"I just flashed on myself," Chuck announced, holding up his ID. "Why am I in the Intersect?"
Casey - Casey, who Chuck had gone to instead of Bryce, despite knowing his friend might hold the answers he was looking for - stepped back, letting Chuck into the apartment.
Sarah perched on the edge of Casey's surveillance table, her face concerned at the sight of him. "What's wrong?"
"I'm in the Intersect," Chuck repeated dully. "Why am I in the Intersect?"
Casey and Sarah shared one of their super spies communicating looks, his handlers smiling apologetically. Or, as close to an apologetic smile as Casey ever got.
"You're telling me you don't know?" Chuck demanded, unable to believe it. They knew everything, often far more than Chuck ever got told. And often far, far more than either let on. "How is that possible?"
"You didn't appear on the NSA radar until after Bryce sent you the Intersect," Casey explained, moving back towards his computer.
"Same with the CIA," Sarah agreed, her phone briefly lit up in her hand.
"Why don't I find that reassuring?" Chuck asked, his sarcasm rising uncontrolled. Normally, he might have taken that in stride, but it was a little unsettling to realise that the government had put him in the computer conveniently living in his head. Why on Earth was he important enough to be noticed?
"Those files you saw were of you in college, right?" Sarah checked, wrapping her hands around her mug of coffee.
Chuck nodded mutely. College files, a CIA recruiter. Chuck's mind sparkled with connection. "Could that be it?" Chuck asked, knowing Casey and Sarah hadn't yet reached the same idea he had. "Professor Fleming, he was CIA. I was in his class. Could that be it?"
Sarah peered at him with her far too shrewd eyes. "You haven't asked Bryce?"
"I think he won't tell me," Chuck admitted slowly. "Look, it's not that I don't trust him, because I do. God knows I do. He'd throw himself in front of a bullet for me and I'd do the same in a heartbeat. But, Bryce and I, we both have two different Stanford's. We have the one where it was home and fun and the best time of our lives. And we have the one where it was the worst time of our lives. And just because this is bringing up my worst time, doesn't mean I want it to bring up Bryce's too."
Sarah's smile was almost pityingly gentle. "Ask him."
"No." Chuck was not going to be moved. "We're going up there this weekend and it's going to be about one last Gotcha! game in the library and maybe catching the football. It's not going to be about my college ID making me flash."
"It did what now?"
Rumpled, slightly bleary but very much not asleep in his apartment nextdoor, Bryce was staring at Chuck. And he did not look pleased.
Considering the cat was well and truly out of the bag, up a tree and needing to be rescued by a fireman, Chuck didn't see the harm in telling the truth. "I'm in the Intersect."
Bryce rubbed at his left temple, tired and weary. "How?"
Casey glared at him. "We were hoping you might know the answer to that."
"Unless it's from my background check, I can't think of anything," Bryce sighed, eyeing Casey's couch as if wondering if it would bite him if he tried to sit on it.
Sarah glared him towards the couch before continuing the briefing. "You think it could have something to do with Professor Fleming?"
"Maybe," Bryce agreed tiredly. "I don't suppose there's coffee?"
Chuck was pouring a mug of Casey's best before he'd even realised it. He wrapped Bryce's hands around the red mug, smiling worriedly down at his friend. "You look like hell."
Bryce twitched a slight smile. "That's what happens when you wake someone in the middle of their REM cycle."
Chuck dropped to the couch beside his friend, peering in renewed concern. "You were woken?"
Another slightly bitter smile. "What did you think happened? My Spidey senses tingled?"
Come to think of it, it would be pretty cool if Bryce did have Spidey senses. It would certainly fit. "When it comes to you, Bryce, I've learned not to doubt that."
Bryce grinned around his coffee, appearing for all the world as if he too had stopped to imagine how cool it would be to actually have Spidey senses. "You say the sweetest things."
Casey scoffed in the back of his throat. "I might throw up."
"And I might shoot you," Bryce replied, a strain in his words that told Chuck that Bryce was not remotely kidding.
"No shooting Casey," Chuck announced, dropping his hand to Bryce's knee in case that might calm him. Then, looking up at Casey, he added; "No provoking the tired superspy." Chuck made a mental note to talk to Bryce about the whole not sleeping thing, he was sure Awesome had a tea that might help. "Anyway," Chuck said, returning to the present concern of, you know, himself in the Intersect. "What are we going to do about this?"
Sarah glanced at Casey, who narrowed his eyes at Bryce but said nothing. "Well, maybe if we could find Fleming, maybe he could give us some answers."
Bryce snorted into his coffee. "Wouldn't bet on it."
"Hey, grumpy pants, we're trying optimism today," Chuck grumbled, teasing him like he often would on early mornings back in college.
Predictably, Bryce shot a fondly irritated look back at him. "I haven't had enough coffee for optimism. Could I tempt you with resigned pessimism instead?"
Chuck shook his head, nudging Bryce's mug pointedly. "Drink your coffee."
"Casey's coffee tastes like dirt," Bryce mumbled, but he did as he was told.
"About Fleming?" Sarah interrupted, almost apologetic.
"Let's find him," Chuck announced, his need to know why he was in the Intersect overwhelming the urge never to see Fleming ever again.
"It's not going to be easy," Sarah offered, nodding to Casey.
"New Intel suggests the professor is being hunted," Casey announced, bringing up something on his computer. "The NSA found one witness in Fleming's class who identified one Magnus Einersson. He's an Icelandic spy."
"I'm sorry," Chuck interrupted, coming to join his other handlers at the desk. "Iceland does espionage?"
"Magnus buys and sells intel to the highest bidder," Casey replied, mildly disgusted. "Iceland isn't officially aware of his activities."
"It says here that the crossbow is his weapon of choice," Sarah read out, probably for Bryce's benefit.
Nevertheless; "What, slingshot's too ineffective?"
"Actually, buddy, a slingshot can be pretty deadly if the situation calls for it."
"Aaaannd now I have a whole new thing to be irrationally terrified of," Chuck heard himself complain. "Thanks so much for that, buddy."
Bryce offered one of his sparkling I'm too tired to deal with this smiles. "Anytime."
Chuck felt a yawn building in his chest. "Well, if you don't need my help yet in finding the professor, I'll get some sleep. I've got a shift at the Buy More tomorrow and then we're driving up to Stanford for the game." Chuck waited for Casey and Sarah to gesture him out, then he turned to his friend. "And, if you even think about doing anything but sleeping tomorrow, I swear I'll get us a lift with one of Awesome's frat brahs."
Bryce stopped outside his own door, saying softly; "It's not for lack of trying, Chuck."
Chuck knew that. Of course he did. But, Bryce clearly didn't want to talk about the real reasons, so Chuck gave him the courtesy of not pushing. "Just, promise me you'll stay home and relax tomorrow?"
"If you'll promise me you'll be careful."
"The only danger I'll face tomorrow is paperwork," Chuck informed him tiredly. "Unless you fancy swooping in and saving me from that too, Bryce?"
"That's all on you, 007," Bryce teased, unlocking his apartment. Laughter echoed from Chuck's, Bryce wincing in sympathy. "You wanna crash?"
The thought of dealing with the raucous crowd was almost too much. "Oh yeah."
.
.
Paperwork was the bane of Chuck's existence. He hated paperwork, he hated inventory, he hated all the mindless forms that had been piling up for months. Honestly, he had no idea how Bryce did it. Put him in front of an irretrievably damaged hard drive and Chuck could fix it, but leave him with stacks of forms and it felt like his brain was trying to dribble out of his ears. Which, considering his brain was practically US Government property, Chuck felt was a situation the CIA or the NSA might want to look into. Maybe streamline the process a tiny bit.
It wasn't until well after lunch, and Chuck's subsequent break for the Nerd Herd desk and problems he could solve, that he began to feel less zombie like and more like the tech nerd he had always been. Of course, Casey had to go and ruin it by strolling into the Buy More. On his day off. Honestly, Chuck was just glad Bryce wasn't trailing in after him.
Still, it would be remiss of Chuck not to check. "Bryce isn't with you, is he?"
"Sleeping Beauty's in his apartment," Casey huffed, rolling his eyes. "On his couch, if you must know. He fell asleep watching that God awful sci-fi show. The one with the bald guy and the glittery robot."
The bald guy and the glittery robot?... "Next Generation is not a god awful SciFi show," Chuck protested, pretty sure he was feeling the offense of every geek in the world. He stopped himself from asking which episode his friend wasn't watching, knowing Casey would neither know nor care. "Why are you here, Casey?"
Casey pulled a sheet of paper from under his jacket. "We just got a hit from a traffic camera in Hollywood."
Chuck snuck a look at the image. "That's Fleming."
"Wow, you just saved me a lot of investigative work there, Intersect," Casey rolled his eyes. "The DMV told me that."
"Sarcasm, what a surprise," Chuck snarked back.
Casey, predictably, ignored him. "We found an address, we're bringing him in now."
Chuck appreciated the update, but he didn't think Casey would have dragged himself all the way over here just to brief him. "So what do you need me for?"
"You're a friendly face. Your professor sees you there, he'll be more inclined to cooperate. Copy?"
"Yeah, I copy," Chuck sighed, grudgingly getting up from his chair. "Let me just go tell Big Mike I'm taking an on-site installation."
"We leave in three," Casey warned, walking away.
Chuck made a face at his back, pushing down the memories of Fleming calling him into his office. He didn't need to relive one of his worst ever moments right now. Not if he was going to have any chance of facing Fleming soon.
.
.
Casey and Sarah left Chuck to go and extract Fleming, Chuck also tuning out the inevitable "stay in the car, Chuck" speech. It was routine by now; stay in the car, call if he flashed on any bad guys, hope that none of his handlers got themselves shot. Chuck was tempted to text Bryce an update, but knew well enough that if Bryce had wanted to be here, he would be here and not dozing on his couch while Next Gen played on the television. So, Chuck kept watch, making sure nobody snuck into Fleming's house while Casey and Sarah were inside.
Until Chuck saw Fleming wander past the car with bags of groceries. He was out of the car before he could think, chasing after his professor and calling out his name. Only three words Black Castle got him to stop long enough for Chuck to remind him who he was.
"Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to scare you," he panted, cursing himself for not ever doing more exercise. "But, it's Chuck."
"Chuck Bartowski," Fleming greeted, taking off his hat. "Of course I remember you." He wandered around Chuck, looking to make sure the coast was clear. "So you're with the Agency now, huh? Why didn't you say so?"
Because that was literally the last thing Chuck wanted to tell his former professor. And he wasn't technically with the Agency, so much as the unwilling host of all their secrets. "I don't think I'm supposed to."
Fleming nodded once, turning serious. "So, what are we doing now? Who's bringing me in?"
Chuck gestured off towards the house. "Sarah and Casey will- will do that. But, I was wondering if I could ask you something first."
Fleming looked away, almost as if he was afraid of what Chuck was going to ask.
"Why do the CIA have a file of me at Stanford?"
Fleming looked at anything but Chuck for a long moment. Then, he met his eyes. "I'm sorry."
No sooner had he spoken then he began to topple, dropping against Chuck's chest. Chuck patted his back, babbling about something even he couldn't make sense of, until he came to the metal arrow embedded in Fleming's back.
"Oh God. Oh no. Okay," Chuck babbled, riding the wave of panic.
Fleming's weight pushed them to the ground. He muttered something about Bryce and showed Chuck a sheet of paper with some numbers on it. Another crossbow bolt sent the paper flying from Fleming's hand, the Icelandic spy looking long and hard at Chuck before he scooped up the paper and strode off.
Chuck heard Sarah's voice - so wonderful, so perfect - and called out for help. "Man down! Man down! Over here!"
.
.
About half an hour later, Chuck found himself back in Bryce's apartment. His -much better rested but worried - friend had Star Trek playing softly in the background while steaming mugs of coffee warmed their hands. Since Chuck had arrived, Bryce had done nothing but hover around him, making sure he wasn't too shaken from nearly having their old professor die on him. Chuck had expected a lecture on things always happening to him when Bryce wasn't around, but none had been forthcoming.
"You're not hurt?" Bryce checked for the twentieth time, his eyes scanning Chuck's curled form.
Chuck mutely shook his head, trying to ignore the memory of Fleming's weight pushing him into the grass. "I stopped to question him, Bryce," he said, guilt bubbling hot in his stomach. "If I hadn't-"
"Nope," Bryce cut in, shaking his head firmly. "You are not responsible for what anybody - especially mercenary spies - choose to do." Bryce's eyes caught his own, softening. "It's not your fault, Chuck."
"Feels like it is," Chuck mumbled, hunching further into the corner of Bryce's couch.
Bryce shook his head again, smiling sadly. "You're too good for the world I've dragged you into."
Chuck wanted to protest, if not the words then certainly the guilt Bryce was showing. But, as if often seemed of late, the universe had other ideas. Casey and Sarah walked through the front door, Casey's lips curling at the sound of Next Generation. Bryce caught the NSA Major's eyes and smirked, Chuck having been only too happy to distract the both of them by tattling on Casey.
"How'd it go at the hospital?" Chuck asked, waving both Sarah and Casey into chairs since Bryce clearly wasn't going to. "Is the Professor going to be okay?"
"They're putting him into surgery now," Sarah replied.
"Which means we can't talk to him and sort this mess out," Casey continued, tone falling short of a grumble for a change. "You sure it was Magnus you saw?"
"Gee, I don't know, Casey. How many psycho archers do you know?"
Chuck saw Casey smirk and decided he really didn't want to know the answer to that question.
"I just can't work out why Fleming wanted me to take those numbers to Bryce," Chuck said, musing more to himself than anyone in the room.
Bryce paused, turning slowly back to face Chuck. "What numbers?"
"I don't know," Chuck shrugged, trying to remember. "There were about ten of them, maybe a couple of nines. A five. It definitely started with a two."
"That's it?" Casey asked, frowning at him. "You have a computer for a brain-"
"Ease off," Bryce growled.
At the same time, Chuck snapped; "Look, it was a very stressful situation. Okay, Casey? I watched a guy get skewered by a crossbow."
"It's going to be okay, Chuck," Sarah counselled, gentle honesty in her voice.
"Is it?" Chuck shook his head, not entirely sure he believed her. "Fleming knew something. Right before he was shot, he told me he was sorry. Why would he say that?"
Bryce heaved a sigh, setting his mug onto the coffee table. "Because he knows why you're in the Intersect."
"Yeah," Chuck agreed bitterly. "And we won't know the answers to any of our questions until he wakes up."
"I'm not so sure about that," Bryce murmured, his face doing a complicated thing it did when he was trying to make a tough decision.
Chuck uncurled from his position, leaning closer to Bryce. "What?"
"You know what those numbers mean, Chuck," Bryce said, gently prompting. It would have been so easy for Bryce to say it himself, but he'd always seemed to enjoy watching Chuck work things out.
Chuck shook his head, helpless.
"Come on, buddy," Bryce urged. "Think. What do you know?"
"Fleming wanted those numbers brought to you," Chuck began, slowly working it out. "Which means it's a system you know."
"Mm-hmm," Bryce agreed, eyes twinkling. "And?"
"It was on Stanford paper, so we can presume wherever the numbers pertain to, must be at Stanford."
"Yes," Bryce smiled, waving his hand in an encouraging gesture. "Come on, Chuck, you've nearly got it."
Bryce. Stanford. Nearly got it. Got. Gotcha! Bryce holding his hands up, saying Chuck would never shoot an unarmed man. Chuck saying he might, even though it was hardly sportsman-like. Bryce distracting him by asking him if he'd ever read Gynaecology for Geeks. The familiar stinging sensation of another sucker dart in the middle of his forehead.
Chuck felt a smile slowly spread over his lips. "The library?"
Bryce's own grin answered Chuck, bright and warm and proud. "Gotcha."
Chuck grinned back at Bryce for a long moment, riding the high of figuring it out. Then, because he was vaguely aware that they weren't the only two people in the apartment, he turned back to Sarah and Casey. "How'd you guys feel about road-tripping up to Stanford? Bryce is driving, I've got the playlist. Real turn of the millennium nostalgia."
"I think I'm bringing a gun and I will shoot," Casey warned, looking as though he would rather face an entire squad of ninjas than come along with them.
Bryce's smirk pulled Chuck's attention back to him. "This is going to be fun."
