Far, far too early the next morning, Chuck was awoken by the sound of his friend's laughing voice. "Come on, buddy. Rise and shine. We're going to be late for work."

Part of Chuck was tempted not to reply, but two years of rooming together had taught Bryce all Chuck's diversion tactics. "Don't care," Chuck grumbled, burrowing deeper into the heavenly sheets and soft pillow. "Never leaving."

"Suit yourself," Bryce chuckled, the sound of his footsteps moving away from Chuck's little paradise.

Chuck knew Bryce, knew that he was even less of a morning person than Chuck was. Also, Bryce was a devious, sneaky man who never let things like that rest. He certainly never had when they were at Stanford, anyway. Waking each other up for their early morning classes had become something like a war between them, each developing their own underhanded tactics for winning the battle each time they took the metaphorical field.

Mere moments after Bryce had beat his (hopefully lasting) retreat, Chuck's nose began to tickle. Drifting faintly, enticingly, on the air were the two most irresistible scents in the world. Bacon. And coffee. Really, really good coffee.

Of all the sneaky, low, underhanded tactics.

.

Grumbling and yawning, Chuck stumbled into Bryce's kitchen, sending a glower at his irritatingly awake friend turned handler turned current bane of his existence.

"Good morning, sunshine," Bryce sang, grinning all the wider when Chuck's glower deepened.

Bryce, because he only sucked about half as much as Chuck would admit right now, deposited breakfast and coffee in front of him, hands returning to warm on his own mug of coffee.

Chuck made grabby hands for his coffee, reluctantly abandoning the bacon and eggs until he felt awake enough.

"That was low even for you, Larkin," Chuck grumbled, feeling marginally more human just by inhaling the steam from his coffee.

Bryce's eyes twinkled, not even a little put out at Chuck's grumpiness. "And remind me how you used to wake me up at Stanford?"

There were a couple of ways. "Pulling the covers off your bed on my way to the shower?" Chuck suggested innocently.

Bryce's gaze conveyed that that was the wrong answer with nothing but the power of a head tilt and a frown.

Chuck set his mug back on the island with a frown of his own. "You're really still holding a grudge for the Celine Dion thing?"

"Chuck, buddy," Bryce began, tone deadly serious. "You are literally the only person in the world I count as a friend. But I will always hold a grudge for the Celine Dion thing."

"Do you know how hard it was to wake you otherwise?"

"Do you know how hard it was to be a college student and a CIA agent in training?"

Arguing with Bryce Larkin was like arguing with a wall. You could do it, but you always came out of it feeling a little crazy. And, besides, Chuck did feel a little guilty about the way he used to wake his friend. If he'd known he wasn't just trying to get an extra five minutes of sleep, maybe he would have chosen a less annoying song - maybe the Macarena.

"Hey," Bryce nudged Chuck's hand with his own. "Don't look so glum. It was good practice at resisting torture."

Chuck felt laughter bubbling up in his chest, his head shaking at his friend. "How are you so awake this morning?"

Bryce looked into his coffee mug, a bitter little smile on his lips. "Didn't get much sleep," he admitted softly. "One of the many joys of being a spy."

"You can always," Chuck heard himself offer, not really forming it beyond that.

"I know," Bryce replied. His face was open and thankful but Chuck knew he would get nothing on the subject out of him. Not now. Bryce wasn't so open to the whole talking like a healthy adult thing when his eyes were as shadowed as they were now.

"So," Chuck began, searching for a subject that wouldn't hit on any of the unspoken taboo topics - Jill, the CIA, whatever kept Bryce from sleeping through the night, their respective relationships with Sarah. "Will today be the day you finally shoot Tang?"

"Don't tempt me," Bryce smirked, shadows banished from his eyes. "I'd have done it already but the paperwork for shooting a civilian is nothing short of torture."

Chuck snorted inelegantly. "Yeah, because paperwork is the reason not to shoot someone."

"It's Tang, and I think his level of sheer irritating deserves all he might get and more," Bryce began, peering with mock severity at Chuck. "And, I was going to let you drive today, but if you're just going to be sarcastic, I'll drive us myself."

Chuck had a mental image of their college years, driving down from Stanford with Bryce in the passenger seat, hands gesturing around as he spoke. He hadn't realised how much he had missed those long car journeys.

"If you're coming in with me, we've gotta take the Nerd Herd car," Chuck announced, grinning into his coffee. "So, I'm driving."

"And what makes you think I won't just take the keys while you're changing?"

Well, that one Chuck already knew the answer to. "Because you are one of my best friends and you know that letting me drive will make me happy."

Apparently without an argument for that, Bryce nudged Chuck's plate closer to him. "Eat your breakfast."

.

.

Chuck was still riding a little high on his victory when Casey cornered him alone in the Buy More break room. The victory was a little diminished by the just above terrible coffee the break room carried, but Chuck knew he was a little spoiled on the stuff Bryce made and smuggled into his cupboards.

"You!" Casey called, slamming the door behind him. "What do I have to do to get timely intel out of you, Bartowski?"

"Look, I briefed Sarah and Bryce last night, okay?" Chuck sighed, not in the mood to get into an argument with Casey. He figured obstinacy and the inability to lose an argument had to be part of the stringent requirements for recruitment into spy agencies. He turned back, trying on an obstinate frown on his own. "You know, I thought we were supposed to be part of the same team here? Team Chuck?"

"We are," Casey agreed, beginning to circle around him. "But I'm starting to feel like the guy who always gets picked last. I don't like feeling like Team Chuck's little fat kid."

"Well I'm sorry that my CIA handlers happen to be my fake girlfriend and my college best friend," Chuck snapped, beginning to feel a headache creeping in at his temples. And the day had started so well. He heaved a tired sigh. "Listen, Casey. I would have told you after I left Bryce's, but he decided that dangerous apparently means Chuck can't be left to sleep in his own apartment, so take it up with him."

"Oh, I plan to."

Oh, Chuck did not like the angry glare on Casey's face. "With words, Casey, not bullets."

Casey's eyes rolled, as if Chuck was overreacting. "I only shot him once."

"And yet, the once is kind of what I have the problem with. Along with the whole nearly killing him thing."

"He should take it as a compliment. Guy like Bryce Larkin? If you're going to shoot him, shoot to kill."

Chuck supposed he could kind of see how that might vaguely seem like a compliment to Casey, but Chuck could really do without the thoughts of someone - anyone - trying to shoot the people he cared about. Even Casey. "Just, long as you're my handler, don't shoot my best friend?"

Casey folded his arms across his shirt. "I'll take that under advisement."

"You do that," Chuck nodded, wondering why it didn't entirely feel like he'd won this argument. "And, maybe, if you feel like it, you might tell Bryce that this Laszlo guy really isn't as dangerous as Bryce thinks he is. And, you know, that I don't need to be babysat every minute of the day?"

Casey smiled one of the most unapologetic smiles of apology Chuck had ever seen. "Sorry, Chuck," he said, as unapologetic as his smile. "But when it comes to matters of your safety, Larkin outranks Sarah and I. But if you tell him you're a real, live boy now, maybe your boyfriend will ease off on his own."

"Thanks, Casey," Chuck smiled sarcastically. "You're a real help."

.

.

Aside from reaming Morgan out in front of the store, Chuck's workday passed by fairly uneventfully. He fixed some computers, helped a woman be able to video chat with her son, and actually didn't really notice that everywhere he went he had an impeccably dressed shadow. So, he really did have to give props to the CIA for the whole incognito watching thing. That was pretty awesome. Maybe Bryce might teach him that one day, during those rare times when he didn't think Chuck's life was in danger or he wasn't mysteriously absent for no apparent reason.

"Buddy, I'm going home now," Chuck called, heading towards the exit. He couldn't feel Bryce's eyes on him, but he knew his friend would pick up on his exit quickly enough. Besides, it wasn't as if Chuck was actually going to leave him behind. He was his ride, that would just be rude.

It was incredible though, how quickly Chuck regretted not waiting for his self-appointed bodyguard. No sooner had he left the safety of the Buy More than a guy in a creepy clown mask jumped out from behind the Nerd Herd cars and pulled a gun on him. Because of course that was just the way his life went now.

The guy pulled off his mask, and of course it was Laszlo. "I didn't kill anybody," he announced, and Chuck believed him. Honest, he did.

"I never said that you did," he reminded Laszlo, remembering Casey's crash course in getting a gun pointed at you. Don't say anything clever and don't piss the other guy off.

"Then why am I on the FBI list?"

"I don't know," Chuck said, his hands pulling wider in an attempt to show he really meant no harm. "Just calm down." And maybe put the gun down, because that would certainly make Chuck feel a whole lot better.

"I was framed, okay?" Laszlo insisted, jabbing the gun a little closer for emphasis. "You have to believe me, I am not a murderer."

"I believe you," Chuck soothed, lowering his hands. "But, FYI, you're kinda acting like a murderer."

"I'd really have to agree with him on that one." Low, calm in the way that meant he was really working hard not to show how angry he was, Bryce's voice drifted from behind Chuck. Bryce came to stand by Chuck's side, his own gun pointed unerringly at Laszlo's head. Without so much as looking at Chuck, the CIA agent glared at him. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"Are we really doing this right now?" Chuck asked, trying to convey just the right amount of hysterical disbelief. "I've kinda got a gun on me, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I can see that, Chuck, yeah," Bryce replied, and that was definitely a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Great. Bryce only got sarcastic when he was annoyed with him.

"Okay, I get that you're mad at me, but could we maybe do this later?" Preferably at a time when Chuck wasn't being held at gunpoint.

Chuck felt Bryce's sigh echo through the parking lot. "You? Move and I'll shoot you in the leg," Bryce growled, then his attention was all on Chuck. "What part of dangerous and don't leave my side did you fail to comprehend, genius? I'm just asking because the next time I tell you not to leave my side, I kinda need to know how to make sure you understand that."

If there was one thing worse than the sarcasm, it was the worry masked fear Bryce couldn't hide from him. "I understood it, buddy," Chuck sighed, trusting he could read him well enough to know that he really regretted naively walking out of the store without him. "Trust me, I'm really getting the whole correlation between not listening to you and getting a gun shoved in my face. I don't like being held at gunpoint."

"I'm not a fan of it either," Bryce grumbled, both turning their attention back to a bemused looking Laszlo. Chuck was kind of hoping that their brief bickering session might have made Laszlo smarten up and run again, but they weren't that lucky.

Chuck bumped slightly into Bryce's side, conveying an apology that he didn't quite know how to voice. "We good?"

"We're good," his best friend replied, nudging him back. Chuck was close enough to feel the way the agent's body tensed, Bryce taking a step closer to Laszlo. "You're kidding me, right?" Bryce sighed, visibly restraining himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're holding my best friend at gunpoint with a water gun? Seriously? I could have shot you. And, you know, the mood I'm in, I just might."

"Who are you?!"

"I'm Chuck, this is Bryce."

"Laszlo. CIA or NSA?" Laszlo asked, then shook his head. "No, CIA. You don't have the giant stick up your butt the NSA does."

Bryce smirked, a tiny little thing that was barely amused at all. "If our first meeting wasn't you holding my friend at gunpoint, I might've liked you."

Noting the lines of tension around his friend's eyes, Chuck tried to take control of the situation. "You know he's going to have to take you in, right?"

Without the gun in his face, Laszlo looked impossibly young and scared. "I need your help. But first, I could really use some pancakes."

In his eyes, Chuck saw himself. The way he would have been if things had gone differently with the Intersect. If he didn't have Sarah and Casey, if he didn't have Bryce looking out for him.

"I think we can help with the pancakes at least," Chuck said, watching Bryce turn towards him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I'm just going to need a moment with my friend first."

Bryce sighed, leaning against the Nerd Herd car with more exhaustion than Chuck was feeling. "I've already gone against the brass for you once this month," he whispered furiously. "If you're wrong about this guy, Chuck-" Bryce scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes shadowed. "If they decide that I'm compromised by us working together, if they think we don't work, they will pull me back to Washington and God only knows where that would leave you."

Chuck really didn't want to think about that. But, in a way, that was kind of his whole point. "I'm not asking you to do anything that would compromise our working together, Bryce. I'm not even asking you to help clear his name. Just, isn't the least we could do getting him pancakes?"

"No, Chuck," Bryce disagreed. "The least we could do is not shoot him. Which, I think you'll agree, I've been very generous in not doing."

Appealing to Bryce's better nature didn't work, but that was okay. Chuck had other cards up his sleeve. "Bryce, please?"

Bryce's expression morphed from frustration into what Chuck had once dubbed his damn you, Chuck Bartowski look. "Fine. But a month from now, if I'm freezing my ass off in Siberia, getting shot at by FSB agents, I am blaming you."

Chuck froze, almost certain he didn't hear Bryce agree with his plan. "Um, pardon?"

"Trust goes both ways, Chuck," Bryce shrugged, pushing off the car. "I trust you enough to know that if you think this guy is on the level, maybe I'm just being an overprotective, overly paranoid spy."

If there really was an expression like being clubbed over the head by a bat, Chuck imagined he would be wearing it now. "Really?"

"There's a reason I only outrank Sarah and Casey on matters of your safety," Bryce murmured, nodding Chuck towards their car. "But, just pancakes, okay? And if he raises so much as one red flag, I am hauling his ass into custody, no matter how much he reminds you of what you could be. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good," Bryce nodded, finally favouring Chuck with a real smile. "One last thing. I'm still an overprotective spy and he literally did just have a gun held on you, so-"

"Don't leave your side," Chuck finished, grinning himself. "Don't worry, buddy, I've learned my lesson."

Bryce chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Oh, I doubt that. I really do."