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 new alternate Star Trek 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."