A/N: OMG. HI.
HOW'VE YOU BEEN DOING, NERDIES ?!
IT'S BEEN A WHILE. YOU KNOW I HAVE AN EXCELLENT EXCUSE FOR THIS LACK OF UPDATE.
COLLEGE
I like what I do, though. So, it's like this staying we have in France : c'est un mal pour un bien (no pain, no gain).
Alright, enough with the dramatics! I can't get over how much this story is loved! I feel so blessed, your guys are amazing. If it weren't for you, this would be long and forgotten in the dark deeps of my computer. So thank you, I owe it all to you, nerds.
DISCLAIMER : I own nothing.
A FEW MONTHS BEFORE NEW YORK
BURBANK, CA.
Chuck had been standing in front of the closed diner for a while, afraid of what he would find if he entered the small restaurant. He gave weird smiles and waves as customers got out of the diner and shot him weird, weary looks. Shoting a look at his watch, Chuck rolled his eyes and roaned as he realized he had been standing there for almost half an hour.
"Come on Bartowski, get a grip." The young man muttered to himself as he opened the door and entered the café.
"Hi." A young barista walked toward him. "Do you need anything, sir?"
As he was about to reply, a familiar voice spoke up.
"Don't worry, Sandy. He's with me."
And sure enough, as Chuck turned around, his brown eyes met Bryce Larkin's blue gaze. His face was covered by a Metz baseball cap and a hood and his brown hair had been cut short, but his eyes were the same. Blue, almost transparent and shining with mirth. Chuck had lived with the guy for years, he knew what he looked like.
The waitress named Sandy smiled at him before taking a pad and pen out of her arpon and saying:
"Alright, Neal. Do you need anything else?"
"Can I get the same thing for my friend here?" Bryce asked, pointing to his food as he lowered his hood.
"Sure thing. A burger with fries coming right up."
Chuck smiled at the young woman and nodded in gratitude before taking a seat in front of his former roommate. Bryce smirked at him, chewing on a fry as the spy wrinkled his nose and cocked his eyebrows, asking:
"Neal?
The former spy let out a chuckle, shrugging his shoulders as he simply answered:
"Bryce Larkin is dead. Can't travel with that identity, anymore."
Chuck nodded, still staring at him, eyes wide-opened. He didn't even noticed Sandy dropping a plate of food and glass of water in front of him. Bryce's smirk turned into a genuine grin as he tilted his head to the side and asked:
"You okay, Chucky?"
That seemed to snap him out of his transe. Rolling his eyes, Chuck took a long sip of water before muttering:
"Don't call me Chucky."
"Sorry" Bryce chuckled, raising his arms in surrender. "I just thought you were mad at me. You're not mad, are you?"
"Oh, I was mad. Not at you, though. I was pretty mad at Beckman, yell at her and was threathened to be trown in a cell, but I think I'm fine with it now. I got a month to get over it." Chuck stopped his rambling, letting out a breath before adding. "I'm glad you're okay. It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Chuck." The fake conman retorted with a nod.
With a smile, Chuck took a bite of his food then said, his mouth full:
"So, Beckman said that you needed my help on something?"
Both disgusted and amused by the sight in front of him, Bryce cleared his throat, restraining a groan, and nodded as he got out three files from his satchel bag and put them on the table. Tilting his head, Chuck swallowed his food and whipped his greased hands on his jeans before skimming through one of the files under Bryce's tense gaze. Frowning in confusion as he read, the Human Intersecret looked up at his former roommate:
"This is Roark's file." he stated.
"Yep."
"Bryce, Roark died years ago."
"So did I, and yet, we're both having this useless conversation, Chucky." The fake conman countered, cocking an eyebrow.
Bryce smirked as he watched his former best friend mutter under his breath, ignoring the use of his annoying nickname. Composing himself, the ex-spy licked his lips, then opened another folder, skimming through before he found what he was looking for. Taking the photography out of the organised file, he showed it to Chuck as he explained:
"The file you have in your hands is from the CIA archives. This one is from the Bureau. A couple of months ago, Roark's name popped up in one of our cases."
"FBI?" Chuck cocked an unimpressed eyebrow as his friend rolled his eyes "You, Bryce Larkin, work for the FBI?
"As a consultant. Now, shut up." Bryce spat, Chuck raising his hands in surrender as he added "The strange thing is that he's not being discreet about his actions. The thing even weirder is that his crimes are mainly robberies or burglaries. However, the guy is a billionaire and a terrorist, why would he need to steal, am I right?"
The spy nodded to show his agreement with his friend's reasoning, mindlessly chewing on a fry as he thought. Swallowing the food, he wondered aloud:
"Maybe he's rebuilding. Or wants to attract our attention."
"Exactly! Problem is, Roark doesn't know shit about thievery or con, so he hired some people who died." Opening the last file, Bryce pushed two men's photographies toward Chuck, the latter managing to keep up while eating.
"Meet Laurent Duris, now known as Johnathan Duris, french conman extraordinaire, and Malcom Gilbert, a Scottish forgerer. Both of them are working with Roark. But our second problem is that none of them are who they say they are."
Chuck let out a sigh as he put his elbows on the table and cupped his hands together, still frowning in confusion. Leaning closer, he asked:
"How so?"
"Johnathan Duris died during a job, two years ago. His death was confirmed, we found a body, can't be him. Gilbert, however, was created. He, suddenly, appeared when the burglaries started."
Still stuffing food in his mouth under Bryce's weary gaze, Chuck downed the contents of his mouth with water, wondering:
"Do we have any idea who they are?"
"We assume Gilbert is one of Roark's terrorits buddy or just a minion. We have some suspicion about Duris."
"Oh, please, share your knowledge with me, I cannot bear the suspens." Chuck deadpanned.
He watched as Bryce clenched his jaw, looking down at the table, as if he were trying to avoid his gaze. Sighing, the federal agent ran his fingers through his hair before looking back and saying:
"Former CIA Agent Daniel Shaw."
Chuck stopped chewing and stared at his former roommate, searching his eyes, wondering if he was just playing a – really and not funny at all – lame joke. But as Bryce stared back, his blue eyes only conveyed honesty. Swallowing his food – and sudden fury -, the Human Intersecret stated, narrowing his eyes at him:
"She told you."
Again, avoiding his eyes, Bryce gulped and simply nodded.
"Is that why you're here? Is it because it's about Shaw and you want to use me to get him?" Chuck hissed.
"No!" His response was immediate. "Of course not! I'm here because you're one of my best friends, one of the only people I can trust and because I can't do this without, Chuck."
His jaw clenched, Chuck observed his former roommate for a few more minutes before sighing and leaning back in his chair, popping on another fry in his mouth and stealing a few from Bryce's plates. He asked:
"What makes you think it's Shaw?"
Bryce seemed hesitant before continuing his tale:
"Two weeks ago, he escaped from a CIA facility. We caught sight of him and Roark." he added, pushing a photography of the two men toward Chuck "two days ago , in some café in New York City."
"You knew where he was and you didn't arrest him?" Chuck almost shouted incredulous.
Some patrons turned around, shoting him curious glances as Bryce leaned in, shushing him. Looking around him, the former spy shot charming smiles at customers when their gazes lingered for too long on them, flattening his shirt as he did so. Glaring back at Chuck, Bryce hissed through his teeth:
"Say it louder, I don't think China heard you. We're not idiots, we have right where we want him" he added, a little louder.
The Human Intersecret rolled his eyes, his fingers playing with the end of his tie. Tilting his head to the side, Chuck noticed a photography sticking out of a folder. Pointing to it, he wondered, reaching to steal more of Bryce's food:
"What's that?"
Following his friend's gaze, Bryce sighed before hiding the photography back into the folder and crossing his arms on it as he answered:
"Leverage." At the brown-haired man's confused gaze, he added "I'll explain la- and seriously, you've got your own plate, leave my fries alone!"
"You're not eating them!" Chuck protested, shrugging as he put his hands up, not before the food had reached his mouth. "Whatever, why did call me? You seem to have everything under control."
"Well, Chucky." Bryce leaned in, crossing his arms on the table. "Everything is never as it seems, right?" Then, rolling his eyes, he pushed his plate of fries and onion rings toward Chuck. "When we started working on Roark's case, I started receiving threat-letters with pretty creepy photos. Roark made it very clear that if I didn't drop the case, those I care about wouldn't be safe."
The other man, too happy with the food his friend had just given, was bearly paying attention to him. Chuck threw an onion ring in the air, then caught with his mouth, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin Bryce had just offered him.
"That sounds like Roark. I still don't see why you need my help, though."
"Firstly, I called you, because I happen to trust you with my soul, Bartowski." The pretender, then, pushed a sealed envelope toward the Human Intersecret, adding "Secondly, I'm not Roark's only target."
Frowning his eyebrows in confusion, Chuck took the envelope and slowly opened it as if he expected a bomb would explode if he wasn't careful with it. When nothing happened, he dropped the contents of it on the small table.
And his heart stopped.
If he had been eating anything at the moment, Chuck would've choke on it. Or spit it examining each photographies, photos of his sister giving his niece a bath, of a man following an oblivious Devon as the latter got out of the hospital, of his best friend coming home, or photos of himself with Sarah and Casey. And Chuck felt the urge to throw up all the food he had eaten.
Swallowing back the bile that had risen up his throat, the spy looked up at his friend and asked, his gaze and determined:
"So what's the plan, Bond?"
Bryce smirked at the college nickname he had earned. This wouldn't be so hard, he thought.
"Easy, we take them down."
"Oh really?" Chuck retorted, finishing his burger, "And how are we going to do that?"
"With skills." Bryce said, shrugging off the question. "And a lot of people."
"First, we gonna need a conman." Bryce announced as he smiled at Sandy as the woman cleaned their table and ordered them dessert.
"You are a conman. I thought you were working with conmen." Chuck deadpanned, staring at his former roommate.
"Don't you think I would be working with them if they were aware of my plan?" The blue-eyed man retorted, rolling his eyes. "Plus, Beckman said that you might know someone."
Leaning back into his chair, the spy drummed his fingers against the table, his jaw clenched as he reluctantly admitted:
"I might know someone."
Finding Jack Burton had been easier that Chuck imagined. On the bright side, they didn't have to go to Costa Rica to find the man. The thief had chosen to run to New York City – which made it easier for Bryce to keep his actual work while working on the Big Bad Plan – after the Wedding Planner work. The hard part had been to make Sarah believe that he had a Buymore-related business to deal with in New York without having Morgan and Casey – or the blonde spy herself – follow him there. But here he was, tracking his soon-to-be father-in-law in the Big Apple.
As Chuck arrived in the small garage, early in the afternoon, only three men were in it. He could see the legs of someone working under a car while the other two were sitting around a table, eating lunch. Chuck chose to approch one of them, asking about Kurt Jacob. The man merely pointed the legs under the car, taking another bite of his chili hot dog. The spy thanked him with a small nod before walking toward the working man. Loudly clearing his throat, he asked:
"Kurt Jacob?"
Chuck tilted his head to the side as he waited for Jack to slid from underneath the car. Chuck could hear the older man let out a groan as he pushed himself from under the car. Jack was, now, in view and Chuck had to restrain himself from chuckling, taking his future father-in-law's appearance as he got up and dropped his tools on a platter. Jack was dressed in a navy blue overall, his fake name broded on it and his grey-brown hair stuck in every direction. No matter how hard he tried, Chuck couldn't hide an amused smirk. His smirk grew bigger when Jack looked up and frowned. Not taking time to ponder upon Chuck's presence in New York, Jack wiped his greasy hands on an old rag and asked:
"How can I help you, Schnook?"
Chuck rolled his eyes and snorted, burying his hands in his pockets.
"How about you taking your lunch break and me buying you a hotdog?"
Surprinsgly – or unsurpinsgly, really, the guy was offered free food -, it didn't take much more to get Jack to follow him. A few minutes later, the two were strollling down Times Square, hot dogs in hands.
"You know", Jack started, sucking the ketchup off his thumb, "as much as I love free food, I'm slowly getting tired and disguted of hot dogs."
"Not my fault you're living in New York City and don't know how to cook." Chuck retorted, taking a bite of his sandwich.
Jack snorted, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded like 'when did you grow a spine." Chuck ignored it.
"Sarah know you here?" the older man wondered in faux-nonchalance.
"Nope."
"What the hell you doin' here then, Babouinski ?"
Again, Chuck ignored the con's insult and chose to walk toward a bench, not caring to see if the other was following. He was, by the way. Curiosity did killed the cat. Chuck sat down and looked up at Jack, squeeting his eyes because of the sun.
"Told you. Need your help."
"With?" Jack insisted with his eyebrows raised, sitting down next to him.
"A job." Chuck sighed, taking a bite of his sandwich.
The given answer did nothing but confuse Jack further more. The older man frowned his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes at Chuck, the latter contently eating his food while looking around the city. Much to his own disappointement, Jack took longer that he should have when he understood what Chuck had meant by 'job'. And when he did, the con man wasn't sure he had understood it right.
"You running a con?" Jack asked, his voice confused and unsure.
"Yep."
"And you need my help?" He added, disbelief replacing his incertainty.
"Yep." Chuck repeated, deadpan.
Jack glared at him, then rolled his eyes, bitting into his food. Chuck bit back a smirk and waited for him to swallow the food in his mouth and the news he had just gotten. When his mouth was empty, Jack asked:
"What's in it for me?"
"Satisfaction. Eternal gratitude. You get to run a con without having to worry about authorities. Hell, you would be running a gun with the NSA and CIA consents." The younger man retorted.
"You federals got to suck the joy out of everything." Jack muttered, ignoring Chuck's eyerolls. "Anyway, what makes you so sure I'm going to help it, Chucky boy?"
Not knowing what to answer, Chuck stuffed the rest of his hot dog in his mouth, not caring with mustard or ketchup stained with his clothes. Trying not to show that he was slowly losing his confidence and that he hadn't that much to offer him. Unfortunately for Chuck, Jack wasn't a fool.
"So, let's say I go to Sarah and ask her about this so called plan. What would she see to me?"
"She wouldn't say anything because she doesn't anything about it." Chuck retorted.
"So, you're going behind her back." The older man retorted, cocking his eyebrows.
"I'm trying to protect her." Chuck corrected, glaring at the conman.
"Sarah doesn't need protection."
Chuck glared at Jack, then scoffed lightly, running his fingers through his hair. Then, without warning, the young spy stood from the bench, balled the wrapping of his sandwich in his hands and threw it in a trash can placed a few feet away from him. Jack whistled when the paper got into the trash.
"Two points." He jested.
"Look" Chuck ignored the older man "I don't care if you help or not." Lies, he added inwardly. "But you and I know both know that, at the end of the day, we'll be in a plane to Burbank, California."
"Will we?" Jack asked, faking shock, his eyes wide opened.
"Yeah. We will" Chuck retorted, mimicking the other man's facial expression and nodding with exaggeration"Because no matter how much car oil you get on your hands reparing cars, you'll get bored easily and will be conning ten-year olds in Central Park. Every time, we mention Sarah, you come running, not caring if you're on Interpol's most Wanted List. So let's not kid ourselves, alright?
Chuck was breathless at the end of his speech and Jack's facial expression didn't betray any of his thoughts. He sighed, running his fingers through his brown hair and stuffed his hands in his pockets:
"I get it if you need some time about it. Just go back to work and-"
"I don't need time." Jack interrupted, throwing the end of his bread in his mouth.
Chewing it with his mouth close, he smirked at Chuck's bewildred expression. Wiping his hands on his already-stained jean, Jack stood up and crossed his arms, his hands under his armpits.
"When are we leaving?"
"Ok. What about back-up?" Chuck wondered aloud, leaning in his chair as Sandy set a piece of pie in and two cups of coffee on the table. Nodding at the waitress and sending a small smile her way, the spy began to dig into the dessert.
"What about it?" Bryce retorted, cocking his eyebrow and stirring his coffee.
"Chuck mimicked his friend's gesture and swallowed the food in his mouth, pointing the end of his spoon at him.
"I'm flattered – really, I am - that you think both of us can handle this without bringing anybody else. But I'm afraid I don't have that much faith in myself."
Bryce winced – both at the hot drink flowing down his throat and at the obvious flaw the Human Intersecret had just pointed in his plan – and set down his cup, sighing.
"Alright. I assume you have someone in mind."
The blue-eyed man frowned when Chuck let out a snort, both of his cheeks puffed because of the food.
"Oh trust me, I have someone in mind, alright. But you'll be the one bringing them in, Larkin."
Zondra Rizzo entered the hotel room past midnight, high heels in her hands and a little tipsy. Playing the ditzy blonde was harder than Zondra thought, and though Amy was a manipulative bitch , the latter had perfectly played the role. With a sigh, Zondra threw her shoes and clutch on the ground, careful not to trip on them when she made her way to the switch. Her sigh became a groan when the white light filled the room and Zondra thanked her lucky star for being alone; neither Sarah or Carina would stop teasing her if they found that her tolerance to alcohol wasn't that high. Taking off her platinum blonde wig, she threw it away and shook her brown hair out of her bun. That was the moment her phone chose to go off on the carpeted floor. Zondra's previous groan turned into a frustrated shout, dropping onto her knees and rummaging through her purse to find the offending object. When she did, Zondra didn't bother looking at the ID caller and brought the telephone to her ear, muttering:
"I still hate Vegas. And I'm starting to hate you too."
"Great. Do you have anything for me, Rizzo?" Carina Miller immediately retorted.
Now working full-time as a DEA agent, Carina had asked her follow C.A.T her help on a case she had been working for a while. That case was about Miguel Rodriguez, a Las Vegas casino owner and billionaire. Rodriguez had been suspected of organising arms and human trafficking and dealing drugs. To sum it in a sentence, Miguel Rodriguez was an asshole who needed to be put down. Carina's superior had shoten down her under-cover op, under the pretense that it required too many people. Also, if they chose to send someone undercover, other cases would be delayed, seeing as no one knew how long it would take to incriminate Rodriguez. So Carina had decided to reach out to Zondra
Zondra sighed and got back to her feet, using the wall as a support:
"Still got nothing about his human rings nor the drug dealing. However, the motherfucker doesn't hesitate to show off his 'really expensive and rare' collection of guns he inherited from his great-granfather whom fought in the Mexican-American war and blah-blah-blah. We still have no proof they're illegal, though."
Zondra winced in sympathy when she heard Carina groan. She could almost see the DEA agent pacing in her small apartment, perched on ridiculously high heels and her fingers tangled in her hair.
"So we basically got nothing. The administration has been on my ass for months. If we don't find proofs, Rodriguez will slip through our fingers, the case will be closed and my credibility as a Senior Agent will be inexistant."
"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, we'll find something." Zondra retorted, trying to be comforting.
"You know, maybe I can help."
Zondra liked to think that she didn't jump nor gasp when she heard this new, unknown, masculine voice interupting her conversation with Carina. Unfortunately, she did if the smug smirk on the guy's face was anything to go by. Well, there went her credibility. The moment only lasted a second, though. In a blink of an eye, Zondra seemed to have sober up, a handgun had appeared out of nowhere and placed itself in her free hand and her dark eyes were shooting lazers at the intruder.
The man, however, seemed unfazed. His smirk became wider – to Zondra's bewilderment – his eyebrows went up and he raised his hands in surrender, not taking his blue eyes off of her a second, not even when he threw his black fedora hat across the small hotel room.
"Who're you?" Zondra spat, ignoring Carina's confused chatter in her ear.
"Who I am isn't really the question," he snorted, still looking smug and confident, as if he hadn't a gun pointed to his chest. "No, the question you should ask is what I am."
The former CAT cocked an eyebrow, staring at the brown-haired idiot in front of her.
"Fine, what are you?" she humored him.
"What am I is an ally, coming in peace." he replied, taking a few steps toward Zondra "And officialy, the guy who is going to help you get Rodriguez."
Zondra scoffed, a humourless smirk contrasting with the man's amused grin.
"And how are you going to do that?"
As an answer, he reached into his jacket. More alert, Zondra took a step back and clicked the safety off her gun. With a low whistle, the intruder raised his free hand, then handed her a wallet. With a frown, Zondra dropped her phone on the bed table, carefully walked toward him, her gun still and her gaze determined, and took the wallet in a quick gesture. The man smiled and stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching her.
Zondra's dark eyes left his blue eyes as she took out an ID out of the wallet.
"FBI?"
"White Collar, to be exact.", he corrected, walking toward the small kitchen "Maybe you should put Carina on speaker, it's a long story and I don't feel like repeating it twice."
Zondra's frown deepened, but the grip on her gun lessened. Slightly lowering the weapon, she bent down and did as he instructed.
"Miller, you're on speaker." Zondra informed the other woman.
"Fuckin' finally! Who are you taking to? What the hell is going on?!" Carina screeched.
"I've no idea." Zondra muttered to herself, watching the man open the minifridge, his fingers drumming on the door and his head buried in the fridge. Weirdo.
Shaking herself out of the transe she seemed to be in, Zondra glanced at the ID he had given her, she walked into the kitchen - gun in one hand, phone in the other- and asked in a casual tone. At least, she thought it was casual.
"So, Neal-"
"Bryce." He was quick to correct her, getting a box of eggs and a bottle of hot sauce of the fridge.
Zondra narrowed her dark eyes at him. His blue gaze met hers when he raised his head out of the fridge and closed it. He shrugged a shoulder.
"I have a lot of names. It's complicated. Just go with it."
"Ok, Bryce." Zondra started again, emphasizing on the name. "What makes you so sure you can help us?"
"Because I already have." Bryce retorted, breaking eggs into a bowl and mixing with the hot sauce.
At Zondra's confused look and Carina's doubtful 'how so', Bryce rolled his eyes, "the FBI has been on Rodriguez's case for a while. He's been selling forgeries of paintings and sculptures to this Mexican drug lord and to others. Which seemed weird, because the forgeries were horrible and obviously fake. When we got our hands on one of them, we found several staches of marijuana hidden in it."
What.
"What?!" Carina shouted, echoing Zondra's thoughts. "We've been on this case for months, how could he got away with it without us noticing."
"What about the human trafficking?"
"We didn't found anything about it." Bryce sighed, adding some spices to his strange mixture. "However, we found that Wanda Heinberg, Rodriguez's former secretary, had been sent to work with one of Rodriguez's colleagues in Florida a few months ago. She never made it there. When the autopsy was done, we found at least three kilos of heroïne in her stomach. She died because one of the bags exploded."
Zondra had to swallow the bile that had risen up her throat, let out a couph and said slowly.
"He's been using his employees to smuggle drugs?"
For a second, Bryce's blue gaze hardened and his grip on the bowl tightened. Only for a second, though. Zondra didn't even have the time to blink. Bryce let out a sigh and gave her a small nod, versing his strange concoction into the mixer.
"Yeah. It's a, sadly, common thing." Once he was sure all of the bowl's content was in the mixer, Bryce gave himself a small nod, covered it and turned it on.
Zondra winced at the aggressive noise, earning a guilty smile from Bryce. Massaging her temples, the brown haired woman finally sat down on the couch, her gun on the coffee table, long forgotten. Zondra could barely hear Carina screaming in disbelief over the awful screeching. Bryce seemed to hear it to and decided to turn off the machine.
"What was that, Miller?" Bryce asked, taking the cap off and wincing at the yellow liquid before transfering it in a glass.
"Your word isn't going to be enough. FBI isn't supposed to be on this case." Carina protested.
Agreeing with her friend, Zondra turned to the 'FBI agent' and cocked an eyebrow in wonder. With a groan, Bryce popped down on the couch beside her, a glass of his disgusting mixture in his hand.
"That's why I have a written confession from one of Rodriguez's goons neatly foilded in my wallet." Bryce explained.
"It could be one of your forgeries." Zondra retorted, eyeing the glass with disgust and curiosity.
"It could." Bryce agreed with a nod. "But it's not. Beckman made sure of it."
The amount of informations did nothing but worsen Zondra's headache. Closing her eyes, she groaned and rubbed her temples with two fingers, fighting the urge to throw up.
"Beckman sent you?" Thank god for Carina and her usual weariness.
Propping his feet on the table, Bryce leaned further into the couch, the movement forcing Zondra to lean back as well.
"Well, actually Chuck is the one who sent me. He said you might be willing to help."
Her eyes still closed, Zondra frowned and crossed her arms against her chest.
"Why would Chuck send you instead of coming of himself?"
"Like I said. It's a long and a complicated story." Bryce said, pushing the glass toward her "I'll tell you all about it after you drink that."
Her eyes snapping open, Zondra glared at the glass, then him and shook her head.
"I've seen you make that. I don't care if your name is Luke Skywalker and Yoda send you to seek our help to defeat Darth Vader. There's no way in hell I'm drinking that.
Bryce let out an amused snort at the Star Wars reference before he straightened and crossed his arms, staring back at the woman without flinching.
"I know you have an headache. I know you think it's because you're hangover. But see, I also know that your cover has been blown for at least ten hours and I know that someone slipped something in your drink. Now, I don't know what it is but I'm pretty sure you'll be dead in the morning. So, either you drink that lovely concoction I made you and throw up every thing you ate and drank today or you don't and die. Choice is yours." The former spy explained, his voice emotionless and face straight.
Zondra mimicked Bryce's posture, carefully hiding her sudden distress behind a scowl as she retorted:
"And how do I know you didn't slip something in my drink just now?"
Bryce gave her an amused smile and shrugged a shoulder.
"You just have to trust me.
Scowling, Zondra took the drink, sniffed it, wincing at the smell. With a disgusted moan, she closed her eyes and pinched her nose, downing the strange mix in a gulp. And apparently, it didn't take time to work. Gagging, Zondra snatched the bottle of water Bryce was handing her out of his grasp and took huge gulp, trying to get rid of the foul taste.
Once the woman had stopped choking and gagging, Bryce started again:
"First of all, ever heard of Theodore Roark and Daniel Shaw?"
Zondra threw up.
"Explain again. How is your mother the Frost?" Bryce asked a third time, staring wide eyed at Chuck.
The spy groaned and let his head fall back, closing his eyes in frustration.
"It's a long and complicated story that I don't have the time to explain and don't want to repeat."
Chuck muttered, putting his phone back in his pocket,"the point is she's in."
Bryce hummed, taking a sip of his coffee and leaning into his chair. Both of them were silent for a moment. It didn't last long, though.
"Ok, but hear me out? Technically, you were meant to be a spy, it's in your blood. Literally. Your father was Orion and your mother is Frost! I mean, even if I didn't get you expelled from Standford, you would've become a spy." Bryce stated. "You're royalty.
Chuck glared at his friend and scoffed and downed the rest of his coffee, slightly wincing at the bitter taste.
"Yeah. Royalty or not, I quite enjoyed Stanford. Well, I liked the short amount of time I spent there, anyway." Ignoring his friend muttering – drama queen – Chuck changed the subject. "Alright, what do we need next?"
Bryce rolled his eyes, but didn't comment on it and indulged his friend's silent demand.
"What we need is someone who knows his way around a computer. Beside ourselves, of course." He quickly added when Chuck opened his mouth to protest once more.
Chuck hummed, thoughtful before a smirk appeared on his face, his eyes shining with mischief.
"I got just the guy."
Chuck and Morgan had been strolling in Buy More's alleys when the former had quickly explained his and Bryce's plan to his short, bearded friend. Well, after assuring himself that Casey was no where to be seen and that Morgan could stay quiet and discreet about the matter when they were in the open. And now that Chuck thought about it, he could have pick a better moment. He restrained a groan, watching Morgan bouncing up and down and 'whispering' excitedly. Frankly, Chuck didn't think Morgan knew how to whisper. Nor how to be discreet. His hands in his pockets, the Human Intersecret followed his friend, occasionaly watching his surroundings and helping customers.
"This is going to be awesome, Chuck! I'm so glad you came to me for this 'cause this is something-Hey." Morgan stopped their strolling – and his rambling – by putting a hand on Chuck's chest "You know I won't screw this up, right?"
Chuck's annoyance slowly vanished when he met Morgan's hopeful gaze. With a small smile and a pat on the back, he reassured him:
"Of course I know you won't. That's why I'm trusting you with this. Just one little thing, though?"
"Sure, anything Boss" Morgan nodded, reminding Chuck of a Star Wars bobblehead his father had offered him on his 8th birthday.
Chuck's gaze shifted to Casey's form, a few aisles away. The imposing man was glaring down a group of teens who had tried to pocket earbuds earlier. Apparently aware that he was being observed, Casey looked up and greeted Chuck with a curt nod. The latter gave him a half smile and a small wave before turning back to Morgan.
"Keep it down around Casey, alright? He doesn't know anything about it." Chuck explained, his eyes darting to Casey once more as he played with the end of his tie.
Morgan followed his friend's gaze and winced in understanding.
"Got'cha.", then added, his eyes wide opened "Wait- Casey doesn't know anything about this?"
"Yeah, that's what I just said." Chuck deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow.
"Dude." Morgan whined, throwing his head back and rubbing his eyes "I thought he didn't nothing about my involvement in it.
"When I said anything, I meant it." The Human Intersecret thought for a couple of seconds then shrugged and added "Beside, what Casey doesn't know won't kill him."
"Yeah but it might kill me, Chuck!"
Again, the taller man thought about it, his lips pursed. Chuck shrugged again and shook his head, squeezing Morgan's shoulders.
"Nah, you've been dating his daughter for months and you're still breathing. You'll be fine, man."
He, then, walked away, not having to turn around to know that Morgan has following him and grumbling in his beard. Chuck had to strain his neck to follow Casey's movements through the store. He panicked when he thought he'd lost him in the crowd, then let out a sigh of relief when he saw him helping an elderly a few seconds later. Not deeming it necessary to keep an eye on his partner, Chuck decided to go back to work, even though Morgan was still following him.
"What do you guys got to keep quiet?"
Chuck jumped and Morgan let out a yelp at the sudden voice. Both twirled around to face the new arrival. Alex was staring at them, her arms crossed and her blue eyes shining with curiosity and amusement. Chuck was the first to regain his senses and, after clearing his throat, greeted her with a:
"Hey Alex."
Chuck liked Alex. The younger woman was nice, smart and was crazy about Morgan. The brown haired woman had fitted well withing their small family and they didn't hide anything frim hair. And apparently, Alex had inherited her sneaking-ninjas skills from her father.
"Hey Chuck." Alex greeted back with a warm and genuine smile, then turned to Morgan. "Hey, honey."
That seemed to snap Morgan out of the daze he was in.
"Good afternoon, love."
Alex squinted her eyes at him and Chuck frowned in confusion, throwing a what-the-fuck-dude look his way. Morgan closed his eyes for a second, took a small breath before opening them again. Clearing his throat, Morgan shot a nervous grin at his girlfriend, trying – and failing – to lean against Chuck's cubicle.
"What's up?"
"I don't know, 'love'. What's up with you guys?" Alex retorted.
Chuck was ready to answer but Morgan beat him to it.
"We'replanningtogotoNewYorktotakedowntwoterroristsandnoryourfatherorSarahknowaboutit." Morgan admitted in one breath.
"What?!" Alex squealed, her smile vanishing. Obviously, it wasn't the answer she was expecting.
"Morgan." Chuck hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes wide opened as he glared down at his friend.
Realizing his own mistake, Morgan gasped and covered his mouth with both of his hands. Chuck cursed under his breath, turning his attention to the end of the store where Casey – much to his relief – was still busy with customers. Alex was still staring at the two men, gaping like her fish out of the water. Finally, the brunette came to back to her senses and closed her mouth.
After quickly throwing a look in her father, Alex grabbed both of the men's ties and dragged them away from prying eyes, ignoring their protests and cries of indignation until they arrrived in the locker rooms. Chuck untightened the knot around his neck and thew a glare at Alex while Morgan was doing the same, muttering:
"God, I swear, there must be something with this family, always responding with violence."
Alex threw him a glare, growling lowly, which made Chuck take a step back and Morgan swallow his words. Casey would be proud.
"What the hell you two are going to New York for?" Alex spat.
"Nothing." Chuck immediately said. Morgan nodded next to him and added "What he said."
Unfortunately for them, Alex was having none of their shit. She just kept glaring at them, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms. Morgan stuffed his hands in his pockets, kicking the floor with the tip of his shoe. Chuck rolled his eyes and sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
"You heard him." Chuck simply said, nodding at Morgan.
"You expect to affront two terrorists without back-up. Why haven't you told Dad?" The more she learned, the more her eyebrows seemed to raise on her forehead.
"Woh, first of all : thanks for the vote of confidence, you're really know how to make a guy feels nice about himself." Chuck protested, gesturing at himself. Alex had the decency to look a bit ashamed. "Second of all, I didn't tell anything to Casey because of reasons, so keep mum about it. And finally, what makes you think we don't have back up?"
Alex looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn't, much to Chuck's surprise. Instead, she sat down on the bench and crossed her legs, her lips pursed in thoughts.
"Alright. I won't say anything." Alex conceded, smirking as both men let out sighs of relief. "But I want in, though."
The response that followed was unanimous.
"Excuse me?!" Morgan squealed, then groaned, pulling on his tie as if he couldn't breathe. "All of you want to see me dead."
"Absolutely not." Chuck refused, shaking his head.
Alex didn 't say anything. She just tilted her head to the side and turned her gaze to Chuck, shoting the latter a small smirk, which unsettled the man. He gulped.
Chuck didn't remember much of what happened in the locker room. He just knew that, somehow, Alex had convinced him to tell her about their plan. He also remembered nodding a lot, imitated by Morgan. At the end, the younger woman walked out of the room with a broad grin on her face, a jump in her step and leaving both men confused, exhausted. Still in some sort of daze, Morgan patted Chuck on the back before walking back to his office. Chuck walked to his cubicle, his eyes on Alex as she hugged her father and talked to him for a few seconds. As if she knew he was watching him, Alex looked back at him, still grinning – like the Cheschire Cat, the nerd added inwardly – and gave him a small wave.
Chuck couldn't help but let out a scoff, a small smile on his lips, as he watched the young woman walk out of the BuyMore. Casey should be proud.
"Are we sure that we need Alex?" Bryce wondered, cocking an eyebrow, doubtful.
"Not really." Chuck answered with a shrug, ripping his napkin into pieces. At the other man's groan, he quickly added "Don't worry about it, I take full responsibility for Alex. You trust me, right?"
"Sure." Bryce's tone was still doubtful. Chuck decided to ignore him.
"So, it'll be fine." He assured in fake enthusiasm, leaning into his chair and rolling his neck.
"Sure." Bryce repeated, in a deadpan tone.
Chuck rolled his eyes, much to his friend's amusement. With a sigh, Bryce leaned over the table and said:
"Finally, we'll need a bait."
To his benefit, Bryce didn't even winced when Chuk exclaimed loudly, his eyes wide opened:
"Excuse me?!"
"Excuse me?!" Ellie screeched, ignoring the three men's winces "You want to use me as a bait?"
Sitting on the couch oppossing his sister and her husband, Chuck threw a look at Bryce, which the latter seemed to be trying to ignore. Chuck scowled and looked back at his sister, almost whimpering at the deadly glare she was sending his way. Even with her hair in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and an old UCLA sweatshirt stained with baby drool, Ellie looked terrifying.
"Ur.. Yes?"
"Chuck!" Ellie yelled again, jumping to her feet and ignoring Devon's warning not to wake Clara. Her glare hardened when cries were heard. Devon groaned, throwing his head back.
"It was my idea, Ellie, no need to yell at Chuck." Bryce interved, also standing up and silencing the older woman.
Clara's piercing cries were the only things they heard for a moment. Devon's gaze moved from Ellie to Chuck, then from Chuck to Bryce and, finally, from Bryce to Ellie. Letting out a breath, he stood up and clapped his hands.
"Alright, then I'll take care of Clara. No worries."
Silence was his only answer. Devon didn't wait for one, though.
"Ok. Bye!"
Then he sped up the stairs.
Ellie crossed her arms and slowly walked toward Bryce, the latter unknowingly taking a step back. Stopping in front of him, Ellie looked up and narrowed her eyes. The sight could've been hilarious : A barefoot Ellie forced to tilt her head back so she could look him in the eyes, standing chest to chest with the taller man. But no one laughed.
"No one spoke to you, double zero. So," Bryce had to stop himself from flinching when Ellie put her hand on his chest."Why don't you just sit down and keep you trap shut?!"
With a humorless – terrifying – grin, the woman forcelly pushed Bryce back, the latter almost falling off the couch. Losing the smile, Ellie turned back to her younger brother.
"Chuck. Kitchen. Now."
She didn't wait for an answer before storming away. Chuck groaned, let his head fall back, running a hand over his face, and shot a last look at his friend. Bryce was tugging at his collar, a stange expression on his face. His blue eyes eventually met Chuck's gaze and with his eyes wide-opened, Bryce mouthed to him:
'Good. Freakin'. Luck.'
Chuck rolled his eyes and flashed him the bird then followed to Ellie to the kitchen. Over the bar, the young woman was still glaring at Bryce. When she finally noticed her brother's presence, Ellie chose to glare at him instead. And punched him in the arm. Hard.
"Ow- El' what the hell?" Chuck blurted, rubbing his arm.
" 'What the hell?'" Ellie shot him a wide-eyed look then slapped his chest. Repeatdly. "What the hell is right! I should be the one asking that."
When she was about to hit him again, Chuck grabbed both of her hands in one, leaving her gaping for a second.
"Would you stop abusing me for a minute and let me talk ? Geez, woman. Calm down." Chuck chastisied.
Ellie glared at him, then snatched her hands out of his grasp, crossing her arms against her chest, as if it would stop her from hitting him again. Seeming to come to the same conclusion, Chuck gave her a small nod and rolled his shoulder.
"Talk." Ellie spat without any heat. She looked more tired than annoyed now.
And talked he did. Chuck explained Bryce's – and his, people were too quick to put the blame on Bryce – plan two more times, going over each detail to assure that, normally – hopefully – nothing would go wrong. At the end of his rant, Ellie had seemed to calm down but still looked doubtful. After a few seconds of hesitation, Chuck put both of his hands on her shoulders, then started rubbing down and up her arms in a soothing motion.
"Ellie, you know I have to do this. For Dad."
The older woman shot a small glare at her brother, which the latter ignored, his brown eyes locked in hers. Running her fingers through her hair, Ellie started gnawling on her bottom lip. She knew why they were doing this. Ellie wanted to get revenge on Shaw as much – if not more – as Chuck. She understood their plan and also knew that Chuck would never have agreed to it if it made her a real target. It was a good plan. Ellie still found a flaw in it, though. And he was sitting on her couch.
"I don't know, Chuck." Ellie admitted, throwning a glance at Bryce.
Chuck followed the small movement and sighed, letting his arms fall.
"Look, I know you don't trust Bryce-"
"With good reasons." Ellie muttered, raising her eyebrows.
"-And I'm not asking you to." Chuck continued, ignoring her once more. "But I'm asking you to trust me. You do trust me, right?"
She did trust him. Despite all the lies he had told her, Chuck was probably the only person she trusted and would always trust. But still, Ellie hesitated. And the reason of her distrust was sitting on her couch. Bryce Larkin. The guy who had gotten her little brother kicked out of Standford. The guy who faked his death so many times Ellie wondered if he was even human. Bryce Larkin. The guy who had made Chuck a target to some, a weapon to others and got away with it. That guy, she did not trust.
"I trust you."
The sudden intervention made Ellie jump and turn around. Chuck didn't seemed as spooked when he turned his head and raised a curious eyebrow at Devon. Apparently, some time during the siblings' bickering, the doctor had made his way downstairs. The handsome doctor was leaning against the bar and staring at both Ellie and Chuck, his gaze lingering a few seconds longer on the former before his eyes settled on the latter. Behind him, Bryce was standing up, looking a little taken aback. Straightening, Devon crossed his arms and cleared his throat.
"We trust you." He said again, emphasizing on the we, throwing a look at his wife, then added, looking at Chuck "I mean, you must have thought about it all and tried to find another solution. If you so sure about this plan and got it all figured it out, nothing could go wrong. Right?"
Chuck met Devon's gaze for a few seconds and looked over the man's shoulder, staring at Bryce. The latter stared back, then turned his head to Ellie.
"Right." Bryce agreed,without an ounce of hesitation.
Chuck looked down at his sister, the latter's gaze going from her husband to Bryce.
"El?" The Human Intersecret asked, his voice hesitant.
And it was that small hesitation that broke Ellie. Looking up, she met Chuck's puppy brown eyes that could get anyone – it worked on Casey, so she really meant anyone – to do anything. With a tired smile, she admitted:
"Of course I trust you."
"Ok, what about Devon?" Bryce frowned his eyebrows, tearing his napkins into tiny pieces. "How do you know he won't screw up?"
His eyes closed, Chuck groaned and let his head fall backwards, rubbing a hand over his face.
"He won't." He muttered. Bryce stared at him, his expression deadpan , until Chuck gave in and opened his eyes "He won't. He worked with us before, he knows what to do and what no to do. If he screw up, I'll take responsibility for it. Trust me on this one, k'?"
Not entirely convinced by his friend's speech, Bryce let out a sigh and scooped all the small pieces of paper he had teared apart in his hands before letting them drop into his empty coffee cup.
"Fine."
Chuck let out a sigh himself and gave him a small nod in gratitude. After downing the rest of his coffee, Chuck cleared his throat and asked:
"So, what's next?"
"Next, we'll have to organize a meeting with the entire team and our benefactor." Bryce explained, intertwining his fingers on the table.
Chuck frowned in confusion, not reassured by Bryce's grin.
"We have a benefactor?"
Bryce's grin turned into a feral smirk.
"Oh, yeah. Yes, we do."
Bryce looked at Chuck with a smile, the latter humming the Mission Impossible theme song with a RedVine hanging out of his mouth while trying to establish a connection with Beckman. Unlike himself, Chuck seemed completely at ease and oblivious to the eight other people of their team discussing. As if he knew Bryce was staring at him, Chuck looked up and frowned at his friend. Bitting into his cherry flavored licorice, he offered the rest of it to Bryce. The brunette refused the food with a shake of his head and a polite frowning, Chuck put the sweet back in his mouth and turned back to his computer.
"You okay?"
Even though Chuck wasn't looking at him, Bryce nodded. At the lack of response, the Human Intersecret stopped his taping and looked up at his friend again, cocking an time, Bryce avoided his gaze. Staring forward, the brunette cleared his throat and wondered, his tone hesitant:
"This is going to work, right?"
"Yeah" Chuck retorted with a groan, straightening and stretching his arms over his head "Why wouldn't it?"
"I dunno." Bryce gave a small shrug, faking nonchalance.
Chuck raised both his eyebrows at him, noticing that Bryce was still avoiding his gaze and was wrankling nervously his hands. With a sigh, Chuck dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder, wincing when Bryce jumped a little and turned to him, blue eyes wide opened.
"It's going to work, Bryce. Don't worry about it." It has to work, he added inwardly.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bryce nodded – it was more to reassure himself that to show confidence in his own plan – and Chuck imitated, squeezing his shoulder and giving him a pat on the back before turning to his laptop.
"You ready?" Chuck asked.
Again, Bryce nodded before taking the pad that was in front of him.
"Alright, then." Chuck said, before pressing a button on his keyboard and turning around to face the screen behind them. "We're officialy live."
And as the words left his mouth, General Beckman's face appeared on the large screen they had projected it on. Her red hair was up in a usual tight bun, she was wearing her uniform and her facial expression was stern, as always. Beckman quickly scanned the room – her face betraying none of her thouhgts – before her gaze settled on the two men standing in the front.
"General." Chuck adressed her first, his arms behind his back.
"Agent Bartowski. Mr Larkin." Beckman greeted back, her eyes focusing on Bryce.
"General." Bryce repeated with a polite nod, imitating Chuck's posture.
"I hear that you two had gathered all of us here because you have a plan to take down Roark and Shaw for good." Beckman said, cocking an eyebrow. Once again, Bryce could do nothing but nod. "Well, the floor is yours, gentlemen."
Chuck and Bryce exchanged a look, the former giving the latter a small nod. Bryce let out a breath, his grip on the pad tight, and both men turned to the small crowd gathered in the room. Clearing his throat, Bryce unlocked his tablet and was quickly imitated by Chuck and eight other people in the room. Clearing his throat, Bryce looked up and started, his voice confident and unwavering.
"The people we are looking for are former CIA agent Daniel Shaw and Theodore Roark, founder and former CEO of Roark Instruments..."
A/N : TBC.