuck said, watching Bryce turn towards him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I'm just going to need a moment with my friend first."

Bryce sighed, leaning against the Nerd Herd car with more exhaustion than Chuck was feeling. "I've already gone against the brass for you once this month," he whispered furiously. "If you're wrong about this guy, Chuck-" Bryce scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes shadowed. "If they decide that I'm compromised by us working together, if they think we don't work, they will pull me back to Washington and God only knows where that would leave you."

Chuck really didn't want to think about that. But, in a way, that was kind of his whole point. "I'm not asking you to do anything that would compromise our working together, Bryce. I'm not even asking you to help clear his name. Just, isn't the least we could do getting him pancakes?"

"No, Chuck," Bryce disagreed. "The least we could do is not shoot him. Which, I think you'll agree, I've been very generous in not doing."

Appealing to Bryce's better nature didn't work, but that was okay. Chuck had other cards up his sleeve. "Bryce, please?"

Bryce's expression morphed from frustration into what Chuck had once dubbed his damn you, Chuck Bartowski look. "Fine. But a month from now, if I'm freezing my ass off in Siberia, getting shot at by FSB agents, I am blaming you."

Chuck froze, almost certain he didn't hear Bryce agree with his plan. "Um, pardon?"

"Trust goes both ways, Chuck," Bryce shrugged, pushing off the car. "I trust you enough to know that if you think this guy is on the level, maybe I'm just being an overprotective, overly paranoid spy."

If there really was an expression like being clubbed over the head by a bat, Chuck imagined he would be wearing it now. "Really?"

"There's a reason I only outrank Sarah and Casey on matters of your safety," Bryce murmured, nodding Chuck towards their car. "But, just pancakes, okay? And if he raises so much as one red flag, I am hauling his ass into custody, no matter how much he reminds you of what you could be. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good," Bryce nodded, finally favouring Chuck with a real smile. "One last thing. I'm still an overprotective spy and he literally did just have a gun held on you, so-"

"Don't leave your side," Chuck finished, grinning himself. "Don't worry, buddy, I've learned my lesson."

Bryce chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Oh, I doubt that. I really do."

Chapter Text

Getting pancakes for dinner was the kind of thing Chuck hadn't done since, well, actually he couldn't remember ever having pancakes for dinner. It sounded like the sort of thing he should have done at college, but between textbooks and tuition there hadn't been a lot of disposable income for things like eating out. It was actually fun to sit in a booth and eat pancakes and listen to Laszlo recount the sort of things he'd designed for the CIA.

Bryce didn't seem overly enthusiastic about the whole thing, limiting himself to a cup of coffee and a watchful glare at the doorway. It was strange seeing Bryce not be the outgoing personable one he'd always been at Stanford. But, he had driven them here to the Continental Hut of Pancakes and Chuck had even caught him nodding a time or two at one of the gadgets Laszlo listed.

"So, you're kind of like a real life Q," Chuck grinned, Laszlo looking up from his breakfast-dinner with a frown. "You know?"

Laszlo still looked blank.

"You know Q? The guy who used to make all the gadgets for James Bond? Q?"

Comprehension slowly dawned on Laszlo's face. "Oh, the spy guy. Right?"

Bryce made an actual sound of pain into his coffee. "Were they keeping you in a cave?" Bryce demanded, suddenly a whole lot less paranoid.

"Underground lab, actually," Laszlo nodded, smiling. He looked down, shadows creeping over his face. "For the last ten years. All I did was work in that lab, pretty much. And play video games. But, uh, no friends, no family."

Tension snapped off Bryce's frame, but not an outward sign was apparent. Chuck didn't need to read minds to imagine Bryce was thinking that Laszlo really could have been Chuck after Bryce sent him the Intersect.

"No Bond," Chuck shook his head, trying to lighten the mood. "No wonder you blew up all your research and busted out of there."

"That's inhumane," Bryce added, grabbing a clean fork and pinching a piece of Chuck's pancake.

"You could have ordered your own," Chuck grumbled, nudging his plate closer to his friend.

"But it tastes so much better when I steal them from you," Bryce smirked, swiping maple sauce around the plate.

"Still the worst," Chuck muttered, returning his attention to the runaway genius.

Laszlo watched them with a kind of bemusement Chuck was getting used to seeing when he and Bryce interacted, slurping at his milkshake. "So, what kind of work do you do?"

"You know, it's kinda complicated," Chuck prevaricated, knowing better than to admit to his top secret, very classified, probably would get killed for talking about situation.

"Right, but you gotta be some kind of genius," Laszlo prompted, peering at him with intense, lonely eyes.

"Oh, he is," Bryce agreed wholeheartedly, Chuck catching a flicker of his proud smile. "Wiped the floor with me in most of our classes at Stanford."

"Only some of them," Chuck protested, ignoring his friend's scoff. "But, to answer your question, I'm a computer guy."

"Best I've ever met," Bryce agreed, and Chuck kinda wished he'd stop with the whole complimenting thing; Chuck was really nothing special, he was certainly no Bryce Larkin.

"And you?" Laszlo asked, gesturing with his milkshake at Bryce. "I'm guessing you're not a computer guy."

"You're not entirely wrong," Bryce admitted, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm a benched agent. Ostensibly, gunshot recovery. Fact, problem with authority."

Blue eyes met Chuck's with a sort of what can you do? glimmer. Maybe Chuck's imagination was going into overdrive, but he almost thought Bryce was telling him that was who he could have been if he didn't have this assignment.

"That's why you're sitting in a pancake hut with a wanted fugitive?"

"One of the reasons," Bryce allowed, smiling easily. "And, Chuck trusts you, so I'm willing to go on a little faith."

They were silent for a while, Chuck sipping on his soda, Bryce eating his purloined pancakes, when Laszlo smiled. "You know, if I had to do it again, I wouldn't have gone to that pier."

"What pier?" Chuck frowned.

"I was eleven," Laszlo began, directing his words at his plate. "And some agent saw me playing Tetris at an arcade. So he asked me if I can take all these tests. The next thing I know, he's offering to pay my way through school." Laszlo looked up, smile turning bitter. "My parents, they don't know what to do with a kid whose IQ is higher than both theirs combined. They signed me over. And that's when I became property of the United States government."

Bryce slid past Chuck, intercepting the waitress with the check. "I've got this," he said quietly, his eyes shadowy. "Just get yourselves ready to go, yeah?"

"Sure, buddy," Chuck replied, shrugging at Laszlo's confusion. "I think he sees me in you and doesn't really like it."

"He one of your handlers?" Laszlo asked, tone carefully light.

"No," Chuck lied, and he had no idea why. Just couldn't stop himself. "Just my college best friend who hauled himself over to California to recuperate when he found out I'd been conscripted into the Company."

Chuck had the feeling that was the right thing to say when tension Chuck hadn't even noticed began to fade from Laszlo's shoulders. "Good," he said quickly. "Because you can't ever tell your real handlers that you saw me."

"What? Why?" Sure, Chuck hadn't exactly been planning on sending Casey and Sarah a text right this minute, but he had planned on telling them sometime. "They could help you, Laszlo. They're the good guys."

Laszlo laughed, a bitter and derisive sound. "There's no such thing in this business."

Offense flared in Chuck's chest, a frown working it's way onto his face. "In case you've forgotten, my best friend just decided not to haul you into custody and is currently paying for our dinner."

"Chuck," Bryce shook his head slightly. "After what he's been through, there's no earthly reason for him to trust anyone affiliated with the CIA."

"Listen to your friend, Chuck," Laszlo counselled. "Don't believe us? Go home and check out your stuff. I'll guarantee you, you'll find bugs there and not the friendly crawling kind."

Chuck leaned in towards Bryce, feeling the fury bubbling under his friend's skin. "Will I?"

"If you do," Bryce began, speaking in the carefully calm way that Chuck dreaded. "Let me know. I'll finally have my reason for a little payback."

Throwing the bugs at Casey's chest, Chuck marched into the NSA agent's apartment. "I swear to God, if I find out you've been spying on my sister, I will call Bryce and let him kill you like he wants."

Not only would that make Chuck feel a whole lot better, but it would also earn him a lot of best best friend ever points.

"Do you have any idea how violated I feel right now?" Chuck demanded, almost wishing he hadn't talked Bryce into going home after they dropped Laszlo off on a deserted street corner.

"You feel violated?" Casey's disbelief might have been comical under other circumstances. "My ears feel violated. Cause they have to listen to you and that moron Morgan yammering on for four hours about what kind of sandwich you're gonna take if you're stranded on a deserted island."

"What are you nuts?" Chuck asked, waving a hand in dismissal. "Nobody was talking about sandwiches for four hours."

Casey pressed a point on his touch screen and proved Chuck wrong.

"Well, I'll have you know I stand by my mayonnaise opinions," Chuck announced, steadfastly sticking to his guns. "And you wouldn't have had to listen to that if you'd not violated my privacy."

"You think four hours of sandwiches was the worst, Chuck?" Casey asked rhetorically. "How about the entire weekends of inane technobabble you and Larkin spout? Hmm? Zork? Star Trek? You're grown ass men, get girlfriends already."

"You're a giant douche for spying on me."

"We planted those bugs to protect you," Casey defended, and Chuck almost believed that. But, if that were really the case...

"Bryce too?"

"Larkin doesn't need to," Casey sneered. "The moment you have a problem you go running to mommy."

"Well maybe the reason for that is that Bryce actually trusts me. Maybe he thinks he doesn't need to spy on me when we're not together." Chuck shook his head, knowing he'd never win. "Just, don't bug my apartment."

Buy More after dark was strangely perfect for high stakes Gotcha!, Chuck had to admit. Unfortunately, he wasn't playing Gotcha!, he was busy hiding a fugitive and hoping Bryce wouldn't be too angry for not taking him along too. But, he figured that Bryce deserved some decent sleep and Chuck knew Laszlo wasn't a danger to him, so it probably absolved him of his promise to stay by Bryce's side.

And, there'd never been any harm in watching A View to a Kill. It was a classic. It was so good, in fact, that Chuck had willingly turned off his phone after several times of Sarah trying to call him.

"What did I tell you?" Chuck asked, tossing an empty bag of microwave popcorn on the table. "Max Zorin is definitely one of the greatest bad guys of all time."

Laszlo's gaze fell on the side of Chuck's face. "You think Walken was the bad guy?"

Chuck chuckled. "What, are you kidding? I mean, he did try to sink California into the Pacific Ocean."

Laszlo moved about on the couch, agitated. "Don't you see, Chuck? Zorin is like us." He pointed to their chests. "The Nazis used him for his superior gifts the way our government uses me and you."

Chuck really didn't think that was quite right. "I don't-"

"Too bad Zorin didn't have this home theatre system. Screw flooding Silicone Valley." Laszlo picked up the remote. "Do you know what we can do with this system if we really wanted to, Chuck?"

Laszlo proceeded to start a little game of thermonuclear war on San Francisco. And Chuck really, really wished he hadn't turned his phone off or let Laszlo destroy the tracker in his watch. Because, right now, he had no way of alerting his handlers that Laszlo had gone off the deep end and Chuck was in a lot of danger.

In desperation, Chuck suggested they watch Goldfinger. Laszlo might be able to relate to another bad guy who wanted to blow up the world. Laszlo agreed to the change in plans, disabling his 'game' and letting Chuck put in the next movie. There were, fortunately, a lot of Bond movies - all with suitably heinous villains - hopefully they would last him until someone walked into the Buy More in the morning.

Or maybe, until help walked itself right in.

Laszlo followed Chuck's relieved smile, eyes widening at the sight of Bryce walking into the Buy More.

"YOU SOLD ME OUT!"

Chuck backed away, listening to the instincts telling him to keep away from the cornered genius. He grabbed the remote and ran from the theatre room, sliding around the corner and behind Bryce. Laszlo, armed with one of the guns kept for emergencies, came walking out of the room after him, gun pointed at Bryce.

"Please don't make me shoot you," Bryce called, a reluctant wariness in his eyes. "You could've been Chuck if a dozen things had been different. Just, give up and let me take you in."

Laszlo seemed not to hear Bryce, caught in a web of his own fear and paranoia. "How did you find me? I disabled the transponder in his watch."

"I don't need a GPS to find Chuck," Bryce said, almost pitying. "I know him. If he didn't bring you to my place, he'd only have brought you here."

Laszlo's eyes darted around the store, falling on Chuck. "You think you can shoot me before I shoot him?" he asked, the gun barrel drifting towards Chuck.

"Oh, I can guarantee it." Bryce fired once at the floor, the bullet embedding itself millimeters from Laszlo's sneakers. Chuck flinched at the sound, shoulders hunching up around his ears. "Now, you have about twenty seconds before the rest of my team comes through those doors, along with your old handler. So, I suggest you either drop your gun or start running. Because, next time? I won't miss."

Laszlo fired blindly towards Chuck, Bryce's curse echoing in Chuck's ears as they both hit the ground. Hard.

"I'm sorry about this, buddy," Bryce whispered, the retort of gunfire ringing in Chuck's ears.

"Hi there," Casey smirked, his words accompanied by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Chuck safe?" Sarah called, her legs appearing in Chuck's limited field of view.

"Dandy," Chuck muttered, fully prepared to start hating himself any minute now. "I get why Bryce always walks away with bruises though." He pushed himself to a seat, meeting Bryce's tiny smile with one of his own. "Buddy, that was not gentle."

"You're alive, stop complaining."

"Alive for now," Chuck mourned, leaping towards humour again. "Big Mike is going to kill me when he sees the state of this place. And then who's going to be Assistant Manager? Harry Tang."

"No," Bryce shook his head, expression turning to stone. "Not happening." He pulled Chuck to his feet, pushing him gently towards Sarah. "Get him home, I'll supervise the cleanup here while Casey and our new friend take care of Laszlo."

"I should help," Chuck protested. After all, it was his fault that Laszlo had even been here in the first place to cause the shootout. And if he'd just talked to Sarah and Casey and maybe trusted Bryce's gut instead of seeing himself in Laszlo then maybe this whole situation would never have happened.

"Home, Chuck," Bryce insisted, both frustrated and fond. "Get some sleep, you've got a big interview tomorrow. I'll be there bright and early with coffee and something overly sugary that pretends to be adequate breakfast." Bryce didn't let him get a word in in reply, merely ushering him out with Sarah.

Entering the Buy More the next day felt strange. Everything was absolutely the same as it always was, right down to the subtle scent of bad coffee, stale air and nerdiness that had been obliterated by gunpowder. Except, Morgan. His oldest friend strolled about like a responsible adult, using big words and generally being un-Morgan like and serious. He ignored Chuck's attempts to talk to him and even went as far as to silently tell him to talk to the hand.

And then, Tang had to go and be Tang.

The other party in the race for Assistant Manager appeared behind Chuck as he was swiping himself in to work, giving Chuck's heart an unpleasant start. "Did I scare you, Chuck?" Tang asked, making finger guns while dressed like a cowboy. "You better be scared, 'cause I'm about ready to kill me a job interview, partner." Tang shot at Chuck with the finger guns and then strode off towards his part of the store.

Setting two travel mugs down on the desk, Bryce lined up his own shot with his fingers and sighed wistfully. "If only."

Chuck, who had come to work today dressed as someone wanting to Ace a job interview, turned and frowned at his friend. "What're you dressed as, Bryce?"

Bryce shoved his hands into his pants pockets, shrugging easily. "Accountant."

Chuck kinda hated to break it to him, but "You are an accountant."

"Only technically."

Chuck knew that tone of avoidance. He grinned widely, rocking back on his heels. "You forgot it was Halloween?"

Bryce's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, excuse me if I have other things on my mind."

Chuck's first instinct was to smile and be touched, but then the memory of the previous night clobbered him around the head. "The job interview or the other thing?"

"The interview," Bryce replied, leaning against the side of the Nerd Herd Centre in his continuing crusade against standing. "The other thing is dealt with and already back on it's way to a secure facility."

"I haven't been to a job interview since I applied to this place after Stanford," Chuck murmured, wrapping his hands around his refilled coffee. "Every time I think about it I just- I don't know, Bryce. I keep hearing Professor Fleming's voice in my head telling me the job he lined up for me fell through and that I should apply somewhere more in keeping with my limited future prospects."

Guilt flashed raw and dark over Bryce's face, his shoulders slumping in his suit. "Chuck, if I could go back and change what he told you, I would," Bryce stated, voice strong despite it's sadness. "But, you have to listen to me now, Fleming was wrong." Intense blue eyes bore into Chuck, not letting him look away. "You are the smartest, kindest, cleverest person I have ever met. And if the person interviewing you can't see that, then that is on him and not on you."

"Bryce," Chuck began, honestly certain that Bryce was talking about some other Chuck. "You're biased."

"Damn right I am," Bryce nodded, flashing a grin. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong." He caught sight of Tang, grin turning sharper and wicked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go unsettle Tang before his interview."

Chuck caught the back of Bryce's jacket, nudging him back to lean against the counter. "Keep me company until my interview?"

Bryce's eyes softened, ankles crossing. "Hey, did I tell you I found our old TRS 80?"

Chuck couldn't believe it. "You didn't?"

"In a storage unit I rented after college," Bryce confirmed. "It needs a little TLC and someone willing to see if our data is still on it, but I was thinking we might go through it this weekend?"

"You know," Chuck grinned, drifting closer to his friend. "Listening to that would probably be Casey's version of torture."

Bryce's smirk grew wider in answer. "So, that's a yes then?"

"Oh yeah," Chuck nodded, but that reminded him. "If you were going to be stuck on a deserted island, what sandwich would you bring?"

"Well certainly nothing with mayonnaise," Bryce announced, shuddering at the thought. "In that heat? Bad idea."

"Exactly!"

Morgan, still dressed like Gordon Gekko, appeared from the shelves nearby. "Yeah, but that would depend on how you would classify a sandwich."

Bryce raised an eyebrow. "Two pieces of bread with a filling."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, flashing a tiny grin at Chuck. "But, by that definition, couldn't I have a Jessica Alba sandwich?"

"Sure," Chuck agreed, just like he had before.

"Okay," Bryce hummed, sipping thoughtfully on his coffee. "But, if you could do something like that, wouldn't you just make a satellite phone sandwich, call up search and rescue and get off the deserted island?"

"No," Morgan protested, horrified. "Why would you need a satellite phone if you had Jessica Alba?"

"So I wouldn't die on a deserted island?"

"But, assuming you could get off the island one day, wouldn't you rather have a Jessica Alba sandwich?"

"I don't know," Bryce frowned. "I think I'd rather spend my time on the island with someone I had something in common with. You know, someone I could talk to."

"I see your point," Chuck conceded, ignoring Morgan's cry of protest. "I mean, Morgan, would you rather spend time with me or Jessica Alba?"

"On a deserted island?" Morgan asked rhetorically. "You're my best friend and I love you, man, but I'm going with Jessica Alba. I'd see you the moment I got off the island though."

"And you, Bryce?"

The spy chuckled, waving a hand lightly. "Though I object to making you into a sandwich, that's the way I'd go."

Behind them, Tang emerged from Big Mike's office, followed by a man in a blue and gold striped tie. "Bartowski!" The HR manager beckoned Chuck forward.

Chuck brushed off his shirt, smoothing down his tie. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Chuck," Morgan said immediately, nodding his support.

"You don't need it, buddy," Bryce added, his smile wide and warm. "You've got this."

With the predictable sounds of Morgan and Bryce bickering over him and sandwiches of an edible variety following him, Chuck grinned to himself and stepped into Big Mike's office.

"How'd it go?" Ellie eagerly asked literally as soon as Bryce's car pulled up outside their complex. Bryce and Morgan murmured greeting and moved into the complex. The courtyard already thrumming with the sounds of the Bartowski Halloween party.

"We'll find out tomorrow morning," Chuck said, trying not to let the anticipation ruin the night. "But, whether I get the job or not, the important thing is I tried."

"I have faith in you, Chuck," Ellie reminded him, her eyes soft and warm. "I'm proud of you." Ellie wrapped him in a tight hug, smoothing down his tie in a compulsive move. "Now, go get those friends of yours into their costumes and come join the party."

"Oh no," he grinned, teasing. "Bryce is coming as an accountant."

"Bryce is an accountant," Ellie sniffed, shaking her head. "Tell him to come in something a little more adventurous."

"I'll text," Chuck said, waving his phone. "And Ellie?"

His sister tilted her head, smile questioning.

"Thanks for always believing in me."

"Always, Chuck."

Chuck melted through the crowd, smiling at Sarah (dressed as Princess Leia and looking both beautiful and deadly) and nodding at Casey (dressed like a samurai) before jumping in through the Morgan door. Morgan stood there, holding up half of their epic sandworm costume, a grin on his lips. "Morgan, I know I haven't been much of a friend lately, but-"

"Chuck," Morgan interrupted, offering him the same uncomplicated smile as always. "Best friends have falling outs, they have moments where they think the other is being too irresponsible and times where they forget that sometimes the other needs to make something of themselves. But you've always been there for me and I'll always be there for you." He held up the other half of the costume. "Are you ready to make this party rock?"

After making a few circuits of the party, making it seem like the sandworm was dancing through the air, Chuck and Morgan stopped by the fountain. Sarah was chatting with some of Ellie's doctor friends and Casey appeared to have made quite the impression with Awesome's frat brothers, but Chuck could not see his other best friend anywhere.

"Nice to see you at long last, Shai-Hulud."

Chuck whipped off the back of the sandworm and grinned. "Bryce! You made it."

"Ellie called and threatened me with bringing the party to my place if I didn't show," Bryce mourned, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. His very familiar jeans.

In fact, his entire costume was very familiar. From the unstyled mess of his hair to the Gamma Delta Phi t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. "Why have you come as yourself from college?"

Bryce's grin flashed brighter than Ellie's lamps. "After last night, James Bond felt a bit on the nose."

Chuck could see that, but he knew that nothing would have stopped Bryce as coming as something if he had really wanted to. "You found those in your storage unit and just wanted to see if you could fit into your college clothes."

"That is a horrible lie," Bryce sniffed, turning away from Chuck.

Though Chuck couldn't help but laugh, he bumped companionably into his side. "Looking good, buddy."

Bryce handed him a bottle of beer, smiling into his wine. "You too, Chuck."

"And the way I look is irrelevant," Morgan muttered, leaning the costume against the fountain. "I'm going to grab some food, maybe talk to Ellie. See you later, Chuck."

Chuck glanced at his friend, watching him watch the party, ever vigilant. Still, if Chuck didn't know he was a CIA agent and that it was 2007, he would swear they were back at Stanford. "God, you look young."

Bryce, because he had always been incapable of taking ambiguous comments like that as anything but compliments, preened. "Thank you."

"Not a compliment," Chuck mock grumbled. "Looking at you makes me feel like there's a paper due in the morning and I've completely forgotten all about it."

"We're six hours, five years and a couple of nearly fatal injuries away from those kids at Stanford, Chuck," Bryce smiled, his eyes belying the effect of his costume. "College Chuck couldn't have handled living with the Intersect the way you have. And college Bryce certainly wouldn't be looking at all these people and automatically working out the quickest way to take them down if he had to. But," Bryce shrugged and the illusion won out once more. "It's Halloween and it's fun to pretend."

"You wanna hide in one of our apartments?" Chuck offered, watching Morgan and Anna deep in conversation.

"No way, buddy," Bryce grinned, finally taking his eyes off the guests. "I think we should get the entire party talking about desert island sandwiches just to mess with Casey."

"It is something everyone should think about, just in case," Chuck agreed, matching Bryce's wicked grin. "After all, who knows when you're going to be dropped on a desert island with only a limited supply of things. Choosing the right sandwich, that'll get you off to the best start."

"You put a lot of faith in that sandwich, Chuck," Bryce informed him, smiling in the way that said he never entirely understood the way Chuck's mind worked.

"Of course," Chuck agreed, matter of fact. "I mean, I love Morgan, of course I do. But, if I'm going to be stuck on a desert island for an undisclosed amount of time - aside from an actual sandwich without mayonnaise - I'm definitely going to need a superspy sandwich too."

"Really?" Bryce hummed, apparently unconcerned.

"Oh yeah," Chuck agreed teasingly. "Couldn't survive on a tropical island without a Bryce on rye."

Bryce's laughter burst into the courtyard, his friend listing into his side with the force of his mirth. Chuck just smiled innocently and steered them over to Casey and Awesome's frat brothers. "So, sandwiches..."

Chapter Text

It turned out being Assistant Manager of the Buy More was pretty much exactly what Chuck had already been doing. Sure, he did oversee the Casey-dubbed Buy Morons as well as the Nerd Herders, but with Morgan as his best friend and Casey there too, that was pretty much what Chuck had been doing anyway. And, there was the definite perk of not having to watch Harry Tang walk around in the hideous, monogrammed yellow polo shirt he'd commissioned himself in preparation for winning the promotion.

Chuck's promotion was good in other ways too. Anna no longer talked about dealing with Tang if he became drunk on authority, and subsequently Chuck could stop worrying about either Casey or - more likely - Bryce taking her up on her only too generous suggestion. And, Chuck would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little bit happy that he had won out over Tang. It was nice to feel validated in his work - the non top secret, full of super spies and government secrets kind anyway. Even though Tang wandered around, slurping his coffee and trying to catch Chuck out in any areas of unprofessionalism, nothing was going to put a dent in Chuck's enthusiasm for his working days.

"You know," Morgan commented, coming to join Chuck in the Nerd Herd centre. "We should get you a little plaque or something. Something that really says you're the assistant manager and Harry Tang can suck it."

"No," Chuck disagreed, crossing his arms in the way that hopefully told Morgan that no such thing would be happening. "I will not get drunk on power. There will be no plots or coups against my authority if I don't exercise any."

"Come on, Chuck," Morgan pushed, leaning back against Chuck's workspace. "Just think about it. You, me, maybe Casey, the Accountant. We could rule this Buy More."

"Because that's exactly what I always envisioned doing with my life when I graduated Stanford," Bryce dryly commented, continuing his habit of appearing out of nowhere with no warning. He turned to Chuck, the sarcasm in his eyes fading into honest happiness. "No offence, buddy."

"None taken," Chuck assured him. His eyes flickered towards the cups held in Bryce's hands, his statement amending; "As long as one of those is for me."

Bryce wordlessly handed Chuck one of the mugs, his eyes flickering towards the glowering figure of Casey. "Looks like Prince Charming wants us."

Chuck grinned, unfolding from the comfy position on his chair. "Please call him that to his face," he chuckled, the image of that happening then appearing in his mind. "On second thoughts, maybe don't."

"Whatever you say, Assistant Manager Bartowski," Bryce quipped, sounding exactly like Ellie and Awesome at breakfast that morning.

"Why's Casey looking like that vein in his temple is going to burst?" Morgan asked, peering across the store at the impatient NSA Major.

"I don't know," Chuck sighed, moving around the centre. "Come on, Bryce, maybe this will be the time you finally make it pop."

Bryce grinned, impish. "You think?"

Casey led Chuck and Bryce into the revamped Home Theatre Room, Chuck nodding approvingly at the setup. The new blue couch was comfy, and more than big enough for Sarah, Chuck and Bryce to sit comfortably on. On screen, the Director and General were looking down at the general's desk.

"Wow, that high def screen really shows every wrinkle," Chuck announced, approving as only a tech specialist could be.

General Beckman and Director Graham's faces snapped up to glare through the screen.

"They can hear you," Casey growled, glaring down at Chuck.

"I, uh, twinkle." He nodded at a glaring Beckman, trying on a close approximation of Bryce's Hollywood grin. "Every twinkle. In her eyes."

Bryce stared straight forward, face totally impassive but for the sparkling light in his eyes. How someone could laugh their ass off and never make a sound, Chuck didn't know, but that was exactly what he was doing.

Chuck nudged him, muttering under his breath; "You're gonna get me in trouble."

"You dug this hole yourself, buddy," Bryce replied, his lips not even moving.

"Agent Larkin, Mr Bartowski, if we're not interrupting you?"

Bryce's face grew impossibly more impassive. "Not at all, General."

"We have a situation," Beckman announced, cutting a slightly annoyed gaze up at Director Graham. "A CIA asset has gone missing. We've had no communication from him for two days."

At the top left corner of the screen, a photograph of Chuck (and Bryce's) old Stanford professor stared judgementally down at them alongside the front page of a classified CIA briefing.

"No way," Chuck leaned forward, distantly aware of how still Bryce still was.

Sarah glanced across at him, concerned. "Did you flash?"

Chuck shook his head. "I didn't need to." He pointed at the screen. "That guy was my professor at Stanford." Chuck looked to his left, where a stone faced Bryce was just staring at the screen. "Our professor at Stanford."

Bryce didn't so much as blink.

Slowly, the rest of what Beckman had said began to filter through his mind. "Hold on. Asset? He's CIA? Our college professor is a spy?" Since Bryce didn't seem inclined to respond at all, Chuck turned to Sarah.

"The CIA recruits on campuses across the country," she explained helpfully. "Professor Fleming is a company scientist, not an operative."

Chuck nodded once, turning back to Bryce. He was beginning to have a feeling about what his friend was steadfastly not responding to. "We took his classes senior year," he announced, hoping what he was thinking wasn't true. "He recruited you?"

Bryce finally met Chuck's eyes, old pain shining dully from him. "I'm sorry, Chuck," he breathed, as much of an admission as Chuck needed.

Maybe in another time, Chuck would have been betrayed by the admission. But that was before the Intersect, before Bryce came back into his life, before he was shot. Before a lot of things, some of them even good.

"It's not your fault," Chuck assured him, uncaring about their audience. He'd be damned if he let Professor Fleming ruin his life anymore. "You didn't choose who recruited you. And he was our favourite professor most of senior year."

Apparently deciding that Chuck and Bryce's moment for clearing the air was over - whether it was or not - Director Graham cut in. "This is our last communication from him."

"...this is Glass Castle reporting hostile contact. I made a mistake, Black Coat. I copied intel for myself onto a disc. They're after it. I know I shouldn't have."

The recording stopped with a dull metallic thud.

Sarah leaned forward. "Do we know what intel he copied?"

Beckman answered in the negative. "We don't."

"He has handled many sensitive projects for us over the years," Graham explained, Bryce snorting softly beside Chuck. "Any leak could be devastating."

"How can we help?" Casey asked, immediately at attention.

Graham looked right at Bryce. "Fleming has contacts in LA. If we find him, we can extract him."

"I dropped my contacts, all of them, when I went dark," Bryce announced, tone clipped. "Whoever's running Fleming now, it's not me."

"You ran him?!"

Bryce's answering smile was bleak. "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of."

"We'd like your help on this, Chuck," Beckman announced, breaking their stare-off.

No. Chuck's help would not be helpful. "Look," he began, silently agreeing to shelve this conversation with Bryce for now. "I-I-I really don't think I'm your go-to guy on this one."

"Your knowledge of Stanford and Fleming is key here," Graham said, leaving no room for argument. "We only have his official reports. You have a personal connection."

"Yeah, I do have a personal connection," Chuck agreed, stopping just short of snapping. "A very bad personal connection. The guy had a job lined up for me after graduation. My dream job. But days, days before graduation, I lost it all." Chuck half nodded towards Bryce. "He ran him, why doesn't he do it?"

"That isn't an option," Graham stated flatly, Bryce losing a hint of tension beside him.

"Yeah, well, neither am I." Chuck got up and strode out of the room, Bryce barely a pace behind.

Chuck walked into the break room, clearing it with an uncharacteristic glare and a silent point to the door.

"Why did you never tell me?"

"There are many things I've never told you, Chuck," Bryce reminded him, almost brutal about it. "I'm a professional liar, remember?"

Chuck stopped, wrong footed. "I never accused you of that."

Bryce scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked almost defeated. "I ran him because I was ordered to. I never told you because I stopped running him before I sent you that email. And, remembering him isn't exactly a pleasure cruise for me, either."

Chuck wanted to stop, wanted just to let the matter drop and have Fleming go back to the past where he belonged. But, seeing his image had brought back all the hurt and the betrayal and Chuck just couldn't stop himself.

"Any more college related secrets you wanna share with me?"

Bryce's voice was soft, honest. "Yes."

Chuck paused, slowly turning back to face his friend.

"But I can't." And in that moment, Bryce Larkin was a terrible spy. His face was a mess of guilt and pain and sadness.

Chuck had never hated Bryce's job more.

But, Bryce was a CIA agent and nothing would ever change that. Chuck had resigned himself to not knowing whole years of his friend's life. He supposed he couldn't really fault him for keeping secrets when that was literally in his job description. And, if it came down to it, he'd rather have Bryce and his secrets in his life than not have his friend back at all.

"Awesome and Ellie are hosting his frat brahs," Chuck announced, deliberately exaggerating his words. "You are not going to leave me be the lone sane guy in that mess."

"Of course I won't," Bryce agreed immediately, a tentative smile on his lips. It faded, replaced with uncertainty. "Are we okay, Chuck?"

If this was Sarah, Chuck probably would have said something along the lines of her keeping her secrets as long as he got to keep her. But, saying that to Bryce - even though he kind of wanted to - would be weird. So, he wrapped him in a lightning hug, the memory of the devastated expression not leaving his mind.

"Buddy, you literally sent me every single secret our government has," Chuck reminded him. "Even I have no idea of the secrets I can't tell you." He smiled as warmly as he could. "Of course we're okay."

"So," Bryce began speculatively. "Awesome's frat brothers. Are we talking Gamma Delta Phi nerds or-"

"Full on jocks," Chuck shuddered. "Like you, if you were more jock and less nerd and had about fifty less IQ points." His smile dimmed a little. "Are we going to be in trouble for ditching the briefing like that?"

"Probably," Bryce shrugged, unconcerned. "But Casey and Sarah can take care of things for now. If they need us, they know where we'll be."

"At Awesome's frat brah barbeque?"

"Lucky us."

Exactly as Chuck predicted, Awesome and his frat brothers were out in the courtyard of their complex, drinking beers and tossing a football around. Chuck avoided any and all attempts at conversation, letting Bryce slip off to change out of his suit. Instead, Chuck made a beeline for his sister, pretending he'd forgotten all about the barbeque.

"Who invited the UCLA brain trust?"

"Those are Devon's fraternity brothers," Ellie reminded him with a smile. "We're actually all caravanning up to Stanford for the UCLA game this weekend."

That almost sounded like fun. Except for the part about UCLA frat boys.

"Hey, Chuck!" Awesome interrupted the siblings' moment. "Go deep, brah!"

Before Chuck had time to do more than turn around, the football was making an unauthorised introduction with his below-belt area. Chuck doubled over, feeling the air leave his body in an undignified groan.

"Ooh," one of Awesome's first brothers winced. "Right in the pills."

Awesome and two of his frat brothers came to Chuck's aid. "No, don't touch," Chuck said defensively. "Please- please don't."

"Back away, UCLA," Bryce called, crossing the courtyard in quick strides. He crouched by Chuck's side, denim pulling over his legs. "I leave you for five minutes, buddy, and look what happens."

"I'm fine, thanks," Chuck muttered, knowing his friend was laughing internally.

"Let me make it up to you," Awesome grinned, helping Bryce haul Chuck to his feet. "I've got you a ticket to the game."

"Thanks," Chuck smiled, feeling a huff of unvoiced laughter hit his shoulder. "But, uh, I really couldn't go back to Stanford without Bryce. You know."

Awesome, because he really lived up to his name, spread the tickets in his hand. "I got one for him too," he announced with a bright smile. "Wouldn't ask you to leave family behind, brah."

Chuck couldn't help it, he hugged Awesome tightly. "Thank you."

"No problem," Awesome replied, tossing the ball back to his friends. "Game on!"

Chuck turned to a still Bryce, feeling a grin curl his lips. "What do you think, Bryce? Ready to go back to the alma mater?"

"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice," Bryce commented, his smile more touched than annoyed. "But I am not travelling with the frat boys. We're taking my car."

"A road trip?" Chuck asked, pleasantly surprised.

"For old times sake," Bryce agreed, clearly knowing he had Chuck. "I'll even let you drive. A bit."

"Can't wait," Chuck grinned, turning to face Ellie's bright smile. "I know, time to socialise."

Chuck had been pledged to a fraternity at Stanford, granted a slightly nerdy fraternity but a frat nonetheless. It had prepared him for massive amounts of alcohol consumption, a lot of embarrassment, and epic middle of the night pool matches. It did not, apparently, prepare either Chuck or Bryce for dealing with other fraternities.

"I've been stabbed, tortured, blown up, had more bones broken more times than even I care to admit," Bryce whispered, voice carrying only to Chuck. "I've been shot more than once, and actually even died there for a minute. And all those experiences? Combined? Don't even come close to being as excruciating as this moment."

Chuck called on every ounce of his sunny optimism, looking around the loud courtyard. "It's not that bad?"

Bryce favoured him with one of his pitying oh, Chuck looks."You do realise we graduated with honours from Stanford and we're stuck here with a bunch of UCLA frat boys."

"UCLA alumni frat boys."

Bryce groaned, staring into his beer bottle as if that might save him from this hell. "Call Casey. Ask him to just shoot me now."

Chuck patted Bryce's arm sympathetically. "No shooting."

"Light maiming?" Bryce suggested hopefully. "Heavy sedation? A tranq dart?"

"We pledged together, remember?" Chuck reminded him gleefully. "I suffer, you suffer."

"This isn't pledge week," Bryce pointed out, but he looked less likely to spontaneously break out the Kung Fu on Awesome's brahs, so Chuck counted it as a win.

"Pledge week's looking pretty good right now, huh?"

Bryce's chuckle surprised even him. "You weren't the one who had to streak through the quad."

"I did it in solidarity." And it became one of the most embarrassing moments of his life when campus security chased them, but it had been worth it. Eventually.

"Yeah," Bryce nodded, smiling fondly. "You did."

"We're going back to Stanford," Chuck announced, almost unable to believe it. "And it's either going to be great or a total disaster."

"It could be both," Bryce grinned bracingly. "But, if I'm going to be driving the five hours up to Stanford, I'm going to need some sleep." He turned apologetic, tired eyes on Chuck. Still not sleeping well, not that he was admitting that to Chuck. "Do you mind if I bail on the rest of this thrilling barbeque?"

"Go. Sleep." Chuck made a shooing motion with his hands. "I should probably dig out some old Stanford stuff. Don't want to be the only guy not showing college pride."

"Not the hoodie," Bryce groaned, successfully hiding a yawn in the move. "That thing was falling apart by graduation."

"I have others," Chuck sniffed with great dignity. It wasn't his fault that one hoodie was just comfier.

Whatever Bryce would have said it reply was mangled in a yawn, Chuck taking great pleasure in steering him towards his own apartment. "Sleep well, buddy."

Bryce smiled thinly, disappearing into his apartment. "Maybe."

Chapter Text

"I just flashed on myself," Chuck announced, holding up his ID. "Why am I in the Intersect?"

Casey - Casey, who Chuck had gone to instead of Bryce, despite knowing his friend might hold the answers he was looking for - stepped back, letting Chuck into the apartment.

Sarah perched on the edge of Casey's surveillance table, her face concerned at the sight of him. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in the Intersect," Chuck repeated dully. "Why am I in the Intersect?"

Casey and Sarah shared one of their super spies communicating looks, his handlers smiling apologetically. Or, as close to an apologetic smile as Casey ever got.

"You're telling me you don't know?" Chuck demanded, unable to believe it. They knew everything, often far more than Chuck ever got told. And often far, far more than either let on. "How is that possible?"

"You didn't appear on the NSA radar until after Bryce sent you the Intersect," Casey explained, moving back towards his computer.

"Same with the CIA," Sarah agreed, her phone briefly lit up in her hand.

"Why don't I find that reassuring?" Chuck asked, his sarcasm rising uncontrolled. Normally, he might have taken that in stride, but it was a little unsettling to realise that the government had put him in the computer conveniently living in his head. Why on Earth was he important enough to be noticed?

"Those files you saw were of you in college, right?" Sarah checked, wrapping her hands around her mug of coffee.

Chuck nodded mutely. College files, a CIA recruiter. Chuck's mind sparkled with connection. "Could that be it?" Chuck asked, knowing Casey and Sarah hadn't yet reached the same idea he had. "Professor Fleming, he was CIA. I was in his class. Could that be it?"

Sarah peered at him with her far too shrewd eyes. "You haven't asked Bryce?"

"I think he won't tell me," Chuck admitted slowly. "Look, it's not that I don't trust him, because I do. God knows I do. He'd throw himself in front of a bullet for me and I'd do the same in a heartbeat. But, Bryce and I, we both have two different Stanford's. We have the one where it was home and fun and the best time of our lives. And we have the one where it was the worst time of our lives. And just because this is bringing up my worst time, doesn't mean I want it to bring up Bryce's too."

Sarah's smile was almost pityingly gentle. "Ask him."

"No." Chuck was not going to be moved. "We're going up there this weekend and it's going to be about one last Gotcha! game in the library and maybe catching the football. It's not going to be about my college ID making me flash."

"It did what now?"

Rumpled, slightly bleary but very much not asleep in his apartment nextdoor, Bryce was staring at Chuck. And he did not look pleased.

Considering the cat was well and truly out of the bag, up a tree and needing to be rescued by a fireman, Chuck didn't see the harm in telling the truth. "I'm in the Intersect."

Bryce rubbed at his left temple, tired and weary. "How?"

Casey glared at him. "We were hoping you might know the answer to that."

"Unless it's from my background check, I can't think of anything," Bryce sighed, eyeing Casey's couch as if wondering if it would bite him if he tried to sit on it.

Sarah glared him towards the couch before continuing the briefing. "You think it could have something to do with Professor Fleming?"

"Maybe," Bryce agreed tiredly. "I don't suppose there's coffee?"

Chuck was pouring a mug of Casey's best before he'd even realised it. He wrapped Bryce's hands around the red mug, smiling worriedly down at his friend. "You look like hell."

Bryce twitched a slight smile. "That's what happens when you wake someone in the middle of their REM cycle."

Chuck dropped to the couch beside his friend, peering in renewed concern. "You were woken?"

Another slightly bitter smile. "What did you think happened? My Spidey senses tingled?"

Come to think of it, it would be pretty cool if Bryce did have Spidey senses. It would certainly fit. "When it comes to you, Bryce, I've learned not to doubt that."

Bryce grinned around his coffee, appearing for all the world as if he too had stopped to imagine how cool it would be to actually have Spidey senses. "You say the sweetest things."

Casey scoffed in the back of his throat. "I might throw up."

"And I might shoot you," Bryce replied, a strain in his words that told Chuck that Bryce was not remotely kidding.

"No shooting Casey," Chuck announced, dropping his hand to Bryce's knee in case that might calm him. Then, looking up at Casey, he added; "No provoking the tired superspy." Chuck made a mental note to talk to Bryce about the whole not sleeping thing, he was sure Awesome had a tea that might help. "Anyway," Chuck said, returning to the present concern of, you know, himself in the Intersect. "What are we going to do about this?"

Sarah glanced at Casey, who narrowed his eyes at Bryce but said nothing. "Well, maybe if we could find Fleming, maybe he could give us some answers."

Bryce snorted into his coffee. "Wouldn't bet on it."

"Hey, grumpy pants, we're trying optimism today," Chuck grumbled, teasing him like he often would on early mornings back in college.

Predictably, Bryce shot a fondly irritated look back at him. "I haven't had enough coffee for optimism. Could I tempt you with resigned pessimism instead?"

Chuck shook his head, nudging Bryce's mug pointedly. "Drink your coffee."

"Casey's coffee tastes like dirt," Bryce mumbled, but he did as he was told.

"About Fleming?" Sarah interrupted, almost apologetic.

"Let's find him," Chuck announced, his need to know why he was in the Intersect overwhelming the urge never to see Fleming ever again.

"It's not going to be easy," Sarah offered, nodding to Casey.

"New Intel suggests the professor is being hunted," Casey announced, bringing up something on his computer. "The NSA found one witness in Fleming's class who identified one Magnus Einersson. He's an Icelandic spy."

"I'm sorry," Chuck interrupted, coming to join his other handlers at the desk. "Iceland does espionage?"

"Magnus buys and sells intel to the highest bidder," Casey replied, mildly disgusted. "Iceland isn't officially aware of his activities."

"It says here that the crossbow is his weapon of choice," Sarah read out, probably for Bryce's benefit.

Nevertheless; "What, slingshot's too ineffective?"

"Actually, buddy, a slingshot can be pretty deadly if the situation calls for it."

"Aaaannd now I have a whole new thing to be irrationally terrified of," Chuck heard himself complain. "Thanks so much for that, buddy."

Bryce offered one of his sparkling I'm too tired to deal with this smiles. "Anytime."

Chuck felt a yawn building in his chest. "Well, if you don't need my help yet in finding the professor, I'll get some sleep. I've got a shift at the Buy More tomorrow and then we're driving up to Stanford for the game." Chuck waited for Casey and Sarah to gesture him out, then he turned to his friend. "And, if you even think about doing anything but sleeping tomorrow, I swear I'll get us a lift with one of Awesome's frat brahs."

Bryce stopped outside his own door, saying softly; "It's not for lack of trying, Chuck."

Chuck knew that. Of course he did. But, Bryce clearly didn't want to talk about the real reasons, so Chuck gave him the courtesy of not pushing. "Just, promise me you'll stay home and relax tomorrow?"

"If you'll promise me you'll be careful."

"The only danger I'll face tomorrow is paperwork," Chuck informed him tiredly. "Unless you fancy swooping in and saving me from that too, Bryce?"

"That's all on you, 007," Bryce teased, unlocking his apartment. Laughter echoed from Chuck's, Bryce wincing in sympathy. "You wanna crash?"

The thought of dealing with the raucous crowd was almost too much. "Oh yeah."

Paperwork was the bane of Chuck's existence. He hated paperwork, he hated inventory, he hated all the mindless forms that had been piling up for months. Honestly, he had no idea how Bryce did it. Put him in front of an irretrievably damaged hard drive and Chuck could fix it, but leave him with stacks of forms and it felt like his brain was trying to dribble out of his ears. Which, considering his brain was practically US Government property, Chuck felt was a situation the CIA or the NSA might want to look into. Maybe streamline the process a tiny bit.

It wasn't until well after lunch, and Chuck's subsequent break for the Nerd Herd desk and problems he could solve, that he began to feel less zombie like and more like the tech nerd he had always been. Of course, Casey had to go and ruin it by strolling into the Buy More. On his day off. Honestly, Chuck was just glad Bryce wasn't trailing in after him.

Still, it would be remiss of Chuck not to check. "Bryce isn't with you, is he?"

"Sleeping Beauty's in his apartment," Casey huffed, rolling his eyes. "On his couch, if you must know. He fell asleep watching that God awful sci-fi show. The one with the bald guy and the glittery robot."

The bald guy and the glittery robot?... "Next Generation is not a god awful SciFi show," Chuck protested, pretty sure he was feeling the offense of every geek in the world. He stopped himself from asking which episode his friend wasn't watching, knowing Casey would neither know nor care. "Why are you here, Casey?"

Casey pulled a sheet of paper from under his jacket. "We just got a hit from a traffic camera in Hollywood."

Chuck snuck a look at the image. "That's Fleming."

"Wow, you just saved me a lot of investigative work there, Intersect," Casey rolled his eyes. "The DMV told me that."

"Sarcasm, what a surprise," Chuck snarked back.

Casey, predictably, ignored him. "We found an address, we're bringing him in now."

Chuck appreciated the update, but he didn't think Casey would have dragged himself all the way over here just to brief him. "So what do you need me for?"

"You're a friendly face. Your professor sees you there, he'll be more inclined to cooperate. Copy?"

"Yeah, I copy," Chuck sighed, grudgingly getting up from his chair. "Let me just go tell Big Mike I'm taking an on-site installation."

"We leave in three," Casey warned, walking away.

Chuck made a face at his back, pushing down the memories of Fleming calling him into his office. He didn't need to relive one of his worst ever moments right now. Not if he was going to have any chance of facing Fleming soon.

Casey and Sarah left Chuck to go and extract Fleming, Chuck also tuning out the inevitable "stay in the car, Chuck" speech. It was routine by now; stay in the car, call if he flashed on any bad guys, hope that none of his handlers got themselves shot. Chuck was tempted to text Bryce an update, but knew well enough that if Bryce had wanted to be here, he would be here and not dozing on his couch while Next Gen played on the television. So, Chuck kept watch, making sure nobody snuck into Fleming's house while Casey and Sarah were inside.

Until Chuck saw Fleming wander past the car with bags of groceries. He was out of the car before he could think, chasing after his professor and calling out his name. Only three words Black Castle got him to stop long enough for Chuck to remind him who he was.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to scare you," he panted, cursing himself for not ever doing more exercise. "But, it's Chuck."

"Chuck Bartowski," Fleming greeted, taking off his hat. "Of course I remember you." He wandered around Chuck, looking to make sure the coast was clear. "So you're with the Agency now, huh? Why didn't you say so?"

Because that was literally the last thing Chuck wanted to tell his former professor. And he wasn't technically with the Agency, so much as the unwilling host of all their secrets. "I don't think I'm supposed to."

Fleming nodded once, turning serious. "So, what are we doing now? Who's bringing me in?"

Chuck gestured off towards the house. "Sarah and Casey will- will do that. But, I was wondering if I could ask you something first."

Fleming looked away, almost as if he was afraid of what Chuck was going to ask.

"Why do the CIA have a file of me at Stanford?"

Fleming looked at anything but Chuck for a long moment. Then, he met his eyes. "I'm sorry."

No sooner had he spoken then he began to topple, dropping against Chuck's chest. Chuck patted his back, babbling about something even he couldn't make sense of, until he came to the metal arrow embedded in Fleming's back.

"Oh God. Oh no. Okay," Chuck babbled, riding the wave of panic.

Fleming's weight pushed them to the ground. He muttered something about Bryce and showed Chuck a sheet of paper with some numbers on it. Another crossbow bolt sent the paper flying from Fleming's hand, the Icelandic spy looking long and hard at Chuck before he scooped up the paper and strode off.

Chuck heard Sarah's voice - so wonderful, so perfect - and called out for help. "Man down! Man down! Over here!"

About half an hour later, Chuck found himself back in Bryce's apartment. His -much better rested but worried - friend had Star Trek playing softly in the background while steaming mugs of coffee warmed their hands. Since Chuck had arrived, Bryce had done nothing but hover around him, making sure he wasn't too shaken from nearly having their old professor die on him. Chuck had expected a lecture on things always happening to him when Bryce wasn't around, but none had been forthcoming.

"You're not hurt?" Bryce checked for the twentieth time, his eyes scanning Chuck's curled form.

Chuck mutely shook his head, trying to ignore the memory of Fleming's weight pushing him into the grass. "I stopped to question him, Bryce," he said, guilt bubbling hot in his stomach. "If I hadn't-"

"Nope," Bryce cut in, shaking his head firmly. "You are not responsible for what anybody - especially mercenary spies - choose to do." Bryce's eyes caught his own, softening. "It's not your fault, Chuck."

"Feels like it is," Chuck mumbled, hunching further into the corner of Bryce's couch.

Bryce shook his head again, smiling sadly. "You're too good for the world I've dragged you into."

Chuck wanted to protest, if not the words then certainly the guilt Bryce was showing. But, as if often seemed of late, the universe had other ideas. Casey and Sarah walked through the front door, Casey's lips curling at the sound of Next Generation. Bryce caught the NSA Major's eyes and smirked, Chuck having been only too happy to distract the both of them by tattling on Casey.

"How'd it go at the hospital?" Chuck asked, waving both Sarah and Casey into chairs since Bryce clearly wasn't going to. "Is the Professor going to be okay?"

"They're putting him into surgery now," Sarah replied.

"Which means we can't talk to him and sort this mess out," Casey continued, tone falling short of a grumble for a change. "You sure it was Magnus you saw?"

"Gee, I don't know, Casey. How many psycho archers do you know?"

Chuck saw Casey smirk and decided he really didn't want to know the answer to that question.

"I just can't work out why Fleming wanted me to take those numbers to Bryce," Chuck said, musing more to himself than anyone in the room.

Bryce paused, turning slowly back to face Chuck. "What numbers?"

"I don't know," Chuck shrugged, trying to remember. "There were about ten of them, maybe a couple of nines. A five. It definitely started with a two."

"That's it?" Casey asked, frowning at him. "You have a computer for a brain-"

"Ease off," Bryce growled.

At the same time, Chuck snapped; "Look, it was a very stressful situation. Okay, Casey? I watched a guy get skewered by a crossbow."

"It's going to be okay, Chuck," Sarah counselled, gentle honesty in her voice.

"Is it?" Chuck shook his head, not entirely sure he believed her. "Fleming knew something. Right before he was shot, he told me he was sorry. Why would he say that?"

Bryce heaved a sigh, setting his mug onto the coffee table. "Because he knows why you're in the Intersect."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed bitterly. "And we won't know the answers to any of our questions until he wakes up."

"I'm not so sure about that," Bryce murmured, his face doing a complicated thing it did when he was trying to make a tough decision.

Chuck uncurled from his position, leaning closer to Bryce. "What?"

"You know what those numbers mean, Chuck," Bryce said, gently prompting. It would have been so easy for Bryce to say it himself, but he'd always seemed to enjoy watching Chuck work things out.

Chuck shook his head, helpless.

"Come on, buddy," Bryce urged. "Think. What do you know?"

"Fleming wanted those numbers brought to you," Chuck began, slowly working it out. "Which means it's a system you know."

"Mm-hmm," Bryce agreed, eyes twinkling. "And?"

"It was on Stanford paper, so we can presume wherever the numbers pertain to, must be at Stanford."

"Yes," Bryce smiled, waving his hand in an encouraging gesture. "Come on, Chuck, you've nearly got it."

Bryce. Stanford. Nearly got it. Got. Gotcha! Bryce holding his hands up, saying Chuck would never shoot an unarmed man. Chuck saying he might, even though it was hardly sportsman-like. Bryce distracting him by asking him if he'd ever read Gynaecology for Geeks. The familiar stinging sensation of another sucker dart in the middle of his forehead.

Chuck felt a smile slowly spread over his lips. "The library?"

Bryce's own grin answered Chuck, bright and warm and proud. "Gotcha."

Chuck grinned back at Bryce for a long moment, riding the high of figuring it out. Then, because he was vaguely aware that they weren't the only two people in the apartment, he turned back to Sarah and Casey. "How'd you guys feel about road-tripping up to Stanford? Bryce is driving, I've got the playlist. Real turn of the millennium nostalgia."

"I think I'm bringing a gun and I will shoot," Casey warned, looking as though he would rather face an entire squad of ninjas than come along with them.

Bryce's smirk pulled Chuck's attention back to him. "This is going to be fun."

Chapter Text

"It's not too late for you to change your mind about driving up with us, you know," Ellie offered, sorting through the clothes she wanted to pack. Chuck faceplanted onto her bed. "Spend some time with Devon and I."

"Oh please," Chuck half propped himself up. "You just don't want to be stuck in a car with Awesome's frat buddies."

Chuck honestly couldn't blame her, the thought of spending five hours with them without a means of escape was nothing short of horrific.

"Maybe," Ellie allowed, folding a pair of jeans. "Or maybe I'm your sister and I care about you. And maybe I'd like to spend some time with you."

"I love you sis," Chuck announced, smiling back at his sister. "And I'd take a lot of bullets for you. But five hours stuck in a car with Awesome and his brahs? That is asking too much." He flopped over, grinning at the ceiling. "Besides, Bryce and I are planning a whole Stanford era road trip. Really leaning into the nostalgia. We've got the snacks, the playlist, we've even talked Sarah into coming along with us."

Ellie hummed in the back of her throat. "Just don't ignore her this weekend."

Chuck felt his frown pull at his eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Ellie said, turning back to her packing.

Chuck gave her a long look. He knew when she had something she was trying to say without actually saying it.

His sister sighed softly, sitting down by Chuck. "Fine. Don't take this the wrong way, because I know how much you like Sarah, but - sometimes - when you and Bryce are together, it kinda seems like everyone else sort of fades into the background."

"He's my best friend."

"I know."

"And he nearly died."

Chuck really didn't like reminding himself of that fact, but there was no other way to explain the way he and Bryce tended to gravitate towards one another. Not without outing the whole Intersect, superspy thing.

Ellie smiled softly, never judging him. "I know, Chuck."

Chuck propped himself up on his elbows, staring in concern. "I don't ignore you guys, do I?"

"No, Chuck," Ellie reassured him, tapping his chest with the UCLA foam finger Chuck was sure belonged to Awesome. "It's just, you and Bryce have this kind of secret language when you're together and nobody has the translation software."

Chuck guessed she wasn't talking about Klingon, rather the way they could read each other with looks and communicate with the slightest touch. Which was completely normal; he and Bryce had spent four years together, sharing the same room for most of them, often so busy and exhausted they couldn't speak. It only made sense that they'd learned to communicate in other ways.

"He's my best friend," Chuck said again. It was a lame excuse and he knew it, but even he had no words to explain his relationship with Bryce. Except maybe complicated. That one worked.

"I know he is, Chuck," Ellie said again, still smiling. "And I'm glad he's back in our lives. I just don't want to see you get hurt in case Sarah doesn't understand this thing between the two of you."

Chuck fought down the urge to tell her it was all a fake, him and Sarah. But he couldn't. He was a spy now and he had secrets, so many secrets. Instead, he just smiled easily. "Sarah understands. Believe me."

"Okay," Ellie replied easily, holding up two shirts. "Which is better?"

Chuck accepted the change in conversation, smiling. "On you? Both."

Chuck had a feeling that if you asked Casey, he would say the five hour drive up to Stanford was an exercise in anti-interrogation training. He'd sat in the back seat and glowered the entire time. Chuck, on the other hand, had loved every minute. He and Bryce had alternated driving, talking about their college road trips and singing along to a mixture of Oasis and more obscure nineties bands. Sarah had offered a story or two of her own, taking it upon herself to distribute snacks and drinks and initiate driving games that only slightly felt like a game found in spy training.

With every landmark they'd hit on the way up, Chuck felt all his youthful anticipation and excitement flooding back to him. It almost felt like he was returning to college after a weekend spent back home with Ellie. Bryce, who'd conceded the driving for the final stretch to Chuck, had just grinned over the rim of his sunglasses, most of the ever-present readiness for action gone from his frame.

"You went to college here?" Sarah asked, staring out the back window. There was a kind of awe in her voice.

Chuck knew the feeling. It was one thing to know, academically, that Stanford was a college and that they'd been there. It was entirely another to see the college and have a picture to go with it. He had been overwhelmed when he and Ellie had come up to see it, even more so when he had started living there.

"Four years," Chuck agreed, thumbs drumming on the steering wheel as he navigated towards where they could park.

"Best years of my life," Bryce added, dark lenses of his glasses covering his eyes.

"You spent the last four years as an international spy," Chuck protested, catching his friend's grin out of the corner of his eyes. "You can't seriously rate excruciating finals, crippling coffee dependency, frat parties, and lectures at the buttcrack of dawn over being James Bond."

"You're forgetting track meets, gymnastics competitions and feeling like I was going to explode from stress," Bryce reminded him, far too nostalgically. "But, still, best years of my life."

Chuck thought back over those four long and sometimes painful years; all the late nights in the library, the late nights in their shared room, the early morning coffee runs, discovering the joys of coffee in cereal instead of milk (a much more expedient caffeine delivery system, a sleep-deprived Bryce had been right). A whole lot of stress. So much. "You're right," Chuck grinned, swinging the car into a parking space. "Best years of my life."

College students and UCLA fans milled about; pouring beers, starting barbeques, tossing footballs around, cheering and displaying college pride. Chuck and Bryce both grinned at each other, fitting in seamlessly in their hoodie and sweatshirt. "It's like nothing has changed."

"Stanford," Bryce said, looking around in quiet awe. "We're back, buddy."

Chuck could only nod in helpless agreement, feeling like he'd gone back in time. "Is it strange it feels like coming home?"

"It was home," Bryce shrugged, standing still in the middle of the crowd, breathing it in. He caught a football someone tossed him, easily punting it into the crowd in the direction it had come. "Is home still, somehow."

"Go Bruins!" Awesome cried, sweeping Ellie around in a circle. "You guys ready to rock?" he asked when he had dropped her back to the ground.

"Definitely, definitely not," Chuck replied, tossing Awesome back the football he'd given Chuck.

"And, it's go Cardinals," Bryce added, tilting his head with a cocky little grin.

"Go Cardinals," Chuck echoed, just as many times in the past. He'd gone to a lot of Bryce's track meets. For support.

"You made it," Ellie beamed, her smile just as bright for Bryce and Sarah as it was for Chuck. "We were beginning to think you'd changed your minds."

Chuck knew what was coming before he even noticed Bryce's wicked little smirk.

"We would have left when you did, but Sarah and I had to talk Chuck out of wearing that ratty old hoodie of his."

"I always intended to wear this one," Chuck lied, badly. He thought it was a little hypocritical of Bryce to stop him wearing his favourite hoodie when Bryce was wearing a copy of the sweatshirt he was when they'd first met.

"Course you did, buddy," Bryce agreed, Sarah's laughter falling beside them.

Ellie laughed too, waving at one of the UCLA visitors behind Chuck. "You want to head to the stadium now? I think we're going to hang around here for a while."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, smiling down at Sarah. "We're going to take Sarah on the Bartowski-Larkin tour of Stanford. So, uh, we'll probably meet you there."

"Do not take her to the frat house," was all Ellie said, her eyes laughing at the pair of them.

"I was thinking about the library," Chuck protested. "But, hey, the frat might be a good idea. See if our little brothers are living up to our reputation."

"You mean if they're still a bunch of nerds," Bryce quipped, winning another laugh from Sarah and Ellie.

"So you admit we were a nerdy fraternity," Chuck cried, triumphant. "About time, cause you were the biggest dork of us all."

"Wow," Bryce feigned hurt, staggering back a pace. "You can drive back with the brahs."

"Don't be like that, buddy," Chuck grinned, buoyed by the laughter of his sister and (fake) girlfriend. "I meant it affectionately."

Bryce's eyebrows rose into his hair. "So dork is an endearment now?"

"Since freshman year."

"They've always been like this," Ellie informed Sarah wisely. "But this is definitely better than the spring break they did nothing but speak to each other in Klingon."

"Klingon?" Sarah repeated, turning amused eyes on Chuck. "Really?"

"Your sister just called you a dork too, buddy," Bryce grinned, his laughter dancing in his words.

Chuck bumped lightly into his shoulder. "She called both of us dorks."

Ellie shook her head, her smile almost too bright to see. "You are."

Bryce flashed another Hollywood smile, winking at Ellie and Sarah. "You're right."

"Oh my God," Ellie laughed, her name called by one of Awesome's brahs. "You'd best get them moving before they spent the entire day arguing about which one of them is the bigger nerd."

"Chuck."

"Bryce."

"I think that might be too late," Sarah offered dryly. "But, I'll try and keep them in line."

"Good luck," Ellie wished, flashing them another smile before joining her friends.

Sarah turned to Bryce and Chuck, her smile warm and wicked. "You learned Klingon?"

"He learned it first," Chuck tattled, watching the laughter form on Sarah's lips.

"Ten minutes at Stanford and my reputation is ruined," Bryce groaned. "I had an international reputation, you know."

"You're feeling melodramatic today, aren't you?" Chuck teased, beginning to lead them in the direction of the library. "If he starts talking about Canadian plots to make him lose sleep, don't pay any attention."

"Canadian plots?" Sarah questioned, her frown pulling at her perfect eyebrows.

"It's a long story," Chuck sighed, smirking a little at Bryce.

"Short," Bryce retorted, apparently relishing a captive audience. "He'd wake me up by playing My Heart Will Go On at ear splitting volume on the stereo on the other side of the room."

When he described it like that, it was no wonder that Sarah winced. "That was cruel, Chuck."

Chuck knew that. But still; "Worked every time."

Bryce mournfully shook his head. "I have no idea why you were my best friend. You were terrible."

"You used to wake me up on exam days by telling me I'd slept through them!"

"Celine Dion, Chuck." And there was the slightly crazed look from the mornings Chuck had woken him that way. "Celine. Dion."

Casey joined up with them as they headed across the quad. He stood out immediately, his black clothing screaming that he didn't belong there. "Good job blending in with the crowd there, Casey," Chuck sarcastically praised. "Who are you rooting for? Death?"

Bryce snorted. "Nice."

Casey's eyes narrowed even as Sarah bit back a grin. "Leave the quips to me."

"Quips? You?" Bryce snorted again. "Casey, you and humour have never been on the same page. You're not even in the same, well, library." As he spoke, they stopped outside the library.

"Nice," Chuck grinned, Bryce slipping off his shades and revealing laughing eyes.

"That was good, wasn't it?"

"Very well done," Chuck agreed, happily ignoring Casey's growl.

"Where are we headed?" the NSA Major asked, striding towards the library doors.

"Third floor," Chuck said in unison with Bryce, the two of them sharing a quick grin. "There's a turn and, you know, just follow us."

"Ah, crap," Chuck muttered, stalled at the entrance. He'd somehow forgotten the need for active ID to be able to enter the prestigious library.

"Got you covered, buddy," Bryce whispered, pressing a rectangle of plastic into his hand. "Had to reactivate mine, figured I'd do yours at the same time."

"Thanks."

Armed with their IDs, only two of which were fake, they slipped into the library and carefully trekked upstairs.

"I lost so many Gotcha games here," Chuck mourned, looking around at the stacks as the memories rushed in.

"I won so many Gotcha games here," Bryce added wistfully, fully deserving the light shove Chuck gave him. That Bryce allowed it and Chuck didn't end up pressed face-first into the nearest stack was a testament to Bryce's admittance of that fact.

"I have no idea what Gotcha is," Casey announced, glaring at them. "But it sounds like you were both always geeks."

"So much meanness, Casey," Chuck observed, shaking his head. "We don't deserve it."

"He stole classified government secrets."

"That was weeks ago, Casey," Bryce smirked, Chuck watching Casey's annoyance increase. "Get over it."

"Get over-" Casey shook his head. "You broke into an NSA installation and-"

"Blew it sky high," came Bryce's reply. "I remember. And then I got shot."

"That was weeks ago," Casey smirked. "Get over it."

Chuck expected Bryce's stinging smile, the one that promised vengeance at the earliest possible opportunity. Instead, his friend laughed, inclining his head like he was conceding Casey's victory.

"It's just back here," Chuck said, getting back to business before he could start wondering if he was in the Twilight Zone. "This row."

"Oh no," Sarah sighed, looking at the mess of books left on the floor.

Immediately, Casey was back in business mode. "We're too late," he said. "Magnus beat us here. He's got the book."

Bryce leaned against the stone pillar, ankles crossed and a little smirk playing on his lips. He didn't say a word, but he screamed I know something you don't.

"What?" Casey snapped, already half turned to go after the Icelandic spy.

Bryce shook his head, the smirk turning pitying. "This was my hiding place," he reminded them, as if Chuck could have forgotten. "You think I would ever have hidden anything in a book any student could check out at any time?"

That was actually a very good point.

"You'd never be sloppy like that," Sarah agreed, eyes flickering between him and Chuck. "So, where did you hide things?"

Bryce settled back against the pillar, smiling as easily as ever. "Chuck knows."

Chuck had the feeling that he did. "The numbers were just a reference for Fleming, weren't they?"

Bryce hummed an agreement, pushing off the pillar. He put his hand to the underside of the shelf, coming away with a computer disc in a plastic case. "Now, this is sloppy," he muttered, slipping the disc into Chuck's pocket. "Look after that for me, would you?"

"Gotcha," Chuck replied, his mind still replaying the game from all those years ago. "How many spots like this did you have around campus?"

Bryce simply shrugged, spy mode coming back over him. "Magnus is a smart guy, I suggest we get out of here before he realises that book is just a book."

"Too late," Casey uttered, his eyes fixed on a spot over Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck saw the readiness snap over all three of his handlers, their smiles and easiness gone.

"Chuck," Sarah murmured, gun appearing in her hands. "Run." She and Casey pushed past Chuck, Sarah managing to glance over her shoulder once more. "Head for the back door. Bryce, stay with him."

Bryce apparently didn't even need to be told. Gun in hand, he ran behind Chuck, urging him to take one path or another, eyes ever watchful on their surroundings.

"This was supposed to be a fun trip," Chuck called, breath catching a little in his chest. "That's it, you're dragging me running with you if we make it out of this alive."

"Finally," Bryce muttered, risking a flicker of a smile. "Run faster, we've got company."

They burst through the front doors, heading for the crowds in the quad. Their tail fell back and another bought an elbow to the face courtesy of Casey as they rejoined them. "Magnus brought friends," Chuck panted. "A lot of friends."

"We've got to get out of here," Sarah announced, she and Casey already looking around for a way out.

Bryce snagged the front of Chuck's hoodie, starting off at a dead run. "This way," he called, still not sounding remotely out of breath.

Chuck wanted to hate him, just a little bit, for being so calm and collected. Unfortunately, that part of him was drowned out by the majority that felt almost reassured by further proof that his best friend was - major dorkiness aside - a terrifying superspy that ate guys like Magnus for a light snack.

Using the grip he still had on Chuck's hoodie, Bryce pushed him through the doors into what appeared to be a science lecture hall. Casey stood guard by the door, muttering various curses about not bringing enough weaponry.

Chuck moved to the computer, already pressing buttons to wake it up. "I have to see what's on this disc," he said, mostly to himself.

"That's top secret," Sarah hissed, coming to stand before him.

"So am I," Chuck replied, pulling the disc out of the case. "This holds the answers about why I'm on the Intersect."

"Bryce," Sarah called, turning plaintive eyes on her former partner.

His friend just shook his head mutely, the shadows of guilt and pain Chuck recognised all too well reappearing in his eyes. "I owe him this much."

"It's testing data," Sarah frowned, glancing at the screen.

"And recorded interviews," Chuck added, confusion bubbling inside of him. "These are all just students."

"Exactly," Bryce said, sitting on one of the chairs. "Students who were recruited into the CIA."

"Ten years worth," Sarah confirmed. "It's all their current information."

"No wonder Magnus wanted it so badly," Casey hummed. "Foreign governments pay a fortune for that."

Chuck continued scrolling down, pausing at the first name under 2002. "Bryce Larkin," he read out quietly. "You're on here."

Bryce nodded once. And was that defeat on his face? "Scroll down to 2003."

"That's," Chuck paused, staring in disbelief. Bryce knew he'd be there. How did he know? "That's me. I never applied to be in the CIA."

Bryce laughed bitterly, a far darker sound than Chuck had ever heard him make. "Neither did I."

Before he could question his friend about any of it - why he was in the file, why Bryce looked so unacceptably sad - the door at the top of the lecture hall burst open. Magnus fired towards them, Sarah pushing Chuck down behind the desk with her and Casey.

Chuck peeked over the top of the desk, his eyes finding Bryce all alone, out in the open. "Buddy?!"

"Keep him down," Bryce hissed, firing up at the half dozen people come to kill them. "Better, get him out of here!"

Chuck glanced up at the screen, still with Bryce's name highlighted in green. He had an idea but he couldn't do it. Not until he knew his friend wasn't going to get killed just to protect him. "Get him back here and I'll listen to you," Chuck heard himself say.

Casey cursed, but he and Sarah popped up, laying down covering fire.

Bryce shot a deadly glare at Chuck, the inevitable warnings about how his life was worth more than Bryce's already shining in his eyes. Yet, he inched backwards, firing almost blindly up at the maniacs come to hurt them.

And then it happened. Almost in slow motion, Chuck watched as one gunshot sounded amidst the din of others. Bryce faltered, just a little, his breath hissing out from behind his teeth. His name lodged somewhere at the back of Chuck's throat, stalled in place as Bryce vaulted over the desk and dropped beside him.

Chapter Text

Bryce was behind proper cover again, but it was a hollow victory. A patch of wet colour, redder than the rest, blossomed over Bryce's right side, the scent of blood heavy and metallic under the scent of gunpowder. Shot though he was, the spy continued shooting as if nothing was amiss. All Chuck could do was helplessly watch, replaying the gunshot - Bryce's faltering, his hiss of pain - over and over in his mind.

His friend - his best friend - had just been shot in front of him. And there was nothing Chuck could do about it. Other than fainting, but the adrenaline rushing through Chuck's system didn't even grant him that small mercy.

Chuck was beginning to get the feeling that Stanford really had it out for the pair of them.

Sarah dropped back behind the desk, risking a glance over at her former partner. "Bryce-"

"Get him out of here!" Bryce snapped, overriding Sarah's concern.

Chuck ignored whatever Sarah was trying to say to him, simultaneously hiding from the bullets and trying his best to hover around Bryce. He wanted to find something clean to press against the wound, he wanted to call Ellie and Awesome and demand they tell him how to field dress a gunshot. Neither instinct, he knew, would be one Bryce would let him indulge. Especially since he seemed intent on pretending that he wasn't even injured in the first place.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Chuck babbled, watching the red stain spread. It was too far in to be the graze he knew Bryce would inevitably dismiss it as, but not too far in to have hit anything vital. At least Chuck really, really hoped so. "I got you shot."

For a moment, Bryce stayed behind cover, his eyes meeting Chuck's. "Idiot," he said, both harsh and fond. "It's not your fault."

Chuck begged to differ. If he hadn't dragged them to Stanford, if he hadn't insisted on Bryce coming back here, if he hadn't gotten them all so invested in the information on the file - maybe they could have made a run for it. Maybe Bryce would never have gotten shot again at all. He really, really hated that Bryce had been shot again, it really wasn't fair and Chuck really ought to have known better than to distract them all when they had been quite literally running for their lives.

And Chuck really had to watch himself in panic mode, because he was pretty sure he'd said all of that aloud.

"Idiot," Bryce said again, affectionately this time. "Want to blame someone? Blame them." As he spoke, he shot twice over the desk, a muffled thump echoing after the gunshots. He lowered himself back down behind the desk, suppressing a groan at the back of his throat. "Hey, Casey," he grinned suddenly, a tiny hint of mirth in his eyes. "You're not the last guy who shot me anymore."

The NSA major might have smirked, just a little, but the spray of bullets from Magnus and his crew made it impossible to spot.

"New plan," Casey growled, considering a beaker filled with liquid. "When Sarah says run, you make for the side door. Larkin goes with you."

Bryce looked as though he'd love to protest, but he met Chuck's pleading gaze and capitulated. "You'll need this," he said, sliding clips of ammunition, knives and what appeared to be several small explosive devices over towards the other agents.

Sarah smiled gratefully, nodding at Casey. "Now!"

Casey shot at the beaker, smoke filled the room, and Chuck began to power crawl out of the lecture hall. Though he couldn't comprehend how, with how much pain he was in, but Bryce kept pace.

"Computer lab," Bryce said, finally sounding strained. "Down the hall."

"Please tell me you actually have a plan running around that genius head of yours," Bryce groaned, hauling himself into one of the orange chairs with about as much grace as Chuck usually managed.

"A plan, yeah, I have a plan," Chuck agreed, eyes caught again by the - much larger and far wetter looking - bloodstain on Bryce's shirt. "Oh my God, Bryce-"

"Mission first," Bryce cut him off, not ungentle. "I'll live, trust me."

"Not when Ellie gets her hands on you," Chuck mumbled, fully intending to rat his best friend out to his sister at the earliest possible opportunity.

"Let's save Casey and Sarah first, buddy," Bryce suggested, leaning back a little heavier in his chair. "Then we can face the not so tender attentions of Doctors Bartowski and Woodcomb."

Chuck nodded once, turning his attention back to the computer in front of him. He had a plan, and it was even a good one. And now all he had to do was make sure it worked. He pulled up the first name, picking up his phone while Bryce frowned at him, clearly trying to puzzle out Chuck's plan.

"Hi," Chuck greeted as soon as the phone connected. "Hi. Is this- is this Glenda Mitchell? We're in the Science building lecture hall. It's an emergency. Bring lots of big guns."

"I'm sorry. Whoever this is, you've got the wrong number."

"No. No," Chuck blurted out, trying to keep her on the line. "Crap. Crap. There's a code phrase. I know there is." He turned to Bryce, not even bothering to hide the panicked plea on his face. "Um-"

Bryce reached out and took the phone from Chuck's hand. "Glenda?" he asked, sounding utterly calm and not even remotely like he was still bleeding out from a gunshot wound. "Are you coming to the toga party?"

Bryce tossed the phone back to Chuck, scooting the chair closer so he could read the names too.

Five times they called, placing five requests for backup with as much weaponry and explosives as the recruits had in supply. And five times, they said the most ridiculous code phrase Chuck had ever heard in his lifetime.

Telling himself that they had done all they could for Casey and Sarah, Chuck removed the disc from the computer and turned back to Bryce. "Are you coming to the toga party? Really?"

Bryce gave him one of his looks, the exasperated overly fond kind. "We're at college, Chuck. What else were we supposed to say?"

"But a toga party? Buddy, what if you were invited to one?"

Bryce heaved as exasperated a sigh as he could. "Chuck, in case you've forgotten, you weren't the only nerd of the two of us during college. And I studied for three degrees, ran track and did gymnastics when I wasn't hanging out with you. I was really, really, really busy. You think I was the kind of guy who got invited to a toga party?"

As a matter of fact, yes Chuck did think he was the kind of guy who'd get invited to a yoga party. Although, he couldn't remember a single time either of them had attended one. Even when they'd pledged a fraternity.

"These recruits, think they'll be good enough to help?"

"More than," Bryce assured him, a tiny glimmer of satisfaction shining over the pain in his eyes. "I was running missions out of here by the end of junior year."

"Is there any way that you could not right now?" Chuck snapped, unable to bear his friend boasting about the job that could - and probably would, considering Bryce's current run of luck - kill him for another moment. "You've just been shot. Again. And now you're, what? Praising the CIA for the training they've done to these recruits? The training that's probably going to get you all killed?"

"Chuck," Bryce began, as serious as Chuck had ever heard him. "I'm going to say this only once, so I need you to really be listening to me. Okay?"

Chuck didn't want to listen. He wanted to continue blaming the CIA for turning bright, hopeful kids into their own personal toys. For turning his best friend into a weapon of their own design. Unfortunately, it was very hard not to listen to Bryce Larkin when he turned on the quiet intensity. It was the way he'd always talked Chuck out of panic attacks.

"Okay."

Bryce nodded, leaning forward in his chair as much as he was able. "I am a good spy. No, scratch that. I am a brilliant spy. And just because I may have the occasional propensity for getting myself hurt on missions, doesn't mean I'm not very, very good at my job. And I know you're my best friend and I know you hate seeing me hurt - and I am sorry for that, Chuck. Really I am. But I am not going to stop protecting you. And I need you to be okay with that."

"We were going to start a tech company, remember?" Chuck asked, shadows of their old plans echoing in his mind. "How could you have chosen this life?"

"It chose me," Bryce replied softly. So soft Chuck barely even heard him. "And, one day, you'll understand why I'm glad it did."

Bryce Larkin was a stubborn, obstinate, pigheaded man. And he was a spy. And Chuck's best friend. And the one didn't negate any of the others. Chuck might not be a spy in the strictest sense, but he was also stubborn (and obstinate and pigheaded) and he was also Bryce's best friend. Which meant, hopefully, he had the leeway to do what he was about to do.

"I don't think I'll ever be entirely okay with that, Bryce," Chuck stated quietly, watching sadness and resigned disappointment flash over his friend's face. "But, I really don't want to lose you again. So. I propose a trade."

"A trade?" Bryce invited, tearing off the lower half of his undershirt and pressing it against the blood soaked fabric on his side. His breathing was slightly more laboured as he continued; "I'm intrigued."

"Do your job, buddy, every bit of it. Protect me. Protect Sarah and Casey, Ellie, Awesome, and Morgan. Protect all of us, if that's what you want to do. Get into firefights and fistfights and be even better than James Bond and Jason Bourne combined."

Bryce's eyebrows disappeared into the tousled mess of his hair, a grin (bright, easy, the kind only Chuck himself ever managed to coax out of him) appearing on his lips. "And in return?"

Chuck pointed at the rapidly reddening fabric in Bryce's hand. "The minute that happens, I want to know. No hiding it. No avoiding medical attention. I understand if you don't want to involve Ellie and Awesome, too many injuries would blow our covers anyway, but I don't want to be the guy left out of the loop. You get hurt protecting me? I know about it and we take care of it. Or I go to Beckman and tell her you being my handler is negatively impacting our mission."

Part of Bryce bristled at that, Chuck knew. He'd always hated being held accountable to anyone and anything above what he believed was best. But, the thing was, Chuck knew Bryce. Knew him well enough to know that - not every time, but when it mattered - Bryce would bend for Chuck.

"I get to do what I want and you get to mother hen me," Bryce hummed, nodding easily. "Buddy, that's been our relationship since the day we met."

Chuck bit back the urge to grin. "You agree then?"

Nothing about this situation was good, but they were, and that was enough.

Bryce's eyes twinkled. "Hija."

Of course he had to agree in Klingon. "Dork."

Bryce's answering grin disappeared behind his raised gun, a single gunshot echoing loudly in the room. Behind Chuck, there was a crash; something sounding very much like a body dropping heavily onto one of the other computer desks.

"That's one less crossbow wilding psychopath you have to worry about," Bryce managed, hissing through the pain from the recoil.

"Now I only have to worry about one legendarily stubborn superspy," Chuck agreed, trying very hard not to turn and look at the dead body.

Bryce's smile softened, turning almost chagrined. "It's time to face the wrath of both Bartowski's isn't it?"

"Don't worry, buddy," Chuck grinned, deciding that Stanford would just have to forgive him for borrowing one of their chairs. "You've got about five minutes to think up a cover story."

Bryce glanced up at him, fortunately not objecting to being pushed out of the room. "Rabid Icelandic UCLA fan?"

"We'll just say we were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Bryce chuckled, the sound turning into a groan. "Ellie's never going to let either of us leave the complex ever, ever again."

Late Sunday afternoon, they arrived home again. After a long and exhausting night in the hospital, Bryce had discharged himself AMA. Ellie allowed this only as far as it took to get him into the car, stating calmly but firmly that the spy was in her care now. Bryce, already pale from blood loss, had gone even whiter at the pronouncement. Despite the somber mood from Bryce's injury, the drive back home had been almost enjoyable. He and Bryce had slept a good three out of the five hours, the other two spent playfully bemoaning the blowout that had been the football game.

As they had neared the city, Bryce had tried one last time to persuade Ellie that letting him stay in his own apartment was a sensible course of action. He had lost the argument. Three to one. He accepted his defeat with good grace, barely even complaining as Awesome helped him into the Bartowski-Woodcomb apartment.

"I'm sorry your return to Stanford wasn't everything you thought it would be," Ellie sighed, entering the kitchen with Chuck while Bryce sprawled on the couch.

Chuck smiled bracingly, taking a long drink of water. "You remember that evening with Morgan in the karaoke bar? His cover of Glory of Love that he dedicated to you?"

Ellie's eyes widened with horror. "That completely ruined Karate Kid 2."

Morgan was many things, a good singer was not one of them.

"Seriously though, Ellie," Chuck smiled, wishing that he didn't smell like blood and hospital and gunpowder so he could give her a proper hug. "Thank you for dropping everything and coming to help. It really, it meant a lot. To both of us."

Both Bartowski's turned, watching the sleeping figure of Bryce for a long moment.

"We look after family," Ellie murmured, hugging him. "It's what we do." She smiled, looking down the corridor towards the bathroom. "Now, I'm going to help Devon find some stronger soap. Call us if he wakes up and needs anything."

"Will do."

Chuck waited until his sister was down the corridor before he went into the living room. "Come on, buddy," he called, gently shaking his shoulder. "There's a nice, comfy bed with your name on it."

That it was Chuck's bed was neither here nor there.

Bryce opened one eye, the blue hazy with sleep and the pain meds Ellie had stubbornly insisted he take. He muttered something under his breath about Bartowski's, but he accepted Chuck's support as they shuffled down the corridor to his room. Chuck eased him gently onto the bed, smiling as Bryce muttered about the Tron poster and closed his eyes again.

The thing was, Chuck didn't intend to keep Fleming's disc of Stanford recruits. He hadn't intentionally kept it away from Sarah and Casey when they'd driven back down while Chuck was still sitting by Bryce's bedside. But, now that he was back home, Chuck couldn't deny the urge to know. His name was on this disc. He had a file devoted to himself, both on this disc and in the Intersect. And, Bryce would never have given it to him and let him keep it if he didn't - on some level - think that Chuck deserved to know the truth.

So, he only felt a tiny bit guilty as he slipped the disc into his computer while his friend slept (or pretended to sleep, it was hard to tell with Bryce) obliviously on his bed.

"You didn't think we'd let you keep that, did you?" Sarah asked, leaning in the doorway to his room.

"I have to know, Sarah."

Sarah's eyes flickered briefly to Chuck's bed and the agent on it, but she nodded. "Okay, Chuck." She came further into the room, coming to stand at his left side.

Chuck clicked on his name, a black and white video popping up on screen. It was Professor Fleming, just as Chuck had known him senior year.

"Test subject 0326," Fleming said. "Bartowski. This will be his first interview."

Chuck frowned. He couldn't remember ever having an interview like this with his professor.

Fleming pressed a button on his phone. "Send Chuck in."

The office door opened, Bryce Larkin walking in. He looked as impossibly young and handsome as he always had, but there was a kind of anger in his bearing.

"Bryce," Fleming greeted, trying to rush him out. "This isn't a good time. I'm waiting for another student."

"Chuck Bartowski," Bryce said, the anger in his voice impossible to detect, except for someone who knew him. "He never got your message."

"What are you talking about?"

"You put Chuck on the CIA recruitment track." Bryce's voice wasn't just angry, it held a demand for an explanation, with the undercurrent that it had better be a good one.

"It's not up to me, Bryce," Fleming explained, almost pleading. "They want him for the Omaha Project."

Bryce blanched, rocking back in his seat like he'd been punched. "That's a military operation. They'll turn Chuck into-"

"I'm required to send all the top test results to the agency," Fleming interrupted, apparently oblivious to the ice creeping into Bryce's eyes.

"I want my friend out of this." It wasn't a demand. It was a statement of what was going to happen. As if Bryce Larkin's word was law.

Fleming shook his head. "He's a perfect candidate. Key words in his essay responses correlate to 98% of the subliminal images in the exam."

Bryce looked down, taking a moment to calm himself. "You don't get it," he said, voice calm. Too calm. "Chuck's a good person. He's got too much heart for this kind of work. He's no operative." Whatever Bryce was seeing in Fleming's face made him slam a palm down on the desk, desperate. "You can't put him out in the field. He won't survive!"

Chuck rocked back in his computer chair, unable to process what he was watching. Bryce defending him, protecting him, even back then.

"The agency isn't going to let go of a recruit this promising." Fleming shook his head, almost awed. "The amount of information he can retain?"

Once again, Bryce looked like he'd just been hit. "They're not going to give him a choice."

"As things stand now?" Fleming made a noise of apology. "No."

"Chuck has too much heart for a job like this. Too much integrity. Too much soul. They'll expect him to kill and he can't do it. It would destroy him and I won't let that happen."

Professor Fleming made an uncomfortable sound at the back of his throat. "It's not your choice, Larkin. It's not even mine."

Bryce's eyes flickered, a plan visibly taking shape before him. "It is now." He leaned forward, placing both his hands on the desk. "Now, here's what we're going to do. You're going to tell them that you made a mistake. You tell them that you got Chuck's records mixed up. Pick a failing student, give him Chuck's score and I'll plant answers to the mid-semester test in his dorm. The student gets expelled, Chuck graduates and never hears from the CIA. Ever. You keep your job and the agency gets me. Everybody wins."

"Larkin-"

Bryce's eyes darkened, his pleasant smile coming out in full force. "Do we have a deal?"

"I can't tell them I mixed up the results. My credibility, Bryce-"

Bryce smiled, sharp and sinister, exactly like he did whenever someone was holding a gun on Chuck. "I don't care about your credibility, Professor. I care about Chuck. Now, are you going to help me, or am I going to have to resort to something unpleasant?"

"His job after graduation," Fleming began, sounding almost panicked.

Bryce paused, pain flickering over his face. "His dream job. It's CIA?"

"He's brilliant and we need him."

Bryce smiled. It wasn't cold or bitter, it was bright and proud. "He is. And you're going to find somewhere else for him to start out," Bryce stood, and there was nothing but cold promise in his eyes. "Because if he so much as breathes near a CIA company, you're not going to live to do the same." As quickly as the threat was there, Bryce's Hollywood smile was back in place. "Let me know which student we're framing. Have a nice day, Professor."

Chuck pushed away from the desk, eyes fixed on the image of the twenty-one year old version of his friend. "Bryce was the reason I lost my dream job," he breathed, waiting for the sting of betrayal to appear. "But he did it to save me." And that was why betrayal was nowhere near Chuck's complicated list of emotions.

He spun in his chair, meeting the pained eyes of his best friend. "Why couldn't you have just told me?"

Bryce smiled, and it was sadness and pain and relief. "Back then? They'd already recruited me. I was CIA property, and so were my secrets."

Chuck understood that, he did. But, that didn't stop him wishing that Bryce could have spoken to him about it. He knew how much it must have torn him up not to be able to tell Chuck anything about it.

"And since everything?" Chuck waved a hand at his head to demonstrate the everything.

Bryce's face was a blank mask, but his eyes filled with shadows and pain. "I didn't want you to hate me."

Sarah squeezed Chuck's shoulder, taking the disc and slipping out of the room.

Chuck moved from the chair to the free side of the bed, letting out a long breath. "I could never hate you, Bryce," he said quietly. "I tried, those four years when I thought you'd just abandoned our friendship. But CIA or not, gunshot wounds or not, you're my best friend and I could never hate you."

"I made you lose your dream job and because of that your girlfriend," Bryce reminded him, face guarded and words designed to sting.

"First of all, Jill dumped me for a guy she'd been sleeping with for months, that's not on you," Chuck announced, brushing quickly past the still stabbing betrayal. "Second? My dream job was working with you in our own company. Assistant Manager and Accountant for the Burbank Buy More might not be exactly that, but it is close. And we get to save the country too, so that's pretty cool."

The laugh Bryce let out was pained and wet, but his eyes sparkled. "What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?" he asked, like it was a mystery why Chuck hadn't unceremoniously tossed him from his life.

Fortunately, that was an easy question to answer. "You remember freshman year?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, everything you did then and then everything you did that summer, and then everything you did sophomore year and-"

"I get it, Chuck."

"Good," Chuck nodded, flopping back against the pillows. "Because I could ask you what I ever did to deserve that kind of loyalty."

Chuck didn't even have to look to know his friend was grinning. "You remember freshman year?"

Chuck couldn't help the laughter that shook the bed, and it didn't matter because Bryce was laughing too. And it hurt, it had to hurt, but they just couldn't stop. They laughed so hard Ellie came in to check on them.

"What is going on in here?" Ellie demanded, half amused, half in doctor mode.

"Chuck started it," Bryce grinned, only a little out of breath.

"I did not," Chuck protested, wide eyed. "He did."

"Oh yeah, blame the guy who just got shot."

Chuck had a very mature response, but sticking his tongue out at Bryce just seemed even more appropriate.

Ellie shook her head at them, but Chuck could see the smile she was fighting back. "Don't make me separate you two."

"Sorry, Ellie," they chorused, innocent as misbehaving school children.

"Why do I have the feeling you're going to be the worst patient I've ever had?" Ellie asked, her smile in her voice.

"Don't worry, Doctor Bartowski," Bryce smiled, eyes slipping closed. "Chuck'll keep me in line."

Ellie looked highly doubtful, which was slightly unfair considering Chuck held the record for making sick superspies eat chicken soup when they didn't want to, but her eyes were soft and warm. "Get some sleep," she suggested, inching out of the room. "We'll get you when it's dinner time."

Chuck wanted to shower and change, and make sure Bryce hadn't bled through his dressings again, before he went to sleep. But, by the time his sister had closed the door gently, Chuck's eyes were heavy and he was sure Bryce was already asleep. It had been a long, long weekend. A nap was exactly what he needed. That being said, the next time someone suggested going back to Stanford, Chuck was going to have some very strong words for them. Because, college had been the best years of his life, but Stanford? That place definitely had it out for it's graduates.

Chapter Text

For the first time since he'd opened Bryce's email (and, seriously, his friend had better pull out all the stops at Christmas, because Worst. Present. Ever), Chuck was beginning to think he had a hold on the two - very, very different - worlds that he lived in. His job as Assistant Manager of the Burbank Buy More was going well (although paperwork was still a monotonous torment from which there was no escape), his relationships with Ellie, Awesome and Morgan were going strong. And his spy life was dovetailing nicely in with his real life. Casey was (glacier slowly) warming to him, Bryce was in and out of his apartment, taking it easy (healing nicely thanks to both Ellie's attention and whatever super healing drugs the CIA pumped their operatives full of), and Chuck's fake relationship with Sarah was blossoming.

Unfortunately, all the theoretical blossoming in the world didn't exactly prepare him for his latest mission.

Chuck stood opposite Sarah in the storage room of the Wienerlicious, meeting Sarah's intensely focused gaze with a (only slightly, yay progress) panicked look of his own.

"Are you ready?" Sarah asked, the warmth from her hands seeping through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"Maybe we're in over our heads," Chuck protested, knowing there was no backing down from this.

Sarah's stare softened slightly, projecting reassurance and confidence. "It's time."

Chuck really wished it wasn't. "Sure it's not too dangerous?"

"I'll be an inch away."

"I'm scared."

Sarah nodded slightly, accepting that and moving beyond it. "Let's go over it again and make sure we have our bases covered."

Chuck took a deep, deep breath, releasing it slowly. "God, who thought goin' out to sushi with my sister and her boyfriend would make me so freaked out?"

Chuck paced the small room, refusing to be soothed by the blue of the walls.

Sarah stood exactly where he'd left her, watchful and calm. Coaching him as gently as she always did. Not for the first time, Chuck wished this was more than just a cover relationship. He could see things working out with Sarah, if only any of it were real.

Sarah snapped him from his thoughts. "Okay. Last night we saw a movie."

Chuck stepped closer, raising a finger. "What was my snack of choice?"

Sarah didn't even need to think. "Sprinkled Milk Duds over your popcorn." Her smile said she thought it was adorably weird, but hey it was delicious. "What was I wearing?"

"Blue top, little buttons."

Sarah paused, a surprised light coming into her eyes. "You like that one?"

"I like all of them," Chuck answered, probably too honestly. Sarah's smile softened further. "What movie were we-?"

Chuck's question was interrupted by a wiggling of the doorknob.

"Hey," Scooter called through the door. "Why is the door locked?"

Before Chuck could process anything, Sarah had him on his back on the floor. She was kneeling over him, her breath warm on his neck.

"Girl on top," Scooter, who looked all of fifteen and with a bow tie even geeky younger Chuck would never have worn, frowned down at them. "Miss Walker. When Herr Wienerlicious signs your paychecks, I doubt he is factoring make-out breaks with your boy-toy."

Chuck distantly heard that, but his mind was more fixed on how quickly Sarah had thrown him to the ground. He had a feeling he would be replaying that particular incident quite often in his head today.

"I'm sorry," Sarah apologised, getting back to her feet. "I had to think fast."

"No problem," Chuck said breathlessly, pushing himself quickly to his feet. "Good thinking. It was good. Yeah."

A little while later, Chuck found himself back in the Buy More, tackling the same endless forms he swore Tang hid from him until he thought he was nearly finished. He was borrowing the tucked away office (closet) that Big Mike had given Bryce to work from, head in his hands and already beginning to throb dully.

The closet door opened and Bryce shuffled wearily in. Judging by the lines around his eyes, his friend was just back from his late lunch (AKA, checkup in some secure CIA facility he wouldn't let Chuck near, no matter how much Chuck bugged and badgered him). He stopped when he saw Chuck at his desk, a small smile curling his lips. "You look happy."

Chuck wanted to groan loudly. So he did. "Remind me why I wanted this promotion?"

"Paperwork isn't so bad when you get used to it." Bryce grinned, tilting his head in the way he always had. The one that said he was hiding exactly how amused he was because he knew Chuck wouldn't appreciate it. "Beats getting shot. Not shot at, but definitely beats getting shot." His friend slowly lowered himself into the uncomfortable chair he kept there for Chuck's visits. "You know, I don't think I've been to the doctor so often in all my time at the agency."

"Everything okay?"

"Healing as expected, still on restricted duty for the foreseeable."

Chuck's happiness at the information was tempered by the knowledge that Bryce really hated it. Although they both knew that if Chuck even breathed near danger, the fact Bryce was supposed to be on restricted duty meant absolutely nothing. It was almost as comforting a thought as it was terrifying.

"Sorry."

Bryce chuckled, head shaking wryly. "Don't worry about me. I hear you and Sarah have a big double date soon."

Chuck dropped his head back into his hands. "Don't remind me."

Bryce leaned back in his chair, easy grin gracing his lips. "Well, if you don't want me to distract you from your paperwork..."

"How does it keep growing?"

"One of life's little mysteries," Bryce shrugged. "Like how all that crap that goes into hotdogs can still taste so good." He dropped his head back, staring pathetically at the ceiling. "I miss junk food."

Chuck offered a sympathetic hum. It had been a long week and a half of salads and healthy eating in solidarity.

A companionate silence fell after that, Bryce sprawled on the chair (probably imagining various foods underlined heavily on Ellie's not allowed list), while Chuck returned to the whatever circle of hell being committed to useless labour was.

"Fourth," Bryce said when Chuck asked, peering at him with laughing blue eyes. "Why?"

Chuck waved a hand at the mess of paperwork - both his and Bryce's - that littered the small desk. "Really enjoying my stay."

Bryce laughed, sitting upright with a bitten back groan. He stared at Chuck for a long moment, then nodded. "Go join your nerdy friends. I've got this. I swear to God, Chuck, you look bored enough to shoot someone."

Chuck wasn't sure if this newfound desire to help with paperwork was born from Bryce's continuing desire to try and make up for the recent Stanford era revelations, or just because he was that bored on restricted duty. Either way, Chuck wasn't about to refuse.

"You sure?"

"Yes," Bryce sighed, shooing him out with the flap of one hand. "Now go, before I change my mind."

Chuck sat alone in the Nerd Herd centre, unable to stop himself from replaying the scene with Sarah. It had been a long (long, long) time since anyone had done anything like that to him; he probably enjoyed the human contact more than he should have. It wasn't that he was lonely, he didn't think; no, not with all the time he was spending with his family, Morgan, Bryce, and even Casey and Sarah. But, there was a difference between friendly interactions - the hugs and the fist bumps, the absent touches as they went about their days - and actual, deliberate touch. Like a kiss on the cheek, or holding someone's hand, to say nothing about being close enough to a person to smell their scent and grow slightly dizzy with it.

And Sarah, underneath the scent of gourmet wieners, had smelt very, very nice.

The ding of the service bell jolted Chuck from his daydreams. He turned and saw a beautiful, if slightly jumpy and frantic woman standing in front of the desk.

"Hi-"

She waved her phone at him. "I keep pressing the button and nothing happens."

"Is it fully charged?" Chuck checked. "Because sometimes-"

"My entire life is in this," the woman announced, keeping the phone from Chuck's reaching hand. "Okay? I've got names, dates, places, times, events, music, photos, recipes."

"Wow, you cook too?" She was beautiful and she cooked, in another life she would have been absolutely perfect for him. You know, in a world without his committed fake relationship with Sarah.

"I can't start from scratch again," she cried, turning away. "I can't be the person I was before this thing came along. Okay? I am freaking out!"

Chuck felt a sudden pang of companionship. "Listen," he began soothingly. "Um?"

"Lou," she said. A strange but oddly fitting name.

"Lou," Chuck nodded, accepting that. "This is kind of my world. You know?" He gestured at the Nerd Herd centre and wider, around the Buy More. "This is what I do and I do it pretty good. So, trust me."

Lou stared at him for a long moment, nodding. "Okay," she said, pressing the phone into his hand. "I know I'm totally spazzing out, I'm sorry. It's just a little overwhelming to even consider-"

"No, no, no," Chuck shook his head. He wasn't going to let her panic any more. He had this. He might not be able to leap from building to building or fight a squad of killer ninjas, or brush off wounds like they were papercuts, but he could do this. This was his superpower. "Go to a happy place," he suggested, smiling. "Is there something that you think about that quiets the little voices in your head?"

"Um," Lou closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Turkey. Muenster cheese. Egg bread. Grilled."

Chuck blinked, momentarily thrown. And charmed. "Was that a sandwich?"

Lou smiled at him, admitting; "Yeah, they're my passion."

Chuck laughed, smiling anew. "That sounds pretty delicious." In fact, he could go for one of those right now, if it didn't sound like something he was definitely not allowed to eat in solidarity with Bryce's dietary plan.

"I own a deli in the mall and I often think about meats and cheeses," Lou announced, proudly.

"Who doesn't?" Chuck asked rhetorically, enjoying the way Lou's brown eyes sparkled as she smiled. "Look, I promise you, if you come back tomorrow your phone will be all fixed up and good to go. Okay?"

"Thank you, so much."

"No problem."

"It's been nice talking with you, Chuck," Lou smiled.

"You too, Lou," Chuck said. And then he heard what he had said. "That rhymed. I didn't actually mean for that to rhyme. I'm sorry."

Lou turned back, her laughter lighting up her face. She really was beautiful and bright and strangely perfect. Chuck stared after her until she was gone from his sight.

Morgan popped up in front of him, astonishment in his face. "Mind cheater," he sang. "Saw you."

Chuck threw a hand up. "Saw me what?"

"Saw you what?" Morgan repeated, askance. "Dude, are you kidding me?" Morgan turned and gestured towards the doors that had just closed behind Lou. "Mind cheating with the broken phone girl." He leaned on the counter beside Chuck. "And why wouldn't you? Her hair looked so much like liquorice. I wanna chew on it until I make myself sick."

Chuck turned, staring down at his friend. Sometimes he wondered if Morgan heard the things he said.

"But you?" Morgan shook his head. "Gee whiz, Chuck. You already have hair to chew on."

"What?" Chuck laughed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Morgan turned, looking up at Chuck as if he was being particularly slow today. "Name Sarah ring a," Morgan said, the clear peal of the bell sounding behind him.

Chuck valiantly decided to ignore him.

"Just because you didn't actually do anything with Liquorice Hair, doesn't mean you didn't want to." Morgan smirked up at him, walking off while singing 'mind cheater' under his breath.

Chuck stared blankly at the doors to the Buy More, mind a seething mess of thoughts. Loathe as he was to admit it, Morgan was right. Chuck was a mind cheater. A mind cheater mind cheating on his perfectly okay fake romance with his gorgeous (and terrifyingly badass) fake girlfriend with the thoughts of a real romance with Lou, the tech addict who loved sandwiches.

Any way Chuck looked at it, any way he sliced it, he was in big trouble. And it was only starting.

Chapter Text

Aside from an uncharacteristically awkward moment with Awesome, Chuck's double date went pretty well. Pretty well, of course, considering the ever present awkwardness of being out-coupled by Ellie and Awesome, and Chuck's absolute inability to know what he was supposed to do, say, or where he was supposed to put his hands. Sarah was perfect, as ever, leaning into him, smiling the right amount, getting along with Ellie. And Chuck just felt like a loose wire, one that wobbled about, all out of place and clueless as to it's function.

Or maybe that was just his crippling insecurities reappearing.

He longed for the simpler times, before Jill snatched his heart out of his chest and ground it into dust with the pointy, pointy heel of her shoe. For those moments when being in a relationship felt so right and easy and he didn't have to overthink everything and wonder if this was the day that someone else would come along and his happiness would be torn unceremoniously away.

But this was date night. Chuck wasn't going to think about the crushing heartbreak of his senior year, or of the CIA and the scary secrets probably forever locked in his brain. He was going to think about nice things; like the way Sarah's smile warmed his chest, how right it felt to have Sarah tucked against his side, the subtle shine of Sarah's fruit-scented hair in the streetlight. Or maybe how good it had been to share a meal with his sister and Sarah and Awesome without worrying about Beckman interrupting or Casey loitering around, or just anything about the Intersect. It had been nice to feel like a normal, real couple - even if the dates they talked about were only as real as some of the nights Chuck had been out of the apartment.

After all, Chuck had gotten to spend a lovely evening with a beautiful woman who seemed absolutely smitten with him. It didn't get much better than that.

So, Chuck stood there on the sidewalk with his arm around Sarah, waiting for Awesome to come back with the car, and he felt pretty damn good about himself.

Unfortunately, he was Chuck Bartowski, Human Intersect. And Chuck Bartowski, Human Intersect, was as much of a magnet for danger as Bryce Larkin, Super Spy, apparently was for bullets.

Glass shattering on the pavement drew Chuck's attention down the sidewalk. A dirty, sweaty looking man stumbled drunkenly towards them. He made it just as far as Ellie before he collapsed to the ground. Ellie immediately went into Doctor mode, trying to get a response from the man while calling out instructions for the others. When the ambulance came, she was in control of the situation, handing Chuck the man's wallet to check for medical ID.

Chuck had seen spies in action, kicking all kinds of butt, but watching Ellie save a life? That was something else. She was simultaneously soothing and authoritative, working alongside the EMT's like a well-oiled machine. He didn't think he had ever been prouder of her in his life.

"That's my sister," Chuck announced, desperate to share how proud he was of her. "Eleanor Fay Bartowksi, saving that dude's life!" He chuckled, looking around to make sure everyone else was as in awe of her as he was. Then, he found the medical ID card and flashed on a classified CIA file for something called Sanctuary. The ambulance drove away and Chuck could only watch after it in horror. "That's my sister," he said again, beginning to panic a totally healthy amount. "Saving that bad dude's life."

Sarah met his gaze, her face displaying a host of emotions - worry, wariness, understanding, calm - in micro-flashes. "Who is he?"

"Mason Whitney, works for the Department of Energy." Chuck let Sarah drag him away from the chaos, taking a moment to recall his flash. "And I think he also might work for the or might be wanted by the CIA. Something about Operation Sanctuary. You know it?"

Sarah thought for a moment, eventually shaking her head. "It's not something I'm familiar with," she admitted, Chuck feeling his shoulders drop in disappointment. "But, listen to me, Chuck. Your sister is going to the hospital, there's a lot of people there. She's going to be fine. Don't worry about her."

"She's the only blood family I've got left, Sarah," Chuck reminded her, pushing down the rising swell of panic. "And she's saving the life of a guy who's in the Intersect and not the light and fluffy reasons. Of course I'm worrying. I can't not."

Sarah's face softened, although if she really understood or was just pretending to. Chuck couldn't tell. Sarah was a closed book written in a language nobody spoke or wrote anymore. She was indecipherable. Still, her squeeze on his hand felt comforting enough and he knew that - unless national security dictated it - she wouldn't let anything happen to Ellie.

"Go home, stay with Devon. I'll head to Casey's and we'll start working out what this is about."

Chuck pressed a spontaneous kiss to her cheek, smiling as wide as he could. "Thank you."

Sarah shrugged a shoulder, offering a small smile. "It's what I'm here for."

Staying home and sticking with Devon seemed like smart spy advice. And it had been, for the first hour or so. But, there were only so many times he could pace back and forth with the phone in his hand. There was only so much watching Awesome be awesome on an exercise bike that Chuck could take.

He began another circuit, heading towards the kitchen in case there was some mystical announcement of Ellie's okayness written out in carrot sticks or something. There wasn't. Bryce was there, however, munching on the aforementioned carrot sticks and seeming only mildly put-out that Chuck hadn't gone for his suggestion of feigning some complication or another with his wound and heading straight for the hospital and Ellie. Chuck appreciated it, really he did, he just preferred to keep that plan in his back pocket, in case they really needed it.

"Buddy," Bryce called, giving up feigning absorption in his snack. "Would you sit, please? You're making me dizzy."

"You don't get dizzy," Chuck grumbled, but he slipped onto the seat beside Bryce just the same. He turned the mockingly silent phone over and over in his hands. "You think I should call the hospital again? I feel like I should call the hospital again."

"I can't say about the half hour I spent stuck in the weekly meeting from hell with Director Graham, but you've called the hospital ten times in the last twenty minutes."

"But what about sweaty nuclear guy? What if he, you know, what if he hurts her?"

Bryce rolled his eyes heavenward, snatching the phone from Chuck's hand between rotations. "Sarah is already there, watching over her. Okay? Your sister is fine. In fact, I pity anyone who tries anything with Sarah there."

"She is pretty awesome," Chuck mused, remembering all the times Sarah had saved his life so far. "But, I could just check?"

Bryce's face took on the "tap-dancing on my last nerve" look, one he usually directed at Casey. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Buddy, reach for the phone and I'll break it. And, you should know, I have a reputation for shattering phones, laptops, televisions, even a pager when I hear orders I don't like. I'm kind of infamous for it." Bryce smirked, a hint of wickedness hiding under fond exasperation. "The TV I stabbed with the bat'leth? Not the first. Won't be the last. Now," Bryce set the phone gently on the countertop. "You can either try and take the phone or eat a carrot stick. Your choice."

Chuck's hand hovered over the cordless phone, his instincts screaming for him to call and check on his sister. But Sarah was at the hospital and she would have called if anything was wrong. And Bryce was right there too, only looking slightly frustrated and not tense or worried or ready to go all superspy on someone. He sighed, snatching a carrot stick with a mutinous glare.

"I'm not a fan of the tough love, Bryce," Chuck mumbled around a bite of carrot. "And I think we need to talk about your disregard for the sanctity of technology. And you, an engineer."

"I have nothing but respect for the sanctity of technology, Chuck," Bryce grinned, leaning his weight on his left elbow. "I just have a very low threshold for people telling me things I don't want to hear."

"You had that at Stanford," Chuck grinned, pulled in to the playful argument despite himself. "And our tech didn't suffer for it."

Bryce waved a stick dismissively. "We were on scholarships, our tech couldn't afford to suffer for it." His eyes flickered over Chuck's shoulder, smile warming from teasing to just happy. "Hey, Ellie."

"Ellie!" Chuck stumbled, baby Bambi graceful, over to his sister. His safe, whole, healthy sister. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing just hard enough to reassure himself. "You're safe! You're safe. Of course you're safe," Chuck said, pulling back and trying to project the air of someone who had all his stuff together. "What happened?"

"We tried everything," Ellie sighed, mouth pulling down at the corners. "Nothing worked." Awesome came in, resting a hand on her shoulder in wordless comfort. "I think he was poisoned? Had an allergic reaction or something. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, guys."

Awesome followed Ellie off in the direction of the bedrooms, Chuck waiting until they were gone to whirl on his friend.

"I am getting way too comfortable lying and sneaking around with all this spy stuff, Bryce," Chuck announced, glaring at Bryce who only partly deserved it. "I am starting to feel that the spy world is my real life, not this one."

Bryce leaned back against the kitchen island, guilty and just plain tired. "Sarah would tell you that this is just an existential spy crisis, totally normal and to be expected."

That would imply that that wasn't what Bryce thought, and ordinarily Chuck would leap on that and demand more of an explanation. But Chuck felt more words building, like pressure needing to be released.

"I used to have all this compartmentalised. Chuck world and spy world. But when I watched those ambulance doors close and my sister was behind them with the sweaty nuclear spy freak, my worlds collided." He stabbed a vicious finger towards the bedrooms. "We put Ellie's life in danger!"

Bryce's head dropped a little towards his chest, eyes flickering down. He didn't protest.

"No, Chuck," Sarah called, her soft voice coming from behind him. "That guy was sick with or without the intersect in your head. And spy world or no, Ellie helped that guy because that is what she is trained to do."

It made sense. Chuck didn't want it to make sense, but it did. In that weird, twisty spy logic way that was probably taught in super secret spy school.

Chuck sighed, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He turned, catching sorrowful blue eyes. "I'm sorry I unloaded on you."

Bryce shook his head, pushing off the island. "I sent you that email, and you've been due a freakout for a few weeks now." He shrugged, fake grin falling into seriousness. "Besides, it's Ellie." Bryce said it like it excused everything, and maybe it did for Bryce, but Chuck still felt bad. The superspy suddenly grinned and there was nothing fake about it. "Oh yeah, and Awesome wanted me to have a chat with you about your sex life and getting back on that bike."

Mortified, Chuck spluttered and choked on thin air, coughing and forming nonsensical syllables while Sarah patted him on the back.

"Devon is right, Chuck," Sarah agreed, definitely not helping with the whole mortification thing. "Our covers are starting to suffer. We probably should make love."

Chuck started spluttering all over again, now sure his cheeks were bright enough to act as emergency lights.

Bryce offered an overly cheerful good night, whistling as he disappeared into the bathroom.

"You both enjoyed that far too much," Chuck accused as soon as he got his breath and coherency back.

Sarah offered a smile and a little shrug, all CIA trained, butter wouldn't melt innocence.

After lunch, where Morgan was scarily back on time for a top secret project involving Harry Tang's wife, Chuck was in a hell of his own making. Beautiful, sandwich making Lou was (maybe, hopefully) flirting with him and she had named a sandwich after him and it was great. It was all really great. And then Sarah came and Lou realised that Chuck had a girlfriend and shot him a glare that would even make Casey flail. And Sarah had the look of disappointment and just the right amount of pissed off girlfriend jealousy. And Chuck was just babbling and trying to work out how two very beautiful women were right there in front of him and so, so angry with him. And the universe really had to hate Chuck in particular, because he was sure this shit never happened to Casey or Bryce, or even Morgan for that matter.

Sarah, still deep into really pissed off, disappointed girlfriend mode, gave him a flat stare. "There's more to the Mason Whitney incident than we thought." And then she walked off. "Let's go, Chuck."

"Tell me that didn't just happen," Chuck asked the universe mournfully. He received a sympathetic hum back, a warm travel mug pressed into his hand.

"She'll calm down, eventually," Bryce consoled him, watching after Sarah.

"Sarah or Lou?"

"Sarah," Bryce said, holding up a finger in the face of Sarah's glower. "Sandwich girl looked ready to castrate you with a plastic spoon, so I'm not so sure about her."

Chuck did not need that mental image. But, now that Bryce had described it, it did seem accurate. "You really need to work on your comforting skills, buddy."

"Probably," Bryce conceded easily. "How's this? You're a good guy, Chuck. Women like that."

Chuck considered that for a moment. He did feel oddly comforted by it. Or maybe it was just the excellent coffee Bryce seemed to pull out of thin air. Either way, he felt a little less like the universe had sucker punched him. "Better."

"Good. Now, we'd better hit this briefing soon. Beckman still hasn't forgiven you for the wrinkle comment."

"I was complimenting the television," Chuck groaned, letting Bryce steer him after Sarah.

"I know," Bryce agreed, glaring at Lester and Jeff as they loitered around. "But you know the NSA have no sense of humour. Just look at Casey."

"You're not going to leave me alone with Sarah, are you?" Chuck asked, horrified at the thought. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sarah, it was just, you know, perfectly understandable fear for his safety around a woman he had pissed off.

"Buddy, I'm not cleared for the field."

Chuck blanched.

Bryce smirked a little, slipping sunglasses over his eyes. "Just messing with you, Chuck. Of course I'm coming along."

Sarah delivered a great and terrible revenge. She brought him to a morgue. Technically, Casey and Bryce were there too. But, a morgue. A cold, sterile, dark place with freezers full of dead bodies. None of those things Chuck liked. Especially not the freezers full of dead bodies.

Chuck perched on the autopsy table, staring wide-eyed as Casey opened one of the lockers. "It's just a storage room," he told himself. "They just happen to store people in this room. People who are no longer breathing, and who are refrigerated."

"Man up, Bartowski," Casey ordered, pulling a body from the freezer. "They have to store them somewhere. Better than stacked up on a curb like garbage, right?"

Chuck shuddered, refusing to let Casey plant the images in his head. It was bad enough when Bryce did it.

"I remember the last time I was in one of these," Bryce offered nostalgically.

Sarah caught his gaze and smiled, just a little. "You faked your death as a distraction so I could grab the asset and escape."

Bryce smiled at her, for a moment Chuck seeing the past they had shared. "And you came and got me."

"Romantic," Casey scoffed, glaring at the CIA agents. "Can we get on?"

Bryce hopped up on the table beside Chuck, watching Sarah and Casey check the body and run their tests. "Any flashes?" Chuck shook his head. "Any sign of the codes, Sarah?"

"Nothing so far," she replied, frowning at the dead man's ear. "Hold on." She pulled something away from the base of his ear, frowning. "Bug."

Casey, meanwhile, got an alert on his computer. "Guy was poisoned. Toxic derivative of pentothal. Initially, the subject becomes uncontrollably truthful. After it accumulates in the occipital lobe, victim suffers from unconsciousness and, eventually, death."

Chuck leaned in towards Bryce, muttering; "Casey is way too happy about this."

"Tell me about it," Bryce murmured back, eyes fixed on the corpse.

Casey and Sarah talked about the timeline for the drug to kill it's victim, none of which was helping Chuck's increasing anxiety levels.

"You think someone was after Whitney for the codes?" Chuck asked, relieved when Casey pushed the corpse back into the locker.

Bryce inclined his head, swaying a little as he dropped back to the floor. "It's likely."

"Those codes are a skeleton key to our nuclear system," Sarah announced, tone a little curt. "I'd say it's more than likely."

Casey grunted in the affirmative, packing up his supplies. "The only question is who has them now."

Bryce nodded once. "I'll reach out to some of my contacts, see if they've heard any chatter about someone looking to sell these codes."

"That's not a bad idea for once, Larkin," Casey smirked.

"I'm full of good ideas," Bryce smirked back, smile glittering at Chuck. "And while we're doing that, Chuck and Sarah have a mission of their own to prepare for."

For a moment, Chuck swore he saw Casey actually grin at Bryce. "They gotta do what they gotta do," the NSA agent conceded.

"Have I told you I like you today?" Chuck asked his far too amused friend.

Bryce feigned consideration, laughing as he replied; "Nope."

"Good," Chuck glowered, Sarah matching his expression. "Because you are the worst. And I don't like you at all."

Bryce just laughed again, striding from the morgue like the smug superspy he was.

Sarah stepped into place beside Chuck, a little less angry than before. In fact, she looked a little awkward. "Bryce is right-"

"When isn't he?" Chuck muttered mutinously.

Sarah pretended not to hear. "We should probably talk about this. You know, the-"

Sharing a bed together thing. Chuck knew. It was a little awkward, Bryce aside Chuck hadn't shared his bed with anyone since Jill. "Yeah, I got it."

"- Sleeping together thing."

"Got it."

"Because we've got to do it," Sarah seemed to realise what she said. "Well not do it but-"

Chuck felt himself nodding far too fast. "Got it. Really got it. Following along."

Sarah nodded herself, hastening down to help Casey load his things in the car.

Bryce pushed off the wall outside the morgue, shaking his head in playful despair. "You really are smooth today, bud."

"I will leave your ass in this parking lot, I swear," Chuck (emptily) threatened, glaring at his smirking friend.

Bryce's warm, bright laughter was probably the only reason Chuck didn't hold on to his annoyance. It turned out, it was really hard to stay mad at him. Especially when he was laughing so hard it had to hurt.

"Let's get back to the Buy More before we're missed," Chuck sighed, trudging towards the car as if work would delay his inevitable awkwardness.

Bryce's chuckles trailed off, Chuck getting the impression those blue eyes would be pinning him with his assessing gaze behind his sunglasses. "Since I'm still on lockdown at yours, why don't I be a good friend and let you and Sarah enjoy your night at mine?"

That sounded almost too good to be true. "But Awesome and Ellie?"

"Will see Sarah picking you up for a nice, romantic dinner that I'll cook because you can burn water, and you can have the privacy you deserve."

"What do you think, Sarah?" Chuck asked, slipping into the backseat with Bryce.

For a moment, Sarah was silent. Chuck feared she might say no, feel too awkward about spending the night with him - even pretending to - in her ex's apartment. But, then she smiled and nodded.

"I think that would be a nice, low pressure start for our developing relationship," Sarah agreed, Casey just muttering something under his breath. "You sure you're okay with this though, Bryce? It is your home."

Bryce simply smiled and shrugged. "Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't," he replied, all ease. "Besides, the guest room is practically Chuck's already. And there's no Tron poster to ruin the mood."

Chuck squawked in offence. "You love my Tron poster!"

Bryce patted Chuck's knee, grinning brightly. "Yeah, but I'm a nerd. And you brainwashed me. Almost every day for three years, I slept in a room with that damned thing."

"I don't mind the poster," Sarah said, proving why she was his (current) favourite handler. "But thank you for the privacy. It's very sweet."

Chuck felt the urge to say something about Bryce knowing this was fake so she didn't need to get in good with him, but he dismissed it. Sarah was smiling and Bryce was already musing about possible recipes and Casey was grumbling that Bryce never offered to cook for him, and it was nice. Really nice. Nice, like maybe the spy world seeming more and more real to him wasn't such a bad thing. Not if more moments could be like this.

Chapter Text

Bryce strolled back into the Bartowski/Woodcomb apartment, a grin on his lips and far too much of a bounce in his step for a man who knew what he knew. Chuck glared at him from the comfort of the couch, his happiness at Bryce's kindness momentarily overwhelmed at frustration with him for being so darned annoying. He knew how awkward Chuck was finding this and yet, here he was, acting very much like he did back at Stanford whenever Chuck had a big date and had asked him to clear out for a bit.

"I saw Sarah's car just pull up," Bryce announced, cutting right to the chase for a change. "Dinner's ready, just get it out of the oven and plate it up. And desert, if you want it, is in the fridge. Guest bed sheets are fresh and there's extra toiletries and stuff for Sarah in the bathroom."

Out of the corner of Chuck's eye, he saw Awesome give Bryce a thumbs up, clearly communicating how good of a friend he was being to Chuck. Chuck, on the other hand, glanced at the floor in the hope that it might decide to open up and swallow him to spare him from the rest of the night. Unfortunately, as had been long established, the universe wasn't feeling particularly kind towards him, so the floor stubbornly stayed solid.

"Thanks, buddy," Chuck said eventually, focusing on the part of himself that was touched by his friend's thoughtfulness. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble though."

"I lived with you for three years, Chuck," Bryce reminded him, nudging him off the couch. "There's no way I'm subjecting a nice girl like Sarah to the trials of your cooking."

"You never objected to my chicken soup," Chuck muttered petulantly.

"That's because chicken soup is the only thing you can make, buddy," Bryce reminded him, not at all apologetic. "Do I need to remind you of the time you nearly set the frat house kitchen on fire trying to make dinner?"

A knock at the door saved Chuck from any further reminders of his less skillful moments with kitchen appliances. He really didn't need Bryce to remember the incident with the blender. Or the microwave.

Chuck opened the door, intending to get outside without having to subject Sarah to the idiots - and he meant that lovingly, honest - inside his apartment. Unfortunately, Bryce and Awesome both stood too, their far too wide, far too bright grins fixed on the sliver of Sarah visible.

"Evening Chuck," Sarah greeted warmly, clearly ignoring the far too good-looking society standing behind Chuck.

"Hey, Sarah," he replied, oddly feeling a little less awkward at her easy smile. "I apologise in advance for this."

Sarah's brow furrowed, Chuck stepping back and letting her inside.

"Hi, Sarah!" Bryce and Awesome sang in unison. Chuck suddenly had a bad feeling about letting those two bond at all.

"Hello, Devon," Sarah smiled, narrowing her eyes slightly as she turned to her CIA colleague. "Good evening, Bryce."

"We can't stay long, dinner's already ready," Chuck reminded his sister's boyfriend and his best friend.

Bryce stepped forward, offering a grin as warm as it was teasing. "Looking nice tonight, Sarah."

Chuck hadn't known Sarah as long as Bryce had, but he was sure that smile promised nothing good for his recuperating friend.

"Beautiful," Awesome agreed, clapping Chuck on the shoulder. "You're a lucky man, Chuck."

Strangely enough, lucky wasn't one of the things Chuck was feeling right now.

"We should be going," Chuck announced, gently ushering Sarah out of the door. "Night Awesome. Night Bryce."

"Night, Chuck."

"Don't mess with my coffee index, or the tech!"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Good night, Bryce!"

Laughter drifted through the small crack left in the door. "Night, buddy!"

Chuck let the door shut behind him, meeting Sarah's amused gaze.

"You have the strangest effect on him," she said, seeming almost puzzled.

"Frat brothers," Chuck said wisely. "And I think I bring out the nerd in him. And the gourmet cook, apparently," he added, opening the door to Bryce's apartment.

The dining room table was set with candles and nice dinnerware and a tablecloth, the scent of something spicy and delicious hovering in the air. Because Ellie had raised Chuck right, he moved to the kitchen and plated up the meal Bryce had thoughtfully made for them. And then he stopped, hovering awkwardly in front of the table.

"Um, I don't exactly know how this is supposed to go," he admitted, watching Sarah stand there a little awkwardly too. He was about ninety percent sure that her awkwardness was affected, but it was nice to pretend she felt as odd about this as he did.

"I think we should probably eat dinner," Sarah announced, nodding to the steaming plates. "I mean, it does look delicious."

"Good- good plan," Chuck agreed, moving Sarah's chair out for her in an act of gallantry he hoped wouldn't be misconstrued. She smiled a little at him, letting him shuffle the chair in after her.

He took his own seat opposite Sarah, letting the true ridiculousness sink in. Here he was on a fake date with his fake girlfriend, yet it felt more real and adult than any date Chuck had ever been on. And it had been entirely prepared by his fake girlfriend's ex-boyfriend in said ex's apartment, and they were here as a precursor to fake sleeping with each other for the first time. Sometimes Chuck felt his life was too ridiculous to be real.

Chuck chuckled a little, downing half the wine in his glass.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked, fork paused halfway to her lips.

"Nothing," he said, smiling. "Just, our crazy lives."

Sarah lowered her fork, picking up her glass instead. It raised in a toast. "To our crazy lives."

Dinner passed easily. They discussed everything from whether Casey was capable of smiling at things that didn't involve death or weaponry (they both voted a hard no on that one) to Morgan's unrequited crush on Ellie, and Chuck's timeline of epic nerdiness (AKA, his life). Sarah even parcelled out a few stories from her past, places she'd been in brief moments of downtime between missions for the CIA, vague sketches of high school life, things like that.

They adjourned with desert - plates of decadent tiramisu - to the living room, curling up on opposite ends of the couch to watch an old Cary Grant movie. It wasn't Chuck's usual sort of film, nor Sarah's probably, but it was fun enough, and it passed a decent chunk of time before they could conceivably go their separate ways to bed.

Not long after the credits started rolling Sarah muted the television. Her blue eyes turned to him with understanding. "I know all this isn't exactly easy for you," she began softly. "Hiding things from your family and dealing with spy stuff, and all this." Her hand waved around, as if to encompass the dinner they'd just shared and the implications of their being together here tonight.

Chuck couldn't deny that some parts of his life were difficult, but "It's not all so bad," he offered, wishing they hadn't decided against after dinner coffee. He could really use something to occupy his hands right now. "But, I suppose knowing the rules might be good."

"What do you mean?"

"Are we allowed to see other people?" Chuck asked almost before he'd realised it. "I mean, you're beautiful and I'm sure you could be with any guy you wanted and-"

"It would be tactically challenging," Sarah replied, looking down with a small, slightly awkward smile. "Our cover is boyfriend/girlfriend. And any prospective dates would have to go through a vigorous vetting process to determine their motivation."

Was this really the way the CIA trained their operatives to see romance? Suspiciously?

"Wouldn't their motives be love?"

Chuck realised how idealistic and maybe naive he was sounding, but they were talking about relationships and any successful relationship ought to be predicated on love, or at the very least a mutual affection that might grow into love. One day. Hopefully.

Sarah looked down at her hands again. "Ideally," she conceded. "But you're a very important piece of intelligence - and Casey, Bryce and I, we're important operatives - and we have to be vigilant with who we let into our lives in case they're not all they seem to be."

"Well, that sounds very nice," Chuck muttered drolly, shifting so he could see her more clearly. "But, surely you can't mistrust everyone. There has to be someone you- I- we could be with without it harming national security?"

Sarah smiled sadly. "Spies hardly ever fall in love, Chuck. And if we do, we don't get happy endings."

And if that was a lie, it sounded uncomfortably close to the truth. But Chuck could hardly imagine it, moving from fake relationship to fake relationship, never truly getting to be with someone who could love him- her- them. It wasn't fair.

Sarah peered intently at him, making Chuck wonder if mind reading really was something spies could do if they tried hard enough. "This is about the sandwich girl isn't it? Lou? You like her?"

This really wasn't the kind of conversation he wanted to have with Sarah. He wasn't even sure he was ready to have it at all.

"I think I could like her," Chuck conceded, feeling terrible as soon as he said it.

In the silence following his announcement, the front door slammed open. "Chuck!" Bryce called, striding into the room with a glimmer in his eyes Chuck really didn't like.

"Bryce, we're on a date," Sarah hissed, her tone telling him this really wasn't the right time.

Bryce honestly looked like he couldn't care less. "Red alert!"

Chuck stood warily, frowning. "How bad?"

"Klingons and Romulans are attacking the Enterprise and Kirk and Spock are sitting ducks in a shuttlecraft just outside the hangar doors."

"Okay, that's bad," Chuck squeaked, glancing at Sarah to helpfully clarify; "Really, really bad."

"It's Ellie," Bryce began, voice quiet but no less frantic for it. "She and Awesome were having an argument and then she came into your room and she said some things about you and being a big boy with your big, big girl girlfriend. Then she told me I needed a haircut, which-" Bryce touched his tousled but irritatingly perfect hair self-consciously "-not true."

"Ellie?" Chuck prompted, toeing the line between sheer panic and I-might-throw-up levels of fear.

"Casey came over, asked to borrow milk," Bryce stated, and if he didn't get helpful soon Chuck was going to scream. "Devon left to get it and Casey's milk carton turned into a bug sweeper. We found a bug below Ellie's ear. She collapsed and Devon's waiting on the ambulance."

"Collapsed?" Chuck echoed hollowly. His legs felt like they might do the same any second.

Worry disappeared from Bryce's eyes like shutters closing on his emotions. There wasn't even an everything is going to be okay, Chuck smile on his face. "We think she's been poisoned."

It was strange how things could change overnight. Only hours before Chuck's only real problem had been spending the night with Sarah without completely spazzing out from awkwardness. Now, his sister was dying from a very bad toxin and there was no cure, no time to let the CIA-NSA doctors synthesise one. The only thing he could do was find the nuclear codes and try and use them to barter for the antidote. For Ellie's sake.

"We do this kind of thing in our sleep," Chuck reminded Sarah and Casey. His plan was good. It was solid. It was logical. It was the right thing to do. And he wasn't going to back down.

Casey circled around Sarah, expression understanding but uncompromising. "Even if we knew where the codes were, that's not a practical plan," he said, tone inviting Chuck to see reason. "We can't risk the bad guy risking millions of lives for the one."

This wasn't just one life. This was Ellie. Chuck's Ellie. His big sister. The one person in his life who had never left him and who never would.

"This is my sister we're talking about," Chuck snapped, angrier than he could ever remember being. "We can't just sit around and watch her die!"

Sarah's eyes were sad and soft but she didn't speak up one way or another.

Bryce was pacing up and down a little further up the hall, a muscle in his jaw was jumping, eyes glancing into Ellie's room every now and then.

"Bryce?" Chuck called, hearing the plea for the help he needed.

"Bad guy's got the antidote," Bryce stated, his too calm voice shaking slightly. "I say, let's find this guy. And, if we have to stake the codes on finding him, then that's what we've gotta do."

"Larkin," Casey growled, eyes narrowing warningly. "If you're compromised working on this case-"

"I've spent summers, Thanksgivings, Christmases with this family. Of course I'm damn compromised," Bryce glared, spinning viciously on his heel to begin another circuit. "That's why I'm here."

Sarah stepped between the two male spies, hands held out in demand for them to calm the hell down. "The only clue we have so far is the bug we found on Ellie," she began, forcing them back to professionalism.

Casey held it out, smirking a little. "Soundproof box. We don't want the bad guy knowing we're onto him."

Chuck met Bryce's eyes, raising his eyebrow slightly. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

The tiniest dip of Bryce's head. Yeah. But it's reckless.

Narrowed eyes. It's Ellie.

A tiny grin. Do it.

Chuck snatched the bug from Casey's hand, opening the lid of the box. Casey snatched for it, but Chuck danced away, standing behind a protective wall of superspy.

"Found the codes. Can't believe where Mason Whitney hid 'em. I'm going to keep them on the lady doctor until we can move them safely."

Chuck put the lid back on the box, tossing it over Bryce's shoulder to a glaring Casey.

"Now the bad guy's gonna come to us," Casey mused, getting as close to Chuck's personal space as Chuck's self-appointed bodyguard allowed. "Not bad, Bartowski. Do that ever again and I'll kill ya."

Chuck nodded, completely understanding.

Casey moved back a step, glaring daggers at Bryce. "You, I might just kill anyway."

"You had your shot, Casey," Bryce smirked, Chuck not needing to imagine the smirk on his lips. "You blew it."

Sarah stared at Chuck, torn between approval and very strong disapproval. "Casey and I will keep an eye out for the bad guy," she said softly, narrowing her eyes. "Don't let him let you do anything else impulsive."

"That was the stupidest, most reckless thing I have ever done," Chuck announced after his other handlers were gone.

"If it was anyone other than Ellie," Bryce sighed, slumping back into the bland hospital wall.

Chuck stared into Ellie's room, Awesome kissing his sister's hand, talking to her quietly. "She's all I have left, Bryce. I can't lose her."

Bryce pushed off the wall, standing almost close enough they were touching. "It'd take more than a deadly toxin to take down a Bartowski, Chuck," he murmured, as if speaking louder would break the solemnity of their vigil. "I can't promise miracles, buddy. That's beyond even me. But, if an antidote really does exist, I promise you, she will get it."

Chuck nodded silently. All he could do was watch Ellie's heartbeat monitor stubbornly proclaim her life. All he could do was wait for the bad guy to come meet them. All he could do was hope that they'd find the antidote in time.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Lunchtime on a Friday was usually one of Chuck's favourite lunch hours of the week. He and Morgan, or he and Bryce, or - if the universe was feeling particularly kind that week - sometimes even Chuck, Morgan and Bryce - would grab lunch together in the Buy More breakroom. It was a little routine Chuck looked forward to every week. Today, however, Chuck was not looking forward to his lunch break.

He had privately broken up with Sarah the day before, explaining to her that it would be unfair to the both of them to pursue a fake relationship when it couldn't logically go anywhere. She'd always be welcome in his life as his friend and handler, but romantically it was over. He couldn't keep on pretending. It just wasn't fair to either of them.

So, now. Today. This lunch hour, Sarah would be coming into the Buy More and they would be cementing their break-up for the world to see. Or, at the very least, the Buy More.

Fortunately, he had his friends around to help take his mind off the impending public breakup.

At twelve o'clock, on the dot, Morgan came over to find him, already chattering a mile a minute. "Great news, pal," he announced brightly. "I am free this evening for a meal. Thinking about a little surf and turf. Half meatball, half tuna sub. Then boom!" Morgan spread his arms wide, grinning at the wall of televisions. "Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. Uh, me and you. Sniper on my back watching me."

"I would love to," Chuck replied. "But I have plans tonight."

Really, really good plans for a change. Solid and real plans. Plans he didn't have to fake. Real plans he didn't have to fake that weren't with either one of his best friends.

"Don't sweat it," Morgan said, patting his arm easily. "Me too. Slammed. What are you and the lady doing?"

And here it was. The awkward moment when he had to tell his oldest friend the bad news. "Uh, actually, the lady and I are no mas. It's over."

He patted Morgan on the shoulder and headed back towards the Nerd Herd desk. Morgan was not going to take this well and Chuck would be better equipped to deal with the conversation if he could pretend to work while doing so.

"Ah, dude," Morgan called apologetically. "I knew this would happen. Damn it! Women can be so cruel."

"You know," Chuck announced, glancing over his shoulder at his saddened friend. "I broke up with her. She just wasn't the right person for me."

"The right person?" Morgan repeated, frowning in incomprehension. "Dude, are you out of your mind? She is the hottest piece we are ever going to get!"

"First of all, Morgan, you are going to meet a smart and beautiful woman and be very, very happy," Chuck said, meeting his gaze honestly. "And secondly, I didn't see a future with Sarah and I. And I like her too much to leave her stuck in a relationship that has no future. We both deserved better than that."

"Dude, that is the Accountant speaking," Morgan cried, looking as though he would dearly love to shake some sense into Chuck. "Beautiful people like that can have as many beautiful girls as they like. But, guys like you and me- Dude, there'll only be one Sarah for the likes of us."

That was, probably, true. But, Chuck had always liked being a romantic optimist. No matter how many times his heart got ground into tiny, tiny pieces, he kept hoping that real happiness was out there for him.

"Morgan," Bryce called, appearing out of nowhere and flashing a half grin that said he'd heard more than Morgan probably would have liked. "We're being supportive friends today. That means reminding Chuck that he's doing the right thing and that he can have anybody he wants."

Chuck smiled slightly, thanking his friend for stepping in and saving him from the awkward direction of the conversation.

"That's easy for you to say," Morgan muttered grumpily. "Chuck," he added, eyes growing wide. "Beg for her back. On your knees, Charles."

Bryce rolled his eyes, clapping Chuck on the back. "You've got this, buddy," was all he said. A reminder that Bryce, at least, knew what he was doing was for the best.

"Thanks," Chuck murmured, taking a deep breath before crossing the Buy More to Sarah. "We can talk in the home theatre room."

Once they were safely inside the room, Chuck turned to Sarah. Looking at her, the pain from two days before came trickling back in. Along with all the regrets. They could have had something wonderful, the two of them; something real and true and capable of surviving in the two worlds Chuck called home. But, Sarah had not felt the same. And all Chuck could do was accept that and move on.

Which was exactly what he was trying to do.

"I've been thinking about our breakup," Sarah announced, sleeves of her cardigan hiding her hands. "And, I'm not sure it's the best idea."

"Miss me already, huh?" Chuck asked, gathering up the trickling current of pain to use as a shield.

"Well, just, y'know, for the cover," Sarah explained, smiling hopefully. "It makes things easier."

Logically, from a spy point of view, that made perfect sense. But, Chuck wasn't only CIA property. He had a right to a life outside being the Intersect. "Well then, I guess your job is going to be a little bit harder."

Sarah's smile turned into her I'm being very reasonable and logical so you must listen to me expression. Chuck kind of hated that expression right now.

"I'm sorry if you thought that there was something between us. It's very common in these situations to perceive a connection that isn't there."

"Of course," Chuck nodded, forcing down the urge to snap that this was his life, damnit, not a CIA training scenario. Instead, he fell back on the old standby; sarcasm. "I get it. It's the old story, you know? Guy gets supercomputer in his brain, beautiful CIA agent is sent to protect him and then she tells him, while under the influence of truth serum, that she's not interested." Chuck nodded once, feigning the same reasonableness that Sarah had projected. "I get it. But for me, the emotional rollercoaster is a little much, so I think I'd rather find something a little less common. Like, say, I don't know, a, uh, a real relationship."

Sarah stared at him for a long moment, her eyes scanning his face. "Okay, Chuck," she said eventually, capitulating. "If that's what you want, then I'm gonna have to sell it."

Before Chuck's eyes, Sarah began to cry. Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears and she turned her back on his concern.

"Sarah?" Chuck called, helpless but to watch her rush from the Buy More, blotting tears with her sleeves.

After Lester obtained permission to try and date Sarah (which, really, Chuck wished him all the luck in the world - he was going to need it), Morgan caught up with Chuck again. Chuck saw Bryce wiggle his fingers and nod once - a silent well done - before disappearing into the pit of despair that was the office Chuck now unofficially shared with him. Paperwork hell. Chuck made a mental note to bring him back a sandwich.

"We gotta talk about our feelings and all that crap," Morgan said, looking vaguely awkward at the thought.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Chuck grinned, walking with a bit of a bounce in his step now. "You're gonna have to weep without me, I got a date."

Morgan looked up at him, mouth agape. "What? Get out of here. Already?" Morgan's pride was visible. "Good for you, hotshot. With who?"

Chuck strode off, playing it cool. Or, at least as cool as he ever had. "Just someone I met. Makes sandwiches. Deli owner."

Morgan's stare burned into Chuck's back. "Hold on a second," he called. "A pro?"

Lou's Gourmet Italian Deli was a hive of activity, customers waiting eagerly with their tickets. Chuck stood just inside the door, watching Lou handle her business. She waved at him and grinned, Chuck grinning back. This. This was what a first date was supposed to feel like; all giddy anticipation and happiness at the mere prospect of spending time together. It had been so long, since before even Sarah, since Chuck had properly felt it.

All the anxieties and paranoia about living with government secrets fled away, Chuck falling happily into the waiting embrace of giddy anticipation. It felt good. It felt normal. For the next little while, the only thing that was going to matter would be this date. Anything else, everything else, could wait.

Back in Echo Park and their apartment complex, Bryce found himself spending his precious afternoon stuck in one of his least favourite things: a CIA/NSA briefing. Even worse, it was a briefing in Casey's apartment. Not that Bryce wanted to host the briefings in his apartment, it was just hard to ignore the telltale itch of being in hostile territory.

Bryce hovered at the periphery, warming his hands on a cup of coffee (made in his own apartment, thank you very much - he wasn't drinking the toxic sludge Casey thought qualified as coffee), and trying to ignore the sense of wrongness in discussing Chuck's life while Chuck was oblivious.

"I don't like the idea of this break-up at all," Beckman announced, frowning severely through the screen at them all. "What the hell happened?"

Casey leaned forward, eager as Bryce had seen him. At least in situations that didn't involve shooting someone. "She got dumped."

Bryce clenched his jaw, staring fixedly at an indeterminate spot on the computer screen. He made eye contact with no one, so no one could tell he how he was feeling on the matter.

Not that Bryce felt anything in particular on the matter. He was a spy. A superspy, according to Chuck. And superspies certainly did not feel things like satisfaction and happiness that their best friends were no longer in fake relationships with their ex girlfriends.

"We decided that it would be best for Chuck to date a civilian," Sarah explained, narrowing her eyes at Casey. "It will help secure his cover in the event someone IDs me."

"Yeah, because she got dumped."

Sarah looked away, her expression saying she was one more quip away from challenging Casey to some ring time. Bryce, on the other hand, just clenched his jaw tighter and inwardly reflected on the irony that this was the first time in his life that he would actually support Casey over his CIA partner.

Beckman glared daggers at the three of them; neither amused or relieved at this news. "Let me get this straight, some woman comes in off the street and starts dating the asset and this doesn't strike any of you as suspicious."

"Because heaven forbid one of us actually has a real, human relationship," Bryce muttered, scowling into his coffee.

"What was that, Agent Larkin?"

Bryce pasted on his best "who me?" expression, wide-eyed and innocent.

Sarah stepped to his rescue. "It's not completely unfeasible," she said, smiling slightly. "He is a reasonably charming guy."

"And he would have been very popular at Stanford if he hadn't been in a relationship with Jill," Bryce added, his sense of loyalty to his friend overruling the really quite insignificant part of him that wanted to barricade Chuck in his apartment and never let him leave.

"I've heard enough," Beckman announced. "I want to know everything there is to know about this woman before she gets too close."

Bryce met Sarah's gaze, shaking his head slightly. All these weeks working with Chuck and they didn't understand. There was no "before" Chuck got too close. Chuck went into things one hundred percent; with his big heart wide open. He loved openly and freely, trusted far too quickly. It was one of his best and worst qualities all in one.

"Chuck is going to hate us for this," Bryce announced into the silence after Beckman's dismissal.

"He's going to have to suck it up," Casey dismissed, already beginning to look into Lou's past. "He wants to date civilians, he's got to expect we'll do this."

Suddenly, all the fellow feeling (the very miniscule amount Casey had dredged up within him the last ten minutes) fled from Bryce. He was back to wanting to slam his face into the keyboard and maybe stab him with something sharp and pointy. But Bryce wouldn't do that, because he was a responsible adult (and Chuck would get that disappointed look like he knew Bryce could do better).

"For Chuck's safety," Sarah compromised, staring at him with understanding in her eyes. "If she isn't on the level, don't you want to know now rather than later?"

"I want to let Chuck go into this relationship without automatically assuming for him that it's going to end because he can't pick a girlfriend who isn't after government secrets instead of what a great guy he is." Bryce took a deep breath in, smiling easily. "But, you're right. I'd rather know now, making comfort food from scratch takes hours."

And planning out exactly how he was going to dispose of the body should another person only be using his best friend took careful and meticulous attention to detail. Especially if Bryce was going to make it untraceable and look like a tragic accident.

"Oh my God, that is so good," Chuck moaned, transported to a higher plain.

He was pretty sure he had never had anything better in his life. Every other sandwich in the entire world was lacking, they didn't even deserve the name sandwich. Because this? This was perfection. It was a higher level of sandwich being. It was an evolved sandwich. The flavour, the texture, it was all indescribable. So, so good.

"You like it?" Lou asked, hopping a little in place. She came and straddled his hips, smiling down at him.

"Like it?" Chuck shook his head, mouth still full of the most delicious thing he'd eaten in a deli in his life. "I love it. I-"

His attention was caught by an innocent poster on the wall. Information hidden in the recesses of his mind leapt to the forefront. A man's photograph. A Homeland security file. Maps of snuggling routes used by the Demetrios Organisation. Stavros Demetrios.

Chuck stared in mute horror at the poster.

No, no, no. This was not happening now. This was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be normal. He was not flashing now.

"What's wrong?" Lou asked because she was a wonderful, normal person who didn't know he had a government supercomputer in his head. "You don't like it?" She shook her head, annoyed. Second guessing herself. "It's the chopped liver, isn't it?"

"What?" Chuck turned back to her. "No. No. I- it's amazing. You're amazing."

Lou smiled, sinking a little closer to him. And that was exactly the kind of thing Chuck would have been totally on board with about ten seconds ago. But now he had to know, had to understand.

He pointed with his sandwich towards the poster. "What is that?"

Lou turned, shrugging as she went to bin the invite. "Just an invitation for a thing at Club Ares."

Chuck nodded slowly, curiosity still not sated. "Who's Stavros Demetrios?"

Lou hunched a little, folding her arms over her chest. "My ex." She shrugged, eyes wary. "He owns the place. Why, you know him?"

"Not really," Chuck replied, still trying to process why he had flashed tonight of all nights.

"Good, you don't want to," Lou said flatly. "He thought I was dating some guy and he trashed his car. Threatened to kill him."

Chuck's eyes widened, the last vestiges of giddiness flushed from his veins. Anxiety and sheer panic retook their familiar places, twisting his stomach into tight knots.

Lou continued talking, warning him. "Believe me," she said. "The last thing you want is that lunatic swimming around in your head."

Chuck smiled a smile of a man not even remotely wanting to be smiling at all. But, he took another bite of his sandwich and brought the conversation back to that. Tonight he still had a date. Tomorrow would be soon enough to bring his handlers up to date on his latest flash.

After bidding Lou goodnight with a kiss that turned into several more prolonged kisses, Chuck drove home to Echo Park. Ellie and Awesome were both on night shifts tonight, and there was something almost relaxing about the thought of an apartment without anyone to ask him questions or notice that he was a little off despite the really good date he'd just had. He could put on the TV and sink into the couch and drift off to one of the sci-fi programs he loved so much. That would be the perfect way to end his night.

Chuck just wished his traitorous feet had gotten that memo.

He found himself not outside his front door but Bryce's, knuckles already starting a little from rapping against the wood loud enough to be heard inside.

"Door's open, Chuck!" Bryce's voice called, relaxed and fond.

Grinning to himself that he was apparently that predictable, Chuck entered Bryce's geek chic apartment, breathing in the scents of excellent coffee, cologne and gourmet cooking. It felt simultaneously everything and nothing like walking into their frat house back in Stanford.

"Shoot any paperwork today, buddy?" Chuck called, diverting to the kitchen to help himself to Bryce's ever-full coffee pot.

"Didn't go back in after lunch," Bryce smirked, appearing in the doorway. His smirk froze on his face, eyes narrowing on Chuck. "What happened?"

Chuck shrugged a shoulder, fixing his friend a cup of coffee too. "I flashed tonight, I don't want to talk about it. So, just - just for tonight - can we pretend we're an ordinary set of friends and you can just ask me about my date?"

Bryce peered at him for a long, long moment, his eyes flickering with emotions too fast for Chuck to catalogue them all. Finally, he nodded and slouched against the door.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted, smile slow and leisurely. A mask undoubtedly, but close enough to the truth that Chuck didn't mind. "How was your date?"

Chuck closed his eyes a beat, letting everything but the Flash fill his mind. "Incredible," he grinned, the old giddiness back. "She made me this sandwich." Chuck moaned a little just thinking about it. "You have not had a sandwich until you've had one of those, Bryce. I'm telling you."

"That good, huh?" Bryce hummed, accepting his coffee. He strolled back into the living room, Chuck dropping onto his usual seat on the couch beside him.

"Good? No," Chuck demurred, struggling to come up with a comparison Bryce would appreciate. "If your cooking was a sandwich, that was the sandwich it would be. It was that amazing."

Bryce leaned back into the couch, smiling again. This time, Chuck didn't see anything fake around the edges. "Sandwiches aside, how was the date?"

Incredible. Chuck had said it before, but it bore repeating. "It was nice. Kinda awkward in places. You know, the silences you're not quite sure how to break. But we started talking about our favourite foods and some childhood memories and then we saw a movie."

"Romcom, of course," Bryce smirked, rolling his eyes slightly.

Chuck inclined his head, grinning despite himself. "It was a first date, we can't always see sci-fi movies, buddy."

Bryce stared at Chuck, matching his smile. Something in his eyes shifted, hiding behind a wall of warmth and happiness. "You really like this girl, huh?"

Instinctively, Chuck wanted to veer away from the uncomfortable feelings conversation. Maybe brush it off with a comment about how good the sandwich was. But, something in Bryce's face or maybe just something deep inside Chuck quashed that impulse before it could fully form.

He smiled down into his coffee, welcoming back the feelings from his date. "I think I do, yeah," he murmured, looking up into Bryce's wide, Hollywood smile. "I felt giddy, buddy." Chuck shook his head, almost unable to believe it. "I haven't felt that since," he trailed off, not wanting to invoke her name. Not here.

Bryce's smile softened. "Well," he said. "Not wanting to sound too much like Ellie, but I'm definitely going to need to meet this girl."

Chuck laughed, bumping his knee against Bryce's. "You just want to try the sandwiches."

Bryce settled back, hand resting dramatically against his chest. "Chuck," he cried, drama dialled way up. "You make me sound so mercenary." His facade cracked, laughter shining through. "Hey, I've gotta check out the competition to my cooking."

Chuck shook his head, muttering under his breath something that even be didn't catch.

Bryce drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring over Chuck's shoulder. "I've got to check, sorry," he announced, teeth gritted. "Urgent or can it wait?"

The flash. Chuck thought back to it as quickly as he could. "It can wait."

"Okay then," Bryce nodded, picking up the television remote. "I think I saw an Enterprise rerun. Interested?"

"We're nerds, buddy," Chuck reminded him, settling comfortably onto the couch. "We're morally obligated."

"They'll take away our merit points," Bryce quipped, flicking through to the right channel. He frowned contemplatively at the screen. "No offense, Chuck, but have you ever noticed how much Captain Archer looks like-"

"Nope," Chuck shook his head emphatically. "Don't see it."

"It's uncanny," Bryce continued, flashing his wickedest grin.

Really, he gave Chuck no choice. He had to snatch up a cushion and whack him in the face. Bryce retaliated, calling it an act of war.

Chuck flopped face first onto (his) the guest bed, dimly listening to Bryce's called goodnight and the running of the shower. It was one o'clock in the morning and the impromptu pillow war had turned into two rounds of Gotcha! - both of which Bryce won. Chuck knew he was in for a difficult day tomorrow, but he was too tired to let his brain work out the possibilities. He'd had a great date and a great end to the night and - flash aside - it was one of the best days he'd had in a while.

Chapter Text

Unconscionably early the next morning, Chuck found himself standing in Casey's apartment, coffee in hand and Bryce hovering at his side. On the television, General Beckman was in briefing mode, staring sternly out at Team Bartowski.

"Stavros Demetrios," Beckman announced, a picture of Demetrios coming up on screen. "A handsome playboy. Owns and operates a number of LA clubs."

Chuck slouched in front of the screen, shrugging a little. "I don't think he's that handsome," he said, uncaring who heard. It wasn't just petty jealousy over his current girlfriend's ex (he was intimidatingly familiar with dating someone after handsome exes), it was just considering Bryce was the last ex he had to contend with, Stavros was about as threatening as Morgan.

Bryce, who was in a fine snit after discovering that Stavros "threatens to kill Lou's boyfriends" Demetrios was what Chuck had flashed on, peered curiously at the screen. "I don't know," he mused, lip curling up in a smirk. "I guess I can see it."

Chuck glared across at his friend. "Not. Helping. Buddy."

Bryce smirked back at him, eyes sparkling. "Not. Trying. To."

Beckman ignored the pair of them, continuing with her briefing. "He's the son of Yari Demetrios, the shipping magnate." Another image came up on screen, this time an older, balding man.

Chuck heard that, but his mind came back to another pertinent detail. "What do you mean by Playboy? What kind of intel do we have on that?"

Beckman swiveled her chair, glaring pointedly through the screen. "What we have is information that a volatile package is coming to Los Angeles." Bryce tensed beside Chuck, the playful light disappearing from his eyes. "The cargo itself is time sensitive, which - knowing the Demetrios family ties to the Middle East - could mean a weapon."

Sarah glanced across at Chuck, her face showing signs of worry. "Chuck, we need you to get as close to Stavros as possible and see if you flash on anything related to the shipment."

"What?" Chuck blurted, certain he had misheard. Because that sounded like a truly terrible idea. "You want me to get close to my girlfriend's ex? How do you want me to do that?"

"I have an idea about that," Bryce cut in, calm as a summer day. "It'll happen over my dead body."

"Agent Larkin," Beckman warned, eyes going flinty.

"You can't seriously think that this is a good idea," Bryce replied, calm as ever. "Given Chuck's track record with finding danger in the most innocent situations, sending him in there doesn't sound like the smartest plan we can come up with."

"Exactly," Chuck agreed, presenting a united front. He couldn't see it working well, but Bryce's side seemed the sanest side to be on. "Besides, I don't want to get Lou mixed up in all of this."

Casey cut a glare across Bryce at Chuck. "Well why don't you and your girlfriend hit Club Ares tonight?" he suggested, something almost like a smirk in his voice. "I hear it's supposed to be all the rage."

Beckman agreed, terminating the connection as brusquely as ever.

"Public location," Sarah mused, nodding. "That could work."

Bryce shared a frustrated glance with Chuck, his face absolutely impassive. "Did anyone miss the part where I implied that this will happen over my dead body?"

Casey and Sarah pointedly ignored him. Chuck watched Bryce close his eyes, counting slowly under his breath.

"Okay," he said, nodding to himself. "Buddy, I'm not crashing your date, but-"

Chuck understood immediately. "You fancy going clubbing tonight?"

Bryce shrugged elegantly, a flash of a grin crossing his face. "It's not the worst idea I've ever had."

"Yeah, you can keep your clothes on for this one," Chuck quipped, rewarded with a bright burst of Bryce's laughter.

Casey scowled at them both. "I don't want to know."

"Wasn't going to tell you, Casey," Bryce replied, grabbing Chuck by the wrist. "Time to go to work. If I don't set that paperwork on fire, it's just going to keep piling up."

Chuck bumped against Bryce's side, grinning at his friend. "You are such a responsible accountant, buddy."

"I try, Chuck," Bryce grinned back, slipping his now customary sunglasses over his eyes. "I try."

Chuck tried pretty hard too. All morning he sat in his shared office, working his way through irritating minutia, sharing commiserating looks with Bryce over spreadsheets and budget projections and more numbers than even engineers were comfortable looking at. He tried, all that morning, to forget the fact that he would soon be dragging his girlfriend into Club Ares and the spy world just because he'd flashed on an innocuous flyer.

So, come lunchtime, Chuck was both relieved and a little worried to see Lou talking to Morgan in the Buy More. His oldest friend looked a lot hurt, smiling at Lou like she ought to know who he was. Chuck walked over as quickly as possible, knowing Morgan's propensity to say weird things in defense of his place in Chuck's life.

"Hey," he greeted, smiling at a slightly uncomfortable Lou. "There you are. You guys finally met."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed cheerfully.

Lou hummed a note, smiling at Chuck. "I brought you some lunch."

Chuck helplessly watched as Morgan took the paper bag, sniffing deeply. He loved Morgan, honestly he did, but this was not the kind of first impression he had hoped his friend would make.

"I smell salami, black olives tapenade? Okay," Morgan looked up at Chuck. "This might actually have a shot at working out."

Chuck laughed under his breath, endlessly entertained by Morgan's antics. "Morgan approval," he smiled at Lou. "That's very big. Now, you've just got to pass muster with my sister, her boyfriend and my other best friend."

Lou frowned sweetly at him, still trying to process the force of nature that was Morgan. "Best friend tends to be a singular position," she offered, almost teasing.

Chuck felt himself nod, smiling despite himself. That was certainly the way to describe both Morgan and Bryce. One of a kind, each of them.

"Um," Chuck began intelligently, trying to find the right words. "Speaking of singular... I was thinking that maybe we could go to that thing at Club Ares tonight."

"No," Lou shook her head, brown eyes broadcasting loud and clear what a terrible idea it was. "Trust me. That is a bad plan."

Oh, Chuck knew. He was very, very aware of how much of an epically bad idea it was. Unfortunately, he didn't have any choice. Which meant, as Casey so tactfully put it, he was going to have to suck it up and deal with it.

"Look, sooner or later, he is gonna find out about me and I'd rather just make the peace now.

"Charming, handsome and brave," Lou approved, eyes sparkling. "You know that's a combination I'm not used to."

Chuck smiled, a little too wide and a little too bright. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's a little new for me too."

A little new, here meaning something he was utterly unfamiliar with. Oh, this was going to be such a bad idea.

Later that evening, Chuck had returned with his handlers to Bryce's apartment. Bryce's and not Casey's because, as his friend had put it, there was no way in hell he was letting Chuck prepare for a date in the Terminator's motel room.

"This is only our second date and I'm already lying to her," Chuck sighed, staring at his reflection in Bryce's full length mirror. "What the hell am I doing?"

"Relax," Casey dismissed, tapping at his laptop. "It's dating in LA, everyone lies."

Chuck would be more inclined towards taking dating advice from his handlers if he could even remember the last time they faced this situation. "When was the last date any of you were on? That wasn't fake," he added at Sarah's intake of breath.

"Hey, don't look at me," Bryce shrugged, frowning at the jacket Chuck was wearing. "I'm exempt. Prospective partners don't really dig bullet holes. Which is what this thing needs to be riddled with. Stat."

Chuck raised a hand to the lapels, frowning. "I thought you said you liked this jacket?"

Bryce shuddered elegantly. "No. What I said was, it's the best thing in your closet. Liking it was never mentioned."

"Why are you so awful?"

"I'm your best friend," Bryce smirked, rocking back on his heels. "It's in the job description. If I don't give you a hard time before your date, I won't be doing my job." Bryce glanced down at Chuck's chest. "And, trust me, bud; there's no way a second date will become a third if you're wearing that."

Chuck slipped off the jacket, glancing across at his friend. "It's that bad?"

Bryce's grin faded slightly. "You can pull it off," he admitted, as if sensing Chuck's anxiety. "If you were doing a nice romantic dinner with candlelight and a string quartet. But, you're going to a club. Right now, you're a pocket protector away from looking like an accountant. And, yes, I'd know."

"I can't go in just a t-shirt," Chuck protested. "I know this is LA, but it's still November."

Bryce hummed thoughtfully. "Fortunately, you have an over prepared best friend who has an intimate knowledge of the horrors of your closet."

"We're going to be tapped into the club's surveillance feed," Casey seized his chance to say, Bryce drifting out of the room. "All we need is the audio."

Sarah held up a little guitar pin. "This has an RK-7 mini mic that works up to twenty feet," she announced, letting it catch the light. "I want you to keep it as close to Stavros as possible."

Chuck took it from the palm of her hand. "Are you kidding?" he demanded, feeling a headache begin to blossom behind his eyes. "Are you kidding me with this?" He cut his gaze towards the bedrooms. "Bryce? Did you-?"

"I was against this from the start," Bryce replied, using the carefully calm tone Chuck was coming to recognise as his spy voice. "But, unfortunately, that's the best we've got right now."

"I can't wear this," Chuck protested, waving the pin in the air. "This looks ridiculous."

"The alternative is we join you on your date," Casey cut in, and maybe the pin wasn't so bad after all.

"On the bright side," Bryce said brightly. "At least that ridiculous trinket will be pinned on something that doesn't look like it's a decade out of style."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, appreciating the teasing more than ever. At least Bryce making fun of him before a date was normal. "Your words hurt, Bryce."

"My eyes hurt, buddy," Bryce grinned, holding out a dark blazer. "This will work better on you."

Chuck slipped it on, trying very hard not to notice how right his friend was. It didn't do to give Bryce the right impression; he was smug enough without Chuck's confirmation. "Thanks, bud."

When he turned around, Sarah was there with a white case. "Earwig."

"It never ends with you people does it?" Chuck complained, picking up the earwig. "If it isn't Casey's helpful advice, it's you and your surveillance, or him and his fashion policing."

Bryce leaned against the back of his couch, grinning. "I critique because I care."

"And I critique because I don't care," Casey echoed, holding out a rose. "Don't forget this, Romeo."

Chuck warily took the rose, wondering what fresh NSA hell this was now. "Of course," he smirked, sarcasm coming easily to his lips. "Let me guess. This is equipped with some kind of microscopic infrared tracking device that determines her mother's communist affiliations?"

Casey smirked right back. "No, idiot. It's so you can get laid."

Behind him, Bryce choked on a sip of coffee, the superspy almost bent double as he coughed.

Chuck turned in immediate concern. "You okay, Bryce?"

Bryce gave a thumbs up, still spluttering out little wheezes of breath.

Chuck walked to the door, picking up his keys from the bowl on the side table. "Any last advice before I pick up my date?"

"Don't screw it up," Casey predictably replied.

"You're on a mission, but you're also on a date," Bryce offered, slipping a leather jacket over his shoulders. "So, stick close to Stavros but have fun."

"And you'll be-"

"Within shouting distance at all times," Bryce promised easily. "Now go. You don't want to be late. Dates hate tardiness."

Bryce had been to many clubs in his years, both at college and with the CIA, and Club Ares was no different to all the rest. The music was too loud, the drinks were too expensive, and the sheer number of people made him twitchy. But, he settled himself at the bar, ordered a glass of wine, and tried to remind himself that he was twenty-six and this was an ordinary night out for people his age. He definitely would not rather be at home with Zork programming and sci-fi reruns on the TV.

"ETA on Romeo?" Bryce murmured, keeping his eyes on the entrance.

"Ten seconds," Casey growled into his earpiece. "They're passing the bouncer now."

Bryce clocked them as soon as they entered. Chuck, as always, was talking a mile a minute; his anxiety coming out as a need to babble. At Chuck's side was a shorter (but compared to Chuck, who wasn't?) brunette woman. Sandwich girl was beautiful, her pictures had not done her justice, and she was smiling up at Chuck in the way that said she found his babbling endearing but she had no clue what he was saying.

As Chuck and sandwich girl moved deeper into the crowd, presumably to dance (poor Chuck), Bryce pushed off the bar. He followed at a close but polite distance, never letting the crush of bodies take Chuck out of his line of sight.

Stavros, dressed in a suit that couldn't have screamed "I'm a giant douche" louder if he tried, stopped in front of Chuck and his date. Chuck's body tensed, Bryce sympathetically imagining the litany of panic now going through his friend's mind.

Stavros said something, patting Chuck on the side of his neck.

Bryce's fingers itched. He wanted his gun, or a knife, even a blunt paperclip would do. He could improvise.

"Chuck's getting a drink with Stavros now," Sarah informed him, delicately not commenting on the way they could probably hear Bryce's teeth grind. "You're backup, not his bodyguard."

"I've meet some assholes in my time," Bryce muttered, but he stood down. He trusted Chuck to handle this. "Keep me updated."

"Like you wouldn't jump to his rescue before we said anything," Casey muttered, Bryce pretending not to hear him.

"Sitrep?" Casey smirked, as if he didn't know exactly how things were going.

"Chuck is bombing this date," Bryce groaned. Sandwich girl was visibly becoming more and more uncomfortable and Chuck was just sitting there downing shot after shot and chatting with Stavros. And really, all the frat parties really should have taught him that he had no alcohol intolerance. Bryce virtually always had to lug his inebriated ass to bed. "Any intel so far?"

"Romeo's bombing that too," Casey sighed. "We'll be here for days at the rate he's going. We're getting nothing out of Stavros."

"I think I'm going to shoot him," Bryce offered conversationally. Near as he could tell, his lip reading was fifty-fifty, Stavros had just commented on Chuck's neck and was now talking about snapping chicken necks.

"You didn't bring a gun," Sarah reminded him, voice of reason as ever.

"Since when has that ever stopped me?" Bryce smirked. Half the security in this place was armed, and Bryce was nothing if not inventive.

"Bryce," Sarah warned, her tone unreadable. "This isn't like you."

It really wasn't. Bryce had a reputation for being almost ruthlessly cool and calm on missions. But this wasn't just a mission, this was a Chuck related mission. And, as his earliest years in the CIA could attest, he didn't always think clearly when it came to Chuck's safety.

He settled back against the wall, watching Stavros continue his alpha male posturing. Watching Chuck take it for the sake of the mission. Bryce had never wanted this for him.

Losing a chance at a meaningful relationship because of the spy life, it was a pain Bryce hoped Chuck would never have to know.

"Lou's leaving," Bryce noted, Chuck still obliviously taking Stavros' shit. "Give him a heads-up, would ya?"

Sarah and Casey must have done so, because Chuck caught up with Lou a mere foot from Bryce. Close enough for him to just make out their conversation. Lou looked hurt and angry, Chuck just confused and a little hurt.

"Where are you going?" Chuck asked her, staring at his date with sad eyes.

"You spent the entire night talking to my ex," Lou cried, throwing her arms wide. "This date is over, okay? I'm out of here."

"Lou, wait," Chuck called, the sadness in his eyes turning to devastation. "No. Don't go. Lou! Don't go!"

Bryce could do nothing but watch his friend watch his girlfriend walk out, wishing he could tell him to go after her. But, the mission was still Stavros.

Chuck froze completely, his body tensing in a horribly familiar way. "Bryce?" Chuck called, eyes scanning the crowd.

"Here, bud," he said, tugging his friend to the relative quite of the wall. "You flashed?"

"Yari Demetrios is here," Chuck announced, speaking the words into his pin too, for the sake of Casey and Sarah.

"He's heading for his son," Casey stated. "Get the mic closer. We need to hear what they're saying."

Chuck's hazel eyes glanced from the crowd where Lou was disappearing to the cordoned off area where Yari was about to reach his son. His conflict was painful to see. Yet, for a split second, Bryce wanted to know what he would choose. Maybe it made him a terrible friend, but a split second was all it was.

"Give me the pin and go after her," Bryce demanded, holding his hand out for the pin.

Chuck's eyes widened. And there was gratitude there, and then defeat. "They won't let you into the VIP lounge," he said, and the defeat was in his voice now too. Chuck smiled at him though, a tiny flicker of a thing, and that just wasn't going to stand.

Bryce lifted the pin off his lapel, striding through the crowd. He didn't look back, but he knew Chuck had gone after Lou. Telling himself that was exactly what he intended, Bryce dropped the pin on a tray heading for the Demetrios's table.

"Mic inbound," he muttered, spinning on his heel. "Where's Chuck?"

"Outside," Sarah replied, distracted. "Alone."

Chuck watched Lou's cab drive away, something helpless and heavy dropping right into his stomach. He knew he'd been a jackass the entire date, but he'd had to be. Didn't know any other way to do the job he'd been forced into. That still didn't make him not want to scream at how unfair it all was.

Bryce came out of the club, wordlessly putting his hand on Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck leaned into the touch, accepting the comfort. "This sucks, Bryce."

"I know," Bryce replied softly. "I'm sorry it turned out like this."

There were a lot of ways Chuck could have replied to that. Angrily. Snarkily. Blaming him. But, Bryce had tried. Tried to get him out of there in time. And that counted for a lot. Besides, Bryce Larkin was capable of many things, but wanting to see Chuck hurt, he didn't think was one of them.

Pity he couldn't say the same for his other handlers who pulled up alongside them.

"Nice work, Chuck," Sarah said brightly. And didn't they teach spies to read the room. Or, street. "We know when and where the package is coming." She finished with a happy nod, as if everything was right in their world.

The insensitivity was unbelievable. Surely they all heard how badly he had blown things? And yet, here they were acting like the mission was a success.

"How was the date?" Casey added, rubbing salt into the open wound.

"Is it me or does our government never want me to have sex again?" Chuck asked, bitter sarcasm seeming the only way to go.

"Know the feeling," Bryce muttered, but he aimed that sharp, dangerous little smile at Casey and Sarah. "You'd best report back to Beckman. I'll get Chuck home."

"Bar crawl?" Chuck asked hopefully, knowing his friend too well for that.

"You've had plenty already," Bryce said, his voice a playful tease. Just as Chuck had hoped. He needed Bryce's ability to distract him right now. "How about we go home and school some noobs on Call of Duty?"

Video game violence sounded pretty good right now. Not quite as good as getting blackout drunk and forgetting how terribly he'd blown everything, but still good. And, much less chance of him waking up with a whole new reason to hate himself. But all he said was; "You're driving."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Since he and Bryce had nearly gotten blown up, a couple of things were new in Chuck's life. Morgan and Anna had gotten together and gave new definitions to public displays of affection. Chuck had visited Lou and realised that, while she was everything he was looking for, he just wasn't in a place to make a relationship with a civilian work right now. But, maybe one day, he would be.

In view of the positive developments in his life, Chuck had decided to look on the bright side. At least he was still alive to enjoy the dubious pleasures of being the assistant manager of the Buy More and the world's first human intersect. He might not know what the future was going to bring, but he hadn't been turned into radioactive Chuck goo last night, so someone out there had to like him. Even just a little bit.

It was a comforting thought. Or possibly a delusion brought on by another near brush with death, but Chuck was optimistic today. After all, it was Thanksgiving tomorrow. And Chuck had a lot to be thankful for. Almost more than he'd ever have thought.

Late that afternoon, Chuck stared in bemused horror as Morgan and Anna continued their enthusiastic reacquaintance with the other's tonsils. The pair seemed oblivious to Chuck's presence, Chuck edging slowly away.

"Hey," Morgan called, disengaging from Anna with a muffled pop. "Quick question. It's cool if Anna comes for Thanksgiving dinner, right?"

"Oh yeah," Chuck agreed easily. It was good to finally see Morgan bringing someone for the holiday. "You know how Ellie loves big Thanksgiving dinners. And now it'll be an even eight of us there."

"Is Ellie going to be there?" Anna asked suspiciously.

Morgan frowned a little. "I mean, yeah. Chuck lives at Ellie's apartment."

Anna rolled her eyes. "I know that."

"And she kind of makes all my favourite dishes. You know, like stuffing with apple chips and sweet potatoes and marshmallows."

"And I know that too," Anna gritted out, glaring over her shoulder at Chuck.

Chuck frowned, uncertain why he was earning Anna's ire. "I'm sorry, is there a problem?"

"Not yet," Anna smiled, dropping off the counter and sauntering away.

"She scares the crap out of me," Morgan admitted, watching his girlfriend walk off.

"What is that about?"

Morgan shrugged, playing it cool. "She's got this insane idea that I'm in love with Ellie."

"'Cause you are."

"Why does everybody know that?"

Chuck leaned over the counter towards him. "Because that's what you tell everybody!"

"I don't know what to do man," Morgan sighed, almost defeated. "I'm in love with two women."

Chuck didn't know what to do either. Fortunately, Big Mike saved him from having to form an opinion. "Bartowski! Grimes!" Big Mike stopped in front of them. "What? Does no Larkin mean no work?"

"Hey," Chuck protested, offended at the implication that Bryce was the one with the work ethic among the pair of them.

"Bartowski, round up your team," Big Mike ordered. "Grimes, stay close."

"Where is the Accountant?" Morgan asked, glancing around as if surprised not to see him.

Chuck shrugged, a little disconcerted not to have either of his Buy More employed handlers on site with him. "He's taking a day."

Actually Chuck had no idea what Bryce was really doing. He'd been all but ready to get a lift in with Chuck, when his phone had rung and that had been that. The dimmed light in Bryce's eyes had worried him for a moment, but Bryce had smiled and said that he was needed for another top secret briefing with the Director and General. Briefings that seemed to be happening more and more often lately. So, Chuck had driven in alone.

Chuck, the Nerd Herders and Morgan lined up in front of the Need Herd centre, Big Mike pacing in front of them like a general preparing for battle. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving," their manager announced. "Do any of you know what happens after Thanksgiving?"

Jeff waved a hand. "The tryptophan wears off and it's time for the liquor kick in?"

"No," Big Mike disagreed. "I'm talking about Black Friday, people. The biggest shopping day of the year. When regular housewives transform into a crazy mob blinded by door prizes, sales and the urge to get the Christmas shopping done early." Big Mike stared them all down. "On Friday, I'm reassigning you nerds to crowd control. Be here tomorrow for training."

"Tomorrow is Thanksgiving," Chuck felt compelled to remind him. A day they traditionally had off, being that it was a holiday. "So, wouldn't we, as a store, be closed?"

"You got a key," Big Mike reminded him. "Work it out." He turned to Morgan. "Grimes, you know the drill. Get these geeks trained and ready for action."

"Yes, sir," Morgan agreed quickly. Then, his oldest friend smirked, just a little. "What about the Accountant?"

"Can't afford to pay him the overtime," Big Mike sighed, taking a bite out of his pastry.

"We don't get overtime," Lester protested, offended. Yeah, neither did Chuck. Not that he recalled.

"It's not in your contracts," Big Mike called, striding away.

"But, he'll come anyway, right?" Morgan muttered, looking far too gleeful at the prospect of bossing Bryce around.

"No," Chuck shook his head. The idea of Bryce on Black Friday crowd control was honestly a little terrifying. It was bad enough Casey was going to be there. "He's helping Ellie cook. Unless you want to tell Ellie why she's cooking Thanksgiving dinner all by herself."

Morgan shook his head. "No way, man," he said immediately. "I'm not getting myself uninvited."

"Good call," Chuck praised, grinning at his oldest friend. "You remember Bryce's Thanksgiving pies."

"Only good thing about him ever coming for Thanksgiving," Morgan agreed, his smile widening over Chuck's shoulder. "Your former lady is here. Beg for her back, Chuck, then we'll both have girlfriends. It'll be a Thanksgiving miracle."

"Sarah and I are just friends, Morgan," Chuck reminded him, nudging him back to work.

He crossed the floor to join his original CIA handler, smiling. "Hey, Sarah."

"Hi, Chuck," she smiled back. Things were still a little awkward between them, what with the fake dating thing and the dumping her for Lou thing, but they were getting better.

"So, did you discover why Bryce and I didn't get blown up?" Chuck asked, pitching his voice low so he didn't upset the customers.

Sarah nodded slowly, her expression troubled. "It wasn't a bomb."

Well, Chuck was just going to file that nugget away in the folder marked Information Chuck would have preferred to know before thinking he was going to die. But that didn't explain what that device was or why it had a timer that was counting down.

Chuck let his confusion into his voice. "If it wasn't a bomb, what was so important about it?"

"It was a life support device," Sarah explained, leading him outside for some privacy. "The timer was an oxygen counter."

And that was a whole new level of creepy to explore.

"The person inside?"

"Dead when we got there," Sarah sighed, regretful. "Now we have no idea who he was, why he was so important he needed to be smuggled into the country, or even who wanted to collect him from the docks."

Chuck might only have been in the spy game, albeit peripherally, for a couple of months, but he was getting pretty good at reading when his handlers needed him to flash on something.

"I should warn you," Chuck offered, trying on a smile he wasn't sure he felt. "This thing doesn't always work when I need it to."

"Just look at the body and the inside of the tube," Sarah counselled softly. "If you don't flash, there's nothing more we can do."

Had Chuck mentioned it how much he really hated it when his handlers used sound and logical reasoning? Because, he really did hate that. It made his perfectly rational decisions - like not wanting to look at dead bodies, for example - seem irrational and childish.

"Fine," Chuck sighed, trudging towards Sarah's car. "But if this gives me even more reason for nightmares, the CIA is getting my therapy bill."

"This is nice and not at all creepy," Chuck muttered, following Sarah through a hidden entrance to an apparently secure CIA facility. It was the kind of nondescript building Chuck passed every day on his drive to work; the kind of building nobody would think twice about. But, on the inside, it was cold and clinical, giving Chuck the kind of unsettled feeling he imagined he would have in an abandoned hospital or a school after nightfall.

Fortunately, Sarah seemed to know where she was going, easily leading Chuck into an elevator and through a maze of corridors. Casey leaned against the wall, his thousand yard stare catching Chuck and Sarah as they turned the corner. He offered an "about time you got here" grunt, pushing off the wall.

"Package is in here," Casey announced, tapping a code into a concealed keypad.

Chuck stared into the room, hesitating to move closer. "I'm really not in the mood to see a dead guy," he said, looking hopefully at Sarah.

Casey rolled his eyes. "This ain't the morgue, genius."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, biting back a sarcastic comment on Casey's sparkling personality and his happiness at seeing Chuck. "The device in there?"

"No," Casey muttered. "We brought you all the way out here just for our own amusement."

"With you, Casey, it's hard to tell."

Sarah stepped in, her eyes narrowed at the pair of them. "Can we get this done, please, before our bosses call to yell at us again?"

That seemed like a fair enough request. So, Chuck followed Casey and Sarah into the sterile, white room. In the middle of the room, the device Chuck had last seen trying to blow him up stood innocently; open like a hospital bed.

Chuck walked up to it, around it, staring as hard as he could. Just like the last time he had seen this device, he rubbed his temples, trying to make the right synapses fire so he could flash on whatever it was the CIA and NSA needed him to.

If Chuck's brain was a magic 8 ball, he imagined the response it would give right now would be my sources say no. Or possibly, given the sarcastic bent of his thoughts lately; concentrate and ask again.

Honestly, if Chuck ever met the designers of the Intersect, he would have to have a word with them about making the interface more user friendly and accessible.

Some time around Chuck's tenth temple rubbing, hard staring circuit of the device, he turned and met Sarah's hopeful gaze.

"Anything?"

"Nothing," Chuck sighed, knowing what that meant.

Casey almost smirked, turning on his heel. "This way to the morgue," he called, exiting the room with a spring in his step.

Chuck glanced at Sarah, finding her watching after Casey with the same mildly exasperated expression. "We have got to find him a hobby."

"I'll leave crocheting catalogues in his apartment," Sarah grinned, her eyes sparkling. "He'll just think Bryce did it."

"That's mean, Sarah," Chuck grinned back. And, the best part was, it was the kind of thing Bryce would do. "What is it with them anyway?"

Sarah just laughed. "I wish I knew," she said, leading the way after Casey. "They already hated each other by the time I was partnered up with Bryce."

Casey glowered over his shoulder at them. "Are we gossiping or are we doing our jobs."

"We can do both, Casey," Sarah smiled, all butter wouldn't melt innocence.

Chuck held up a finger. "And, if I get a vote, I'm going for gossiping."

The furrow on Casey's brow deepened. "You don't."

At the other end of the corridor, a casually dressed figure stopped, clocked their presence, then turned on his heel and strode back the way he'd come. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, being in a creepy CIA facility and on his way to see a dead body, but Chuck could have sworn that the figure was a familiar one.

"Was that Bryce?" Chuck asked, frowning after the figure that had quickly disappeared. "That looked like Bryce."

"That did look a little like Bryce," Sarah admitted, her frown matching Chuck's. "But he's back in Echo Park, you said."

"He said he had an urgent briefing so he couldn't come into work today," Chuck explained quickly, giving in to the urge to follow the figure of (possibly) his best friend. "Bryce!"

There was a flicker of movement at the other end of the hall, someone moving too fast and too gracefully to be anyone other than his college roommate. "Sorry, Casey," Chuck muttered to his NSA handler. "Why are you holding a gun on me, Casey?!"

Casey blinked once. "I'm not," he protested, but the cry had already achieved it's purpose. And, really, if Casey didn't want Chuck to pick him, he should have been nicer to him.

Bryce reappeared at the end of the corridor, blue eyes burning fire into Casey. He strode down the corridor towards them, expression hard.

"Hey, buddy," Chuck called, waving happily at his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Classified," Bryce snapped, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he realised he'd been played.

"Classified," Chuck nodded understandingly. Like that excuse could work on him. He pointed at himself, saying cheerfully; "Intersect."

Bryce's eyes widened, almost flinching. "Would you be quiet?" Bryce hissed, his eyes scanning the corridor for anyone not Team Bartowski. "What are you doing here?"

Casey shrugged a shoulder. "Beckman wants to see if he flashes on the body."

"He doesn't need to flash on the body," Bryce said through gritted teeth. "I'm here."

Casey muttered that they could see that, but he couldn't understand why that was important. Neither, for that matter, did Chuck.

Chuck watched Bryce's jaw clench, the muscle jumping painfully. "Buddy," he began softly, reading the danger signs without knowing quite why. "What's going on?"

Bryce glanced around again, his tension getting tension. "You can't be here. It's not safe."

"I'm here with you, Casey and Sarah," Chuck waved helpfully towards his other handlers, in case Bryce had temporarily forgotten what they looked like. "How much safer can I be?"

"You can be a lot safer if you don't get involved in this." Bryce shook his head, eyes wide and imploring. "Not this. Please. Just go back to work and forget you ever got called in."

Really, Chuck had thought they'd gotten past this. "So you've gotta do this alone, huh?"

Bryce looked relieved that Chuck understood. "Yes."

Chuck shook his head stubbornly. "No."

Bryce narrowed his eyes, looking past Chuck to Casey and Sarah. "The body's been identified, the Director and General have been briefed. I'm taking Chuck home."

"Do I get a say in this?" Chuck demanded, grudgingly following Bryce into the nearest elevator.

"None whatsoever," Bryce smirked, his tension lessening as the elevator doors closed.

"What's so dangerous about me being here?" Chuck pressed, watching the sparkle abruptly vanish from his friend's eyes.

"Everything," Bryce sighed, settling back against the elevator walls. "I told you, I don't trust any other spies with you. Except Casey and Sarah, sometimes."

Bryce had said that once, back when Carina had been trying to get them to help her steal Chewbacca's diamond. But that still didn't explain... "Why?"

"It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it then," Chuck invited, waving his hand grandly. "I don't see anyone around to stop you."

As if determined to prove him wrong, the elevator began to slow down. Bryce grabbed his wrist, pulling Chuck behind him as the doors dinged open.

A man was waiting for them, cold brown eyes watchful over a scar on his cheek.

"Bryce," the man greeted, and it would have been pleasant if not for the way Bryce had frozen. Those cold brown eyes flickered over Bryce's shoulder to Chuck. "Who's your friend?"

At the sight of him, the sound of his voice, Chuck flashed. He saw a security briefing with the word Fulcrum and a top secret declaration. He saw a lot of dead bodies and the man before him cleaning off a bloodied knife. He saw a list of Fulcrum agents, all photos and numbers redacted save for the man.

Bryce stepped ever so slightly further in front of Chuck, blocking him from view as much as possible. "Stay back," Bryce warned, tone like ice.

"Okay," the man allowed easily, still watching Chuck curiously. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I felt just terrible that we lost touch."

The hand still wrapped around Chuck's wrist tightened minutely, the only sign of tension Bryce gave away. "Tell your people that I'm gone," Bryce said, still in that carefully calm, icy tone. If Chuck didn't know better, he'd say his friend was almost afraid.

The other man took a small step forward, eyes fixed on Bryce. "This is your chance, Bryce," he said, as if they were old friends. "This is me being reasonable. Let's go," he jerked his head down the corridor. "Let's be friends again."

"We were never friends," Bryce gritted out, his grip tightening to the point of near discomfort.

"Ouch," the man deadpanned. "Now my feelings are hurt."

Chuck had no idea what was going on, but by the way the man was talking and Bryce seemed to be fighting back a very real fight or flight response, Chuck knew it was nothing good.

"You're going to run, aren't you?" Scar cheek asked, almost conversational.

Chuck craned his head around Bryce, watching the sarcastic little nod his friend gave.

"Good," Scar cheek smirked, Bryce almost punching the keypad to close the doors and restart the elevator.

Bryce stumbled forward a few steps, leaning heavily against the opposite wall. His wide gaze was fixed on a random spot by Chuck's shoulder, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"Buddy?" Chuck called softly, moving close enough to put his hand on Bryce's arm. "Are you okay?"

A tiny shake of his head. "They should never have brought you here," he muttered, as if that was the problem right now.

For all Chuck knew, maybe it was.

"Who was that guy?"

Bryce looked away, scanning the elevator as if expecting more uninvited guests. "One of Them."

Oh, one of them. That explained everything.

"What's Fulcrum?"

Bryce's eyes widened impossibly. "You flashed on him?"

Chuck inclined his head in silent agreement. "What is Fulcrum, Bryce?" he pressed, watching his friend's gaze shutter again. "Who are they and how do they know you?"

"It's really, really complicated," Bryce replied, tone light. Far too light for the tension still thrumming through his body, for the flash of fear in his eyes.

Chuck almost thought his head would explode. He'd forgotten how stubborn and prevaricating his friend had been, even before joining the CIA. "Bryce-"

"I need you to trust me about this, Chuck." His friend, still shaken and almost terrible at hiding it, peered at him, worry deepening lines on his face. "You do trust me, right?"

Trust a superspy who had sent Chuck every secret their government had, downloaded directly into his brain and jump-started a life of crippling anxiety and constant danger? Trust his college best friend who disappeared after graduation without so much as a word for nearly five years? Trust Bryce "a CIA trained assassin" Larkin?

"Of course," Chuck said seriously. "There's a lot of reasons I probably shouldn't, but of course I do."

Bryce smiled, a tiny flicker of a thing. "Then I need you to trust me when I tell you that Fulcrum is my responsibility. You are far, far too important to risk where they're concerned."

"Bryce," Chuck began again, not even sure where he was going to go next. There was almost no way to say anything to him that wouldn't seem like he didn't trust Bryce to deal with this as he thought he had to. So, Chuck settled for changing the subject, slightly. "You said you were going to run. Please don't."

Bryce scoffed lightly, leaning a little into Chuck's side. "Like I'd tell him my plans," he said, smile barely even curling his lips. "Ellie will kill me if I stand her up on Thanksgiving."

"And I'll help her," Chuck agreed, narrowing his eyes just enough to ensure Bryce knew he wasn't joking.

"I'm not going anywhere, buddy," Bryce offered quietly. "And you, I'm sorry to say again, are not going to be let out of my sight. Not for a while, at least."

Chuck felt himself grin despite the strange tension still in the air. "We keep this up and I might as well move into your apartment."

He was joking, but Bryce didn't even bat an eyelid. In fact, he almost grinned. "Any time you like, buddy."

Chapter Text

By unspoken consent, and the memory of three years successful cohabitation, neither man mentioned Fulcrum or the creepy scar cheek agent guy from the time Bryce's front door closed behind them.

"Coffee?" Bryce asked, striding into the kitchen as the security system activated around them.

"At the very least," Chuck agreed, slipping back onto his usual stool.

Technically, he probably shouldn't be having coffee so close to bedtime but he honestly defied anyone to be able to resist Bryce's coffee. Besides, the Thai food they'd grabbed on the way home was resting comfortably in Chuck's stomach and he needed the caffeine to stay awake long enough to be helpful.

And he really did intend to be helpful. Because, no matter what Bryce said, baking pies for tomorrow was a two person job. One person to do all the actual baking stuff and the other one to sample. Chuck vividly remembered that being in the best friend's handbook. Right between the sections on sending classified secrets and keeping classified secrets.

Not that Chuck was bitter or anything. He just, understandably, felt that letting him taste test was the least his friend could do, considering everything.

"I can help, you know, Bryce," Chuck grumbled about an hour into the process. Sitting there snacking on precut apple slices was fun and all, but he did like the thought of at least trying to be helpful. He was firmly banned from trying to touch the oven or the stove or any appliance that wasn't the coffee machine, because "I like my kitchen unburned, Chuck" and "do you know what CIA firefighters are like, Chuck? They'll ruin my carpets".

Bryce glanced up over the nutmeg he was grating into the bowl with the pumpkin filling, laughter dancing through his eyes. "You are helping, buddy," the superspy lied, badly. "You're sitting there, criticising my music, eating all the food. It's like being back in the frat house."

"I didn't criticise your music," Chuck protested, nudging the cinnamon closer to Bryce. "All I did was ask if you'd listened to music since the turn of the millennium."

"There's nothing wrong with appreciating the classics," Bryce sniffed, eyeballing the addition of cloves to the filling. He cut off Chuck's reply by pushing the bowl to him. "Stir it gently. Don't kill it."

Chuck favoured him with a baleful look. "I know how to stir pie filling."

"Like you knew how to make scrambled eggs that time we had to evacuate the frat house?"

"Like you're so perfect," Chuck snarked, wracking his brain for his friend's less than stellar past highlights. But, damn him, Bryce actually was pretty perfect. Chuck scowled over the bowl, Bryce busy preparing the apple pie filling. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Well, I'm not so good at avoiding bullets," Bryce quipped, eyes sparkling as he grinned over his shoulder. "Can't drive a motorbike. Tried three times, crashed every one. Disarming bombs is a bit hit and miss. And I still speak Russian with an accent."

Bryce sounded so put out about that, Chuck laughed.

"It's not fair," Bryce protested, juggling blind baked pie crusts onto the counter. "Sarah speaks it perfectly. Casey too. Me? I speak it and I sound like I'm from somewhere nearer Chechnya than Russia."

"That's tough, buddy," Chuck consoled, definitely not grinning into the pie filling.

Bryce eyes narrowed over his grin. "You laugh now," he accused playfully. "Just wait until we have to go after some big baddie in Russia. Then you'll see."

"Thanks so much for that thought, Bryce," Chuck grumbled, mutinously spooning filling into a pie crust. "Really good to have you back in my life full-time."

"It is something to be thankful for," Bryce agreed, his grin twinkling as he turned back to his work. "Now, come on, bud. Chop chop. I told Ellie she can use my kitchen tomorrow if she needs it."

Chuck smothered a grin, leaning back on his stool. "Wow," he breathed, shaking his head. "So, Ellie can use your kitchen but I can't? I see who your favourite Bartowski is."

"I do like them smart," Bryce winked, nimbly avoiding the spoonful of pumpkin Chuck flung at him.

His best friend turned, eyes glittering. "We don't have time for a food fight right now, Bartowski," he warned, sounding almost regretful. "But, maybe tomorrow we can go round to Casey's and mess up his kitchen a bit."

"And then he'll kill us," Chuck finished brightly, revelling in Bryce's laughter. "Looks good," he added, nodding at the pastry latticework on the apple pies.

"I'm an artist," Bryce smiled, and it would sound arrogant on anyone else. On Bryce, it just sounded like he was being a bit of a, well

"Dork," Chuck grinned, Bryce nodding as if that was the highlight of his accomplishments.

Bright and far too early the next morning, Chuck was awoken by a loud and rhythmic banging on the front door. Chuck wanted to pull the spare pillow over his head, pretend he couldn't hear anything at all, but a little voice in his head was telling him to get up in case it was urgent. Clearly, in the bedroom nextdoor, Bryce was having the same attack of responsibility, curses in various dialects muffled through the wall.

Bryce emerged from his room the same time Chuck did, the superspy pulling a longsleeved Stanford tee over his head one handedly. In his other hand was a gun. Bryce gave Chuck a little "what?" shrug, as if carrying a gun to open the door was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"I need the yams!" Ellie's voice called over the sound of her knocking. Chuck reached past Bryce, unlocking the door for his sister.

"Morning, Ellie," Chuck greeted. "I'd offer you coffee but I think you've already had far too much."

"I need the yams," his sister repeated, apparently her need for the yams overriding her natural politeness.

Bryce surreptitiously hid his gun in the waistband of his jeans, smiling as if it wasn't unconscionably early to be thinking about yams. "In the kitchen, Ellie," Bryce said easily. "Chuck picked them up last night."

For that consideration, Chuck was rewarded with a distracted hug and a brief smile. "Are you sure you don't mind me using your kitchen?"

Bryce, in the middle of measuring out coffee, offered another blinding grin. "Mi casa es su casa."

Ellie smiled quickly. "And you have the pies-"

"Already made," Bryce replied, as if Ellie's pre-Thanksgiving hysteria was something he had missed. "Chuck and I finished them up last night."

Ellie looked around the kitchen with a quick grin. "And the kitchen is in one piece. Nice work, Chuck."

Chuck narrowed his eyes at the pair. "No ganging up on me," he cried, ignoring the way both Ellie and Bryce laughed. "It's Thanksgiving."

Ellie's smile turned quizzical. "Morgan said something about the Buy More and black Friday and bringing the accountant."

Bryce raised an eyebrow at Chuck. "Have I missed something?"

"Big Mike's putting the Nerd Herd on crowd control," Chuck explained, saying goodbye to his plan of taking his coffee and going back to bed. "We're training this morning."

"That'll be highly entertaining," Bryce smirked, turning an apologetic smile to Ellie. "My door is unlocked for you. I'll get Chuck back by lunchtime at the latest."

"Go have fun," Ellie smiled, gathering up the bag of yams. "Just try not to be too late."

"Remind me, again, why we're spending our valuable Thanksgiving here?" Bryce drawled, kicking his feet up onto the Nerd Herd desk alongside Chuck's. "I thought we were supposed to be helping Ellie cook."

"You were supposed to be helping Ellie cook," Chuck muttered, remembering the wide eyed look his sister had given him as he volunteered his services. Apparently he couldn't even be trusted with the cranberry sauce. "And I think she thinks making the dessert was more than enough help."

Bryce inclined his head, looking only mildly as if he would like to introde Morgan's bullhorn to an unfortunate part of his anatomy.

"On Black Friday it comes down to us," Morgan announced, through the bullhorn. "Crowd control. Okay?"

Jeff, Lester and Anna stood in front of the desk, looking up at Morgan.

"Little test here. Jeff, murder scene, sector two. Move!"

Jeff scurried off towards his designated sector.

Morgan nodded approvingly. "Nice work, Jeff. Bravo." He pointed at Lester. "Lester, converge on Jeff's position. Sector one. Move now. Go!"

Lester half-heartedly shuffled around the other side of the Nerd Herd desk.

"People's lives are at stake here, man. Good hustle, Les." Morgan turned around precariously, pointing at Bryce. "Accountant, back them up. Sector three, move!"

"I'll get right on that," Bryce drawled, crossing his feet at the ankle.

Morgan looked from Bryce to Chuck. "He's not going to move, is he?"

"Not a chance," Chuck replied, apologetic. "He's just here for moral support."

Morgan clearly must have decided to pick his battles, or the pointed way Bryce was pleasantly smiling in a way that promised impending violence was enough to make him reconsider, because he turned back to Anna.

"Anna, we cannot lose the doors, okay? If we lose the doors, we've lost a battle. Got it?"

Anna nodded, turning and walking towards the doors.

"You look beautiful today, by the way," Morgan informed her. "Chuck!"

"Yes, Morgan," Chuck called back, setting aside his travel mug. "Yes, I'm right here."

"Hey, pal," Morgan greeted happily. "Everyone is moving way too slow. They don't shape up, if we lose control of the store, we're going to have a pineapple situation."

Lester spun around in his chair, Jeff froze on the other end of the desk, Chuck felt the breath catch in his chest.

"What's a pineapple situation?" Lester asked curiously.

"Never say that word," Morgan hissed, eyes wide.

Lester, correctly, pointed out that Morgan just did.

"It's a black swan," Chuck explained, sitting up a little in his chair. "It's an impossible event that changes everything."

"Like getting shot," Lester pointed out, smirking a little at Bryce. Bryce raised his mug in salute, unflappable as ever.

"In case something terrible happens," Morgan continued, as if Lester hadn't spoken. "Nuclear strike, earthquake, accountant muscling in on your best friend. Any one of you could initiate a full Buy More evacuation by uttering one word." Morgan held up a single finger in demonstration.

Chuck grinned. "Pineapple."

"The word that cannot be spoken," Morgan reiterated, glaring a little at Chuck.

"I really want to say pineapple a few thousand times," Lester muttered, Chuck nodding his understanding. It was hard not to.

"Pineapples are fun," Jeff said blithely. "My dad used to throw them at me."

"Pineapple. Pineapple," Lester announced loudly.

"Seriously?" Morgan asked in despair. "Wow."

"That's actually a sound security measure," Bryce offered quietly, his approval silencing the Nerd Herders. "Although pineapple does remind me of this one time I was in Queensland-"

Bryce's voice trailed off as Chuck's cellphone began to ring.

"What's the matter?" Morgan asked, concerned. "Who is it?"

"Oh, it's Ellie," Chuck winced. "She's in full Thanksgiving panic mode." He snatched up his keys, leaping to his feet. "I gotta stop by the store."

Bryce rose easily to his feet beside Chuck, offering a quick wave and a commiserating smile for the nerds stuck behind in Morgan's boot camp.

"How bad?" Bryce asked quietly, undoubtedly reading the tension in Chuck's face.

"I think we're going to have to visit every grocery store in Burbank at least twice to get all this stuff," Chuck groaned. "It's going to take hours."

"Oh the joys of Thanksgiving day shopping," Bryce murmured, nostalgic as if he was actually looking forward to it.

Chuck frowned contemplatively at his friend. "You really have missed being normal, haven't you?"

Bryce gave a flickering smile. "Like you wouldn't believe, buddy."

What felt like - and probably was - half the day later, Chuck and Bryce entered the Bartowski/Woodcomb apartment, laden down with paper bags. "I'm not sure there's any food left in Burbank," Chuck called, dropping his keys in the bowl on the table. "But we got what they had."

"Chuck," Devon called cheerfully. "Get ready for some turkey."

"Can't wait," Chuck called back, nodding a greeting at Casey. Bryce grabbed the paper bags from Chuck, delivering them to a slightly less frazzled Ellie.

"Go change," Ellie ordered the pair of them. "I've put your suits out in Chuck's room. There's enough time before dinner."

Chuck and Bryce shuffled down the corridor to the bedrooms, listening to Devon ask Casey to help stuff the bird. Bryce collected his suit and changed in the bathroom, giving Chuck some privacy to change into his own.

Not long afterwards, Sarah, Anna and Morgan arrived and - although it was tense between Anna and Ellie - Chuck had the feeling this was going to be the best Thanksgiving he'd spent in a while.

Looking around the table filled with great food and his friends, Chuck felt content. He felt happy and right and like nothing could possibly ever be wrong with the world.

"I am in heaven," Devon announced, swallowing a mouthful of turkey.

"This is so good," Sarah agreed, smiling at Ellie.

"It's so good," Chuck confirmed, reaching for another helping of stuffing.

Ellie smiled proudly, in her element as hostess. "I'm glad you like it."

"Amazing," Casey nodded, working his way through a small mountain of mashed potatoes.

Bryce hummed happily over his plate full of everything. "I've missed this," he stated, bumping his elbow lightly into Chuck's. "Thanksgiving in Paris was nice, but nothing beats your cooking, Ellie."

"Agreed," Sarah said, sharing a little smile with Bryce.

"Okay," Morgan announced, looking around at the options. "You know what I want for my second plate?" He pointed down the table. "I need critical side dish number two."

Devon chuckled and passed it down the table, Morgan loading his plate up with marshmallows and sweet potatoes.

Chuck and Bryce reached for the candied yams at the same time, sharing a grin as their hands bumped into the dish. Bryce grabbed the spoon, depositing the yams onto their plates with sparkling eyes.

"So bad for me and yet so good," Bryce hummed appreciatively, digging in with relish

"And you a track star," Chuck teased, just as he had every Thanksgiving at Stanford.

"I'll run an extra five miles tomorrow," Bryce quipped back, just as he always had. "Besides, I'm not a college track star anymore."

"I thought you were a nerd," Devon cut in, all teasing smiles.

"I am," Bryce agreed proudly. "I just ran track and did gymnastics on the side."

"Really big nerd," Chuck confirmed, shooting a grin at his friend. "He just got good at hiding it."

Bryce preened a little, undoubtedly taking that as a compliment on his spy ability. "Pass the green beans."

Chuck did as he was asked, turning his attention to Sarah and Casey. "So, do you guys do Thanksgiving?"

"Not recently," Sarah replied, smiling a little sadly at her plate.

Casey just shrugged and grunted, muttering something about army bases and proper cooking.

"So, Thanksgiving," Devon announced a little while later. "We're all supposed to say what we're thankful for. I'll start." He leaned back in his chair, smiling down the table. "I am thankful that I am here with the most beautiful woman in the world. Ellie Bartowski."

Ellie smiled brightly, eyes soft and warm on Devon. "That's sweet, honey," she smiled. "I am thankful for my family and my friends."

Devon looked to his left, to Casey.

"I pass," the NSA major decided, sipping on his water.

Inevitably, Devon's gaze fell on him. "Chuck?"

Chuck started a little, not quite prepared for this. "I am thankful for a lot of things," he replied softly. "My promotion, my health. But I'm especially thankful to be sitting here tonight with the most important people in my life. We've been scattered awhile, but it's good to have you all back here."

"Thanks, buddy," Bryce murmured, for Chuck's ears alone. He smiled one of his bright, Hollywood grins. "Well, I for one am thankful to have recovered from being shot twice in two months, which was fun."

Chuck groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Bryce laughed, patting Chuck's back in apology. "No, honestly, I'm thankful for Chuck, welcoming me back here. He could have sent me away when I turned up. Probably should have, after the way I left things. But he didn't. And now, I'm here with you all. And I'm thankful."

"Bryce," Ellie beamed, smile as soft as Chuck's probably was. "That was incredibly sweet."

"Certainly beats your first Thanksgiving," Chuck grinned, moving swiftly away after giving in to the uncontrollable urge to hug Bryce in reply. "Remember what you were thankful for then?"

Bryce thought for a moment, then fell back in his chair with laughter. "Not having to eat ramen."

Chuck felt his sides hurt from his own chuckles."To be honest, after two months at Stanford, I was pretty thankful for that too."

"God, you two were so cool at Stanford," Morgan muttered, glowering at the pair of them. "I'm thankful I'm still Chuck's best friend." He glanced across at Anna and hurriedly added. "And that I have the most beautiful girlfriend on the planet."

Anna smiled across the table at Morgan, Chuck sending a quiet thank you out to the universe that finally someone was appreciating his oldest friend as he deserved.

Next to Chuck, Bryce tensed, his face illuminated by the light of his phone. Chuck saw the cover name for the Director of the CIA, and then a coded text he couldn't quite decipher, his eyes widening almost as much as Bryce's.

"I'm sorry to cut out before dessert, Ellie," he offered apologetically. "But I've gotta take this." Bryce stood, looking a little pale. "I'll see you later, Chuck?"

Chuck half-rose from his seat. He knew that tone in his friend's voice. "I can come now?"

"We didn't make those pies so you could miss eating them," Bryce smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be fine."

Chuck stood all the way. "You can make me pie anytime," he dismissed, as if the fragile light in Bryce's eyes wasn't worrying him. "You need me, I'm there."

Bryce looked pointedly away from a curious Casey and Sarah, nodding fractionally. "I need you," he murmured, fingers twitching towards him. "Just, uh, try not to hate me too much, okay?"

Before Chuck could blink, Bryce was striding through the door, Casey's gaze burning holes in his back. Chuck shook himself quickly, bidding Ellie goodnight as he hurried after his friend.

"Bryce," he called, looking at his friend across the courtyard. "Why would I hate you?"

Bryce smiled slightly, once again leaving his eyes untwinkling. "Because I'm going away," he announced, soft and sad. "But first, I'm going to tell you why I sent you the Intersect."

Chapter Text

Chuck didn't want to believe it. Couldn't understand. Bryce couldn't be leaving. He'd only been back in Chuck's life for two months. That wasn't long enough. It wasn't nearly long enough. Couldn't the CIA understand? Chuck needed him. Being the Intersect, doing what he did, it would be impossible without Bryce there every minute, having his back.

"You can't leave."

It was the first thing he'd said since Bryce's announcement. Chuck could hear the panicked, plaintive note in his voice. He didn't care. There was only Bryce to hear, the walls of his apartment would give nothing away.

His friend smiled bitterly, sprawled on the couch while Chuck remained frozen just inside the living room. "I'm CIA property, Chuck," Bryce reminded him. "I go where they say."

"Bryce-"

"Chuck, I'm sorry," Bryce offered, face a picture of sorrow. "I dragged you into this world and now I'm going to abandon you to it. But, please, let me tell you why before they drag me away."

Nearly five years ago, Bryce had walked out of Chuck's life without an explanation. It had been one more blow than he could handle. But now, when he'd practically just got used to having him in his life again, Bryce was about to leave. Chuck wanted to delude himself, to pretend that he could walk out now without hearing Bryce out and that his friend wouldn't leave. That he could make him stay through sheer delusion, but that wasn't the way the world worked.

Chuck unfroze his legs, gracelessly dropping to the couch. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

There was a small, wry smile on Bryce's face. A wordless reply of probably not, sorry, buddy.

"You know the first part already," Bryce began, finger pointing slightly towards him. "I was recruited in junior year. I'd taken a seminar with Fleming and he was impressed with my scores. He told me I could make a difference, could make something of myself. All the things you say to a stupid kid who doesn't know any better. But," Bryce shrugged, a grin quirking his lips. "It wasn't so bad. I mean, I'm James Bond."

Chuck didn't deny that it would appeal to a twenty year old Bryce, but if it was so great... "You kept me out of the CIA."

"Of course," Bryce replied instantly. "You hate guns, violence. You set free every spider that ever entered our frat. You could never kill anyone. It's not you."

Implicit in that statement was that it was Bryce. And if that wasn't one of the most heartbreaking things he'd heard in a while. That his friend could think that of himself, to be so sure that he was that person; that cold, terrifying superspy. He could see it in Bryce's eyes, that resignation, acceptance of who and what he was.

"Buddy," Chuck began, lost about what to do. "That's not all you are."

"No," Bryce agreed softly. "But it's a big part of it."

No, it isn't, Chuck wanted to say. He wanted to find the right words to make him understand that he was more than what he thought; that he was worth just as much as Chuck was.

Just as Chuck was leaning in, a Casey-like "Listen, moron," on his lips, the moment to do so was obliterated.

Sarah strode into the apartment on a wave of almost betrayed fury, Casey trudging behind her looking very much as if he didn't care about anything at all, ever.

"You're leaving?"

"Well, hello to you too, Sarah," Bryce muttered sarcastically, leaning back against the couch. "Please come in."

Sarah's eyes narrowed in that way that promised she was in no mood for his jokes, crossing her arms as she stared down at them. "What is going on?"

"I'd like to know that too," Casey agreed, taking a seat on an armchair.

Bryce narrowed his eyes at his fellow handlers, Chuck watching the way his fingers twitched. "This explanation is for Chuck."

"Beckman said you'd say that," Casey smirked, leaning forward. "She said to tell you that Walker and I are cleared for the Fulcrum briefing."

Beside Chuck, Bryce gave a full body shudder, cursing. "Ghuy'cha'."

Chuck's eyes widened. "Bryce!"

Bryce gave an unapologetic shrug. "I stand by it. This was not how I was intending to spend my night."

Chuck understood that, of course he did. This wasn't how he was planning on spending the night either. It bore no relation whatsoever to passing out from too much turkey and pie and sleeping until his alarm went off. But, still. Casey and Sarah were here now and they did, he supposed, deserve an explanation as much as Chuck.

"Just sit down and don't ask too many questions," Bryce sighed, apparently deciding to give in before Chuck had formulated an argument for letting them stay.

Bryce turned back to Chuck as if he was the only person in the room. "My first mission after graduation was the Omaha Project."

"The one Fleming wanted me for?"

"Yeah," Bryce agreed unhappily. "It was one of many precursor missions to determine agent suitability for a top secret operation." Bryce gestured towards Chuck's head. "The Intersect."

"Why you?" Sarah asked, just the kind of perceptive question she always asked.

"Visual memory," Chuck speculated, glancing at his friend to see if he had guessed right. "Fleming's course was all about subliminal encoding."

Bryce grinned, nodding proudly. "It was speculated that a candidate with the ability to process and retain information encoded into subliminal images might be able to become a walking, talking depository for government secrets. The possibilities for intelligence work were overwhelming; the ability to make connections in real-time in the field, it would change the game."

Casey scowled. "And it was supposed to be you."

"Don't pout, Casey, we all have our strengths," Bryce smirked. "But, the tests weren't over. They weren't certain that the human mind really could hold all the information it needed to. To say nothing about the fact that their top scientist had gone into the wind some years before. So, I was sent on another mission and another. Then I was partnered up with Sarah most of the time and I thought that was it. But, while Sarah was called back for a top secret mission, I was given one of my own."

Chuck watched as Bryce pushed off the couch, walking as far as the television before turning.

"I was ordered to drop all my contacts and go dark. Really dark. All the way dark. My orders were to download the Intersect and deliver it to my handler for Operation Sand Wall."

Sand Wall. Fulcrum's plan to steal the Intersect.

Chuck stood, too restless to stay seated. "Fulcrum wanted the Intersect."

"Yes." Bryce ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the room. He turned to Casey and Sarah. "I found out that the operation I was on wasn't sanctioned by the CIA. They were a splinter group, a rogue faction. And they were everywhere. In every organisation. It was an internal strike. I didn't know who to trust. So I did the only thing I could."

Chuck felt his sigh ripple through his body. "You destroyed the Intersect and sent it to me."

"Exactly." Bryce's blue eyes fixed on Chuck, shining with sadness and contrition, yet somehow managing to be as fond as ever.

Chuck understood destroying the main intersect to protect the secrets and he even understood downloading them and sending them to safety. But, he didn't understand why Chuck of all people. "Why, Bryce?"

For the first time since Graham's text, Bryce's smile actually reached his eyes.

"Because, out of everyone in my life - everyone I have ever met - you were the only person I knew I could trust."

"How does Fulcrum fit into this?" Casey demanded, rudely interrupting their moment before it could begin.

At the mere mention of the group, Bryce's body tensed. "Fulcrum want the Intersect. I don't know why, but they need it badly." He paced anew, barely looking at any of them. "The body we found, he was one of my handlers. He made contact with me just before I came out here. He tried to bring me in."

"But you shot him," Sarah guessed, Chuck never more grateful that Bryce had stopped him before he'd have had to seen Bryce's handiwork.

"I thought I killed him," Bryce admitted. He cut a wry look to the NSA major. "Looks like both of us were terrible shots that week, Casey."

Casey glowered, as usual unimpressed at Bryce's reminder of his failure.

"Why keep him alive?" Sarah asked. "Why go through all that trouble to smuggle him into the country?"

"Because I told him something important," Bryce said, gaze skittering past Chuck. "And because he was the one that always knew where to contact me."

"What did you tell him?" Chuck asked, having the horrible, stomach plunging feeling that he knew.

"The only thing I could tell him," came Bryce's quiet response. His friend didn't so much as glance at him, yet Chuck knew that all his senses were fixed on him.

Chuck uttered a quiet Klingon curse of his own, dropping back to the couch. "For God's sake, Bryce. Fulcrum think you're the Intersect?"

"Ding-ding," Bryce chimed, his grin far too bright. "Beckman and Graham assigned me here as an additional layer of protection for the both of us. To keep you safe while you adjusted to life as the Intersect, and to keep me away from Washington and out of the reach of Fulcrum."

"Then why-"

"Am I leaving?" Bryce smiled sadly, coming to sit back beside Chuck. "Because Fulcrum found me. And I'll be cold in my grave a long, long time before I ever put you in danger by staying."

Unbidden, the memory of the Fulcrum agent staring at him filled Chuck's mind.

"What if you're putting me in danger by leaving?" Chuck asked, clutching desperately at the thought.

Bryce turned slowly to Chuck, a glimmer of something shattered in his eyes. "What?"

Chuck touched his own cheek, widening his eyes pointedly. "He saw me. Looked long enough to remember me. If he comes back and you're not there."

Chuck didn't need to say more, not with the way Bryce's jaw clenched, fingers curled.

"He'll take you, use you to draw me out," Bryce muttered, unable to stop himself. "I'd kill him."

That was never in doubt. But, if the CIA sent him away, how could he have Chuck's back?

"What if Fulcrum find out about us here?" Chuck pressed, seeing the first glimmers of uncertainty in Bryce's eyes. "And you're not here. There's no other explanation for two of the government's best spies hanging around here. And if you're gone-"

"Fulcrum will focus on you," Bryce breathed, closing his eyes as if in pain. "Buddy, they're ordering me away. I can't disobey when they think it's not safe."

"Organisation structure?" Casey asked, frowning at the pair of them. If Chuck didn't know better, he might say Casey was trying to keep Bryce there too. Or, maybe Chuck was just projecting and Casey wanted to get as much intelligence out of Bryce before he had to leave. "Fulcrum. They the type to keep in constant contact with the others?"

"No," Bryce admitted, fingers drumming on his knee. "They operate in cells, each one self contained until the objective is complete."

"And now their mission is retrieving you," Sarah said, a sound like dawning understanding. "If they haven't reported back yet, there's still time-"

"There's not," Bryce murmured, just loud enough to shatter the fledgling spark of hope in Chuck's chest. He sighed, dragging his hand over his face. "Graham's sending a team to pick me up tomorrow. I'll be at the Buy More and then..." Bryce waved a hand, demonstrating his inevitable vanishing without a trace.

"Tomorrow?" Chuck heard his heartbeat loud in his ears, the sound of blood rushing as familiar as the surge of sheer panic in his veins. It couldn't be tomorrow. Tomorrow was hours away. Too soon. Too close.

"It's not goodbye forever, buddy," Bryce offered softly. "Just for a little while."

Chuck knew that was meant to be comforting. And it was, distantly. But, all Chuck could think of was the last time Bryce had walked out of his life and how long it had been between that day and their reunion.

"We've still got so much Zork to code," Chuck stated, eyes wild. He saw Bryce narrow his eyes at Casey and Sarah, but Chuck didn't really care. "And- and Christmas is coming up and I know Ellie already planned on making you help cook dinner and you know how smug Morgan is going to be if you just quit the Buy More and vanish again and-"

"Chuck," Bryce interrupted, his smile soft and small. "You're babbling again."

Yeah. Chuck knew. But babbling had always been a part of his best plans. "If I don't babble, you'll go."

And there it was. That heartbreaking little smile; the one he'd last seen Bryce wear as he was walking out of their frat. "I'm going all the same."

Somehow, that heartbreaking little smile transformed into Chuck's favourite crooked grin.

"But," Bryce said, perhaps with a little too much fake cheer. "I'm still here tonight. And, though I'm sure Ellie will be able to see right through us, I've missed a Bartowski Thanksgiving."

Chuck knew that light in Bryce's eyes. Knew what that smile meant. "You want to pretend tonight that you're not leaving tomorrow?"

Bryce offered another smile and nodded, almost hopeful.

It would kill him to pretend that everything was fine and great, but if it made Bryce happy, Chuck could do it. He'd hate every minute, but he could do it.

"Come on then, buddy," Chuck smiled, too cheerful himself. "Let's go see if Awesome and Morgan left us any pie."

"If all else fails, I left ice cream in the freezer," Bryce grinned, pushing himself to his feet. "But, Chuck, we don't have to do this."

Chuck only shook his head, accepting Bryce's help off the couch. "We're doing this," he insisted, clapping his friend on the back. "It's still Thanksgiving."

For a few more hours at least, he still had his family exactly where they were supposed to be. He'd face everything else tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

After Black Friday, Chuck had thought he'd never get used to the idea that Bryce had chosen to stay in Burbank. He thought he'd be constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure his friend had really remained with him and not gone off on some suicidal quest. And, he couldn't lie, Chuck did still worry that Bryce would be gone the next time he turned around. But, it had only been ten days. Chuck couldn't be expected not to worry after only a week and a bit.

Neither he nor Bryce had gone more than the distance of their respective apartments away from one another since Friday. Even then, they had only gone about twenty minutes before one of them came to find the other. Which is why, instead of being tucked up in front of his television, marathoning video games, Chuck found himself sat at his dining room table, grinning at a playfully scowling Bryce.

His best friend was partially illuminated by the glow from his laptop screen, Chuck almost unable to believe what he was seeing.

"You took work home with you?"

"Shut up."

"Actual accounting work, from the Buy More?"

Bryce threw a pen at him, Chuck laughing as he ducked out of the way.

"I can't believe I chose to stay here," Bryce sighed, shaking his head in despair. "This is my life now. How is this my life?"

"You chose it," Chuck grinned, dropping Bryce's pen back on the table.

"Yeah, must've been crazy," Bryce hummed, flashing that crooked grin of his. "I can't imagine why I thought staying here would be more fun than going on a one man crusade to take down Fulcrum."

Chuck, who was getting better at not flinching any time Bryce (or Casey or Sarah) mentioned Fulcrum, tilted his head and returned Bryce's grin. "I'd say it was a self-preservation instinct, except I know you."

Bryce chuckled, eyes crinkling. "I'd be insulted, except you're right."

"This still doesn't explain why you willingly brought work home from the Buy More," Chuck pointed out, wrinkling his nose at the open spreadsheet on Bryce's laptop.

"Big Mike wants sales projections before the pre-christmas sale drive," Bryce sighed tiredly, reaching a hand up to rub at his temple. "Turns out having a store evacuated on the busiest shopping day of the year isn't exactly conducive to a healthy bottom line."

Chuck's smile dropped. "Are we in trouble?"

"No," Bryce replied, waving a hand in reassurance. "But I will be if I don't get these figures in soon." Bright blue eyes flickered over towards Chuck's own, abandoned, laptop. "How's your little project going?"

"A two dollar an hour raise was not worth this," Chuck complained, ignoring his laptop. "I'm a professional nerd, buddy, I have no idea how I'm supposed to plan the holiday party."

Bryce's laughter echoed around Chuck's apartment again. "In my experience, bulk buy the food and the alcohol and keep the loaded firearms out of reach."

"What kind of holiday parties have you been going to?"

"The fun kind."

Chuck shuddered despite himself, imagining impulse control impaired spies throwing knives and shooting at each other. "That doesn't sound fun, it sounds terrifying."

"All the best fun is," Bryce winked, eyes sparkling as Chuck groaned. His friend shut the lid of his laptop, apparently giving in on completing his assignment. "On the bright side, though, buddy, you're only inviting three spies to your party. So, I only have to avoid shooting Casey, and I do that every day as it is."

Chuck dropped his head into his hands and groaned again. Loudly. "Can we - please - for once actually have a holiday without rogue geniuses, double agents, or anyone trying to shoot at us?"

Bryce patted his arm sympathetically. "That would be a refreshing change."

Which was Bryce speak for "that's never going to happen, but I'm in too good a mood to burst your bubble".

"I don't think spending one holiday - especially the season of goodwill and peace on Earth - away from saving the world is really too much to ask for," Chuck sighed, thinking of the unmitigated disaster that had been Thanksgiving.

"Unrealistic," Bryce smirked, barely even blinking at the pen Chuck threw at him. "Just think, Chuck, this could be your year to climb through vents and coin your own catchphrase."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, fighting a losing battle with the grin on his lips. Nevertheless, he pointed his finger severely at his best friend. "If this Christmas ends up like Die Hard, I'm holding you personally responsible."

Bryce grinned easily, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It shouldn't, it's not even a Christmas movie," he said, the wicked twinkle in his eyes saying he knew exactly what he had done.

Well, never let it be said that Charles Bartowski backed down in the face of a debate. Even one they'd been having since Christmas freshman year.

When Ellie and Devon came back from their date later that night, they stopped short at the sight of the friends. Chuck and Bryce were seated at opposite ends of the couch, glaring at opposite walls and pointedly ignoring each other.

"What's going on?" Ellie asked, equal parts amused and worried.

Bryce deigned to glance at Chuck, narrowing his eyes in a glare. "Differences of opinion on Die Hard."

"Awesome movie," Devon replied, while Ellie rolled her eyes.

"You two are ridiculous," she informed them, not without a great deal of fondness. "Haven't you learned by now?"

"Nope," Chuck said, offering the first hint of a smile back at his friend. "We'll probably be having this exact same debate every Christmas for years."

"We'll be in a nursing home still bickering about it," Bryce agreed, sounding almost hopeful.

"Nah, I'll wear you down in the next half century," Chuck grinned. "By the time we're terrorising the nursing home, we'll be double teaming the whole Die Hard is a Christmas movie thing."

"You'll need more than half a century to out stubborn me, buddy," Bryce stated with a quiet certainty. "But you'll get there eventually."

Chuck glanced at Devon, reading the same idea in his face. "Well, we've got time before bed," he began slowly, grinning at the immediate head-shaking from his best friend. "Let's start now."

Ellie and Bryce both groaned and put up token protests, but it didn't take long before the popcorn and cocoa had been made. Chuck settled in on his side of the couch, watching the very definite Christmas movie begin.

"Casey just cornered me in my office and said the strangest thing," Bryce announced, tone almost puzzled over the festive sounds of Burl Ives.

"Did he make a joke that didn't involve violence of some kind?" Chuck asked, ignoring the gambling going on by the Nerd Herd centre.

Bryce snorted. "I said strange, buddy, not that hell just opened up an ice rink." Bryce glanced up at the snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, smiling. "Is there a reason why you and Sarah sent Casey a subscription to a crocheting catalogue under my name?"

Chuck debated playing dumb, but Bryce would be able to see right through him like he was a hologram. "It was Sarah's idea."

Bryce glanced across at him, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Well done."

Chuck frowned, not sure if he had avoided annoying his friend or not. "You're not mad?"

"You're irritating Casey in my name, Chuck." Bryce smiled brightly, bouncing a little on his heels. "You like me better."

"I really hope you didn't need me joining your prank war with Casey just to know I like you the most," Chuck frowned, again. If he kept this up, he was going to end up looking like Casey.

Bryce grinned anew, shoving his hands in his pockets. "A guy likes to feel special, Chuck," he said, humming softly along to the festive music.

"Well," Chuck replied, telling himself he was not smiling. "Now that you feel special, how about you go finish those budget projections before Big Mike yells at both of us about it."

"I had Graham scare an intern into doing it," Bryce shrugged, only looking slightly guilty. "Apparently it's good work experience."

Distantly, Chuck wished he had some interns willing to have all his tedious paperwork foisted off on them, but all he said was; "That's mean."

Bryce simply grinned, unrepentant. "I think you might not be aware of this, buddy, but I'm only nice to you."

Chuck had a very good reply to that, but he was distracted by Morgan's voice against his ear.

"She's a liar, not to be trusted."

"What's that?" Chuck asked, turning to face his oldest friend.

"Women," Morgan clarified morosely. "Man, they're so elusive, so unknowable-"

"Maybe for you," Bryce muttered, holding his hands up innocently at Chuck's narrowed eyes.

"They wrap you in this wool sweater of lies," Morgan continued, oblivious to Bryce. "It keeps you warm, but it makes your neck all itchy."

Chuck risked a brief glance at Bryce, wondering if there was something he had missed. His friend looked just as confused as Chuck. "Who are we talking about?"

"Anna," Morgan replied, as if it ought to have been obvious. "And, by the way, never trust a woman who's name is a palindrome, okay?"

That didn't make much sense, but Chuck figured that was the least of his current problems. "Uh, how do you know she's a liar?"

"I waited outside her house last night, in the bushes." Not exactly normal behaviour, but not out of character for Morgan. "I saw her get picked up to go out, then dropped off exactly three hours and twenty four minutes later."

"Spying on your girlfriend," Bryce tsked, shaking his head. "That's-"

Chuck glanced over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow. Seriously?

Bryce mimed zipping his lips. "I have no opinion."

"She's cheating on me," Morgan summarised glumly. "My Anna Banana is cheating on me."

Chuck knew that it was time to be a supportive best friend and try and comfort Morgan, but all he could focus on was; "In the bushes?"

"I brought a sandwich."

Well, that made it infinitely less creepy.

"Listen, she's lying to me, okay?" Morgan sighed, widening his eyes in pointed intensity. "And a relationship is built on trust, Chuck." Morgan nodded a few times. "Sex and trust, am I right?"

Bryce unzipped his lips and leaned around Chuck. "You don't need sex to be in a meaningful relationship." He rezipped his lips and returned to his place behind Chuck.

Morgan glared around Chuck, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why is the Accountant still here?"

"We're being interdependent lately," Chuck dismissed, focusing on the problem at hand. "Sex and trust are two big prerequisites, I guess."

"You ever wish you were born like a dog or a dolphin? Or Dr. Dre?"

Chuck did not honestly know how to answer that. There was a muffled noise behind him, undoubtedly Bryce trying hard not to laugh. And, really, Chuck appreciated the effort.

"Chuckster!" Lester called, appearing from deeper in the store with Jeff at his back. "Uh, we got an install job over at Marina Del Ray."

"Okay," Chuck replied, tapping his fingers to his forehead. "Go with God fellas."

"No, no, no," Lester replied, looking at Chuck as if he wasn't understanding something. "Big Mike says you have to come with us. 'Cause you know that Jeff's not to be left unsupervised around the holidays."

"Do you want to try my eggnog?" Jeff asked, raising a thermos. Lester shook a finger quickly.

"No. I'm sorry, fellas," Morgan interrupted, looking like someone had kicked his puppy. "Is it okay if you guys go by yourselves, okay? 'Cause, Anna's cheating on me."

"Ouch," Lester offered unsympathetically. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Maybe it's not another guy," Jeff suggested, Morgan letting out a small noise.

"Okay!" Chuck cut in, needing to put a stop to this. "Let's strap on our life jackets and hit the Marina."

"This is the least sane workplace I've ever been in," Bryce muttered, impressed. "And I've infiltrated some nasty places."

And, filing that away under Things Chuck isn't going to think about. "Fancy a trip to Marina Del Ray?"

Bryce hummed a negative. "I've got paperwork waiting for me."

"So you'll drive?" Chuck asked, using the please don't leave me alone with them tone.

Bryce flashed him a sparkling grin, already lifting the keys from Chuck's pocket. "Yeah."

With the four of them working on the installation, it took no time at all. Chuck ran a final check on the system, making sure everything was paired to the remote. "Well, the everything checks out and the system is online," he announced, turning to the man supervising their work. "Most onboard functions are now controllable from anywhere on the boat."

"Nice ship," Lester complemented. "Reminds me of the Pacific Princess."

The supervisor glanced up from the control. "I'm not familiar."

Lester chuckled disbelievingly. "Oh, really?"

"The Love Boat," Chuck announced, payback for the inane chatter he and Bryce were subjected to on the drive over. "He's referring to The Love Boat."

Bryce helpfully hummed the theme tune, smirking as Lester whined for them to please be quiet.

"You got a head on board?" Jeff asked the scowling supervisor. "I've had a lot of eggnog."

"Which you should have left at home," Chuck chided, feeling like the only adult on the whole Nerd Herd team. "You know not every boat you get on is a booze cruise, pal."

Jeff turned downstairs, Lester hurrying after him. The supervisor told them not to go down there, which only made Bryce grin and follow them down. Chuck too, because he hadn't been joking earlier when he said he and Bryce were doing the whole interdependent thing lately. And, he figured one of them had to actually be responsible and try and keep Jeff and Lester from doing something stupid and irresponsible.

Bryce whistled lowly, eyes fixed on the machines counting a lot of money. Chuck looked over his shoulder in time to meet the glare of a muscular man in a suit. They were hustled, professionally, out onto the first floor.

"They were counting money raised for Mr Kirk's aid organisation, from a charity event," the irritated supervisor informed them.

"Kirk, as in the captain?" Lester checked.

"Kirk as in Lon Kirk, the man who owns this boat."

"Oh right," Chuck agreed, the name ringing a bell. "Yeah, yeah. Lon Kirk. He's a billionaire. He owns a country somewhere or something, right?"

A man carried a plastic crate full of bills past them, one floating to the floor in front of Chuck.

"Incoming," Jeff remarked, nodding towards the other end of the cabin.

Two women in bikinis emerged from a stairwell, but Chuck was more concerned with the bill on the floor. He bent down and picked it up.

"Afternoon, ladies," Bryce greeted, leaning casually against the wall.

"Jeff, Lester, Bryce, I think we should leave now," Chuck decided, knowing instantly that leaving them on the boat would be a bad idea. Well, leaving Jeff and Lester would be a bad idea. Bryce was their designated driver. Chuck held out the bill, looking at it for the first. "I think you dropped this," he said, images already flashing through his mind. He looked harder at the bill, turning to Bryce. "They're fake."

Bryce took one look at his face then promptly grabbed both Jeff and Lester by the arms. "We're going now," he announced, brooking no disagreement. "Come on, buddy." Chuck mutely followed along after him, wondering what in the hell he'd gotten them involved in this time.

Bryce dropped Jeff and Lester off at the Buy More, collected a glowering Casey and then drove them home to Echo Park. Before long, Chuck found himself in another briefing with both Beckman and Graham. One where Sarah was curiously absent.

"The serial numbers that Chuck flashed on are a strain of counterfeit currency that the Treasury have been trying to crack for years," Graham announced, narrowing his eyes slightly as Bryce entered the apartment carrying mugs of coffee. "But perhaps we should wait to debrief you until Agent Walker arrives and Agent Larkin has finished making coffee."

Chuck quietly accepted his, well used to Bryce's opinions on the quality or lack thereof of Casey's coffee. Bryce settled in on the other side of Chuck, not even voicing so much as an apology for his tardiness.

"What'd I miss?"

"Counterfeit bills, Treasury's been trying to find the source," Casey summarised, crossing his arms over his shirt.

"Where is Agent Walker?" Beckman asked, peering through the screen at them.

"I'm here," Sarah called, hurrying through the door. "Traffic."

"As we were saying," Beckman continued, her disapproval clear. "Lon Kirk now devotes most of his time and money to aid projects, mostly foreign."

"And we think he's the source?" Casey checked, narrowing his eyes at the photograph on screen.

"Not confirmed," Graham replied. "However, we have intel that a major counterfeiter is in Los Angeles trying to acquire a new set of printing plates."

"And how shall we proceed?" Sarah asked, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug of her own.

Graham stared warningly at them all. "As far as Kirk is concerned, very cautiously. He's very well connected."

"He's hosting a charity event tonight at the New Constellation Yacht Club," Beckman continued. "Sarah, Chuck, and Agent Larkin will go as guests. Casey as staff."

"One question," Casey said, glancing down the line at Chuck, Bryce and Sarah. "Will Chuck and Sarah be going as a couple?"

"Unless they have a problem," Beckman replied, leaning back in her chair.

Chuck could think of absolutely no reason why he would have a problem pretending again that he was in a relationship with Sarah. Especially not after he broke up with her and had it been made very clear to him that there would never be anything between them.

"No problem," Sarah confirmed, calm and professional.

"No problem," Chuck gritted out in reply. This night was not going to be a disaster. Everything was going to be fine. And, if he messed things up, Bryce would be there to have his back.

Graham nodded at them. "Good luck then."

Bryce sipped nonchalantly on his mug, offering Chuck a commiserating smile. "It'll be just like the art auction then, except without the firefight and kidnapping."

"You wish," Casey muttered, apparently impervious to Bryce's death glare.

Chuck stepped forward, blocking Casey from Bryce. "Well, this has been fun and all, but we're running out of break time and Big Mike wants an assembly before we leave tonight."

"It's about the holiday party," Bryce guessed, Chuck having turned in an exact replica of the last party plan that morning.

"Probably," Chuck agreed. "But we've still gotta be there to hear his announcement."

Bryce rolled a shoulder in a shrug. "I suppose there are worse ways to waste time until a mission."

The Buy More staff, from Green shirts to Nerd Herders, assistant manager and accountant, lined up in front of the televisions. Big Mike consulted a stained piece of paper, then began to pace in front of them.

"For those of you who are unaware, this Friday is our annual Buy More Chris-"

"Hup," Lester interrupted, staring pointedly at their manager.

"... Holiday party," Big Mike amended. "With respect to our Hebrew friends and whatever else we have here." He looked one or two of the staff up and down, then continued down the line. "So there's no confusion, I'll go over the ground rules." Big Mike came to a stop before Jeff. "Rule one: Jeff, no spiking the eggnog."

"Can I bring my own?"

"No!" Big Mike glared. "Rule number two: Jeff, no holding the mistletoe over the women and copping a feel."

"Uh, sir," Chuck cut in, trying to avoid Anna deciding to maim Jeff preemptively. "Hopefully, if Jeff follows rule number one - which I'm sure he might do - then rule number two won't apply."

"Good point," Big Mike conceded, returning the paper to his pocket. "Okay, who's bringing eats?"

"Uh, I'll be making latkes," Lester announced, stepping forward.

"What's that?"

"Um, the traditional Jewish pancake," Lester explained haltingly.

"Bryce is bringing pie," Chuck added, hoping to distract Big Mike from grilling Lester.

"Oh, I am, am I?" Bryce asked, turning a playful grin on Chuck. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Any time, buddy," Chuck grinned, clapping him on his shoulder. "It'll give me something to look forward to when tonight inevitably goes horribly," he added in a quiet whisper.

"Another night of you criticising my taste in music and drinking all my coffee," Bryce sighed, face blank but for his twinkling eyes. "It really is Christmas."

"Your sarcasm is not helpful," Chuck informed him with great dignity. "I don't know why I ever thought I'd miss it."

"Feeling the love, buddy," Bryce grinned, glancing over his shoulder as he was called away by Big Mike. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"I'm your ride and my tux is in your apartment," Chuck replied brightly, pushing down the frisson of instinctive alarm at watching Bryce turn away. He was just going to the office, he wasn't leaving. It was all good.

"Dude, I need your help," Morgan announced, coming to find Chuck just as he was coming to find him. "I think I made a horrible mistake."

Chuck set his coffee down on the nearest desk. "What did you swallow this time?" Beckman would not be pleased with him if he had to miss tonight's mission because he was in the Emergency Room with his friend who swallowed things he really shouldn't.

"No, no," Morgan shook his head. "It's worse. Worse. Anna's parents are in town, right? So I tell her "hey, I'd like to meet them". So she goes okay. Are you kidding me? What was I thinking? My own parents don't even like me. We're similar."

"Morgan, Morgan," Chuck held out a calming hand, smiling reassuringly. "Relax buddy. It's going to be fine, just be yourself. That's what Anna likes, right? So will her parents."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed dubiously. "Right. You're right. That's what I'm gonna do."

"Are you insane?" Lester cut in, uninvited. "You can't be yourself. You have to be better than yourself. By, like, a factor of ten."

"Or eleven," Jeff added, leaning beside his friend.

"I got to take it up a notch," Morgan agreed, completely disregarding Chuck's advice. "Who should I be?"

"Well, last I checked there were over, like, six billion people on the planet," Lester replied. "Pick anyone. Should be an improvement."

Chuck felt the very strong urge to scream. He wrestled it down, glaring at Lester. "Shut up," he said, turning his attention to his friend. "Morgan, it's going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

"Just be myself," Morgan repeated, shaking his head. "I'm going to make a fool of myself."

"What's wrong with Grimes?" Bryce commented, reading the woebegone frown on Morgan's face.

"He's meeting Anna's parents," Chuck replied softly, narrowing his eyes in a way that told Bryce to be nice.

"Big step," Bryce whistled, settling in beside Chuck. "You'll be fine."

"Him," Lester announced, pointing at Bryce. "Be him."

Morgan glanced at Bryce, his usual possessiveness over Chuck briefly replaced with a considering frown.

Bryce didn't even look as he reached out and pushed Lester away. "Don't be me, be you. You're the guy who's been Chuck's best friend since you were kids. That guy has nothing to fear from meeting parents. If you're good enough for Chuck, you're good enough for them." Bryce nodded once. "Now, buddy, we've got to get a move on if we're going to make dinner."

"You're going to dinner?" Morgan demanded, successfully distracted from his original woes.

"It's a black tie thing," Bryce dismissed, waving a hand grandly. "I was invited through some people I knew at my old job. That ending how it did, Chuck said he'd be my plus one for moral support."

"I did," Chuck agreed, narrowing his eyes slightly at Bryce. "And we should probably get going so I have enough time to properly tease you about looking like a maitre d."

Bryce's eyebrow raised slightly, a teasing smile on his lips. "You mean so you can waste a good half hour pretending you can do up a bow tie before making me do it for you?"

"Hey, I don't have to come-"

"Yes, you do," Bryce sang, grabbing Chuck's hand as he made for his exit. "See you all tomorrow!"

"What was that?" Chuck demanded when they were far enough away.

Bryce offered a slight smile, something almost sad about it. "I know you feel bad about not being able to tell him things. This way, he knows vaguely what you're up to tonight and you can complain about all the rich people and the terrible food when we get in tomorrow."

Enough truth to make lying palatable, just like a perfect cover. A way for Chuck to be able to confide in Morgan without exposing him to the world Chuck now inhabited.

"Thanks Bryce."

His friend offered a crooked grin, tossing him the car keys. "Anytime, buddy."

Chapter Text

"Would you stop fidgeting with your tie?" Bryce sighed, nudging Chuck's fingers away from the innocent scrap of fabric. "Anyone would think you're nervous or something."

"I'm not nervous," Chuck protested automatically, turning wide eyes on his friend. "Why? Do I look nervous?"

"No, Chuck," Bryce replied, hiding a fond smile. "Relax. You look fine." He adjusted his own tie, smoothing down the lines of his suit.

"And you look annoyingly like James Bond, as usual," Chuck said, his grin breaking through at Bryce's soft laugh.

"I thought I was looking like a maitre-de," Bryce commented, his wicked grin sparkling in his eyes.

"Only if Bond went undercover as a maitre-de," Chuck replied with just enough of a groan in his voice for Bryce to hear.

Sarah, leaning against the car in a beautiful black dress, rolled her eyes. "Yes, you both look very handsome, now can we get on with work?"

Bryce tutted chidingly. "It's only work if you're not having fun, Sarah," he reminded her, apparently unaware of her increased eye roll. "But, I'll see you both in there."

"Can I see you in there?" Chuck asked, turning from one of the CIA superspies to the other. "Do our covers know each other?"

"Of course they do," Bryce replied, brushing a speck of non-existent lint off Chuck's shoulder. "Bryce Anderson and Charles Carmichael are old Stanford roommates. As if they could be anything else. Now, relax, and come find me when you flash."

Sarah nodded, her eyes darting pointedly to the entrance. Bryce shook his head, adjusting Chuck's tie once more before he strolled off and joined the other impeccably dressed beautiful people who had secured invitations to the gala.

Chuck let out a long, steady breath, reminding himself that he'd fake dated Sarah for months, he could do it again for one evening. "Shall we?" he asked, offering Sarah his arm. She took it, smiling easily, and they too took their places amidst the invited guests.

As they descended the staircase, Chuck's eyes widened at the sight of the temporary casino set up. Of course it was a casino, tonight's theme was Las Vegas, but nevertheless Chuck did foresee one small complication. He turned to Sarah, who was still a little off with him in the wake of the whole ending of their fake relationship thing, and tried on his best grin.

"If you're expecting me to hit the tables, I'm gonna need a no-interest spy loan or something." He shrugged a shoulder. "You'd be surprised what being a government supercomputer pays these days."

Sarah turned to him, almost dismissively. "The CIA staked us, you have a hundred."

"That should be enough," Chuck replied, picking up a martini from a passing server. They should've seen him at college, he was a master of making a little amount of money go a long way.

Sarah frowned at him. "Since when do you drink martinis?"

"Oh, I don't, no," Chuck agreed brightly. "But Carmichael loves 'em."

Sarah looked at him as if he had lost a marble or two, but shook it off as she led them through the casino to Kirk's roulette table. Bryce caught his eye from a nearby craps table, his nod silently judging him for the martini in his hand. Chuck just narrowed his eyes back, he'd noticed the martini glass by Bryce's hand too. Bryce's eyes danced, Chuck losing sight of him as he slipped into his seat by Sarah.

"Ah, roulette," he announced. "My favorite game aside from Call of Duty." He settled in. "Chips please."

Casey, because of course it was Casey, turned around and slid him two stacks of chips. "One hundred, sir. Good luck." Under his breath the NSA agent added; "Don't lose it."

Kirk glanced over at them, smiling entirely at Sarah. "I don't believe we've met before. I'm Lon Kirk." He held out his hand to Chuck. "I'm the host of this evening's event. I know the people of Taiwan are deeply appreciative of your generosity."

"Oh, well," Chuck smiled, trying to be both dismissive and gracious. "Cheers. The name's Carmichael. Charles Carmichael."

"And your charming companion?" Kirk asked, leaning across Chuck to take Sarah's hand and kiss it.

"Sarah Walker," Sarah smiled warmly. "Pleasure."

Chuck settled back and let Sarah ask Kirk ("Lon please" eugh) about Taiwan and the reasons behind his choice to focus his attention on the country. The guy was so smarmy and pleased with himself. It made Chuck's skin crawl.

For that reason - and the incredibly strong, seriously probably twelve proof, martini - Chuck might have acted a bit irresponsibly. He bet all his (the CIA's) money on black.

All $100,000 of it.

And, because Chuck's luck really, really sucked, he lost it all. Every last dime.

In the midst of his panic, Sarah winked at Lon Kirk. Because of course she did. Spies had apparently never heard of leaving with the fake date who brought them. And this was precisely why Chuck was no longer fake dating her. The two events they'd been to together, she'd left him at every one.

Oh, yeah, and Casey whistled and directed Chuck's attention to the man Kirk was talking to.

Rashan Chen.

"Kirk is talking to Rashan Chen," Chuck explained as quickly as he could. "He's the Taiwanese Attaché to the Premier. He's dirty. They're using the charity as a front to launder counterfeit money."

Sarah followed his gaze to the two men. "Okay, something's wrong," she noticed, getting up. "I'm going to see what's going on. Chuck, you stay at the table."

Sarah went over and started flirting with Kirk. A month ago, that would have made him green with envy, but now all Chuck felt was a quiet sense of resignation. One that wasn't made any better by Casey's low growl that they'd work out a payment plan.

"I don't have to sit here and be insulted," Chuck announced, pushing up off the table. "Keep an eye on Sarah."

Casey grunted something that was probably an agreement, Chuck already winding his way through the other guests.

"How's your evening going?" Chuck asked, hovering at Bryce's shoulder.

Bryce shrugged his other shoulder, grinning easily. "I'm up a couple of grand. You?"

Chuck groaned and dropped his head onto Bryce's shoulder. "I just blew a hundred thousand."

Bryce whistled through his teeth. "Yikes."

Yikes? That was all he had to say?

Chuck narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Really?" He knew Bryce wasn't really big on sympathy, but he'd hoped for something more comforting. "Casey says we can work out a payment plan."

Bryce collected his chips, shaking his head fondly. "First of all, buddy, stop panicking," he muttered through a smile. "Charles Carmichael is rich enough that losing a hundred grand is nothing. Secondly," here Bryce's smile actually warmed. "Let's hit the Blackjack table."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Chuck groaned, helplessly trailing after his grinning friend.

Bryce shot him a dazzling smile, slipping into an empty seat at the blackjack table. "It'll be fine, Charles," he drawled, sounding exactly like someone who had too much money and time on their hands. "It's for charity. You can't expect me not to want to help out such a worthy cause."

"You say that now, Bryce," Chuck chided, picking up on his almost imperceptible cues. "But it's me who's going to have to fly all the way to Vegas to drag your ass back to your boardroom after three straight months away."

Bryce's grin turned wounded. "It happens one time."

"It was twice," Chuck retorted, ignoring the petulant elbow jabbed into his ribs. "Why are we doing this?" he added in a murmur, not averse to the act, just confused.

"Fun," Bryce shrugged, eyes twinkling. "They'll bet more against me if they think I have a penchant for gambling."

"Really?"

Bryce shrugged nonchalantly. "It's worth a try." He slid some chips surreptitiously across to Chuck. "Now, buddy, let's play Blackjack."

By the time the event ended, and Sarah had come back from flirting with Kirk, Chuck (and Bryce - between the two of them, they'd decimated the blackjack table) had won back just enough that Chuck was no longer in crippling debt to the CIA. Perhaps it was slightly irresponsible of them to gamble when they should've been watching Kirk and his suspicious associates, but Chuck hoped they'd all feel better knowing they hadn't directly financed Kirk's shady dealings. Chuck knew he certainly would. And, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy winning back the money he'd impulsively gambled away. Indentured servitude to the CIA didn't sound like his idea of fun.

And at least the night hadn't been a total bust. Chuck had flashed, Sarah had scored an invitation to continue flirting with a billionaire, Casey had got to threaten him a little, and Bryce had got to indirectly help save Chuck's skin. So, it was probably almost a success all around. Except, well, Chuck did feel a little bit downhearted that not even his wildly successful alias could maintain a relationship without one half of said relationship deciding to cheat on him with an even more successful older guy (literally, the story of Chuck's life). But it had been a fun enough evening, and he hadn't even been shot at (and neither had Bryce, for all the miracles), so he supposed he couldn't really complain.

Bright and early the next morning, Chuck was taking the trash out to the bins, enjoying the early morning air, the energy of a good night's sleep and even better coffee buoying him for even the most unpleasant of days. Casey was on one knee by a shiny black car, almost caressing it with a polishing glove. It wasn't the strangest thing he'd ever seen - Morgan was one of his best friends and he did very strange things, as did Jeff and Lester and the less said about them the better - but it was certainly nothing Chuck had expected to see this early in the morning.

"Nice car," he called, staying a safe distance from the major.

"It's not just any car," Casey replied without turning around. "It's a 1985 Crown Victoria. But, like a lady, she doesn't like it when I talk about her age."

"I'm not really a car guy," Chuck shrugged. "So I don't really," he trailed off as Casey's I will murder you glare intensified. "Pretty, pretty shiny though."

"Oh, yeah, she's shiny," Casey stated, like it was a matter of fact. "4.6 V8 engine, hydra glide transmission, reupholstered the prisoner containment area. Even installed a state-of-the-art GPS tracking system in the license plate." Casey's eyes widened, looking almost excited. "Can locate this baby anywhere in the world in less than a minute."

"That's great," Chuck agreed, honestly a bit scared with how into his car Casey was. "That's really great, Casey."

"Could buy ten more just like her with the money you pissed away on one spin last night," Casey glared, dropping his glove back in with the other supplies.

"I won it back," Chuck protested, shaking his head. "Bryce and I won it all back. I should've known you weren't going to let it go."

Casey rolled his eyes, packing up his supplies. "And you'd be up the creek if your boyfriend didn't bail you out all the time."

"Okay. First of all," Chuck began, holding up a finger. "Rude. Secondly, I think you're just jealous that Bryce likes me better than you."

That Bryce liked Chuck better than almost everyone was definitely neither here nor there and not something Chuck would ever mention to Casey.

Casey glanced over his shoulder with a dry glare. "It just eats me up inside," he deadpanned, scoffing. "Don't you have work to be getting on with?"

"Work's not for another hour," Chuck reminded him, the thought of all the paperwork waiting for him taking the coffee buzz right out of him. "But, since you mention it, I do have breakfast waiting. Bryce's making pancakes." The and you're not invited so there was implicit, Chuck returning to the apartment with a spring in his step.

"Ellie catch you on your way back?" Bryce called, hunting in the refrigerator for the maple syrup.

"No," Chuck sighed, dropping back into his place at the kitchen island. A fresh mug of steaming coffee was waiting for him, alongside a plate of pancakes. "I ran into Casey."

"His usual effervescent self was he?" Bryce smirked, settling his prize onto the table.

Chuck sipped on his coffee, hiding a grin behind the rim. "I think I interrupted his alone time with his car."

Bryce's eyebrows raised, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Tell me it wasn't that Crown Vic?" Bryce shook his head. "He's unnaturally attached to that car."

"Morgan's having lunch with Anna's parents today," Chuck offered, a little worried for his friend. "I really hope he doesn't overthink it."

"He'll be fine," Bryce replied easily. "Anna wouldn't inflict him on her parents if she didn't think their relationship would survive it."

"And Sarah's on her own for her lunch with Lon Kirk-"

"Believe me, she can more than handle herself," Bryce cut in, calm but serious. "And Kirk will underestimate her, which she's gonna hate but she's not averse to using."

Chuck knew that. Out of all his handlers, Sarah was the one who he knew had no trouble taking care of herself. It was just...

"So all we can do is stay at the Buy More and wait?"

"The less glamorous side of spy work," Bryce agreed softly. "Sometimes there's just nothing we can do but sit back and wait for something to happen."

Chuck raised an eyebrow, hoping his bite of pancake hid his dubious expression.

"I know that look, Bartowski," the superspy uttered, narrowing his eyes. "What's going on in there?"

"Oh, nothing," Chuck smirked, innocently sipping at his coffee. "Just imagining you ever sitting back and waiting for something to happen."

"I can be patient."

"And Casey's one of my best friends."

"Hey," Bryce glowered, not seeing the funny side. "I put up with Grimes, mostly because I have no choice in the matter, but I am not gonna watch you get all pally with Major Monosyllable."

"Don't worry, buddy," Chuck grinned, knocking his foot against Bryce's under the table. "I really don't see our relationship heading that way."

"His loss," Bryce replied loyally, but he didn't bother hiding the tiny, relieved smile on his lips.

"Speaking of losing things," Chuck sighed. "We'd better finish up here and get to work. We've got never-ending piles of paperwork to lose our sanities to."

"And you've got to talk Morgan out of bailing from his lunch date with Anna's parents," Bryce added, as if Chuck could have forgotten. "Meanwhile I have to find the holiday party budget from somewhere and work out how to deduct all the expenses."

"Grab lunch later then?"

"It'll be the highlight of my day," Bryce agreed, and he didn't even sound sarcastic.

That lunchtime, Chuck was manning the Nerd Herd desk. Jeff and Lester were off somewhere being Jeff and Lester (which meant Chuck really didn't want to think too hard about what exactly they were doing), and with Anna away at lunch with her parents, Chuck was basically the only nerd available.

Bryce, because a) they were still doing the whole interdepenent thing, and b) he said if he had to look at the Buy More accounts for one more second he would actually shoot something, was reclining in a chair nearby. His fingers flew over the pad of his phone, his lips curled in a tiny grin at whatever he was writing. Chuck had asked, but all his friend had said was that he was "keeping in touch", like that answered anything. For Bryce, it probably did, and Chuck had learned not to press him on it.

"You know, I'm waiting for the day someone mistakes you for a nerd herder," Chuck offered, idly swinging back and forth on his chair.

Bryce snorted a little laugh. "Nerd, yes. Nerd herder, not in a million years."

"Ouch," Chuck deadpanned, grinning a moment later. "I dunno though, you'd be better at Casey at the whole customer service thing."

"That's because I'm better than Casey at almost everything," Bryce replied cheerfully. "But still, they couldn't afford me."

"You do know you actually work here, right?"

"As an accountant and at heavily discounted rates," Bryce corrected, grinning over his phone. "And only because you work here."

Chuck opened his mouth, words about how uncharacteristically sweet that was forming on his lips, only to be interrupted by his phone.

"Hey Morgan," Chuck greeted, easy and happy.

"Yeah, hey, hey dude," Morgan replied, sounding a little tense. "We got a possible situation here. I'm out lunching with Anna's parents at some fancy yacht club in the Marina. Okay, when who do I see, but someone who resembles the future Mrs Chuck Bartowski."

Chuck sat up a bit in his chair, concerned that Morgan was so close to an active operation without Chuck (or any of the trained professionals) there to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't get himself involved.

Bryce tucked his phone away, blue eyes bright on Chuck. His head tilted in a what's wrong query, Chuck just holding up a finger.

"All right," Morgan continued, oblivious. "She's getting all lotioned up by some creepy Richard Branson meets Willem Dafoe-lookin' dude, right? And he is all over her, man. I mean he is really greasing her and working up this lather. I mean, it's just, it's, uh, quite a scene over here."

Chuck closed his eyes a moment, quietly grateful that he and Sarah were slowly moving towards something like a friendship and not a fake relationship that had Chuck still pining after her like a particularly lovesick puppy.

"And, hey, man, listen I gotta go. The lobster's here."

"What's going on?"

"Morgan's at the Marina for lunch with the Wu's," Chuck explained quickly. "He's apparently got a front row seat of Sarah's date with Kirk."

"Okay," Bryce said, nodding slowly. "Well, Casey's there keeping an eye on Sarah, but I don't see the harm in having a couple more pairs of eyes there."

"Couldn't hurt," Chuck agreed, searching his pockets for where he'd left his keys. "But, what if we're seen?"

"Well," Bryce thought for a moment. "You can play the jealous boyfriend and I'll be the supportive best friend there to make sure you don't do something impulsive and stupid."

"Just as long as we keep the op away from Morgan."

"Trust me, buddy," Bryce replied, sending him a quick smile. "The spy world isn't ready for Morgan Grimes."

Chapter Text

It wasn't hard to find Casey at the Marina. It wasn't really all that hard to find Casey anywhere. All Chuck had to do was follow the vague sense of someone wanting to shoot everyone in his immediate vicinity and there Casey usually was. They had made a brief detour on the way to the Marina, picking up coffee and donuts in an effort to appease - as Bryce called it - the hungry twitchy trigger finger.

And Bryce, as usual, was right.

Casey, in his usual rooting-for-death black attire, turned his gun on them as they came up behind him.

"Hey! Hey!" Chuck held his hands up, as much as he could considering he had coffee and baked goods in them. "Easy there, Rambo. Don't shoot. You can have the jelly filled."

Casey lowered the gun slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking an afternoon constitutional," Bryce snarked, undoubtedly rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Chuck brought you food and I'm here because Chuck is."

"We've got plenty of backup," Casey glowered, ignoring Chuck's offered doughnut. "Walker and I don't need your help, Larkin."

"In case you didn't pay attention at the briefing, Casey, this is a sensitive mission," Bryce reminded him, smirking. "Now, I know that your usual instinct is to shoot first and grunt questions never, but Chuck and I are capable of something unusual called subtlety."

Chuck narrowed his eyes at Bryce, fighting back the smile twitching his lips. "I thought you were going to be nice."

"I'm always nice," Bryce said, hand finding a place over his heart. "I'm a delight."

"You're a dork."

Bryce inclined his head, conceding easily; "That too."

Chuck shook his head fondly, turning his attention back to Casey. "Morgan's having lunch here with Anna and her parents. We just wanted to make sure he didn't interfere with the mission."

Casey stared at him for a long moment, offering a grunt of acknowledgement. "Grimes won't get anywhere near it," he replied, grabbing Chuck by the front of his shirt. "See?"

Binoculars were thrust upon Chuck's face, Casey tilting his head from side to side so he could see the agents lurking around the perimeter.

"So you can beat it, Bartowski," Casey smirked, dropping Chuck's shirt.

Chuck ignored him, his gaze on Sarah and Kirk through the binoculars. "They're going down below," he said, trusting that Sarah had a way to communicate with them somewhere in that skimpy bikini of hers. Following her, Chuck's attention was caught by a wooden crate. Supposedly full of humanitarian aid. But it was just a front.

The binoculars dropped back around Casey's neck, the NSA major, turning his full focus on Chuck. "What is it?"

"They're loading the counterfeit plates onto the boat," he replied, still processing the flash. "They're hidden in crates marked as aid medicines."

Casey glanced over Chuck's shoulder, sharing a confused look with Bryce. "What?"

Chuck waved his hand towards Kirk's yacht. "Yeah. I just flashed on a crate they just brought onboard. That's why Kirk just brought Sarah below deck."

Peering at the boat, Casey cursed under his breath. "This guy is important, Chuck," he sighed, as if Chuck had forgotten that detail. "We can't be wrong. You sure?"

"I just flashed," Chuck snapped, glaring at his handler. "I'm sure, okay?"

Seeing Casey still looked a little uncertain, Chuck turned to his right. Bryce sighed softly, meeting Casey's gaze. "The Intersect can't lie. Chuck's never steered you wrong before."

Casey nodded once, raising his walkie-talkie to his lips. "This is Casey. We're going in. Go."

Before Chuck could protest, Casey was running towards the boat, leaving Chuck and Bryce to watch after him.

"You're not going with them?" Chuck asked, taking in the far too casual way his friend was standing.

Bryce shook his head once. "We have a cover to maintain. Until this mission is over, Kirk can only see us as Chuck Carmichael and Bryce Anderson."

Chuck hummed slightly, squinting after the agents. "Can you see anything?"

"My sunglasses don't come with magnification, buddy," Bryce chuckled, but he pulled some binoculars from seemingly thin air. "They're on the boat," he announced, tone distant in the way it got when he was concentrating. "Kirk's yammering on. Casey's doing his Casey thing. Mm-hmm. Kirk's opening the crate."

What? Kirk?

Chuck frowned, peering at the blurry figures on the yacht. "And?"

Bryce was silent for a long moment. "Medicinal supplies. No plates."

That made no sense. Chuck had flashed. He knew what the Intersect had told him.

"But, where are the plates?"

"I don't know, buddy." Bryce's smile was small but reassuring. "But we'll find 'em."

Chuck found himself being steered back to the car.

"I am not getting dragged into that briefing," was all Bryce said, shuddering lightly. "Let's just go back to work."

Chuck tried on a grin he didn't quite feel. "You'd rather do accounting work. This must be serious."

Bryce huffed a quiet laugh. "Let's just say I'm not in the mood for repeating myself a million times that the flashes can't lie." He tossed Chuck the car keys. "I'll get a headache and Graham will start with the lecturing, and before you know it, I'll have done something impulsive like shooting the television so I don't have to listen to it anymore."

That was Bryce's distract Chuck tone. His if I keep him talking he won't notice how he nearly blew the mission tone. Not that Chuck had heard that particular inflection before, but he was a smart guy, he could extrapolate.

The thing was, Chuck didn't know how he could have messed up so badly. And until he could work it out, he welcomed Bryce's distraction.

"Shooting Casey's television is a little extreme, don't you think, Bryce?"

Bryce turned, an expression of such innocence on his face. "I'm not shooting him. And, frankly, we'd both agree I have grounds." Bryce ticked off items on his fingers. "His terrible excuse for coffee. His terrible taste in cars. His lack of appreciation for the genius that is Star Trek." The superspy paused for a second. "Oh, yeah. And he shot me."

"You'd just stolen every secret our government has and then blown up a top secret installation," Chuck pointed out reasonably. "But still, he could've used a taser."

Bryce's laughter filled the car. "You've never been shot by a taser, have you, Chuck?"

"By sucker darts, in Call of Duty, in a bulletproof vest, but not by a taser, no."

"Wouldn't recommend." Bryce cut a glance over at him, smirking. "It's almost as bad as paperwork."

"And that's what we've got to look forward to," Chuck chirped.

At least the mind numbing tedium of it would take their minds off the spectacular fail of their mission so far.

Later that night, Chuck had finally managed to stop second-guessing himself about his flash. Once again, he and Bryce were in the Bartowski/Woodcomb apartment, lounging on the couch and admiring Ellie's perfectly decorated tree. They'd just finished baking the pies for the Buy More holiday party and, since it wasn't fair to be able to smell the pies and not eat them, they'd fled to the clearer air of Chuck's empty apartment. Besides, Bryce's apartment was a bit of a mess. They'd half-heartedly begun to trim his tree (nerdy ornaments only) that Saturday and had utterly failed to return to the task in the days since.

Steaming mugs of peppermint cocoa rested on the coffee table, Christmas music playing quietly on the stereo. It was nice, relaxing. Exactly what they needed to just let go and melt into the couch cushions. Chuck's socked feet swayed to the music, Bryce watching with a fond smile.

"Must you always make cocoa hotter than the surface of Mercury?"

"There's a reason people call it hot chocolate, buddy."

"Hot chocolate, yes," Bryce teased. "Not burn your mouth chocolate."

"Always with the complaints, buddy," Chuck tsked. "In case you've forgotten,you loved my cocoa at Stanford."

"And I still do, buddy," Bryce replied, warming his hands on the mug. "Which is why I'd like to be able to drink it."

Chuck stuck his tongue out, patting Bryce's knee as the doorbell rang.

A casual clothed Sarah strolled in, tone brisk. "Are Ellie and Awesome home?"

"No, they're at work," Chuck replied, frowning. "And hello to you too."

Bryce poked his head over the couch, smiling. "Hi, Sarah."

Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly, her face losing some of it's irritation. "Hey, Bryce," she greeted, shoulders slumping on a sigh. "I know it's late and this is your free time but could you give Chuck and I a minute, please?"

Bryce turned his head, looking at Chuck. "Buddy?"

Chuck nodded, preparing himself for whatever deserved anger Sarah would throw at him. "I picked up a stack of Christmas movies a couple of days ago. Why don't you choose one? They're in my room."

"I know," Bryce replied easily. "Just shout if you need me." He nodded at Sarah, one of their wordless spy conversations over almost before Chuck could blink. "Just a fair warning, buddy, even if Die Hard 2 is in that stack, I'm not coming out with it."

Chuck rolled his eyes, grinning fondly at his friend's retreating back. "You have no taste!"

"And you're my best friend," Bryce smirking voice called back. "Think on that."

Chuck looked back at Sarah, unsurprised to find that she wasn't even slightly amused at their antics. "What can I do for you, Sarah?"

"What was that today?" Sarah asked, the tone almost a demand except for how tired she sounded.

"I don't know," Chuck sighed, resisting the urge to rub at his aching temples. "I don't get it. I flashed on the crate."

"Right when I went below deck with Kirk," Sarah replied, and Chuck could almost swear that was accusation. "Pretty convenient timing, I would say."

Yeah, that was definitely accusation.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just when you thought I was getting intimate with Kirk you decided to have a flash!"

Chuck could not believe his ears. "What exactly are you accusing me of?" he asked, meeting Sarah's glare. "Faking a flash? That I'm a flash faker?"

"You know, I think we need to discuss the fact that you let your emotions get in the way today."

"My emotions?" Chuck repeated, irritation starting to prickle in his veins. "In case you've forgotten, Sarah, you're the one who said there was nothing between us. And was I hurt? Yeah, but I moved on."

Chuck ran a hand through his hair. It had been a long day and he didn't want to say something that either of them would regret. And yet...

"Just answer me one question, Agent Walker. Are you accusing me of faking the flash because you actually believe I still have feelings for you, or is it just easier than admitting that we have no clue how to save this mission?"

Sarah stared at him for a long while, anger finally giving way to frustration. "What happened this afternoon was a mistake, Chuck," she said, as if he wasn't uncomfortably aware of that. "We can't risk it happening again."

"Sarah," Bryce called, standing just outside the kitchen. "It's not his fault."

There was a meaning behind Bryce's words that Chuck didn't understand. Sarah closed her eyes, nodding slowly.

"I know," she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's been a long week."

"And it'll get even longer until we solve this thing," Bryce agreed softly. "Go home, get some sleep. We'll still have these problems in the morning."

Sarah nodded again, offering a tired smile. "Goodnight Bryce. Chuck."

"Night, Sarah," Chuck replied, watching her walk out the door.

Bryce gracefully folded himself back onto the couch, smile a little faded. "Christmas is a hard time for spies," he said, as if that explained everything.

And, yeah, Chuck imagined that it did.

"For you too?" Chuck asked, returning to the warm spot he'd left.

Bryce blinked, a slow smile spreading on his lips. "Not this year," he said, as if it had only just dawned on him. "I'm back with my family."

Chuck couldn't have stopped his smile even if he'd wanted to. "Yeah, you are," he agreed brightly, peering at the DVD case in the table. "What'd you choose?"

"After today, we need a laugh," Bryce said, picking up the remote. He must've put the disc in while Chuck was distracted.

"Don't you get tired of watching Christmas Vacation?" Chuck teased, bumping lightly into his grinning friend's side.

"Never," Bryce replied haughtily. "And, unlike your choices, it actually is a Christmas movie."

Chuck groaned, playfully rolling his eyes. "Oh, shut up and press play."

The next day, things were business as usual at the Buy More. Jeff wandered around in his elf's hat, they continued to try and sell more than their competition next door, and Chuck juggled being Chief Nerd of the Nerd Herd with his assistant managerial duties. That he managed to do so while keeping Bryce constantly in his peripheral vision was a feat he was quite proud of - even if he was certain Bryce was hovering around on purpose.

For the record, Chuck was not complaining on that front. Not even a little bit. It meant excellent coffee was always within reach, and he didn't have to worry about his best friend disappearing off the face of the planet. Not that Chuck was worried about that, because that would be an overreaction and not at all something that Chuck would definitely totally do.

Of course, a downside of his friend being out in the open so much was that he did actually have to work, the screen of his laptop earning more than a few glares at whatever nonsense was expected of him.

"You had to pick accountant, didn't you?" Bryce grumbled under his breath, setting the offending laptop onto the desk. "You couldn't have picked literally anything else; Hitman, male model, computer game designer?"

Chuck's eyebrows lifted. "It's not my fault your cover used to be in a bank."

"This place is too idiotic for logic," Bryce pointed out, glancing towards the entrance. His eyes filled with laughter he didn't voice. "Oh, this is going to be good."

Chuck followed his gaze, helpless but to chuckle a little.

Morgan came strolling over, Chuck's eyes widening at his nautical attire. "Well, well, well," he called, Morgan offering a proud salute. "Lookin' good, Morgan."

Morgan leaned against the desk, grinning down at him. "Well, feeling good, Charles."

Bryce, because he apparently couldn't resist, rolled his chair closed for the desk. "Morning Skipper, where's Gilligan?"

Chuck hid his grin behind a cough, lightly kicking his ankle. "How was meeting Anna's parents?" Chuck asked, because it was too close to Christmas to risk bickering between his best friends.

"Uh, it was... It was fine," Morgan replied, looking across at Anna. "It went okay... Ish?"

"Let's just say he wasn't the Morgan we've all come to know and love," Anna sighed, looking down at her hands. She offered a sad sort of smile to Morgan and wandered away.

Big Mike took her place, glaring down at Morgan. "Hey, Captain Stubing!"

"Morning, Michael," Morgan replied, gesturing towards the right of the store. "You know, I was thinking about focusing my energy towards the starboard side of the store today."

"You don't change into some regulation clothing right now, I'm gonna kick the starboard side of your ass," Big Mike ordered, snatching the Captain's hat off Morgan's head as he walked away.

"Why do people hate the rich?" Morgan asked rhetorically.

Chuck, who had rolled back to enjoy the Big Mike & Morgan show, frowned as Morgan turned his attention back on him.

"Hey, listen. Uh, Anna's parents invited us, or at least Anna, on a cruise with some of their big shot Taiwanese friends. You should join us, maybe take the chance and see about getting Sarah to take you back?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Morgan, buddy, I know you want me and Sarah to get back together, but we're just friends and that's all it's gonna be."

Morgan sighed but nodded. "Just you then. Come on, Chuck, there's supposed to be shrimp cocktail served."

"Thanks, buddy," Chuck smiled, not really in the mood for socialisation. "I think I'm gonna just stay landlocked tonight."

"Suit yourself," Morgan shrugged, wandering off to do his job before Big Mike followed through with his promise.

Bryce groaned, cursing softly under his breath.

Chuck turned to him, alarm flaring in his stomach. "Bryce?"

"I've been summoned to Casey's," his friend sighed, pushing up off the chair. "Apparently my presence is mandatory at briefings after missions have gone FUBAR." He clapped Chuck's shoulder, trying on a grin Chuck knew was ninety percent fake. "You'd best put a TV on standby for me."

Chuck knew, rationally, that Bryce going away to a briefing was both necessary and normal, but it didn't stop his instinct to come with him. "Am I needed?"

Bryce shook his head tightly. "It's probably best if you stay here, buddy. I'll be back soon."

"Bring coffee," Chuck called. "And lunch!"

Bryce chuckled, waving as he charted a course for the doors.

Bryce grinned at his latest text message from Chuck. Apparently things were slow at the Buy More so Morgan had been talked into another round of guessing the mystery food in the break room fridge. He wasn't sorry to miss it, but the uniquely idiotic Buy More antics would (hopefully, considering Chuck's unique propensity) keep his friend from getting into trouble in the half an hour Bryce intended to be gone.

He pocketed his phone, letting himself into Casey's apartment. Immediately, his boss's voice rang through the speakers. "Agent Larkin, so nice of you to grace us with your presence."

"Forgive me, I thought guarding the Intersect was still my primary mission," Bryce snarked back, fully aware that it was a reckless thing to do and yet unable to muster the urge to care.

Graham decided to ignore Bryce's response, nodding slightly to Beckman. As if that was her cue, the NSA general launched into the lecture they'd all known was coming.

"What part of handle Lon Kirk with caution wasn't clear, Agents Walker, Larkin and Casey?"

"Chuck flashed, General," Casey replied. "Our decision to raid the boat was based on information we received from the Intersect."

"Except Chuck was wrong."

"We think Kirk must have managed to hide the plates somehow," Sarah explained, glancing a little towards Bryce. She was still a little sceptical about it, he knew, but at least she was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"Where?" Graham asked, and that was the question they'd all been asking themselves since the day before.

"We don't know," Bryce admitted, sensing it was his turn to take the heat.

Graham leaned a little closer to the screen, his disapproval clear. "So you moved in anyway?"

"Is there something that might have caused Chuck to think those plates were on Kirk's boat?" Beckman asked, sounding tired. "Anything that might have caused his flash?"

Bryce stared evenly over Beckman's shoulder, fingers twitching at his sides. Sometimes, he really thought he was the only person in the intelligence agencies who actually bothered to learn the science behind the Intersect project. Of course, he did originally have a vested interest in doing so, but he would have thought his bosses would have done the same.

"Something to add, Agent Larkin?" Graham invited, tone suggesting that there better not be.

"The flashes are based on visual stimuli that trigger the information encoded on the images Chuck saw," Bryce reminded them, keeping himself calm through the training the CIA had so thoughtfully provided him. "The only things that trigger the flashes are those stimuli. So, when Chuck says those plates were on the boat, I'd be willing to bet my career on it."

"The way this case is going, you might have to," Graham growled, shaking his head.

"We don't want any of you anywhere near Kirk from now on," Beckman ordered, tone final.

"But he doesn't suspect me," Sarah protested, looking from one of their bosses to the other.

"We don't know that," Graham replied. "And we can't risk it. So, until further notice, consider yourselves benched."

With a beep far too cheerful for the situation, the connection was severed and they were left to sigh and - in Casey's case - scowl at the monitor.

"This is going to be another fun Christmas," Bryce muttered, running his hand through his hair.

Sarah smiled bitterly, pigtails swinging as her head shook. "We've had worse."

Bryce was intimately aware of that. As Sarah was herself. But, nevertheless... "Call me naive but I had hoped this would be one of our better ones."

It was certainly the closest one to normal they'd had in a long, long time. Two spies, ruthless, without families to go home to, Bryce couldn't remember a Christmas with the company that he hadn't spent knee deep in the worst of humanity.

And Sarah had been CIA longer than he had.

As if reading his mind - which Bryce honestly suspected his former partner of being secretly adept in - Sarah offered another sad smile. "Don't you ever just want to have a normal life? Have a family?"

A normal life. The thing spies tortured themselves with in the middle of the night. All the hopes and dreams tossed away for idealistic fervor that quickly burned away.

Bryce turned away, busying himself with tidying up the connection. Sarah could read him too well, and Bryce didn't want to risk her seeing whatever was hiding in his eyes right now. Besides, it wasn't fair of him to reply. Not when this, this operation, was the closest thing he was ever going to have to the life he'd once wistfully imagined. Living in California, working with Chuck, spending almost all his free time with his best friend - his college self could never have dreamed up anything better.

Casey glowered at them, eyes hard with walls drawn high up. "The choice we made to protect something bigger than ourselves is the right choice," Casey growled. "Hard as that is for you two to remember at times."

Sarah nodded, her masks coming back up. "I'll talk to Chuck, make sure things are okay between us. I didn't mean to hurt him. And if I've somehow caused this-"

"You haven't," Bryce interrupted. He wasn't anyone's agony aunt but he wasn't stupid. "Chuck said he moved on and he has. Believe me, I've seen Chuck heartbroken and I've seen him pining. Right now, he's neither. But, I think clearing the air between you two is a good idea." Bryce gathered up his take out coffee, smiling over his shoulder. "His is a friendship you don't want to lose. Trust me on that."

That evening, Chuck was still manning the Nerd Herd desk. It wasn't that he had to exactly, but Ellie and Awesome were having a date night in at the apartment, and since the thought of having to actually continue fixing the mess they'd made of Bryce's tree made them both mutually decide to stay at the Buy More awhile longer. He had a bowl of microwaved leftover pasta, a travel mug of excellent coffee, and the sarcastic commentary of Bryce on the purchases the Buy More shoppers were considering. In short, it was a pretty good evening.

Bryce had his personal laptop open on his lap, Chuck pretending he hadn't seen the folder helpfully named Fulcrum before Bryce had half-heartedly begun to look deeper into Kirk. Blue eyes flickered towards a frazzled looking mother holding a Robosapien, a considering noise leaving Bryce's throat.

"Now that's a toy that's going to make a kid very happy this Christmas."

"How did I guess you'd like toy robots?" Chuck teased, pointing at him with his plastic fork.

"I have no idea," Bryce grinned back, all innocence. "It couldn't be because we both have engineering degrees."

"Nope," Chuck agreed brightly. "That makes no sense at all."

Bryce chuckled, reluctantly returning his attention to his computer.

Chuck smiled fondly, looking down at his phone at the cheerful bleep of a message. Morgan had sent a photo of him and Anna's family on the deck of a boat - undoubtedly on the big-wig cruise Chuck had avoided. He grinned at his friend's enthusiasm, zooming in to see the details more clearly. There was a blurry crate just above Morgan's head - a very familiar looking crate.

Chuck dived into a nearby drawer, grabbing a USB cable from the depths. Then, rolling back to Bryce's side, he turned his friend's laptop until the screen was facing him.

"Chuck?"

Chuck held up a finger, connecting the USB to his phone and the computer. He uploaded the file, making use of the superior image features on Bryce's MacBook to bring up the crate.

Bryce, while holding still so his laptop didn't fall, managed to convey a sense of mild irritation. "I'm not averse to sharing my things with you, Chuck," he began, tone soft. "I seem to remember a communal approach to our property that worked out well at Stanford. But I was in the middle of something."

Chuck spun the laptop back around, pointing at the crates and the Taiwanese man standing by them. "That's Kirk's partner in dirty dealings. And those are the crates with the plates. They're on Rashan's boat."

Bryce didn't ask if Chuck was certain, he didn't so much as blink. The laptop slammed shut, the superspy rising to his feet with the irritating grace he'd had even before starting gymnastics. "Casey still here?"

"Barbeques," Chuck replied, nodding in the general direction. Bryce nodded, grabbed Chuck's wrist, and strode towards the NSA major.

"Hey, we need to talk," Chuck called, waving his phone vaguely in the air.

"Not right now," Casey replied, nodding towards his customer. "I'm about to move a Beastmaster."

"No," Chuck interrupted, narrowing his eyes. "Now."

Casey looked him up and down, nodding. "Fine." He handed the tongs to his customer, striding over to Chuck and Bryce. "This better be good."

"Morgan sent me a JPEG from the Taiwanese attache's yacht," Chuck announced, talking quickly. "I uploaded it to Bryce's computer and used an XTEL software device to break down the data into readable bytes."

"English, Bartowski," Casey requested, ignoring Bryce's quiet huff of laughter.

Chuck pulled out a printout. "I blew up the photo." Casey took the photo. "The counterfeit plates are on Rashan's boat, with Anna and Morgan."

"These are the same crates you flashed on yesterday," Casey pointed out, shoving the photo back at Chuck. "The ones that got us benched."

Chuck couldn't believe his ears. "Didn't you hear what I just said? Morgan and Anna are on..." Chuck trailed off, reading the disbelief in Casey's face. "Look, I'm right about this. The Intersect is right about this."

Casey shook his head apologetically. "Orders are orders."

Bryce sighed, his eyes flashing towards the door. The door and the Wienerlicious, where Sarah was still working. Before Casey could blink, they were off, hurrying across the parking lot to the restaurant.

"Look, I need to talk to you," Chuck called, Bryce hanging back by the entrance, glaring potential customers away.

"Chuck, please not now," Sarah sighed, nodding towards the customers waiting to be served.

"These are the same crates I flashed on yesterday," he announced, showing her the photograph. In the background, he heard Bryce making chitchat, distracting the other patrons from eavesdropping. "They're on a boat with the Taiwanese attache. The guy you saw arguing with Kirk. He's getting away with the plates."

"You think Kirk put the plates on Rashan's boat?" Sarah checked, glancing from the photo to Chuck.

"Yes!" Chuck said, imploring her to understand. "Look, I know your orders are to stay away. But the plates are on that boat. Possibly with Morgan and Anna. Look, trust me, I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I-"

Sarah interrupted him, coming around the counter to join him. She nodded at a grinning Bryce, rushing from the shop while Chuck blinked and tried to process.

Bryce grabbed his wrist, shaking his head fondly. "She's on our side. Now, come on, bud, let's go get those plates."

Casey's Crown Vic screeched to a stop just as Sarah, Chuck and Bryce were running towards the Marina. Casey emerged in full tactical gear, ready for a fight. "Someone's got to protect the Intersect," was all he said.

"I think I'm offended," Bryce muttered, but he nodded a thanks at the NSA Major.

"Thank you, I guess," Chuck frowned, a little bit bemused.

"Plus I didn't want to miss any gunplay," Casey added, brushing past him.

Yeah, that was more like it.

Chuck shrugged at Bryce, the two following after Casey and Sarah. They emerged onto the seaside in time to see Morgan doing a Titanic pose on the bow of the yacht. He saw a small metal device, images flashing through his mind.

"There's a GPS missile tracking device on the ship," he announced, breathless. "They're going to blow it up."

"Kirk's got his money, and he's going to bury the evidence," Casey growled, words almost lost under Morgan's cry of being the king of the world.

"King of the world," Bryce muttered, shaking his head. "He's an idiot." Harsh though his words were, his hand was gentle as it found Chuck's shoulder. "I can't believe I'm going to have to save that moron's life."

"They're loading the missile launcher onto Kirk's boat," Sarah announced, nodding towards the activity.

"They're going to follow them out and use it," Casey guessed. "They'll take out the yacht."

"The one with Morgan on it?" Chuck asked, already knowing the truth. "Little buddy."

"I'll create a diversion," Sarah offered, glaring at the ship.

"I'll get the guards," Casey added. "Chuck-"

"Come with me," Sarah interrupted, grabbing him by the hand.

Sarah stood outside Kirk's boat, calling out for the billionaire. She was invited on board, Chuck taking his cue to run up like the jealous boyfriend he - or rather Carmichael - was supposed to be.

"Well, well, well!" Chuck cried, disbelieving. "I see how it is, Sarah. How could you do this? After everything that I've done for you. After all that I've given to you." Sarah nodded towards Kirk, wordlessly telling him to draw it out more. "The house! The house in the Hamptons! Or how about the summers in South Africa, or the winters in Gstaad?"

"You don't own me, Charles," Sarah replied coldly. "Lon knows how I really feel. And he won't abandon me for weeks on end to spend time with his frat buddies!"

"Oh really?!" Chuck cried, eyes wide. "Do you have any idea how stressful it is to run a company? Hmm? The long hours, the endless meetings? And do I complain? No!"

"Look, I really don't have time for this," Kirk interrupted, Chuck seeing Bryce sneak onto the boat.

"Oh, yes you do," Chuck glowered, narrowing his eyes. "I know what you're up to-"

A splash interrupted their distraction, Sarah taking her cue to begin kicking ass. Then everything moved really quickly, Sarah ran off to continue being a badass and Kirk shot a missile between Chuck's legs and Chuck made a mad dash for the remote, catching up with Bryce and his other handlers on the top deck.

"The rocket is guided by GPS software," Chuck explained quickly. "All software can be reset." He worked as fast as he could, trying not to watch the missile heading for his oldest friend. The remote bleeped helpfully, Chuck breathing a sigh of relief. "That's it."

"You did it, Chuck," Sarah beamed, watching the missile swerve away from the yacht.

Chuck laughed giddily, unable to believe it.

"Chuck, where's the rocket heading now?" Casey asked, the missile rapidly changing course.

"I don't know," Chuck replied, except be kinda did.

"It's coming for us." Bryce said what they were all thinking. "Buddy, can you send it away from us?"

"I'd need another Target with GPS coordinates," Chuck cried, wracking his brains. The only thing that came to mind would probably end up with him hiding behind Bryce while Casey tried to kill him. "Casey. What about your car?"

"No!" Casey cried, eyes wide.

"Tell him what the GPS coordinates are for the Crown Vic," Bryce ordered, eyes fixed on the missile.

"Tell him, Casey!" Sarah cried, backing him up.

"7-1-4-7-7," Casey gritted out, Chuck entering the numbers quickly. Then there was nothing to do but watch the rocket destroy Casey's beloved car.

"I hate this assignment," Casey muttered.

Bryce, on the other hand, smirked. "I love this assignment."

They got back to the store in time for the holiday party to begin. Casey was sullen and silent, mourning the loss of his dream car, and Chuck had a nice heart-to-heart with Morgan about his feelings for Anna. But, the best part was when Sarah came over to him. She looked tired and a little sad but still as beautiful as she had ever been. Part of him, a part growing smaller by the day, still wanted to kiss her, but the rest of him just smiled.

They didn't say much, but Chuck watched her walk away with the alarm clock he'd bought her knowing that they'd be okay. She'd never be his one in a million, but she was going to be a friend he was never going to let go of. And, speaking as someone who already had two one in a billion best friends, Chuck knew how precious that was. A miracle worthy of the season.

Chuck let himself be pulled back into the swing of the party, pulling out all his dorkiest dance moves - the robot, always a favourite. Bryce tried vainly to get him to do literally anything that he hadn't pulled out at the many parties their frat had thrown, but eventually gave up, seemingly content just to laugh and let loose a little.

And, Chuck hoped, that since they'd already had their holiday craziness, the coming Christmas would be everything they deserved. A proper break from saving the world and dealing with spy induced craziness. And, if it wasn't, at least Chuck got to spend it with the people he cared about. Just as it should be.

Chapter Text

If Chuck had been the kind of guy who indulged in New Year's resolutions, his might have been something along the lines of never, ever drinking again. Ever. New Year's Eve was pretty much a blur to him, courtesy of the increasingly bottom shelf liquor he and Bryce had imbibed in what Chuck could only recall as a holy shit we actually survived 2007 (not for lack of people trying to kill us) so now let's get drunk and forget any of this ever actually happened celebration. But, on the bright side, he and Bryce had been holed up in Bryce's apartment away from the chaos of Ellie and Awesome's annual New Year's Eve party. Neither of them had felt particularly sociable and Morgan had plans to kiss Anna at midnight, so Chuck hadn't spilled any of the very nasty secrets hiding away in the recesses of his mind, nor had he done something impulsive like try and kiss Sarah at midnight. He supposed he could forgive the monumental hangover (and the fact that Bryce had looked fresh as a daisy the days afterwards) and try and make the best of a year he'd managed to start as happily as possible.

At least things had been relatively quiet on the Intersect front since the unfortunate run-in between Casey's beloved Crown Vic and a missile. Chuck had managed a peaceful holiday; he'd watched far too many Christmas movies (of which the first two Die Hard's were regular features), had eaten his bodyweight in Christmas cookies, and had awoken bright and early Christmas morning to the miracle of having the four people he loved the most with him. Yes, he did have to put up with Casey's pointed glares every time he crossed the courtyard or took out the trash, but it was a small price to pay to enjoy the holidays with his family.

Chuck awoke ten days into the new year, three days into his first working week of it, feeling pretty good. It wasn't cup of coffee greeting him on the nightstand good, but pretty good nonetheless. He could hear Ellie and Bryce debating the merits of the films currently on at the cinema, their combined voices forming a soothing soundtrack to his slow ascent into wakefulness.

Bryce's easy smile greeted Chuck when he did his uncaffeinated zombie walk into the kitchen. "Mornin' buddy," he grinned, laughter threading his voice as Chuck grunted a hello and reached blindly for the mug helpfully sitting in front of his friend.

Ellie smiled, protectively clutching her coffee even as she carried on with her arguments for why they should go and see National Treasure 2. Bryce, who had an irrational dislike of Nicholas Cage (details of which Chuck had sworn never to reveal but involved a series of torturous dates for his friend back in sophomore year), was unmoved. In fact, even to Chuck's bleary eyes, his friend was downright intransigent.

Chuck sipped at his liberated coffee, considering the array of cereals on the shelf. Behind him, Bryce began an impassioned defence of why they should go and see literally anything else, leaping on the Alien Versus Predator sequel like the true sci-fi nerd he was. Chuck, because he was a good friend, cast his vote alongside Bryce's, letting his friend reclaim his half-drunk coffee with the promise from Bryce that he'd fix one up just the way Chuck liked it.

Ellie tsked at them, shaking her head fondly. "Don't you boys ever get tired of watching sci-fi?"

Chuck turned towards Bryce in time to catch his identical look of confusion. The superspy nodded to say he had this one, depositing a new mug of coffee in front of Chuck.

"Ellie," Bryce began, as if what he was about to say was abundantly obvious. "Chuck and I are, for want of a better term, massive nerds. It's who we are. It's in our DNA. He's a nerd, I'm a nerd; we're nerds. And nerds, my dear Dr Bartowski, will never get tired of watching sci-fi. Even the most terrible sci-fi movie we will watch - happily - several times at least. It's just the way the world works."

Chuck, with a spoonful of cereal raised to his lips, grinned and nodded at Ellie. "What he said." Still, he turned laughing eyes on Bryce. "Massive nerds, buddy? I object."

Bryce snorted into his mug, eyes dancing. "Chuck, buddy, we stayed up late last night marathoning the Next Gen movies, to say nothing of the fact that we're fluent in Klingon. We could Olympic medal in nerdiness."

That was true. But, Chuck wouldn't just let his best friend have the last word. "You'd win gold."

"Hey!" Bryce protested, Ellie just laughing at the free entertainment. "There's no way I'm nerdier than you, Bartowski."

"Perhaps not," Chuck conceded gracefully. "But we both know you're prettier than I am. You'd look better on the podium."

Bryce's laughter echoed, his friend shaking his head. "Okay, buddy, I'll give you that one," he chuckled, flashing his movie star smile. "Just so long as you agree that this isn't one of those no-points-for-second-place things."

Chuck snickered, having a brief flashback to that weekend when Ellie (trying to pretend she hadn't a crush on Val Kilmer since the eighties) had coerced Awesome into suggesting Top Gun for movie night. He and Bryce had been slipping in quotes from the film for days for fun.

"What? You don't think you could win Top Nerd?"

"I could, but I don't think Tom Cruise could have pulled that one off quite so well."

"No, but think how great it would've been."

Bryce smirked, eyes glittering over his coffee mug. "Ah, but would they have felt the need for warp speed or light speed?"

Ellie's light laughter drew them from their conversation, his sister watching them as if she was the sanest person in the room. Which, considering their respective career paths and senses of self-preservation (looking at you, Bryce), she definitely was.

"Do you hear the words coming out of your mouths sometimes?" she asked, more amused than judgemental.

"We try not to," Chuck agreed brightly. "It might take away from our pride at graduating with honours from Stanford."

"Or make us question how it even happened," Bryce added cheerfully. "If we didn't have our degrees I'd swear it was a sleep deprived hallucination."

"You and me both, buddy."

Ellie, because she still possessed the working braincell of their trio, smiled again. "What's not a hallucination is the time. You're going to be late for work." With that pronouncement, his sister rose from the table and strolled towards the bedrooms presumably to change for the day.

"I really hate being an accountant," Bryce groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Chuck patted him sympathetically on the back. "You could find another cover job."

"You work at the Buy More, I work at the Buy More," Bryce stated emphatically. "We tried it another way, but it just ended up with me getting shot."

"That's because you thought it was a bright idea to join the CIA."

Bryce's eyes glared at him through his fingers. "Shut up."

Several hours later, Chuck found himself standing in front of a furious Casey, fake smile beaming at the back of the rudest customer they'd dealt with in a while.

"Just breathe, Casey," Chuck counselled, hoping Casey wasn't going to decide now was a good time to bowl Chuck over and go and pull the rude customer's spine out through his throat.

Casey growled behind him, the gutteral noise rumbling through his throat.

"Or growl," Chuck amended easily. "Growling also works. Very good."

Looking at the twitching muscles in the NSA agent's face, Chuck decided that discretion was really the better part of valour and moved off towards the employees only area of the store. He cut through towards the storage cage, making a quick detour to check on the stock before bothering Bryce, whose text messages were coming increasingly fast in the face of the latest inanities Big Mike expected Bryce to deal with.

"You're not going to believe it," Jeff announced, sitting in front of a computer.

"Oh, you got that server to work," Chuck guessed, stalling so close to his objective.

Jeff grinned over his shoulder. "I got Tara Reid's phone number."

Chuck felt his eyes widen, instinctive dread creeping up his throat. "What have I told you about stalking 'celebrities' online?" he asked, using quotation marks around the word celebrities. "And, by the way, who doesn't have her phone number?" Chuck shook his head, peering at the screen of the laptop. "Is that the Grand Saville's database?"

Jeff craned his head to look up at Chuck. "I can access every guest staying at LA's swankiest hotel." He pointed at the screen, pride drenching his voice. "It's got it all. Credit cards, room numbers, spank-per-view records."

Chuck crossed his arms, resisting the urge to bang his head on the nearest hard surface. "That's super Jeff. Really good work." He came up behind his fellow nerd, pushing his chair away from the laptop. "I'll let the hotel know their computer is ready."

"You're giving away the holy grail," Jeff cried, loud and despairing. "Tara!"

Chuck quickly got to work minimising the windows Jeff had opened, ignoring Jeff's plaintive cry as he rolled down the corridor. "Grand Saville, please don't sue us."

As he was moving to close another window, he heard footsteps behind him, Bryce's voice sarcastically commenting on something or another. Chuck would have loved to have given him his full attention (as Bryce tended to command simply by existing), but his brain chose that moment to flash on a name.

Dmitry Siljack.

Chuck saw a redacted file, something to do with the illegal arms trade, and a photograph. He grabbed a pen from his pocket, quickly scribbling down the name as he flashed again and again and again on the names on the screen.

Yuri S. Gorski. Boris Buturlin. Dmitri Brusilov. Grigory Krylov. Ivan Fyodorov. More and more until Chuck's head was spinning, reeling from the assault on his synapses.

"Man, I'm going to have a headache tomorrow," Chuck groaned, blinking away the afterimage before his eyes.

Bryce, for once, didn't need to ask Chuck what he flashed on. Aside from a muffled curse, the spy didn't say anything at all. He just stared levelly at the computer, hand warm and reassuring as it soothed up and down his spine.

Chuck half turned towards his friend, his attention caught by one final name. Ilsa Trinchina. He saw a CIA file, a handwritten letter addressed to someone named Sugar Bear, images of Casey kissing a woman, and a photograph of the woman herself.

"Ilsa Trinchina," Chuck said, partly for Bryce's benefit and partly to make sense of the information rattling around his brain. "AP photographer, rumoured lover of undercover NSA agent. Whereabouts unknown. Sugar Bear?"

Bryce coughed behind him, hand stalling near the nape of Chuck's neck. "Excuse me?"

Chuck rose from his stoop, Bryce's hand staying exactly where it was. A slow, gleeful smile spread on Chuck's lips. "Sugar Bear's girlfriend is in town."

He laughed, ripping the list from the pad, grinning over his shoulder at a bemused looking Bryce. "Casey's Sugar Bear."

Bryce, bemused as he was, put two and two together quickly. Very quickly, judging by the way that devious smirk spread over his lips. "Oh, I'm going to have so much fun with this," the superspy promised, glee twin to Chuck's shining in his eyes.

"Be nice, Bryce," Chuck said, mostly by rote. "Casey hasn't done anything to annoy you this year."

"No," Bryce conceded agreeably. "But he did manage to actually kill me for a minute there last year, and I haven't really gotten him back for that yet."

"Buddy," Chuck sighed, pretending to be immune to the wickedness dancing in blue, blue eyes. "If you're not going to be nice, I won't let you come with me to tell Casey."

Immediately, Bryce's face took on the most angelic expression Chuck had ever seen. Butter wouldn't melt innocence covered the wicked sparkle in his eyes; his smile soft and easy. "I'll be the soul of good behaviour."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, experience telling him that look on Bryce's face meant nothing but trouble, but he was fairly useless in the face of Bryce Larkin wanting anything from him.

With Bryce at his shoulder, Chuck turned back towards the main store, catching Casey as he entered the employee only area. "Casey, wait up!" Chuck called, jogging down the corridor to catch the surly major.

Casey narrowed his eyes at Chuck, undoubtedly clocking the studied innocence with which Bryce ambled towards them. "What is it, Bartowski?" Casey glowered. "I'm on break."

Chuck reached into his pocket for the list of names. "I've just had the mother load of bad guy flashes," he announced, handing Casey the paper.

"Who are they?"

"Mostly Russian," Chuck explained quickly. "All travelling under aliases, fake passports."

"That means they're arms dealers, money launderers, black market smugglers," Casey trailed off, studying the list intently.

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, that pretty much summed up what he'd flashed on. "Apparently, they're all having a douchebag convention down at the Grand Saville."

Casey nodded his acknowledgement of that. "I'll run it up the flagpole, see what command wants us to do."

"Uh, one more thing," Chuck announced before Casey could slip off. "There was another name. One name that I flashed on actually, but I left it - her - off the list."

Casey narrowed his eyes, looking at Chuck as if all his marbles had vanished. "What the hell are you talking about, Bartowski?"

"Does the name Ilsa Trinchina mean anything to you?" Chuck tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn't. "Sugar Bear?"

Casey lunged forward, holding Chuck against the wall by his neck. "You say that name ever again and I will end you."

"Let him go or I'll end you," Bryce growled, eyes boring holes into Casey's back. There wasn't a weapon in Bryce's hand, but in that moment Chuck had the feeling that Bryce didn't need one.

Casey's hands abruptly released, Chuck landing in a pile on the floor. The NSA agent strode away, anger snapping off him, Chuck's vision filled with Bryce crouching beside him.

"You okay, Chuck?" Bryce's voice was as gentle as his eyes were hard, his hands resting lightly on Chuck's knee and shoulder.

"Peachy," Chuck rasped, coughing as he lay there on the floor. "What's his deal?"

"Don't know, don't care," Bryce replied, scowling in the direction Casey had left. "But if he does that again, I'm going to kill him. Interdepartmental cooperation be damned."

Chuck blindly patted Bryce's knee. "Thanks, buddy."

Bryce gave him a smile that almost covered the pulling fury in his eyes. "Anything for you, Chuck."

Chuck flopped himself into a position where Bryce could help him stand. "Wanna come gossip with Sarah?"

"Buddy," Bryce smirked, dusting off his trousers. "It would be my genuine pleasure."

Sarah was, predictably, awed at the information Chuck imparted. Bryce leaned on the counter beside him, munching on a breakfast corndog like the secret fast food junkie he was. Chuck moved closer to Sarah, tone dropping conspiratorially low.

"Her name is Ilsa Trinchina. Super hot, super sexy, and staying at the Grand Saville as we speak."

"Does Casey know?" Sarah asked, eyes bright with interest.

Bryce's smile turned from politely engaged to icy, Sarah's eyes narrowing in concern.

"Yeah," Chuck agreed slowly. "He almost ripped my head off. It must've been a pretty bad breakup." Chuck shuddered away the sensation of hands on his throat, distracting himself. "You know for the longest time, I always imagined Casey was built like a Ken doll, you know, downstairs."

That drew a genuine laugh from Bryce, Sarah moving back to check on her cover job. "I don't know what kind of woman would go for a guy like Casey."

"There's no accounting for taste," Bryce muttered dryly, idly wiping his fingers in a napkin.

"What do you say we find out?" Chuck asked, devious glee ripping through him. If Casey didn't want them to snoop then he shouldn't have upset Bryce, or threatened Chuck.

Sarah swayed a little forward, tempted.

"Ilsa is a civilian. A foreign national," Chuck persuaded, knowing he only had to convince Sarah - Bryce had always been down for any mischief Chuck wanted to get into. "The Intersect has like nothing on her, except for some love letters that I'll now never be able to scrub out of my brain."

"You want me to go behind Casey's back, reallocate CIA resources and violate this woman's privacy, so you can find out what their story is?" Sarah checked, doing a very bad job of sounding dubious.

"Tell me you're not curious," Chuck grinned.

Sarah's face softened, smile beginning to curl her lips. She didn't need to say yes, Chuck knew she was on board.

"What about you, Bryce?" Sarah asked, something playful in her voice. "Are you going to try and talk us out of violating Casey's privacy?"

"Normally, I'd say let the man's past be," Bryce admitted, an unusual weight to his words. "I've always hated people digging into mine. But," here Bryce's smirk grew to increasingly wicked proportions. "Casey pissed me off, so I'm all in on this."

Chapter Text

As Chuck was becoming regrettably used to over the course of being the Intersect, he was dragged into Casey's apartment as soon as he and Bryce pulled up at their apartment complex. Sarah and Casey, both in casual attire, were waiting for them. As was General Beckman, who looked as amused by their delay (a mutual decision to stop off for food on the way back) as she ever did.

"We received your report, Major," Beckman began, eyes narrowing as Chuck and Bryce filed into position in front of the television. "Ex-KGB, Eastern Bloc thugs, Russian arms dealers," she trailed off pointedly. "Frankly, were not used to seeing this particular crowd stateside these days."

"Least not since President Reagan won the Cold War, huh, General?" Casey smirked, more enthusiastic than he'd been all day.

Bryce groaned from the other side of Chuck, muttering uncharitable things about Casey's love of Reagan under his breath. Chuck nudged him with his elbow, earning an utterly unrepentant nudge back.

Sarah ignored their antics, getting back to the briefing. "So you want us to infiltrate the Grand Saville?"

"The hotel's bar has been booked for a private party early this evening," Beckman informed them.

"Fine, I'll clear my schedule, but just 'cause it's you, General," Chuck quipped, not surprised that only Bryce chuckled. Bryce was good like that.

Beckman stared out at him, looking very much like a long suffering highschool principal. "Mr Bartowski, it is up to you to tell us what these criminal agents are all doing in Los Angeles. You and Agent Larkin are going undercover."

"Not me and Sarah?" Chuck frowned, thrown at the change.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic at the prospect, buddy," Bryce muttered, eyes twinkling over his smile. "I won't know what to do with myself."

"Oh, shut up," Chuck retorted, bumping companionably into him. "I was just surprised."

"Agent Walker will be there too," Beckman continued, as if Bryce hadn't spoken. "It has merely come to our attention that even when you are undercover you spend more time with Agent Larkin than Agent Walker. We might as well save time for this mission."

"We're not that bad, General," Chuck felt honour bound to state, even as he knew that they very much were. It wasn't Chuck's fault that Sarah tended to abandon him to flirt with the other guests, nor was it his fault that Bryce was overprotective. It was just the way things were.

Bryce chuckled silently next to him, relaxed now he knew the mission was going in his favour.

Beckman merely gave him a pointed look. "We need you to press some Russian flesh, see what you can flash on. And... Good luck."

With a cheerful bleep, the connection terminated.

"What about you, Casey?" Chuck asked, turning towards the Major.

Apparently ignoring Bryce's presence, Casey took a step closer to Chuck. "What about me?"

"I don't know," Chuck replied, forcing down the urge to take a step back at the challenge in Casey's face. "I just thought if the rest of us have to go to the hotel to press some Russian flesh, you might want to drop in on a certain-"

"Chuck," Sarah cut in, tugging on his shirt as Casey growled and stalked away.

"What is with that guy?" Chuck asked, watching Casey vanish from sight. "He really doesn't want to see his ex, does he?"

"I doubt it," Sarah almost snapped, worry in her eyes. "Ilsa's dead."

Chuck could only watch another of his handlers walk away, guilt falling like a stone into his stomach. "Poor Casey."

Bryce hummed softly, almost sympathetic. "Never mind that now, Chuck," he sighed, expression unreadable. "We'd best get ready and go infiltrate a Russian party."

No sooner had Chuck walked through the front door of Bryce's apartment than his friend dragged him into the bedroom Chuck had made his own. The superspy directed Chuck into the chair by the window, disappearing into the closet with a cheerful hum.

"Uh, Bryce, buddy?" Chuck called, trying to peer into the closet. "Whatcha doing?"

"Trying to find something in here that says semi-formal and not broke college student," Bryce replied, amusement in his voice. "What happened to all the clothes I stocked this with?"

"They're in there." Chuck might have shoved them to the back to make room for the clothes he was - for some reason - leaving here, but that was neither here nor there.

Bryce hummed dubiously, Chuck imagining the spy shaking his head in the middle of the closet. "I could put you in a tux, but I'm pretty sure you'd start the evening as wait staff. And, really, I'm not giving Casey the satisfaction."

"I don't suppose you'll finally tell me what it is with you two?"

"Just a healthy rivalry," Bryce replied innocently.

Now it was Chuck's turn to hum dubiously.

Bryce stuck his head out of the closet, a bright grin on his lips. "Don't worry about it, buddy," he said easily. "We're professionals. As long as he's got your back, I won't have to shoot him and make it look like a tragic but unavoidable accident."

"Sometimes I think he should scare me," Chuck muttered, settling back in his chair.

"You say something?" Bryce called, distracted.

"Nope," Chuck called back, grinning to himself. "Just wondering if we're going to get to the party before it finishes."

Sarcastic laughter drifted from the closet, Bryce making a small, triumphant sound on it's heels. His best friend and self-appointed fashion police officer laid a suit out on the bed, dropping a shirt on top. "Get dressed, bud," Bryce said, ignoring the small noise of protest Chuck made. "I'll be waiting for you."

Chuck rolled his eyes fondly at Bryce's back, waiting until he'd exited the room to start changing. "This is my life," he muttered, staring down at the black suit. "I can't believe this is my life."

A little while later, Chuck and Bryce strolled side by side through the front doors of the Grand Saville. Bryce looked as irritatingly handsome as ever, slipping his sunglasses into his pocket as if he really were the movie star his looks screamed he could be. Casey and Sarah greeted them with short nods, their gazes flittering towards the party in progress.

Bryce steered Chuck towards the bar, acting for all the world as if they had every right to be there. "You recognise anyone?" the superspy asked in a low murmur.

Chuck leaned towards his friend, flicking his gaze towards a seated man. "That's Dmirty Silijak. Black market arms dealer."

Bryce scooped two martinis off the bar, slipping one into Chuck's hand. "Delightful," he muttered, nudging Chuck into the fray.

Bryce's hand was warm in the small of Chuck's back, keeping him upright and steady as he began a series of flashes as they walked.

"Sergey 'Noodles' Romanov," Chuck whispered, nodding towards a seated, balding man. "Freelance hitman."

"My kind of guy," came his friend's soft response, a tiny smirk on his lips.

"Sasha!"

Chuck's eyes widened as a short Russian man stared right at him.

"Is that you, my sweet Sasha?" The enthusiastic man turned back to his fellow guests. "Everybody meet my fourth cousin on my sister's side." He threw his arms out wide. "Sasha, come and give your cousin great big hug!"

Before Chuck knew it, he was lifted into the air in a great, big Russian bear hug. He shot a pleading look at Bryce. The spy seemed torn between outrage on Chuck's behalf and pure, unrestrained amusement. His brilliant eyes were doing the twinkling thing they did when he was laughing his ass off internally, the twinkle only brightening as the short Russian asked him something in Russian.

"Da, da, da," Chuck agreed, hoping it was the right answer.

"Sasha wants to dance," his not-cousin cried jubilantly.

No Sasha did not want to dance. Chuck wanted to dance even less.

"No, no," Chuck cried immediately. "No, dance. No. Nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet."

Behind him, Bryce lost the battle with his laughter, small chuckles hiding under the lively music.

Well, if that was the way he was going to play it.

If Chuck was going down, he was dragging his friend down with him.

Quickly but not too fast that Bryce definitely couldn't have stopped him if he'd wanted to, Chuck latched onto the sleeve of Bryce's jacket, dragging him into the throng of excited Russian criminals. Not one of the guests blinked an eye, warmly greeting "Sasha's friend" in equally excited Russian. Bryce replied with a few swift words, sticking close to Chuck's side.

"Not cool, buddy," Bryce whispered, eyes narrowing in a glare that might have worried Chuck if his friend had meant it.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "This doesn't begin to make up for some of the stunts you've pulled," he muttered, catching sight of a beautiful brunette woman over the heads of the dancers. He flashed, repeating the same information he'd seen when he flashed on Ilsa's name. His eyes widened, trying to catch Sarah's eyes and direct her to Ilsa.

"Sasha, you like blonde?" his not-cousin asked loudly.

Bryce snorted under his breath. "Oh yeah," he said, ignoring the way Chuck stabbed his elbow into his side. "Ow?"

"I'm going to kick your ass so bad the next time we play Gotcha," Chuck threatened in a monotone, Sarah being pushed through the crowd to him.

Bryce inclined his head at Sarah, finding the situation far too amusing for Chuck's peace of mind. "Evening."

"God, you're a dork," Chuck sighed, turning his gaze over his shoulder to Sarah. "She's here. Ilsa is here."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Look over there."

The three of them turned in perfect unison, Chuck watching Sarah's eyes widen in a brief conversation with Bryce.

"Our covers have been compromised," Sarah announced briskly into her watch. "Request extraction."

"I'm on it," Casey's voice muttered in their ears.

In the middle of the dancers, slowly making their way back out of the throng, Chuck didn't miss the way Casey stopped. Ilsa turned back to face him, Casey's face more open and emotional than Chuck had ever seen.

"We've got to get him out of here," Sarah said quickly.

"Oh, come on," Chuck disagreed, turning away from the sight of Casey and his ex. "The guy spent four years of his life thinking he'd never see her again."

Sarah didn't look unsympathetic, nor did Bryce if the soft noise that escaped his control was any indication, but she shook her head quickly. "His cover has been compromised."

"Can't the man live without a cover for just a couple of minutes?" Chuck demanded, something in his chest aching at the thought of dragging Casey away.

"That's how we get killed," Bryce muttered, but he made no move to get to Casey.

Behind them, there was the sound of microphone interference. "Hello everybody," an accented male voice greeted. "How are we doing tonight?"

Chuck turned, flashing on the man's face. "Bryce? Sarah?"

"What is it?" Chuck had forgotten how eerie it was when both his CIA handlers spoke in perfect unison. But, unfortunately, Chuck had bigger problems. They all did.

"I think I know what brought all the baddies together," Chuck heard himself say. "Him. Victor Federov. A Russian oligarch with ties to everything from the mob to a plot to overthrow parliament."

Federov carried on talking, his enhanced voice drowning out the swift curses from Sarah and Bryce. "I'd like to introduce you to the woman who will make me the happiest man on Earth by becoming my wife. Ilsa Trinchina!"

Casey looked worse than he had when the missile had blown up his car, Ilsa smiling and walking towards the Oligarch.

"Time to get out of here," Bryce decided, grabbing Chuck's wrist. Sarah nodded her wholehearted agreement, the three of them using the distraction to collect Casey and get the hell out of Dodge.

Casey stomped off towards his SUV, Sarah staring in concern as she made for her own car.

"This has been a disaster," Bryce muttered, carding his hand through his hair. "I don't know about you, buddy, but I need a drink. Possibly several."

Chuck was aware that he'd recently made a half-hearted resolution never to drink again, but he hadn't considered a mess like this when he'd made that resolution. "You're buying."

"Come on, buddy," Chuck cajoled, watching Casey take a bite of sandwich at lunchtime the next day. A sharp, stinging pain erupted in his ankle, Bryce's eyes narrowed in a glare that he definitely meant this time.

Chuck offered Bryce a quick smile, not even denting the coldness in Bryce's eyes.

Okay. Not calling Casey buddy again.

"Just give me something," Chuck continued, focusing on the person he had an outside chance of getting through to. "Anything. Where is she from? Where did you two meet?"

Casey's eyes flickered up to him, irritation burning inside. "Why is this so important to you?" Casey asked, frowning. "Why do you care so much about me and Ilsa?"

"He's an incurable romantic who hates seeing people hurt."

And only Bryce Larkin could say a nice thing like that and sound so annoyed with him at the same time.

Chuck risked a glance at him and saw some of the iciness give way to fond exasperation.

Bryce wasn't exactly wrong, but Chuck definitely wouldn't have put it that way.

"I just, I think it would be nice to know that you had a life before," Chuck shrugged. "This. I just figured if a guy like you can find love - no offense, Casey."

Casey narrowed his eyes and grunted.

"Maybe there's hope for me too. Maybe this whole spy business isn't as screwed up as I think it is."

"Oh, it really is," Bryce muttered bitterly. "Messed up to high heaven."

Casey hummed an agreement. He didn't even blink as Chuck unleashed a rant on him for being an emotionally constipated robot. But then, as he picked up the other half of his sandwich, he glanced at Bryce (predictably glaring at Casey) and sighed.

"I met her at a flower market," the NSA major announced softly. "In Rome. Ilsa was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." His eyes narrowed shrewdly, smirking almost as wickedly as Chuck had ever seen. "Quid pro quo, Bartowski. Where'd you meet your boyfriend?"

Bryce choked on a sip of coffee, the spray hitting Casey's sandwich. He coughed and spluttered, eyes watering as Chuck patted him on the back. Chuck's lungs ached in sympathy as he wheezed in a breath.

"Boyfriend?!"

"Casey thinks he's being funny," Chuck glowered, the tips of his ears burning. He didn't realise it was so warm in here. "He means you."

Casey leaned back, looking very pleased with himself. Chuck vowed to get him back in some subtle but punishing way.

"Oh," Bryce muttered softly, Chuck almost thinking he saw a pleased little smile hidden behind his mug. Clearly he was imagining things. When the mug lowered, Bryce's usual crooked grin was beaming at Chuck. "It was, what, a couple of weeks into freshman year?"

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, almost able to smell the crisp fall day. "You were tossing a football with one of your track teammates."

"And you were being studious and studying."

Chuck grinned at the memory. "We were in EE131 together," he told Casey, who really looked like he didn't care, but he'd asked so now he could suffer through their nostalgia. "He noticed the textbook, we bonded over Zork and that was that. The beginning of our interdependency."

"A friggin fairytale," Casey muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You asked," Chuck replied sunnily.

Casey narrowed his eyes, his expression wordlessly conveying his hope that having asked would stop Chuck from sticking his nose into Casey's private life.

Bryce smirked into his coffee, looking from Casey to Chuck and back again. "Listen," he sighed, meeting Casey's glare with a calm expression Chuck often envied. "You and I, pretty much the only thing we have in common is that we're both highly trained assassins couched in the cover of being secret agents."

"Agreed," Casey admitted, Chuck watching a frown pinch his brow. "What of it?"

"We don't like talking about our pasts, and prefer not to admit we have them," Bryce continued, using his easy conversational tone. The Bryce equivalent of being sensitive and talking to a skittish animal.

"Get to the point, Larkin," Casey glowered, tossing his sandwich into the bin.

"Take it from someone who spent nearly five years avoiding his past only to be unceremoniously shot and thrown into it," Bryce nodded slightly towards Chuck, favouring him with a soft smile. "You can let it twist you up inside until you really are an emotionally constipated robot, or you can face it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Bryce is telling you to suck it up and deal with it," Chuck translated, knowing what his friend had been unusually tactfully dancing around.

"Pretty much," Bryce agreed brightly, clapping Casey on the shoulder as he stood. "But you've got to want to, otherwise you're going to stay stuck on that same emotional hamster wheel." He smoothed down his suit, flashing another smile at Chuck. "Well, that's my talk about feelings done for the year. I'm going to go stare at accounting work until my brain numbs."

"Have fun, buddy," Chuck called, grinning over his shoulder at his friend.

Bryce narrowed his eyes, wordlessly warning him that he'd better not get too pally with Casey before they saw each other again. Chuck's ankle throbbed dully, reminding him of the reasons why that was a bad thought to entertain. Who knew Bryce was so possessive? Well, Chuck actually, but he reserved the right to make friends with whoever he wanted to. It wasn't as if anyone would ever challenge what Bryce meant to him.

Later, after the Buy More was closed for the night and it was only Chuck, Casey and Bryce still around, they found themselves seated in front of the televisions, watching something or another. Well, Chuck and Casey sat in front of the televisions, Bryce wandered the store, typing on his phone and sending exasperated expressions to Chuck whenever their gazes locked.

"Sure, it was great," Casey announced out of the blue. "You know, we had what we had, but it's over."

Over? Really. Just like that? Now, Chuck didn't have exactly the greatest track record with relationships, but he was fairly certain that just giving up was not the best thing to do. Not if you loved them; not if you saw a future with them.

On the other hand, Chuck's only experience was with Jill and Sarah and those relationships ending as they did didn't exactly fill Chuck with the required wisdom to share with his older handler.

Nevertheless, Chuck was a romantic and he refused to believe that that really was that.

"So, that's it?" he checked, hands flailing about. "You're just going to let her walk back out of your life?"

Casey stared at his own hands, not even flinching at Chuck's outrage. "Seems like the smart play, Chuck," he said quietly. "In our line of work people we care about don't waltz back into our lives after years away. And even if they did, nice girls don't marry corrupt Russian oligarchs."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but nice girls don't go around marrying guys like you, either."

That got Casey's attention. His gaze snapped to Chuck, not angry exactly but not not angry either.

Chuck tilted his head, cruel to be kind time. "G-man assassin? International spy?" Chuck shook his head. "I mean, pardon me for saying it, Casey, but at least on paper, you're kind of an unsavory dude."

Casey thought that over for a moment. "Granted." He rallied though; "But Ilsa never knew what I do for a living."

And the man finally got it!

"That's exactly my point," Chuck announced, spreading his hands wide. "What if Ilsa doesn't know what her fiance Victor does for a living either?" He stopped Casey's murderous frown in it's tracks, calling over his Bryce. "Buddy! Need a spy consult here!"

"Yes, Bond knows that drinking his vodka martinis like that is incorrect," Bryce drawled, leaning back on the shelves.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Not what I was asking, buddy."

Bryce waved a hand, grinning fondly. "What do you need, buddy?"

"Say you were a bad guy-"

"We talking rogue spy bad or Bond villain bad?" Bryce interrupted, a thoughtfulness twist to his mouth.

"Corrupt Russian oligarch bad."

Bryce nodded, waving his hand again. "Continue."

"Would you tell that person that you were going to marry that you were one of the bad dudes?"

"And risk the person I love not loving me anymore?" Bryce winced, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not a chance."

Chuck nodded, shooting a 'see?' glare at the resident heartbroken NSA agent.

Casey leaned forward in his chair. "What are you saying I do?"

Chuck tapped Casey on his knee. "Stick to your strengths, bu-"

Bryce cleared his throat pointedly, glare burning holes in the back of Chuck's head.

Right. He'd almost forgotten. No calling Casey buddy.

"You're a fighter," Chuck continued, relieved when he could not longer feel the full force of Bryce's best friend disapproval. "You got to fight for her."

Casey stared into the middle distance, thoughtful. "That your advice too, Larkin?"

Bryce snorted, something a little bitter about the sound. "Not an expert," he shrugged easily. "Don't do relationships." He paused, eyes scanning Casey's face. "But, I'd follow Chuck's lead in this. He's terrible at maintaining relationships, but it's not his fault."

"Fight for her," Casey muttered, scowling darkly. "If this goes badly, I'm blaming you two."

"This is a terrible idea, Chuck," Casey announced, scowling at him as they walked the corridors of the hotel. "Can't we just go?"

"Negatory," Chuck replied brightly. "We have passed the point of no return. No retreat, soldier."

"This isn't a mission," Casey glared. "We're just three guys sneaking down a hall like a group of numb nuts. Hey."

Sarah, pushing a room service trolley, stopped in the middle of the hall. "What are you doing here?"

Bryce ignored Chuck's subtle and silent head shaking, grinning brilliantly as he leaned against the wall. "We're on a mission."

"I'd like to apologise, Agent Walker," Casey added, glaring at Chuck. "Chuck convinced me to-"

"To come down to the hotel," Chuck interrupted. "And to bring me, because maybe I could flash on some stuff."

"And you, Bryce?" Sarah invited, dubiously amused.

"You know me, Sarah," Bryce grinned charmingly. "I just go where Chuck goes."

"You volunteered to go on an all-night stakeout," Sarah checked, her disbelief palpable.

"Doesn't sound like me, does it?" Chuck grinned, giving a finger gun for some reason his brain thought was good. "I know, but I couldn't sleep. So I thought it would do me some good to, um, look at some surveillance monitors or something."

Beside Chuck, Bryce remained perfectly expressionless, yet Chuck had the feeling his friend was mentally facepalming and despairing of Chuck. Okay, yes, he knew that it was far from his best excuse. If he was really having trouble sleeping, he'd just go and bug Bryce and they'd marathon videogames or Star Trek, or play Gotcha until they collapsed from exhaustion. But, Chuck was still fairly new at this whole spy thing; he couldn't be expected to be able to make up believable lies on the spot. Ellie had raised him better than that!

Sarah clearly did not buy it in the slightest, but she led them through the corridors to the surveillance room.

"I've already tapped into the hotel security feed," Sarah briefed, closing the door behind them. "You three get comfy, I'm going to deliver the surveillance to the bridal suite. With any luck, we'll get enough intel to take the target down on US soil."

Casey hmmed in his usual grumpy way, Sarah bidding them a cheery "have fun" as she wheeled her cart back out of the room.

"Don't wait up," Chuck called after her.

Immediately, Bryce turned a despairing gaze on him. "Buddy, I am begging you, the next time we have to lie about our presences somewhere, just let Casey and I talk." He carded a hand through his hair, grinning. "You are my best friend, but buddy, you suck at lying."

Once again, Chuck and Casey took the seats, Bryce leaning on the wall behind them. Chuck, who arguably had the most experience with marathon stretches in front of the computer screen, was the only one of the trio not to look like he was reconsidering his life choices. Casey blearily scrubbed at his eyes, glancing at his watch to see if enough time had passed to switch his shift in front of the monitors out with Bryce.

"Um, Casey?" Chuck called, reinvigorated.

The NSA major turned to him. "Did you flash?"

Chuck pointed to the monitors. "Look who's hitting the bar the night before her own wedding. Now, does that look like the face of a woman who's happy about getting married?"

Casey stared at the screen himself, not saying a word. Silently, they watched Ilsa take her drink and sit on one of the discreet couches.

"This is your chance, pal. This is your chance," Chuck cried, all but stabbing his finger at the screen. "Look at her, Casey. She's just sitting there, waiting for you."

Casey did not move. He did not look like a man about to go out and fight for the woman he cared about. In fact, if Chuck didn't know better, he might even say that Casey was...

"You're scared, aren't you?"

"Don't be an idiot," Casey bit out, standing and putting distance between him and Chuck and the monitors.

Chuck glanced back at Bryce, who held up his hands. He shook his head, silently telling Chuck that this one was Chuck's bright idea and all on him. Well, fortunately, Chuck had endless experience dealing with stubborn spies. He'd even been known to talk them into doing things. Which, granted, was probably more a testament to Bryce's willingness to go along with what Chuck wanted rather than any real persuasiveness on Chuck's part. But, Chuck was taking his wins where he could find them. And, right now, that meant believing he could find Casey's confidence for him.

"Kemo sabe," he grinned, standing himself. "Come on, man, look, you don't want to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for what you didn't have the guts to say tonight. Okay? Believe me." Chuck stared at him with all the conviction born of his heartbreaks. "I know."

Casey nodded slowly, hmming once more.

After Casey left, Bryce slid into the seat he had vacated. "You want to talk about it, buddy?"

Chuck knew the it his friend was referring to. Knew that Bryce would have heard the allusion to Jill and Sarah that Chuck pointedly hadn't voiced. Still, Chuck tried on a small smile. "I thought you'd exhausted your feelings talk for the year?"

"That was for the non-family plan," Bryce quipped back, his smile fading into seriousness. "I meant the offer, Chuck."

"I know," Chuck replied, peering at the screen. "It is what it is, Bryce. Sooner or later, I had to give up on my regrets."

Bryce nudged his knees gently. "You know there was nothing you could have done."

Chuck nodded mutely, swallowing down the reflexive surge of pain and recriminations that thinking of Jill always brought up. "I think Sarah's in position," he said, distracting the both of them.

They watched as Sarah took out the guard on the door, Chuck wincing in sympathy for the poor guard.

"Casey, you're going to have to deliver the package, I've got a body to take care of," Sarah announced. "Keys are in the sugar."

"Deliver the package," Chuck repeated, glancing helplessly at Bryce.

"Casey, do you read me?" Sarah called.

Bryce rolled his eyes, pressing down the microphone. "We copy, Sarah. I'm on it."

"I'm coming with," Chuck announced, meeting Bryce's "oh really" look with a stubborn smile.

"There's nothing I can do to make you stay behind, is there?" Bryce sighed, tossing a uniform at him. "Put that on."

"What about you?" Chuck checked, automatically doing as he was told.

"If you knew how much this suit cost, you wouldn't ask me that," Bryce smirked. "If anyone asks I'm management deigning to show a rookie the ropes."

They made it into the suite with only minor teasing on Bryce's part. Bryce swiped the bug from the inside of the cloche, planting it on the nearest light with an ease that said he could do this in his sleep.

"Nice place," Chuck hummed, looking around in approval.

"I've stayed in better," Bryce replied, unfazed at the opulence of the bridal suite. "And worse. Much, much worse."

"Our frat house wasn't that bad," Chuck loyally protested.

Bryce chuckled. "Compared to some of the dives I've slept in, our frat was practically a five star accommodation."

Chuck shuddered at the implications, his attention caught by a case on the table. He slipped it open, flipping through the files until next saw another photograph of Ilsa. He flashed again, seeing her stabbing someone in an elevator. Before he could do anything about it - like alerting Bryce - the door beeped and Ilsa's voice drifted in from the hallway.

Bryce grabbed Chuck by his hand, pushing him under the bed and slipping under himself just as the door opened.

Chuck shot him a wide-eyed, helpless look, Bryce's mouth turning down in a frown.

Moans and creaking bedsprings quickly greeted the pair, Ilsa and Casey active above them.

"Therapy," Bryce mouthed. "So much therapy."

Chuck nodded emphatically, struggling to tune out yet more things he'd never be able to forget.

From there, things went from bad to worse. Before Chuck knew it, Casey was being held at gunpoint by his ex and Chuck and Bryce were caught snooping in the room.

"Who do you work for?" Casey demanded, gun held loosely in his hand.

"Why don't you ask your friends," Ilsa replied. "They've already seen my files."

"She's French secret service," Chuck said quickly, hoping to resolve the whole gun-held-on-Casey thing. "But wouldn't that put us on the same side? Kind of, sort of?" Chuck glanced back at Bryce. "Right?"

Bryce wiggled his hand from side to side. "Most spy agencies don't really get along," Bryce offered apologetically. "It's strained tolerance at best."

"You lied to me," Casey accused, oblivious to the others in the room.

"Says the energy consultant," Ilsa scoffed.

"What about the bomb in Grozny?" Casey challenged. "That 'I never forgot your face' garbage?"

Ilsa ignored Casey's sarcasm. "Oh, that bomb."

Victor knocked on the door, calling out for his fiance.

Chuck groaned quietly to himself. They just could not catch a break tonight.

Once again Bryce pushed Chuck under the bed, he and Casey squeezing in beside him. They heard Victor enter the room, calling out for Ilsa again. Chuck held his breath, sharing a worried look with Bryce.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. They were stuck under a bed with a French agent above them and a deadly, corrupt Russian oligarch somewhere near them, and they had to trust that the French agent would not sell them out if it came down to it.

On the bright side, it didn't look as if the night could actually get any worse.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

There were some days that just, inexplicably, felt good. Like everything was right in the universe. For Chuck, today was one of those days. It had been a few weeks since the fiasco with Casey's ex-girlfriend; he hadn't had a flash since, and it had given Team Bartowski the chance to relax a little in the immediate aftermath. But the lack of flashes was only an incidental part of Chuck's rightness with the universe. In fact, Chuck might even go so far as to say that he could flash right now and he'd still be feeling pretty good.

Ellie was happy - happier than she'd been in a long time, especially after the weirdness between her and Awesome on their anniversary (weirdness which Bryce was still refusing to elaborate upon) - and she and Devon were giving new meaning to the phrase nauseatingly in love. Morgan and Anna were also going strong, and being in a relationship actually suited his oldest friend. Casey was still being his usual gruff, aloof self, but he smiled a little more around Chuck and didn't seem inclined towards tearing quite so many spines out of rude customers at the Buy More. Sarah was still as extraordinary as ever, apt to show up every now and then to spend her breaks with him, just talking like friends should.

And, speaking of friends, there was Bryce. There was always Bryce. Since chuck had taken an unwilling dive from a hotel balcony into the swimming pool and given his best friend "a goddamn heart attack" (Bryce's words), they'd fallen back into their old pattern of (probably slightly worrying) interdependency. Chuck hadn't been spending all his time with Bryce - he still marathoned Kung Fu movies and played video games with Morgan, spent a lot of time with Ellie and occasionally Sarah - but they did spend a lot of their free time in the other's orbits.

Not that Chuck's happiness with the universe was correlated with how much time he spent with Bryce.

In the last two weeks, they'd played half a dozen rounds of Gotcha (all of which Chuck lost), learned that Bryce's accuracy with a gun did not carry over to mini golf, and had absolutely no knowledge whatsoever about the seven foot tall teddy bear that mysteriously delivered itself to Casey's front door. Honestly, they had no idea. They weren't even in Burbank at the time. Or, at least, that was their story and they we're sticking to it.

But, all silliness with his best friend aside, Chuck was feeling good.

He'd been able to relax and act like the nerd he was and he hadn't had to pretend or lie any more than he absolutely had to. Chuck had been able to just be Chuck. It was something that he hadn't had the luxury of doing in what felt like far too long.

Even Jeff and Lester couldn't put a dent in his sunny outlook today. They'd ordered in shawarma again - which, technically, wasn't against store policy - but the video camera Jeff had been operating definitely was. And yet, Chuck was still smiling. He would be lying if he said he didn't have the urge to bang their heads off the desk, but that was his usual feeling upon immediately greeting the pair, so he didn't let it phase him.

But, just because Chuck was in a good mood, that didn't mean he was going to let them get away with unprofessional behaviour. "Fellas," he called, walking over to the pair. "What are you guys doing? Or have you forgotten about Big Mike's policy on 'mammary cam'?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chuck," Jeff lied. Badly. Seriously, he was a worse liar than Chuck was.

Chuck glanced instead to Jeff's partner-in-crime. "He doesn't know what I'm talking about? That's so weird." He paused, looking back to Jeff. "So, you didn't just remove the offending video from the camcorder and hand it to Lester, who is now hiding it behind his back?"

"What?" Lester laughed it off. "My feelings are hurt, Charles. After all these years," Lester held up his empty hands, "where is the trust, my friend?"

"In Jeff's sweaty palms, along with the amateur consumer porn," Chuck replied easily.

Fortunately, Jeff and Lester (and their amateur consumer porn) were saved by the unusual appearance of Captain Awesome into the Buy More. Honestly, Chuck couldn't think of any reason Devon would come and see him. They got along all right and he really liked the guy, but Chuck wouldn't exactly call them close.

"If this is about the Klingon dictionary on the coffee table, that's Bryce's and I'll ask him to bring it back to his place." Technically, it was both of theirs, but there was no need for Devon to know exactly how deeply nerdy Chuck was.

"Ellie figured," Devon grinned, smile turning a little less awesomely intense. "Uh, that's not why I came here."

Chuck guessed as much, beginning to lead Devon through the store. "Well, what can I do for you?"

"Chuck, I was," Devon broke off, clearing his throat. And, if Chuck didn't know any better, he might say Devon almost looked nervous. "I was hoping to talk to you about Ellie."

Judging by the serious tone and the way Devon didn't meet his eyes, Chuck knew this was important. "Yeah," he said instantly. "Yeah. Of course."

"Well, you know, ever since, um," Devon finally looked up, a smile on his lips. "Ever since we've been dating, I've come to think of you as that little brother I never had."

Chuck felt a warmth glow in his chest at the reminder of the family that he and his sister had cultivated on their own. Nevertheless, something did niggle at him beneath the happiness. "Don't you have two younger brothers?"

Devon laughed a little too cheerfully. "Indeed. Indeed." He clapped his hands together. "But you seem like someone who can offer sage wisdom in confusing times, and-"

Chuck glanced away, uncertain under the face of Devon's honest regard. There was a quip about telling Bryce that on his lips. One that faded away as he caught sight of the bug hidden amongst the memory cards.

"I don't know how to put it into words, really," Devon was saying.

"That's a bug," Chuck announced, pointing to the memory cards near Devon's shoulder.

Devon turned around, brushing at his clothes and muttering about hating spiders and them being fuzzy little bastards.

Chuck snagged the bug from the display, reassuring Devon that he'd gotten the bug. "Can you excuse me for just a sec?" Chuck asked, already ducking away. "I think I just saw a kid crawling into an oven over in home appliances."

He stormed into the back of the Buy More, ignoring Jeff and Lester who were undoubtedly up to something that would give Chuck a headache soon enough. Chuck knocked through the doors to the storage room, a glare ready for his NSA handler.

"You're getting sloppy, Casey," Chuck called, the NSA major just continuing to dismantle boxes. "I understand that you have some perverse desire to listen to everybody, but you really need to be more careful when hiding your hugs."

Casey finally deigned to look at him, a familiar irritated frown on his face. "What are you lip-smacking about, Bartowski?"

"I just found this on one of our product displays," Chuck announced, holding up the bug. "And it wasn't very well hidden, I might add. Normally, I'm a fan of your craftsmanship, if not your methods."

Casey took the bug, silently examining it.

"Look, all I'm saying is that something like this discovered by someone less in the know than me could spell trouble."

Casey smirked. "You worry about that supercomputer in your brain. Let me worry about the spy stuff, huh?" The Major smirked wider, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't you have some made up reason to go irritate Larkin?"

Honestly? Chuck would love to go and see Bryce right now. Unfortunately, his best friend wasn't due in until lunchtime. Something about a top secret Fulcrum briefing with Beckman and Graham and some actual Intersect reports he was apparently a little behind in. He did, however, take the time to text Bryce his sandwich request for lunch and to tease him about leaving their stuff at Ellie and Awesome's. Bryce fired back a quick reply, passive aggressively promising to bring pasta with him, adding a promise to see him soon.

Chuck returned to the main floor, looking for Devon to find out what had driven him to the Buy More on his rare day off. It was a little disconcerting to have Devon wanting a brotherly talk, especially when he could literally catch Chuck at home during any of the hours he wasn't busy with Bryce at his place. Instead, he found Morgan; drumming his hands on the desk and grinning far too brightly at the sight of him.

"There's the best buddy of mine," Morgan called, Chuck frowning as he approached. "What's up? Okay. Saw an Infinity Ward mail in the trash, and I'm guessing that means you got a pre-release demo of the next Call of Duty game?"

"Ah, yeah," Chuck grinned, shuddering at the memories that rushed into him. "But the last time I leant you a game sampler, it ended up all over the internet. So, this one's gonna stay in my locker, and you can play it when you get some adult supervision."

"Adult super...?" Morgan trailed off, disbelieving. "Chuck, I'm almost at the age where I should get my prostate checked annually. Okay, surely I can be trusted with an advance copy of the next greatest video game on the planet."

As usual, Chuck was a little disturbed by his friend's phrasing. He decided to avoid the conversation altogether. "Have you seen Awesome?"

"Over by the Home Theatre Room," Morgan sighed. "You better not let the Accountant play before me!"

Chuck pretended he didn't hear Morgan's parting comment, ducking around to see his sister's boyfriend reclined on one of the armchairs.

"Hey, sorry about that," Chuck apologized, sitting down himself. "False alarm, it turned out. Anyway, the kid did not end up defrosting himself as it turns out. So, uh, what's going on?"

Devon, who appeared to be on the brink of hyperventilating, stared up at the ceiling. "This is one of those rare moments when things are not kosher, Chuck," the doctor announced. "Oh, man. This is harder than I thought."

Two things, both not awesome, popped into Chuck's head. First, was that Ellie and Awesome were tired of Chuck third-wheeling their lives and wanted him to move out. Unlikely, but the better of the two scenarios. At least this way, he could maybe move in with Bryce and his limitless supply of excellent coffee and patience with Chuck's Chuckness. The other possibility was that Devon had put together the pieces and worked out that Chuck was a spy. And that was really, really not good.

Really, really not good. Not good in the way that meant that the CIA might change their minds about not dumping him in some black hole padded cell with only his thoughts and occasionally Beckman for company. No Ellie, no Morgan, no Bryce.

Mentally throwing his panic into a small padded cell in the back of his mind, Chuck pasted an approximation of a concerned frown on his face. "Go... Go on. I'm listening."

Devon settled his chair in the upright position, turning to face Chuck. "Right well. I've been thinking a lot about the way things are between me and your sister."

This was about Ellie? Oh thank God. It was about Ellie.

Chuck paused his internal hallelujah chorus. It better be a good thing about Ellie. Because if Awesome was about to tell Chuck he was going to break up with his big sister, well, Chuck's best friend was a CIA trained assassin who was apparently very, very good at that part of his job. He was sure Bryce wouldn't mind doing him a little favour.

"And you're the man in- in Ellie's family," Devon continued, nervous but not resolute in the way Chuck noticed in break-up talks. "So, I was wondering... Can I have your permission?" Devon pulled a ring box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. "Can I marry Ellie?"

"Wow," Chuck breathed, a little surprised. Okay, a lot surprised. "That's quite a rock you got there."

Devon stared at him, barely breathing. "Is that a yes? Dude?"

"Yes! Yes!" Chuck blurted, loud and high. "Sorry. You just kind of wah! You know with the blang right in. Yes." Chuck patted Devon's shoulder. "You have my blessing. You don't need it, but you've got it."

"Thank you," Devon grinned, happy, happy. "It's been in my family for years. This was my great-grandmother's. You think she'll like it?"

"Like it?" Chuck repeated, askance. "She'll love it. I'm just not sure she'll be able to lift her hand anymore."

Ellie was going to get proposed to. And then she was going to get married. And- Chuck had known this was going to be a good day. He couldn't wait for Ellie to tell him all about it.

Devon laughed, giddy on the thoughts of his future. "Oh, one other thing. Ellie is a bloodhound when it comes to these kind of things. If I keep this in the apartment, she will smell diamond." Chuck found himself holding the ring box. "Can you hold onto this just for a day or so, man? I mean, just until I figure out how to pop the question?"

Chuck muttered out something in the vague negative. Trusting him with something as priceless as his sister's future engagement ring? No way. Unfortunately, Devon just hauled him into a hug and left the ring in his hands.

"Thank you, bro," Devon grinned. "Hey, pretty soon I'm gonna mean that literally."

Chuck could only stand there, staring at Devon's retreating back and the ring in his hand. Then he pulled out his phone and texted Bryce. His friend's latest message said he was going to be a little late, but Chuck needed backup for this.

Because this? This was huge. Ellie was going to get married.

"This had better be important," Bryce sighed, entering the temporarily closed Wienerlicious. "Chuck just texted. Said he needs me." He slipped his sunglasses into his pocket, glaring pointedly at Casey. "So, if we could make this quick?"

Sarah caught his eye, her expression blank but for the way her lips curled down slightly. "We have a problem," she offered, voice quiet. She held up a bug; a bug that Bryce did not recognise as among the batches they'd set up in the Buy More or Chuck's home.

Ice settled into Bryce's veins. "Where did you find that?"

"Chuck found it," Casey growled, jaw clenched. "In the Buy More."

In the Buy More. Where he and Chuck worked. Where they occasionally held whispered conversations about the Intersect and their lives. "Well, shit."

"Yeah," Sarah agreed wholeheartedly. "We're about to be on with Beckman and the Director. If you want to join?"

Bryce did not want to join. As a matter of fact, Bryce wanted to March over to the Buy More, drag Chuck out of there and keep him safe and secure in Bryce's apartment. Unfortunately, that was not a feasible long-term plan. It wasn't even a feasible short-term plan. So, he nodded curtly and came around the counter to stand next to Sarah.

In short time, but far too slow for Bryce's peace of mind, their bosses appeared on the laptop screen.

"The bug Chuck found is a GLG-20," Beckman announced, Director Graham's gaze dropping to below the screen. "One of the most advanced counter-espionage listening devices in the CIA arsenal."

"This is a CIA design?" Sarah asked, confused.

"Figures," Casey snorted.

Bryce, personally, didn't care where it came from. He was more concerned with who put it in the Buy More and what the hell they thought they were doing.

Graham finally turned to look at them. "The GLG-20 is a low-power transmitter. In order to avoid detection, it has a maximum range of about twenty yards."

Beckman seamlessly picked up the conversation. "Which means there's probably a receiver hidden somewhere in the Buy More."

Graham glanced briefly at Bryce, something like apology hidden in his gaze. "We believe it has recently become a favourite of the Fulcrum agents."

Chuck.

Bryce registered his tense muscles, the half step he'd taken towards the door and the Buy More.

Fulcrum. Of course.

"So, you're telling us that the secret cabal that abducted Larkin and came within a hair of figuring out that Chuck is the Intersect is now skulking around the Buy More?" Casey summarised, his tone so conversational Bryce itched to see him bleed.

This was Chuck's safety he was being so casual about. His best friend's safety. And Fulcrum. Fulcrum, who could make people do things that they'd never- who could manipulate and coerce and- this was Chuck. His Chuck.

"We need you to locate that receiver and find the person who planted it," Graham ordered.

"You have forty-eight hours," Beckman continued coldly. "If you cannot identify the enemy operative in that time, we will have no choice but to relocate Chuck to a secure government holding facility."

"Bartowski's time as a civilian may be coming to an end."

"You can't do that," Bryce heard someone say. Someone who sounded remarkably like Bryce did. "This is why I'm here, isn't it? To take the fall for Chuck if Fulcrum comes looking. You can't take him away from his life."

"You are there as added protection," Beckman acknowledged. "But they discovered the truth once before. We cannot rule out that this bug has picked up on our deception."

Graham nodded his agreement, continuing as if Bryce had never interrupted. "For their own safety, his family may never see Chuck again."

The call terminated with it's usual cheerful beep, silence falling in the Wienerlicious.

Through the blood pulsing in his ears, Bryce heard Casey say something about searching the Buy More for the receiver. Sarah's voice was soothing and gentle in her response. But it was all white noise. Static under the roiling beat of his anger and helplessness. Red tinged his vision, the black screen of the laptop mocking him; taunting him with the orders that had left the speakers moments before.

He couldn't challenge the orders, not outright. And he didn't have time to fly to Washington and voice his displeasure face-to-face with Beckman and Graham. But that didn't mean he couldn't do anything.

He picked up the laptop, spun on his heel and pitched it straight into the nearest vat of boiling hot oil. The satisfaction was dim and short-lived, but it felt good for a moment.

Bryce stared at the hissing oil and the laptop it was slowly destroying, feeling his hands shake. For years he'd trained his body to give no reaction, but this was Chuck. He stared into the oil for another long moment, breathing deeply, schooling his features back to their usual calm mask. Then, he turned and faced Sarah and Casey's quickly blank faces.

"If the time comes, I'm taking him in," Bryce announced, brooking no disagreement.

Sarah made a noise of disagreement. "You're emotionally compromised-"

"Yeah," Bryce gritted out, clenching his fist tighter at his side. "But he's my best friend. And I'm the reason he's in this mess. I'm taking him in."

Casey and Sarah wisely offered no further objections, undoubtedly using their skills to know that doing so would just piss him off. Bryce favoured them with a fake smile, nodding his head. Then, with a final smirk at what had once been Sarah's laptop, Bryce vaulted over the desk, picked up the sandwiches he'd bought, and strode out the doors.

Chuck was waiting for him in the Buy More break room, bouncing on his heels and practically fizzing with excitement. Bryce tamped down on the almost uncontrollable urge to grab his wrist and tow him from the store, forcing himself to focus on Chuck, right there in front of him.

"Hey, buddy," Chuck grinned, hazel eyes warming at the sight of him. "You will not believe the news I have for you."

Chuck wouldn't believe the news Bryce had either, but Bryce had no intention of telling him any time soon.

Bryce let himself smile, the crooked grin he saved for his friend. "What's Morgan done this time?" he asked lazily, leaning against the table.

Chuck shook his head, smile growing impossibly brighter. He crossed to his locker, pulling out a small, red box. "Think fast."

Bryce caught the box out of the air, opening the slightly creaky lid. A glittering diamond ring sat nestled in a bed of red velvet; beautiful, antique, expensive. It was going to look perfect on Ellie's finger.

"Buddy, I'm flattered," Bryce teased, finding honest amusement warming his chest. "But the state of California doesn't allow two men to marry each other."

"Oh shut up," Chuck laughed, a hint of pink colouring his cheeks. He took the ring back from Bryce, locking it away once more. "It was Awesome's great grandmother's. He's going to ask Ellie."

"Ellie's going to get married," Bryce said, smiling as he tasted the words.

And, Chuck was not going to miss it. His best friend was going to see her proposed to, help to plan the wedding, walk her down the aisle. Bryce swore it, even if he had to do something stupid; even if he had to call in all the kinds of reinforcements the CIA didn't like, Chuck Bartowski was not going to miss his sister's life.

"Ellie's going to be Mrs Captain Awesome," Chuck agreed, smile threatening to split his face.

Bryce smiled back, his fear and helplessness knocked away by the sheer force of Chuck's happiness. "Well," he drawled, easy and casual. "That sounds like a good reason to celebrate. Tonight, I'm cooking, we'll finally have that Batman marathon and we'll turn off all our phones and pretend we don't exist."

"Sounds good," Chuck agreed, reaching for his sandwich. Then, as Bryce sat down opposite him, his hazel eyes pinned him in place. "Now, how about you tell me what was so bad about your briefings today that made you need your comfort movies?"

Bryce froze, just for a second, faltering as he reached for his own lunch. He had forgotten that Chuck knew him better than anyone. "I watch Batman all the time when I'm happy," Bryce shot back, the logic irrefutable.

Chuck hummed and agreement, swallowing a bite of sandwich. "True, but I know you, Bryce, something's wrong."

Bryce nodded. He couldn't not. But he couldn't- he wasn't ready to hurt Chuck, to scare him. So, he compromised.

"I'll tell you tomorrow," he promised, tapping Chuck's foot under the table. "I promise. I just-"

"Need tonight," Chuck finished, shadows flickering over his eyes. Bryce nodded, grateful that he was doing this when he could pretend to be eating and didn't have to speak. "Fine," Chuck agreed. "Just, promise me you're not leaving."

"Oh, buddy," Bryce smirked, sharp and resolute. "I'm not going anywhere you're not."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

To say that the ride back to the Buy More was awkward would be like saying that Chuck was kind of a nerd. A massive understatement. From the moment they got in the car, Bryce made a point of ignoring the NSA Major, turning the volume up on the Oasis CD every time Casey looked like he was about to speak. Normally, Chuck would have turned the volume back down and listened to his other handler, but today he wasn't really feeling it. He didn't need to hear whatever unsettling and vaguely horrifying things Casey might say (the being locked underground until he forgot fresh air was quite enough for 2008). To say nothing of the fact that Bryce was clearly in no mood to talk. Neither was Chuck, for that matter. He much preferred to navigate LA traffic while working their way through What's The Story Morning Glory and pretending that this was just another college era road trip.

But, as with all road trips, it had to end. Chuck pulled the car into the Buy More parking lot, letting the opening notes of his and Bryce's favourite Oasis song abruptly give way to silence. Bryce tilted his head slightly, a wordless question hiding in the slightly wistful smile on his lips. Chuck nodded back. Getting information out of Jeff and Lester would be annoying but it was nothing compared to, say, having a gun held on him, or running through Stanford being chased by a crossbow wielding psychopath.

"Come on, ladies," Casey called, smirking as he got out of the car. "Your time is wasting."

And that was the exact reason Bryce hadn't let Casey speak. Having emotional awareness and empathy for situations really wasn't in Casey's skill set. Shooting things and offering occasional quips, sure. Just not reassurance or ignoring the elephants in the room.

"You're just racking up reasons I'm gonna shoot you one day, Casey," Chuck heard Bryce announce, his best friend coming around to open Chuck's door for him.

"No shooting Casey," Chuck sighed, offering the words by rote. Bryce just smiled at him, beaming that megawatt Hollywood smile as if he would never do such a thing. "Come on, let's go get that marlin."

Inside the Buy More, things were business as usual. Jeff and Lester were at the centre of a crowd, money being exchanged and calls ringing out. Chuck ran into the store behind Bryce (ever the track star), Casey hot on their heels.

"Jeff! Lester!" Chuck called, raising his voice to be heard over the din. "We need to talk. It's important."

Neither Jeff nor Lester deigned to glance up from their thumb war. "Yeah, see, Charlie," Lester replied, distracted. "This is your problem. Why is your time more valuable than mine?"

Well, fine. If that was the way Lester wanted to play it, Chuck would oblige. He nodded to Casey, stepping back as the major shouldered through the crowd and dragged both nerd herders away.

Bryce hummed thoughtfully, regarding Casey with a furrowed brow. "He does have some uses."

"One or two," Chuck allowed, following Casey into the Home Theatre Room.

"Where's the fish?" Casey demanded, getting straight to the point.

"Fish?" Jeff asked, playing dumb. "What fish?"

Casey did not look amused. Chuck wasn't amused either, but he couldn't channel the same raw, murderous intent that Casey was.

"Okay, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Chuck leaned on the wall beside a far too casual Bryce, both watching that manic light enter Casey's eyes. The one that promised an imminent ass kicking.

"Easy way is I shove his foot," Casey glanced at Lester. "Up your ass."

Jeff blinked, leaning a little towards Casey. "What's the hard way?"

Casey actually smiled. "I use my foot."

Chuck decided to step in before Casey actually followed through with his threats. "Listen, guys, we've seen the surveillance footage. We know you were here last night."

Lester scoffed; "Yeah, right."

"Yeah, no." Casey adopted his arms crossed so I don't preemptively strangle you for moronicness pose. "You two geniuses thought you were turning the cameras off, but instead you turned 'em back on."

Jeff and Lester shared wide-eyed looks of oh shit.

"We won't tell Big Mike," Chuck cajoled, looking from one idiot to the other. "I promise."

Neither of them found it within themselves to tell the truth.

Bryce waved an imperious hand from his position leaning against the wall. "Just get with the ass-kicking, Casey."

Casey smirked, crossing to the windows to pull the curtains on.

"What's happening?" Lester asked, looking from Chuck to Casey and back again.

Casey turned back from the curtains, smiling almost pleasantly. "Charles, would you give us the room, please?"

Chuck stared Lester dead in the eye, miming washing his hands of the matter. He turned to Bryce, raising a single eyebrow.

"Oh, you go on, buddy," Bryce smirked, looking for all the world as if there was no place he'd rather be.

"Chuck?" Lester called plaintively.

"It was his idea!" Jeff blurted, unsettled by the pure homicidal promise hiding under pleasantness in two pairs of blue eyes.

"What?!" Lester snapped his head to Jeff. "The whole reason we snuck in was to get your alcoholic ass another drink! You were getting the shakes."

"Not cool," Jeff protested. "It's a disease."

"You're a disease!" Lester snapped, sounding slightly hysterical now. "And you've diseased us all. Me, Chuck, Chuck's boyfriend, this guy."

"Calm down," Chuck bade, sensing rather than seeing the laughter in Bryce's eyes. "Calm down. It's okay. Look, Jeff," Chuck turned to him. "I totally understand your plight. We sympathise with you, okay? And we don't judge. Just tell us, what exactly happened?"

Jeff nodded, beginning an ambling tale of alcohol and woe. "We were across the street at Bennigan's and I got cut off again-"

"Jeff," Lester cut in, shaking his head. "If you're gonna tell the story, please don't butcher it." Lester turned to his audience, back in performance mode. "We were at Benni's, enjoying the deep fried sampler, and we decided to come back to the store for a nightcap in boss man's private stash."

Chuck listened in growing bemusement as Lester enumerated the tale of drunken idiocy and the decision to steal the marlin as retribution for Big Mike not having any alcohol left in his stash.

"And where is the marlin now?" Chuck asked, glancing between the two idiots.

"I'm afraid I'm gonna need a little compensation," Lester smirked, ever the opportunist.

Before Casey could inflict bodily harm, Bryce pushed off the wall and prowled towards Chuck's fellow nerds. "I don't think you understand the nature of your predicament," Bryce said softly. There was a hint of cold danger in his voice that Chuck wasn't entirely sure Jeff or Lester picked up on. "Now, Chuck has asked you very nicely where the Marlin is. And I think you'll find it in your best interests to tell him."

"Or what?"

Bryce sighed in disappointment. "Casey?"

Casey reached out, grabbing Lester's ear and twisting.

"Crude but effective," Bryce praised, returning to leaning casually against the wall.

Lester cried out, struggling against Casey's hold. "It's at Chuck's pad!"

"At my place?" Chuck repeated, glancing at Casey. With all his bugs around, how could he have missed that? "Why?"

"We didn't want to get busted with Big Mike's fish," Jeff explained as if it was obvious.

Motion out of the corner of his eye caught Chuck's attention. Bryce had his eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right," he said softly. "We will be having words about your choice of Chuck as the scapegoat later. But now, you will tell no one what you told us. If you do, what Casey just did to you will fell like a nice hug. Are we understood?"

This time the undercurrent of danger in Bryce's voice did not go unnoticed.

Jeff leaned in closer to Jeff, whispering loudly; "He's scary for an accountant."

"I hate my job," Bryce informed them brightly. "Just give me a reason."

Chuck stepped a little behind Bryce, shaking his head pointedly at his fellow nerds.

Bryce turned and caught him, his smile twinkling in his eyes. "Let's go, buddy."

In very short time - too short for abiding to California state traffic laws - Chuck found himself searching his apartment for a four foot Marlin. He looked under his bed, searched his closet, wrenched the cushions off the couch. No dice. No marlin either. Casey clattered about in the kitchen, searching the oven by the sound of it. He came out of the kitchen with a knife, apparently seriously going to guy the couch.

"Stop," Chuck cried, holding his hands up. "I seriously doubt that these geniuses had the time to reupholster the couch."

Casey inclined his head. "Well, it has to be here somewhere." Casey lifted the couch with one hand, Chuck ducking under to check it out.

And that was when the front door opened.

"Chuck?" Ellie called, confusion plain in her voice.

Chuck ducked out from under the couch, offering his sister a smile. "Hey sis."

"John," Ellie added, unblinking in the face of Casey's smile. Her eyes darted towards the bedrooms. "Bryce."

"Hi, Ellie," Bryce called, as if this was the kind of thing that happened all the time.

"What's, uh, what's going on?" Ellie asked. "What's with the apartment?"

Chuck did not have the time to explain, nor did he have a suitable explanation yet. "I'll clean it up later," he promised, ducking back under the couch. "Right now we're looking for something."

Ellie, quite reasonably, asked; "What is it?"

"Look, I promise you, whatever you want to ask is not as important as what we're looking for right now," Chuck said, watching Ellie's eyes widen in dubious agreement.

"Okay," she replied, letting him have this one as she often did. "What are you looking for?"

Chuck glanced at Casey. Casey stared back at Chuck.

Bryce chuckled, footfalls soft as he came closer. "A four foot stuffed fish."

"A fish?" Ellie repeated, staring at Bryce as if he was pranking her.

"Marlin, actually," Casey unhelpfully clarified. "Got a spear like nose. And a mouth. Yeah."

"Okay, Chuck, I get it," Ellie dismissed, walking towards the kitchen. "Besides, if anything really important were going on, you have plenty of people in your life you can talk to about it."

That did not sound good. It sounded pointed and hurt, and Chuck did not like his sister sounding like that. Not if this might be the last chance he ever really had at seeing her.

"Hey, Ellie, wait." He wrapped her in a tight hug. "I love you," he said, memorising the way his big sister gave the best hugs. "Just in case."

Ellie frowned at him, dark eyes finding a place over Chuck's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"We really need to find that fish," Bryce replied, smile soft and apologetic.

"Talk to Morgan," Ellie offered, turning away with her shopping. "He left here last night with a four foot marlin."

Casey's eyes lit up. "He's mine."

Volumes of disbelief were conveyed in a minute raising of Bryce's right eyebrow. "Oh, no, no," he demurred, smirk almost gleeful. "I've put up with Grimes since 1999. He's mine."

"Buddy," Chuck began, not liking that light in his best friend's eyes at all. "Maybe you should both let me talk to Morgan."

"He's been giving me hell since freshman year," Bryce reminded him, as if Chuck wasn't aware of that. "He thinks I'm an accountant. It would blow his mind to know I'm a spy. And I can't tell him."

Bryce sounded so put out, Chuck couldn't help but pat his back sympathetically. "You know you're my best friend though, right?"

Bryce tilted his head, a gentler sparkle taking up residence in his eyes. "Keep talking."

Morgan was leaving Big Mike's office as Chuck, Casey and Bryce walked back in. Big Mike summoned Chuck immediately, Casey calling dibs on the "scraggly troll" while Bryce took up position as close to the office as he could get.

Chuck sat in the only chair, a lone desk lamp shining into his face. Big Mike and Detective Conway stood, looming above him; staring as if they expected him to crack and confess.

"I- I didn't rob the store."

"Did I ask you that?" Big Mike retorted, as if he could have a bigger concern. "Already he's talking about stolen goods. You might as well come out and admit you did it."

"Please," Conway cut in, narrowing his eyes at Big Mike. "Let me handle the investigation. Now, Mr Bartowski, we believe this was an inside job."

"None of these other imbeciles could even tie their shoelaces without Bartowski's say-so," Big Mike cried. "If there's a ringleader, you're looking at him. Where's my fish, Bartowski?!"

"I don't know where the fish is," Chuck stated honestly. Time for the old fallback; babbling. It had never let him down. "I wasn't even here when the store was robbed. I went home after work last night, with Bryce, and we had to hit the shops so he could make this chicken pasta thing that tastes really great, by the way. He's got this trick with the pasta but he won't tell me what it is because of one little fire back in sophomore year - as if I haven't learned to cook since then. Which is just rude because I know he can't get enough of my chicken soup, asks for it every time he's got so much as a sniffle. And, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. Dinner. We had dinner with my sister and her boyfriend. And then we watched all four Batman movies - even the last one, which I wish I'd slept through. And then we went to bed. Seriously. I was nowhere near the store. I didn't take your fish."

Big Mike blinked at him, Conway stepping out to take a call. His manager turned up the heating, following Conway with a nefarious chuckle.

Bryce let himself in afterwards, perching in the desk with an easy smile. "The babbling, again?" There was a wordless really, buddy? tacked on the end that Chuck picked up on.

"It works," Chuck defended himself. "And I really was offended that you wouldn't tell me the pasta trick."

Bryce raised an eyebrow. "Why would I tell you the trick when I can just make it for you and save innocent kitchen appliances?"

Chuck paced to the window, turning and wagging a severe finger at his friend. "Don't give me your superspy logic," he chided, fighting back a grin. "If I end up in a dark hole somewhere, you'll regret not telling me."

"If the worst really happens, buddy," Bryce began, all traces of teasing gone. "I will regret not telling you a great many things. My pasta trick will not be one of them."

Back in the main store, Jeff and Lester's lunch arrived, Chuck hearing a faint female voice mention twenty nine deliveries. That was too much of a coincidence for Chuck.

"Twenty nine deliveries," he mused, turning to stare at the Pita Palace delivery girl. "Twenty nine bugs." Chuck looked up at the ceiling, feeling his resolve set in. "Come on, Bryce."

Bryce didn't so much as question it, following Chuck's lead as effortlessly as he always had.

They climbed through the ceiling, dropping down just outside Bryce's closet turned office space. There was a small vent not far down the corridor, a disc with the word boobies written on it hidden inside. And then, Bryce boosted Chuck back into the ceiling, nimbly vaulting up after him. They didn't have much time, but there was just enough to pull up the footage and send it to Sarah's email address. He probably should have sent it to Bryce and let him deal with it, but his friend had that stubborn look that said he wasn't leaving Chuck's side. And that was just the way Chuck wanted it.

Conway and Big Mike came back in, apparently not noticing Bryce propping up the opposite wall.

"So," Conway called. "You ready to tell us what happened last night?"

"He did," Bryce offered, nodding a greeting at the duo. "We were at my place. Eating pasta and watching Batman. I've had Kiss From A Rose stuck in my head all day because of that."

"You insisted."

"Really?" Bryce threw his hands in the air. "You're the one who said if we were going to marathon Batman, we might as well do it properly."

"Well, buddy, you were the one-"

Big Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. "Out!"

Bryce strolled from the office at Chuck's side, a grin bright on his lips. "No one appreciates the high level of our discourse."

"It's a crying shame," Chuck agreed, catching sight of Morgan as Casey was called in for his turn. "Remember, be nice, Bryce."

"I'm a delight," Bryce gasped, rocking back as if mortally wounded. "You should read my performance reviews sometime."

"The original ones or the ones you hacked and changed?"

Bryce glanced over his shoulder, laughter dancing in his eyes. "I'm sensing a lot of meanness, buddy," he grinned. "I want you to know, I probably deserve it."

"Oh, you definitely deserve it," Chuck agreed, smiling probably a little goofily back at him. "Now, let me handle Morgan. Just stand there and look menacing."

"We need to talk, man," Chuck announced, striding over to what once was the customer service desk. "It's important."

"Hey. Hey," Morgan whisper-cried, hurrying in his wake. "Chuck, Chuck. It's okay, man, I know about you and Sarah. And how she's more than just your girlfriend."

Chuck had no idea what Morgan was talking about. Sarah wasn't more than his girlfriend. She wasn't even his girlfriend.

"Just, man, promise me the Accountant didn't know first," Morgan continued, eyes deep and pleading.

Chuck glanced across at Bryce, broadcasting his confusion on all frequencies. "Buddy?"

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Bryce said honestly. "A fact of which I am eternally grateful."

Chuck nodded, looking back to Morgan to request elaboration. Only Awesome chose that moment to ring.

"After careful consideration of all potential proposals, I have made a decision," Devon announced, his words calm and certain. A complete counterpoint to Chuck's quiet breakdown. Because, the ring. He still didn't have the ring.

"Oh, let me guess," Chuck quipped, trying for a levity his hysteria didn't quite let him reach. "Naked 2k run?"

"Dinner, Chuck," Devon replied. "Romantic, candlelit dinner. Just the two of us."

Well, that actually sounded nice. Ellie would definitely love that.

"Wow," Chuck breathed. "Great."

"The coup de grace," Devon continued, smile plain in his voice. "Molten lava cake with two-carat diamond ring filling."

"Ellie will really love that," Chuck agreed, heart sinking in his chest. "Look, Devon, just promise me that you'll take care of my sister if anything were to happen."

"What's going to happen?" Devon waited a moment but Chuck couldn't find the words. "Oh. Hey. Cake hits the oven in two hours. Don't be late."

Two hours. A time that Chuck was almost certain he was not going to make. He turned slowly back around, ignoring Morgan in favour of the steady reassurance of Bryce's presence.

"What am I going to do?"

"Nothing, man," Morgan cut in. "You haven't even given Sarah the ring yet. Dude, there's plenty of time to call this whole thing off."

Chuck felt his eyes widen, reading the same realisation in Bryce's gaze. "Sarah, ring?"

"Yeah, the ring you got Sarah," Morgan reminded him, as if Chuck were the one spouting nonsense. "The one I took out of your locker."

Chuck whirled around, relief burning bright in his heart. "You mean the ring that Awesome got for Ellie."

"Oh thank God man," Morgan breathed, slumping in mirrored relief. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Morgan," Chuck cut over him. "Where. Is. The. Ring?"

"It's kind of complicated, but-"

Chuck slapped him lightly. It was not his finest moment and he would regret it soon, but it had to be done.

"It's in the freezer at the Wienerlicous. I put it in Big Mike's marlin-"

And whatever Morgan said after that was lost. Chuck and Bryce were out the door like someone had fired a starter's pistol.

By the time they got to the store, it was too late. The marlin was in two pieces and there was no receiver and no ring box to be found. Sarah distantly called for help, banging on the door of the freezer.

Bryce glanced at the floor, pulled out his phone and cursed quietly. "Okay, buddy. I need you to go to Sarah, I'm gonna see if I can find this Lizzie."

Before Chuck could protest, his best friend pushed him towards the back, offered a soft "be careful" and darted out the doors like the superspy he was.

Sarah banged on the locked freezer, eyes lighting up in relief when she saw Chuck.

"Oh, God," Chuck said, staring at the locked door as the image of his impending future slammed into him like a pair of foton torpedoes. "It's over Sarah. They're going to stick me in some tiny cell with no windows."

"Okay, Chuck," Sarah called, rubbing at the skin of her arms. "I need you to focus. We can still get Lizzie if you can get me out of here."

"How?"

Sarah pointed over to the right of Chuck. "I keep a backup piece in the jar of horseradish sauce."

"Horseradish?" Chuck repeated, disgusted. "Who puts horseradish on hotdogs?"

"Chuck!"

Right. Okay. Chuck upended the horseradish, gingerly picking up the gun between two fingers.

"Shoot the lock, Chuck," Sarah called, staring at him with all the belief that he could do it.

Chuck could not do that. And he didn't even have the chance to. Detective Conway came bursting in, taking the gun from Chuck and hauling him away in cuffs.

Bryce returned to the Wienerlicious, headache pulsing from chasing several deadends thanks to a little hacked camera footage. Casey and Sarah were standing in front of the hidden computers, postures tense.

"Where's Chuck?" Bryce asked, scanning the store in the highly unlikely event he'd missed his best friend's lanky frame.

"A detective took him," Sarah replied, tone far too gentle.

Bryce only paid peripheral notice to things like Sarah's tone and Casey's everything. Chuck was gone. Bryce had left him and Chuck had been taken. Chuck was stuck in some dingy cell somewhere, alone, and Bryce had promised him. He'd promised him that he'd be okay, that they'd find a way out of this.

The Wienerlicious was too small, the walls closing in, but Bryce paced it anyway. He just had to think of a plan. Otherwise, he'd be explaining his failures again to the only people he held himself accountable to.

Dimly, he heard Casey and Sarah giving a briefing. He paid it no attention. He had bigger problems than dealing with his boss's bureaucracy.

"...The Intersect is no longer your concern, Agent Walker."

Bryce paused mid turn. She said what now? He vaulted back over the counter, glaring into the screen. "Where is Chuck?"

"Chuck is on his way to the extraction point right now," Graham explained. "We decided to transfer him to lockdown immediately." Graham peered critically at them. "Is there a problem?"

Graham bet his bald head that there was a damn problem. Fortunately (for the career that Bryce was finding increasingly little worth in), Bryce was too much of a good spy to let that show. He amused himself with imagining exactly how he would infiltrate Graham's office and deal with the situation should anything actually happen to Chuck.

He stood there, calm and blank faced, letting Beckman order them to focus on finding the Fulcrum agent.

Casey terminated the connection, glancing past Sarah to Bryce. "We'll take care of Lizzie. You go get Chuck."

Bryce stared at Casey, almost certain he was having some sort of stress related hallucination. That was almost human of Casey.

"Don't make me change my mind," Casey smirked, rolling his eyes.

Bryce nodded once, checking the clip on his gun. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Casey dismissed. "This doesn't mean I like you."

"Right back atcha," Bryce smirked, nodding at Sarah as he left.

While Bryce and Casey were having their snowflakes are now falling in hell conversation, Chuck was stuck in the back of a CIA agent's car, staring down the barrel of an unpromising future.

"So," he began, forcing as much cheer into his voice as he could. "This is it, huh? Going to get my own padded cell."

Room for one. No watching Ellie's smile as she tells him she's engaged; no playing the latest Call of Duty with Morgan; no dinners and movie nights and crashing at Bryce's. Forever.

"Do I get a bed, or is my whole room kind of like a bed?"

Conway glanced over his shoulder, almost looking reassuring. Well, sorry pal, you're the wrong spy to reassure me. "It's not as bad as it sounds. The underground complex where you will be living has state-of-the-art security and amenities. You'll even be allowed outside to visit controlled locations."

Well, that just made it all better, didn't it?

Nice as the CIA might make it, it still wouldn't be home. It wouldn't feel like home.

"I can't leave without telling Ellie something, a reason for going," Chuck cried, looking to Conway hopefully. "What should I say?"

"Nothing," Conway replied. "It's safer for them if you just... Disappear."

No. It wasn't safer. Not for Ellie. He couldn't do that. Not just disappear. Not like Mom did. Not like their father had. It wasn't the way they did things.

He'd really hoped that if he had to be in this situation, Bryce would be the one taking him in. Although, he had a sneaking suspicion that if Bryce were in the front seat right now, they'd be making for the border to Mexico and giving the CIA the bird.

Unfortunately, the only CIA-related bird in Chuck's future was apparently going to be the helicopter sent to extract him.

Chuck stood on top of a rain wet helipad, cuffs biting into his wrists, Conway's hand gripping tight at his arm. He could feel it in his stomach - a heavy, sinking feeling. This was it. The end. No more fresh air. No more freedom.

"Long Shore!"

Bryce ran up the stairs to join them, not even out of breath. His eyes fell on Chuck, a quick flicker of a gaze, making sure he was okay. Chuck nodded slightly, wary of the CIA agent beside him.

"Is there a problem, Agent Larkin?"

"Bryce," Chuck called, pulling his arm out of Conway's hold. "I don't want to go yet. I-"

"It's okay, buddy," Bryce smiled, soft and easy. "You're not going anywhere." Bryce's smile fell, expression turning cold and calm as he turned to Conway. "Agents Casey and Walker are tracking the Fulcrum mole. They should have her in custody soon. So, we're holding off on extracting Chuck."

"If there was a change in the operation, I would have been contacted," Conway scoffed, Chuck beginning to slowly sidle away from him. "I have my orders, Agent Larkin."

"Well, so do I," Bryce replied, taking a minute step closer to Chuck. "This is my operation. Fulcrum, Chuck, all of it. It's mine. Chuck is mine. Just, please, give us some time."

"Please," Chuck echoed, pouring his desperation to stay into the plea.

"You've got one minute," Conway sighed. "One." He walked to the other end of the helipad, giving them their privacy.

"I'm sorry," Bryce whispered, coming to a stop just in front of him. "If I hadn't sent you in alone-"

"There would've been nothing you could have done," Chuck replied, shaking his head. "But, buddy, I'm not ready. I'm not ready to disappear."

"I know," Bryce uttered, quiet and devastated. "I know and I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Chuck shook his head quickly. They were not spending their last moments like this. "I need you to do something for me," he said instead, getting straight to it. "I need you to talk to Ellie and to Morgan and the others, and tell them- Tell them." Chuck trailed off. "I don't know. If I'm supposed to be dead, tell them something that might make it feel okay. Just, make sure they know how much I love them."

"I'll tell them," Bryce promised, blinking as if it masked the sheen in his eyes. "I won't leave them with no answers, I promise."

"And hey, Bryce, there's a silver lining." Chuck tried to grin so hard it came out like a grimace. "At least you won't have to be an accountant any more."

Bryce chuckled, and it sounded like it hurt. "Chuck, I'd be an accountant for the rest of my god-damned life if it meant you spent it free."

Chuck's eyes burned; the force of Bryce's statement burrowing into all the places that ached. "Come on, Bryce, don't make me cry."

"Yeah, it's not a pretty sight," Bryce quipped, smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.

"And, y'know, it's not goodbye for us, right?" Chuck continued, clutching onto that thought like the lifeline it was. "You'll come round to the padded cell so often it'll be like you're a resident too, right?"

"You can count on it," Bryce promised, something like his old cocky smirk lighting his eyes. "I'll be the guy in the black tactical gear blowing up the wall and busting you out."

Now that definitely sounded more like Bryce Larkin, superspy.

"Tell me when and I'll cook something, create a distraction."

That, finally, drew a laugh from Bryce's lips. It was wet and quiet, but it was real.

"I don't think the situation is quite that dire, there, buddy," he teased, patting his arm.

"Time's up," Conway called, summoning Chuck forward.

Chuck turned, insides twisting at the helplessness Bryce couldn't hide. "I'll see you around, Bryce."

Bryce nodded, tight and brief. "Take care of yourself, buddy."

Chuck smiled, drinking in his last moments of true freedom; the crisp night air, the sounds of Los Angeles below them, the sight of Bryce standing there on a wet helipad.

There was the muffled pop of a silenced gunshot, Conway toppling to the ground. Bryce was at Chuck's side in an instant, gun shot out of his hand by the approaching Fulcrum agent.

They ran down the stairs, Lizzie taking potshots at them as they went. Bryce pushed Chuck behind a metal shelving unit, whispering for him to stay quiet.

"I listened to the receiver," Lizzie called, footsteps prowling closer. "Do you know how many agents are looking for Bryce Larkin?"

Bryce shrugged, offering a cocky smirk that Chuck felt he probably deserved. He nodded at Chuck, leading him quietly through the building.

"And all the time, the Intersect was here," Lizzie continued, shooting where they'd just been. "Wait until my superiors find out."

Chuck found himself crouched beside a chain link fence, watching Bryce analyse their options. "What if I surrender?"

"What if Casey comes into work wearing fairy wings and a bright pink tutu?" Bryce retorted, raising his eyebrows. "Neither of those things are going to happen."

"I have only one question, Chuck," Lizzie called. "Who's the ring for?"

"She has Ellie's ring," Chuck whispered, Bryce nodding.

"I hate this," he murmured, deftly unpicking the lock on Chuck's cuffs. "Try to distract her." Bryce paused, coming back to him. "And don't get yourself hurt."

"Don't get shot," Chuck muttered back, rewarded with a bright flash of Bryce's grin as the spy went off to be a superspy.

Lizzie chased Chuck back onto the helipad, shouting that she was not going to go away. Chuck got that, stubbornness did seem to be a trait Fulcrum looked for in the nut jobs they recruited.

"You really want to take me in?" Chuck called, walking backwards up the stairs and onto the helipad. "You're going to have to sweeten the deal a little bit for me. The CIA, they're offering me a padded cell. Real cush. Can you beat that?" Chuck stared down two guns, wondering at the irony that he might get shot with his best friend's gun. Again. "I'm a guy who enjoys a good steam. Can you- can you do a good steam room?"

"I don't really think you're in a position to bargain, Chuck," Lizzie smirked. "I have two guns. What do you have?"

"Me," Bryce announced, tackling Lizzie to the ground.

"Yeah, I've got Bryce," Chuck agreed, wincing at the kick Bryce took to his ribs. "Don't break the agent!" Bryce retaliated with a brutal martial arts combo that sent Lizzie stumbling. "Or the ring! Buddy, don't hurt the ring!"

"Little busy right now," Bryce called, stepping in close to take the power and range out of Lizzie's attacks.

Casey and Sarah came running on to the helipad, guns drawn. But there was nothing they could do. Lizzie used Bryce's momentum, pitching them both off the roof.

Chuck went cold all over, his muscles locking into place. His heart was beating so fast he ought to be hearing nothing but his pulse in his ears, but there was only the surprised gasp Bryce made, ringing endlessly.

"Bryce!" Sarah cried, her panic propelling Chuck forward.

"Bryce!" Chuck yelled, stumbling towards the edge. He looked down through the links in the mesh that supported him, staring down at what he knew was going to be his best friend's body splayed on the concrete.

Bryce was stumbling to his feet in a rubbish skip, slamming Lizzie's head into the side to knock her unconscious.

"Not bad, Larkin," Casey mused, nodding his approval.

Chuck just laughed, sheer beautiful relief bursting through him, bright and giddy like champagne. "I'm gonna," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"That was fun," Bryce grinned, vaulting out of the dumpster with all the grace born of his gymnastics training.

"You are insane," Chuck announced, shaking his head helplessly. He stepped in, ignoring the faint scent of garbage, and hugged his friend tight. "So certifiable. But I'm so glad you're okay."

Bryce squeezed a little tighter, patted his back twice and stepped away. "I'm indestructible, you know that," he grinned, tapping the gunshot scar near his heart. "And, is that really any way to speak to your best friend in the world? The guy who's got your sister's engagement ring?"

Bryce waggled his left hand, the diamond glittering from his pinkie.

Chuck grabbed his hand, staring at the diamond ring in disbelief. Bryce had fallen from a helipad into a dumpster and still remembered to grab Ellie's ring. And, to top it off, he had the nerve to stand there like it was completely normal. Just the way he ended every mission. Like this wasn't one of the biggest things that was going to happen in Chuck's family. Like this whole day hadn't been a disaster that Chuck couldn't believe they'd walked away from.

"You are unbelievable," Chuck informed him, idly noting that the diamond was sparkling like Bryce's eyes tended to do.

Bryce frowned, tilting his head teasingly. "Is that a thank you?"

"You know it is," Chuck grumbled, pulling him into another hug. He didn't know what his face was showing and he didn't care. They had Ellie's ring and the Fulcrum agent had been neutralised, and Chuck wasn't in an underground bunker and Bryce wasn't dead.

Bryce rubbed his back slowly, breaths a little shorter in Chuck's ears. "It's going to be okay now, buddy," he promised, leaning a little into Chuck. "Hey, Sarah. Casey. Lizzie's knocked out in there. She's got the receiver. Chuck's gonna drive us-"

"To the hospital," Chuck blurted, feeling the tense way Bryce was breathing. "I think he's broken some ribs."

"Bruised," Bryce retorted, then winced as if realising that wasn't the brightest thing to admit to around Chuck. "And it's fine. We've gotta get the ring to Awesome."

Chuck shook his head, towing Bryce by the wrist to the car. "He's waited this long, he'll understand waiting a little longer."

"I hate hospitals," Bryce muttered, but he didn't stop moving after Chuck.

Chuck nodded sympathetically. "I know. You hate being an accountant too, but you keep doing that for me."

Bryce's frown faded into a softer smile. "Yeah, I do."

It was a little after dawn by the time they were driving away from the hospital. The ER wait had been endless and annoying, but Bryce had been in and out, diagnosed with a couple of broken ribs and enough bruising coming to make his body a Jackson Pollock. But, he'd let one of Ellie's colleagues bind his ribs and write out a prescription Chuck knew he'd conveniently forget to fill, and now they were on their way home.

Normally, after nights like that, Chuck would have entered through the Morgan door. But, Bryce's ribs were in no state to allow that, so they quietly slipped in through the front door.

Devon was sitting on the couch, Ellie asleep with her head on his lap. He saw them standing there, exhausted as they could only be after hours in the ER, and spread his hands.

"I'm so sorry," Chuck said, quietly as he could. "Minor medical emergency. But," he pulled the ring from his pocket. "Sorry it's so late."

"Thank you," Devon smiled, catching the ring. "I always knew I could trust you with my family jewels. So to speak."

Ellie stirred, shifting about on the couch.

"Good luck," Chuck whispered, nudging Bryce towards his bedroom. He didn't know about Bryce, but collapsing fully clothed and passing out was sounding pretty good right about now.

"Mission accomplished," Bryce murmured, leaning against Chuck's closed bedroom door.

"It'd make one hell of a story at their wedding," Chuck agreed, slumping onto his chair. "Not that we can actually tell it, but y'know."

"You know what we can do?" Bryce asked, pushing off the door with a well concealed wince. He nodded to the Morgan door then towards the living room.

"Spy? On my sister's proposal?" Chuck knew it was a bad idea, but he followed Bryce out the window, keeping a hand on his back to make sure his friend didn't overdo it.

They made it in time to watch Devon go down on one knee, Ellie throwing her arms around him as she obviously said yes.

"She looks so happy," Chuck breathed, watching joy suffuse her face. The ring glittered on her finger, looking right. Looking like it belonged.

"She is," Bryce agreed, weight leaning a little more against him. "It's all going to be okay, Chuck. You're not leaving them."

Chuck believed him, he did. It was just... "But Fulcrum keep getting closer."

"I'm not going to let that happen," Bryce promised, quiet and sure. "You're staying right here and Fulcrum aren't going to touch us. Now," Bryce nudged him with his elbow, offering a teasing grin. "Go congratulate your sister."

"You're coming with me," Chuck grinned, pushing the heavy thoughts away.

"It's a family thing," Bryce demurred, moving to move away.

Chuck rolled his eyes, grabbing his wrist. "You're family, Bryce."

Chuck opened the door, hoping Awesome would be too preoccupied to notice they'd come back in again. Ellie made the happiest noise he'd ever heard, throwing her arms around him.

"Congratulations, sis," Chuck beamed, grinning so wide his cheeks were going to hurt. "I'm so happy for you."

Ellie thanked him in a quiet breath, stepping away so Devon could hug him too. Chuck offered his congratulations to Devon too, soaking in the happiness of his family.

Bryce clapped Devon on the shoulder, smile a little tighter from pain but no less joyful because of it.

Ellie hugged Chuck again, so happy Chuck felt he could burst.

Maybe things weren't perfect, and Fulcrum were still out there. But, right now, none of that mattered. There was just this moment; his sister's happiness filling all the voids in his heart, his family growing bigger. Let Fulcrum, the CIA, the NSA make their plans, nothing could touch this moment. Right now, everything was just the way it was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Hanging upside-down over the side of a building, there were several (okay, many) things that rushed through Chuck's head. Aside from the blood that was pooling at the top of his cranium and the panic rapidly drenching all his synapses, that was. There was the traditional, holy shit I'm going to die, and the Ellie's going to kill me if I'm dead and miss her wedding. Chuck's favourite was the ironic, I sure picked a bad day to stop being so interdependent.

But, Chuck was getting ahead of himself. This wasn't quite the right moment to be thinking which thought he preferred to be his last. There was plenty of time for that when the pavement was rushing up to meet him and he'd exhausted the brief window for babbling his way out of this.

Some people - not that Chuck was naming any names, but they existed - could probably have kicked ass to such an extreme that they wouldn't end up in situations like Chuck's current predicament. That was their superpower. Chuck, on the other hand, had the ability to chatter endlessly without the need for mundane things like oxygen. That was one of his.

"Before you do anything rash," Chuck called, blood beginning to throb at his temples. "I think you should know, I have the Cipher."

Above him, a deep almost measured voice ordered; "Hand it over right now."

Contrary to how he probably looked right now, Chuck was not stupid. He knew exactly how doing that would turn out.

"Don't you think we should discuss terms first?" Terms like maybe Chuck would FedEx it to him from a small and remote tropical island.

Chuck was hauled back to his feet, his tie held in an uncompromising grip.

"Now," the man who quite literally held Chuck's life in his hands growled. "Who are you?"

And that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Who was he? It was the kind of deep, existential question he'd avoided pondering thus far into the twenty-seven years of his life.

"You know what?" Chuck asked, shaking his head. "You probably wouldn't believe me."

The man, Colt Chuck thought his name was, briefly loosened his hold on Chuck's tie, only to catch it again. "Last chance. Who are you?"

"Chuck." He closed his eyes, wondering if that was going to be his last word. Not particularly epic, but not the worst he could have come out with.

"Okay," Colt smiled, nodding. "Now, tell me everything, Chuck."

Chuck felt his eyes grow wide. Colt really did not know what he was asking.

There was no way that he would ever believe what Chuck had to say. And, really, Chuck didn't blame him. There were very, very few people who would believe that the US Government actually put all their secrets into one supercomputer - the Intersect. Or that all those secrets were successfully downloaded into Chuck's brain, making him the first ever human Intersect - which really wasn't as cool as it sounded, except on the days when it was. And, even if someone was apt to believe him, Chuck couldn't tell Colt that.

But, as Chuck was certain he had established, he could babble.

"The thing is, I kinda - sorta - work for the CIA and the NSA during my off hours, when I'm not working at the store. It's kind of like a second job for me. And, though I don't look it, being lanky of build, you should probably know that I am the most important intelligence asset in the world."

Colt looked up at him, disbelieving. "That is the single dumbest story I have ever heard."

"That very well may be," Chuck agreed, because yeah it did sound like a dumb story. "But if you drop me, there are a couple of people who are going to be very, very upset."

Colt's expression turned briefly considering. Briefly because a small explosion chose that exact moment to go off, the couple of people in question bursting through the doors.

First through the doors was Sarah, as beautiful as ever and twice as deadly, shotgun primed in her hands. Casey - still as not as pretty as ever - was right at her side. And then, almost strolling after them, blue eyes like shards of ice, was Bryce. Seeing him, Chuck was seized with the irrational urge to grin, wave and say "hi, buddy". But, since he knew from previous experience (a short-lived abduction from Comic Con that July) how unwise that was, Chuck decided to just stay where he was and continue looking scared.

It wasn't hard.

"Let the geek go!" Casey yelled, handgun pointed at Colt's back.

"Not out the window," Sarah added, earning a dry look from Casey.

"Aren't we picky."

Colt grabbed Chuck, tossing him bodily towards his rescuers. Casey caught him, manipulating his momentum so he crashed onto a couch and not the unforgiving concrete.

Casey and Sarah rushed towards the window, Colt undoubtedly making some grand and cool escape. The superest of the superspies, however, remained fixed in place next to Chuck.

"Why didn't you stay in the car?" Bryce demanded, and, yup, the ice in his eyes was directed at Chuck. Once again, he had successfully managed to piss his best friend off.

"You know what?" Chuck asked, only half an octave higher than usual. "It's never safe in the car."

"Because you're incapable of staying in the car."

"I don't have the monopoly on stupid decisions, Bryce," Chuck snapped, glaring at him from the corner of his eyes. Chuck still had nightmares about the time Bryce took off on a jet ski after a speedboat full of weapons dealers. Alone.

"I'm trained for those stupid decisions," Bryce snapped back, ice burning brighter. Then, he closed his eyes and sighed, all the fight draining out of him. He came to sit next to Chuck, leaning back against the cushions as if he was exhausted. "Aside from your dignity, are you hurt?"

Taking that as the I'm sorry for yelling at you that Bryce wouldn't utter, Chuck shook his head and let his neck go loose.

Casey turned away from the window, almost eager. "Well, did you get it?" He walked closer. "Tell me you got it."

Chuck waggled the Cipher. "I got it. Course I got it, it's me."

Bryce's eyes narrowed, almost threateningly at Casey, but he didn't object to the NSA major taking the disc from Chuck's hand. It probably helped that Sarah was on his heels as he walked away with the prize.

Chuck rolled his head towards his friend, taking in the tight lines around Bryce's eyes and mouth. "You okay, buddy?"

"At this rate, I'll be grey by thirty," Bryce groaned, leaning his head back against the top of the couch. "You know, about a year ago, I was shot, right here." He tapped his chest as if Chuck could ever have forgotten. "But I'm pretty sure your antics are going to kill me."

And, Bryce joked, but his words rang true. Chuck really did keep giving him heart attacks.

And, because Chuck was the well adjusted one, he could recognise that. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Bryce just hummed, staring up at the ceiling.

Eventually, Chuck felt some of the raw panic leaving his system. He turned, meeting Bryce's gaze. "Come on, buddy," he sighed, patting his knee. "I'm sure we're late for a briefing or something."

Bryce hummed again, making absolutely no move to move. To be honest, Chuck didn't want to move either. He could fall asleep right here and still wake up exhausted. He wasn't sure what it was about Fall, but as soon as it hit September all the bad guys came out of the woodwork and they'd been rushed off their feet. Between the Buy More and the Intersect stuff and helping Ellie plan her wedding (which required Chuck to have opinions on things he'd never even considered before), they hadn't had a break since Comic Con - and even that had been less than restful.

"If we fall asleep, Casey's gonna come and find us," Chuck said finally, rewarded with the entirely predicable groan from his best friend.

Bryce hauled himself to his feet, pulling Chuck upright moments later. Together, they stumbled ever so slightly drunkenly through the exploded door and down to where Sarah was keeping the SUV idling for them.

"Excellent work, agents," Graham praised, he and Beckman actually smiling through the screen at them. "Our transporters will be taking the Cipher out of Los Angeles."

Sarah shared a glance with Casey. "General, what exactly is the Cipher? I mean, mercenaries break into the NSA lab and that's the only thing they take?"

"The Cipher is the artificial brain for the new Intersect computer."

Shoved away out of sight in the kitchen, where he was trying vainly to make Casey's coffee taste anything other than gritty and disgusting, Chuck slowly turned his gaze to the television.

"The new Intersect?"

Chuck was certain he hadn't heard what he had. Because, if the CIA/NSA were working on another Intersect, he was certain that someone would have told him. That it might, y'know, relate to him being as he was the old and current Intersect.

Sarah and Casey tensed a little, just enough to let Chuck know they knew. Bryce, however, remained utterly impassive, packet of creamer suspended suspiciously halfway to his nose. Either his best friend had known about this and was trying very hard not to show it, or he'd just been blindsided by the information beside Chuck and was trying very hard not to show how pissed off he was about it.

Now, some people (Casey) might call Chuck naive but he didn't think that Bryce had known and neglected to tell him about it. It wasn't that he viewed his best friend with rose-colored glasses; he knew exactly what he was capable of and how much of that was unpleasant. But, callous and ruthless as Bryce Larkin could be, he wasn't like that with Chuck.

Not with Chuck.

Just the same, Bryce took the time to carefully shake his head. The truth of it was there in his face; he'd maybe suspected but he'd had no real idea.

"We have been working on a new one ever since the original Intersect was destroyed," Graham announced, as if he hadn't just dropped a metaphorical bomb in the middle of Casey's apartment.

"And you were going to inform me about this when?" Bryce asked, as casual as if he were asking when someone was going to tell him it was raining.

"When it became operationally relevant. As it just did," Graham replied, as if he were oblivious to the fact that that particular level of calmness meant Bryce was probably plotting their traceless assassinations as they spoke.

"The Cipher is the final part," Beckman continued, and if Chuck didn't know better he might say she looked happy. But that couldn't be because Chuck knew that the NSA handpicked their people from a carefully curated pool of terrifying but emotionally constipated recruits who only smiled at unnecessary violence and pictures of President Reagan.

Chuck found a seat in front of Casey's computers, frowning hard at the television. "Uh, wait, time out just for a second here. What- what happens to me, the old Intersect?"

"Tomorrow the new computer will be online and Operation Bartowski officially comes to an end. You'll be done with this. No more missions, no more briefings, no more spies." His handlers turned towards him; Casey looked eager, Sarah almost sad. Graham honestly looked sincere as he smiled at him. "Enjoy the rest of your life, Chuck."

Chuck stared at the darkened screen, feeling the tentative fluttering of hope against his sternum.

Tomorrow it would be over. He would be free. There would be no risking his life whenever bad guys crossed his path. No more worrying if this was the day Fulcrum were going to really, truly, irrevocably discover he was the Intersect and come after him. No more Casey breathing down his neck at work. No more worrying he was keeping Sarah from the exciting parts of the job he knew she loved.

Sarah walked Chuck out, checking he was okay with the developments. And the thing was, he was great. He felt great. And it was great to have that time with Sarah, listening to her praise his work, to tell him he could do anything. Ellie and Bryce told him all the time, but they were his family and they loved him - they were naturally biased. But Sarah was ... Sarah. She had saved his life so many times and she was so ... Sarah; beautiful and perfect and she saw him in the way Chuck hardly ever let people do.

To have Sarah standing in front of him and telling him that he could have anything that he wanted. It soothed something inside of him, eased the sting of a thousand old hurts buried away. If ever Chuck was going to let himself fall for Sarah again, it would have been that moment; that single, glistening moment when anything seemed possible. And, through the touched smile on his face, Chuck waited for it. For his heart to skip a beat, for Sarah to retake that golden glow she'd had those first few months of their relationship.

But the glow didn't come. Sarah remained Sarah. His beautiful, brilliant friend.

And he thanked her, and he walked her to her car, bidding her an honest good night. And he turned back, seeing Bryce crossing the courtyard to his own apartment.

"Buddy!"

Bryce turned and smiled. It was bright and happy and cheerful, and it dazzled Chuck. It was the kind of smile that ought to grace red carpets and Hollywood soundstages, not a courtyard in Echo Park. And that was how Chuck knew it wasn't real. It was too perfect.

If Bryce was really, truly happy, he'd be grinning that crooked little grin of his. The one that made his eyes sparkle and made him look a little less untouchable.

And, then it hit Chuck, what his freedom really meant.

"You're gonna leave."

With a new Intersect, there would be no reason for Bryce to stick around. The CIA would send him overseas again and Chuck wouldn't see his best friend for weeks, maybe years at a time. He wouldn't know if he was hurt, or if he had people he could trust watching his back. It would go back to being like it was before.

How the bottom could fall out of his world and he could still feel like walking on air, he didn't know. But it did, and he did.

"Don't worry about me, buddy," Bryce said, and there was that dazzling smile again. "I knew exactly what I was getting into when I joined the agency."

Joy and pain, eagerness and dread bubbled inside him, pulling him in two different directions. "I- Bryce-"

Bryce shook his head, that fake smile dropping off his lips. "We are not doing this in the courtyard," he decreed, guiding Chuck into his apartment.

Chuck found himself seated as a thousand times before on Bryce's couch, his best friend perched beside him. There was no coffee to distract them, no sci-fi show on the television; nothing to take Chuck away from the serious expression on Bryce's face.

"Okay, I'm going to say this first part only once," Bryce began, almost guilty. "If I had it my way, we'd continue working together forever. Until we really are old and grey and bickering in some retirement home in Florida. But, I'm CIA and what I want really doesn't matter."

Chuck opened his mouth, already protesting. Because, it might not matter to Bryce or to the CIA, but it mattered to Chuck.

"My selfishness aside, you're allowed to feel happy about this, Chuck," Bryce said, eyes eerily intense. "And, hell, I'm thrilled for you. I want this for you. I want you to be happy, to be safe; even if it means things go back to the way they were before."

Chuck didn't need his inbuilt cheat codes from years of living with Bryce to know that Bryce didn't want things to go back to the way they were any more than Chuck did. But what other choice did they have? Bryce loved his job - or so he reiterated many, many times when being an accountant grew too staid for him.

"You could quit."

Bryce shook his head, lips curling sadly. "The CIA still own me, buddy. And they will so long as Fulcrum are around."

The reminder of Fulcrum and the price Bryce no doubt had on his head sent shivers down Chuck's spine. The idea of his best friend out there alone with those nutjobs chasing him, it was enough to make Chuck consider applying to the CIA. But Bryce would actually kill him and render the whole point moot.

"But-"

Bryce clapped his hand over Chuck's mouth, grinning at him. Chuck almost believed it. "This is good news, Chuck. Happy news." And that, Chuck knew Bryce believed. "And, we don't know what my new orders will be. Maybe I'll hate them, finally tell Graham what he can do with his job and just continue working for the Buy More."

They both knew that wasn't going to happen - Bryce had literally just said as much - but denial was something they both fell back on about their relationship. It was comforting to them to pretend that the universe would let things go their way. The universe never had - in fact Chuck was almost certain that the universe had Chuck on it's cosmic kicking list - but he could pretend well enough. He could focus on the part of him that was doing cartwheels at the prospect of shedding his government shackles; compartmentalisation was a skill he'd mastered this past year.

So, Chuck pushed Bryce's hand away, offering as real a grin as he could muster up. "If I have to take another opinion on save the date font, I will actually scream," he said, falling back into a safe subject.

Bryce shuddered, grabbing the new topic with both hands and a grateful smile. "What are the chances we'll get dragged in if we go over there?"

"Guaranteed," Chuck grinned, undaunted at the thought that Ellie was definitely waiting for them across the courtyard.

"I think there's a re-run of literally anything on television right now," Bryce smirked, half-heartedly reaching towards the television remote on the coffee table.

"Solid excuse," Chuck agreed, pushing Bryce's arm back down. "Now, let's pretend we did that, roll up our sleeves and collapse fully clothed on the bed like a couple of sleep deprived college students."

Through exhaustion and well hidden worry, Bryce's eyes sparkled. "You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, buddy."

Chuck laughed, letting Bryce push him down the corridor towards the bedrooms. It was comforting to know that even when things were so unsure, he and Bryce could still be, fundamentally, a pair of dorks. And, no matter what happened tomorrow, that would hopefully never change.

Chapter Text

Chuck awoke the next morning - potentially his last as a pseudo spy - feeling great. Sunlight streamed through his window, a fresh mug of coffee steamed gently on the beside table, and Huey Lewis and the News drifted on the air from the kitchen. Chuck danced along to it as he brushed his teeth and performed his other morning ablutions, making only a slight grimace at the mintyness of his next sip of coffee. As mornings went, it was an infinitely better ease into his day than the time he'd accidentally walked in on Ellie and Awesome in the shower. But, hey, that morning had led to Chuck moving into Bryce's for almost the entirety of March, so every traumatic experience had a silver lining.

Speaking of Bryce, his best friend was doing this dorky little shimmy around the kitchen, singing along as he debated the age old question of Pop Tarts or Fruit Loops. Chuck grinned helplessly, revelling in the side of his friend so few were allowed to see.

Just because it was good to see, didn't mean Chuck wasn't going to tease him for it. He was his best friend, it was his imperative.

"Dork," Chuck called, dropping into his usual seat at the kitchen island with a grin.

"Guilty as charged," Bryce winked, depositing both boxes in front of Chuck. "What are we feeling today?"

"Let's pretend to be healthy and go with the cereal," Chuck decided, sipping at his rapidly cooling coffee while Bryce did domestic things like fetching bowls and milk. "You're the best."

Bryce gave one of the smiles that was more cocky than amused. "In so many ways." And, really, he deserved the spoonful of cereal that decorated his hair.

Under the outrage (Bryce was touchy about his hair), Chuck saw Bryce's eyes dance. "Oh, it's on," he promised, gleefully abandoning his own cereal.

And that was how Chuck found himself running around the fountain in their courtyard, arms over his head, trying to avoid getting soaked from Bryce's water gun retribution.

"Chuck? Bryce?"

Bryce stopped in the middle of the courtyard, a butter wouldn't melt smile on his lips. "Morning, Ellie."

Chuck cautiously uncurled from his defensive hunch, offering a grin of his own. "Morning, sis!"

Ellie stood just outside her apartment, dark blue scrubs immaculate, frowning at them in the way that meant she was trying hard not to laugh. "What are you two doing?"

Chuck imagined they must look a sight; both half dressed, Chuck half soaked, Bryce with a stubborn green fruit loop on the top of his head. But, to be fair, Ellie had seen them in much, much worse states than this.

"Just settling a disagreement."

"With a water gun?"

Bryce nodded emphatically. "It's a matter of honour."

Ellie shook her head, fond smile breaking free. "Well, I'm sure the matter of honour can wait until tonight," she decreed, gently confiscating the water gun from Bryce's lax fingers. "Chuck won't throw any more cereal at you until you sort this out." And with those words, his big sister plucked the remaining loop from Bryce's hair, shaking her head at Chuck.

"He started it," Chuck heard himself retort, choking back a laugh at the sight of Bryce poking his tongue out at him.

Ellie looked between them, smile wide and bright. "You're happy today," she commented, tone full of meaning. "Is there something I should know?"

Bryce grinned, shaking his head. "And on that, I'm off for a shower. If I use all the hot water, well that's tough luck, buddy."

"Cruel," Chuck cried dramatically, dropping to sit on the fountain in feigned betrayal.

Bryce laughed and wandered back inside, leaving Chuck alone with his sister. His sister who was right. He was happy today. Oh, it still ached inside at the thought that all this might be over. But, the immediate prospect of not getting shot at or kidnapped or *insert unpleasant situation here* on a near daily basis was really great. And, more than that, he was hopeful.

Hopeful that maybe he was, maybe, worth more than just an assistant manager gig at a Buy More. Hopeful that he could start to make a start on his dreams, that glittering road to the life he'd imagined at Stanford.

And, maybe, the real start of that might be right here. In this moment, with his big sister in front of him and his double life as a spy almost behind him.

"So, Ellie," Chuck began, patting the edge of the fountain beside him. "I've been thinking about stuff. You know, like my life and, uh, my job."

Ellie perched beside him, gaze encouraging. "Where is this coming from, Chuck?"

"I don't know," Chuck said, and that was kinda the truth. "I just, lately I've been thinking that maybe you and Devon are right. That maybe I shouldn't, uh, shouldn't be working at a Buy More. I should have a real job, with a real future."

Ellie's eyes blew wide, shock and pride glowing from her. "What happened?"

And that, that was a valid question, Chuck knew. Ellie had been trying to get Chuck to see sense about his job for, well, years now and he'd stubbornly insisted on staying on the safe path all the way.

But how could Chuck explain the way his life had turned around when Bryce chose him to put his faith in, when he had sent him that email out of the blue?

"You know, when you meet someone and they just kind of, you know, they- they flip you on your head, just shake things up a little bit?"

And it wasn't just Bryce - although Chuck sometimes wondered what his life would have been if Bryce hadn't broken off all contact. If Bryce would have given him that look that judged him for all his life choices and then gently but firmly told him that he was being an idiot letting Flemming and Jill ruin his life like that. But, it wasn't just having Bryce back; it was Sarah and her vitality and her belief in him, and it was everything they'd been through in this last year totally shaking the foundation of his safe, stable life.

Ellie, so obviously fighting the urge to tell hallelujah, put her hand on his. "Chuck, talk to me," she bade, concerned. "I need to know if this is a good thing or a bad thing?"

"No," Chuck smiled. "It's a good thing. It's a very good thing. It's not a bad reaction to being dumped thing. It's, uh, I want this. I do."

"Okay, great," Ellie smiled, tamping down her enthusiasm so it didn't freak Chuck out. "I'm really happy for you. I'm, like, super excited right now, I'm just trying to keep it in."

"It's healthier," Chuck agreed, nodding.

Ellie threw her arms around him, beaming. "I'm proud of you. I'm so proud of you."

Chuck laughed, hugging her back as tightly as he dared. "I love you," he said, hauling them both to their feet. "But I've gotta shove Bryce out of the shower and grab one myself before we're both late for work. I'll see you later."

Everything in the Buy More took on a rosy sort of glow as Chuck walked in for what may very well have been one of the last times. The green shirts hauling merchandise, the nerds pretending to get work done - all of it looked so much brighter and more promising. And then there was Morgan. His oldest friend was hunched down by one of the shelves, whisper-calling for him.

Bryce rolled his eyes, pretending not to notice. "Well, I've got to pretend to do some accounting work. Wake me when you're taking your coffee break, yeah?"

"Sure thing, bud," Chuck grinned, patting his shoulder as Bryce strolled off towards his office. Chuck waited all of five seconds then joined Morgan. "What's up, Morgan?"

Morgan was holding a tube of rolled paper in his hand. "Large Mart goons could be anywhere and I'm not letting them see this." He pointed to the paper.

"What is this?" Chuck asked, crossing his arms. This might be one of the times he was going to regret asking, but it was in the best friend code to always humour his best friends.

Morgan grandly rolled the paper out, revealing a floorplan. "Compound level from Call of Duty," Morgan said grandly. "After our last battle with those Large Mart douches, I started to work on this. Planning on how we could take 'em all out." Morgan pulled a pointer from thin air. "Listen up. You ready?"

Chuck couldn't say yes or no, Morgan launched straight into it.

"Twenty three infantry troopers, sixteen snipers, seven heavy gunners, four demolitions experts, and enough ammunition to orbit Arnold Schwarzenegger. Fifty gamers, one call, all ready for battle."

Chuck could see it. And it was good.

"With this team assembled," Morgan continued, "and my plan, I think we can beat 'em."

"Morgan, you are my new hero."

"I know, man."

Chuck saw Casey heading for the barbeques, Morgan sending Chuck off with a reminder that Big Mike was looking for him.

"Hey, Casey," Chuck called, catching up with his NSA handler. "Do you have a minute?"

"Not right now, Chuck," Casey replied, looking past him. "I've got a single, white female pining for the Beastmaster."

Chuck held his hands out, trying to stop Casey from ignoring him. "It's just a quick- it's a quick second, promise."

Casey sighed, as if Chuck was inconveniencing him greatly. Chuck had known him for a year now, he could see that there was some small degree of fondness in the expression. "What is it?"

"Just wanted to say thank you," Chuck said, meaning it.

Casey's eyes widened, little internal red alert bells clearly ringing. "I'm leaving."

Chuck grabbed Casey's forearm. "No, wait."

"Hand," Casey warned, tone suggesting imminent unpleasantness.

"Right, sorry." Chuck removed his hand. "Forget about that. Um, look, I just want to say I'm gonna miss you, man. You know, and thank you for showing me how to do things that I never thought were possible, and, you know what? You were always there to catch me when I fell, which sounds horribly cheesy now that I'm saying it aloud."

"Really, forget it," Casey replied, nodding once then leaving Chuck there, alone.

Chuck didn't know what he'd expected, but he'd said his piece and he couldn't do more than that. One heartfelt conversation down, two more to go.

Later, after trying to explain to Big Mike why their last sales push hadn't been as successful as they'd hoped, Chuck ducked out to the Orange Orange across the parking lot. Sarah was behind the counter, looking beautiful as ever in an orange tank top, hair loose but kept away by an orange band.

"Can I be completely honest?" Chuck asked, watching her smile.

"Yeah."

"I miss the Wienerlicious," he said, leaning on the counter. "I mean the Bavarian charm and the toxic nacho cheese that you guys had there."

"My clothes smelled like sausage," Sarah reminded him. And, yeah.

"Nostalgia completely gone."

Sarah laughed and Chuck wished he still had feelings for her. It would just be so easy to act as cool as he ever could (not very but Sarah had seemed to like his nerdy charm), to lean a little closer and ask her out for a real date. A real date to celebrate the end of all this and to maybe see if all this could become the beginning of the rest of their lives.

But that spark was gone and trying to force it, to recapture that blissful idyll they'd once had, it would just hurt the both of them in the long run and ruin the friendship they'd built.

"So, what's up?"

"In a week, you're probably going to be undercover in, I don't know, Jakarta, in a knife fight with some bad guy," Chuck said, knowing that was who she was and wanted to be. "And I know we're never going to be anything more than friends, but I don't want you to go out there and think that just because this operation is over that you don't- you won't still mean something special to me. I want you to know that you can always call me, we can just, you know, shoot the breeze and-" Chuck trailed off, finding his words lacking. "I don't want this to be the end of our friendship."

Sarah glanced around the empty shop, pitching her voice lower. "Chuck, I'm still a CIA agent."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed easily. "So's Bryce. You don't think I'm gonna let him get away with going incommunicado, do you? You're no different."

Sarah watched him for a long moment, a slow smile spreading on her lips. "Okay, Chuck," she smiled, nodding. "I'll keep in touch."

Chuck nodded back, smiling himself. "Good. Well, I'll see you later if we're still on for that friend dinner?"

"Of course," Sarah agreed, seeming almost happy at the thought of continuing their tradition. "But, are you sure you want to? I thought you would have had plans with Bryce? It being the last night and all."

Chuck shook his head. "I'll just crash at his afterwards," he shrugged, not examining the part of him that flinched at the idea of a final goodbye.

The way things were - had always been - between them, there was no definitive end. There was no last night. There was always just the wait until the next time, whether it be after a weekend break or four years of radio silence, they always made their way back into the other's orbit.

Chuck made his way back to the Buy More, woke Bryce for his coffee break, and proceeded to spend the rest of the day holed up in Bryce's office pretending to do paperwork. Was it unprofessional of him? Yeah, but it was fun to skive off work with his best friend. Besides, it was the last day they would definitely be working together, it would be irresponsible of him not to make the most of it. And Bryce certainly wasn't complaining. In fact, it looked to Chuck like having him within his sight was exactly what Bryce had planned for the day. Just them, a locked office, and Zork coding that didn't belong at work.

It was great.

It continued to be great all day, like the universe was finally smiling on the life of Chuck Bartowski.

"Ooh, date night shirt."

Chuck tossed a ball of clean socks at his smirking friend. "It's a friend dinner with Sarah, and you know it."

Bryce hummed agreement, leaning in the doorway with the casual grace of the insufferably good looking. "I'm not sure I like you having friend dinners with people who aren't me."

"Yes, as you tell me every second Wednesday," Chuck smirked, adjusting his collar in the mirror. He looked good. Not that he needed to look good exactly, it was just a bonus. He nodded at his reflection, turning to his best friend. "Now, I'm having dinner with Sarah. The restaurant information is in the text I sent you. Don't barge in unless it's an emergency and even then use your judgement. If you see Casey, play nice. I'll be back later."

Bryce rolled his eyes. "Middle of the night Gotcha starts at midnight on the dot," he replied, continuing their post-friend date tradition. "Don't be late."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Chuck replied, grabbing his keys off the dresser. "You sure you don't want to tag along tonight? I don't think Sarah will mind."

"I have some final business to discuss with Casey," Bryce sighed, corners of his mouth drawing tight. "There's no need for both of us to suffer though. Go, have fun with Sarah. Just don't have too much fun you replace me, yeah?"

"No promises," Chuck teased, because seriously as if he ever could. "Don't shoot Casey."

"No promises," Bryce smirked back, laughing at Chuck's pointed eye roll. "Seriously, buddy, go. Being late even for a friend date is bad form."

"Says the guy who stood me up for four years solid."

Bryce shrugged, grinning at him. "Go big or go home, you know me."

Chuck laughed, walking out of the apartment with a cheerful; "See you later, buddy!"

As with their past friend dates, Chuck and Sarah spent the first ten minutes commiserating over the latest developments in the Bryce/Casey feud, which turned to commiserating over the death defying stunts Bryce was apt to pull, which turned eventually to the safer topic of the food.

"Wow, this food is good," Sarah praised, skillfully navigating the bright red chopsticks. "How did you hear about this place anyway?"

"Morgan, actually," Chuck replied. "The man has a black belt in dumplings. I trust any recommendation he gives me for food items under ten dollars."

"So, this friend date is a Morgan recommendation?" Sarah looked rightly dubious, but Chuck couldn't exactly admit that.

"Such faith in the little bearded man," Chuck quipped, swallowing his mouthful of dumpling. "You should know, he's always been supportive of our fake relationship and our real friendship." Chuck couldn't help but smile fondly. "And, you know, he never once found it remotely unbelievable that a guy like me could ever be friends with someone like you."

Sarah glanced up innocently, giving a little shrug. "What about me?"

"A woman like you," Chuck said easily. "Considering the fact that you could probably kick the ass of everyone in here. And a smart one at that. Not to mention cool and extremely beautiful and- and you can stop me with the compliments any time."

"No, that was very sweet," Sarah smiled.

"Sweet," Chuck repeated, setting his food down. "Golly gee, thanks for making me feel like I'm eight."

"Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Chuck shook his head, playing it off with exaggeration. "Please, I'm fantastic."

"Yeah, you are," Sarah said, and there was a weight behind her words there hadn't been before. "You know, I probably shouldn't be saying this, but I knew who you were a long time before we ever met. Not- not ever by name, but by reputation."

"Bryce talked about me?" Now that did not seem like the cards held to my chest, my past is a blank to everyone Bryce that Chuck knew.

Sarah inclined her head, eyes soft and distant. "I never had much of a past to look back on fondly, not enough to see me through the times when were trapped and injured and laying low just to survive." Sarah took a sip of her wine, eyes clearing as she looked at Chuck. "But, every now and then, when it got bad or Bryce just wanted to distract me - usually from some bleeding wound he was hiding or the fact that he was giving me the lion's share of the food - he'd bring out his stories. Nothing- nothing incriminating or from before Stanford. But, it was always my college roommate this, or my friend that, or this one time, or a hundred other things. So, I knew you. I knew you were sweet and kind and that the memories of you were the things Bryce turned to when things got bad." Sarah picked up her food again, as if saying all that was completely normal. "And then I got to know you for myself and you were everything Bryce said. And I'm glad he sent the email to you. I'm glad I got to be your friend."

"I'm glad too," Chuck said, or he would have said if the universe didn't completely hate him. But it did. And Chuck flashed and flashed again on a host of really nasty people they were surrounded with.

And then Colt came out of nowhere and grabbed Sarah when she tried to take him down. And the next thing Chuck knew, a Crown Victoria was crashing through the restaurant window.

And really, the universe really had to have it out for him, because Chuck was supposed to be out of the business tonight. This kind of crap wasn't supposed to happen to him anymore.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"I don't get it," Chuck announced, slamming his car door shut. Casey half-heartedly paid him attention, grabbing his duffel bag from the back seat. "This time today, I was supposed to be a free man. No more Intersect. Possibly reclining on a beach with a colada and some undisclosed companion." Chuck stared blankly at the carpark stretching ahead of them. "What the hell happened?"

"It's technical," Casey growled, as if speaking in short sentences would make Chuck stop pestering him.

It was like Casey had learned nothing from the year they'd spent around each other.

"If it's a computer malfunction, maybe I can help?" Chuck offered, itching to be able to fix this. They each had their strengths and while Casey's was bad quips and gunplay, Chuck's was fixing computers. "It's kind of my department."

"It exploded into a million little pieces," Casey pointed out. "And Director Graham with it. You want to help, better get yourself some rubber gloves."

"Wait, wait, wait," Chuck said, briefly stopping Casey in place. "Graham is dead?"

Bryce hadn't told him that. Then again, Bryce hadn't said much that morning, just woken him when it was still dark out, said he had an emergency meeting to get to, and for Chuck to ride in with Casey.

"We're playing for keeps here, Chuck," Casey reminded him.

Chuck wasn't an idiot. He knew the stakes were high, but they'd just taken out the Director of the CIA. That was a bit more than just high stakes. "Well, at the risk of sounding callous, where does that leave us with the new Intersect?"

Casey looked at the Buy More sign above the store. "If I were you, I'd get used to working at the Buy More. You ain't leaving any time soon."

"I can't believe this is my life," Chuck sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked along side Morgan. There were stacks of paperwork waiting for him in his (Bryce's) office, and undoubtedly the other green shirts were waiting to ambush him about the new low interest Buy More credit card displays, but he had no motivation to tackle any of it.

Morgan reached up and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Morgan, do you remember a time when I actually had potential?"

"Are you kidding me? Yeah, you were bursting with it," Morgan smiled. "Man, I'm glad that's over with."

Chuck turned to him, a little offended.

"I'm kidding," Morgan patted him on the chest. "We all know you're gonna go on and do great things, alright? Great things. But until that day, just know that no matter how bad your life gets, you're not him."

Chuck followed Morgan's gaze to the front of the shop, wincing.

Morgan hummed once. "You go deal with that. I've got DVDs to shrink wrap."

Bryce looked tired and drawn, slipping through the front doors holding the single biggest cup of takeout coffee Chuck had ever seen.

Chuck cut him off before he could disappear to his office, not that Bryce had looked inclined towards doing that. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Bryce shook his head. "There was a lot to sort out even before I got called in." He breathed in the steam from his coffee. "Casey tell you about Graham?"

Chuck hummed agreement. "Why didn't you?"

A slightly bitter laugh huffed past Bryce's lips. "Oh, I was advised against it as I was under suspicion."

"What?"

His friend sipped on his coffee, playing off a shrug. "You blow up one government supercomputer, they think you sabotaged all of them."

"You're not still under suspicion, are you?"

A smile flickered over Bryce's lips. "No. Casey and Sarah both independently swore I never touched the Cipher, and Beckman decided even I wouldn't dose myself with a chemical weapons just for giggles."

"They clearly haven't seen you doing accounting then," Chuck quipped, tired of being upset over the hand life dealt him. It sucked. It was going to continue sucking for a while. And Chuck had always been good at making the best of the sucky situations he ended up in. Ellie called it the Bartowski resilience, Chuck called it getting on with life.

"Don't remind me," Bryce groaned, but he didn't protest Chuck stealing the coffee from his hands. "Come on. I'll buy you a frozen yogurt."

"I don't want a frozen yogurt."

"Well, I didn't want a freakishly tall nerd stealing my coffee," Bryce tossed back, grabbing Chuck by his tie. "Sucks to be both of us today, bud."

"Hold on," Chuck said, crossing the threshold of the empty Orange Orange. "You hate yogurt. Especially when it's frozen."

"It tastes weird," Bryce protested, nose wrinkling. "Be unhealthy, eat ice cream."

Chuck laughed, leaning against the counter. "Then why are we in a frozen yogurt shop, you dork?"

"All shall be revealed, young Padawan," Bryce smirked, leading him through the back. He moved a light fixture, a hidden door revealing itself. A green light scanned his face, another door swinging open.

And that was cool and all, very James Bond, but they were in a freezer. "Hey, Bryce, why are we in a freezer? Are we sabotaging all the toppings?"

Bryce shook his head, casting his gaze to the ceiling. "And he calls me a dork."

"You are," Chuck reminded him brightly, earning another deserved eye roll and a slight breath of laughter.

"Don't say I never show you cool spy things," Bryce announced, leading Chuck down the stairs to what could only be described as a super secret spy base.

"CIA finally decided to spring for some new digs," Casey grinned, like a five year old with a new toy. "Finally, a first-rate operation."

"I'm sure the CIA is so glad they meet with your approval, Casey," Bryce dryly offered, stealing his coffee back from Chuck's lax hold.

"Wow," Chuck breathed, taking in all the cool toys. "Looks... expensive. You guys planning on staying around for a while?"

"That depends on you, Chuck," Beckman's voice announced.

Chuck had been a little afraid of that. "How does that depend on me?"

"Colt fed us a Trojan horse that blew up the Intersect," Beckman briefed, looking as if she hadn't gotten any sleep either. "The real Cipher is still out there. Our Intel tells us it may be in the possession of the former KGB operative Sasha Banacheck."

A photograph of a pretty woman whose face was obscured by a large pair of sunglasses briefly flickered on the screen.

"We believe she's in town to sell it."

"If we think she's in town, why don't we grab her and find out?"

"Subtlety really is lost on you, isn't it?" Bryce sighed, rolling his eyes at Casey. "I presume Ms Banacheck isn't the chatty type?"

"No," Beckman agreed. "She was in a Bulgarian prison for seven years. They got nothing out of her. The good news is, one agent was able to get close. He's the reason she went away, and he knows more about her than anyone alive. That agent is Roan Montgomery."

"Crap," Casey muttered, eyes widening a little. Chuck looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Guy hates me. My supervisor in operative training. Flunked me twice."

"Remind me to buy him a drink," Bryce muttered, leaning in under the guise of handing off the coffee they'd been trading.

"Well, he's off the grid now," Beckman continued, unsympathetic to Casey's plight. "Use the Intersect to find Agent Montgomery."

"Sounds like a real blast," Chuck interrupted, not in the mood for any of this. "Have fun on the mission. Get dangled off buildings, get shot at, do your stuff, just leave me out of it. I've got paperwork to do back at my safe and demeaning job."

"Is there something wrong with the asset?" Chuck heard Beckman ask, almost muffled by the sound of his footsteps.

"No," Bryce replied stiffly. "Give me a minute."

"Trying to talk me out of this won't work, Bryce," Chuck glared, helplessness turning to frustration in the middle of the Orange Orange.

Bryce inclined his head, a wordless agreement. "I know you must hate me right now, and I don't blame you at all. I should have left you alone. Never involved you in any of this." A hand waved expansively, meaning the CIA, the Intersect. "But I was selfish. I wanted to send you the Intersect because you were the only person that could handle all this. And because I missed you."

Hate him? No. He couldn't. It was impossible. He'd tried.

"I don't hate you," Chuck frowned, rebelling at the very thought. "You were in an impossible position, with Fulcrum and not knowing who you could trust. And I don't exactly hate being the Intersect. It's just- I thought we could finally be out of all this. Could go back-"

"I know," Bryce smiled, small and sad. "I'm not asking you to be the Intersect forever, Chuck. And I can't guarantee you that this mission will be the last. But it's the start of the last. And when it's over, you can do anything. You'll be free."

"Gimme the file," Chuck sighed, holding out his hand. "I don't know how you talk me into these things."

"Neither do I," Bryce said, mystified. "You must really like me or something."

"Or something," Chuck agreed, grinning a little. "I'm glad you're here, Bryce. I don't think I could do this if you weren't."

"You don't need me at all," Bryce dismissed, smiling deprecatingly. "You'd be brilliant at this no matter what. I'm just the kind of stupid possessive that doesn't want to make you."

"Remember Stanford, when we could go days without speaking when we were arguing?"

Bryce shivered lightly, wincing. "God I hated those days."

"Me too," Chuck agreed, shuddering. "Let's keep arguing like this, yeah?"

"I'm game if you are," Bryce replied, nudging the file in Chuck's hand. "Come on, flashy-flash before Casey comes up here and shoves the file in your face."

Yeah, subtlety had never been Casey's favoured approach. "It's amazing Montgomery only flunked him twice."

Bryce leaned back on the counter, laughter bursting out his lips. "I think I'm going to love this mission."

Chuck flipped open the file, his gaze catching on the photograph within. He flashed. There was a series of slightly cheesy James Bond type photos, beautiful women leaning against him while he alternated between holding a martini and a gun. Then he saw an address - 1274 S. Palm Canyon Dr. Palm Springs, California, CA 92264.

"Wow," Chuck blinked, tossing the file on the counter. "The guy lives in Palm Springs. And he's got a lot of lady friends."

"Ah," Bryce replied, rolling his eyes. "He's going to be insufferable."

"Um, buddy," Chuck began diplomatically. "Besides the fact that you're clearly better looking, he could kinda be you in twenty years."

"Buddy, you'll make me blush," Bryce teased, smirking at the gesture Chuck sent him. "Come on, let's tell Sarah and Casey. We're going to Palm Springs."

"So," Chuck asked, getting out of Casey's Crown Vic with a stretch his spine was grateful for. "What's the deal with this Roan guy?"

Sarah glanced back at him. "He's a legend in the department. Incredible spy. Real old-school James Bond type."

"Overrated if you ask me," Casey interrupted.

"What was the class you failed?" Sarah asked, half curious, half teasing.

Casey stared stone-faced ahead. "Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel."

"In the Academy, we call it Seduction School," Sarah quipped, smiling at Chuck so he got the message. Casey had failed Flirting 101.

Casey scoffed. "Yeah, like I need a class."

"Clearly you did," Bryce smirked, glee sparkling in his eyes. "A lot of them, since you flunked twice."

Casey narrowed his eyes, looking him up and down as if he found him wanting. "How many times did you take Seduction School?"

"Oh, I didn't," Bryce smirked impossibly wider. "I walked in, I smiled, they passed me."

That ... actually sounded plausible. Even back in Stanford, Bryce had been devastatingly handsome and perfectly aware of it.

"Not that you're smug or anything," Chuck teased, because he had to.

Bryce raised an eyebrow, smirk turning warmer. "Now, Charles, remind me who was it that told me God was in the greatest mood ever when he made me?"

Chuck felt himself flush. "It was a frat party and I was wasted!"

Bryce just smirked. "In vino veritas."

"If you ladies are finished flirting, we found Montgomery," Casey called, nodding back into the house.

Bryce raised an imperious eyebrow. "Casey, I think we've established that you don't know what flirting is. But we'll be right in."

Montgomery was passed out on the floor under his bed, a bottle of gin in his hand, and with a flight attendant leaving the bathroom. Chuck looked at Montgomery, snoring deeply in the sleep of the drunk, and groaned.

"This is the guy who's supposed to help us? I'm going to be the Intersect forever."

"Do you realize you've not taken me out on one romantic date since we've been engaged?" Ellie said to Awesome the next morning at breakfast.

Chuck was just quietly trying to eat his cereal, avoiding waking Bryce up before they absolutely had to leave.

Devon frowned. "I took you out last week."

"Yeah, to Arby's," Ellie said, tone heavy with disapproval. "With Chuck and his little bearded friend. It's not exactly every girl's dream. No offense, Chuck."

"None taken," Chuck replied easily. He could have been a few apartments away right now, enjoying the fruits of his best friend's culinary expertise. But instead, he was here and Bryce was sleeping in - which his friend deserved - but Chuck still had to watch his sister kind of have an argument with her fiance.

"I guess I have been remiss in the romance department," Devon acknowledged.

"What we need to be is more like Chuck and Bryce," Ellie announced, smiling down the table at him.

And, yeah probably- Hold on. Wait. What?

"Excuse me?"

"Last Sunday he made you a three course French meal just because."

"Bryce likes cooking," Chuck squeaked, not entirely sure why his sister had singled out his friendship as an example.

"Okay," Ellie agreed, humouring him. Chuck recognised and was a little scared about the determined light in her eyes. "Every time you see him, your eyes light up. I mean, how do you keep that spark alive?"

Okay, somewhere along the line, his sister had clearly gotten the wrong idea. Because that "spark" was just two men who cared about each other very deeply and were kind of interdependent but in a totally platonic, best friends kind of way.

"We're not- we're not dating! He's my best friend!"

Ellie smiled in the way common to older sisters who thought they knew something their little brothers did not. "Your best friend who comes clear across the country to be around you after he'd been shot. Who works in a job he is patently overqualified for and hates, just to be around you. Who spends all his free time with you and has a room for you in his apartment that you spend more nights in than you do here. That kind of best friend?"

Okay, so taken like that, Chuck supposed he could see where Ellie was coming from. But she was way off."

He's Bryce."

And Bryce was... Bryce. It was- it was Bryce.

"He's my best friend."

Ellie shook her head. "Morgan is your best friend. I don't know exactly what Bryce is, but it's something completely different."

Chuck had never been so uncomfortable in all his life. And that included the time that campus police caught him and Bryce streaking across the quad during pledge week.

"Can we please change the subject?"

"Fine, you're not dating," Ellie humoured him again. Chuck could tell, but he was so relieved he didn't press it. "How do you keep the platonic spark alive?"

Chuck chewed slowly on his cereal, thinking about how to answer. "Well, Bryce has been shot twice, once in front of me, and nearly losing him made me very aware that I want to keep him in my life. It's a choice, you know, never to take that for granted. He could get really badly hurt or he could move far away and I don't want to live knowing we got complacent. Besides," Chuck shrugged, determinedly not noticing the soft expression on Ellie's face. "He's a total dork but he's my dork. And I don't want to lose that."

"That is so sweet," Ellie beamed, turning back to her fiance so hopefully the ground could swallow Chuck. Really, seriously, as it's earliest convenience. "All I'm talking about is an evening of wineing and dining."

"I hear you, babe," Devon replied. "Mission accepted." He leaned in to kiss Ellie and yeah, Chuck was out of here.

Bryce intercepted Chuck on his way out of the apartment. He looked much more well rested, dressed down from his usual I'm an accountant, honestly suit in a deep blue shirt and slacks. More importantly, he held out a travel mug, waving Chuck inside Casey's with his free hand.

"We're going to have to go old-school," Casey was saying as they both strolled back in. "Torture it out of her."

"Torture will never work," a voice Chuck presumed was Montgomery's announced. He strolled down the stairs, dressed in what appeared to be Casey's best suit. Then, he smiled at Beckman. "Hello, Diane."

Chuck swore Beckman actually blushed, fiddling with her hair. "Hello, Roan."

"The only way to get Sasha Banacheck to talk is to seduce her."

"Well, if duty calls," Casey began, only to be unceremoniously cut off.

"Not you, Agent Frankenstein, she'll peg you as NSA in an instant."

Bryce silently shook next to Chuck, turning away from the screen so only Chuck could see him laugh.

"We need someone innocuous," Montgomery continued. "Someone with whom she can let her guard down. Essentially, the last person in the world she would ever suspect of being an agent." Montgomery turned, nodding towards them. "Either one of them might do, in a pinch."

"Not me," Bryce said flatly. Chuck turned, frowning at the tension now rippling through him. Bryce, for once, ignored him, jaw clenching. He stared Beckman down until she, grudgingly, nodded.

"Why not him?" Chuck demanded, shrugging apologetically at Bryce's raised eyebrow. "No offence, buddy, but look at you. You're clearly more qualified."

"I've done three seduction missions, each time I got a new scar," Bryce said bluntly, for Chuck though he didn't bother lowering his voice. "My first, my cover was blown before I walked in. Hiding stab wounds while performing gymnastics is not fun. The second, my mark was shot in front of me and I copped the bullet too. And the third, well, the less said about that the better." Bryce's eyes shadowed, shaking his head slightly. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise, but I can't do them any more."

"Okay," Chuck heard himself say. He wasn't going to force Bryce to do something he was uncomfortable with. Not if he said he couldn't do it.

"Don't worry," Sarah smiled encouragingly, nodding a little at him and Bryce. "Casey, Bryce and I will be at the bar to keep an eye on you. Just approach her and see if you can get her to invite you to her room. Try and flash on anything you can there."

"I trust you guys," Chuck said, clearing his throat. "There's just one small problem."

"Small problem?" Bryce teased, fully deserving the glower Chuck shot him.

"It's supportive best friend day today, buddy."

"I'm always supportive," Bryce gasped, eyes widening dramatically.

"Dork."

Bryce pulled out the dorky finger guns, grinning brightly. "You know it."

"What is this small problem?" Casey asked, tiring of them.

Blue eyes sparkled, laughter dancing. "He can't flirt."

"I can't flirt," Chuck agreed sadly. "And there's no way she's going to choose me."

"You won't be you," Montgomery cut in, Bryce's eyes narrowing. "You're going to be me. I'll teach you everything you need to know."

Chuck felt himself grin. This was going to be good.

"First," Montgomery held up his martini. "The proper way to drink a martini. Hold by stem. Nod to mark." He nodded at Sarah, Chuck mimicking the move. "Slowly tilt back." He swallowed the martini. "A moment to learn, a lifetime to perfect."

Bryce and Casey rolled their eyes in eerie unison.

"Let's get to work," Montgomery called, eating the olives as he went.

Sarah smiled at Chuck, following Montgomery as Chuck was supposed to.

"Buddy." Bryce held out his hand, stopping Chuck as Casey grunted and walked away. "Unfortunate past aside, I hate seductions because they're not real. It's just a mask you have to wear, tailoring yourself to suit someone's whims. You're perfect just the way you are. You shouldn't have to change."

"You're biased," Chuck smiled, touched at Bryce's support. "And we both know I'm far from perfect. My dating history is a mess. And it's just for the mission. Tomorrow I'll be your nerdy best friend again. Promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Bryce replied, though he smiled. "Now, go on. I'd hate to keep Remington Douche waiting."

Chapter Text

Roan Montgomery's seduction seminar was interesting. The man mixed himself a couple of martinis, all but ignoring Chuck the entire time. Which Chuck thought was a bit rude, seeing as Montgomery had commandeered Bryce's apartment for this little exercise. Chuck hoped drinking like a fish wasn't a requirement for the night's seduction. Experience had taught him that alcohol did not make Chuck any smoother with the ladies.

Montgomery rattled the shaker, pouring out another martini. "I need to see what I'm dealing with," he stated. "Assume your partner is the mark. How would you seduce her?"

Chuck blinked, momentarily thrown. He'd thought that was the purpose of the day's lessons. To learn how to seduce. Nevertheless...

"That's an excellent question," Chuck hummed, slowly turning to Sarah. "I would probably start with the, uh, bedroom eyes maybe." He waggled his eyebrows. "The old Bartowski eyebrow dance. Then, come in at you like this." Chuck leaned in a little. "Then fire the guns at you." He made finger guns, miming firing them. "Hey baby, what's up?"

Sarah laughed, ducking her head away.

"Hey, don't encourage him," Montgomery snapped, turning a disdainful look to Chuck. "This isn't happy hour at Chili's. This is Sasha Banacheck."

Chuck sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know. I would probably, you know, I'd- I'd be myself and I'd try and make her laugh a little bit, find a common culture interest - music."

"Be yourself," Montgomery repeated, highly dubious. "You think a woman like this could ever fall for a guy like you?"

"I don't know," Chuck said, unwilling to let on how much that barb had stung. Because the truth was, no. A woman like Sarah would never fall for him. She hadn't. And that still hurt a bit, like an almost healed bruise. "Barring any national security emergency, I think I might have a shot."

"Be reasonable," Montgomery chided. "This is a gorgeous, sophisticated woman and you're-"

"Passionate and- and sweet," Sarah cut in, smiling at Chuck. "And caring."

"Really?" Montgomery looked down at Chuck. "Tall, dark and caring. What a combo."

Chuck knew this guy thought he was God's gift to the ladies, but all Chuck was seeing was a massive douche.

Bryce cleared his throat pointedly. "Agent Montgomery," he began, and Chuck could hear the overprotective fury in his pleasant tones.

"Bryce," Chuck muttered, shaking his head.

"Fine," Bryce muttered back, holding his hands up. "Forgive me for caring."

Chuck bumped his foot against Bryce's, turning his attention back to the alcoholic before them.

"Your partners seem to have a lot of faith in you, Charles," Montgomery offered, swirling the olives in his glass. "Let me see this caged passion. Kiss her."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think that's necessary," Chuck agreed. Kissing Sarah would be awkward, especially considering the friendship they'd been building. They'd agreed, no fake girlfriend stuff. "It's not necessary at this particular juncture, Roan. I'm- I'm solid as a rock in that department."

"What's wrong?" Montgomery asked, tilting his head. "Don't you find Agent Walker attractive?"

That was not an appropriate question. He didn't go around noticing how attractive his friends were.

Bryce rolled his eyes. "Of course he finds her attractive."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, because Bryce had kinda painted him into a corner here. "It's just that I had a burrito earlier and I'm trying to be respectful."

Montgomery stared at him a moment. "While I admire your chivalry, if you can't kiss her now, what makes you think you'll be able to kiss Sasha Banacheck when the entire mission is on the line?"

Sarah sighed, turning to face him. "Chuck, it's okay."

"Really?"

"Yes," Sarah said, almost smiling. "Yes. It's for the mission."

Chuck did not feel comfortable doing this. He leaned slowly to the left, placing a brief peck on Sarah's lips. "There. Done."

"Perhaps I moved too fast," Montgomery offered sarcastically. "Have you had intercourse before?"

And, you know what? Chuck didn't have to put up with this. He'd tried, for the mission, really he had. But this guy was a total douche. "You're crazy," Chuck pronounced, getting to his feet. "This is crazy. I don't have to take lessons from you."

"Really," Montgomery remarked, nodding easily. "Maybe I picked the wrong agent. If you can't do it, I'll get Agent-" Montgomery came around the counter, glancing at Bryce. "What's your name?"

Bryce sighed, but nodded once, a tired sort of agreement. "Larkin."

"Agent Larkin to do the mission," Montgomery continued, staring Chuck down.

Of all the low, underhanded examples of errant douchebaggery Chuck had seen. Fine. If he wanted it that badly.

"You really want me to kiss her?"

"Desperately."

Chuck glanced at Sarah, waiting for her to nod slightly before he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. It was like all the fake kisses they'd shared before; nice enough but purely for show.

They broke apart, Chuck glaring at Montgomery. "Happy now?"

Montgomery nodded slightly. "It's a start." He turned to Bryce, who looked torn between glaring with homicidal promise at Montgomery or frowning in concern at Chuck. "I'm going to need more gin."

Bryce closed his eyes, breathing in slowly. "Visualise the beach," he muttered to himself, letting the breath out just as slowly. He strode to the drinks cabinet, pulling out a bottle. "Water down Chuck's, he's a lightweight."

Later that evening, after a long day where Chuck only mostly wanted to rethink his position on guns and shooting people (as in, his standing request for Bryce not to shoot other agents that irritated him), they rendezvoused at Casey's apartment for the mission prep. Bryce had sent Montgomery out of his apartment when he tried to tell Chuck how to dress. Chuck had been grateful, it was bad enough that Bryce took it upon himself to dress Chuck for missions; he didn't need Montgomery jumping in on the action too.

Chuck stood in the middle of Casey's living room, dressed in a three piece suit that both perfectly fit him and he'd never seen before that night. Sarah mic'ed him up and gave him an ear piece while Casey grabbed a duffel bag and started loading up the weapons. Bryce leaned against the kitchen counter, face illuminated by the light of his cellphone. To an untrained eye, Chuck supposed he'd look bored. To Chuck, he looked tense.

Montgomery - and seriously who wore cravats anymore? - came down the stairs from presumably raiding Casey's wardrobe. "We need to talk about protection."

What? Nobody ever said anything about it getting that far. "I don't think that's necessary, Roan."

"I mean a gun," Montgomery sighed, as if it ought to have been obvious. "Why do you think she's known as the Black Widow?"

"She likes to dress in black and her husband died," Chuck tossed out, not believing it.

Montgomery shook his head fractionally. "Because she kills all her mates."

"He doesn't need a gun, we'll be right there the whole time," Bryce cut in, tucking his phone into his jacket. "But, say the word, buddy and I'll go in your place."

"No," Montgomery dismissed, gaze flickering over Bryce. "You're too good looking. She won't trust it."

Chuck ignored Montgomery, as Bryce seemed inclined to do. "You'll come if I call?"

Bryce tilted his head, a little smile on his lips. "Don't I always?"

"Then, I've got a ex-KGB agent to seduce." Chuck straightened his tie. "Wish me luck."

Chuck took a deep breath, standing just outside the bar. He vaguely heard Montgomery in his ear, telling him to make an entrance, work the room. Casey was working the bar, nodding pointedly to where Sasha Banacheck sat in a booth. Sarah sat at the bar a little ways from Casey, both ready to spring into action if they were needed. And that meant that Bryce had drawn the short straw and was stuck in the van with Montgomery.

"When you enter a room," Montgomery narrated, as if he was David Attenborough. "Every eye should be upon you. You could leave the bar with any woman you desire."

Chuck tried a little swagger, knocking into another of the bar's patrons and totally ruining the smooth entrance Montgomery was getting him to go for. He leaned his elbow on one of the partitions, putting his chin on his hand.

"... but you have chosen her."

"So far so good, buddy," Bryce cut in, already sounding done with Montgomery.

"Next, she'll need to be well lubricated," Montgomery continued, sounding as if he was glaring at Bryce. "Ice-cold dirty martini, three olives."

Chuck pushed off the partition, straightening his suit as he made his approach. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

Sasha closed her compact, glancing up at him in disinterest. Story of Chuck's life.

"I'll take that as a no," he continued, pressing on. "Charles Carmichael. And you are?"

"Bored," Sasha replied bluntly.

"Well maybe I can change that," Chuck smiled, pouring out every ounce of charm. "Garcon!" He snapped his fingers. "Two ice cold dirty martinis, three olives. Thank you."

"That's very nice," Sasha said, voice lightly accented. "But I no longer drink."

"Doesn't drink?" Montgomery's voice hissed, clearly forgetting that the mic in the van was live. "How is this boy supposed to seduce her without alcohol?"

"Keep going, you're doing great, bud," Bryce added, simultaneously soothing and annoyed.

"I should probably cut back too," Chuck said to Sasha, ignoring the voices in his ear. "Lot of calories in those martinis."

"Enjoy your martinis, Mr Carmichael," Sasha bade, getting to her feet as gracefully as anyone making a dignified escape.

Casey narrowed his eyes at him, a wordless sarcasm on his face.

"That was a setback but not unconquerable," Bryce stated, clearly talking before Montgomery could offer more unsolicited advice.

"Remember, you're calm, confident, charming," Montgomery added, voice growing grating in Chuck's ears.

"Yeah, apparently not," Chuck said into his watch. "She left after twelve seconds."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" Montgomery retorted, and that was not the kind of helpful remark Chuck needed right now. "A woman wants a man to take control, even though she won't say it, she wants to be rescued."

"Ignore Grandpa," Bryce cut in, patience snapped. "Some women prefer guys who aren't afraid to take a back seat."

"I'm not talking about your dates, I'm talking about the Black Widow," Montgomery smirked back, Chuck straining his ears to catch the moment Bryce would shoot him.

"So am I," Bryce replied, and that was his I'm a CIA trained assassin who's about ten seconds away from shooting you level of calm. "Chuck doesn't need to pretend to be somebody else. Chuck Bartowski, on his own, can seduce this woman."

"I appreciate all of that, buddy," Chuck said, fighting back a small smile as he saw Sarah nod in her corner of the bar. "But can we focus on the mission for a sec, please?"

"Yes, Charles," Montgomery agreed. "Alright, the third prong. The woman is an absolute Francophile. Just the metion of St. Tropez makes her woozy."

Chuck decided to give him one last chance, leaning on the bar beside Sasha. "I'm sorry to keep bothering you, but you look so familiar," he said, watching two large men push off the bar. "Perhaps we met in St. Tropez? At the Intercontinental," Chuck repeated, taking Montgomery's cues.

Sasha put her hand up, the goons going back to their drinks. "Antoine the piano player is best in Europe, don't you agree?"

"Oh, I'm a big, big fan of Antoine's," Chuck said, sipping at his martini. "Wouldn't miss him for the world."

"Antoine has been dead for six years."

Chuck nearly choked on his martini, hearing action on the other end of his earpiece. "That's a shame. No one ever called."

"New piano player, Marcel," Bryce said succinctly.

Thank you, buddy.

"For my part, I prefer Marcel," Chuck replied, moving around to Sasha's other side. "Better solos, longer jams. Just more of an accomplished pianist, but maybe that's just me."

Sasha looked up at him, nodding. "I have to agree."

Chuck glanced across at Casey, who seemed almost impressed. "Barkeep, a refill for the lady please." He raised his own martini. "To Antoine. May he rest in peace."

Sasha inclined her head, clinking her glass gently against his.

Bryce's voice drifted softly in his ear. "Well done, buddy."

"Yes, it's a mira- oof!"

A few drinks later, Chuck was pulling out random tidbits of pastry trivia, trying to keep Sasha interested. Though quite why the history of the croissant was what he went with, was something Chuck would have to unpack later, groaning loudly into a cushion on Bryce's ridiculously comfortable sofa.

Regardless, Sasha had her arm over his shoulder, her fingers playing on the collar of his shirt.

"You are a fountain of information, Mr Carmichael," Sasha purred, toying now with his hair. She leaned in, lips against his ear. "Quand etiez vous a Paris pour la derniere fois?"

"She's asking when-" Bryce's voice cut off harshly, static ringing in Chuck's ear.

Chuck internally cursed, muttering the only word in French he knew, then asked what her favourite band was. And then, he could only watch her walk away, hearing Casey's sarcastic congratulations and the harsh buzz of static in his ear.

"... Can you hear me?"

"What the hell happened?"

"Grandpa spilled his drink," Bryce hissed, words clipped. "I'm sorry."

"I blew it."

"Chuck Bartowski is no quitter. Neither is Charles Carmichael," Bryce announced, sounding irritated. "Tell him prong four, Montgomery."

"Be a bastard," Montgomery said, almost too quickly. Chuck shuddered to imagine the glare Bryce must have been giving him. "Everything you're not. Not nice, not sweet, not a good guy."

"I can't do that," Chuck muttered. Maybe he could if he was pissed off enough or wanting to prove a point, but he was a nice guy. That was his thing.

"Fortunately, I can," Bryce smirked. And Chuck would probably have had a bad feeling about that if he wasn't so relieved. He'd almost never seen Bryce crash and burn with the ladies. "Like your Klingon, I might be a little rusty, but bear with me."

"Klingon?" Montgomery repeated, askance.

"You have no room to judge, liver failure," Bryce snapped, voice sunny again as he returned to Chuck. "Go after her. Get her attention back. Be harsh."

Chuck stormed from the bar, trying to act like a jilted lover. "Hey, Missy?" Chuck called, striding down the corridor to Sasha.

"Yes, Mr Carmichael?" Sasha asked, unimpressed.

"Repeat everything I say, even if you think it's stupid," Bryce ordered, then his voice subtly changed and the superspy was in the control seat.

Chuck nodded, though Bryce probably couldn't see, taking a deep breath before doing just as Bryce said.

"I just want to tell you, you're a fool."

Sasha glanced over her shoulder, almost frowning. "Excuse me?"

"No, I don't think I will," Chuck sniffed, catching up with her. "See, you're heading up to your room right now to get ready for bed. Floss, creams, maybe watch a little TV. And then just before you drift off to sleep, you're going to have one final, terrifying thought."

"Really?" Sasha smirked. "What's that?"

Chuck kinda wanted to know that too. Bryce chuckled in his ear, clearly enjoying himself far too much. And then he told him.

And, Chuck spared a moment to wish Casey hadn't made his martini's with water. Alcohol might have been nice.

"That you passed up an evening with the greatest lover you'll ever know."

That got Sasha to turn. "And who might that be?"

Chuck cocked his head, pouring as much confidence into his bearing as he could. "Oh, you're looking at him, sister." He smirked, hoping it came out that way and not like he wanted to hide in a hole at what Bryce was purring into his ear. "A man trained in the art of seduction. A man who has travelled the world, sampling women of every different culture and Creed. So I will offer one final time before boarding my jet and heading off to an undisclosed rendezvous of which I am already late. Can I buy you a club soda?"

"No, thank you," Sasha replied, the elevator dinging behind her. "But you can take me up to my room and make mad, passionate sex to me."

"You're on your own now, bud."

Chuck fixed the lines of his suit, muttering almost inaudibly. "I hate you."

Bryce laughed, the bright sound dulling Chuck's irritation with him. "Love you too, buddy."

Chuck let Sasha drag him onto the elevator, registering Casey and Sarah following as Sasha began to kiss him. He kissed back as best as he could, sparing a moment to hope that this was going to work out. Because the last time he'd been in a beautiful Eastern European woman's hotel room, things hadn't gone quite so well.

Chapter Text

Chuck could do this. He was a cool, calm, confident super spy. He had a nice suit, a day's worth of intensive seduction lessons, and a team of freakishly competent spies ready to burst in at his first girlish scream. He had nothing to fear from entering the hotel room of an ex-KGB agent they called the Black Widow.

Chuck swaggered into the room after Sasha, glancing back behind him as he closed the door.

"Make yourself a drink, Mr Carmichael," Sasha bade, sauntering into the bedroom. "I'm going to slip into something a little bit more comfortable."

"Yeah, you do that," Chuck replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Take your time, doll. I'll just be here." He watched until Sasha was out of sight, raising his watch to his lips. "Where the hell are you guys?" Chuck was proud he didn't sound nearly as hysterical as he felt.

"On my way," Bryce announced, sounding like he was out of the van.

"You worked too quick, stallion," Casey growled. "We didn't have time to set up."

"We're on our way," Sarah added. "Did you flash on anything?"

And that reminded Chuck that getting up here had just been the appetiser, he still had a job to do. He quickly began opening doors, rifling through drawers, trying to find anything that might help them locate the real Cipher.

Sasha's bag rested on top of a table, a knife hidden inside. Chuck lifted it out, Intersect kicking in. He saw a row of knives, various dead bodies and Sasha killing them.

"Abort mission!" Chuck cried, dropping the knife. "Abort mission!"

He ran to the door, tearing it open only to be faced with Sasha's two bodyguards.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, more calm than he felt. "You secure this area. Ms Banacheck and I are going to need some privacy." He leaned back, praying his mic wasn't as sensitive as it had been all night. "If the hotel room is rockin', then... We're probably having sex."

He slammed the door shut. "Get me out of here right now!"

"Charles, don't worry," Montgomery replied, and this was just what Chuck needed. "Roan Montgomery will get you out of this. I've been in worse situations."

"Can't I have the phone a friend option?" Chuck mumbled, cutting off Montgomery's rambles about the time in Thailand. "How do I get out of here right now?!"

"I want you to go out on the balcony," Montgomery coached. "Take a bedsheet and tie it around your waist. Then climb up on the railing and leap off the edge."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Chuck hissed, glancing down at the swimming pool far to far below him. "I'm not a real spy. I don't leap!"

Fortunately, Chuck didn't have to leap. Sasha came sauntering out of the bedroom in an animal print negligee. "There you are," she called, Chuck leaning back on the balcony.

A golden chain hung around her neck, the Intersect kicking in again at the sight of the pendant. It was the Cipher.

"A little chilly out there, hmm?"

"No," Chuck disagreed, mind jumping straight to the panic response. "Not at all. No, it's quite pleasant tonight."

Sasha smiled, beckoning him closer to her with a crooked finger.

"Why so shy?" Sasha smirked, undoing his belt and wrapping it around his neck loosely.

"We just met," Chuck replied, trying unsuccessfully to duck away. "And, uh, kinda seeing someone right now."

Chuck scowled at the door. Now would be a great time for superspies to come in.

"I'm going to do things to you, you never, never dreamed possible," Sasha purred, sliding her hands up his back.

"I have a very good imagination," Chuck replied, trying his best to return the favor and not blow this. Seriously, where the hell was his backup?

Sasha bit his ear, Chuck biting back a sound of surprised pain. "Hello, Roan," she said, and crap, they were blown. "You shouldn't have sent a boy to do a man's job."

"Get out of there, now!" Montgomery ordered, and that was the first thing Chuck actually agreed with him about.

He ducked out of the door, sliding the balcony doors shut and tying them with the belt Sasha helpfully removed.

"Don't beg for your life, Mr Carmichael," Sasha chided. "You have nothing to offer."

"Well," Chuck shrugged, holding up the pendant. "I have this."

Sasha gasped, eyes widening. Chuck had the feeling he really didn't want to stick around to see how she'd react. He climbed up onto the balcony above him.

"Roan, how did Thailand work again?"

Montgomery, for once, said nothing.

"Roan? Roan?!"

A couple were on the balcony, toasting to their anniversary. The woman called him a pervert and kicked him off the balcony. He fell, landed on a lounger between another couple, and ran as fast as he could.

"Please tell me you saw that?" Chuck gasped into his watched. "Leaped from the balcony, lands with a flourish. And the Russian judge gives it a 9.4. Oh, and by the way, I have a little thing called the Cipher if anyone is interested."

"Yes, Mr Carmichael," Sasha replied. "I am very interested."

Chuck cursed under his breath. Montgomery had abandoned them, and somewhere between Chuck's first and second flashes, his handlers had been kidnapped too.

"If you ever want to see your fellow agents alive again, meet me tomorrow with the Cipher. 6th and Alameda, ten pm."

"How do I know they're still alive?" Chuck asked, hating himself for the question.

Sasha hummed in amusement. "You don't."

"Well, then we have a problem," Chuck said, putting as much Carmichael steel into his voice as he could. "I'm not showing up anywhere you say until I know they're alive. All of them."

"We're okay," Sarah told him, voice only slightly strained.

"Don't make the trade," Casey predictably added, gruff as ever.

There was silence then. Chuck felt his heart leap, hope that Bryce had gotten out surging through him. And then...

"We're fine, buddy. Listen to Rambo." Bryce. Sounding exactly as he always did. Calm, cool, in control of the situation.

Chuck wished he could feel the same way. But all he could think of was how three spies who were all very, very good at their jobs had been caught, and how he was supposed to pull off getting them back.

"You know, she's going to kill them," Montgomery slurred, his less than helpful words greeting Chuck as he entered his apartment complex.

"Well, I guess I'm just going to have to take my chances then," Chuck snapped, staring at the man who had abandoned them. "But I can't save them alone. I need your help, Roan."

Montgomery stood, staggering a little. "They knew what they were getting into. That's the game we play." He came closer to Chuck, waving a hand with a cigarette. "If you show up, there'll be four dead agents instead of just three."

"So that's it?" Chuck asked, unable to believe his ears. "What happened to being the world's greatest spy?"

Montgomery waved him off. "That was a long time ago." He walked a few places away, turning his back to Chuck. "Roan Montgomery is not the man you see before you." He turned back, almost decisive. "My life may be boring and cowardly, but I'm alive. That's more than most in my line of work can claim."

"But you're a legend," Chuck cried, not averse to a little ego stroking if it got the job done. "Don't you understand that? So how can you just sit there and watch them die?"

Montgomery almost smirked. "Because I'm not emotionally compromised."

"Emotionally comp-" Chuck trailed off, disbelieving. "Of course I'm emotionally compromised! Casey has saved my life so many times. And Sarah, Sarah has more faith in me and my abilities than almost anyone I have ever met. And she's my friend. Can't you understand that?!"

Montgomery did not look moved.

"And Bryce," Chuck's voice broke, just a little, enough to ignore. "Bryce is my best friend, okay? He's my best friend and I can't leave him- them there to die. I just can't!"

Montgomery almost looked sympathetic. "Look, Charles," he said, almost pitying. "You have to ask yourself, are they worth dying for?" He smiled as if that was a hard question, walking slowly out of the courtyard.

And that was the question, wasn't it?

Was Casey worth dying for? Casey who always caught him when he fell, who saved his life with a sense of grudging duty that became less grudging every day.

Was Sarah worth dying for? Beautiful, brilliant Sarah, who believed in him more than he ever deserved, who chose to stay here and help guard him when she was capable, was worth so much more.

Was Bryce worth dying for? Nerdy, dorky superspy Bryce, who was willing to risk his life protecting him, shielding him from Fulcrum and helping make being the Intersect feel as normal as possible. Bryce who meant more to him than could be summed up with the inadequate label of best friend.

There was only one answer to that question. One very simple, very easy answer.

"Yes."

"Poor boy," Montgomery pitied, stopping in his tracks. "Lesson number one in being a spy: never fall in love."

Chuck frowned, too worried and tired to work out why that was applicable. "Well, then I guess I'm not much of a spy. And you're not much of a legend."

Chuck left him there in the courtyard, returning to his apartment for a fitful night's sleep and nightmares about tomorrow's exchange going horribly wrong.

Chuck spent the better part of his early morning being stonewalled trying to contact General Beckman. Apparently, Chuck Bartowski was not listed as a person allowed to contact the General. Neither was Charles Carmichael. The experience was so frustrating, Chuck began to understand why Bryce - who had once had such respect for technology - had developed the foible of destroying it.

Feeling ready to about tear his own hair out, Chuck got dressed and headed towards the kitchen. Devon rolled over on the couch, catching Chuck's attention. "Morning."

"Oh, hey, Chuck," Devon greeted, subdued.

"What's going on?" Chuck couldn't remember the last time Devon had slept on the couch.

"Some trouble on the home front," he sighed. "I totally screwed up. Went to Morgan for romance advice."

"Yeah, that's never a great policy."

"Yeah," Devon agreed. "I've got to do something to make this up to your sis."

Chuck sat down, almost relieved to have somebody else's problems to focus on. "What are you thinking about doing?"

"What I should have done last night," Devon said, looking around. "Cover this place in rose petals, roaring fire. Simple, candle lit dinner, roaring fire, pecan pie. Maybe give her a foot massage in the tub."

"That's a natural place to stop giving me details," Chuck cut in, before Devon could go any further. "So, why don't you?"

"Well, when, you know?" Devon sighed, holding up the wrist with his watch. "I've got to be at work in twenty minutes. Got a five am call tomorrow. I'll do it, I just hope I'm not too late."

Chuck stared at him, watching the defeat on his face. Being too late was something Chuck was intimately familiar with in almost all his relationships, but he'd never had a relationship that mattered as much as Devon and Ellie's. Well, not a romantic one, anyway.

"I know you and Ellie think Bryce and I are dating, and I'm not going to touch that," Chuck said quickly, brushing over that. "But, it's not the gestures that matter - him cooking French food because I haven't had it before, or really a hundred other things that Bryce does because he's Bryce and impossibly perfect that way. It's the little things, you know. Perfect coffee in the morning, crashing on the couch with cartons of take out watching sci-fi shows, middle of the night cocoa because he's an insomniac or just doesn't want to sleep. We make time for each other, because we're important to each other." Chuck nodded supportively. "Make time for Ellie, throw in some romance. And don't listen to Morgan. That's all she wants."

"Thanks, man," Devon smiled, looking a little more hopeful.

Chuck smiled back. One problem down, a much, much bigger one still to go.

Montgomery strolled into the Buy More a few hours into Chuck's shift. He looked impeccably put together, as Bryce always did, even wearing sunglasses inside.

"Mr Bartowski," Montgomery greeted, looking around. "Lovely cover they've got you working." He removed his sunglasses. "Perhaps you'd like to elaborate on what you meant last night by 'legend'."

"I meant what I said," Chuck sighed, glancing up from checking the stock. "You were great. Once." He looked back at his list, ignoring the fact that most of the staff were in the back tormenting Lester about some wheel of misfortune idea he'd tried to implement. "Now are you here to help, or are you just browsing?"

"I suppose that depends on what your plan is for tonight."

"My plan is to show up at the meeting spot and exchange the Cipher for Casey, Sarah and Bryce." Chuck was proud of the plan. It was simple, succinct, to the point.

Montgomery looked down, pained. "You're determined to risk your life for these people?"

Chuck had thought he'd made that much clear last night. "They've done it a hundred times for me."

"Then perhaps we should revise your plan, come up with something that doesn't get us all killed."

Hope, flickering dimly in Chuck's chest, burst alight again. "I'm open to that."

Montgomery smiled, slipping his shades back on.

"Hey, Chuck!" Morgan called, laughter bright in his voice. "Lester's on nappy station duty."

Montgomery frowned, glancing down at Morgan, who did a double take at the sight of him.

"Sunglasses, expensive suit, in this Buy More?" Morgan glanced, wide eyed, from Chuck to Montgomery and back again. "Tell me there isn't another Accountant. I can't handle another Accountant, man."

"Accountant?" Montgomery repeated, offended. "I assure you, son, I am not an accountant."

"He means our store's accountant, Bryce," Chuck sighed, feeling a headache creeping in.

Morgan ignored that, peering curiously at Montgomery. "No, you're too old to be an Accountant clone."

Chuck saw Morgan's eyes light up, his oldest friend clearly putting two and two together and making any number that wasn't four.

"Is this the Accountant's dad? Oh my God, it's the Accountant's dad!"

"No," Chuck cut in before Montgomery could decide to run with that cover. Bryce would not thank him for letting someone be cast in that cover role.

"I'm not acquainted with any Bryce," Montgomery replied, fortunately picking up on Chuck's cues. "Thank you for your assistance, Charles." He nodded once, strolling from the store as fast as was dignified.

"Where is the Accountant?" Morgan asked, glancing around as if expecting Bryce to pop out of thin air.

"Home," Chuck replied, deliberately not thinking of where he might actually be. "He's still feeling a little under the weather, I told him to take the day."

At ten o'clock that night, Chuck was not at 6th and Alameda. He was still in the Buy More, Montgomery hovering by his side. Montgomery, for being a little out of practice, had come up with a pretty decent plan. Or, at least, a better plan than showing up, getting shot and dying. They'd sent a messenger ahead, giving Sasha a phone that he rang at ten on the dot.

"Hello?" Sasha greeted, sounding a trifle annoyed.

Chuck would be sympathetic but that was what she deserved for taking his best friend - and Casey and Sarah - hostage.

"Here's how this is going to go down," Chuck announced, letting the Carmichael steel back in. You want the Cipher, you play by my rules. Meet me at 9000 Burbank Boulevard and bring the hostages." He didn't wait for her reply, hanging up immediately.

Montgomery nodded, silently congratulating him.

The phone rang immediately.

Chuck checked the ID. "It's her."

"Answer it," Montgomery replied, far too casual for this situation.

"Hello?"

Sasha was asking for directions.

"Oh, sorry, yeah. You're going to want to take the 5 North. That's probably the easiest. Burbank Boulevard exit, you're going to make a left at the light."

Montgomery made a motion for him to hang up, which Chuck did, a little sheepishly. He couldn't help it, he was in customer service.

"This had better work," Chuck said, glancing up at the older spy.

Montgomery just raised an eyebrow, as if offended Chuck even had to say so. "It'll work."

Bryce Larkin had a headache. A headache rapidly worsening into a migraine. It wasn't bad enough that he and Sarah been caught and held hostage with Casey, or that his hands were tied in front of him, or that they'd only been given whatever vending machine food the goons could be persuaded to find. Oh, no. Chuck had to ignore their request and then send them to the Buy More. Bryce understood wanting home field advantage, but there was a difference between that and simply giving them the ammunition to find out who Chuck really was. And Bryce wasn't worth that. Even the three of them put together weren't worth Chuck's life.

But, since Bryce was a hostage and had no say in the matter, he couldn't do more than share a glare with Casey and bide his time. They were walked in, at gunpoint, Sasha sashaying ahead. Bryce looked around, relieved when Chuck didn't immediately pop out and get shot.

"Greetings!" Chuck's voice boomed, his best friend appearing on every television. "I see you found your way."

Sasha snapped her fingers, the goon holding a gun on Bryce heading off to search the store.

"Hope traffic wasn't too bad," Chuck continued blithely, and he better be somewhere far, far away because Bryce could not save him right now. "As you can see, I have the Cipher." On-screen, Chuck held the pendant up just long enough for them to see it. "Once my friends are safely out of the store, I'll tell you where to find it. It's been a pleasure working with you and I wish you luck in all your future endeavours."

Bryce watched, calm mask almost faltering, as the long haired goon opened the door behind Chuck. His best friend said something about always having Paris, noticed the goon, and gave a slightly girlish scream before running off.

Chuck was fast over short distances, more of a sprinter than a runner, but that was good. He could hopefully make it somewhere safe before the long haired goon got to him.

Sasha came sauntering back to them, eminently pleased with herself. Bryce didn't quite have a policy about not shooting women (in his line of work, they didn't have the luxury of chivalry) but even if he did, Sasha would make herself an exception.

The long haired goon came back, sans Chuck, whispering something Bryce couldn't hear.

"Well," Sasha smirked. "Now that your saviour is trapped with the Cipher, I no longer need hostages. So, goodbye." Sasha raised her gun, pointing it at Sarah.

Montgomery slipped out of hiding, gun held on Sasha. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Roan," Sasha bit out.

And, Bryce never thought he'd say he was happy to see him. But, even Casey was almost smiling at his appearance.

"Hello, Sasha," Montgomery replied, smirking to himself.

"I should have killed you years ago," Sasha offered, bored.

"Yeah, probably," Montgomery shrugged. "Would you please drop your guns?"

Sasha dropped her gun, her nearly bald goon nodding to Montgomery. "Who the hell is that?"

"That is Roan Montgomery," Casey said, almost awed.

Sarah roundhouse kicked the goon holding her, Casey spinning and clocking his own. Bryce followed Sarah's approach, pivoting on his heel and kicking the long haired goon in the head. Sarah and Casey were grappling with one of the goons for the gun, Sasha just beyond them, reaching for her dropped gun. Sarah's back was turned, his partner vulnerable. In about five seconds, Sasha would have her gun held on her.

Bryce cursed quietly, knocking his goon into the shelf and skidding between Sarah and Sasha. Bryce felt the chill of the gunbarrel press against his neck, Sasha's deceptively strong arm wrapped around him. He could, probably, take her if this was an even fight. But his hands were tied and he had to stoop because of how Sasha was holding him.

This wasn't his finest moment, but he'd rather him be in this position than Sarah.

Chuck crouched on the roof, staying out of sight and listening to the feed from Montgomery's mic. "Stand back, Roan," Sasha said, deadly calm. "Or I'll kill him."

"No, no, no," Chuck babbled, rushing to peek over the Buy More sign. Casey was a little big for Sasha to be holding a gun on, which meant his self-sacrificing idiot of a best friend was in danger. Again. And that was not happening. Not on Chuck's watch.

"Charles," Montgomery hissed. "Where are you?"

Timbuktu. Where did Montgomery think he was? "I'm on the roof."

"Charles, remember Thailand?"

Now, really? Didn't he realise that Chuck had a bit more on his mind than interest in his spy anecdotes? "This is not time for one of your stories, Roan."

"Remember Thailand." Montgomery's voice was heavy with meaning.

"Yeah, yeah," Chuck snapped, already done. "You were on the palace roof and you tied a bedsheet-" Chuck trailed off, seeing the banner announcing their mid-Fall sale tied up near him. "No, no, no, no. No, no, no."

"Charles, time to be a spy."

"I'm not!" Chuck cried, desperate. "I'm not a spy. I'm a nerd!" But he looked down, watching Montgomery, Casey and Sarah hold their guns on Sasha, who was definitely holding his best friend at gunpoint.

Sasha's voice rung out from the ground. "Bring me the Cipher or I'll kill him!"

"Don't you dare!" Bryce's voice was no less clear, a little strained but definitely promising a severe snit if Chuck dared risk himself.

"Sorry, buddy," Chuck said to himself. "Guess we all gotta die sometime."

He unclipped the banner from the post, wrapping it around himself as best he could and tying it in a fairly secure knot. Chuck sat on the edge, heart pounding in his ears. This was the stupidest thing he'd ever considered doing. Seriously, so dumb. But even if he died, it would be worth it.

"I really hope it's not today though," Chuck said, finishing his thought aloud.

He jumped, swinging through the air to collide with Sasha. He hit the ground hard enough to push the breath from his lungs, just aware enough that Casey or Sarah was dealing with Sasha.

Bryce, hands tied and spitting mad, rolled over and glared at Chuck. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, great," Chuck coughed, smiling in relief. So Bryce was furious, at least he was alive to do so. "How are you?"

"Peachy," Bryce snarked. And yup, really, really pissed. Possibly more pissed than Chuck had ever seen him - and that was saying something. "What the hell were you thinking?! Jumping off the goddamn roof?! Are you trying to kill me?! Is that it? You want me to have a heart attack before thirty?"

"Buddy," Chuck began, probably grinning like a fool and not caring one not. "You'd do the same for me. And I'm okay, honest."

Bryce narrowed his eyes, humming dubiously. But, he finally smiled, patting him on the shoulder with his bound hands. "That was a pretty cool move, bud."

Montgomery clearly agreed. "Now that's what I call a real spy."

Bryce snapped his head up, glaring daggers at the older spy."Who asked you?"

Chuck chuckled breathlessly, watching Montgomery's bemusement with humour. "He's a little overprotective."

"Overprotective," Bryce muttered to himself, disbelieving. "Over, he says. Jumped off a goddamn building. Twice."

"Missed you too, buddy," Chuck simply grinned, hearing the sentiments Bryce was too upset to voice.

"Don't get cute with me, Bartowski," Bryce grumbled, holding his hands out for a laughing Sarah to untie. He immediately moved to untie the banner from Chuck's waist, muttering uncharitable things in Klingon under his breath.

Chuck let Bryce pull him to his feet, trying not to translate the more colourful comments. Fortunately, being Bryce's best friend meant that Chuck knew how to circumvent the snit. "X-Files marathon, pie and cocoa?"

Bryce stared at him, lips twitching as he fought back a smile. "Fine," he sighed, as if he was giving Chuck a major concession. "But the next time I do something stupid, you give me a free pass."

"Nope," Chuck popped the 'p' a little giddily. "The next time you do something stupid, I'll let you make it up to me with a nice dinner."

"I did miss you," Bryce murmured, a small smile on his lips.

"I know," Chuck smiled back, Casey waving him off towards his car. "As I know that I'll be probably living in your apartment for the foreseeable future." He paused, a flicker of concern flittering around his brain. "Should we be concerned with how dependent we are?"

"Probably," Bryce shrugged, waving over his shoulder at Sarah and Casey. "But it's not gonna change. And, I was a promised an X-Files marathon."

Chuck laughed, bumping gently into his friend. "I can't believe you like that show."

Narrowed blue eyes bore into him. "I can't believe you jumped off a building."

Yeah, Chuck wasn't going to win this discussion.

Bright and earlyish the next morning, Chuck found himself in the spy base under the Orange Orange. Casey and Sarah were in casual clothes beside him, Bryce impeccably dressed as ever in his work suit.

Beckman smiled down at them from the screen. "Excellent work, team. Thanks to your efforts, we have the Cipher."

"General," Casey began, nodding to Chuck. "You should know that Chuck was invaluable on this mission."

"He also risked his life several times to save ours," Sarah added, smiling at him.

Bryce hummed his agreement, sipping on a strong cup of coffee twin to Chuck's own.

"Your country thanks you, Chuck," Beckman acknowledged. "Hopefully, now we can rebuild the Intersect and this nightmare can be over for you. Have a nice day."

Beckman moved to terminate the connection and Chuck couldn't just let that stand.

"Wait. Actually, while I appreciate all of your kind words, if we're going to continue to coexist happily, I think that the government needs to start pulling their weight around here."

Beckman peered curiously at him. "What did you have in mind, Chuck?"

Chuck took a breath, grinning. There was still one little problem he'd like to help solve. Ellie and Devon had put up with so much from him, least he could do was have the government help give them a little something back.

It kinda did backfire a little. The NS-CIA paid for the rose petals and the candles and the dinner ingredients, but a CIA agent had to actually cook the meal and another CIA agent and their NSA agent partner had to do the artful scattering of the rose petals, but it was a start. But, Chuck got to spend a very enjoyable day off work helping said CIA agent best friend cook and bake pie and sing along to Huey Lewis and a host of other eighties hits. And, considering they'd nearly died yesterday, it was a pretty great day.

Chapter Text

"You're pouting again," Morgan announced, jumping up on the Nerd Herd desk beside Chuck. "Is it really that bad?"

"No," Chuck lied, smiling at his friend. "Everything is great."

Everything was not, in fact, great.

Last week, Lester had - in a feat of spectacular ass-kissing - brought a box of donuts in for Big Mike, sweet talking him into allowing Lester to trial as Assistant Assistant Manager. And that would be horrifying enough were it not for the bigger problem in Chuck's life. For once, it wasn't even directly Intersedt related. As of six days, three hours and a handful of minutes ago, Bryce had been sent on an urgent mission that his best friend could say absolutely nothing about.

It really cut into their schedule of living in the other's pocket and not letting each other out of their sight. A plan which tended to keep both of them out of both harms way and the emergency room.

Alas, apparently Chuck had not been required on the mission. Which had led to six days, three hours and the aforementioned handful of minutes that Chuck had spent simultaneously worrying about Bryce and pestering Casey and/or Sarah for any details. Details which, apparently, they weren't privy to. And the worst part? Chuck hadn't gotten so much as a text message or - considering this was Bryce - an email since he'd driven Bryce to the airport.

Not that Chuck was bitter or anything.

So, Chuck sat on the desk with Morgan, watching Lester getting drunk on his temporary power, trying his best not to worry about reckless, stubborn superspies who didn't keep in touch.

Casey caught his eye, tapping his watch pointedly. Chuck made a face but hopped off the desk, wandering over to the Major.

"Lunch break, Orange Orange," Casey ordered, heading for the door.

"Yogurt again?" Chuck complained. Lunch times with Casey were really boring. "Can't we get a meatball sub?"

Bryce would have bought him a meatball sub. But Bryce was probably having some secret spy meeting in some European museum, being very cloak and dagger and not even considering how easy it would be to pick up a phone and call.

Again, not that Chuck was bitter.

Casey rolled his eyes. "We're not eating, idiot. We got a new mission."

Chuck tried his best not to perk up at that. "Does it have anything to do with Bryce? Why he was sent out of town?"

"I don't know," Casey shrugged, not sounding like he particularly cared. "I didn't ask and they didn't say."

"But you have to know something," Chuck protested, just as he had for six days. "Come on, one little detail. Where did he go? Is he okay?"

"If I know Larkin, he probably pissed someone off and got shot," Casey shrugged again. "But don't worry, I'm sure he'll let you kiss his boo-boos when he gets back."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, quickening his steps to outdistance Casey. Really, there was no need to be sarcastic.

"The Fulcrum threat is far worse than it originally appeared," Beckman announced, appearing on screen as soon as the three of them had sat down. Chuck clenched his jaw, a cold shiver running down his spine. "We've learned one of their agents stole an encrypted microchip containing top secret information out of the DNI."

Sarah glanced at Casey, looking fleetingly worried.

"The information on the chip contained highly classified intelligence - a refresh for the new Intersect."

Sarah tapped a finger on the file she'd been perusing. "Is there anything on that chip that could compromise our cover?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Beckman paused, letting her from pronouncement sink in. "Agent Larkin has learned that Fulcrum hired Von Hayes, a wealthy software magnate, to decrypt the chip and deliver the encoded information back to them."

Chuck looked down at the table at the mention of Bryce's name, torn between happiness that Bryce was (probably) okay, and worry that he'd put himself in Fulcrum's path again.

"Mr Hayes is throwing a lavish party at his Bel Air estate this evening," Beckman continued, her slight frown telling Chuck he hadn't hidden his smile quite as well as he'd hoped. "The finest dining, music and food." She turned to Sarah pointedly. "Your job will be to pose as a married couple and steal the chip. Normally, we would send Chuck in with you, but the sensitivity of this mission requires a different approach." Beckman returned her gaze to Chuck. "Chuck, you'll be posing as a waiter. Try and flash on and identify the Fulcrum agent." She nodded and disconnected the transmission.

"But who's gonna pose as your husband?" Chuck frowned, watching Sarah in confusion.

The Orange Orange freezer door hissed open, drawing their gaze up to the staircase. A man in jeans, an untucked charcoal dress shirt and sunglasses swaggered through.

Chuck rolled his eyes, not bothering to fight back his grin. God, what a dork.

Bryce leaned on the railing, grinning down as he removed his sunglasses. "Sorry I'm late," he grinned, as if he hadn't just made a typically dramatic entrance. "LA traffic's still the worst."

Chuck crossed his arms, glaring. "It's been six days."

"Really?" Bryce tilted his head. "Felt like longer."

Chuck met him at the bottom of the stairs, as severe a frown as he could muster on his face. "You okay?"

"I wasn't shot or even shot at," Bryce said, holding still enough for Chuck to scan him for injuries. "Just met with a couple of agents, tracked down some leads. Laid a quick false trail for Fulcrum. All very boring and safe."

Chuck nodded, hearing no lie in his tone. "You couldn't have called?"

"I missed you too," Bryce grinned. "And there's a couple of meatball subs upstairs. I was struck with the strangest craving as I was driving here."

"Meatball subs?" Chuck repeated, definitely not thawing. "The ones from the?"

"Yeah," Bryce agreed, waving his sunglasses carelessly. "Not the one near the thing, but with the and the, uh."

Chuck knew exactly which place. The really good place. Not the kinda good place next to the comic book store, but the better one.

"Are you even speaking American?" Casey demanded, looking between them like they were idiots. Which he did a lot, but never this soon after they entered a room.

Bryce frowned, lowering his voice. "Did we speak in Klingon?"

"I don't think so," Chuck frowned back. "If we did, we're still speaking it now." He turned, looking over his shoulder. "Hey, Sarah? Can you understand us?"

Sarah laughed, watching them as if they were great entertainment. "As much as I ever do."

Chuck shrugged, comforted. He turned his attention back to Bryce, asking "How was the flight?"

"Long, boring. Traffic notwithstanding, I'm so glad to be back in LA."

"Fulcrum?"

"Any tails are heading on a wild goose chase through Siberia." Bryce chuckled, proud of himself. "What's new at home?"

Well, where did Chuck start?

"Lester's assistant assistant manager, don't ask how. Ellie and Awesome are still awesome, and I've got this best friend who went overseas and didn't call."

Apparently, Chuck was not over that. Good to know.

Bryce cocked his head, eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Jumped off any buildings since I've been gone?"

And Bryce was clearly not over that.

Chuck grinned, it was so good to have Bryce back. "Glad you're home, buddy."

"Glad to be home," Bryce replied, bestowing a fleeting hug on him as he wandered further into the bunker. "Casey. Sarah. Thanks for keeping this one out of trouble for me."

Casey grunted. "Next time you leave town, he's going with you."

"Don't listen to him," Chuck announced, dropping back into his chair much happier than he was before. "We've really bonded since you left."

Bryce's eyes narrowed. "Really?" he questioned, tone overly pleasant. He turned a bright smile on Casey, as if he were truly happy to hear it.

Uh oh. Chuck recognised that smile. That was the mentally planning how to dispose of your body so no one will ever find it Smile.

"Would you relax, Larkin?" Casey rolled his eyes. "Chuck followed us around like a puppy the entire time, pestering us for updates on you."

"You were worried about me?" Bryce teased, commandeering the seat beside him.

"Turns out I like you," Chuck retorted, deadpan. "Who knew?"

Bryce laughed, teeth flashing. "Never would have guessed, bud."

"If you two have finished catching up, can we get on with the mission?" Casey asked, tone making it clear he was only asking as a formality.

Bryce instantly sobered. "I take it Beckman's already told you about Fulcrum and Von Hayes?"

"And the computer chip stolen from the DNI," Sarah confirmed. "We're supposed to go undercover tonight. Chuck's going as a waiter, we're-"

"Bringing the Andersons out of retirement?" Bryce asked to Sarah's nod. "I thought they divorced after Bogota?"

"Not as far as this mission goes," Sarah smiled, looking a little sympathetic under the amusement. "Are you up for this, Bryce?"

Bryce, for some reason, gave Chuck an apologetic smile. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "It's been a few years now, let's tone down the, uh, affection."

"Probably for the best," Sarah agreed, also giving Chuck an apologetic look. "We'll divorce again immediately after the mission so Mr Anderson and Mr Carmichael can continue being bachelors together."

Bryce inclined his head. "I look forward to it." He stood, flashing a real smile at Chuck. "Come on, buddy. Let's leave the plan to Sarah and Casey, there's lunch calling our names upstairs and I shudder to imagine what state Lester has left my office in."

"First of all, it's our office," Chuck retorted, purely automatic. "And second, don't you wanna stick around?"

"I've been away six days and nearly four hours now," Bryce replied. "Forgive me if my first choice is to spend some time with my buddy." He tossed a smile at Casey. "You've got this right?"

Casey did not even look up from his files. "Go."

Chuck sprang up the stairs in Bryce's wake, already babbling a mile a minute about all the little inconsequential details that Bryce had missed in his almost week away.

The bathroom in the Larkin/sometimes-kinda-a-lot-of-the-time-Bartowski apartment was a hive of activity that evening. It contained the biggest mirror in the apartment, into which Chuck was trying vainly to style his hair, and Bryce was tying his bow tie. Tying his bow tie and watching Chuck.

"I know you have plenty of photographs of us around," Chuck quipped, catching his gaze for the twentieth time. "You don't have to keep on lookin'."

Bryce startled, chuckling a little to himself. "Sorry, buddy."

"Nah," Chuck dismissed, waving the apology off. "It's nice to see you missed me too."

Bryce shot him a mild glare that said of course he missed him and Chuck was an idiot if he ever thought otherwise.

"Casey get back to you with the plan?" Chuck asked, picking his own bowtie up off the sink. Time to do battle with the sadistic scrap of fabric.

Bryce hummed an assent. "The microchip is stored inside a vault in Von Hayes's mansion. What Sarah and I have to do is slip out of the ballroom and go and get it. Essentially fairly simple."

"Then why do you look like someone ran over your dog?"

"First of all, no one would ever run over Tribble," Bryce protested, eyes twinkling. "Second-"

"No," Chuck laughed, holding his hand up. The bow tie fell soundlessly back on the sink. "Hold up. You'd call your dog Tribble?"

Bryce raised his eyebrows, confused. "You wouldn't?"

Chuck stopped to actually think about that. And, Bryce had a point.

"Fair enough," he conceded, picking up the black fabric again. "What's second?"

Bryce rolled his eyes, confiscating the tie from Chuck's hold. "Second, and I'm certain Casey had a hand in this, for Sarah and I to slip out without being questioned too much, there has to be a certain amount of affection."

Ah. Chuck began to see Bryce's problem. Dreaded PDA. They'd spent many a frat party mocking the amorous endeavours of their frat brothers and their significant others. But, at the same time, Chuck didn't quite see his problem.

"Sarah's beautiful, you're go-" Don't say gorgeous, Bartowski, what the hell is wrong with you? "Handsome. I don't think selling it is going to be a problem."

"No, we've done this routine before," Bryce acknowledged, still looking shifty in a way Chuck couldn't quite place. "But I don't like muscling in on someone else's girl."

Guilt. That's what it was. Bryce felt guilty.

Chuck frowned, Bryce's hands falling away. "Who's girl?"

Bryce sighed through his nose, glaring at Chuck pointedly.

"What? Me?" Chuck scrubbed a hand over his face. This idiot. "Buddy. Do you think I still have feelings for Sarah?"

Bryce gave him another pointed look. "You spend a lot of time with her."

"She's my friend," Chuck reminded him, wondering what it was with people and assuming he was dating his friends. First Ellie and Devon with Bryce and now Bryce with Sarah. "And, I think you'll find I spend more time with you."

"An underwhelming start didn't stop you from pursuing Jill," Bryce reminded him, soft and apologetic. "Forgive me if I thought time might make Sarah warm up to you romantically."

"She said she didn't want me. And, maybe we could have been good together once, but there's no-" Chuck waved his hands around, waiting for the word to come to him. "Spark."

Bryce's hands returned to fixing Chuck's tie, his friend humming a little sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Chuck smiled. "I have everything I need right now."

Bryce smiled brightly back. "Speaking of," he began, turning to a case propped up on his side of the double sinks. "Earpieces and watches. Full communication the entire time."

Chuck debated making another quip about keeping in touch, but the sound of the front door opening ended the conversation naturally.

"Chuck? Bryce?"

Bryce leaned past Chuck, calling out; "Bathroom!"

Sarah drifted in to join them, absolutely beautiful in a red dress. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Chuck replied, because his sister hadn't raised a liar. "Very beautiful."

"Exquisite," Bryce agreed, never to be outdone.

"And you look very handsome yourselves," Sarah smiled, handing Chuck his jacket. "New tux, Bryce?"

"Nice isn't it?" Bryce asked, showing off the classical cut. "Bought it on a whim in Paris between connecting flights."

Chuck rocked back on his heels, grinning teasingly. "And you didn't get me anything?"

"There's Swiss chocolate in the fridge, I stocked up on the good coffee beans, and check the back of your closet some time."

Chuck opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words.

Bryce laughed, adjusting his tie one final time. He held out his arms, grinning dashingly at him and Sarah. "Shall we?"

Chapter Text

Lively jazz music, flowing champagne, beautiful people dressed in beautiful clothes, in a beautiful mansion. And Chuck was a waiter. He wasn't reading anything into that particularly - Casey often played the role of waiter - but it didn't exactly do wonders for Chuck's ego. Especially not when Sarah and Bryce were looking particularly beautiful tonight, practically glowing under the flattering lighting of the ballroom.

But, Chuck didn't have too much time to watch his best friend and former fake girlfriend. Casey kept a tight leash, constantly making Chuck look at this or that guest in the hopes it would inspire a flash.

A glass clinking took Chuck away from his nth watchful circuit of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome," Von Hayes called, far too enthusiastic. "As you all know, today is yours truly's birthday." He paused for a moment, spinning in place as he accepted his due applause. "Thank you."

Bryce and Sarah, or rather "the Andersons" were being nauseating near their table, nuzzling noses and feeding each other bites of strawberry. They looked very comfortable together, very in love. But then Bryce caught Chuck's eye, offering a covert wink, and Chuck abruptly saw the differences between the loved up Mr Anderson and his dork of a best friend.

"Um, I have a lot to the thankful for," Hayes continued, as if Chuck was paying attention to him and not the spectacle of the Andersons. "I'm, rich, handsome, an extraordinarily gifted lover. But most importantly I know how to throw one hell of a party. So," Hayes raised his champagne flute into the air. "Let's get it on, people!"

Normally, at things like this, Chuck would have been making his way to Bryce by now, ready to listen to the dry quips Bryce would bestow about the food/drinks/host's speech and/or state of dress. Unfortunately, Casey had other ideas.

"Hey, Bartowski," he barked through his earpiece. "Hayes is at table eight. Grab a bottle, see if you flash on him."

Chuck did as he was told, momentarily waylaid by the sight of Bryce holding his hand out to Sarah. Sarah put her hand in his, raising her leg so Bryce could catch it. Chuck delayed for maybe a little longer than was strictly necessary, watching Bryce and Sarah rapidly become the only pair on the dance floor.

And he samba'd perfectly too. Of course he did.

Chuck knew Bryce could tango (he'd taught Chuck after all), and that he could waltz, foxtrot, quickstep, and even rumba. But Bryce had never mentioned being able to samba. And it didn't stay a samba. They sectioned into a lambada that had every eye on them.

Chuck had never been much of a dancer, despite Bryce's earnest efforts to teach him, but he certainly enjoyed watching. The way Bryce and Sarah moved together was quite something.

"Hey! Quit screwing around, Bartowski," Casey chided. "And get close to Von Hayes. I'm sure Larkin will give you a private show later."

Chuck gave a rude gesture into the camera, but circled around to Hayes's table just the same. He moved to refill Hayes's champagne flute, attention caught by Bryce sliding down Sarah's body in a graceful (stupid gymnastics) movement. And so, the champagne ended up in Hayes's lap instead of his glass. Which led to Chuck fervently apologising, Casey cackling in his ear, and a complete lack of flashes.

"Keep looking," Casey ordered when Chuck told him so. "Get your head in the game."

Chuck pointedly tore his gaze away from the dancefloor (no kissing happened if Chuck didn't see it), unfortunately colliding with Hayes and dropping an entire bottle of champagne on his foot. Chuck, unsurprisingly, got fired, cueing his panicked rush after the lead waiter dude.

"... Hello, Mr Hayes," a woman's voice greeted behind Chuck. "Do you have my microchip?"

Chuck spun, seeing the back of a brunette woman's head.

"Well, my bosses don't like to wait," she continued. "Perhaps we could talk in private."

The sound of her voice activated the Intersect. Another Fulcrum agent redacted file like Bryce's definitely not friend Tommy's burst into his mind, followed by the images of a couple of dead bodies. The usual Fulcrum deal.

Before Chuck could signal Casey, Bryce or Sarah, he was forcibly ejected from the premises. And that was just great.

Chuck waved forlornly into the camera outside the mansion, hearing Casey sigh heavily into the microphone. "Moron. Bryce and Sarah are at the vault, come back to the van."

Chuck didn't want to come back to the van. "No. I flashed on a Fulcrum agent but I didn't see her face."

"We need to see what she looks like. Go back inside and get me a real ID."

Chuck glared at the camera. "I'm locked out." And he called Chuck a moron.

"Well, because I'm not a complete idiot like a certain someone, by which I mean you, I tapped into the security system." The security system bleeped next to Chuck. "Try it now."

"That was pretty impressive," Chuck praised, but he still allowed himself a mutinous "But Bryce is never that mean to me."

"The regret will keep me up at night," Casey snarked, audibly rolling his eyes. "Get going."

Chuck slipped back in through the kitchen, slamming the door shut and crawling under the nearest table. Was it smooth? No, but it worked.

"You promised us a decrypted chip two weeks ago," the Fulcrum agent announced, walking into the room. "And instead you're throwing a party."

"Well, what's the point of being rich if you can't have a little fun?" Hayes asked, and clearly he had a worse self-preservation instinct than Bryce.

"You have decrypted the information on the chip?" the agent questioned, Chuck trying to peek around to see her face.

"Yes, yes," Hayes dismissed. "It's all finished. The, um, question is where's my fee?"

"Forget the fifteen million," the agent smirked, the sound of silenced gunshots following. Hayes screamed, babbling his disbelief. "I think I'll just take my chip."

"It's in my vault," Hayes said quickly, fumbling for his keys. They dropped on the floor, Chuck flashing on the keychain.

It was the Intersect data. The Intersect data was on the keychain.

"Casey, Casey," Chuck whisper-called into his watch. "The chip is not in the vault. It is on Von Hayes's keychain. And I also got a really good look at the Fulcrum agent."

"What did she look like?"

"Oh my gosh, dude," Chuck shuddered. Dude had been on the approved list of Casey related nicknames, and far better for Chuck's safety than Bryce's suggestion of dumbass. "So awful. I mean incredibly creepy. Think psycho elfin queen."

Chuck trailed off, the sound of a gun cocking reached his ears.

"Did you say Fulcrum?" Chuck followed the gunbarrel up to the aforementioned psycho elfin queen Fulcrum agent. The woman had already killed tonight and Chuck had the feeling he was next on her hit list.

Killed by Fulcrum. Bryce was going to be so mad.

"Sarah!" Casey barked, voice loud in Bryce's ear. They were searching the mansion, guns drawn, looking for Hayes.

"Talk to me," Sarah replied, clearing the front while Bryce guarded their backs.

"Von Hayes is on the move."

Sarah scanned the room quickly. "Where?"

"He's headed for the front. He's got the chip."

Bryce saw him making a dash for the front door, raising his gun. "Freeze!" He ordered. Hayes, because he was a corrupt douchebag, ignored him and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Fulcrum agent has Chuck," Casey added, Bryce jerking in place. He had to have misheard. Because, he'd seen Chuck get escorted out, which meant Chuck had been safe. "She's leaving out the back door."

Sarah's gaze locked with his own, mutual agreement passing between them.

"Chuck's in danger," Sarah said, as if Bryce wasn't bitterly aware of that fact. "The Fulcrum agent will kill him."

"Are you trying to persuade me to go after Chuck?" Bryce blinked, hearing his voice jump up a Chuck-like octave. "Seriously?"

Seriously. This was happening in his life right now. Sarah thought she had to persuade him to go after his boneheaded best friend. What the hell?

"Give him hell for me," Sarah bade, heels clicking on the floor as she took off after Hayes.

Bryce watched her go, then spun on his heel. Fulcrum had Chuck. They didn't know what they had, but they had him. And that? That was unacceptable.

The Fulcrum agent also had a headstart on him. But, she was wearing no doubt uncomfortable heels, and Bryce had been modestly something of an acceptable track star. He'd get to Chuck before the agent could hurt him.

Bryce could tell a lot about a Chuck Bartowski related situation by how his friend babbled. And the current Bartowski babble, though endearing in his friend's nerdiness, told Bryce that Chuck was in a high grade panic. Which meant, he was held at gunpoint, waiting for rescue.

Bryce burst out the back entrance, his best friend held at gunpoint in front of a car. "Chuck! chagh!"

Just as Bryce told him, Chuck dropped to the ground, hopefully taking the opportunity to run to safety.

The Fulcrum agent turned and fired at him, the bullets narrowly missing his head and embedding in the exterior of the mansion. Bryce dropped and rolled, taking cover behind the gate, trading fire with the Fulcrum agent.

Chuck laid curled up in the middle of the road, crying out at the sounds of the gunfight. Bryce hissed as a fragment from a shattered pot sliced his hand, lowering his weapon enough for the Fulcrum agent to get into her getaway car.

The car squealed off, Bryce hurrying over to Chuck's side. "You okay, buddy?"

"I, uh," Chuck gasped, getting to his feet as much as helping Bryce to his own. "I, yeah. Yeah. I'm okay."

Bryce smiled, a red light blinking on the ground. Bomb. There was no time to think. He grabbed Chuck, tossing him bodily behind the cover of a car. Then, a solid wall of air hit him, throwing him forward on to the tarmac.

Chuck looked over the hood of the car, ears ringing from the sudden explosion. His palms stung a little from his awkward landing but he was unharmed. Bryce had saved him. Again.

"Buddy?" he called, looking around for the brightly grinning face of his superspy best friend. "Buddy?"

No response. And that was not like Bryce at all. By now, he should have been vaulting over some car and coming to ask if he was okay, regardless of whatever gushing wound he'd managed to acquire.

Chuck stumbled around the back of the car, knees threatening to give way. Bryce lay prone in the middle of the road. There was a massive bruise in the centre of his forehead, cuts marring his cheek, and his gun was in his last grip.

"Oh my," Chuck trailed off, sinking to his knees beside him. "Bryce," he called, hands reaching out to touch but not daring to.

"Don't move him," Sarah instructed, appearing from behind him. "We'll call an ambulance. Get him checked out."

"He, uh," Chuck cleared his throat, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. "He saved my life."

"That's what he does," Sarah agreed, smile a little watery. "He'll be okay."

"Westside Medical Center," Chuck said, seeing Casey gently pick up Bryce's gun. "I want Ellie and Awesome to take care of this."

"You can trust other doctors," Sarah told him, voice soothing.

Chuck shook his head. "Not with Bryce."

Ellie refused to let Chuck anywhere near Bryce's room until he'd showered and changed. Chuck knew she meant at home, but she'd never specified that he couldn't sweet talk one of her colleagues into letting him use a shower at the hospital and change into clothes Sarah had brought. His sister had, however, given him the judgemental eyebrows, muttered sarcastically that of course they weren't together, and waved him off in the direction of Bryce's room.

Chuck pushed the door softly open, smiling as he saw Bryce shift up in bed.

"Hey, buddy," Chuck called, pitching his voice low. Ellie'd said he probably had one heck of a headache. "How're you doing?"

"Well, I'm hooked up to this machine and your lovely sister comes by every five or so minutes to poke and prod me and shine a light into my eyes, so," Bryce shrugged far more elegantly than any man in a hospital gown had a right to. "I'm doing great."

Chuck chuckled, perching at the edge of his bed. "You have a strange idea of a good time, buddy."

Bryce flashed a smile, bright and sure. "You know it."

"Ellie said you have a concussion?"

Bryce flapped his hand a few inches off the bed. "Don't worry about that. Are you okay?"

Chuck could not believe this guy. In hospital and still worrying about Chuck. He was impossible.

"I'm sorry, am I the one in a hospital bed with a concussion and Ellie's little light thingy being shone into my eyes?"

"Okay, first of all it's a mild concussion," Bryce sighed, smiling a little. "And second, you've been giving me the big, sad Bartowski eyes ever since you walked in. If you're allowed to do that, I'm allowed to ask if you're okay."

"Is that the rule?" Chuck teased, watching Bryce's eyes dance.

"Yeah, bud, that's the rule."

"You're a dork."

"Hey!" Bryce protested, nudging him with his knee. "You can't say that. I'm in hospital."

"Because you saved me," Chuck whispered, the helplessness from the road rushing back. "I'm sorry, Bryce. If I hadn't got caught-"

"Shut up, Chuck," Bryce bade, both amused and serious. "I don't need you to protect me."

"Yeah, of the two of us, that is more your role," Chuck conceded, chills racing over him. "But, buddy, you scared me."

Bryce's lips twitched. "I know." He reached out, clumsily patting Chuck's hand. "But, I am being very good, letting Ellie poke and prod me and keep me here. Which I'm only doing because it's what you need me to do."

"So, you're not even slightly scared of Ellie in doctor mode?" Chuck teased, grinning at the outraged expression on Bryce's face.

"Chuck," Bryce began in tones of offended dignity. "I have been shot multiple times, stabbed, interrogated, blown up, and endured a whole host of other unpleasant things. And you think I'm scared of Doctor Ellie?"

As a matter of fact, that was exactly what Chuck thought. "Yep."

Bryce sank back into the pillows, nodding. "She's terrifying."

Chuck laughed, leaning back against Bryce's legs. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Bryce offered a slightly sleepy smile. "My hero."

"And don't forget it," Chuck quipped, forcing a brighter smile to his lips.

"Hmm," Bryce hummed, blinking hard. "Did Sarah get the chip?"

"Didn't ask," Chuck said, gradually quietening his voice. Ellie had said to let him sleep if he was tired, and that they'd keep an eye on him. "And it's not important right now. You need to rest and heal."

Chuck made to rise from the bed, accidentally jostling his friend a little.

Bryce reached out with his non-IV hand, grabbing at the air. "Stay?"

"Of course," Chuck agreed, settling back on the bed.

Bryce closed his eyes, seemingly content.

Chuck fought back a fond smile as Bryce tilted his head more comfortably into the pillow.

If this was Bryce needed, Chuck would happily spend the night in the hospital with him. "Did I ever tell you about that time Morgan and I were ten and..."

Chuck continued talking, barely more than a murmur, hopefully reassuring Bryce's slumber.

"Hey," Devon called, slipping into the room a little while later.

Chuck paused in the middle of a long-winded complaint about one of their engineering systems professors, smiling over his shoulder at his soon to be brother-in-law.

"Hey," he whispered back. "He's been asleep about forty minutes."

Devon checked the readings on the monitor, nodding to himself. "I'll check him in a bit. How are you holding up?"

"You know me, Devon," Chuck pulled on a smile. "I'm great."

Devon tilted his head, regarding Chuck with obvious disbelief. "Ellie said she had to practically tear you away. That doesn't sound like everything is awesome, bro." Devon pulled an uncomfortable chair from the corner. "Talk to me."

Talk to him. What was Chuck supposed to say? So, Awesome, my best friend is a kick-ass superspy that saved my life tonight and took the brunt of a bomb blast? Yeah. That would work out really awesome.

"He saved my life," Chuck said, looking at his best friend. That was the only thing that mattered. "Pushed me to safety and got hurt himself."

"It's what we do for the people we love," Devon replied wisely, offering a smile. "You'd have done the same for him if you had the chance, right?"

In a heartbeat. "Of course."

Devon smiled again, patting his knee. "Don't worry, Chuck. He'll be okay." He moved over towards Bryce, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Oh goodie," Bryce muttered, glaring balefully at Devon. "It's the other Doctor Bartowski come to prod me."

Chuck caught Devon's flash of worry. "He knows who you are. It's a compliment. Believe me."

"Gotta do my job, bro," Devon replied, shining the light into Bryce's eyes. "What's your name?"

Bryce favoured him with a particularly dry look. "Bryce Larkin. I'm twenty seven years old. It's 2008, mid-October." His eyebrows rose, grumpy and tired. "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Doctor Woodcomb?"

Devon just smiled, probably used to far more troublesome patients. "Who's that?"

"Chuck," Bryce almost smiled, eyes softening on Chuck. "He's my best friend. We met at Stanford, a little over nine years ago now." Bryce blinked, turning his head slowly back to Devon. "I'm fully aware of who and where I am, Devon."

"Everything's looking good," Devon agreed, sharp gaze noting Bryce's pale complexion. "Headache? Nausea? Dizziness?"

Bryce waved his hand. "HIja."

Chuck almost choked on his next breath. "You can't answer medical questions in Klingon, you nerd."

"Can't?" Bryce repeated, flashing a tired grin. "That's showing a deplorable lack of imagination, buddy."

Chuck rolled his eyes. Devon just chuckled and made a note on Bryce's chart.

"Get some more sleep," he proscribed, patting Chuck on the shoulder. "Ellie or I will be back soon."

"I look forward to it," Bryce muttered, eyes already falling closed.

Chuck followed Devon to the door. "He's okay?"

"He's a terrible invalid, bro," Devon said fondly. "But he'll be fine."

A terrible invalid didn't begin to cover it, but Chuck was used to it. Now, he didn't think he'd have it any other way. Bryce's stubbornness was part of his charm.

He nodded tiredly at Devon, forcing an alert smile to his lips. "Thank you."

"No thanks needed, Chuck," Devon replied, patting his shoulder again. "But you should get some rest too. Ellie will worry."

"I'll try," Chuck agreed, returning to his perch on Bryce's bed. "Where was I buddy? Oh, yeah, our professor. Well..."

Chapter Text

A little after eight that morning, Chuck was stirred from the world's most uncomfortable nap in the world's most uncomfortable chair by the delivery of flowers. Bryce was not a hospital flowers kind of guy, and everyone who knew him knew that. There was a gymnastics accident back in sophomore year that Chuck still shuddered to remember. But, nevertheless, flowers were delivered into his room.

A card was nestled amongst an arrangement of roses and lilies, requesting a private meeting with a phone number attached. Chuck considered leaving the note for Bryce to deal with. It was definitely what his friend would want, but Bryce was in the hospital and even though Chuck wasn't the superspy between them, he couldn't help wanting to shield Bryce from any more harm.

"Morning, buddy," Bryce called, only sounding slightly groggy from sleep.

"Hey," Chuck said softly, slipping the card into his pocket. "How are you feeling?"

"Like somebody tried to blow me up," Bryce replied, shifting up in bed. "How was your night?"

"Hospital chairs still suck," Chuck sighed, glowering at the offending chair. "But I've had worse nights."

Bryce peered at him, brilliant eyes piercing. "What's wrong?"

"What? Oh. No. Nothing." Chuck waved his hand. "I've got to go and get ready for work. I'm probably already late."

Bryce quirked a grin, teasing; "Always so responsible."

"You know me, buddy," Chuck smiled, hoping it looked more real than it felt. "I'll be back for lunch. Don't stage any grand escapes."

"Me?" Bryce batted his eyelashes in an overblown expression of innocence. "Why, Charles, you wound me."

"Anyone ever tell you you're dramatic on pain meds?"

"According to you, I'm always dramatic."

"That too." Chuck patted his knee, squeezing gently. "Seriously, Bryce. Just take it easy for a bit."

Bryce rolled his eyes but settled back on the bed. "Whatever you say, Chuck."

Chuck waited until he was in his bedroom back in Echo Park before he dialled the number. He probably should have taken it to Casey and Sarah, but Chuck felt this was something he needed to do. And Casey was pretty pissed at him for messing up his plans.

Von Hayes was on the other end of the line, alive and apparently hiding out in his Lamborghini. He wasn't exactly pleased to have Chuck call him when he expected "that other male agent", but Chuck managed to persuade him that he was his supervisor and now in charge of the situation. On the plus side, Chuck got the location for the microchip. On the downside, Hayes had a list of conditions that Chuck had no choice but to agree to.

Casey was going to love this.

Shockingly, Casey did not love it. In fact, he gave him a suspicious glower, chugged the machine sludge that masqueraded as Buy More coffee, and sighed.

"What exactly did you do, Bartowski?"

Chuck crossed his arms, pleased with himself. "I negotiated the return of the microchip." He paused, amending. "Of course, I did have to agree to certain terms."

Casey closed his eyes, pained. "What terms?"

"Number one, he'll only make the exchange with me. Uh, two, he wants full immunity from any government prosecution."

Casey inclined his head. "I can live with that."

Chuck had thought as much. But, the thing was... "There's, uh, kinda just one more little, bitty thing," he said, coming to stand in front of Casey.

Casey sighed, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like it contained Bryce's name. As in, that he wished he could just leave Bryce to deal with him.

"What?"

"We're going to need roughly $4.5 million in unmarked bills, preferably small denominations."

Casey managed to persuade Beckman into allowing them the funds, the pair of them bringing Sarah up to speed as they drove to the meeting point. A train station, because Chuck and Hayes had both been in the mood for the classics. Casey settled a few feet from Chuck, Sarah taking the seat behind Chuck's. All perfectly innocent, and Hayes would be oblivious to the presence of Chuck's backup.

The money was packed into a large green duffel bag that probably looked as obvious as Chuck thought. He stood at Hayes's approach, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and glancing once at Casey.

Hayes slowly approached, pale and sweaty. "Have you got the cash?"

"Yeah, I have," Chuck replied, unzipping the bag just enough that Hayes could see the money. "Have you got the chip?"

Hayes held it up in his palm. "All right, give me the cash."

"You first," Chuck retorted, absently wondering if all handoffs felt like a child's squabble.

"No. You first."

"I'm pretty positive you go first," Chuck stated, holding the bag back.

"Just make the exchange, moron," Casey growled in his ear, backing it up with a dark glower.

"I've never done a handoff before," Hayes said. "I'm really not used to this spy stuff."

"It's a little stressful, isn't it?" Chuck sympathised, sharing a smile with Hayes. "Okay, I've got an idea. We'll go at the same time. I'll count to three-"

"On three or after three?" Hayes checked, shifting from foot to foot.

"Which do you want?" Chuck asked, trying not to notice Casey obviously despairing of him just behind Hayes.

"We'll do it after three," Hayes decided, Casey alerting Chuck to trouble as Chuck began to count. "You told me I could trust you," Hayes accused, rabbiting off with the chip.

Chuck called after Hayes, turning to face an irritated Casey.

"You? Stay here this time," Casey ordered, running off after Hayes. Sarah flashed him a supportive smile, running after him.

Chuck just stood there, holding the bag of money. This was so not how he had seen this exchange going.

Okay, time for a new plan. Clearly, thinking like Chuck hadn't worked. So, what would Bryce do? Usually something incredibly reckless and self-sacrificing in the face of daunting odds and great personal danger to Chuck. But, when Chuck wasn't in immediate danger, he always had Casey and Sarah's backs.

Chuck stared in the direction his handlers had gone. "Here goes."

He burst up onto the platform, interrupting a standoff between Sarah and Casey and three apparently hired mercenaries. "Excuse me, gentlemen," Chuck called, only rocking back a little at the gun that immediately became trained on him. "Could I have your attention?"

Casey narrowed his eyes, silently warning him not to do what he was about to. But the objective was the chip and Chuck didn't see any other way.

"In my hands," Chuck continued, beginning to walk forward slowly. "I'm holding four point five million dollars in unmarked bills. Now, I'm not sure what the current going rate for thug-for-hire work is, but I'm feeling pretty confident that it's a lot less than this."

Please be a lot less than this.

He smiled, dropping the bag on the platform. "Now, all I ask is that you let Von Hayes and my two friends here go, and the money is all yours." He paused, letting them think for a moment. "Or, you can die horrible deaths in a hail of gunfire. The choice is yours really. But, uh, make it quick, yeah? I'm supposed to be visiting my friend in the hospital, and he is a terrible Patient."

The lead thug trained his gun on Chuck, slowly picking up the bag. Then, the three thugs went on their merry way.

"That was amazing!" Hayes cried, wrapping Chuck in a wholly one-sided hug. "Thank you."

"No, don't mention it," Chuck replied, watching Casey scowl.

"Don't encourage him," Casey growled, taking the chip.

"You know, a little appreciation wouldn't kill you," Chuck complained. Bryce would have at least said a "well done, buddy" or a "nice job, Chuck" or something. "I mean, I did get the microchip back."

Sarah pocketed the chip, nodding her pride.

"You also gave away $4.5 million dollars in taxpayer money," Casey pointed out, tone a sarcastic congratulations.

Chuck shrugged. "Nobody's perfect." Casey rolled his eyes, walking off. "Where are you going?"

Casey rolled his eyes again. "To get it back, idiot."

Hayes wisely stayed silent as Sarah marched him back through the train station. It was a lesson that Chuck perhaps could have learned from. But, the thing was, Casey's insistence on ignoring Chuck's abilities as a spy kinda stung. And, Sarah was his friend. He was comfortable sharing things like his feelings and hurts with his friends.

"You know," he began, trailing after Sarah. "I don't need Casey to tell me I'm a good spy. I think I'm doing fine. Fact of the matter is, it's really not as hard as it's cracked up to be anyway."

Chuck felt hands grab him, a gunbarrel pressed against his neck.

"Okay," the creepy elfin Fulcrum agent called. "Let's try this again."

Sarah spun on her heel, bringing her gun up in one smooth move.

"The microchip," the agent ordered. "Please."

Hayes, continuing his trend lately, sprinted past them, Sarah briefly trying to reach him but giving it up quickly.

"The microchip. Now."

"Release him first," Sarah ordered, tone hard and cold.

"Give me the chip and I'll let him go," the Fulcrum agent purred. "Promise."

Chuck, for one, did not believe her. She did not sound like a particularly truthful person. And, Chuck had literally seen her kill someone and Chuck had no desire to experience that first hand. It was messy and it would definitely hurt and...

He really should have just stayed at the hospital with Bryce. This kind of stuff hardly ever happened to him when he stayed with Bryce.

But, all Chuck could do was watch Sarah's face, hoping she had a plan. She had to have a plan, because she was brilliant like that and Chuck was really fresh out of brilliant ideas.

While Chuck was telling Casey about the deal he'd negotiated, basking in the pride of a spy deal well done, Bryce received a visitor. A doctor that was most certainly not either Ellie or Devon. And, since Ellie had just come through not five minutes before, shining that wonderful light in his eyes to gauge his pupil reactions, Bryce didn't need his spy senses to tell him that something was wrong.

Nevertheless, he blinked muzzily, glancing up at the doctor. It wasn't hard. His head throbbed, and there was a very real chance he might throw up on him. "How am I doing, Doc?"

"Great," the apparent Dr Rosenbaum replied. "Looks like we'll release you in a couple of hours."

Ellie had told him that herself not five minutes before. Bryce had promised Chuck not to break out of the hospital, not that he wouldn't slightly mislead Ellie as to how general state of wellbeing.

"Great," Bryce echoed, watching not-Rosenbaum take the cover off a needle.

"This won't hurt a bit," the doctor informed him.

"Sadly," Bryce replied, shifting just enough. "I can't promise the same."

"What?"

Bryce grabbed his wrist, punching him in the nose, then across the cheek. The agent fell over the bed, Bryce grabbing the syringe and holding it to his neck. "Tell Fulcrum I'm unable to accept their request to join them." He pressed the needle in pointedly. "Now, since I'm having a bad day, I'll just ask you once. Where is your boss?"

Apparently, the leader of this particular Fulcrum cell was waiting to intercept the chip at a handoff. At the train station. Not a bad place for a handoff, nice and public and just classic enough that Bryce approved. What he didn't approve of was the situation he walked into.

Casey was nowhere to be seen. Maybe hurt, bleeding out somewhere in the station. Bryce considered that image for a moment, frowning at the realisation he didn't feel quite as pleased as he should have at the thought.

Then again, he didn't mull over Casey's fate for very long.

Sarah was stood in the middle of the ticketing area, her gun raised and held on the leader of the Fulcrum cell.

But the thing that really made Bryce's already spinning vision go red around the edges, was what the Fulcrum agent was doing. General villainy and world domination was all part and parcel of the accepted Fulcrum douchebaggery. What Bryce would absolutely not stand, though, was when Fulcrum - or, really, anybody - dared hold a gun on Chuck. Dared use him as a human shield.

His best friend stood very, very still, watching Sarah as if he was waiting for her to pull a miracle from thin air. Chuck looked ... Scared. Like he couldn't see a way out of this.

Bryce's heart ached. Concern for Chuck overrode his usual caution, Bryce stepping a pace further than he should.

Sarah noticed Bryce, her stance tensing just the slightest amount. She raised her hands, slowly placing her gun on the floor, kicking it over to the Fulcrum agent.

"The chip," the agent ordered, tone warning.

Bryce poked his head around the corner, watching Sarah skid the chip along the floor after her gun.

"There," Sarah said, tone sharp. "Now release him."

"Sorry," the Fulcrum agent replied, not sounding sorry at all.

Bryce drew his gun from the waistband of his jeans, watching Chuck slowly be walked backwards.

Chuck stared at Sarah, his eyes wide and confused. Then, he glanced towards Bryce, a smile, relief lighting up his face.

"Hey, buddy," Bryce mouthed, managing a brief nod off reassurance.

He raised his gun. He could do this. He'd made this shot a thousand times.

"You got this?" Sarah called out, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Oh, I got this," Bryce called back, relieved his voice sounded as confident as he intended.

He had this. He had to have this. Chuck needed him to have this.

It didn't matter that his head was killing him. And it didn't matter that the sound and recoil would probably push him over the line into actually throwing up.

Chuck needed him to have this.

And Bryce Larkin had always been terrible at not giving Chuck what he needed.

He adjusted his stance, blocked out the face of his best friend watching him. He took a breath and squeezed the trigger.

Sarah immediately dropped to the ground, securing the chip from the agent's body. Casey strolled in, a duffel bag on his shoulder and Von Hayes's tie held in his grasp.

Bryce noted both his fellow handlers, leaning heavily against the wall. He breathed shallowly, pushing through the worst of the surge of nausea and throbbing that surrounded his entire brain. None of that mattered.

Chuck was staggering away from the corpse, nodding absently at Sarah. He weaved his way over, leaning against the wall beside him. Bryce felt his concerned gaze passing over him, too exhausted to put on a front.

Chuck's wince was audible in his voice. "You look terrible."

"Good," Bryce muttered, leaning his head gently against the wall. "I feel it."

"You saved my life again," Chuck whispered, pressing their shoulders together. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for that," Bryce said sharply. That was the one thing Chuck never needed to thank him for. It would be like thanking the sky for being blue or Awesome for being Awesome.

Chuck stared at him again, Bryce closing his eyes so he didn't let on more than he already had. "You should be in hospital."

"I got discharged," Bryce protested. By himself, against medical advice. But discharged nonetheless.

Chuck laughed, the sound almost a balm to his aching head. "There's no version of this where you go back today is there?"

"Depends," Bryce smiled, cracking his eyes back open. "You have a powerful sedative somewhere in those jeans of yours?"

Chuck shook his head. "No."

"Yeah," Bryce agreed, pushing off the wall. "No version where I readmit myself."

"Didn't think so," Chuck replied, wrapping his arm supportively around his back as they navigated their way out. "I should go back to work, but honestly, I just want to go home and sleep for the next week. Do you think we can do that?"

"I don't think that fits within my concussion watch," Bryce shrugged. "And Ellie and Devon want us around for dinner. But, there is a very comfortable mattress waiting for you at our place when we've eaten. And a top of the line gaming system we can play with until Ellie calls us over."

"You have yourself a deal, Agent Larkin," Chuck grinned, steering them both towards his Herder.

Ellie pounced on Bryce as soon as they entered, lecturing him for checking himself out AMA (and Chuck set a mental reminder to have words with Bryce about that - putting Chuck's safety ahead of his own), and then launching into a discussion of the bridesmaids dresses she was thinking of having.

Devon clapped him on the back, smiling at the debate over shades of pink.

"We've ordered takeout," Devon announced, nodding to the containers on the other side of the dining room table from the bridal magazines. "I told you everything was going to be okay."

Chuck leaned against the pillar, smiling at the animated defence Bryce was mounting for a shade called blush. Bryce glanced over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. Their brief rest (napping on the couch, though they'd say they played Call of Duty if anyone asked) had revitalised him, some of the nausea and dizziness seemingly fading away.

Yeah. Devon had been right. Everything was going to be great.

"Don't just stand there, Chuck," Bryce teased, waving him over. "Come tell your sister you agree with me."

Chuck squeezed in to the spot Bryce made for him, peering exaggeratedly at the colour swatch beside the magazine. "I don't know, buddy, I kinda like the rose."

Ellie shook her head, sharing a fondly despairing look with Bryce. "He's lucky he's cute, isn't he?"

Bryce laughed, leaning his weight on the hand braced on the table. "So lucky."

"Hey!" Chuck protested, Devon holding up his hands and staying out of it. "What's wrong with rose?"

"With these dresses?" Bryce shook his head, chuckling. "Oh, Chuck."

"You have no idea either," Chuck hissed into his ear, earning a bright laugh and a twinkling grin.

"Of course not," Bryce whispered. "But I am observant."

"What are you two whispering about?" Ellie asked, her own smile bright.

"How delicious dinner smells," Bryce replied easily. "The only thing I've had all day is hospital food, and Chuck stole half of it."

Chuck gasped indignantly. "You fell asleep."

Bryce tilted his head, smirking. "A man's jello is sacred, Chuck."

"You hate jello."

It was true, Bryce always stared suspiciously at it and pushed it over to Chuck.

"It's the principle, buddy."

"Boys," Ellie cut in, laughing. "We're having a celebration dinner. There's no time for chasing each other with water guns in the courtyard."

"Water guns is how we settle fights at breakfast," Chuck informed his sister with mock haughtiness. "After dinner we settle arguments with Mario Kart."

"Watch out for this one," Bryce cut in, teasing. "He cheats."

"Deploying the blue shell is not cheating, Larkin," Chuck sniffed, hearing his sister laugh. "It's not my fault you can't dodge it." He patted Bryce's shoulder sympathetically. "It's okay, track star, it's not your fault I'm just more naturally talented."

"Those are fighting words, Bartowski," Bryce replied, cold spy mask briefly falling. Then, he grinned brilliantly. "But I'll leave you to your illusions. I, for one, am starving."

Ellie and Devon spent the first part of dinner pressing Chuck and Bryce for details on how exactly he'd got concussed. Then, when Bryce and Chuck had been as evasive as they could (earning a knowing smirk from Awesome), they moved back to the safer topic of bridesmaids dresses.

Later, after dinner and dessert and faking more opinions on shades of pink and cuts of dresses than Chuck ever thought he'd have to in his life, he and Bryce beat a tasteful retreat. What with one thing or another, neither of them had gotten much rest the past week, and Ellie had eventually sent them off to bed with an almost maternal concern.

Chuck made a beeline for the kitchen, whipping up some of his famous cocoa. When he returned to the living room, he saw Bryce reclined on the couch, an Original Series episode paused and waiting for them. Bryce frowned at a pair of sunglasses in his hand, glaring at them as if they had insulted the inevitable genius of the episode.

"What's wrong?" Chuck asked, sinking to the couch beside him.

Bryce waved the sunglasses. "Intersect update. For your eyes only."

Chuck groaned, slumping back into the cushions. "Do I have to update the firmware now?"

"Nah," Bryce tossed the sunglasses onto the coffee table. "It can wait until tomorrow."

Beckman would probably have a sternly worded lecture for the pair of them if she ever found out, but Chuck just smiled. There was plenty of time to be responsible tomorrow. Tonight, there was Star Trek to watch.

"What episode did you pick?"

A grin played on Bryce's lips. "Well, in honour of our future dog, I felt this was only right."

The opening played, Chuck recognising it immediately. The Trouble With Tribbles.

Chuck burst into laughter, Bryce's own following moments later.

Chuck leaned heavily against him, wheezing laughter into his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're home, buddy."

Chapter Text

The Buy More break room was, for those in the know, famed for it's disgusting coffee and mysteriously unlabelled food. But, every now and then, when certain employees felt particularly generous (or were particularly troubled by some combination of disgusting coffee and mysterious yet equally disgusting food), it held delights that the taste buds could only dream of.

Chuck wandered in, helping himself to a brownie and a mug of particularly rich Ethiopian blend. A cheery yellow post-it greeted him from atop the Tupperware lid, declaring the contents for Stanford graduates - engineers of '03 - only. Not surprisingly, this was a rather small pool (namely, two), which didn't account for the brownie crumbs on Jeff, Lester or Morgan's shirts.

Bryce shuffled in, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Chuck wordlessly held out his own mug, Bryce gratefully draining half the contents in one large swallow.

The days of excellent coffee and baked goods always followed nights when Bryce's insomnia had been particularly bad.

"Brownies are another hit, buddy," Chuck smiled, nodding to the half empty Tupperware. "Though I don't think they're reading your note."

"I don't think that they can read," Bryce smirked back, pressing a fresh mug into his hand. "But it was worth a try anyway."

"If you didn't want them to eat it, you wouldn't have let me haul the containers in."

And that much was true. Baking was a nice stress release - Bryce called it a healthy outlet for all the many things they didn't or couldn't talk about (most notably Fulcrum and their increasing presence in his - Chuck's if not as much as Bryce's - nightmares) - but Bryce didn't have to share it with their coworkers.

"If I send any more around to Ellie, she'll think I'm auditioning for her wedding cake."

And that was a very real possibility. Ellie had yet to find a bakery she liked enough for her wedding cake, although Devon thought all of them were awesome.

"You could," Chuck offered.

Bryce favoured him with a small smile and a shake of the head. "My only responsibility at the wedding is going to be enjoying myself and not letting you make too embarrassing a toast."

"My toast is going to be sweet and heartfelt," Chuck protested, although he still had no clue what he was actually going to say. "There will be tears, but happy ones."

Bryce chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You, buddy, are a dork."

"But you're king of the dorks."

"I prefer to think of myself as the power behind the throne."

"Nah, we need you as king," Chuck grinned, dusting his fingers against his trousers. "Give dorks a better image. And you're the whole package. Handsome, smart, and still a really massive dork."

Bryce's eyebrows pulled together in a half-frown. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted."

Chuck clapped him on the arm, grinning."Whatever makes you feel better, buddy."

Bryce rolled his eyes, tossing an apple at Chuck's head. Chuck, because he was Chuck, fumbled the fruit, dropping it on his foot.

Bryce laughed, the sound bright and carefree. "Never change."

"Why would I?" Chuck asked, relieved to see the shadows again banished from Bryce's eyes. "We still on for lunch?"

"Yeah. Reubens from that place?"

"Sounds good." Chuck quickly refilled Bryce's mug (the excellent coffee never lasted), flickering his gaze to the clock. "Sarah said she'd drop in soon. Wanna join us?"

"Wish I could," Bryce smiled, chugging his coffee. "Nap time."

"You just drank two mugs of coffee."

Blue eyes met Chuck's, filled with a quiet disbelief. "Sometimes, when you talk, Chuck, it's like you weren't even at Stanford with me."

"So, you're gonna pretend to nap and just play games on your computer?"

"Ding-ding," Bryce grinned, waggling his fingers as he walked off. "Come join me when you're finished with Sarah."

Chuck helped Sarah pick out a new set of speakers, reminded her that she could come to the Buy More just to talk to him - as friends did. And then, somehow, he ended up under the Orange Orange, left alone while Sarah joined Casey and maybe Bryce to do spy things. Not that Chuck objected to them doing spy things without him - sometimes that was the safest way for the spy things to happen - but he did object to being stuck alone like he was a kid and not a valuable member of the team. Being the technical support didn't mean that Chuck didn't have something valuable to contribute to the happening of spy things; in fact, given that spy things tended to happen quite regularly in his brain, Chuck might even argue that he was the one to be the biggest help when the aforementioned spy things were doing their thing.

Naturally, being left alone like a child, Chuck was a little curious about what was going on. Sarah wasn't usually naturally this secretive with him, and Bryce had only gotten over his concussion last week. So, really, Chuck's curiosity wasn't only reasonable, it was justified too. He was being a good friend, making sure everything was okay.

And, seriously, Chuck was a computer guy. Sarah had to expect that he would do computer guy things while she was off doing her spy thing. He pulled up the security feeds, seeing Morgan loitering near the Nerd Herd desk, the fountain flowing away in the courtyard of his apartment complex, Ellie and Devon in bed together (and there would be another secret raid in there to get Bryce to find and remove the camera, because seriously there had to be some boundaries). And then, there was the Orange Orange.

Sarah was talking to a blonde woman in a leather jacket. "... Guess I just have one of those familiar faces."

"That's not it," the leather jacketed blonde cut in. "I know you."

"I tried my hand at acting a while back."

Chuck shook his head slowly; Sarah was usually much, much better at lying.

"It'll come to me."

"I was on a national television commercial. I ate a messy cheeseburger, maybe that's it."

"I know exactly who you are." The leather jacket blonde beamed excitedly. "We went to high school together!"

Chuck stared at the screen, torn between respecting Sarah's privacy - pasts were very, very sensitive areas for spies, especially the ones in Team Bartowski - and shamelessly using this as an opportunity to get to know Sarah a little better.

Sarah's maybe high school acquaintance excitedly tried to place Sarah, complementing how much she had changed for the better, Sarah trying to downplay it and shoo the other woman off.

Chuck pulled his phone from his pocket. SOS, Sarah. Orange Orange. Be distracting.

"Jenny!"

Chuck watched Sarah's eyes widen, the CIA agent almost tensing.

Jenny? Chuck couldn't quite see it. Sarah looked much more like a Sarah than a Jenny to him.

"That's it, Jenny Burton!" The woman put her hand to her own chest. "Heather Chandler."

Chuck was no expert (despite his fair share of time as a social outcast) but he was fairly sure that this Heather had been a popular girl. Sarah, apparently, not so much.

"Well, Heather Ratner now. I married Mark Ratner." Heather laughed, Sarah looking impossibly more tense. "James Buchanan High, class of '98. Go, Cougars!"

Sarah awkwardly greeted her old classmate, tensing further when the door opened and admitted another stranger who probably wasn't a stranger to Sarah.

Chuck hastily sent off another text, giving the pertinent information. And a not so pertinent hurry up.

"Oh, my God, Mark, look who it is!" Heather turned to her husband, and the awkward looking guy who was probably a nerd at school, smiled back. "It's Jenny Burton!"

The guy, Mark, frowned. "Who?"

Heather smiled brilliantly. "Jenny Burton from high school. You know, the one?"

"Oh, yeah," Mark smiled, keeping his hands to himself. "Hi, Jenny. Heading down for the reunion this weekend?"

"Oh, no," Sarah shook her head. "I'm not really much of a reunion person."

Fortunately, because Chuck was getting really tired of being locked in the computer room watching this train wreck and not being able to do anything to help, the Orange Orange door opened merrily again.

On the plus side, Bryce had certainly gotten the memo about distracting.

He strolled inside, all tailored suit, perfect hair, movie star smile. Chuck saw Heather almost swoon - a feat Chuck honestly defied anyone not to do when Bryce Larkin turned the full force of his unnatural handsomeness on them.

"Hey," he greeted, all charm and that indefatigable Bryce Larkin suavity.

Sarah glanced from Bryce to the camera Chuck was unapologetically watching, a slight glare in her eyes. A glare that softened as soon as she turned helplessly back to Bryce.

Bryce's eyes softened, something like apologetic empathy shining within.

Chuck had always admired the way Bryce could read a room in about five seconds flat. He just hoped Bryce had a plan to back up that easy charm, because Sarah was not coping with this intrusion into her life.

"Bryce," Sarah greeted, tone warm but wary.

"Have you seen my wayward best friend anywhere?" Bryce asked, ignoring Heather and Mark as if they were beneath him. "We were supposed to meet and grab Reubens from that place we like but he's not answering his phone. And you know we have a mountain of work to get through before Monday."

"Is this your boyfriend, Jenny?"

Bryce smiled at Sarah, Chuck knowing that look to mean that the decision was all hers; Bryce would follow her play.

Sarah flickered an almost imperceptible apologetic smile into the camera, dimpling back at Heather. "My boyfriend's best friend, actually. Bryce Anderson."

Bryce dutifully smiled at Heather and her husband.

Sarah gestured slightly towards her former classmates. "This is Heather Ratner and her husband Mark. We went to school together."

"A pleasure to meet you both."

Mark shook Bryce's hand, saying; "And what do you do, Bryce?" as if he had to make sure Bryce and through him Chuck was good enough for Sarah or something.

"He's a giant dork masquerading as a scary superspy," Chuck muttered at the screen, somehow getting the feeling Bryce knew exactly what he had said.

Bryce's hand slipped casually into his pocket, Chuck getting a cryptic text of numbers moments later. Numbers, keypad. The code for the door.

"You're the best, buddy," he decreed, grinning at the screen as Sarah said something about Bryce owing a tech company with his best friend. A role that Chuck was only too happy to take on.

Chuck strolled out of the freezer, offering a possibly too bright grin at Sarah and Bryce. "Hey, buddy," he greeted, as if his appearance in the midst of this was completely normal.

Bryce ignored the questioning looks on Heather and Mark's faces. "Where the hell have you been? We had plans."

Chuck pointed his thumb over his shoulder, glad he'd hidden his Buy More badge. "Minor computer emergency."

"And you decided to fix the computer instead of coming to see me," Bryce teasingly shook his head. "I see where I rank."

Chuck tried on his very best you're my best friend and you love me so you can't stay mad at me even pretend smile.

"At the tipity top of my very best friend in the entire universe list?"

"Flattery won't make me do all the paperwork this time, Chuck," Bryce chided, and his frustration would be real except for the telltale twinkle in his eyes. "If we don't get it done by Monday, you know it's going to keep piling up. And up. And up."

"And that's why I like staying here with Jenny," Chuck grinned, only slightly stumbling over Sarah's apparently real name. "She's nice to me and doesn't make me do paperwork."

Bryce rolled his eyes, singularly unsympathetic. "When you talked me into starting this company, you promised you'd help out with the not fun, non tech parts."

Chuck shoved his hands into his pockets, grinning innocently. "It's not my fault you're better at the responsible stuff."

"You could be better at it if you weren't constantly skiving off to play video games."

"You call it playing video games, I call it keeping up with the technological advancements."

Bryce's eyebrows jumped straight into his hairline, eyes laughing. "Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?"

"Boys."

Bryce and Chuck both snapped their heads towards Sarah, identical sheepish smiles on their faces.

Bryce, because he was naturally cooler than Chuck (even when being a massive dork), smiled apologetically at their bemused audience.

Sarah, because they deserved it, shook her head. "They've always been this way," she told Heather conspiratorially. "I knew when I was getting into this relationship, they're a two for one deal."

Mark stepped forward, shaking Chuck's hand. "Nice to meet you, Charles, I'm Mark Ratner."

His voice, in person and not filtered through speakers, triggered the Intersect. He saw something about Winthrop-Keller Aeronautics and schematics for a new jet. Chuck shook his head a little, noting both CIA agents' concerned stares.

"What are you guys doing for dinner tonight?" Chuck asked. Heather and Mark already had the right idea of their weird relationship so, intruding really wasn't that far out of the realms of possibility.

Sarah, however, turned a don't you dare glare on him. Chuck had to give it points for being simultaneously sweet and intimidating, much like Sarah herself.

Chuck smiled ever so slightly apologetically, widening his eyes pointedly at his best friend.

Bryce, because he was well attuned to the many expressions of Chuck Bartowski, regained all attention with an easy grin. "Chuck's right," he said brightly. "We should get dinner. You and Jenny can reminisce about old times. And I'll come along with Chuck so you don't have to worry about entertaining him."

"I don't know," Sarah replied, tone heavy with implications. "It would be pretty boring for you both, listening to us walk down memory lane."

"You put up with me and Chuck at all hours," Bryce reminded her easily, apologetic but unrelenting. "One evening with you and your old friends is really the least we can do. Right, buddy?"

"Exactly," Chuck agreed, sidling a little closer to Bryce while flashing a somewhat besotted smile at his again fake girlfriend. "It's going to be great."

It was not going to be great.

It was really, really not going to be great.

The minute Heather dragged her husband out of the Orange Orange, Sarah dragged Chuck and Bryce down into the super secret spy base under the yogurt shop.

"Dinner?" Sarah hissed, glaring at them both. "What were you thinking, Chuck? And you, Bryce? Going along with it?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Chuck asked, Bryce wisely staying silent. "I flashed on the guy."

"Those people are from my past," Sarah reminded them, as if they weren't very aware of that fact. Chuck was very aware of it, what with the whole Jenny thing and Bryce being dragged back into the Anderson cover. "A past you have no business poking around in!"

"Well, I'm sorry," Chuck snapped back, slipping into his usual chair. "I was just trying to do my job. I thought you'd be pleased I used a little initiative."

Bryce fell into a seat beside Chuck, rubbing tiredly at his temples.

"Don't shoot the messenger," Casey said, backing Chuck up. "It's not the kid's fault you went to high school with a treasonous scumbag."

Chuck made a silent thank you gesture with his hands, Bryce blatantly stealing Chuck's coffee from the table without so much as a by your leave.

"Good morning, boys and girl," Beckman greeted, appearing on the screen with a muffled beep. "First matter of business: Mark Ratner. He's an engineer at Winthrop-Keller Aeronautics, has clearance to extremely sensitive plans for future weapons technology." Beckman leaned closer to the camera. "Picture the next generation of F-22 Raptors. Essentially, a superbomber."

Casey leaned forward, looking like all his Christmases had come at once.

"This technology has been leaked," Beckman continued, oblivious to Casey finding the new love of his life. "Chuck's instincts were good. Your mission is to go to dinner with the Ratners, see if Chuck flashes on anything."

"General, I apologise," Sarah began, shifting awkwardly in her seat. "I'm afraid I must recuse myself from this mission. My cover has been compromised."

"Agent Walker," Beckman chided. "You have pre-existing social history with the target. Seems to me like you have the perfect cover."

"But it's not a cover ma'am," Sarah pointed out. "It's me."

Beckman sighed, staring bluntly at Sarah. "Look to your right, Agent Walker."

Sarah did so, frowning at Chuck.

"Not at Chuck."