It turned out being Assistant Manager of the Buy More was pretty much exactly what Chuck had already been doing. Sure, he did oversee the Casey-dubbed Buy Morons as well as the Nerd Herders, but with Morgan as his best friend and Casey there too, that was pretty much what Chuck had been doing anyway. And, there was the definite perk of not having to watch Harry Tang walk around in the hideous, monogrammed yellow polo shirt he'd commissioned himself in preparation for winning the promotion.
Chuck's promotion was good in other ways too. Anna no longer talked about dealing with Tang if he became drunk on authority, and subsequently Chuck could stop worrying about either Casey or - more likely - Bryce taking her up on her only too generous suggestion. And, Chuck would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little bit happy that he had won out over Tang. It was nice to feel validated in his work - the non top secret, full of super spies and government secrets kind anyway. Even though Tang wandered around, slurping his coffee and trying to catch Chuck out in any areas of unprofessionalism, nothing was going to put a dent in Chuck's enthusiasm for his working days.
"You know," Morgan commented, coming to join Chuck in the Nerd Herd centre. "We should get you a little plaque or something. Something that really says you're the assistant manager and Harry Tang can suck it."
"No," Chuck disagreed, crossing his arms in the way that hopefully told Morgan that no such thing would be happening. "I will not get drunk on power. There will be no plots or coups against my authority if I don't exercise any."
"Come on, Chuck," Morgan pushed, leaning back against Chuck's workspace. "Just think about it. You, me, maybe Casey, the Accountant. We could rule this Buy More."
"Because that's exactly what I always envisioned doing with my life when I graduated Stanford," Bryce dryly commented, continuing his habit of appearing out of nowhere with no warning. He turned to Chuck, the sarcasm in his eyes fading into honest happiness. "No offence, buddy."
"None taken," Chuck assured him. His eyes flickered towards the cups held in Bryce's hands, his statement amending; "As long as one of those is for me."
Bryce wordlessly handed Chuck one of the mugs, his eyes flickering towards the glowering figure of Casey. "Looks like Prince Charming wants us."
Chuck grinned, unfolding from the comfy position on his chair. "Please call him that to his face," he chuckled, the image of that happening then appearing in his mind. "On second thoughts, maybe don't."
"Whatever you say, Assistant Manager Bartowski," Bryce quipped, sounding exactly like Ellie and Awesome at breakfast that morning.
"Why's Casey looking like that vein in his temple is going to burst?" Morgan asked, peering across the store at the impatient NSA Major.
"I don't know," Chuck sighed, moving around the centre. "Come on, Bryce, maybe this will be the time you finally make it pop."
Bryce grinned, impish. "You think?"
.
.
Casey led Chuck and Bryce into the revamped Home Theatre Room, Chuck nodding approvingly at the setup. The new blue couch was comfy, and more than big enough for Sarah, Chuck and Bryce to sit comfortably on. On screen, the Director and General were looking down at the general's desk.
"Wow, that high def screen really shows every wrinkle," Chuck announced, approving as only a tech specialist could be.
General Beckman and Director Graham's faces snapped up to glare through the screen.
"They can hear you," Casey growled, glaring down at Chuck.
"I, uh, twinkle." He nodded at a glaring Beckman, trying on a close approximation of Bryce's Hollywood grin. "Every twinkle. In her eyes."
Bryce stared straight forward, face totally impassive but for the sparkling light in his eyes. How someone could laugh their ass off and never make a sound, Chuck didn't know, but that was exactly what he was doing.
Chuck nudged him, muttering under his breath; "You're gonna get me in trouble."
"You dug this hole yourself, buddy," Bryce replied, his lips not even moving.
"Agent Larkin, Mr Bartowski, if we're not interrupting you?"
Bryce's face grew impossibly more impassive. "Not at all, General."
"We have a situation," Beckman announced, cutting a slightly annoyed gaze up at Director Graham. "A CIA asset has gone missing. We've had no communication from him for two days."
At the top left corner of the screen, a photograph of Chuck (and Bryce's) old Stanford professor stared judgementally down at them alongside the front page of a classified CIA briefing.
"No way," Chuck leaned forward, distantly aware of how still Bryce still was.
Sarah glanced across at him, concerned. "Did you flash?"
Chuck shook his head. "I didn't need to." He pointed at the screen. "That guy was my professor at Stanford." Chuck looked to his left, where a stone faced Bryce was just staring at the screen. "Our professor at Stanford."
Bryce didn't so much as blink.
Slowly, the rest of what Beckman had said began to filter through his mind. "Hold on. Asset? He's CIA? Our college professor is a spy?" Since Bryce didn't seem inclined to respond at all, Chuck turned to Sarah.
"The CIA recruits on campuses across the country," she explained helpfully. "Professor Fleming is a company scientist, not an operative."
Chuck nodded once, turning back to Bryce. He was beginning to have a feeling about what his friend was steadfastly not responding to. "We took his classes senior year," he announced, hoping what he was thinking wasn't true. "He recruited you?"
Bryce finally met Chuck's eyes, old pain shining dully from him. "I'm sorry, Chuck," he breathed, as much of an admission as Chuck needed.
Maybe in another time, Chuck would have been betrayed by the admission. But that was before the Intersect, before Bryce came back into his life, before he was shot. Before a lot of things, some of them even good.
"It's not your fault," Chuck assured him, uncaring about their audience. He'd be damned if he let Professor Fleming ruin his life anymore. "You didn't choose who recruited you. And he was our favourite professor most of senior year."
Apparently deciding that Chuck and Bryce's moment for clearing the air was over - whether it was or not - Director Graham cut in. "This is our last communication from him."
"...this is Glass Castle reporting hostile contact. I made a mistake, Black Coat. I copied intel for myself onto a disc. They're after it. I know I shouldn't have."
The recording stopped with a dull metallic thud.
Sarah leaned forward. "Do we know what intel he copied?"
Beckman answered in the negative. "We don't."
"He has handled many sensitive projects for us over the years," Graham explained, Bryce snorting softly beside Chuck. "Any leak could be devastating."
"How can we help?" Casey asked, immediately at attention.
Graham looked right at Bryce. "Fleming has contacts in LA. If we find him, we can extract him."
"I dropped my contacts, all of them, when I went dark," Bryce announced, tone clipped. "Whoever's running Fleming now, it's not me."
"You ran him?!"
Bryce's answering smile was bleak. "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of."
"We'd like your help on this, Chuck," Beckman announced, breaking their stare-off.
No. Chuck's help would not be helpful. "Look," he began, silently agreeing to shelve this conversation with Bryce for now. "I-I-I really don't think I'm your go-to guy on this one."
"Your knowledge of Stanford and Fleming is key here," Graham said, leaving no room for argument. "We only have his official reports. You have a personal connection."
"Yeah, I do have a personal connection," Chuck agreed, stopping just short of snapping. "A very bad personal connection. The guy had a job lined up for me after graduation. My dream job. But days, days before graduation, I lost it all." Chuck half nodded towards Bryce. "He ran him, why doesn't he do it?"
"That isn't an option," Graham stated flatly, Bryce losing a hint of tension beside him.
"Yeah, well, neither am I." Chuck got up and strode out of the room, Bryce barely a pace behind.
.
.
Chuck walked into the break room, clearing it with an uncharacteristic glare and a silent point to the door.
"Why did you never tell me?"
"There are many things I've never told you, Chuck," Bryce reminded him, almost brutal about it. "I'm a professional liar, remember?"
Chuck stopped, wrong footed. "I never accused you of that."
Bryce scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked almost defeated. "I ran him because I was ordered to. I never told you because I stopped running him before I sent you that email. And, remembering him isn't exactly a pleasure cruise for me, either."
Chuck wanted to stop, wanted just to let the matter drop and have Fleming go back to the past where he belonged. But, seeing his image had brought back all the hurt and the betrayal and Chuck just couldn't stop himself.
"Any more college related secrets you wanna share with me?"
Bryce's voice was soft, honest. "Yes."
Chuck paused, slowly turning back to face his friend.
"But I can't." And in that moment, Bryce Larkin was a terrible spy. His face was a mess of guilt and pain and sadness.
Chuck had never hated Bryce's job more.
But, Bryce was a CIA agent and nothing would ever change that. Chuck had resigned himself to not knowing whole years of his friend's life. He supposed he couldn't really fault him for keeping secrets when that was literally in his job description. And, if it came down to it, he'd rather have Bryce and his secrets in his life than not have his friend back at all.
"Awesome and Ellie are hosting his frat brahs," Chuck announced, deliberately exaggerating his words. "You are not going to leave me be the lone sane guy in that mess."
"Of course I won't," Bryce agreed immediately, a tentative smile on his lips. It faded, replaced with uncertainty. "Are we okay, Chuck?"
If this was Sarah, Chuck probably would have said something along the lines of her keeping her secrets as long as he got to keep her. But, saying that to Bryce - even though he kind of wanted to - would be weird. So, he wrapped him in a lightning hug, the memory of the devastated expression not leaving his mind.
"Buddy, you literally sent me every single secret our government has," Chuck reminded him. "Even I have no idea of the secrets I can't tell you." He smiled as warmly as he could. "Of course we're okay."
"So," Bryce began speculatively. "Awesome's frat brothers. Are we talking Gamma Delta Phi nerds or-"
"Full on jocks," Chuck shuddered. "Like you, if you were more jock and less nerd and had about fifty less IQ points." His smile dimmed a little. "Are we going to be in trouble for ditching the briefing like that?"
"Probably," Bryce shrugged, unconcerned. "But Casey and Sarah can take care of things for now. If they need us, they know where we'll be."
"At Awesome's frat brah barbeque?"
"Lucky us."
.
.
Exactly as Chuck predicted, Awesome and his frat brothers were out in the courtyard of their complex, drinking beers and tossing a football around. Chuck avoided any and all attempts at conversation, letting Bryce slip off to change out of his suit. Instead, Chuck made a beeline for his sister, pretending he'd forgotten all about the barbeque.
"Who invited the UCLA brain trust?"
"Those are Devon's fraternity brothers," Ellie reminded him with a smile. "We're actually all caravanning up to Stanford for the UCLA game this weekend."
That almost sounded like fun. Except for the part about UCLA frat boys.
"Hey, Chuck!" Awesome interrupted the siblings' moment. "Go deep, brah!"
Before Chuck had time to do more than turn around, the football was making an unauthorised introduction with his below-belt area. Chuck doubled over, feeling the air leave his body in an undignified groan.
"Ooh," one of Awesome's first brothers winced. "Right in the pills."
Awesome and two of his frat brothers came to Chuck's aid. "No, don't touch," Chuck said defensively. "Please- please don't."
"Back away, UCLA," Bryce called, crossing the courtyard in quick strides. He crouched by Chuck's side, denim pulling over his legs. "I leave you for five minutes, buddy, and look what happens."
"I'm fine, thanks," Chuck muttered, knowing his friend was laughing internally.
"Let me make it up to you," Awesome grinned, helping Bryce haul Chuck to his feet. "I've got you a ticket to the game."
"Thanks," Chuck smiled, feeling a huff of unvoiced laughter hit his shoulder. "But, uh, I really couldn't go back to Stanford without Bryce. You know."
Awesome, because he really lived up to his name, spread the tickets in his hand. "I got one for him too," he announced with a bright smile. "Wouldn't ask you to leave family behind, brah."
Chuck couldn't help it, he hugged Awesome tightly. "Thank you."
"No problem," Awesome replied, tossing the ball back to his friends. "Game on!"
Chuck turned to a still Bryce, feeling a grin curl his lips. "What do you think, Bryce? Ready to go back to the alma mater?"
"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice," Bryce commented, his smile more touched than annoyed. "But I am not travelling with the frat boys. We're taking my car."
"A road trip?" Chuck asked, pleasantly surprised.
"For old times sake," Bryce agreed, clearly knowing he had Chuck. "I'll even let you drive. A bit."
"Can't wait," Chuck grinned, turning to face Ellie's bright smile. "I know, time to socialise."
.
.
Chuck had been pledged to a fraternity at Stanford, granted a slightly nerdy fraternity but a frat nonetheless. It had prepared him for massive amounts of alcohol consumption, a lot of embarrassment, and epic middle of the night pool matches. It did not, apparently, prepare either Chuck or Bryce for dealing with other fraternities.
"I've been stabbed, tortured, blown up, had more bones broken more times than even I care to admit," Bryce whispered, voice carrying only to Chuck. "I've been shot more than once, and actually even died there for a minute. And all those experiences? Combined? Don't even come close to being as excruciating as this moment."
Chuck called on every ounce of his sunny optimism, looking around the loud courtyard. "It's not that bad?"
Bryce favoured him with one of his pitying oh, Chuck looks."You do realise we graduated with honours from Stanford and we're stuck here with a bunch of UCLA frat boys."
"UCLA alumni frat boys."
Bryce groaned, staring into his beer bottle as if that might save him from this hell. "Call Casey. Ask him to just shoot me now."
Chuck patted Bryce's arm sympathetically. "No shooting."
"Light maiming?" Bryce suggested hopefully. "Heavy sedation? A tranq dart?"
"We pledged together, remember?" Chuck reminded him gleefully. "I suffer, you suffer."
"This isn't pledge week," Bryce pointed out, but he looked less likely to spontaneously break out the Kung Fu on Awesome's brahs, so Chuck counted it as a win.
"Pledge week's looking pretty good right now, huh?"
Bryce's chuckle surprised even him. "You weren't the one who had to streak through the quad."
"I did it in solidarity." And it became one of the most embarrassing moments of his life when campus security chased them, but it had been worth it. Eventually.
"Yeah," Bryce nodded, smiling fondly. "You did."
"We're going back to Stanford," Chuck announced, almost unable to believe it. "And it's either going to be great or a total disaster."
"It could be both," Bryce grinned bracingly. "But, if I'm going to be driving the five hours up to Stanford, I'm going to need some sleep." He turned apologetic, tired eyes on Chuck. Still not sleeping well, not that he was admitting that to Chuck. "Do you mind if I bail on the rest of this thrilling barbeque?"
"Go. Sleep." Chuck made a shooing motion with his hands. "I should probably dig out some old Stanford stuff. Don't want to be the only guy not showing college pride."
"Not the hoodie," Bryce groaned, successfully hiding a yawn in the move. "That thing was falling apart by graduation."
"I have others," Chuck sniffed with great dignity. It wasn't his fault that one hoodie was just comfier.
Whatever Bryce would have said it reply was mangled in a yawn, Chuck taking great pleasure in steering him towards his own apartment. "Sleep well, buddy."
Bryce smiled thinly, disappearing into his apartment. "Maybe."
.
.
With everything happening in his life lately - the promotion, the Intersect, the thing with Sarah - Chuck had to admit taking a nap himself sounded like a pretty good idea. Before he could collapse on his bed and sleep, he did want to dig out his college box. He wanted to wear that hoodie to the game and, if his memory wasn't playing tricks on him, there should be an old photo of Chuck and Bryce and a couple of their frat brothers he wanted to display again.
The box was exactly where Chuck had left it. And so was his comfy hoodie and the photograph. As he pulled the stack of hoodies from the box, something rectangular and plastic dropped to the floor of his room. Absently, he picked it up, mind preoccupied with wondering if his old hoodie really would fall apart if he washed it one more time.
Chuck glanced at the ID in his hand, taking in the goofy photo he'd taken senior year. And then he flashed. On himself.
What the hell?
