Title: Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps
Rating: PG-13 for some crazyness
Fandoms: Chuck, Supernatural, Gilmore Girls, and like…everything else in the world
Pairings: Chuck/Sarah, Bryce/Jo, everything else ever
Summary: Bryce Larkin and Jo Harvelle are thrown into the worst mission ever, as they attempt to stage a successful wedding in the hopes of drawing out a terrorist. The problem? They kind of hate each other.
The alarm went off just after her eyes shot open and she reached out with a thin hand to hit the snooze button. A little too hard, apparently because she knocked it off the bedside table and it clattered to the floor.
She huffed and rolled over, pushing her blonde hair away from her eyes and letting the nightmare she'd been having drift away from her. If she was going to go to work, she'd need a clear head.
"No distractions, Harvelle," Casey always said. "You get distracted in the field you get dead."
There were some days Jo Harvelle wondered if she should very well be dead, but today wasn't one of them; she couldn't afford for it to be.
Shaking off the rest of her bad dream, she slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom for a quick shower. Quick not because she was running late, but because being early for a meeting with your NSA superiors wouldn't be a bad idea.
It was still a little surreal, even three years later, that she was working for the NSA, living in a nice little apartment in DC that she barely used because her new job took her anywhere and everywhere at the drop of a hat.
They'd come to her after the Apocalypse had been stopped. Of course they'd known it was going on. It was naive for any of them to think that just because the FBI was clueless, other agencies were as well.
She'd had nothing, then; no job, no home, and they had offered her a purpose.
"You don't have to live this life," Casey had told her. "I'm offering you a chance to start over. Serve your country. You're tough, and you're smart, and it's being wasted."
That had been insulting, that last part.
"Guys like the Winchesters, they're in too deep," Casey had explained. "Not only is their rap sheet the length of a football field, but they're technically dead. You...what do you have? A couple of misdemeanors? If that?"
It had been a hard choice. It meant leaving a lot of ghosts behind, and giving up on a lot of old ideas; coming to the realization that being a hunter didn't really bring her any closer to the father she barely remembered, and that her mother had been right to try and keep her out of that life.
Jo wished she could tell her that. But it was a little on the late side, considering the woman had died.
She wondered what her mother would think of her new job.
Ellen Harvelle would have probably hated it, and told her that "just cause it ain't hunting, that don't mean it's not dangerous."
Which it was.
Dean had been completely, totally right in his summation of the human race: "Demons I get. People are crazy." And few were crazier than terrorists.
But she had come to count those few in the "crazier than a terrorist" category as colleagues, and acquaintances. Because, she figured out, that most of the people who resided in said category worked for National Security and Central Intelligence, and if they didn't do that, they were probably hunters.
"You never really get out of the life," Sam had once said to her, before he died. "You can hide from it for a little bit, but you're never really out. It'll always be there, waiting to swallow you up. Just cause it can."
Jo got dressed, grabbed her bag and headed for her car.
Bryce Larkin was supposed to be dead.
It was something that people had been saying to him for a number of years, ever since that ugly business with Fulcrum and the Ring, and the Intersect and all of that other crazy crap that had pulled his college roommate from the doldrums of the Burbank Buy More into the spy life.
Bryce should have been dead. He couldn't remember how many times he'd been shot, but it was a lot, and he was still alive.
The last time he'd seen the aforementioned college roommate the man had dubbed him "Dead!Bryce."
Leave it to Chuck Bartowski to be an asshole and yet totally endearing at the same time.
He supposed after everything that had happened Bryce deserved a whole lot worse than a little ribbing, and he was grateful that Chuck was still willing to be his friend, even though he didn't completely trust him, and probably never would again.
Now, Bryce was sitting in the waiting room outside General Beckman's office, awaiting his next mission. Across from him sat a petite, pretty blonde, and he wondered if they had conflicting appointments or if she was merely early. He had the ten AM spot, after all, and it was nine fifty-five.
They glanced at each other for a moment and then the woman crossed her arms and looked away.
'Oh,' Bryce thought absently. 'Yowch. Cold fish.'
The door to the office opened and Jenna-the-secretary walked out. "The General will see you now."
Bryce got to his feet, and so did the blonde.
"Uh...this is my appointment," he said, giving her a charming, yet awkward smile.
The woman merely rolled her eyes and headed for the office door. "Somebody never learned to share their toys."
Bryce frowned, but followed. "I can share," he muttered. "Share all the time..."
General Diane Beckman looked up at them sharply, taking them in, obviously critiquing them in her head. What she was critiquing them on, or why, Bryce had no idea, but he, like the agent next to him, stood up straight with his hands behind his back.
"Agent Larkin. Agent Harvelle. Have a seat."
They both did, taking the chairs without really acknowledging each other.
"Agent Joanna Harvelle," the General said, nodding to the woman. "Meet Agent Bryce Larkin of the CIA."
Bryce nodded. "Harvelle."
"Larkin," she nodded back. She was obviously trying not to smirk at him, but he wasn't sure what was so funny. Did he have something in his teeth?
"You shouldn't be so formal with each other," Beckman told them. "After all. You're going to be married in a month."
Silence fell over the office. Bryce looked at Harvelle, his blue eyes wide and shocked. She didn't look much better with her nose scrunched and her brown eyes narrowed at him.
Bryce opened his mouth and turned to the General. "While I'm glad that Agents Bartowski and Walker are on their way to having their spy flavored happily ever after, I don't think forcing marriages on agents-"
"The terrorist Cameron James is back on US soil," Beckman interrupted him.
Bryce shut his mouth. "Right. This is a mission."
Harvelle snorted, and he rewarded her with a glare.
"James will no doubt be after you, Agent Larkin," Beckman went on. "And we have to draw him out. A wedding is the perfect setup."
"And we're all aware that he's the bride in this situation, right?" Harvelle smirked, pointing a thumb at Bryce, whose face soured.
"Agent Harvelle, this is serious," Beckman scolded. "The two of you are to make the next month as public as possible. Other agents will be posing as family and friends, and you'll have a budget and a wedding planner provided for you."
"Other agents," Bryce repeated. "Do I get to pick these other agents?"
Beckman sighed. "Don't worry, Agent Larkin. Chuck and Sarah are on a plane from Burbank as we speak, along with Colonel Casey, who will be posing as Jo's uncle."
"Jo?" Bryce asked, turning to Harvelle. "They call you Jo? Like...Joe the plumber?"
"People who live in glass houses and have dumbass names like Bryce shouldn't throw stones," Jo told him. She turned back to Beckman. "Is Sarah gonna be on my side or his?"
His eyes widened. "You know Sarah?"
"Agent Walker and Colonel Casey helped train Agent Harvelle, and as I understand it, Agent Harvelle and Agent Walker have...a past," Beckman explained. "You'll have to work out the relations of each agent for yourselves."
Bryce huffed and sat up. "With all due to you, General, and to...Agent Harvelle...I don't know if I can work with her on this. I'm used to working alone."
"Doesn't share toys, and doesn't play well with others," Jo said under her breath with a smirk.
Bryce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Agent Harvelle was trained by Colonel Casey. Who, I'm sure we're all aware, doesn't like me very much. I don't see how things will run smoothly if I'm working a very sensitive job with one of his students."
"Figure it out," Beckman told him. "And Agent Harvelle, please stop teasing Agent Larkin. He's apparently feeling sensitive today."
"Must be that time of the month," Jo commented.
Bryce sat back, crossing his arms. Clearly, he wasn't going to win any sort of verbal spar, at least not here.
The General cleared her throat. "Agent Larkin, you and Agent Harvelle will be provided a townhouse for the next month to give the allusion that the two of you are a couple preparing for your wedding."
One glance at Jo told Bryce that she wasn't expecting that at all.
"You will live together, go on scheduled dates, and do all the things a normal couple in love would do. We will place agents around the corner of the townhouse at all times, and we already have a team tailing James."
"One question, General," Bryce said. "If we're making this highly public, what's to stop our real families from finding out?"
"Nothing," she said simply. "We're banking on making this look as real as possible."
Bryce's jaw clenched. That was not good. He turned to Harvelle. "You can't possibly be alright with this; involving your family in this."
A cold silence fell over the room, and Bryce felt the color drain from his face. He glanced at Jo, who shifted in her chair, and didn't meet his eyes.
"Oh."
"You're both dismissed," Beckman said.
"How do you know Sarah?"
Oddly Bryce had a hard time keeping up with Jo as they walked out of the NSA building.
"She trained me."
Bryce shook his head. "Beckman said there was a different connection. And Sarah doesn't train people. The CIA is too wary of how uncontrollable she can be to let her train anybody."
Jo scoffed a little as she headed toward an old blue GTO. "I guess that makes sense. She always was a little wild."
"You gonna answer my question?" Bryce called after her. "We are supposed to be getting married now, you know."
"You're the super spy," she threw over her shoulder as she opened up the car door. "You figure it out."
Bryce watched her hop into the car and start a grumbling engine.
It wasn't until after she'd driven off that he realized that she had taken the directions to their new townhouse with her, and he had no idea where he was supposed to go.
After obtaining the information he needed back in Beckman's office, Bryce hopped into the car the CIA had provided him and sped off down the road.
He sighed heavily. It was going to be a long month.
Bryce played with his blue tooth, getting it settled on his ear as he drove and managed to get Chuck's number dialed in.
"This is Agent Bartowski! How can I service you?"
"Funny, Chuck."
"Hey, Buddy. How's it going? How's your new assignment treating you?"
Bryce sighed. "You mean my impending phony nuptials with Agent Harvelle? We're spending a month undercover as an engaged couple, and apparently staging a fake wedding to draw out a terrorist."
"I heard. Very RomCom."
"Tell me about it."
"It'd make a great movie."
"Yep."
"So? How is engaged life?" Chuck teased.
Bryce rolled his eyes. "Stop it. When are you getting here?"
"Tomorrow," Chuck said. "We're packing today."
"Is Sarah there?"
"Yes she is."
"Can I have a word?"
"I will check." Chuck's hand covered the receiver, but Bryce could still hear bits and pieces of conversation, and then a heavy sigh.
"Hi, Bryce."
"Hey, Sarah."
"What?"
"Not happy to hear from me?" Bryce asked.
"I'm fine hearing from you," Sarah replied simply. "Since when do we do small talk? What do you need?"
"Joanna Harvelle."
Sarah became oddly quiet at that.
"Sarah?"
"How do you know Jo?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing," Bryce told her. "I just got paired up on this mission with her. Beckman said you helped train her, but I know that you've never been assigned a trainee. Well, Chuck. But that hardly counts."
"Jo...Bryce, Jo is my sister."
"What?" Bryce asked.
"What?" Chuck cried in the background.
Sarah sighed heavily. "Not...really. Not technically. But we grew up together."
Bryce frowned. "Good to know. I should probably let you go so you can explain the details to your boyfriend."
"Yes you should."
"See you, Sarah."
Bryce tapped on the door of the old row house in Dupont Circle and sighed heavily, looking around the nice neighborhood. It had taken a lot longer than he'd hoped to get into the city, but what did he expect from a place built for the purpose of confusing people.
The door swung open and there was Jo, leaning casually, wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a black t-shirt; a far cry from the tailored dress she'd worn in General Beckman's office. She grinned. "Took you long enough."
Bryce grimaced. "Can I come in, please?"
She stepped aside and let him step into the house. It had been redone and decorated, obviously by the NSA and CIA. It was narrow, but long; the living room furnished nicely with a large fireplace and an ornate staircase just in front of the door. There was a half wall that separated the living room from the small, but functional kitchen, and there was a bar to sit at instead of a kitchen table. Through the kitchen, Bryce could see a doorway that hid another staircase.
"Nice place," he told her.
She nodded. "Yeah. They didn't skimp. Bedrooms are upstairs, along with the bathroom."
"There's only one?"
Jo nodded again. "Just one. Looks like we'll get to know each other pretty well."
"Lock on the bathroom door works?"
"Your delicate sensibilities are in luck," Jo told him. "They dropped off some real terrible photoshopped pictures of us while we were at Fort Meade; hung 'em up all over."
"You'd think they'd hire better graphic artists," Bryce muttered as he got a look at a photo of the two of them, cuddling on a picnic blanket. Bryce's head in the photo was much too small for the body it was placed on, and the tilt of Jo's head didn't match her body language at all.
Jo grinned a little and then crossed her arms. "Make yourself at home."
Bryce nodded and watched her walk toward the kitchen, before following her. "We should probably get to know each other. We're supposed to be getting married after all."
She turned to him and leaned against the bar. "Yeah, okay."
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
"Okay," Bryce said awkwardly. "Okay, I'll start. My name is Bryce. I was born and raised in Connecticut. I went to Stanford University, and am now apparently fake marrying you."
"Well, it's real nice to meet you," Jo replied thinly.
He waited patiently, rocking on his heels and looking around the cheerily decorated kitchen, with its blue and white checkered wallpaper, and white tiles.
"It's your turn," Bryce said quickly as his patience wore out.
Jo sighed. "I'm Jo. I was born and raised in Nebraska. I, apparently, am fake marrying you right back."
"That's it? That's all I get?"
"What else do you want, my bra size?"
Bryce grinned charmingly. "Wouldn't hurt."
"Ooh, he thinks he's funny."
"Where'd you go to school?"
"I didn't go to college," she told him, pulling open the large refrigerator and pulling a beer out.
Bryce frowned for a moment before recovering. "Well, you're a beer drinker. I know that now."
Jo rolled her eyes.
"I know something else about you," Bryce said.
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Sarah Walker is your sister."
She stopped and then grinned a little as she lifted a leg, using the heel of her boot to pop the cap off of her beer. "Used that super spy crap to find out, huh?"
"I made a phone call," he replied lightly, watching her. "She's dating an old buddy of mine."
Jo frowned. "Sarah's got a boyfriend?"
"Shocked me, too."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Never pictured Sarah having a steady relationship," Jo told him. "She never seemed the type. Especially after joining the CIA."
"She definitely had the tendency to be a little cold," Bryce agreed.
Jo quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"We dated."
She groaned. "God, I've stepped into All My Spies, haven't I?"
Bryce grinned a little. "Something like that."
Jo shook her head. "How do you CIA Spooks get anything done when all you do is sleep with each other?"
Bryce gave a short laugh. "We manage."
"Uh-huh."
He bit his lip, still trying to figure her out. "There a beer in there for me?"
"I dunno. Is there?" she asked, taking a sip from her own bottle.
Bryce shook his head and pulled the refrigerator open, looking inside at its full stock. "You really are a cold fish. You're not even trying."
"Trying to what?" Jo snapped, turning to him. "Flirt with you? You want me to get all giggly and melt all over you cause you're some hot shot spy?"
"Hey- I just wish you'd be more friendly," Bryce bit back, pointing the beer bottle he'd just pulled from the fridge at her.
"I've known you for like an hour!" Jo cried.
"And I've known you for an hour," he pointed out. "You don't see me giving you the cold shoulder."
"Mhm. That's cause you're tryin'a get into my pants."
Bryce stared at her for a long moment, before starting a search for a bottle opener in the kitchen cabinets. He had to be honest; Jo was beautiful, and if it weren't for her freezer-burn attitude, he'd try harder to flirt with her. "That's only a little true."
Jo rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Whatever, Super Spy Barbie."
He scoffed. "Me? I am not Super Spy Barbie, you are Super Spy Barbie."
She crossed her arms. "Oh really? I thought I was a cold fish."
"You are a cold fish," he said through gritted teeth as he pulled a silver bottle opener from the back of a drawer.
"Well this cold fish is takin' her beer up to the master bedroom," Jo told him as she headed for the back staircase.
"You do that!" Bryce cried as he struggled to get his beer open.
"I will!" She called down from the stairs.
"Fine!" he growled.
"Fine!"
A door slammed on the second floor just as the cap to Bryce's beer flew across the room, and he spilled the contents of the bottle all over his shirt.
He slumped back against the counter with a groan.