"Would you stop fidgeting with your tie?" Bryce sighed, nudging Chuck's fingers away from the innocent scrap of fabric. "Anyone would think you're nervous or something."
"I'm not nervous," Chuck protested automatically, turning wide eyes on his friend. "Why? Do I look nervous?"
"No, Chuck," Bryce replied, hiding a fond smile. "Relax. You look fine." He adjusted his own tie, smoothing down the lines of his suit.
"And you look annoyingly like James Bond, as usual," Chuck said, his grin breaking through at Bryce's soft laugh.
"I thought I was looking like a maitre-de," Bryce commented, his wicked grin sparkling in his eyes.
"Only if Bond went undercover as a maitre-de," Chuck replied with just enough of a groan in his voice for Bryce to hear.
Sarah, leaning against the car in a beautiful black dress, rolled her eyes. "Yes, you both look very handsome, now can we get on with work?"
Bryce tutted chidingly. "It's only work if you're not having fun, Sarah," he reminded her, apparently unaware of her increased eye roll. "But, I'll see you both in there."
"Can I see you in there?" Chuck asked, turning from one of the CIA superspies to the other. "Do our covers know each other?"
"Of course they do," Bryce replied, brushing a speck of non-existent lint off Chuck's shoulder. "Bryce Anderson and Charles Carmichael are old Stanford roommates. As if they could be anything else. Now, relax, and come find me when you flash."
Sarah nodded, her eyes darting pointedly to the entrance. Bryce shook his head, adjusting Chuck's tie once more before he strolled off and joined the other impeccably dressed beautiful people who had secured invitations to the gala.
Chuck let out a long, steady breath, reminding himself that he'd fake dated Sarah for months, he could do it again for one evening. "Shall we?" he asked, offering Sarah his arm. She took it, smiling easily, and they too took their places amidst the invited guests.
.
.
As they descended the staircase, Chuck's eyes widened at the sight of the temporary casino set up. Of course it was a casino, tonight's theme was Las Vegas, but nevertheless Chuck did foresee one small complication. He turned to Sarah, who was still a little off with him in the wake of the whole ending of their fake relationship thing, and tried on his best grin.
"If you're expecting me to hit the tables, I'm gonna need a no-interest spy loan or something." He shrugged a shoulder. "You'd be surprised what being a government supercomputer pays these days."
Sarah turned to him, almost dismissively. "The CIA staked us, you have a hundred."
"That should be enough," Chuck replied, picking up a martini from a passing server. They should've seen him at college, he was a master of making a little amount of money go a long way.
Sarah frowned at him. "Since when do you drink martinis?"
"Oh, I don't, no," Chuck agreed brightly. "But Carmichael loves 'em."
Sarah looked at him as if he had lost a marble or two, but shook it off as she led them through the casino to Kirk's roulette table. Bryce caught his eye from a nearby craps table, his nod silently judging him for the martini in his hand. Chuck just narrowed his eyes back, he'd noticed the martini glass by Bryce's hand too. Bryce's eyes danced, Chuck losing sight of him as he slipped into his seat by Sarah.
"Ah, roulette," he announced. "My favorite game aside from Call of Duty." He settled in. "Chips please."
Casey, because of course it was Casey, turned around and slid him two stacks of chips. "One hundred, sir. Good luck." Under his breath the NSA agent added; "Don't lose it."
Kirk glanced over at them, smiling entirely at Sarah. "I don't believe we've met before. I'm Lon Kirk." He held out his hand to Chuck. "I'm the host of this evening's event. I know the people of Taiwan are deeply appreciative of your generosity."
"Oh, well," Chuck smiled, trying to be both dismissive and gracious. "Cheers. The name's Carmichael. Charles Carmichael."
"And your charming companion?" Kirk asked, leaning across Chuck to take Sarah's hand and kiss it.
"Sarah Walker," Sarah smiled warmly. "Pleasure."
Chuck settled back and let Sarah ask Kirk ("Lon please" eugh) about Taiwan and the reasons behind his choice to focus his attention on the country. The guy was so smarmy and pleased with himself. It made Chuck's skin crawl.
For that reason - and the incredibly strong, seriously probably twelve proof, martini - Chuck might have acted a bit irresponsibly. He bet all his (the CIA's) money on black.
All $100,000 of it.
And, because Chuck's luck really, really sucked, he lost it all. Every last dime.
In the midst of his panic, Sarah winked at Lon Kirk. Because of course she did. Spies had apparently never heard of leaving with the fake date who brought them. And this was precisely why Chuck was no longer fake dating her. The two events they'd been to together, she'd left him at every one.
Oh, yeah, and Casey whistled and directed Chuck's attention to the man Kirk was talking to.
Rashan Chen.
"Kirk is talking to Rashan Chen," Chuck explained as quickly as he could. "He's the Taiwanese Attaché to the Premier. He's dirty. They're using the charity as a front to launder counterfeit money."
Sarah followed his gaze to the two men. "Okay, something's wrong," she noticed, getting up. "I'm going to see what's going on. Chuck, you stay at the table."
Sarah went over and started flirting with Kirk. A month ago, that would have made him green with envy, but now all Chuck felt was a quiet sense of resignation. One that wasn't made any better by Casey's low growl that they'd work out a payment plan.
"I don't have to sit here and be insulted," Chuck announced, pushing up off the table. "Keep an eye on Sarah."
Casey grunted something that was probably an agreement, Chuck already winding his way through the other guests.
.
.
"How's your evening going?" Chuck asked, hovering at Bryce's shoulder.
Bryce shrugged his other shoulder, grinning easily. "I'm up a couple of grand. You?"
Chuck groaned and dropped his head onto Bryce's shoulder. "I just blew a hundred thousand."
Bryce whistled through his teeth. "Yikes."
Yikes? That was all he had to say?
Chuck narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Really?" He knew Bryce wasn't really big on sympathy, but he'd hoped for something more comforting. "Casey says we can work out a payment plan."
Bryce collected his chips, shaking his head fondly. "First of all, buddy, stop panicking," he muttered through a smile. "Charles Carmichael is rich enough that losing a hundred grand is nothing. Secondly," here Bryce's smile actually warmed. "Let's hit the Blackjack table."
"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Chuck groaned, helplessly trailing after his grinning friend.
Bryce shot him a dazzling smile, slipping into an empty seat at the blackjack table. "It'll be fine, Charles," he drawled, sounding exactly like someone who had too much money and time on their hands. "It's for charity. You can't expect me not to want to help out such a worthy cause."
"You say that now, Bryce," Chuck chided, picking up on his almost imperceptible cues. "But it's me who's going to have to fly all the way to Vegas to drag your ass back to your boardroom after three straight months away."
Bryce's grin turned wounded. "It happens one time."
"It was twice," Chuck retorted, ignoring the petulant elbow jabbed into his ribs. "Why are we doing this?" he added in a murmur, not averse to the act, just confused.
"Fun," Bryce shrugged, eyes twinkling. "They'll bet more against me if they think I have a penchant for gambling."
"Really?"
Bryce shrugged nonchalantly. "It's worth a try." He slid some chips surreptitiously across to Chuck. "Now, buddy, let's play Blackjack."
.
By the time the event ended, and Sarah had come back from flirting with Kirk, Chuck (and Bryce - between the two of them, they'd decimated the blackjack table) had won back just enough that Chuck was no longer in crippling debt to the CIA. Perhaps it was slightly irresponsible of them to gamble when they should've been watching Kirk and his suspicious associates, but Chuck hoped they'd all feel better knowing they hadn't directly financed Kirk's shady dealings. Chuck knew he certainly would. And, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy winning back the money he'd impulsively gambled away. Indentured servitude to the CIA didn't sound like his idea of fun.
And at least the night hadn't been a total bust. Chuck had flashed, Sarah had scored an invitation to continue flirting with a billionaire, Casey had got to threaten him a little, and Bryce had got to indirectly help save Chuck's skin. So, it was probably almost a success all around. Except, well, Chuck did feel a little bit downhearted that not even his wildly successful alias could maintain a relationship without one half of said relationship deciding to cheat on him with an even more successful older guy (literally, the story of Chuck's life). But it had been a fun enough evening, and he hadn't even been shot at (and neither had Bryce, for all the miracles), so he supposed he couldn't really complain.
.
.
Bright and early the next morning, Chuck was taking the trash out to the bins, enjoying the early morning air, the energy of a good night's sleep and even better coffee buoying him for even the most unpleasant of days. Casey was on one knee by a shiny black car, almost caressing it with a polishing glove. It wasn't the strangest thing he'd ever seen - Morgan was one of his best friends and he did very strange things, as did Jeff and Lester and the less said about them the better - but it was certainly nothing Chuck had expected to see this early in the morning.
"Nice car," he called, staying a safe distance from the major.
"It's not just any car," Casey replied without turning around. "It's a 1985 Crown Victoria. But, like a lady, she doesn't like it when I talk about her age."
"I'm not really a car guy," Chuck shrugged. "So I don't really," he trailed off as Casey's I will murder you glare intensified. "Pretty, pretty shiny though."
"Oh, yeah, she's shiny," Casey stated, like it was a matter of fact. "4.6 V8 engine, hydra glide transmission, reupholstered the prisoner containment area. Even installed a state-of-the-art GPS tracking system in the license plate." Casey's eyes widened, looking almost excited. "Can locate this baby anywhere in the world in less than a minute."
"That's great," Chuck agreed, honestly a bit scared with how into his car Casey was. "That's really great, Casey."
"Could buy ten more just like her with the money you pissed away on one spin last night," Casey glared, dropping his glove back in with the other supplies.
"I won it back," Chuck protested, shaking his head. "Bryce and I won it all back. I should've known you weren't going to let it go."
Casey rolled his eyes, packing up his supplies. "And you'd be up the creek if your boyfriend didn't bail you out all the time."
"Okay. First of all," Chuck began, holding up a finger. "Rude. Secondly, I think you're just jealous that Bryce likes me better than you."
That Bryce liked Chuck better than almost everyone was definitely neither here nor there and not something Chuck would ever mention to Casey.
Casey glanced over his shoulder with a dry glare. "It just eats me up inside," he deadpanned, scoffing. "Don't you have work to be getting on with?"
"Work's not for another hour," Chuck reminded him, the thought of all the paperwork waiting for him taking the coffee buzz right out of him. "But, since you mention it, I do have breakfast waiting. Bryce's making pancakes." The and you're not invited so there was implicit, Chuck returning to the apartment with a spring in his step.
.
.
"Ellie catch you on your way back?" Bryce called, hunting in the refrigerator for the maple syrup.
"No," Chuck sighed, dropping back into his place at the kitchen island. A fresh mug of steaming coffee was waiting for him, alongside a plate of pancakes. "I ran into Casey."
"His usual effervescent self was he?" Bryce smirked, settling his prize onto the table.
Chuck sipped on his coffee, hiding a grin behind the rim. "I think I interrupted his alone time with his car."
Bryce's eyebrows raised, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Tell me it wasn't that Crown Vic?" Bryce shook his head. "He's unnaturally attached to that car."
"Morgan's having lunch with Anna's parents today," Chuck offered, a little worried for his friend. "I really hope he doesn't overthink it."
"He'll be fine," Bryce replied easily. "Anna wouldn't inflict him on her parents if she didn't think their relationship would survive it."
"And Sarah's on her own for her lunch with Lon Kirk-"
"Believe me, she can more than handle herself," Bryce cut in, calm but serious. "And Kirk will underestimate her, which she's gonna hate but she's not averse to using."
Chuck knew that. Out of all his handlers, Sarah was the one who he knew had no trouble taking care of herself. It was just...
"So all we can do is stay at the Buy More and wait?"
"The less glamorous side of spy work," Bryce agreed softly. "Sometimes there's just nothing we can do but sit back and wait for something to happen."
Chuck raised an eyebrow, hoping his bite of pancake hid his dubious expression.
"I know that look, Bartowski," the superspy uttered, narrowing his eyes. "What's going on in there?"
"Oh, nothing," Chuck smirked, innocently sipping at his coffee. "Just imagining you ever sitting back and waiting for something to happen."
"I can be patient."
"And Casey's one of my best friends."
"Hey," Bryce glowered, not seeing the funny side. "I put up with Grimes, mostly because I have no choice in the matter, but I am not gonna watch you get all pally with Major Monosyllable."
"Don't worry, buddy," Chuck grinned, knocking his foot against Bryce's under the table. "I really don't see our relationship heading that way."
"His loss," Bryce replied loyally, but he didn't bother hiding the tiny, relieved smile on his lips.
"Speaking of losing things," Chuck sighed. "We'd better finish up here and get to work. We've got never-ending piles of paperwork to lose our sanities to."
"And you've got to talk Morgan out of bailing from his lunch date with Anna's parents," Bryce added, as if Chuck could have forgotten. "Meanwhile I have to find the holiday party budget from somewhere and work out how to deduct all the expenses."
"Grab lunch later then?"
"It'll be the highlight of my day," Bryce agreed, and he didn't even sound sarcastic.
.
.
That lunchtime, Chuck was manning the Nerd Herd desk. Jeff and Lester were off somewhere being Jeff and Lester (which meant Chuck really didn't want to think too hard about what exactly they were doing), and with Anna away at lunch with her parents, Chuck was basically the only nerd available.
Bryce, because a) they were still doing the whole interdepenent thing, and b) he said if he had to look at the Buy More accounts for one more second he would actually shoot something, was reclining in a chair nearby. His fingers flew over the pad of his phone, his lips curled in a tiny grin at whatever he was writing. Chuck had asked, but all his friend had said was that he was "keeping in touch", like that answered anything. For Bryce, it probably did, and Chuck had learned not to press him on it.
"You know, I'm waiting for the day someone mistakes you for a nerd herder," Chuck offered, idly swinging back and forth on his chair.
Bryce snorted a little laugh. "Nerd, yes. Nerd herder, not in a million years."
"Ouch," Chuck deadpanned, grinning a moment later. "I dunno though, you'd be better at Casey at the whole customer service thing."
"That's because I'm better than Casey at almost everything," Bryce replied cheerfully. "But still, they couldn't afford me."
"You do know you actually work here, right?"
"As an accountant and at heavily discounted rates," Bryce corrected, grinning over his phone. "And only because you work here."
Chuck opened his mouth, words about how uncharacteristically sweet that was forming on his lips, only to be interrupted by his phone.
"Hey Morgan," Chuck greeted, easy and happy.
"Yeah, hey, hey dude," Morgan replied, sounding a little tense. "We got a possible situation here. I'm out lunching with Anna's parents at some fancy yacht club in the Marina. Okay, when who do I see, but someone who resembles the future Mrs Chuck Bartowski."
Chuck sat up a bit in his chair, concerned that Morgan was so close to an active operation without Chuck (or any of the trained professionals) there to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't get himself involved.
Bryce tucked his phone away, blue eyes bright on Chuck. His head tilted in a what's wrong query, Chuck just holding up a finger.
"All right," Morgan continued, oblivious. "She's getting all lotioned up by some creepy Richard Branson meets Willem Dafoe-lookin' dude, right? And he is all over her, man. I mean he is really greasing her and working up this lather. I mean, it's just, it's, uh, quite a scene over here."
Chuck closed his eyes a moment, quietly grateful that he and Sarah were slowly moving towards something like a friendship and not a fake relationship that had Chuck still pining after her like a particularly lovesick puppy.
"And, hey, man, listen I gotta go. The lobster's here."
"What's going on?"
"Morgan's at the Marina for lunch with the Wu's," Chuck explained quickly. "He's apparently got a front row seat of Sarah's date with Kirk."
"Okay," Bryce said, nodding slowly. "Well, Casey's there keeping an eye on Sarah, but I don't see the harm in having a couple more pairs of eyes there."
"Couldn't hurt," Chuck agreed, searching his pockets for where he'd left his keys. "But, what if we're seen?"
"Well," Bryce thought for a moment. "You can play the jealous boyfriend and I'll be the supportive best friend there to make sure you don't do something impulsive and stupid."
"Just as long as we keep the op away from Morgan."
"Trust me, buddy," Bryce replied, sending him a quick smile. "The spy world isn't ready for Morgan Grimes."
