Quite how Chuck had managed to make it through the rest of Thanksgiving and then to bed, he had no idea. Nevertheless, almost on autopilot, he found himself walking into the Buy More Black Friday morning. The assorted green shirts milled about, watching the crowd at the doors anxiously. Chuck's Nerd Herders gathered around the desk, waiting for Big Mike's pep talk.
Bryce leaned carelessly against the desk, dressed casually but inconspicuously, his eyes trained on Chuck. Through an unspoken consent, neither he nor Bryce had said so much as a word of goodbye, Chuck still living in a small bubble of delusion (that maybe Beckman and Graham would come to their senses and not let Bryce leave again) and Bryce for whatever stoic superspy reason his best friend would probably never tell him. Silent though they'd been, hints of the overprotective Bryce shone through all morning, his friend seemingly worried about Chuck being there at the hand-off. But, again, he hadn't said a word (apart from repeating over and over that "Fulcrum are dangerous, Chuck, promise me you'll stay safe"), just gone about his morning routine as if this was just another day at the office.
Ellie had noticed something wrong at breakfast, her expressive gaze flickering between the two of them as Bryce served up a veritable feast of breakfast foods that neither he nor Chuck had much of an appetite for. She hadn't said anything, simply letting the two of them exist in their little bubble of silent delusion. Perhaps she thought that they were just tired, or still reeling from the undisclosed text that had sent them fleeing from dinner. But that had been then. Now, Chuck's time was running out. They had less than five minutes before the store would open and the CIA team would come and collect Bryce.
He didn't know how long they really had. Minutes? An hour? More? Bryce hadn't said and Sarah - when Chuck had called at a reasonable hour (exactly 6:00am on the dot) - hadn't known. And maybe if Chuck knew exactly how long they had, he could prepare, find the right words to express the twisted knot of emotions clogging his throat. The ones that made it a little harder to breathe with every reminder that his moments with Bryce were slipping away.
"Breathe, Chuck," Bryce murmured, hand warm on Chuck's forearm. His smile was teasing but his eyes were sad as he continued, a little louder, for show: "I'm sure you've seen Black Friday crowds before."
"The experience wasn't one I ever wanted to repeat," Chuck replied, looking at the doors but not seeing the impatient shoppers.
Superimposed over the automatic doors was the memory of the day after graduation. Bryce's small, sad smile. His gaze flittering down to the Tron poster awkwardly slung under Chuck's arm. The way he had said he was going to miss that poster, then the way he walked off, towards his car, looking over his shoulder just once at Chuck standing there, certain they'd see each other soon.
"I know," Bryce said softly, as if he knew exactly where Chuck's mind had gone. "If it's any consolation, I really didn't want this to happen this time."
Chuck tried on a brave smile, listing slightly towards Bryce. "It won't last forever."
"You'll hardly notice I'm gone," Bryce managed, his smile brittle.
An indelicate snort left Chuck's nose, eyebrows raising at the blatant lie. Bryce's presence was like sunlight, leaving everything a little colder and darker when he was away.
.
.
"Okay, listen up," Big Mike called, striding past the Nerd Herd centre and gathering up the nerds like ducklings on his tail.
Bryce drifted along at Chuck's side, nothing more than an inch of air between them.
"Three minutes, we let those animals in. If this was a zoo, I'd say run for your lives. But this is Buy More. For those days where you did squat," Big Mike turned to face the anxious nerds. And Morgan, Morgan was sticking very close to them. "This is where you make up for it." Morgan was pinned by Big Mike's glare. "Don't let me down. This is the single most important day of our year." Big Mike glanced nervously over his shoulder. "And my door is locked."
With that, Big Mike strode away, heading for the safety of his office.
"Don't even think about knocking!"
"Such a wonderful example of leadership," Bryce muttered, warm against Chuck's side.
The doors began to slide open, audible gulps sounding from Jeff and Lester.
Bryce gave a little smirk, hand again finding Chuck's forearm. "Good luck, buddy."
Chuck instinctively grabbed the hand leaving his arm. "Where are you going?"
"I haven't been told. Somewhere unpleasant, no doubt," Bryce replied honestly, then his friend blinked and smiled sheepishly. "You meant right now, didn't you? In which case, I'm guessing the correct answer is nowhere."
That was definitely the right answer. Chuck released Bryce's hand, his rational brain telling him it would be weird if he was to hold onto it all day. "Just, stay until you have to leave?"
Bryce offered a quick grin, eyes not even flickering to the approaching crowd. "There's nowhere I'd rather be, buddy."
.
.
A little, indistinct while later, Sarah's voice sounded in their earpieces. "I'm just entering the store now," she said, quiet and regretful. "The pickup team should be here in two minutes."
Two minutes.
Chuck froze, certain he had misheard.
It couldn't be two minutes. Two minutes was nothing. One hundred and twenty seconds. A blink of an eye. No time at all. Nowhere near long enough.
For a handful of wasted seconds, Chuck couldn't breathe. His vision tunneled into white hot panic. The definite deadline making it seem incredibly, brutally real.
Bryce pushed away from his place at the Nerd Herd desk just at the corner of Chuck's vision, for once not bothering with a mask. He looked ... devastated. There was no easy smile, no sparkle in his always vibrant eyes. Just defeat. He tilted his head slightly, saying "well, that's that then" without saying a word.
Two minutes. Less now.
"Excuse me," Bryce cut in, ruthlessly talking over a woman asking for the camera bags. "Can you explain to me the pros and cons of a plasma television over an LCD?"
"Tell me you didn't stab another one with a bat'leth," Chuck teased, unable to help himself.
Bryce grinned ever so slightly, his head shaking once. "I'm original when I destroy tech, Chuck," he teased back, as if everything was normal. "I'm waiting for the day they invent a working phaser."
Spending precious seconds of their dwindling time left joking about Star Trek weaponry probably wasn't something most people would do, but it felt oddly fitting for the pair of them. So, instead of begging Bryce to tell the CIA pickup to go to hell, Chuck grinned back.
"When they do, send me one, would you?"
Bryce laughed, a bright sound Chuck was going to miss. "Well, now you've just spoiled that year's Christmas present, buddy."
"Pickup is here," Sarah announced apologetically. "Chuck, could you do your pass?"
Chuck squeezed Bryce's arm once, a silent promise that he'd be right back, his feet reluctantly trudging towards the new arrivals.
Two men, with earpieces and suits that combined probably cost about the same as one of the buttons on Bryce's, stood awkwardly just inside the store. Chuck stared at them as hard as he could (probably looking constipated - as Casey would undoubtedly later tell him), not sure if he was hoping to Flash or not.
Nothing.
"Hi, welcome to Buy More," he greeted, his smile as fake as it had been almost all day.
He could feel the combined gazes of Sarah, Casey and Bryce boring into him. The last time for a long while he would get to operate with all three of his handlers. The thought hit him like Awesome's brah's football in his produce section, his stride faltering.
"Did you flash?" Sarah asked, concern burning through her words.
Chuck raised his watch to his lips. "No, sorry. All clear. The CIA guys are legit." He turned around in time to see Bryce grimly nod.
.
.
As quickly as he could, without raising suspicion, Chuck returned to Bryce's side, his friend standing before the wall of televisions. Meeting Bryce's apologetic eyes, Chuck knew his bubble of delusion had finally, decisively, been popped. There was no avoiding this any more. Bryce was about to walk out of his life again. And Chuck had to let him.
"So," Chuck asked, the syllable choked around the lump in his throat. "What happens now, Bryce?"
Bryce shrugged a shoulder, feigning composure. "I do what I do best," he said quietly. "I disappear and lead Fulcrum on a merry chase around the world. As far away from you as I can keep them for as long as I can."
Of course that was his plan. It was exactly the kind of stupidly, needlessly self-sacrificing thing Bryce Larkin would do. "Can we keep in contact?"
Bryce offered a tremulous smile. "I'll be back in touch when it's safe."
"That's sounds like a no, Bryce."
"It's a not for now," Bryce allowed, the corner of his mouth turning down. The last vestiges of his mask of composure were faltering, eyes more agonised than Chuck had ever seen them. "I don't want to leave you with no communication again, but I cannot lead them back to you. Don't ask me to do it."
"What did I ever do to be worth this, Bryce?" Chuck asked, not the words he wanted to say (don't go, don't leave, please don't leave me) but not the worst he could have chosen.
"Oh, that's easy," Bryce smiled, small but bright. "You were Chuck Bartowski."
"Chuck Bartowski is nothing special," Chuck protested, fiercely ignoring the prickling in his eyes.
"He is to me," Bryce grinned, that crooked, warm grin Chuck had seen across cluttered library tables, smoking frat kitchens, shared bedrooms, and almost every room they'd ever occupied together. "I'm really gonna miss you, buddy."
"Yeah," Chuck manged, the only sound he could make beyond the expanding softball-sized lump in his throat. "Don't go."
It was a pathetic plea, one he had sworn he wouldn't utter.
Bryce smiled again, swift and heartbreaking. "Take care of yourself, Chuck."
The choke in his voice was goodbye, one Bryce had always been incapable of uttering. But Chuck would be damned if they were parting like this.
Just because Bryce Larkin was terrible at saying goodbye, didn't mean that Chuck was. He closed that bare inch of space between them, wrapping his arms around his best friend. Just like that night on the docks, Bryce hugged him back just as hard, his forehead coming to rest on Chuck's shoulder.
"If you get yourself shot again, no matter where you are, I'm sending Ellie to deal with you." Not a goodbye, not a threat, but a promise. One he knew Bryce knew he'd keep.
Bryce chuckled wetly, clutching him a little tighter. "I'd expect nothing less."
"Oh, buddy," Chuck sighed, feeling Sarah creep up on their moment. He stepped back a little, not entirely disengaging but enough to be able to meet Bryce's eyes again. "I don't know what to say."
"It's hard to say goodbye," Bryce acknowledged. And no, they were not parting on that excuse.
"Yeah, because you're terrible at it," Chuck interrupted, infusing his voice with enough lightness and teasing to hopefully distract from the suspicious sheen in his eyes.
Bryce's eyebrow quirked in a perfect expression of offence. But then he smiled and sighed, his fingers clenching reflexively on the fabric of Chuck's shirt.
"This is not goodbye," he swore, as solemn as ever he had been. "It's just a temporary parting. I'll be back as soon as it's safe."
"I'll expect you back by Christmas then, Bryce," Chuck replied, and if wishing would only make it so.
Sarah, finally sensing it was safe, came to stand before them. "I'll take him in," she said, glancing between them with something like apologetic curiosity in her eyes. "You stay here, Chuck. It'll be safer."
"Yeah," Chuck could only agree, letting Bryce pull fully away. "I meant it, Superspy."
Bryce flashed that crooked grin. "Until we meet again, 007."
Chuck, just as Bryce had intended him to, chuckled despite himself. "Dork."
And then, Chuck had to watch as Sarah and Bryce approached Casey and the agents. He couldn't move his feet, couldn't look away, not even as they began to walk out of the store.
Just before the automatic doors, Bryce glanced over his shoulder. His blue, blue eyes meet Chuck's. His lips curled in a smile that drove daggers into Chuck's chest. He nodded once, and then he was gone.
.
.
Chuck returned to the Nerd Herd centre, reminding himself that he was still Assistant Manager of the Buy More and that he still had work to do. No matter how much he would like to flee back to the break room and torment himself with the substandard coffee and Bryce-less existence he'd be facing for the next lonely eternity. He had a job to do. And, maybe, if he drowned himself in enough technological enquiries and requests for assistance, then he might forget for a little while that another person he cared about had vanished from his life. Again.
"Excuse me," a familiar voice said, sending a chill down Chuck's spine. "Can I get some service?"
Chuck's head snapped up, eyes widening as he recognised the scarred man before him. Bryce's not-friend. The Fulcrum Agent.
"You're Charles Bartowski, aren't you?" the Fulcrum agent asked, his tone saying he already knew the answer. "We met the other day."
As if Chuck could forget. Nevertheless, Chuck was not about to admit that. "Did we?" he asked, the confusion sounding false even to his own ears. "So, uh, how can I- How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a computer," the agent replied, leaning his palms on the desk. "You might be familiar with this one. It was called the Intersect?"
The bottom dropped out of Chuck's stomach, panic rushing through his veins. He wanted to run, to turn tail and hope to any deity listening that he wasn't hearing what he thought he was. Fulcrum, or at least this cell of Fulcrum, knew he was the Intersect. And right now, he only had Casey for backup.
Chuck was in so much trouble.
"You don't seem to understand the situation, Charles," the Fulcrum agent continued, as if he was oblivious to Chuck's panic. "You think that all these witnesses are a guarantee that nothing's going to happen to you? You couldn't be more wrong."
"Um, I am so slammed right now," Chuck replied, falling back on the popular favourite of playing dumb. "It's really busy. So, I should probably get back to work."
The Fulcrum agent leaned further across the desk, smirking. "My team reacquired Bryce Larkin and Sarah Walker five minutes ago."
Oh God. Bryce. Fulcrum had Bryce. Sarah too.
"I've seven trained killers stationed throughout the store. If you look over there," the agent nodded towards his left. "You can also see that my men have neutralised Mr Casey."
Chuck saw Casey move a little further into the open, flanked by two more men in cheap suits. He looked vaguely murderous but unharmed, fairly normal by Casey standards.
"See, here's the thing, Charles," the agent who had just ruined Chuck's day continued coldly. "Nothing stops me from fulfilling my orders. Innocents, civilians. If you make me, I'll execute every last person in this place."
'Fulcrum are dangerous, Chuck' Bryce's voice from that morning echoed in his head. And, yeah, understatement of the century, buddy.
Looking around, Chuck could see Jeff and Lester and Morgan, and so many innocent people that there was never any other option. He slowly came around the Nerd Herd desk, letting the Fulcrum agent steer him towards the exit.
.
Jeff, out of breath and panicked, hurried into their path. "Chuck. The registers are down and I can't get them back up. What should I do?"
Chuck silently cursed at the temperamental registers - he'd asked Big Mike about replacing them, but apparently the budget didn't stretch to new anything.
The Fulcrum agent leaned into Chuck's space. "Say more than one word and I'll kill him right here."
One word. All Chuck had was one word. Well, he'd better make it a good one.
He stared right at Jeff, letting every ounce of seriousness bleed through his gaze. "Pineapple."
Jeff gasped and scurried away, hopefully to alert Morgan.
The Fulcrum agent pushed Chuck forward again, Chuck beginning to walk slowly towards the exit again.
Then, Morgan's bullhorn enhanced voice sounded through the store. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have an emergency. I need everyone to leave the store in an orderly fashion. Anna? Pineapple."
On that cue, the fire alarm began to blare, the customers rushing for the exit. Casey rushed at him, slinging him over his shoulder and running into the Home Theatre Room.
"It's Fulcrum," Chuck gasped, hiding behind the table. "They have Bryce and Sarah too."
"Not my problem right now," Casey replied, his phone was held to his ear. "Code Black. Hostiles are in the Buy More. I need a containment team right away." As he spoke, he pressed a button that revealed weaponry hidden in the table.
Though it really wasn't the best time, Chuck let his brief surge of outrage take over. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded, voice raising half an octave. "Some kid could find this."
Casey, predictably, ignored him. In fact, he looked almost quietly gleeful, even if the expression was muted behind duty. "Stay down, Chuck," he ordered. "This is when the shooting starts."
"Right, right now?" Chuck checked, hunkering down lower while Casey crouched down beside him.
A gunshot shattered one of the glass walls, Casey returning fire. All Chuck could do was hope that the containment team got here quickly. Casey was good, he knew he was, but he couldn't take down most of a Fulcrum cell all by himself.
.
.
While Chuck was taking his two minute composure break in the Buy More break room, Bryce and Sarah were in the back of a typically nondescript agency car. Bryce pulled out his cellphone, staring at the open text chain with Chuck. Most were innocuous, reminders to come for dinner and would he mind picking up a bottle of milk on the way there. Or not so subtly veiled hints for coffee in the morning, or humourous commentary on Morgan's appropriation of his gaming console for marathoning Call of Duty. Normal things. A reminder of the life he had begun to carve himself in Burbank. With Chuck.
"You will look after him for me, right?" Bryce asked, pitching his voice low so the agents in the front couldn't hear him.
"Yes, Bryce," Sarah said, her tone as patient and understanding as it had been the first dozen times he'd asked. Then, because they had been partners for four years and she was one of the only two people who could accurately read him most of the time, she squeezed his hand gently. "He'll forgive you for leaving before you even come back."
Chuck probably would. He was far too good like that. But Bryce didn't know if he could ever forgive himself. Leaving after Stanford was necessary to protect Chuck from this life, but leaving now, when he of all people understood how almost everyone who loved Chuck left him. It was unforgivable.
"I didn't want to leave," Bryce admitted, more to himself than to Sarah. But admitting it didn't relieve the pressure in his chest, the urge to damn everything and just force the agents to turn the car around. To take him back where everything inside him insisted he belonged.
Sarah's eyes widened, the car began to spin. Bryce reached out, trying to steady himself. His head met something unyielding and everything was black.
.
Bryce came to being carried. The motion made nausea flare in his chest, but he pushed it down. It was irrelevant. Hard tarmac rested under his head as he was lowered, Sarah's fingers tapping U-O-K in Morse code against his ribs. Carefully as he could while feigning unconsciousness, he tapped back once, letting his pinkie finger draw a small question mark on her hip. Sarah tapped once also, both agreeing she was unharmed and signalling her readiness.
When the (presumably) Fulcrum agent before them had his back turned, he rose to a crouch and snuck around the ruin of the nondescript car. It was almost like old times, falling into place by Sarah, letting their complementary blend of gymnastics and martial arts fighting take down the three agents.
Bryce looked around, scanning the faces of the cell. "Where is he?" he asked, turning slowly around in case the scarred agent was nearby.
"Who?" Sarah frowned, collecting the guns from the unconscious agents.
"Their boss, Tommy." Bryce glanced down at Sarah, ice running through him.
"Chuck," they said as one, barely a horrified breath.
Fulcrum had helpfully left a van for their getaway, Bryce silently conceding the driving to Sarah. Though he might not admit it, she was the better driver, and he didn't trust himself behind the wheel, not when all he could focus on was praying to all the deities he didn't believe in for Chuck's safety.
.
With Sarah behind the wheel, they arrived back at the Buy More in minutes. They entered through the back exit, the one for employees only and that Bryce just so happened to have a key for (perks of being the accountant and working odd hours). Side by side, they hurried through the corridors, hearing distant sounds of gunfire but no civilian screaming.
"They pulled a pineapple," Bryce murmured, staring out at the almost empty Buy More.
"A what?" Sarah whispered, her eyebrow creeping up her forehead.
Bryce just shook his head, scanning the store. Most, if not all, of the Fulcrum cell was clustered around the Home Theatre Room. It was there, Bryce guessed, that Casey was making his stand and protecting Chuck. At least, he'd better be. If Chuck wasn't in there with him, Bryce was going to have words with him. Maybe words etched into the side of the bullet he'd introduce to Casey's body.
Bryce ran along the top of the Nerd Herd desk, grinning briefly as Sarah kicked one of the Fulcrum agents in the face. And then, he vaulted over the desk, and they were fighting again. Kicking, punching, using each other's bodies and momentum to take down the cell as efficiently as possible.
Sarah rolled over his back, grabbing a portable stereo to knock the final pair of agents unconscious. She dropped the stereo on the ground, looking around the store. "Where's Chuck?"
"Over here," Tommy called.
Bryce whipped around, drawing the gun from the waistband of his jeans. Sure enough, Tommy was standing behind Chuck, a gun held to the back of his neck. His best friend had a gun held on him, again. As soon as Tommy moved away from Chuck - and he would, Bryce would make sure of that - Bryce was going to unload the clip of his gun right into his smirking face.
"Let him go," Sarah demanded, voicing the words Bryce reinforced with his glare. "Now."
Tommy gave them a pitying look, walking backwards with Chuck. "Does this look like my first time?"
"Isn't it someone else's turn to be the human shield for once?" Chuck snarked, his friend's stare unwavering on Bryce.
Bryce couldn't help it, he took a step forward, finger itching to pull the trigger and stop that madman hurting his friend.
"Stay there, Bryce," Tommy glared, jerking Chuck back a pace.
Bryce, as he did with any soon to be dead lifeform that dared threaten Chuck, ignored him. Instead, he returned the stare Chuck had initiated. "You alright, Chuck?"
"You came back," Chuck said, not quite the reply Bryce had been hoping for but one that warmed him all the same.
"Told you I would," Bryce replied lightly, hoping to distract Chuck from the gun at his head. "Isn't it Christmas yet?"
Chuck managed a flickering smile, something in his eyes lightening. "If it is, I'm going to have to return my present," he quipped, nodding back at Tommy as much as he could.
"I need to ask you something," Bryce said, noting the glare that said Tommy's patience with them was waning.
There was no earthly reason for his question to be answered in the affirmative, aside from the rather large hint that had been Bryce leaving it on his bed for him that morning, but he had to ask all the same.
"Shoot," Chuck replied, quickly tilting his head slightly to Tommy. "Not you, please."
"ghaj yoD wep?"
Chuck's eyes narrowed, silently asking Bryce how he was supposed to respond when he had a gun against the top of his spine.
Bryce narrowed his eyes back, just a little. In a different time, he might have teased him a little. But this was no time for teasing. He flickered a glance at Tommy, who glared but remained oblivious as only a dedicated non-nerd could be.
"HIja? Gohbe?"
Chuck's eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "HIja."
If there was any other way, Bryce wouldn't even entertain this. But, there was no other way. Not with Tommy in the mix.
"Sorry, Chuck," he offered, turning his gun on his best friend. Everything inside him rebelled at the act, the human part of him that Chuck brought out. He forced it down, squeezing the trigger with a hand he didn't let tremble.
Chuck toppled back, safely out of Tommy's hold, and then Casey was there, quipping something as he slammed his gun into Tommy's face.
The sight was distantly satisfying, but all Bryce could see was the smoking hole in his friend's shirt; the gunshot he had inflicted.
Sarah brushed past him, crouching at Chuck's side. "What did you say to him?" Sarah demanded, cold and angry.
Bryce tilted his head at her, wordlessly reminding the back of her head that he'd rather take a hundred bullets than inflict real harm on Chuck. "Ask him."
Sarah opened Chuck's shirt, revealing the CIA issue bulletproof vest Bryce had given Chuck that morning. She tapped gently on his cheek, encouraging him to come back from his faint.
"Chuck. Come on, Chuck."
Chuck choked out a gasp, coughing himself into wakefulness. His hazel eyes were open, even if they were staring up at the ceiling. Bryce let out a sigh of relief, feeling his shoulders slump at the force of it. Chuck was okay. He hadn't killed his friend.
.
.
"HIja," Chuck gasped, feeling the unpleasant new burning at the underside of his ribcage. "HIja," he repeated, meeting Sarah's concerned gaze. "Yes." He looked past Sarah to Bryce's face; open, relieved, there. Chuck smiled at Bryce, who had come back, who hadn't left him. "Yes, I am wearing a vest."
Chuck was rewarded with Bryce's brightest grin; the happy, crooked grin he thought he wouldn't see for months.
He coughed, glancing down to his chest. "You were right, buddy, that stings a little bit."
"Stop complaining," Bryce smirked, his laugh all relief. "You'll be fine. Now if Casey had shot you-"
"Bryce," Chuck interrupted, taking Bryce's offered hand to his feet. "I never want to actually get shot. This really hurts."
"I am so sorry, Chuck," Bryce repeated, all but ripping the vest away from Chuck's body.
"No, it's all good," Chuck replied, rubbing absently at his chest. It hurt, quite a lot actually, but he couldn't complain. He was still alive and not being held somewhere deep and dark while Fulcrum did unpleasant things to him. Which reminded him... "Are you okay? You've been bleeding."
"Am I?" Bryce repeated incredulously. "I just shot you and you're asking if I'm Okay?"
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, uncertain where the problem was. Bryce had said Chuck was special to him, how could he not realise that it went both ways? "In case you hadn't realised, Superspy, Bryce Larkin is pretty special to me."
Bryce chuckled wetly, shaking his head. "You are impossible."
Chuck almost apologised, but then Bryce was tugging him down into a hug, his arms coming around him for the second time that day.
"I cannot leave you alone for ten minutes without you getting yourself into danger," Bryce said into his shoulder.
"Then you should stay," Chuck replied, noting how much more his chest hurt at the thought of Bryce still having to leave.
"I'm gonna make a damn good case for it," his friend agreed, his arms unfortunately dropping away when the NSA team came barrelling through the doors.
"I'm not hugging you," Casey growled, breaking the moment as he so often did. His eyes bored into Bryce. "Beckman wants a report."
Bryce was standing close enough that Chuck could feel his sigh. His friend gave a quick smile. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck, buddy," Chuck wished, watching the superspy stroll into the Home Theatre Room.
.
.
Chuck stared at the curtained windows of the Home Theatre Room, wishing he could see what was going on in there. Around him, the NSA team were restoring the Buy More to it's original state, Casey supervising the cleaners. Sarah stayed near Chuck, watching him watch the room.
"He was worried about you," Sarah announced suddenly, her voice pitched just for Chuck's ears.
Chuck offered a tight smile. "He's been worried about me since freshman year. He's just usually better at hiding it."
Sarah hummed softly. "How's your chest?"
"Sore," Chuck shrugged. "I'm going to have a colourful bruise for a while, but I'm not hanging by my thumbs in a Fulcrum dungeon, so I'm calling this a win."
"Bryce did shoot you," Sarah reminded him, her tone heavy with implication.
Chuck knew an ordinary person would probably feel a little angry and betrayed and all the normal emotions when your best friend shoots you. But, the thing was Chuck fundamentally trusted Bryce more than anyone else in the world. Except maybe Ellie.
"He does extreme things to save me," Chuck shrugged again, thinking of Stanford, of Bryce cutting off all contact, of Bryce being prepared to walk away from him again and draw Fulcrum's attention.
"You two have the strangest relationship," Sarah stated, shaking her head fondly. "I don't know quite what it is, but you're good for each other."
"He's my best friend," Chuck explained, struck again by how lacking the term was to explain them.
As if that was enough to summon him, Bryce strolled out of the room, brushing fragments of glass off his black shirt.
Chuck stayed perched on the Nerd Herd desk, watching Bryce come to join him. Bryce's implacable mask dropped away into a bright grin, his eyes glittering happily.
"I have a new assignment," Bryce said, still grinning brightly. "Permanent secondment to Team Bartowski, officially this time."
"You're staying?" Chuck checked, just to make absolutely sure he'd heard what he so desperately had wanted to.
"I'm staying," Bryce agreed, swaying a little forward. "Beckman agreed that it makes logistical sense to have Fulcrum continue to believe I'm the Intersect and keep me here to ensure the suspicion stays away from you."
"So for totally altruistic reasons," Chuck teased. "Not because you wanted to."
"If I didn't want to, buddy," Bryce replied, deadly serious. "I'd be on my way to the consulate dinner Beckman tried to entice me away with. I told you, Chuck, I didn't want to leave."
Chuck felt the relief blossom in his chest. "Good, because we've got a tonne of leftovers in the fridge and I'm definitely gonna need a new batch of pie to eat them with, and then Ellie's gonna need our help decorating for Christmas, and-"
"I'm going to be here for all of it," Bryce promised, tugging Chuck off the desk. "But first, let's go home."
