By unspoken consent, and the memory of three years successful cohabitation, neither man mentioned Fulcrum or the creepy scar cheek agent guy from the time Bryce's front door closed behind them.

"Coffee?" Bryce asked, striding into the kitchen as the security system activated around them.

"At the very least," Chuck agreed, slipping back onto his usual stool.

Technically, he probably shouldn't be having coffee so close to bedtime but he honestly defied anyone to be able to resist Bryce's coffee. Besides, the Thai food they'd grabbed on the way home was resting comfortably in Chuck's stomach and he needed the caffeine to stay awake long enough to be helpful.

And he really did intend to be helpful. Because, no matter what Bryce said, baking pies for tomorrow was a two person job. One person to do all the actual baking stuff and the other one to sample. Chuck vividly remembered that being in the best friend's handbook. Right between the sections on sending classified secrets and keeping classified secrets.

Not that Chuck was bitter or anything. He just, understandably, felt that letting him taste test was the least his friend could do, considering everything.

.

.

"I can help, you know, Bryce," Chuck grumbled about an hour into the process. Sitting there snacking on precut apple slices was fun and all, but he did like the thought of at least trying to be helpful. He was firmly banned from trying to touch the oven or the stove or any appliance that wasn't the coffee machine, because "I like my kitchen unburned, Chuck" and "do you know what CIA firefighters are like, Chuck? They'll ruin my carpets".

Bryce glanced up over the nutmeg he was grating into the bowl with the pumpkin filling, laughter dancing through his eyes. "You are helping, buddy," the superspy lied, badly. "You're sitting there, criticising my music, eating all the food. It's like being back in the frat house."

"I didn't criticise your music," Chuck protested, nudging the cinnamon closer to Bryce. "All I did was ask if you'd listened to music since the turn of the millennium."

"There's nothing wrong with appreciating the classics," Bryce sniffed, eyeballing the addition of cloves to the filling. He cut off Chuck's reply by pushing the bowl to him. "Stir it gently. Don't kill it."

Chuck favoured him with a baleful look. "I know how to stir pie filling."

"Like you knew how to make scrambled eggs that time we had to evacuate the frat house?"

"Like you're so perfect," Chuck snarked, wracking his brain for his friend's less than stellar past highlights. But, damn him, Bryce actually was pretty perfect. Chuck scowled over the bowl, Bryce busy preparing the apple pie filling. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Well, I'm not so good at avoiding bullets," Bryce quipped, eyes sparkling as he grinned over his shoulder. "Can't drive a motorbike. Tried three times, crashed every one. Disarming bombs is a bit hit and miss. And I still speak Russian with an accent."

Bryce sounded so put out about that, Chuck laughed.

"It's not fair," Bryce protested, juggling blind baked pie crusts onto the counter. "Sarah speaks it perfectly. Casey too. Me? I speak it and I sound like I'm from somewhere nearer Chechnya than Russia."

"That's tough, buddy," Chuck consoled, definitely not grinning into the pie filling.

Bryce eyes narrowed over his grin. "You laugh now," he accused playfully. "Just wait until we have to go after some big baddie in Russia. Then you'll see."

"Thanks so much for that thought, Bryce," Chuck grumbled, mutinously spooning filling into a pie crust. "Really good to have you back in my life full-time."

"It is something to be thankful for," Bryce agreed, his grin twinkling as he turned back to his work. "Now, come on, bud. Chop chop. I told Ellie she can use my kitchen tomorrow if she needs it."

Chuck smothered a grin, leaning back on his stool. "Wow," he breathed, shaking his head. "So, Ellie can use your kitchen but I can't? I see who your favourite Bartowski is."

"I do like them smart," Bryce winked, nimbly avoiding the spoonful of pumpkin Chuck flung at him.

His best friend turned, eyes glittering. "We don't have time for a food fight right now, Bartowski," he warned, sounding almost regretful. "But, maybe tomorrow we can go round to Casey's and mess up his kitchen a bit."

"And then he'll kill us," Chuck finished brightly, revelling in Bryce's laughter. "Looks good," he added, nodding at the pastry latticework on the apple pies.

"I'm an artist," Bryce smiled, and it would sound arrogant on anyone else. On Bryce, it just sounded like he was being a bit of a, well

"Dork," Chuck grinned, Bryce nodding as if that was the highlight of his accomplishments.

.

.

Bright and far too early the next morning, Chuck was awoken by a loud and rhythmic banging on the front door. Chuck wanted to pull the spare pillow over his head, pretend he couldn't hear anything at all, but a little voice in his head was telling him to get up in case it was urgent. Clearly, in the bedroom nextdoor, Bryce was having the same attack of responsibility, curses in various dialects muffled through the wall.

Bryce emerged from his room the same time Chuck did, the superspy pulling a longsleeved Stanford tee over his head one handedly. In his other hand was a gun. Bryce gave Chuck a little "what?" shrug, as if carrying a gun to open the door was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"I need the yams!" Ellie's voice called over the sound of her knocking. Chuck reached past Bryce, unlocking the door for his sister.

"Morning, Ellie," Chuck greeted. "I'd offer you coffee but I think you've already had far too much."

"I need the yams," his sister repeated, apparently her need for the yams overriding her natural politeness.

Bryce surreptitiously hid his gun in the waistband of his jeans, smiling as if it wasn't unconscionably early to be thinking about yams. "In the kitchen, Ellie," Bryce said easily. "Chuck picked them up last night."

For that consideration, Chuck was rewarded with a distracted hug and a brief smile. "Are you sure you don't mind me using your kitchen?"

Bryce, in the middle of measuring out coffee, offered another blinding grin. "Mi casa es su casa."

Ellie smiled quickly. "And you have the pies-"

"Already made," Bryce replied, as if Ellie's pre-Thanksgiving hysteria was something he had missed. "Chuck and I finished them up last night."

Ellie looked around the kitchen with a quick grin. "And the kitchen is in one piece. Nice work, Chuck."

Chuck narrowed his eyes at the pair. "No ganging up on me," he cried, ignoring the way both Ellie and Bryce laughed. "It's Thanksgiving."

Ellie's smile turned quizzical. "Morgan said something about the Buy More and black Friday and bringing the accountant."

Bryce raised an eyebrow at Chuck. "Have I missed something?"

"Big Mike's putting the Nerd Herd on crowd control," Chuck explained, saying goodbye to his plan of taking his coffee and going back to bed. "We're training this morning."

"That'll be highly entertaining," Bryce smirked, turning an apologetic smile to Ellie. "My door is unlocked for you. I'll get Chuck back by lunchtime at the latest."

"Go have fun," Ellie smiled, gathering up the bag of yams. "Just try not to be too late."

.

"Remind me, again, why we're spending our valuable Thanksgiving here?" Bryce drawled, kicking his feet up onto the Nerd Herd desk alongside Chuck's. "I thought we were supposed to be helping Ellie cook."

"You were supposed to be helping Ellie cook," Chuck muttered, remembering the wide eyed look his sister had given him as he volunteered his services. Apparently he couldn't even be trusted with the cranberry sauce. "And I think she thinks making the dessert was more than enough help."

Bryce inclined his head, looking only mildly as if he would like to introde Morgan's bullhorn to an unfortunate part of his anatomy.

"On Black Friday it comes down to us," Morgan announced, through the bullhorn. "Crowd control. Okay?"

Jeff, Lester and Anna stood in front of the desk, looking up at Morgan.

"Little test here. Jeff, murder scene, sector two. Move!"

Jeff scurried off towards his designated sector.

Morgan nodded approvingly. "Nice work, Jeff. Bravo." He pointed at Lester. "Lester, converge on Jeff's position. Sector one. Move now. Go!"

Lester half-heartedly shuffled around the other side of the Nerd Herd desk.

"People's lives are at stake here, man. Good hustle, Les." Morgan turned around precariously, pointing at Bryce. "Accountant, back them up. Sector three, move!"

"I'll get right on that," Bryce drawled, crossing his feet at the ankle.

Morgan looked from Bryce to Chuck. "He's not going to move, is he?"

"Not a chance," Chuck replied, apologetic. "He's just here for moral support."

Morgan clearly must have decided to pick his battles, or the pointed way Bryce was pleasantly smiling in a way that promised impending violence was enough to make him reconsider, because he turned back to Anna.

"Anna, we cannot lose the doors, okay? If we lose the doors, we've lost a battle. Got it?"

Anna nodded, turning and walking towards the doors.

"You look beautiful today, by the way," Morgan informed her. "Chuck!"

"Yes, Morgan," Chuck called back, setting aside his travel mug. "Yes, I'm right here."

"Hey, pal," Morgan greeted happily. "Everyone is moving way too slow. They don't shape up, if we lose control of the store, we're going to have a pineapple situation."

Lester spun around in his chair, Jeff froze on the other end of the desk, Chuck felt the breath catch in his chest.

"What's a pineapple situation?" Lester asked curiously.

"Never say that word," Morgan hissed, eyes wide.

Lester, correctly, pointed out that Morgan just did.

"It's a black swan," Chuck explained, sitting up a little in his chair. "It's an impossible event that changes everything."

"Like getting shot," Lester pointed out, smirking a little at Bryce. Bryce raised his mug in salute, unflappable as ever.

"In case something terrible happens," Morgan continued, as if Lester hadn't spoken. "Nuclear strike, earthquake, accountant muscling in on your best friend. Any one of you could initiate a full Buy More evacuation by uttering one word." Morgan held up a single finger in demonstration.

Chuck grinned. "Pineapple."

"The word that cannot be spoken," Morgan reiterated, glaring a little at Chuck.

"I really want to say pineapple a few thousand times," Lester muttered, Chuck nodding his understanding. It was hard not to.

"Pineapples are fun," Jeff said blithely. "My dad used to throw them at me."

"Pineapple. Pineapple," Lester announced loudly.

"Seriously?" Morgan asked in despair. "Wow."

"That's actually a sound security measure," Bryce offered quietly, his approval silencing the Nerd Herders. "Although pineapple does remind me of this one time I was in Queensland-"

Bryce's voice trailed off as Chuck's cellphone began to ring.

"What's the matter?" Morgan asked, concerned. "Who is it?"

"Oh, it's Ellie," Chuck winced. "She's in full Thanksgiving panic mode." He snatched up his keys, leaping to his feet. "I gotta stop by the store."

Bryce rose easily to his feet beside Chuck, offering a quick wave and a commiserating smile for the nerds stuck behind in Morgan's boot camp.

"How bad?" Bryce asked quietly, undoubtedly reading the tension in Chuck's face.

"I think we're going to have to visit every grocery store in Burbank at least twice to get all this stuff," Chuck groaned. "It's going to take hours."

"Oh the joys of Thanksgiving day shopping," Bryce murmured, nostalgic as if he was actually looking forward to it.

Chuck frowned contemplatively at his friend. "You really have missed being normal, haven't you?"

Bryce gave a flickering smile. "Like you wouldn't believe, buddy."

.

.

What felt like - and probably was - half the day later, Chuck and Bryce entered the Bartowski/Woodcomb apartment, laden down with paper bags. "I'm not sure there's any food left in Burbank," Chuck called, dropping his keys in the bowl on the table. "But we got what they had."

"Chuck," Devon called cheerfully. "Get ready for some turkey."

"Can't wait," Chuck called back, nodding a greeting at Casey. Bryce grabbed the paper bags from Chuck, delivering them to a slightly less frazzled Ellie.

"Go change," Ellie ordered the pair of them. "I've put your suits out in Chuck's room. There's enough time before dinner."

Chuck and Bryce shuffled down the corridor to the bedrooms, listening to Devon ask Casey to help stuff the bird. Bryce collected his suit and changed in the bathroom, giving Chuck some privacy to change into his own.

Not long afterwards, Sarah, Anna and Morgan arrived and - although it was tense between Anna and Ellie - Chuck had the feeling this was going to be the best Thanksgiving he'd spent in a while.

.

.

Looking around the table filled with great food and his friends, Chuck felt content. He felt happy and right and like nothing could possibly ever be wrong with the world.

"I am in heaven," Devon announced, swallowing a mouthful of turkey.

"This is so good," Sarah agreed, smiling at Ellie.

"It's so good," Chuck confirmed, reaching for another helping of stuffing.

Ellie smiled proudly, in her element as hostess. "I'm glad you like it."

"Amazing," Casey nodded, working his way through a small mountain of mashed potatoes.

Bryce hummed happily over his plate full of everything. "I've missed this," he stated, bumping his elbow lightly into Chuck's. "Thanksgiving in Paris was nice, but nothing beats your cooking, Ellie."

"Agreed," Sarah said, sharing a little smile with Bryce.

"Okay," Morgan announced, looking around at the options. "You know what I want for my second plate?" He pointed down the table. "I need critical side dish number two."

Devon chuckled and passed it down the table, Morgan loading his plate up with marshmallows and sweet potatoes.

Chuck and Bryce reached for the candied yams at the same time, sharing a grin as their hands bumped into the dish. Bryce grabbed the spoon, depositing the yams onto their plates with sparkling eyes.

"So bad for me and yet so good," Bryce hummed appreciatively, digging in with relish

"And you a track star," Chuck teased, just as he had every Thanksgiving at Stanford.

"I'll run an extra five miles tomorrow," Bryce quipped back, just as he always had. "Besides, I'm not a college track star anymore."

"I thought you were a nerd," Devon cut in, all teasing smiles.

"I am," Bryce agreed proudly. "I just ran track and did gymnastics on the side."

"Really big nerd," Chuck confirmed, shooting a grin at his friend. "He just got good at hiding it."

Bryce preened a little, undoubtedly taking that as a compliment on his spy ability. "Pass the green beans."

Chuck did as he was asked, turning his attention to Sarah and Casey. "So, do you guys do Thanksgiving?"

"Not recently," Sarah replied, smiling a little sadly at her plate.

Casey just shrugged and grunted, muttering something about army bases and proper cooking.

.

.

"So, Thanksgiving," Devon announced a little while later. "We're all supposed to say what we're thankful for. I'll start." He leaned back in his chair, smiling down the table. "I am thankful that I am here with the most beautiful woman in the world. Ellie Bartowski."

Ellie smiled brightly, eyes soft and warm on Devon. "That's sweet, honey," she smiled. "I am thankful for my family and my friends."

Devon looked to his left, to Casey.

"I pass," the NSA major decided, sipping on his water.

Inevitably, Devon's gaze fell on him. "Chuck?"

Chuck started a little, not quite prepared for this. "I am thankful for a lot of things," he replied softly. "My promotion, my health. But I'm especially thankful to be sitting here tonight with the most important people in my life. We've been scattered awhile, but it's good to have you all back here."

"Thanks, buddy," Bryce murmured, for Chuck's ears alone. He smiled one of his bright, Hollywood grins. "Well, I for one am thankful to have recovered from being shot twice in two months, which was fun."

Chuck groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Bryce laughed, patting Chuck's back in apology. "No, honestly, I'm thankful for Chuck, welcoming me back here. He could have sent me away when I turned up. Probably should have, after the way I left things. But he didn't. And now, I'm here with you all. And I'm thankful."

"Bryce," Ellie beamed, smile as soft as Chuck's probably was. "That was incredibly sweet."

"Certainly beats your first Thanksgiving," Chuck grinned, moving swiftly away after giving in to the uncontrollable urge to hug Bryce in reply. "Remember what you were thankful for then?"

Bryce thought for a moment, then fell back in his chair with laughter. "Not having to eat ramen."

Chuck felt his sides hurt from his own chuckles."To be honest, after two months at Stanford, I was pretty thankful for that too."

"God, you two were so cool at Stanford," Morgan muttered, glowering at the pair of them. "I'm thankful I'm still Chuck's best friend." He glanced across at Anna and hurriedly added. "And that I have the most beautiful girlfriend on the planet."

Anna smiled across the table at Morgan, Chuck sending a quiet thank you out to the universe that finally someone was appreciating his oldest friend as he deserved.

Next to Chuck, Bryce tensed, his face illuminated by the light of his phone. Chuck saw the cover name for the Director of the CIA, and then a coded text he couldn't quite decipher, his eyes widening almost as much as Bryce's.

"I'm sorry to cut out before dessert, Ellie," he offered apologetically. "But I've gotta take this." Bryce stood, looking a little pale. "I'll see you later, Chuck?"

Chuck half-rose from his seat. He knew that tone in his friend's voice. "I can come now?"

"We didn't make those pies so you could miss eating them," Bryce smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be fine."

Chuck stood all the way. "You can make me pie anytime," he dismissed, as if the fragile light in Bryce's eyes wasn't worrying him. "You need me, I'm there."

Bryce looked pointedly away from a curious Casey and Sarah, nodding fractionally. "I need you," he murmured, fingers twitching towards him. "Just, uh, try not to hate me too much, okay?"

Before Chuck could blink, Bryce was striding through the door, Casey's gaze burning holes in his back. Chuck shook himself quickly, bidding Ellie goodnight as he hurried after his friend.

"Bryce," he called, looking at his friend across the courtyard. "Why would I hate you?"

Bryce smiled slightly, once again leaving his eyes untwinkling. "Because I'm going away," he announced, soft and sad. "But first, I'm going to tell you why I sent you the Intersect."