As Chuck was becoming regrettably used to over the course of being the Intersect, he was dragged into Casey's apartment as soon as he and Bryce pulled up at their apartment complex. Sarah and Casey, both in casual attire, were waiting for them. As was General Beckman, who looked as amused by their delay (a mutual decision to stop off for food on the way back) as she ever did.
"We received your report, Major," Beckman began, eyes narrowing as Chuck and Bryce filed into position in front of the television. "Ex-KGB, Eastern Bloc thugs, Russian arms dealers," she trailed off pointedly. "Frankly, were not used to seeing this particular crowd stateside these days."
"Least not since President Reagan won the Cold War, huh, General?" Casey smirked, more enthusiastic than he'd been all day.
Bryce groaned from the other side of Chuck, muttering uncharitable things about Casey's love of Reagan under his breath. Chuck nudged him with his elbow, earning an utterly unrepentant nudge back.
Sarah ignored their antics, getting back to the briefing. "So you want us to infiltrate the Grand Saville?"
"The hotel's bar has been booked for a private party early this evening," Beckman informed them.
"Fine, I'll clear my schedule, but just 'cause it's you, General," Chuck quipped, not surprised that only Bryce chuckled. Bryce was good like that.
Beckman stared out at him, looking very much like a long suffering highschool principal. "Mr Bartowski, it is up to you to tell us what these criminal agents are all doing in Los Angeles. You and Agent Larkin are going undercover."
"Not me and Sarah?" Chuck frowned, thrown at the change.
"Don't sound so enthusiastic at the prospect, buddy," Bryce muttered, eyes twinkling over his smile. "I won't know what to do with myself."
"Oh, shut up," Chuck retorted, bumping companionably into him. "I was just surprised."
"Agent Walker will be there too," Beckman continued, as if Bryce hadn't spoken. "It has merely come to our attention that even when you are undercover you spend more time with Agent Larkin than Agent Walker. We might as well save time for this mission."
"We're not that bad, General," Chuck felt honour bound to state, even as he knew that they very much were. It wasn't Chuck's fault that Sarah tended to abandon him to flirt with the other guests, nor was it his fault that Bryce was overprotective. It was just the way things were.
Bryce chuckled silently next to him, relaxed now he knew the mission was going in his favour.
Beckman merely gave him a pointed look. "We need you to press some Russian flesh, see what you can flash on. And... Good luck."
With a cheerful bleep, the connection terminated.
"What about you, Casey?" Chuck asked, turning towards the Major.
Apparently ignoring Bryce's presence, Casey took a step closer to Chuck. "What about me?"
"I don't know," Chuck replied, forcing down the urge to take a step back at the challenge in Casey's face. "I just thought if the rest of us have to go to the hotel to press some Russian flesh, you might want to drop in on a certain-"
"Chuck," Sarah cut in, tugging on his shirt as Casey growled and stalked away.
"What is with that guy?" Chuck asked, watching Casey vanish from sight. "He really doesn't want to see his ex, does he?"
"I doubt it," Sarah almost snapped, worry in her eyes. "Ilsa's dead."
Chuck could only watch another of his handlers walk away, guilt falling like a stone into his stomach. "Poor Casey."
Bryce hummed softly, almost sympathetic. "Never mind that now, Chuck," he sighed, expression unreadable. "We'd best get ready and go infiltrate a Russian party."
.
No sooner had Chuck walked through the front door of Bryce's apartment than his friend dragged him into the bedroom Chuck had made his own. The superspy directed Chuck into the chair by the window, disappearing into the closet with a cheerful hum.
"Uh, Bryce, buddy?" Chuck called, trying to peer into the closet. "Whatcha doing?"
"Trying to find something in here that says semi-formal and not broke college student," Bryce replied, amusement in his voice. "What happened to all the clothes I stocked this with?"
"They're in there." Chuck might have shoved them to the back to make room for the clothes he was - for some reason - leaving here, but that was neither here nor there.
Bryce hummed dubiously, Chuck imagining the spy shaking his head in the middle of the closet. "I could put you in a tux, but I'm pretty sure you'd start the evening as wait staff. And, really, I'm not giving Casey the satisfaction."
"I don't suppose you'll finally tell me what it is with you two?"
"Just a healthy rivalry," Bryce replied innocently.
Now it was Chuck's turn to hum dubiously.
Bryce stuck his head out of the closet, a bright grin on his lips. "Don't worry about it, buddy," he said easily. "We're professionals. As long as he's got your back, I won't have to shoot him and make it look like a tragic but unavoidable accident."
"Sometimes I think he should scare me," Chuck muttered, settling back in his chair.
"You say something?" Bryce called, distracted.
"Nope," Chuck called back, grinning to himself. "Just wondering if we're going to get to the party before it finishes."
Sarcastic laughter drifted from the closet, Bryce making a small, triumphant sound on it's heels. His best friend and self-appointed fashion police officer laid a suit out on the bed, dropping a shirt on top. "Get dressed, bud," Bryce said, ignoring the small noise of protest Chuck made. "I'll be waiting for you."
Chuck rolled his eyes fondly at Bryce's back, waiting until he'd exited the room to start changing. "This is my life," he muttered, staring down at the black suit. "I can't believe this is my life."
.
.
A little while later, Chuck and Bryce strolled side by side through the front doors of the Grand Saville. Bryce looked as irritatingly handsome as ever, slipping his sunglasses into his pocket as if he really were the movie star his looks screamed he could be. Casey and Sarah greeted them with short nods, their gazes flittering towards the party in progress.
Bryce steered Chuck towards the bar, acting for all the world as if they had every right to be there. "You recognise anyone?" the superspy asked in a low murmur.
Chuck leaned towards his friend, flicking his gaze towards a seated man. "That's Dmitry Silijak. Black market arms dealer."
Bryce scooped two martinis off the bar, slipping one into Chuck's hand. "Delightful," he muttered, nudging Chuck into the fray.
Bryce's hand was warm in the small of Chuck's back, keeping him upright and steady as he began a series of flashes as they walked.
"Sergey 'Noodles' Romanov," Chuck whispered, nodding towards a seated, balding man. "Freelance hitman."
"My kind of guy," came his friend's soft response, a tiny smirk on his lips.
"Sasha!"
Chuck's eyes widened as a short Russian man stared right at him.
"Is that you, my sweet Sasha?" The enthusiastic man turned back to his fellow guests. "Everybody meet my fourth cousin on my sister's side." He threw his arms out wide. "Sasha, come and give your cousin great big hug!"
Before Chuck knew it, he was lifted into the air in a great, big Russian bear hug. He shot a pleading look at Bryce. The spy seemed torn between outrage on Chuck's behalf and pure, unrestrained amusement. His brilliant eyes were doing the twinkling thing they did when he was laughing his ass off internally, the twinkle only brightening as the short Russian asked him something in Russian.
"Da, da, da," Chuck agreed, hoping it was the right answer.
"Sasha wants to dance," his not-cousin cried jubilantly.
No Sasha did not want to dance. Chuck wanted to dance even less.
"No, no," Chuck cried immediately. "No, dance. No. Nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet."
Behind him, Bryce lost the battle with his laughter, small chuckles hiding under the lively music.
Well, if that was the way he was going to play it.
If Chuck was going down, he was dragging his friend down with him.
Quickly but not too fast that Bryce definitely couldn't have stopped him if he'd wanted to, Chuck latched onto the sleeve of Bryce's jacket, dragging him into the throng of excited Russian criminals. Not one of the guests blinked an eye, warmly greeting "Sasha's friend" in equally excited Russian. Bryce replied with a few swift words, sticking close to Chuck's side.
"Not cool, buddy," Bryce whispered, eyes narrowing in a glare that might have worried Chuck if his friend had meant it.
Chuck rolled his eyes. "This doesn't begin to make up for some of the stunts you've pulled," he muttered, catching sight of a beautiful brunette woman over the heads of the dancers. He flashed, repeating the same information he'd seen when he flashed on Ilsa's name. His eyes widened, trying to catch Sarah's eyes and direct her to Ilsa.
"Sasha, you like blonde?" his not-cousin asked loudly.
Bryce snorted under his breath. "Oh yeah," he said, ignoring the way Chuck stabbed his elbow into his side. "Ow?"
"I'm going to kick your ass so bad the next time we play Gotcha," Chuck threatened in a monotone, Sarah being pushed through the crowd to him.
Bryce inclined his head at Sarah, finding the situation far too amusing for Chuck's peace of mind. "Evening."
"God, you're a dork," Chuck sighed, turning his gaze over his shoulder to Sarah. "She's here. Ilsa is here."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Look over there."
The three of them turned in perfect unison, Chuck watching Sarah's eyes widen in a brief conversation with Bryce.
"Our covers have been compromised," Sarah announced briskly into her watch. "Request extraction."
"I'm on it," Casey's voice muttered in their ears.
In the middle of the dancers, slowly making their way back out of the throng, Chuck didn't miss the way Casey stopped. Ilsa turned back to face him, Casey's face more open and emotional than Chuck had ever seen.
"We've got to get him out of here," Sarah said quickly.
"Oh, come on," Chuck disagreed, turning away from the sight of Casey and his ex. "The guy spent four years of his life thinking he'd never see her again."
Sarah didn't look unsympathetic, nor did Bryce if the soft noise that escaped his control was any indication, but she shook her head quickly. "His cover has been compromised."
"Can't the man live without a cover for just a couple of minutes?" Chuck demanded, something in his chest aching at the thought of dragging Casey away.
"That's how we get killed," Bryce muttered, but he made no move to get to Casey.
Behind them, there was the sound of microphone interference. "Hello everybody," an accented male voice greeted. "How are we doing tonight?"
Chuck turned, flashing on the man's face. "Bryce? Sarah?"
"What is it?" Chuck had forgotten how eerie it was when both his CIA handlers spoke in perfect unison. But, unfortunately, Chuck had bigger problems. They all did.
"I think I know what brought all the baddies together," Chuck heard himself say. "Him. Victor Federov. A Russian oligarch with ties to everything from the mob to a plot to overthrow parliament."
Federov carried on talking, his enhanced voice drowning out the swift curses from Sarah and Bryce. "I'd like to introduce you to the woman who will make me the happiest man on Earth by becoming my wife. Ilsa Trinchina!"
Casey looked worse than he had when the missile had blown up his car, Ilsa smiling and walking towards the Oligarch.
"Time to get out of here," Bryce decided, grabbing Chuck's wrist. Sarah nodded her wholehearted agreement, the three of them using the distraction to collect Casey and get the hell out of Dodge.
Casey stomped off towards his SUV, Sarah staring in concern as she made for her own car.
"This has been a disaster," Bryce muttered, carding his hand through his hair. "I don't know about you, buddy, but I need a drink. Possibly several."
Chuck was aware that he'd recently made a half-hearted resolution never to drink again, but he hadn't considered a mess like this when he'd made that resolution. "You're buying."
.
.
"Come on, buddy," Chuck cajoled, watching Casey take a bite of sandwich at lunchtime the next day. A sharp, stinging pain erupted in his ankle, Bryce's eyes narrowed in a glare that he definitely meant this time.
Chuck offered Bryce a quick smile, not even denting the coldness in Bryce's eyes.
Okay. Not calling Casey buddy again.
"Just give me something," Chuck continued, focusing on the person he had an outside chance of getting through to. "Anything. Where is she from? Where did you two meet?"
Casey's eyes flickered up to him, irritation burning inside. "Why is this so important to you?" Casey asked, frowning. "Why do you care so much about me and Ilsa?"
"He's an incurable romantic who hates seeing people hurt."
And only Bryce Larkin could say a nice thing like that and sound so annoyed with him at the same time.
Chuck risked a glance at him and saw some of the iciness give way to fond exasperation.
Bryce wasn't exactly wrong, but Chuck definitely wouldn't have put it that way.
"I just, I think it would be nice to know that you had a life before," Chuck shrugged. "This. I just figured if a guy like you can find love - no offense, Casey."
Casey narrowed his eyes and grunted.
"Maybe there's hope for me too. Maybe this whole spy business isn't as screwed up as I think it is."
"Oh, it really is," Bryce muttered bitterly. "Messed up to high heaven."
Casey hummed an agreement. He didn't even blink as Chuck unleashed a rant on him for being an emotionally constipated robot. But then, as he picked up the other half of his sandwich, he glanced at Bryce (predictably glaring at Casey) and sighed.
"I met her at a flower market," the NSA major announced softly. "In Rome. Ilsa was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." His eyes narrowed shrewdly, smirking almost as wickedly as Chuck had ever seen. "Quid pro quo, Bartowski. Where'd you meet your boyfriend?"
Bryce choked on a sip of coffee, the spray hitting Casey's sandwich. He coughed and spluttered, eyes watering as Chuck patted him on the back. Chuck's lungs ached in sympathy as he wheezed in a breath.
"Boyfriend?!"
"Casey thinks he's being funny," Chuck glowered, the tips of his ears burning. He didn't realise it was so warm in here. "He means you."
Casey leaned back, looking very pleased with himself. Chuck vowed to get him back in some subtle but punishing way.
"Oh," Bryce muttered softly, Chuck almost thinking he saw a pleased little smile hidden behind his mug. Clearly he was imagining things. When the mug lowered, Bryce's usual crooked grin was beaming at Chuck. "It was, what, a couple of weeks into freshman year?"
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, almost able to smell the crisp fall day. "You were tossing a football with one of your track teammates."
"And you were being studious and studying."
Chuck grinned at the memory. "We were in EE131 together," he told Casey, who really looked like he didn't care, but he'd asked so now he could suffer through their nostalgia. "He noticed the textbook, we bonded over Zork and that was that. The beginning of our interdependency."
"A friggin fairytale," Casey muttered, rolling his eyes.
"You asked," Chuck replied sunnily.
Casey narrowed his eyes, his expression wordlessly conveying his hope that having asked would stop Chuck from sticking his nose into Casey's private life.
Bryce smirked into his coffee, looking from Casey to Chuck and back again. "Listen," he sighed, meeting Casey's glare with a calm expression Chuck often envied. "You and I, pretty much the only thing we have in common is that we're both highly trained assassins couched in the cover of being secret agents."
"Agreed," Casey admitted, Chuck watching a frown pinch his brow. "What of it?"
"We don't like talking about our pasts, and prefer not to admit we have them," Bryce continued, using his easy conversational tone. The Bryce equivalent of being sensitive and talking to a skittish animal.
"Get to the point, Larkin," Casey glowered, tossing his sandwich into the bin.
"Take it from someone who spent nearly five years avoiding his past only to be unceremoniously shot and thrown into it," Bryce nodded slightly towards Chuck, favouring him with a soft smile. "You can let it twist you up inside until you really are an emotionally constipated robot, or you can face it."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Bryce is telling you to suck it up and deal with it," Chuck translated, knowing what his friend had been unusually tactfully dancing around.
"Pretty much," Bryce agreed brightly, clapping Casey on the shoulder as he stood. "But you've got to want to, otherwise you're going to stay stuck on that same emotional hamster wheel." He smoothed down his suit, flashing another smile at Chuck. "Well, that's my talk about feelings done for the year. I'm going to go stare at accounting work until my brain numbs."
"Have fun, buddy," Chuck called, grinning over his shoulder at his friend.
Bryce narrowed his eyes, wordlessly warning him that he'd better not get too pally with Casey before they saw each other again. Chuck's ankle throbbed dully, reminding him of the reasons why that was a bad thought to entertain. Who knew Bryce was so possessive? Well, Chuck actually, but he reserved the right to make friends with whoever he wanted to. It wasn't as if anyone would ever challenge what Bryce meant to him.
.
Later, after the Buy More was closed for the night and it was only Chuck, Casey and Bryce still around, they found themselves seated in front of the televisions, watching something or another. Well, Chuck and Casey sat in front of the televisions, Bryce wandered the store, typing on his phone and sending exasperated expressions to Chuck whenever their gazes locked.
"Sure, it was great," Casey announced out of the blue. "You know, we had what we had, but it's over."
Over? Really. Just like that? Now, Chuck didn't have exactly the greatest track record with relationships, but he was fairly certain that just giving up was not the best thing to do. Not if you loved them; not if you saw a future with them.
On the other hand, Chuck's only experience was with Jill and Sarah and those relationships ending as they did didn't exactly fill Chuck with the required wisdom to share with his older handler.
Nevertheless, Chuck was a romantic and he refused to believe that that really was that.
"So, that's it?" he checked, hands flailing about. "You're just going to let her walk back out of your life?"
Casey stared at his own hands, not even flinching at Chuck's outrage. "Seems like the smart play, Chuck," he said quietly. "In our line of work people we care about don't waltz back into our lives after years away. And even if they did, nice girls don't marry corrupt Russian oligarchs."
"Well I hate to break it to you, but nice girls don't go around marrying guys like you, either."
That got Casey's attention. His gaze snapped to Chuck, not angry exactly but not not angry either.
Chuck tilted his head, cruel to be kind time. "G-man assassin? International spy?" Chuck shook his head. "I mean, pardon me for saying it, Casey, but at least on paper, you're kind of an unsavory dude."
Casey thought that over for a moment. "Granted." He rallied though; "But Ilsa never knew what I do for a living."
And the man finally got it!
"That's exactly my point," Chuck announced, spreading his hands wide. "What if Ilsa doesn't know what her fiance Victor does for a living either?" He stopped Casey's murderous frown in it's tracks, calling over his Bryce. "Buddy! Need a spy consult here!"
"Yes, Bond knows that drinking his vodka martinis like that is incorrect," Bryce drawled, leaning back on the shelves.
Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Not what I was asking, buddy."
Bryce waved a hand, grinning fondly. "What do you need, Chuck?"
"Say you were a bad guy-"
"We talking rogue spy bad or Bond villain bad?" Bryce interrupted, a thoughtfulness twist to his mouth.
"Corrupt Russian oligarch bad."
Bryce nodded, waving his hand again. "Continue."
"Would you tell that person that you were going to marry that you were one of the bad dudes?"
"And risk the person I love not loving me anymore?" Bryce winced, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not a chance."
Chuck nodded, shooting a 'see?' glare at the resident heartbroken NSA agent.
Casey leaned forward in his chair. "What are you saying I do?"
Chuck tapped Casey on his knee. "Stick to your strengths, bu-"
Bryce cleared his throat pointedly, glare burning holes in the back of Chuck's head.
Right. He'd almost forgotten. No calling Casey buddy.
"You're a fighter," Chuck continued, relieved when he could not longer feel the full force of Bryce's best friend disapproval. "You got to fight for her."
Casey stared into the middle distance, thoughtful. "That your advice too, Larkin?"
Bryce snorted, something a little bitter about the sound. "Not an expert," he shrugged easily. "Don't do relationships." He paused, eyes scanning Casey's face. "But, I'd follow Chuck's lead in this. He's terrible at maintaining relationships, but it's not his fault."
"Fight for her," Casey muttered, scowling darkly. "If this goes badly, I'm blaming you two."
.
.
"This is a terrible idea, Chuck," Casey announced, scowling at him as they walked the corridors of the hotel. "Can't we just go?"
"Negatory," Chuck replied brightly. "We have passed the point of no return. No retreat, soldier."
"This isn't a mission," Casey glared. "We're just three guys sneaking down a hall like a group of numb nuts. Hey."
Sarah, pushing a room service trolley, stopped in the middle of the hall. "What are you doing here?"
Bryce ignored Chuck's subtle and silent head shaking, grinning brilliantly as he leaned against the wall. "We're on a mission."
"I'd like to apologise, Agent Walker," Casey added, glaring at Chuck. "Chuck convinced me to-"
"To come down to the hotel," Chuck interrupted. "And to bring me, because maybe I could flash on some stuff."
"And you, Bryce?" Sarah invited, dubiously amused.
"You know me, Sarah," Bryce grinned charmingly. "I just go where Chuck goes."
"You volunteered to go on an all-night stakeout," Sarah checked, her disbelief palpable.
"Doesn't sound like me, does it?" Chuck grinned, giving a finger gun for some reason his brain thought was good. "I know, but I couldn't sleep. So I thought it would do me some good to, um, look at some surveillance monitors or something."
Beside Chuck, Bryce remained perfectly expressionless, yet Chuck had the feeling his friend was mentally facepalming and despairing of Chuck. Okay, yes, he knew that it was far from his best excuse. If he was really having trouble sleeping, he'd just go and bug Bryce and they'd marathon videogames or Star Trek, or play Gotcha until they collapsed from exhaustion. But, Chuck was still fairly new at this whole spy thing; he couldn't be expected to be able to make up believable lies on the spot. Ellie had raised him better than that!
Sarah clearly did not buy it in the slightest, but she led them through the corridors to the surveillance room.
"I've already tapped into the hotel security feed," Sarah briefed, closing the door behind them. "You three get comfy, I'm going to deliver the surveillance to the bridal suite. With any luck, we'll get enough intel to take the target down on US soil."
Casey hmmed in his usual grumpy way, Sarah bidding them a cheery "have fun" as she wheeled her cart back out of the room.
"Don't wait up," Chuck called after her.
Immediately, Bryce turned a despairing gaze on him. "Buddy, I am begging you, the next time we have to lie about our presences somewhere, just let Casey and I talk." He carded a hand through his hair, grinning. "You are my best friend, but buddy, you suck at lying."
.
.
Once again, Chuck and Casey took the seats, Bryce leaning on the wall behind them. Chuck, who arguably had the most experience with marathon stretches in front of the computer screen, was the only one of the trio not to look like he was reconsidering his life choices. Casey blearily scrubbed at his eyes, glancing at his watch to see if enough time had passed to switch his shift in front of the monitors out with Bryce.
"Um, Casey?" Chuck called, reinvigorated.
The NSA major turned to him. "Did you flash?"
Chuck pointed to the monitors. "Look who's hitting the bar the night before her own wedding. Now, does that look like the face of a woman who's happy about getting married?"
Casey stared at the screen himself, not saying a word. Silently, they watched Ilsa take her drink and sit on one of the discreet couches.
"This is your chance, pal. This is your chance," Chuck cried, all but stabbing his finger at the screen. "Look at her, Casey. She's just sitting there, waiting for you."
Casey did not move. He did not look like a man about to go out and fight for the woman he cared about. In fact, if Chuck didn't know better, he might even say that Casey was...
"You're scared, aren't you?"
"Don't be an idiot," Casey bit out, standing and putting distance between him and Chuck and the monitors.
Chuck glanced back at Bryce, who held up his hands. He shook his head, silently telling Chuck that this one was Chuck's bright idea and all on him. Well, fortunately, Chuck had endless experience dealing with stubborn spies. He'd even been known to talk them into doing things. Which, granted, was probably more a testament to Bryce's willingness to go along with what Chuck wanted rather than any real persuasiveness on Chuck's part. But, Chuck was taking his wins where he could find them. And, right now, that meant believing he could find Casey's confidence for him.
"Kemo sabe," he grinned, standing himself. "Come on, man, look, you don't want to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for what you didn't have the guts to say tonight. Okay? Believe me." Chuck stared at him with all the conviction born of his heartbreaks. "I know."
Casey nodded slowly, hmming once more.
.
After Casey left, Bryce slid into the seat he had vacated. "You want to talk about it, buddy?"
Chuck knew the it his friend was referring to. Knew that Bryce would have heard the allusion to Jill that Chuck pointedly hadn't voiced. Still, Chuck tried on a small smile. "I thought you'd exhausted your feelings talk for the year?"
"That was for the non-family plan," Bryce quipped back, his smile fading into seriousness. "I meant the offer, Chuck."
"I know," Chuck replied, peering at the screen. "It is what it is, Bryce. Sooner or later, I had to give up on my regrets."
Bryce nudged his knees gently. "You know there was nothing you could have done."
Chuck nodded mutely, swallowing down the reflexive surge of pain and recriminations that thinking of Jill always brought up. "I think Sarah's in position," he said, distracting the both of them.
They watched as Sarah took out the guard on the door, Chuck wincing in sympathy for the poor guard.
"Casey, you're going to have to deliver the package, I've got a body to take care of," Sarah announced. "Keys are in the sugar."
"Deliver the package," Chuck repeated, glancing helplessly at Bryce.
"Casey, do you read me?" Sarah called.
Bryce rolled his eyes, pressing down the microphone. "We copy, Sarah. I'm on it."
"I'm coming with," Chuck announced, meeting Bryce's "oh really" look with a stubborn smile.
"There's nothing I can do to make you stay behind, is there?" Bryce sighed, tossing a uniform at him. "Put that on."
"What about you?" Chuck checked, automatically doing as he was told.
"If you knew how much this suit cost, you wouldn't ask me that," Bryce smirked. "If anyone asks I'm management deigning to show a rookie the ropes."
.
They made it into the suite with only minor teasing on Bryce's part. Bryce swiped the bug from the inside of the cloche, planting it on the nearest light with an ease that said he could do this in his sleep.
"Nice place," Chuck hummed, looking around in approval.
"I've stayed in better," Bryce replied, unfazed at the opulence of the bridal suite. "And worse. Much, much worse."
"Our frat house wasn't that bad," Chuck loyally protested.
Bryce chuckled. "Compared to some of the dives I've slept in, our frat was practically a five star accommodation."
Chuck shuddered at the implications, his attention caught by a case on the table. He slipped it open, flipping through the files until next saw another photograph of Ilsa. He flashed again, seeing her stabbing someone in an elevator. Before he could do anything about it - like alerting Bryce - the door beeped and Ilsa's voice drifted in from the hallway.
Bryce grabbed Chuck by his hand, pushing him under the bed and slipping under himself just as the door opened.
Chuck shot him a wide-eyed, helpless look, Bryce's mouth turning down in a frown.
Moans and creaking bedsprings quickly greeted the pair, Ilsa and Casey active above them.
"Therapy," Bryce mouthed. "So much therapy."
Chuck nodded emphatically, struggling to tune out yet more things he'd never be able to forget.
.
From there, things went from bad to worse. Before Chuck knew it, Casey was being held at gunpoint by his ex and Chuck and Bryce were caught snooping in the room.
"Who do you work for?" Casey demanded, gun held loosely in his hand.
"Why don't you ask your friends," Ilsa replied. "They've already seen my files."
"She's French secret service," Chuck said quickly, hoping to resolve the whole gun-held-on-Casey thing. "But wouldn't that put us on the same side? Kind of, sort of?" Chuck glanced back at Bryce. "Right?"
Bryce wiggled his hand from side to side. "Most spy agencies don't really get along," Bryce offered apologetically. "It's strained tolerance at best."
"You lied to me," Casey accused, oblivious to the others in the room.
"Says the energy consultant," Ilsa scoffed.
"What about the bomb in Grozny?" Casey challenged. "That 'I never forgot your face' garbage?"
Ilsa ignored Casey's sarcasm. "Oh, that bomb."
Victor knocked on the door, calling out for his fiance.
Chuck groaned quietly to himself. They just could not catch a break tonight.
Once again Bryce pushed Chuck under the bed, he and Casey squeezing in beside him. They heard Victor enter the room, calling out for Ilsa again. Chuck held his breath, sharing a worried look with Bryce.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. They were stuck under a bed with a French agent above them and a deadly, corrupt Russian oligarch somewhere near them, and they had to trust that the French agent would not sell them out if it came down to it.
On the bright side, it didn't look as if the night could actually get any worse.