Chuck ducked and rolled behind his couch, sucker dart gun in his hands. "You're a dead man, Larkin!"

Bryce's voice carried on the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "Many have tried, none have succeeded."

High stakes Buy More Gotcha! was currently out of their reach, but high stakes Chuck's apartment Gotcha! was alive and kicking. He and Bryce had decided to take advantage of the empty apartment, and the recent news of Chuck's assistant managerial interview time, to finally restart their Stanford tradition.

Chuck saw a flash of movement in the television screen, a dart landing on the surface with a muffled pop. Seeing his window, Chuck turned and fired as quickly as he could.

"Too slow, buddy," Bryce called, laughter tripping over his voice.

"I'm thinking this superspy thing is giving you an unfair advantage," Chuck complained, fully aware Bryce knew exactly where he was and was undoubtedly biding his time. He crawled on his stomach around to the front of the couch, hoping to catch Bryce in his next move.

"Take it up with the CIA," Bryce smirked, still doing the thing with his voice that made it impossible to pinpoint.

Chuck risked a peek over the top of the couch, scanning from the kitchen to the corridor. "I don't think Gotcha! was what they had in mind when they trained you."

A considering sort of noise drifted on the air. "Perhaps not, but you can't hide all day."

That was annoyingly true. Ellie would be back with Halloween decorations any time now. And when she came back, Chuck would be expected to help decorate, not play a slightly silly game with his friend. "I can hide long enough to wait you out, Bryce."

Bryce's chuckle echoed around the apartment. "It's cute you think that."

Sensing Bryce was about to make a move, Chuck shimmied along the floor, hoping to hide in the kitchen before his friend could get to him. He heard a whistle of air, a mild stinging sensation accompanied a weird suction in the middle of his forehead.

The CIA agent dropped down from the kitchen island, ignoring Chuck's glower with an ease born of endless repetition. "Gotcha," Bryce smirked, spinning the gun on his finger. "I win."

Chuck pulled the dart off his forehead, tossing it onto the couch. "Really, Bryce? Right between the eyes? Again?"

Bryce shrugged, still grinning his victorious grin. "Got to keep my aim sharp, Chuck, if I'm going to be protecting you."

"You know, you could protect me by not shooting me in the middle of my forehead?"

Bryce considered that for a moment. "Doesn't sound fun," he decided, shaking his head.

Chuck pulled his best annoyed frown on his lips, covering the smile he wanted to let out. "I'm beginning to understand why Casey shot you."

Bryce staggered back against the island, hand pressed over his heart in exaggerated pain. "Ouch."

.

Ellie walked in, eyes widening as she noticed the suction cup darts on the walls and the television screen. They widened further as she saw the guns Chuck and Bryce were still holding. "I don't want to know," she decided, walking into the apartment to drop her bags on the kitchen counter.

Chuck met Bryce's laughing gaze, both shrugging in identical expressions of innocence. "High stakes Gotcha!"

Despite saying she didn't want to know, Chuck recognised the curiosity in his sister's face. "What exactly are the stakes?"

Chuck's innocent smile melted into one of confusion. "You know, we never exactly worked that out."

"Bragging rights?" Bryce suggested, as if that were as good a stake as any.

Chuck snorted, playfully shoving his friend. "Like you need another reason to brag."

Bryce's shoulders shook with quiet laughter. "Wow, buddy, I'm really feeling the love today."

"You shot me," Chuck protested, pointing to the spot on his forehead. "Right here."

"It's a little sucker dart, Chuck," Bryce retorted, bright and playful. "I wouldn't be complaining if you'd ever managed to shoot me."

Well, that was just unfair. Truthful, but unfair. Except...

"Hey! I got you once," Chuck protested, glaring at Bryce's smirk. "Week before Thanksgiving, senior year."

"Doesn't count," Bryce predictably retorted. "I had a cold."

Chuck made the verbal equivalent of throwing his hands up in the air. "You insisted on playing to prove you didn't have a cold."

Undaunted by little things like facts, Bryce tilted his head and reminded Chuck; "When we finished playing, you dragged me back to the frat house and force fed me chicken soup."

Chuck may have done that. But that was beside the point.

"You said you didn't have a cold, so for the purposes of that game you didn't have a cold. So I still beat you fair and square."

"Whatever you say, Chuck," Bryce agreed, amused. He turned to Ellie, who had been silently watching their exchange. "Need any help with decorating?"

"That'd be great, thank you," Ellie smiled, handing Bryce a packet of fake cobwebs. "I take it you're coming to the Halloween party?"

"I wouldn't miss my chance to see Chuck and Morgan's infamous sandworm costume," Bryce smirked, blue eyes laughing.

"I know you know what it actually is, so you're just saying that to annoy me," Chuck sniffed, struck with the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him. "And, besides, what are you coming as? James Bond?"

"If you want me to," Bryce replied easily, displaying a flawless British accent. And of course he had a British accent, because there was apparently nothing that Bryce Larkin couldn't do.

"Stop showing off," Chuck grumbled, accepting the fake cobweb Bryce tossed him.

.

.

"I have my costume and it is awesome!" Awesome announced, striding through the door. "Give me a moment and I'll show you."

"Hello to you too, Awesome," Chuck muttered, tilting his head as he analysed the drape of the cobwebs. Bryce made a tiny adjustment and Chuck gave a thumbs up. "Looking forward to Halloween?"

"It'll be my first back in the States since Stanford," Bryce murmured, aware Ellie had ears like a bat. "Spent the last one in Paraguay. No candy, but I did get a nice infected knife wound that got me some downtime."

Chuck really hated the casual way Bryce mentioned his injuries. He knew it was Bryce's way of sharing his past with Chuck, of letting him know that a few bumps and bruises protecting him was really nothing at all, but he still really hated it.

"Well, this year, no wounds. Just candy, some alcohol and Ellie's party."

"Sounds refreshingly normal," Bryce offered, a dry smile on his lips. "You do realise it's never that simple for us. Right?"

Chuck pointed his finger at his friend, not even catching a glimpse of the instinct to reach out and break it. "Do not jinx this, Bryce."

"Five Halloweens with the company, never a dull one so far."

Chuck opened his mouth, ready to remind Bryce that he was in California now and things were pretty boring here when Chuck wasn't Flashing. Unfortunately, Awesome chose that moment to come out of his and Ellie's room wearing nothing but skin coloured underwear with a giant fig leaf over the crotch.

Recognising the look on Bryce's face as a mix of barely restrained amusement and horror, Chuck couldn't help but grin. "Suddenly the sandworm is looking pretty good, huh?"

"It's certainly another option," Bryce agreed non-committally. "By the way, buddy, your phone's been ringing for the past five minutes." He displayed the offending device between two fingers, and did Chuck mention how annoying it was when Bryce pickpocketed his phone?

It was Big Mike calling and Big Mike wasn't happy.

"Morgan's gone AWOL from a double shift, I've gotta go find him."

"Go," Bryce said, all traces of playfulness gone. "I didn't buy a new TV just so Morgan could lose his job now."

Chuck nodded, but he caught his sister's gaze. "I don't want to ditch Halloween decorating day."

Ellie, because she really was the best sister ever, just smiled and ushered him to the door. "Go find Morgan, Bryce and I have got this."

Chuck already felt bad enough about ditching decorating day, but forcing Bryce to carry on in his stead? That just felt wrong. "Buddy," he began, knowing Bryce could read the rest of his sentence in some combination of his voice, body language and face.

Bryce definitely could, if the momentary annoyance on his face was to be believed. "I swear to God, Bartowski, if you don't get going right now, next movie night I am going to put on Phantom Menace and you will watch it even if I have to tape your eyelids open."

Chuck held his hands up. "I'm going. I'm gone."

"Good," Bryce smirked, nodding victoriously. "Drive safe."

.

.

Morgan was, for some reason Chuck could not comprehend, ditching work to play Guitar Shredder in an arcade by the ocean. He had already picked up their costume from the drycleaners, which was great, but still Chuck worried a little. Morgan was known to goof off every now and then, but he never usually did anything that put his job at risk. Something that he was doing right now.

"Come on, Morgan," Chuck sighed, watching him put the guitar strap over his head. "You've gotta be at work."

"I know," Morgan replied, waving over a guy from the sideline. "But I've got ten bucks at stake in this quote unquote video game. He's been kicking my ass all week, so time to return the favour."

As he spoke, Morgan and his challenger pressed the start button, rock music beginning to play from the speakers. Chuck looked past Morgan to the other guy, something about his blue eyes (but not Bryce Larkin blue - and where did that thought come from?) triggering a flash.

He saw a wanted poster for a Lazslo Mahnovski, that he was considered dangerous. He saw a couple of others things too, but nothing that stuck with him as much as those red letters spelling out the word dangerous.

"Morgan," Chuck said through gritted teeth, trying to be as quiet as possible. "This guy is dangerous."

Lazslo met Chuck's eyes, almost spooked.

Morgan, however, just continued playing the game. "Well, Morgan's dangerous, Chucky."

Lazslo left the game and Chuck, stupidly, followed him. Something he knew was a bad idea, but he just couldn't stop himself. Laszlo grabbed him, eyes wild and scared. "How did you find me? Who else knows I'm here? Who do you work for?"

Chuck did what Chuck did best. He babbled. "No one. I don't work for anyone. Let me go. Look, I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you're a spy," Laszlo cried. "Your watch? I designed that watch for the CIA."

Chuck couldn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Well, besides the fact that his girlfriend gave it to him, which was technically the truth. You know, from a certain point of view.

"Are there other agents waiting for me outside?" Laszlo demanded. "Are there other agents waiting for me outside?!"

Morgan popped out of nowhere, crowing about his victory, and Laszlo rabbited, running from the arcade like the cops were chasing him.

.

.

Chuck dropped Morgan off at the Buy More then called Sarah and updated her on what he'd just flashed on. He considered calling Casey, but he figured Sarah would prefer to do that herself, when she had actual intelligence to share with the NSA third of his handlers. Bryce, however, was another story.

It was dark when Chuck made it back to Echo Park and, instead of collapsing on his bed and going to sleep (which sounded like a really great idea right now), he knocked on the door of Bryce's apartment. Technically, he had a key for emergencies, but Chuck was still a little wary of invading a spy's home unannounced.

Bryce opened the door, the questioning smile on his face melting into a toothy smile at the sight of Chuck. "Hey, buddy," he greeted, opening the door wider so Chuck could enter. "Find Morgan?"

"He was playing Guitar Shredder at an arcade on the boardwalk."

Bryce inclined his head, moving past Chuck to go back towards the kitchen. "Good for him."

"Yeah," Chuck agreed hollowly. "Good for Morgan. Not so good for-" He stopped within sight of the kitchen, frowning at the meal cooking away on the stovetop. "Am I interrupting something?"

Bryce's eyebrows furrowed in a nearly identical frown to Chuck's. "No, Chuck, I'm just cooking dinner. It's quite a significant meal we have at the end of the day."

Chuck slid onto one of the kitchen stools, aiming a scowl at his friend's back. "Smartass."

Bryce favoured him with another sparkling smile, saying easily "It's practically finished. You hungry?"

Chuck hadn't really considered food in the aftermath of his flash, but now he did, he was a little. "Yeah."

Skillfully, Bryce plated up the food, maneuvering around Chuck to deposit the plates on his table. "You wanna eat then tell me what's bothering you? Or would you prefer to do so while we're eating?"

Despite himself, Chuck grinned. "An actual home cooked meal by Stanford's most notorious Ramen connoisseur? Nothing's going to ruin that experience for me."

"Haha," Bryce deadpanned, giving Chuck a playful shove when he reached the table. "Don't judge me for my broke college student past, buddy."

Chuck raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, no. I was right there with you."

.

.

Like everything Bryce did, the meal was perfect. Chuck didn't know the name of it, but it was creamy and chicken-y and pasta-y and delicious. And Bryce only preened a little when Chuck said so. The second time. The first time Chuck said so, his mouth was half full and Bryce had nearly choked on his wine. So, Chuck decided not to count that time. They loaded the dishwasher in easy conversation, Chuck regaling Bryce with tales of living with the Awesomes and their most awesome moments and Bryce returning the favour with some of his own highlights (fortunately not containing any mention of injury).

Then, with another glass of wine each that Chuck was probably going to regret in the morning, they settled on the couch. He swiped the remote and put on some sci-fi show he hadn't heard of, strangely reluctant to break the mood with Intersect talk. It wasn't even that Chuck was apprehensive about talking about his flash, but with dinner and the wine and - it just felt nice not to be Chuck Bartowksi, human intersect for a moment.

Bryce lasted until the first commerical break, lifting the remote from Chuck's knee and muting the television. "Much as I'd like to think otherwise, buddy," he began, tone gentle. "You didn't come over tonight just for my cooking and company. What's up?"

Chuck took a fortifying gulp of wine, settling the glass on the coffee table. "I was with Morgan in the arcade," he said, choosing his words slowly.

Bryce heaved an almost apologetic sigh. "You flashed."

Chuck nodded tiredly. "His name is Laszlo Mahnovski. I saw a wanted poster. Didn't get much else, but apparently he's dangerous."

Bryce hummed in the back of his throat. "Never heard of him. You told Sarah?"

Chuck nodded.

"And Casey?"

Chuck's nose wrinkled just a little, the way it sometimes did when he had done something a little bit wrong.

Bryce just grinned. "Don't blame you on that one." He sobered moments later. "Aside from the not telling Casey thing, what's bothering you about this one?"

Chuck's shoulders rose in a helpless shrug. "I don't know, Bryce. He looked more scared than dangerous."

"Fear is a very powerful motivator," Bryce said, shadows covering his face. "I'd be more concerned about facing someone who thinks they're cornered over someone who's just holding a gun and trying to shoot me."

Chuck knew that. He did. It was just- "He was playing video games in an arcade."

"And this afternoon, I was playing Gotcha! with you in your apartment. Last night, we were marathoning Call of Duty in your room. You think I'm any less dangerous for it?"

Considering Chuck had seen Bryce in action once or twice and had flashed on a couple more of his highlights, the answer was readily apparent. "No."

Bryce sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. "So, you flashed and then you got Morgan and left?"

Chuck shook his head. "I flashed, he saw my watch, knew I was involved with the CIA - apparently he designed the watch - and demanded to know how I got it. I told him my girlfriend gave it to me - and I know that put Sarah at risk, but I panicked - and then Morgan came and he ran."

"First of all, you didn't put Sarah in danger," Bryce said, blue eyes intense. "We're your handlers, it's our job to bear the risk in this mission. Secondly, and I'm sorry to pull the overprotective act again, but until this guy is back in custody one way or another, you've got a permanent shadow. 24/7."

"I hardly think he's going to track me down to my apartment, Bryce."

"No, he's not," Bryce agreed brightly. "Because you're not going to be in your apartment."

"Bryce," Chuck began, tone warning. He really did not need this. He just wanted to brief his friend and then sink into his mattress and sleep.

The CIA agent stood, acting as if Chuck's staying was a matter of fact. He pointed to the windows. "Bulletproof glass." A nod to the door. "An alarm system Casey could only dream of." A smirk towards the corridor leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. "Clothes your size in the guest closet. And," Bryce spun on his heel and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Literally the finest selection of coffee in this entire apartment complex. Not that that's saying overly much but, come on, you've had my coffee."

Someone else, who wasn't used to Bryce Larkin's overprotective nature manifesting in all manner of strange ways, might be surprised at what Bryce was prepared for. As it was, Chuck didn't find it odd that his friend had a closet full of clothes that would fit him. There was, however, one detail that stuck with him. "You really have bulletproof glass?"

"I'm a paranoid spy who moved in days after being shot by my nextdoor neighbour," Bryce reminded him, a hint of a smile about his lips. "Of course I have bulletproof glass."

Chuck debated arguing his stay here, reminding Bryce that Chuck was an adult and could take care of himself. But, he knew he'd still be pressing that argument when the sun started to rise, and he just didn't have the energy to try and out stubborn Bryce. "Shower?"

Bryce dropped back onto the couch, crossing his ankle over his knee. "You know where everything is. Fresh toothbrushes are under the sink."

"I know," Chuck sighed, trying to work out if the warm feeling he was feeling was annoyance or something irritatingly more fond. "I'm gonna grab a shower and then go to bed. Night, buddy."

Bryce smiled, soft and small, unmuting the television with an absent press of a button. "Goodnight, Chuck."

.

.

Later, as Chuck was slipping between silk sheets, he fully intended to mull over the reasons why he both felt so at home here and didn't feel irritated at his friend's high-handed ways of keeping him safe. But it had been a long day, the meal was still resting comfortably in his stomach, and the bed was like a cloud. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.