Much as Chuck had wished, he woke up after his disastrous second date with Lou and found out it had really happened. He had been a total jackass all night, and all Bryce's half-asleep reassurances that Lou would forgive him because Chuck was "a really great guy" and "not like that asshat Stavros" really didn't feel all that reassuring in the cold light of day.
He had wanted to ask Ellie for her opinion, but his big sister was coming off a late shift and had threatened unholy vengeance if he woke her before she'd gotten her much needed rest.
Which, naturally, left Chuck to think up a way to make things right.
.
Chuck hid behind the aisle next to the wall of televisions, speaking low but insistent into his phone. This had to work. There was no other alternative. Chuck did not want to be the guy who ruined a really great relationship before it had the chance to start. And he knew (okay, he really, really hoped) that he could make this right if only he could get Lou to either answer his calls or listen to the voicemails he was leaving.
"Charles Bartowski. Second message," he enunciated clearly, forcing himself to choose his words with great care instead of just babbling a stream of consciousness into the phone. "Look, I totally screwed up. Okay? I'm more than comfortable blaming it on the alcohol or global warming or my obscure allergy to neon. But- but, hey, hopefully I'll talk to you soon."
Chuck raised upright, meeting the unimpressed gaze of John Casey. A Casey with a backpack and a I-mean-business face.
"Okay, thanks. Buh-bye." Chuck closed his flip phone, glaring at Casey. "Damn it. You made me give her a buh-bye." A buh-bye. Lou was never going to call him back.
Casey, as usual, took far too much enjoyment out of things that made Chuck miserable. "She won't talk to you?" he asked, and the tone of his voice was definitely the opposite of sympathetic. "You want us to cut her power? Smoke her out?"
"Wow, that's very romantic." Chuck rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just club her over the head and drag her out by her foot?" Which, Chuck wouldn't be surprised, was probably the way Casey got a date for prom. But it wouldn't help his situation all that much. "Look, I'll handle this one without the NSA, thank you."
"Yeah, you did a good job last night," Casey replied, and it could almost have been a compliment, except Chuck knew how badly he had tanked the entire mission. "We're going down to the docks in a few hours," the NSA major continued. "To intercept the package."
That sounded exactly like the kind of distraction Chuck needed to get his mind off Lou and the disaster he'd made of their relationship. "You need me to go?"
"Yeah," Casey shrugged, smirking. "If crap hits the fan, we could use you, Chicken Neck."
Sometimes, Chuck really wished he had a different NSA handler.
"Chuck! Chuck!" Morgan hurried up beside him, eyes shifty and frantic. "What have you heard about last night? And don't hold anything back."
"I don't know what you are talking about," Chuck replied honestly.
"Well, I made a move on Anna and she shot me down, so," Morgan trailed off pointedly.
"What? What? Anna, Anna? Really?" Chuck frowned, wondering how much of Morgan's life he had missed out on lately. "I didn't know you liked Anna."
"What's 'like' got to do with it?" Morgan demanded, lost. "I figured you have a girl, I should have a girl too."
Okay. Chuck reached out, clasping his friend's shoulder. "Occasionally on Planet Earth men will consider their feelings for a woman before jumping atop them."
Morgan looked away, smiling a little. "You know, she's kind of cute in a freaky little tiger-ish kind of way, you know? That's not my problem." Morgan got that frantic light back in his eyes. "Dude, what if she tells everyone? I was just starting to get some street cred around here."
"Anna is very cool," Chuck reassured him, making a mental note to have a word with Anna. "I'm sure your rep is very secure, ese."
Laughter came from the Nerd Herd desk; Anna, Lester and Jeff looking their way and snickering.
Morgan shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching down. "No. They're talking about me. You see this? I'm- I'm ruined, dude." Morgan strode towards the nerd herders, arms in the air. "Okay you got me," he announced, complete with fake laughter. "Yeah. Fun time at my expense. Look, I tried to kiss Anna. She dissed me, alright?"
Lester and Jeff looked like children who'd been told everyday was their birthday.
"Morgan," Anna said, her voice carrying clearly across to Chuck. "We were laughing about Chuck getting dumped by the deli girl after he dumped the Weiner girl. Kind of poetic."
Dumped? Chuck wasn't dumped. Not yet, at least. Not until he tried everything he could to make Lou understand that last night was an aberration. So, he found himself crouched back down at the end of another aisle, leaving another message for Lou.
"... I realise that this is dangerously close to bordering on stalker status but, uh, look, I-I don't really care about that. Look, maybe- maybe you're... Maybe you're calling me right now. I don't know. Maybe I should hang up and just give you the chance to-"
Polished shoes and tailored suit pants appeared in Chuck's limited line of sight. A left foot tapping in restrained impatience.
Chuck slowly stood, letting more babble come out of his lips. "Okay. Okay, so. Um, you know... If you get a sec, you can call me back. Okay, buh-bye."
God damn it! He did it again!
"Buh-bye?" Bryce repeated pityingly. "Oh, Chuck."
"I panicked!" Chuck protested, shoving his phone into his pocket. "What are you supposed to say when your girlfriend won't answer your calls?"
To his credit, Bryce appeared to think about that for a moment.
"I'd suggest a delivery of Gerber daisies, Italian chocolates and a note saying you understand she needs space and that you're willing to wait to make things right."
"Space?" Chuck repeated, eyebrows pulling close in a heavy frown. "Buddy, I don't know. I really don't want to lose this with her."
"What do I really know about relationships, Chuck?" Bryce shrugged, flashing a deprecating smile. "I think my longest was about two months and we only saw each other, what, three, four times in all that. I'm not an expert. I'm not a font of relationship wisdom. Except the daisies. She really does like those."
"Gerber daisies?" Chuck checked, making a note in his phone. "Wish me luck."
Bryce smiled slightly, his brilliant eyes flickering. "Wish me luck. I'm headed to the docks with Casey and Sarah."
"Good luck," Chuck winced. "You're gonna need it."
Bryce chuckled, cocking a hip against the end of the aisle. "Wanna switch?"
"No," Chuck grinned, clapping him on the back. "That's all on you, bud."
.
.
It turned out Gerber daises were the way to go. Gerber daisies, a lot of patience, and a sandwich in the Reuben family. But, even though Chuck had acted like a total jerk, he still had a girlfriend willing to make a go of it with him. So, he figured he could be forgiven for waking up feeling a bit self-assured for the first time in... Ever.
"Morning, handsome," Chuck smiled, winking at his reflection. "Nice work last night."
"Hey, lover boy!" Casey barked, Chuck about jumping out of his own skin.
He turned around, and there was Sarah and Casey lurking by the bathroom door.
"Hasn't that mirror suffered enough already?" Casey continued, smirking down at him.
"I am in the bathroom," Chuck hissed, thanking any deity that cared to listen that he was clothed. "Is there nothing sacred to you people?"
"Just the right to bear arms," Casey returned immediately.
"Coffee, ComicCon, computers," Bryce called, voice carrying from what was probably the kitchen.
Coffee. Chuck needed coffee, at the very least, to deal with his handlers sneaking up on him this early in the morning. A steaming mug already awaited him on the kitchen counter, Bryce sitting hunched over a cup of his own.
"You all look terrible," Chuck commented, noting the purple circles under their eyes.
"Well, we were up all night explaining to our bosses why we raided a cargo freighter filled with nothing but air and a surveillance camera," Casey growled, helping himself to coffee too.
"The tip you gave us was compromised," Sarah explained. "Someone set us up."
"And made us look like total idiots," Bryce finished, raising his mug in sarcastic salute.
"I think it was your sandwich maker," Casey announced, and he was lucky he didn't have Chuck's coffee spat out over him.
"Are you kidding me?" Chuck demanded, glaring at his unrepentant handler. "Lou? Please. Come on. You guys don't want me to date for national security reasons, fine. Just say that. But I think this is a little pathetic. And, quite frankly, beneath you, Bryce."
"Hey!" Bryce snapped, pushing off his seat. "I admit I'm not always the greatest fan of your girlfriends, but I have never tried to undermine your relationships. And I would certainly never stoop to colluding with Casey about it."
"Hey, Romeo," Casey smirked, waving his file. "He's been nothing but a pain in the ass about this all night."
Chuck narrowed his eyes. "About what?"
Casey handed Sarah a photograph. One which she handed to Chuck. "This was taken at the docks after your date."
In the photo, Lou was handing Stavros money, or taking money from him. Either way, it didn't look good.
Chuck looked from the photograph to Bryce, hoping that an answer to this had been found. "Buddy, I-"
"Chuck has terrible taste in women sometimes," Bryce stated, his tone tired as if he'd been reiterating this point all night. "But they're not threats to national security."
"I'm sure she has a perfectly reasonable explanation for this," Chuck agreed, noting the way Bryce was pointedly not looking at him.
"Good," Casey nodded. "Can't wait to hear it." With that, he and Sarah turned on their heels and walked out, leaving Chuck alone with Bryce.
"I should probably go too," Bryce decided, turning to leave his mug in the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," Chuck blurted; words he was saying far too often lately. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"
"I know," Bryce smiled sadly. "You really can pick 'em, Chuck."
"You think she set us up?"
Bryce refilled both their mugs, heaving a tired sigh. "I honestly don't know," he said. "On one hand, six years of CIA indoctrination says people can't be trusted at all and they will stab you in the back at the first opportunity. But on the other," he shrugged. "You have the self-preservation instinct of a lemming but you don't fall for traitors."
"So, six years of experience versus your trust in my judgement?" Chuck summarised, not sure whether or not the feeling in his chest was pride or nausea. "What am I going to do?"
"Come with me and find out one way or another?" Bryce suggested, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. "Go get dressed. I'm gonna hit the shower and change."
Find out one way or another. And Chuck had been feeling so happy when he woke up this morning.
.
.
A couple of hours later, Chuck sat in the back seat of Casey's SUV; Sarah and Casey in the front, Bryce beside him in the back. Casey was fiddling with Chuck's watch - something that made both the engineers twitchy - while they waited at the back of Stavros' club.
"Okay, Chuck," Casey said, half distracted. "Our Intel says Lou should be meeting Stavros behind the club."
"You guys are being paranoid," Chuck protested, accepting his watch back. "There's no way Lou is going to show up here."
"Now you're mic'ed," Casey continued, as if Chuck had never spoken.
"Great," Chuck muttered. "Thanks a lot. And what will the sandwich police be doing on this stakeout?"
Before any of his handlers could reply, Lou's car pulled up, Sarah and Casey hunching down in their seats. Chuck couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that Lou was here, that she had come.
"Believe us now?" Casey asked, smug and convinced he was right.
"No, as a matter of fact, I don't," Chuck snapped, opening the car door.
He heard Bryce, Sarah and Casey call him back, but he ignored them. Instead, he snuck around the back, watching Stavros lug a crate around while interrogating Lou about him.
"Well, hello Lou," Chuck called, emerging once Stavros had gone for get more crates. "If that is even your real name."
Lou turned to face him, eyes wide and smile confused. "Chuck? What are you doing here?"
"I think the question is, what are you doing here?"
"None of your business. Were you following me?" Lou tilted her head, glaring. "Have you been spying on me?"
"Hold on a second," Chuck cut in. "Don't try and turn this around on me, okay?" He knocked on the crate, trying to wrench it open. "I'm not the one... I'm not the one smuggling. What is this? Illegal things with my boyfriend!"
As he spoke, the crate opened and spilled salami onto the ground.
Chuck stared at the cured meats on the ground, dimly noting Lou nodding in a kind of resignation.
"What is that?"
"Portuguese cured sopresetto?" Lou took a step into his space. "What did you think was going to be in there?"
Honestly, Chuck hadn't thought that far ahead. "I, uh, I didn't quite know," he admitted sheepishly. "I just saw you with Stavros and I suspected the worst."
"Well congratulations, Chuck," Lou cried sarcastically. "Your suspicions have been confirmed. I'm a smuggler. Ooh."
"You should probably keep that down," Chuck whispered, covering his watch. "Someone might hear you."
"I know it's illegal," Lou cried, bending to pick up the meat. "There's no additives or preservatives in it. It takes ten days to clear customs and by then it's gone bad."
Lou continued ranting and Chuck dropped his watch into a conveniently placed glass of liquid. He knew he'd have hell to pay from his handlers but there was no way he was letting Lou incriminate herself.
"I'm sorry, Lou," Chuck offered, staring down at her. "I made a really big mistake."
"Looks like I did too," Lou shot back, walking away from him, back into the club and probably out of his life.
Bryce emerged from the other door, gun drawn and gaze falling on Chuck. "What happened?"
"I blew it," he growled, furious with himself. "Again."
"Yes, you did, Chuck!" Stavros cried behind him, the sound of a safety disengaging loud in the aftermath. Stavros held up Chuck's pin, holding a gun on him and Bryce. "You most definitely blew it."
Bryce held on his own gun, Chuck feeling the tension snapping off him. "I knew I was right to dislike you," he announced, taking a step closer to Chuck.
"Uh-uh-uh," Stavros tsked, wagging his gun. "Drop the gun, or I shoot Chuck."
Chuck glanced from the gun held on him (again) to his friend. Bryce's jaw was jumping, knuckles white on his gun. And, if looks could kill, Stavros would be dead just from the hatred in Bryce's eyes. But, when those blue eyes found Chuck, there was only an apology in them.
"Where he goes, I go," Bryce stated, brooking no opposition.
Stavros smirked. "That was the plan."
Bryce tossed his gun away, submitting to being tied up and shoved in the trunk of Stavros' car. And, for his first kidnapping, Chuck couldn't imagine it going worse.
.
.
"Why did you come after me?" Chuck demanded, awkwardly sandwiched between Bryce and the back of the car seat. "I had the situation perfectly under control."
"Yeah," Bryce muttered, sarcasm filling the trunk. "I can see that."
Chuck wanted to glower, or maybe kick him as much as he could in the confines of the trunk, but he couldn't deny that his friend had a point. "So, I assume you have a plan to get us out of this mess?"
"Sarah and Casey are currently tracking the GPS in your watch," Bryce murmured, as if Stavros could hear them over the sound of the car. "SWAT should be here any minute."
Chuck froze, his silence speaking volumes.
Bryce paused too, for a long moment, then his sigh rippled the air. "You're not wearing your watch, are you, buddy?"
"Lou was incriminating herself and I dunked it."
Bryce groaned, thinking his head into the trunk floor once. "Fantastic."
Chuck felt the irresistible urge to explain himself. "I didn't want her to get in trouble."
"You and your big heart again," Bryce muttered. And it was strange but Chuck thought he sounded more exasperatedly fond than annoyed.
"I'm sorry you're stuck in this mess with me," Chuck murmured, closing his eyes.
Bryce shuffled around, Chuck opening his eyes to his glare. "You're an idiot, Charles Bartowski," he announced, definitely fond. "If you're going to get yourself in trouble, where else am I supposed to be? Hm?" His slightly crooked smile, the one Bryce had first given him by the bench back in Stanford, lit up his face. "We pledged together, remember? You suffer, I suffer."
"That was for pledge week embarrassment, not being kidnapped by smugglers."
"Buddy," Bryce grinned, almost pitying. "Compared to Columbian drug lords, Albanian mafia, and Russian agents? Smugglers are a nice break."
"When did you deal with the Albanian mafia?"
Bryce chuckled, eyes twinkling. "When I was in Albania."
.
.
Chuck had seen a lot of interrogations on movies and TV shows. He'd always thought they all looked singularly unpleasant. It turned out that being in one was even worse. He couldn't switch the channel when it got too real, couldn't look away if he got a little scared. All he could do was sit there, tied to a chair, while Yari Demetrios perused a table of torture implements.
"Time is of the essence, so I will cut to the chase," Yari announced, and it would have been far more comforting if he hadn't also been holding an electronic drill. "We have a very important delivery that is about to be picked up and we need to know who else knows about it."
Chuck glanced at Bryce, the spy's head shaking infinitesimally.
Yari whirred the drill pointedly.
"Okay," Chuck cried. "I'll talk! I'll talk!"
"Buddy," Bryce hissed, using his you're being an idiot Tone.
"We know all about the imported salami," Chuck announced, widening his eyes at his friend. "And- and we're cool with it, man! The real crime is that it's illegal to begin with." He stared at Yari with wide eyes. "There's no need for torture, Yari."
"Oh, I'm not going to torture you, Mr Bartowski," Yari said, almost pleasant.
Chuck closed his eyes, head falling back slightly. "Oh, thank God-"
"I'm going to torture him." Yari gestured at Bryce with the drill.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," Chuck shook his head. "We're not on the same page anymore, Yari. We're not even in the same chapter." Chuck felt his heart begin to accelerate, helpless but to watch Bryce smile sarcastically at Yari as his goon lowered the drill towards him. "Please don't."
The drill wielding goon's watch caught Chuck's attention, the flash ripping through his mind. "You!" he cried desperately. "You killed a whole family outside of Yerevan." Chuck had no idea what he was doing, but he knew he had to keep talking. At least Bryce was no longer in danger of being tortured. "You stole their heirlooms and you sold all of them on the Russian black market, except for that watch."
The goon stared at Chuck with wide, shocked eyes. "How you know that?"
Chuck ignored him, flashing instead on a tattooed goon. "Your name is Vladimir Snell. Last year, you were paid $40,000 to kill a man named Leo Koloff."
Watch goon turned to tattoo goon. "You told me you were paid twenty."
"He's lying," tattoo goon cried automatically. "He'll say anything to get out of trouble."
The goons continued bickering, Chuck noticing a flash of silver as a knife emerged from Bryce's boot. He really hoped his friend had a plan, because Chuck was running out of one.
Yari shot tattoo goon, turning his gun on Chuck. "Well, that settles that," he said, as if it was just a minor way of settling a dispute. "So, if you will kindly tell me who else knows about our shipment?"
A third man appeared behind Yari, eager. "The package is here." He turned an tablet towards them. "Berth 19. We've got five minutes until it expires, sir."
Chuck flashed. Again.
Yari said something else, but Chuck was too busy processing the flash to hear.
"There's a weapon in the shipment," Chuck announced, glancing across at Bryce. "I think it's some sort of chemical bomb. We have to get to it before it blows."
Bryce nodded slightly, his gaze trained past Chuck. His body was tense, breathing gone slow and ready. Then, Bryce was out of his bonds, stabbing one of Yari's guards while Casey and Sarah came out of nowhere and started shooting at them.
"We'll hold the fort!" Casey yelled, Bryce already cutting through Chuck's ropes. "You get the bomb! Go!"
.
"The bomb is at berth 19," Bryce announced, setting off at a run. Chuck worriedly recalling he'd been shot a few weeks ago. "Get as far away from here as you can, Chuck. Now."
"Ain't happening," Chuck denied flatly, keeping pace. "I'm going with you."
Bryce skidded to a halt, catching Chuck's arm. "Buddy, you are not going anywhere near a live bomb."
"Intersect," he replied, tapping his head. "Besides, we suffer together. Yeah?"
Without waiting for his friend's argument, Chuck took off towards the berth, hearing his friend curse and set off after him. Being the college track star that he was, Bryce caught up with him immediately.
"We are going to have a long talk later about your instinct to run towards danger," Bryce growled, grabbing Chuck's wrist to tug him around a corner. "Until then," he smiled fleetingly. "I'm glad you've got my back."
.
.
The crate was being held in an otherwise empty warehouse, sitting innocently in the middle of the floor. Bryce grabbed a pair of crowbars, tossing one to him. "Come on then, 007," he grinned. "Let's save LA."
The crate opened almost too easily, one wooden side falling down and revealing a gunmetal grey cylinder with a timer. A timer with seconds left on the clock.
Bryce glanced at him briefly, dropping to his knees before the timer.
Chuck stared at the timer and it's workings, willing himself to flash. "Come on, Intersect," he pleaded, watching Bryce poke around inside the wiring. "Flash. Show me how to do this."
Bryce cursed under his breath, fervent Klingon profanities that said he was having as much luck as Chuck was. "Anything, bud?"
Chuck helplessly shook his head. "No. Nothing." He grabbed his head, begging his brain to come through once more.
"Chuck," Bryce called, pulling Chuck's attention back to him. "There's no time. Get out of here. I'll try and defuse this thing."
Well, there was no chance in hell that that was happening. Chuck dropped to the crate floor beside Bryce, staring into the wires. "Two engineers have to be better than one."
"And one alive Chuck Bartowski is infinitely better than a dead one," Bryce hissed, but he didn't stop Chuck's fingers from joining his in the mess of wires. "Think about Ellie. She needs you. Now get out of here."
"Not leaving," Chuck said stubbornly. "You'd never leave me."
Bryce's lips curled in that crooked grin of his. "Of course not," he agreed, as if that was unthinkable. "You're my best friend."
"And you're mine." Chuck nudged a wire aside, seeing nothing he could safely disconnect. "So, unless you're planning on running for it too, track star, I'm not going anywhere."
The timer bleeped loudly, only seconds left.
Bryce stood swiftly, pulling Chuck to his feet and as far away as he could get in three seconds.
Chuck glanced at the dwindling timer, then back at Bryce's apologetic, crooked grin. "Any last words, buddy?"
"Yeah," Bryce said softly. "I'd do it all again."
"Yeah," Chuck echoed, trying a grin of his own. "Me too."
.
Five seconds on the clock. The last five seconds of his life.
Chuck didn't know who moved first, him or Bryce, but they collided. Bryce's arms were warm and solid around his back, Chuck's hands clenched into the soft fabric of Bryce's shirt.
He didn't think of Sarah or Lou or even Jill. He didn't think of Ellie or Awesome or Morgan. He didn't think of his regrets. He dropped his head to Bryce's shoulder, glad that if he had to go, he was at least doing so with his best friend.
Three seconds.
Chuck closed his eyes tight.
Two seconds.
Bryce made a noise that could have been a chuckle.
One second.
They both held on a little tighter, waiting for the end.
Then... Nothing.
No explosion. No big burst of light. No excruciating agony.
Just the continued feeling of Bryce, breathing against him. Just, life going on.
.
.
Simultaneously, they both stepped back, confusion written on their faces. The timer read all zeros, but there was no explosion. Just a blinking light on the readout. Bryce narrowed his eyes at the tube, pulling Chuck further away.
"We're not opening that," he announced flatly. "Casey and Sarah and the bomb squad can deal with it."
"Not opening the metal death tube," Chuck agreed wholeheartedly. "It might change it's mind about killing us."
Bryce's laughter echoed off the empty warehouse walls, his eyes sparkling. "No bomb, no briefings," he chuckled, edging further away.
That sounded pretty perfect to Chuck. "I want to go home and play terrible board games with Ellie and Awesome and eat bad pizza and repress the hell out of us both nearly getting killed."
"I don't say it often enough, Chuck," Bryce grinned, sneaking him away from the warehouse. "But you're a genius."
Chuck was pretty sure Casey and Sarah noticed them leaving, and that Bryce texted them to give them a heads up. But, either way, they weren't dragged into government meetings from hell (and they hadn't died horribly), so Chuck counted it as a win.
.
.
It was an even bigger win when they walked into the apartment to see Ellie and Awesome already waiting for them. Pizza on the table and a selection of board games stacked on the floor.
"What took you so long?" Awesome teased, clapping them both on the back.
"Pizza, game night, just like old times" Ellie grinned, her smile lighting up the entire world.
"I'm not so sure about that," Chuck automatically protested, but he settled in with a bright smile. "But, it's exactly what we needed today."
"Dig in," Ellie decreed, dropping onto the couch beside Awesome. "We've got a full night planned."
