Unconscionably early the next morning, Chuck found himself standing in Casey's apartment, coffee in hand and Bryce hovering at his side. On the television, General Beckman was in briefing mode, staring sternly out at Team Bartowski.

"Stavros Demetrios," Beckman announced, a picture of Demetrios coming up on screen. "A handsome playboy. Owns and operates a number of LA clubs."

Chuck slouched in front of the screen, shrugging a little. "I don't think he's that handsome," he said, uncaring who heard. It wasn't just petty jealousy over his current girlfriend's ex (he was intimidatingly familiar with dating someone after handsome exes), it was just considering Bryce was the last ex he had to contend with, Stavros was about as threatening as Morgan.

Bryce, who was in a fine snit after discovering that Stavros "threatens to kill Lou's boyfriends" Demetrios was what Chuck had flashed on, peered curiously at the screen. "I don't know," he mused, lip curling up in a smirk. "I guess I can see it."

Chuck glared across at his friend. "Not. Helping. Buddy."

Bryce smirked back at him, eyes sparkling. "Not. Trying. To."

Beckman ignored the pair of them, continuing with her briefing. "He's the son of Yari Demetrios, the shipping magnate." Another image came up on screen, this time an older, balding man.

Chuck heard that, but his mind came back to another pertinent detail. "What do you mean by Playboy? What kind of intel do we have on that?"

Beckman swiveled her chair, glaring pointedly through the screen. "What we have is information that a volatile package is coming to Los Angeles." Bryce tensed beside Chuck, the playful light disappearing from his eyes. "The cargo itself is time sensitive, which - knowing the Demetrios family ties to the Middle East - could mean a weapon."

Sarah glanced across at Chuck, her face showing signs of worry. "Chuck, we need you to get as close to Stavros as possible and see if you flash on anything related to the shipment."

"What?" Chuck blurted, certain he had misheard. Because that sounded like a truly terrible idea. "You want me to get close to my girlfriend's ex? How do you want me to do that?"

"I have an idea about that," Bryce cut in, calm as a summer day. "It'll happen over my dead body."

"Agent Larkin," Beckman warned, eyes going flinty.

"You can't seriously think that this is a good idea," Bryce replied, calm as ever. "Given Chuck's track record with finding danger in the most innocent situations, sending him in there doesn't sound like the smartest plan we can come up with."

"Exactly," Chuck agreed, presenting a united front. He couldn't see it working well, but Bryce's side seemed the sanest side to be on. "Besides, I don't want to get Lou mixed up in all of this."

Casey cut a glare across Bryce at Chuck. "Well why don't you and your girlfriend hit Club Ares tonight?" he suggested, something almost like a smirk in his voice. "I hear it's supposed to be all the rage."

Beckman agreed, terminating the connection as brusquely as ever.

"Public location," Sarah mused, nodding. "That could work."

Bryce shared a frustrated glance with Chuck, his face absolutely impassive. "Did anyone miss the part where I implied that this will happen over my dead body?"

Casey and Sarah pointedly ignored him. Chuck watched Bryce close his eyes, counting slowly under his breath.

"Okay," he said, nodding to himself. "Buddy, I'm not crashing your date, but-"

Chuck understood immediately. "You fancy going clubbing tonight?"

Bryce shrugged elegantly, a flash of a grin crossing his face. "It's not the worst idea I've ever had."

"Yeah, you can keep your clothes on for this one," Chuck quipped, rewarded with a bright burst of Bryce's laughter.

Casey scowled at them both. "I don't want to know."

"Wasn't going to tell you, Casey," Bryce replied, grabbing Chuck by the wrist. "Time to go to work. If I don't set that paperwork on fire, it's just going to keep piling up."

Chuck bumped against Bryce's side, grinning at his friend. "You are such a responsible accountant, buddy."

"I try, Chuck," Bryce grinned back, slipping his now customary sunglasses over his eyes. "I try."

.

.

Chuck tried pretty hard too. All morning he sat in his shared office, working his way through irritating minutia, sharing commiserating looks with Bryce over spreadsheets and budget projections and more numbers than even engineers were comfortable looking at. He tried, all that morning, to forget the fact that he would soon be dragging his girlfriend into Club Ares and the spy world just because he'd flashed on an innocuous flyer.

So, come lunchtime, Chuck was both relieved and a little worried to see Lou talking to Morgan in the Buy More. His oldest friend looked a lot hurt, smiling at Lou like she ought to know who he was. Chuck walked over as quickly as possible, knowing Morgan's propensity to say weird things in defense of his place in Chuck's life.

"Hey," he greeted, smiling at a slightly uncomfortable Lou. "There you are. You guys finally met."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed cheerfully.

Lou hummed a note, smiling at Chuck. "I brought you some lunch."

Chuck helplessly watched as Morgan took the paper bag, sniffing deeply. He loved Morgan, honestly he did, but this was not the kind of first impression he had hoped his friend would make.

"I smell salami, black olives tapenade? Okay," Morgan looked up at Chuck. "This might actually have a shot at working out."

Chuck laughed under his breath, endlessly entertained by Morgan's antics. "Morgan approval," he smiled at Lou. "That's very big. Now, you've just got to pass muster with my sister, her boyfriend and my other best friend."

Lou frowned sweetly at him, still trying to process the force of nature that was Morgan. "Best friend tends to be a singular position," she offered, almost teasing.

Chuck felt himself nod, smiling despite himself. That was certainly the way to describe both Morgan and Bryce. One of a kind, each of them.

"Um," Chuck began intelligently, trying to find the right words. "Speaking of singular... I was thinking that maybe we could go to that thing at Club Ares tonight."

"No," Lou shook her head, brown eyes broadcasting loud and clear what a terrible idea it was. "Trust me. That is a bad plan."

Oh, Chuck knew. He was very, very aware of how much of an epically bad idea it was. Unfortunately, he didn't have any choice. Which meant, as Casey so tactfully put it, he was going to have to suck it up and deal with it.

"Look, sooner or later, he is gonna find out about me and I'd rather just make the peace now.

"Charming, handsome and brave," Lou approved, eyes sparkling. "You know that's a combination I'm not used to."

Chuck smiled, a little too wide and a little too bright. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's a little new for me too."

A little new, here meaning something he was utterly unfamiliar with. Oh, this was going to be such a bad idea.

.

.

Later that evening, Chuck had returned with his handlers to Bryce's apartment. Bryce's and not Casey's because, as his friend had put it, there was no way in hell he was letting Chuck prepare for a date in the Terminator's motel room.

"This is only our second date and I'm already lying to her," Chuck sighed, staring at his reflection in Bryce's full length mirror. "What the hell am I doing?"

"Relax," Casey dismissed, tapping at his laptop. "It's dating in LA, everyone lies."

Chuck would be more inclined towards taking dating advice from his handlers if he could even remember the last time they faced this situation. "When was the last date any of you were on? That wasn't fake," he added at Sarah's intake of breath.

"Hey, don't look at me," Bryce shrugged, frowning at the jacket Chuck was wearing. "I'm exempt. Prospective partners don't really dig bullet holes. Which is what this thing needs to be riddled with. Stat."

Chuck raised a hand to the lapels, frowning. "I thought you said you liked this jacket?"

Bryce shuddered elegantly. "No. What I said was, it's the best thing in your closet. Liking it was never mentioned."

"Why are you so awful?"

"I'm your best friend," Bryce smirked, rocking back on his heels. "It's in the job description. If I don't give you a hard time before your date, I won't be doing my job." Bryce glanced down at Chuck's chest. "And, trust me, bud; there's no way a second date will become a third if you're wearing that."

Chuck slipped off the jacket, glancing across at his friend. "It's that bad?"

Bryce's grin faded slightly. "You can pull it off," he admitted, as if sensing Chuck's anxiety. "If you were doing a nice romantic dinner with candlelight and a string quartet. But, you're going to a club. Right now, you're a pocket protector away from looking like an accountant. And, yes, I'd know."

"I can't go in just a t-shirt," Chuck protested. "I know this is LA, but it's still November."

Bryce hummed thoughtfully. "Fortunately, you have an over prepared best friend who has an intimate knowledge of the horrors of your closet."

"We're going to be tapped into the club's surveillance feed," Casey seized his chance to say, Bryce drifting out of the room. "All we need is the audio."

Sarah held up a little guitar pin. "This has an RK-7 mini mic that works up to twenty feet," she announced, letting it catch the light. "I want you to keep it as close to Stavros as possible."

Chuck took it from the palm of her hand. "Are you kidding?" he demanded, feeling a headache begin to blossom behind his eyes. "Are you kidding me with this?" He cut his gaze towards the bedrooms. "Bryce? Did you-?"

"I was against this from the start," Bryce replied, using the carefully calm tone Chuck was coming to recognise as his spy voice. "But, unfortunately, that's the best we've got right now."

"I can't wear this," Chuck protested, waving the pin in the air. "This looks ridiculous."

"The alternative is we join you on your date," Casey cut in, and maybe the pin wasn't so bad after all.

"On the bright side," Bryce said brightly. "At least that ridiculous trinket will be pinned on something that doesn't look like it's a decade out of style."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, appreciating the teasing more than ever. At least Bryce making fun of him before a date was normal. "Your words hurt, Bryce."

"My eyes hurt, buddy," Bryce grinned, holding out a dark blazer. "This will work better on you."

Chuck slipped it on, trying very hard not to notice how right his friend was. It didn't do to give Bryce the right impression; he was smug enough without Chuck's confirmation. "Thanks, bud."

When he turned around, Sarah was there with a white case. "Earwig."

"It never ends with you people does it?" Chuck complained, picking up the earwig. "If it isn't Casey's helpful advice, it's you and your surveillance, or him and his fashion policing."

Bryce leaned against the back of his couch, grinning. "I critique because I care."

"And I critique because I don't care," Casey echoed, holding out a rose. "Don't forget this, Romeo."

Chuck warily took the rose, wondering what fresh NSA hell this was now. "Of course," he smirked, sarcasm coming easily to his lips. "Let me guess. This is equipped with some kind of microscopic infrared tracking device that determines her mother's communist affiliations?"

Casey smirked right back. "No, idiot. It's so you can get laid."

Behind him, Bryce choked on a sip of coffee, the superspy almost bent double as he coughed.

Chuck turned in immediate concern. "You okay, Bryce?"

Bryce gave a thumbs up, still spluttering out little wheezes of breath.

Chuck walked to the door, picking up his keys from the bowl on the side table. "Any last advice before I pick up my date?"

"Don't screw it up," Casey predictably replied.

"You're on a mission, but you're also on a date," Bryce offered, slipping a leather jacket over his shoulders. "So, stick close to Stavros but have fun."

"And you'll be-"

"Within shouting distance at all times," Bryce promised easily. "Now go. You don't want to be late. Dates hate tardiness."

.

.

Bryce had been to many clubs in his years, both at college and with the CIA, and Club Ares was no different to all the rest. The music was too loud, the drinks were too expensive, and the sheer number of people made him twitchy. But, he settled himself at the bar, ordered a glass of wine, and tried to remind himself that he was twenty-six and this was an ordinary night out for people his age. He definitely would not rather be at home with Zork programming and sci-fi reruns on the TV.

"ETA on Romeo?" Bryce murmured, keeping his eyes on the entrance.

"Ten seconds," Casey growled into his earpiece. "They're passing the bouncer now."

Bryce clocked them as soon as they entered. Chuck, as always, was talking a mile a minute; his anxiety coming out as a need to babble. At Chuck's side was a shorter (but compared to Chuck, who wasn't?) brunette woman. Sandwich girl was beautiful, her pictures had not done her justice, and she was smiling up at Chuck in the way that said she found his babbling endearing but she had no clue what he was saying.

As Chuck and sandwich girl moved deeper into the crowd, presumably to dance (poor Chuck), Bryce pushed off the bar. He followed at a close but polite distance, never letting the crush of bodies take Chuck out of his line of sight.

Stavros, dressed in a suit that couldn't have screamed "I'm a giant douche" louder if he tried, stopped in front of Chuck and his date. Chuck's body tensed, Bryce sympathetically imagining the litany of panic now going through his friend's mind.

Stavros said something, patting Chuck on the side of his neck.

Bryce's fingers itched. He wanted his gun, or a knife, even a blunt paperclip would do. He could improvise.

"Chuck's getting a drink with Stavros now," Sarah informed him, delicately not commenting on the way they could probably hear Bryce's teeth grind. "You're backup, not his bodyguard."

"I've meet some assholes in my time," Bryce muttered, but he stood down. He trusted Chuck to handle this. "Keep me updated."

"Like you wouldn't jump to his rescue before we said anything," Casey muttered, Bryce pretending not to hear him.

.

.

"Sitrep?" Casey smirked, as if he didn't know exactly how things were going.

"Chuck is bombing this date," Bryce groaned. Sandwich girl was visibly becoming more and more uncomfortable and Chuck was just sitting there downing shot after shot and chatting with Stavros. And really, all the frat parties really should have taught him that he had no alcohol intolerance. Bryce virtually always had to lug his inebriated ass to bed. "Any intel so far?"

"Romeo's bombing that too," Casey sighed. "We'll be here for days at the rate he's going. We're getting nothing out of Stavros."

"I think I'm going to shoot him," Bryce offered conversationally. Near as he could tell, his lip reading was fifty-fifty, Stavros had just commented on Chuck's neck and was now talking about snapping chicken necks.

"You didn't bring a gun," Sarah reminded him, voice of reason as ever.

"Since when has that ever stopped me?" Bryce smirked. Half the security in this place was armed, and Bryce was nothing if not inventive.

"Bryce," Sarah warned, her tone unreadable. "This isn't like you."

It really wasn't. Bryce had a reputation for being almost ruthlessly cool and calm on missions. But this wasn't just a mission, this was a Chuck related mission. And, as his earliest years in the CIA could attest, he didn't always think clearly when it came to Chuck's safety.

He settled back against the wall, watching Stavros continue his alpha male posturing. Watching Chuck take it for the sake of the mission. Bryce had never wanted this for him.

Losing a chance at a meaningful relationship because of the spy life, it was a pain Bryce hoped Chuck would never have to know.

"Lou's leaving," Bryce noted, Chuck still obliviously taking Stavros' shit. "Give him a heads-up, would ya?"

Sarah and Casey must have done so, because Chuck caught up with Lou a mere foot from Bryce. Close enough for him to just make out their conversation. Lou looked hurt and angry, Chuck just confused and a little hurt.

"Where are you going?" Chuck asked her, staring at his date with sad eyes.

"You spent the entire night talking to my ex," Lou cried, throwing her arms wide. "This date is over, okay? I'm out of here."

"Lou, wait," Chuck called, the sadness in his eyes turning to devastation. "No. Don't go. Lou! Don't go!"

Bryce could do nothing but watch his friend watch his girlfriend walk out, wishing he could tell him to go after her. But, the mission was still Stavros.

Chuck froze completely, his body tensing in a horribly familiar way. "Bryce?" Chuck called, eyes scanning the crowd.

"Here, bud," he said, tugging his friend to the relative quite of the wall. "You flashed?"

"Yari Demetrios is here," Chuck announced, speaking the words into his pin too, for the sake of Casey and Sarah.

"He's heading for his son," Casey stated. "Get the mic closer. We need to hear what they're saying."

Chuck's hazel eyes glanced from the crowd where Lou was disappearing to the cordoned off area where Yari was about to reach his son. His conflict was painful to see. Yet, for a split second, Bryce wanted to know what he would choose. Maybe it made him a terrible friend, but a split second was all it was.

"Give me the pin and go after her," Bryce demanded, holding his hand out for the pin.

Chuck's eyes widened. And there was gratitude there, and then defeat. "They won't let you into the VIP lounge," he said, and the defeat was in his voice now too. Chuck smiled at him though, a tiny flicker of a thing, and that just wasn't going to stand.

Bryce lifted the pin off his lapel, striding through the crowd. He didn't look back, but he knew Chuck had gone after Lou. Telling himself that was exactly what he intended, Bryce dropped the pin on a tray heading for the Demetrios's table.

"Mic inbound," he muttered, spinning on his heel. "Where's Chuck?"

"Outside," Sarah replied, distracted. "Alone."

.

.

Chuck watched Lou's cab drive away, something helpless and heavy dropping right into his stomach. He knew he'd been a jackass the entire date, but he'd had to be. Didn't know any other way to do the job he'd been forced into. That still didn't make him not want to scream at how unfair it all was.

Bryce came out of the club, wordlessly putting his hand on Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck leaned into the touch, accepting the comfort. "This sucks, Bryce."

"I know," Bryce replied softly. "I'm sorry it turned out like this."

There were a lot of ways Chuck could have replied to that. Angrily. Snarkily. Blaming him. But, Bryce had tried. Tried to get him out of there in time. And that counted for a lot. Besides, Bryce Larkin was capable of many things, but wanting to see Chuck hurt, he didn't think was one of them.

Pity he couldn't say the same for his other handlers who pulled up alongside them.

"Nice work, Chuck," Sarah said brightly. And didn't they teach spies to read the room. Or, street. "We know when and where the package is coming." She finished with a happy nod, as if everything was right in their world.

The insensitivity was unbelievable. Surely they all heard how badly he had blown things? And yet, here they were acting like the mission was a success.

"How was the date?" Casey added, rubbing salt into the open wound.

"Is it me or does our government never want me to have sex again?" Chuck asked, bitter sarcasm seeming the only way to go.

"Know the feeling," Bryce muttered, but he aimed that sharp, dangerous little smile at Casey and Sarah. "You'd best report back to Beckman. I'll get Chuck home."

"Bar crawl?" Chuck asked hopefully, knowing his friend too well for that.

"You've had plenty already," Bryce said, his voice a playful tease. Just as Chuck had hoped. He needed Bryce's ability to distract him right now. "How about we go home and school some noobs on Call of Duty?"

Video game violence sounded pretty good right now. Not quite as good as getting blackout drunk and forgetting how terribly he'd blown everything, but still good. And, much less chance of him waking up with a whole new reason to hate himself. But all he said was; "You're driving."