Getting pancakes for dinner was the kind of thing Chuck hadn't done since, well, actually he couldn't remember ever having pancakes for dinner. It sounded like the sort of thing he should have done at college, but between textbooks and tuition there hadn't been a lot of disposable income for things like eating out. It was actually fun to sit in a booth and eat pancakes and listen to Laszlo recount the sort of things he'd designed for the CIA.
Bryce didn't seem overly enthusiastic about the whole thing, limiting himself to a cup of coffee and a watchful glare at the doorway. It was strange seeing Bryce not be the outgoing personable one he'd always been at Stanford. But, he had driven them here to the Continental Hut of Pancakes and Chuck had even caught him nodding a time or two at one of the gadgets Laszlo listed.
"So, you're kind of like a real life Q," Chuck grinned, Laszlo looking up from his breakfast-dinner with a frown. "You know?"
Laszlo still looked blank.
"You know Q? The guy who used to make all the gadgets for James Bond? Q?"
Comprehension slowly dawned on Laszlo's face. "Oh, the spy guy. Right?"
Bryce made an actual sound of pain into his coffee. "Were they keeping you in a cave?" Bryce demanded, suddenly a whole lot less paranoid.
"Underground lab, actually," Laszlo nodded, smiling. He looked down, shadows creeping over his face. "For the last ten years. All I did was work in that lab, pretty much. And play video games. But, uh, no friends, no family."
Tension snapped off Bryce's frame, but not an outward sign was apparent. Chuck didn't need to read minds to imagine Bryce was thinking that Laszlo really could have been Chuck after Bryce sent him the Intersect.
"No Bond," Chuck shook his head, trying to lighten the mood. "No wonder you blew up all your research and busted out of there."
"That's inhumane," Bryce added, grabbing a clean fork and pinching a piece of Chuck's pancake.
"You could have ordered your own," Chuck grumbled, nudging his plate closer to his friend.
"But it tastes so much better when I steal them from you," Bryce smirked, swiping maple sauce around the plate.
"Still the worst," Chuck muttered, returning his attention to the runaway genius.
Laszlo watched them with a kind of bemusement Chuck was getting used to seeing when he and Bryce interacted, slurping at his milkshake. "So, what kind of work do you do?"
"You know, it's kinda complicated," Chuck prevaricated, knowing better than to admit to his top secret, very classified, probably would get killed for talking about situation.
"Right, but you gotta be some kind of genius," Laszlo prompted, peering at him with intense, lonely eyes.
"Oh, he is," Bryce agreed wholeheartedly, Chuck catching a flicker of his proud smile. "Wiped the floor with me in most of our classes at Stanford."
"Only some of them," Chuck protested, ignoring his friend's scoff. "But, to answer your question, I'm a computer guy."
"Best I've ever met," Bryce agreed, and Chuck kinda wished he'd stop with the whole complimenting thing; Chuck was really nothing special, he was certainly no Bryce Larkin.
"And you?" Laszlo asked, gesturing with his milkshake at Bryce. "I'm guessing you're not a computer guy."
"You're not entirely wrong," Bryce admitted, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm a benched agent. Ostensibly, gunshot recovery. Fact, problem with authority."
Blue eyes met Chuck's with a sort of what can you do? glimmer. Maybe Chuck's imagination was going into overdrive, but he almost thought Bryce was telling him that was who he could have been if he didn't have this assignment.
"That's why you're sitting in a pancake hut with a wanted fugitive?"
"One of the reasons," Bryce allowed, smiling easily. "And, Chuck trusts you, so I'm willing to go on a little faith."
They were silent for a while, Chuck sipping on his soda, Bryce eating his purloined pancakes, when Laszlo smiled. "You know, if I had to do it again, I wouldn't have gone to that pier."
"What pier?" Chuck frowned.
"I was eleven," Laszlo began, directing his words at his plate. "And some agent saw me playing Tetris at an arcade. So he asked me if I can take all these tests. The next thing I know, he's offering to pay my way through school." Laszlo looked up, smile turning bitter. "My parents, they don't know what to do with a kid whose IQ is higher than both theirs combined. They signed me over. And that's when I became property of the United States government."
Bryce slid past Chuck, intercepting the waitress with the check. "I've got this," he said quietly, his eyes shadowy. "Just get yourselves ready to go, yeah?"
"Sure, buddy," Chuck replied, shrugging at Laszlo's confusion. "I think he sees me in you and doesn't really like it."
"He one of your handlers?" Laszlo asked, tone carefully light.
"No," Chuck lied, and he had no idea why. Just couldn't stop himself. "Just my college best friend who hauled himself over to California to recuperate when he found out I'd been conscripted into the Company."
Chuck had the feeling that was the right thing to say when tension Chuck hadn't even noticed began to fade from Laszlo's shoulders. "Good," he said quickly. "Because you can't ever tell your real handlers that you saw me."
"What? Why?" Sure, Chuck hadn't exactly been planning on sending Casey and Sarah a text right this minute, but he had planned on telling them sometime. "They could help you, Laszlo. They're the good guys."
Laszlo laughed, a bitter and derisive sound. "There's no such thing in this business."
Offense flared in Chuck's chest, a frown working it's way onto his face. "In case you've forgotten, my best friend just decided not to haul you into custody and is currently paying for our dinner."
"Chuck," Bryce shook his head slightly. "After what he's been through, there's no earthly reason for him to trust anyone affiliated with the CIA."
"Listen to your friend, Chuck," Laszlo counselled. "Don't believe us? Go home and check out your stuff. I'll guarantee you, you'll find bugs there and not the friendly crawling kind."
Chuck leaned in towards Bryce, feeling the fury bubbling under his friend's skin. "Will I?"
"If you do," Bryce began, speaking in the carefully calm way that Chuck dreaded. "Let me know. I'll finally have my reason for a little payback."
.
.
Throwing the bugs at Casey's chest, Chuck marched into the NSA agent's apartment. "I swear to God, if I find out you've been spying on my sister, I will call Bryce and let him kill you like he wants."
Not only would that make Chuck feel a whole lot better, but it would also earn him a lot of best best friend ever points.
"Do you have any idea how violated I feel right now?" Chuck demanded, almost wishing he hadn't talked Bryce into going home after they dropped Laszlo off on a deserted street corner.
"You feel violated?" Casey's disbelief might have been comical under other circumstances. "My ears feel violated. Cause they have to listen to you and that moron Morgan yammering on for four hours about what kind of sandwich you're gonna take if you're stranded on a deserted island."
"What are you nuts?" Chuck asked, waving a hand in dismissal. "Nobody was talking about sandwiches for four hours."
Casey pressed a point on his touch screen and proved Chuck wrong.
"Well, I'll have you know I stand by my mayonnaise opinions," Chuck announced, steadfastly sticking to his guns. "And you wouldn't have had to listen to that if you'd not violated my privacy."
"You think four hours of sandwiches was the worst, Chuck?" Casey asked rhetorically. "How about the entire weekends of inane technobabble you and Larkin spout? Hmm? Zork? Star Trek? You're grown ass men, get girlfriends already."
"You're a giant douche for spying on me."
"We planted those bugs to protect you," Casey defended, and Chuck almost believed that. But, if that were really the case...
"Bryce too?"
"Larkin doesn't need to," Casey sneered. "The moment you have a problem you go running to mommy."
"Well maybe the reason for that is that Bryce actually trusts me. Maybe he thinks he doesn't need to spy on me when we're not together." Chuck shook his head, knowing he'd never win. "Just, don't bug my apartment."
.
.
Buy More after dark was strangely perfect for high stakes Gotcha!, Chuck had to admit. Unfortunately, he wasn't playing Gotcha!, he was busy hiding a fugitive and hoping Bryce wouldn't be too angry for not taking him along too. But, he figured that Bryce deserved some decent sleep and Chuck knew Laszlo wasn't a danger to him, so it probably absolved him of his promise to stay by Bryce's side.
And, there'd never been any harm in watching A View to a Kill. It was a classic. It was so good, in fact, that Chuck had willingly turned off his phone after several times of Sarah trying to call him.
"What did I tell you?" Chuck asked, tossing an empty bag of microwave popcorn on the table. "Max Zorin is definitely one of the greatest bad guys of all time."
Laszlo's gaze fell on the side of Chuck's face. "You think Walken was the bad guy?"
Chuck chuckled. "What, are you kidding? I mean, he did try to sink California into the Pacific Ocean."
Laszlo moved about on the couch, agitated. "Don't you see, Chuck? Zorin is like us." He pointed to their chests. "The Nazis used him for his superior gifts the way our government uses me and you."
Chuck really didn't think that was quite right. "I don't-"
"Too bad Zorin didn't have this home theatre system. Screw flooding Silicone Valley." Laszlo picked up the remote. "Do you know what we can do with this system if we really wanted to, Chuck?"
Laszlo proceeded to start a little game of thermonuclear war on San Francisco. And Chuck really, really wished he hadn't turned his phone off or let Laszlo destroy the tracker in his watch. Because, right now, he had no way of alerting his handlers that Laszlo had gone off the deep end and Chuck was in a lot of danger.
In desperation, Chuck suggested they watch Goldfinger. Laszlo might be able to relate to another bad guy who wanted to blow up the world. Laszlo agreed to the change in plans, disabling his 'game' and letting Chuck put in the next movie. There were, fortunately, a lot of Bond movies - all with suitably heinous villains - hopefully they would last him until someone walked into the Buy More in the morning.
Or maybe, until help walked itself right in.
.
.
Laszlo followed Chuck's relieved smile, eyes widening at the sight of Bryce walking into the Buy More.
"YOU SOLD ME OUT!"
Chuck backed away, listening to the instincts telling him to keep away from the cornered genius. He grabbed the remote and ran from the theatre room, sliding around the corner and behind Bryce. Laszlo, armed with one of the guns kept for emergencies, came walking out of the room after him, gun pointed at Bryce.
"Please don't make me shoot you," Bryce called, a reluctant wariness in his eyes. "You could've been Chuck if a dozen things had been different. Just, give up and let me take you in."
Laszlo seemed not to hear Bryce, caught in a web of his own fear and paranoia. "How did you find me? I disabled the transponder in his watch."
"I don't need a GPS to find Chuck," Bryce said, almost pitying. "I know him. If he didn't bring you to my place, he'd only have brought you here."
Laszlo's eyes darted around the store, falling on Chuck. "You think you can shoot me before I shoot him?" he asked, the gun barrel drifting towards Chuck.
"Oh, I can guarantee it." Bryce fired once at the floor, the bullet embedding itself millimeters from Laszlo's sneakers. Chuck flinched at the sound, shoulders hunching up around his ears. "Now, you have about twenty seconds before the rest of my team comes through those doors, along with your old handler. So, I suggest you either drop your gun or start running. Because, next time? I won't miss."
Laszlo fired blindly towards Chuck, Bryce's curse echoing in Chuck's ears as they both hit the ground. Hard.
"I'm sorry about this, buddy," Bryce whispered, the retort of gunfire ringing in Chuck's ears.
"Hi there," Casey smirked, his words accompanied by the thud of a body hitting the floor.
"Chuck safe?" Sarah called, her legs appearing in Chuck's limited field of view.
"Dandy," Chuck muttered, fully prepared to start hating himself any minute now. "I get why Bryce always walks away with bruises though." He pushed himself to a seat, meeting Bryce's tiny smile with one of his own. "Buddy, that was not gentle."
"You're alive, stop complaining."
"Alive for now," Chuck mourned, leaping towards humour again. "Big Mike is going to kill me when he sees the state of this place. And then who's going to be Assistant Manager? Harry Tang."
"No," Bryce shook his head, expression turning to stone. "Not happening." He pulled Chuck to his feet, pushing him gently towards Sarah. "Get him home, I'll supervise the cleanup here while Casey and our new friend take care of Laszlo."
"I should help," Chuck protested. After all, it was his fault that Laszlo had even been here in the first place to cause the shootout. And if he'd just talked to Sarah and Casey and maybe trusted Bryce's gut instead of seeing himself in Laszlo then maybe this whole situation would never have happened.
"Home, Chuck," Bryce insisted, both frustrated and fond. "Get some sleep, you've got a big interview tomorrow. I'll be there bright and early with coffee and something overly sugary that pretends to be adequate breakfast." Bryce didn't let him get a word in in reply, merely ushering him out with Sarah.
.
.
Entering the Buy More the next day felt strange. Everything was absolutely the same as it always was, right down to the subtle scent of bad coffee, stale air and nerdiness that had been obliterated by gunpowder. Except, Morgan. His oldest friend strolled about like a responsible adult, using big words and generally being un-Morgan like and serious. He ignored Chuck's attempts to talk to him and even went as far as to silently tell him to talk to the hand.
And then, Tang had to go and be Tang.
The other party in the race for Assistant Manager appeared behind Chuck as he was swiping himself in to work, giving Chuck's heart an unpleasant start. "Did I scare you, Chuck?" Tang asked, making finger guns while dressed like a cowboy. "You better be scared, 'cause I'm about ready to kill me a job interview, partner." Tang shot at Chuck with the finger guns and then strode off towards his part of the store.
Setting two travel mugs down on the desk, Bryce lined up his own shot with his fingers and sighed wistfully. "If only."
Chuck, who had come to work today dressed as someone wanting to Ace a job interview, turned and frowned at his friend. "What're you dressed as, Bryce?"
Bryce shoved his hands into his pants pockets, shrugging easily. "Accountant."
Chuck kinda hated to break it to him, but "You are an accountant."
"Only technically."
Chuck knew that tone of avoidance. He grinned widely, rocking back on his heels. "You forgot it was Halloween?"
Bryce's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, excuse me if I have other things on my mind."
Chuck's first instinct was to smile and be touched, but then the memory of the previous night clobbered him around the head. "The job interview or the other thing?"
"The interview," Bryce replied, leaning against the side of the Nerd Herd Centre in his continuing crusade against standing. "The other thing is dealt with and already back on it's way to a secure facility."
"I haven't been to a job interview since I applied to this place after Stanford," Chuck murmured, wrapping his hands around his refilled coffee. "Every time I think about it I just- I don't know, Bryce. I keep hearing Professor Fleming's voice in my head telling me the job he lined up for me fell through and that I should apply somewhere more in keeping with my limited future prospects."
Guilt flashed raw and dark over Bryce's face, his shoulders slumping in his suit. "Chuck, if I could go back and change what he told you, I would," Bryce stated, voice strong despite it's sadness. "But, you have to listen to me now, Fleming was wrong." Intense blue eyes bore into Chuck, not letting him look away. "You are the smartest, kindest, cleverest person I have ever met. And if the person interviewing you can't see that, then that is on him and not on you."
"Bryce," Chuck began, honestly certain that Bryce was talking about some other Chuck. "You're biased."
"Damn right I am," Bryce nodded, flashing a grin. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong." He caught sight of Tang, grin turning sharper and wicked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go unsettle Tang before his interview."
Chuck caught the back of Bryce's jacket, nudging him back to lean against the counter. "Keep me company until my interview?"
Bryce's eyes softened, ankles crossing. "Hey, did I tell you I found our old TRS 80?"
Chuck couldn't believe it. "You didn't?"
"In a storage unit I rented after college," Bryce confirmed. "It needs a little TLC and someone willing to see if our data is still on it, but I was thinking we might go through it this weekend?"
"You know," Chuck grinned, drifting closer to his friend. "Listening to that would probably be Casey's version of torture."
Bryce's smirk grew wider in answer. "So, that's a yes then?"
"Oh yeah," Chuck nodded, but that reminded him. "If you were going to be stuck on a deserted island, what sandwich would you bring?"
"Well certainly nothing with mayonnaise," Bryce announced, shuddering at the thought. "In that heat? Bad idea."
"Exactly!"
Morgan, still dressed like Gordon Gekko, appeared from the shelves nearby. "Yeah, but that would depend on how you would classify a sandwich."
Bryce raised an eyebrow. "Two pieces of bread with a filling."
"Yeah," Morgan agreed, flashing a tiny grin at Chuck. "But, by that definition, couldn't I have a Jessica Alba sandwich?"
"Sure," Chuck agreed, just like he had before.
"Okay," Bryce hummed, sipping thoughtfully on his coffee. "But, if you could do something like that, wouldn't you just make a satellite phone sandwich, call up search and rescue and get off the deserted island?"
"No," Morgan protested, horrified. "Why would you need a satellite phone if you had Jessica Alba?"
"So I wouldn't die on a deserted island?"
"But, assuming you could get off the island one day, wouldn't you rather have a Jessica Alba sandwich?"
"I don't know," Bryce frowned. "I think I'd rather spend my time on the island with someone I had something in common with. You know, someone I could talk to."
"I see your point," Chuck conceded, ignoring Morgan's cry of protest. "I mean, Morgan, would you rather spend time with me or Jessica Alba?"
"On a deserted island?" Morgan asked rhetorically. "You're my best friend and I love you, man, but I'm going with Jessica Alba. I'd see you the moment I got off the island though."
"And you, Bryce?"
The spy chuckled, waving a hand lightly. "Though I object to making you into a sandwich, that's the way I'd go."
Behind them, Tang emerged from Big Mike's office, followed by a man in a blue and gold striped tie. "Bartowski!" The HR manager beckoned Chuck forward.
Chuck brushed off his shirt, smoothing down his tie. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck, Chuck," Morgan said immediately, nodding his support.
"You don't need it, buddy," Bryce added, his smile wide and warm. "You've got this."
With the predictable sounds of Morgan and Bryce bickering over him and sandwiches of an edible variety following him, Chuck grinned to himself and stepped into Big Mike's office.
.
.
"How'd it go?" Ellie eagerly asked literally as soon as Bryce's car pulled up outside their complex. Bryce and Morgan murmured greeting and moved into the complex. The courtyard already thrumming with the sounds of the Bartowski Halloween party.
"We'll find out tomorrow morning," Chuck said, trying not to let the anticipation ruin the night. "But, whether I get the job or not, the important thing is I tried."
"I have faith in you, Chuck," Ellie reminded him, her eyes soft and warm. "I'm proud of you." Ellie wrapped him in a tight hug, smoothing down his tie in a compulsive move. "Now, go get those friends of yours into their costumes and come join the party."
"Oh no," he grinned, teasing. "Bryce is coming as an accountant."
"Bryce is an accountant," Ellie sniffed, shaking her head. "Tell him to come in something a little more adventurous."
"I'll text," Chuck said, waving his phone. "And Ellie?"
His sister tilted her head, smile questioning.
"Thanks for always believing in me."
"Always, Chuck."
Chuck melted through the crowd, smiling at Sarah (dressed as Princess Leia and looking both beautiful and deadly) and nodding at Casey (dressed like a samurai) before jumping in through the Morgan door. Morgan stood there, holding up half of their epic sandworm costume, a grin on his lips. "Morgan, I know I haven't been much of a friend lately, but-"
"Chuck," Morgan interrupted, offering him the same uncomplicated smile as always. "Best friends have falling outs, they have moments where they think the other is being too irresponsible and times where they forget that sometimes the other needs to make something of themselves. But you've always been there for me and I'll always be there for you." He held up the other half of the costume. "Are you ready to make this party rock?"
.
.
After making a few circuits of the party, making it seem like the sandworm was dancing through the air, Chuck and Morgan stopped by the fountain. Sarah was chatting with some of Ellie's doctor friends and Casey appeared to have made quite the impression with Awesome's frat brothers, but Chuck could not see his other best friend anywhere.
"Nice to see you at long last, Shai-Hulud."
Chuck whipped off the back of the sandworm and grinned. "Bryce! You made it."
"Ellie called and threatened me with bringing the party to my place if I didn't show," Bryce mourned, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. His very familiar jeans.
In fact, his entire costume was very familiar. From the unstyled mess of his hair to the Gamma Delta Phi t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. "Why have you come as yourself from college?"
Bryce's grin flashed brighter than Ellie's lamps. "After last night, James Bond felt a bit on the nose."
Chuck could see that, but he knew that nothing would have stopped Bryce as coming as something if he had really wanted to. "You found those in your storage unit and just wanted to see if you could fit into your college clothes."
"That is a horrible lie," Bryce sniffed, turning away from Chuck.
Though Chuck couldn't help but laugh, he bumped companionably into his side. "Looking good, buddy."
Bryce handed him a bottle of beer, smiling into his wine. "You too, Chuck."
"And the way I look is irrelevant," Morgan muttered, leaning the costume against the fountain. "I'm going to grab some food, maybe talk to Ellie. See you later, Chuck."
Chuck glanced at his friend, watching him watch the party, ever vigilant. Still, if Chuck didn't know he was a CIA agent and that it was 2007, he would swear they were back at Stanford. "God, you look young."
Bryce, because he had always been incapable of taking ambiguous comments like that as anything but compliments, preened. "Thank you."
"Not a compliment," Chuck mock grumbled. "Looking at you makes me feel like there's a paper due in the morning and I've completely forgotten all about it."
"We're six hours, five years and a couple of nearly fatal injuries away from those kids at Stanford, Chuck," Bryce smiled, his eyes belying the effect of his costume. "College Chuck couldn't have handled living with the Intersect the way you have. And college Bryce certainly wouldn't be looking at all these people and automatically working out the quickest way to take them down if he had to. But," Bryce shrugged and the illusion won out once more. "It's Halloween and it's fun to pretend."
"You wanna hide in one of our apartments?" Chuck offered, watching Morgan and Anna deep in conversation.
"No way, buddy," Bryce grinned, finally taking his eyes off the guests. "I think we should get the entire party talking about desert island sandwiches just to mess with Casey."
"It is something everyone should think about, just in case," Chuck agreed, matching Bryce's wicked grin. "After all, who knows when you're going to be dropped on a desert island with only a limited supply of things. Choosing the right sandwich, that'll get you off to the best start."
"You put a lot of faith in that sandwich, Chuck," Bryce informed him, smiling in the way that said he never entirely understood the way Chuck's mind worked.
"Of course," Chuck agreed, matter of fact. "I mean, I love Morgan, of course I do. But, if I'm going to be stuck on a desert island for an undisclosed amount of time - aside from an actual sandwich without mayonnaise - I'm definitely going to need a superspy sandwich too."
"Really?" Bryce hummed, apparently unconcerned.
"Oh yeah," Chuck agreed teasingly. "Couldn't survive on a tropical island without a Bryce on rye."
Bryce's laughter burst into the courtyard, his friend listing into his side with the force of his mirth. Chuck just smiled innocently and steered them over to Casey and Awesome's frat brothers. "So, sandwiches..."
