Unsurprisingly, being squeezed under a bed with two other fully grown adult men was not the greatest experience of Chuck's life. He was fairly certain he would despise it even if his situation was a little less dire. Unfortunately, dire was exactly how Chuck would describe the situation. Dire with a side dish of we're all going to die horribly at the hands of a vengeful, corrupt Russian oligarch. Chuck wasn't even sure if there was a silver lining to the ominous black thunderclouds that surrounded him.

Well, there was one small silver lining.

Out of the three of them stuck under the bed, Casey was taking it the worst.

The NSA agent was holding his gun against the underside of the mattress, glaring as if he could set Federov on fire with the power of his anger.

Normally, Chuck would be concerned that his not-quite-friend was in such obvious pain, but... Well, Chuck was still reeling from the mental scarring Casey had inflicted on him - and Bryce - not minutes earlier. Chuck's sympathy reserves were as low as Bryce's on a bad day.

Speaking of, his best friend seemed torn between the closest thing to sympathy he'd show Casey and not so veiled disgust at the show they were unwillingly spectating.

"I need a vacation," Bryce mouthed, shuddering lightly.

Chuck nodded his agreement - a wordless you and me both, buddy if there ever was one. That this was technically their first week back was neither here nor there. This case had been a year already. They needed compensation, or at least a couple of days to try and scrub the events from their brains.

Silence drifted from above, Federov's slurred speech conspicuous by it's absence.

Ilsa appeared in front of them. "Get out of here before he wakes up."

Chuck could see Casey still wanted answers but there was no way Chuck was going to be stuck under the bed all night. He had a perfectly good bed of his own back in Echo Park and one in Bryce's apartment too; he didn't need to traumatise himself by staying here. Plus there was the whole "he's a really bad dude" thing and really it was only a matter of time before Casey and Federov challenged each other to an old west style showdown to see who was the biggest, baddest dude there. Chuck did not need that tonight.

Bryce rolled out from under the bed, rising to his feet with a grace Chuck utterly failed to emulate. Casey didn't either, which made Chuck feel a little better.

"I'd say we should do this again sometime," Bryce began, his usual suavity a mere murmur. "But I truly hope we never do." He inclined his head. "Miss Trinchina."

Chuck bobbed his head in goodbye, Bryce pointedly holding the door open so Casey exited before them.

.

"I don't want to talk about it," Casey announced, as soon as the door was shut behind them.

"I'm perfectly happy to pretend none of that ever happened," Bryce replied agreeably. "It'll just be another file shoved into my repressed memories folder."

"And that's why you're a genius," Chuck announced, pointing triumphantly at his friend. "Smart."

Bryce tapped his own temple, grinning a little too bright to be believable. "Well I don't know about you two, but I need to get a couple of hours sleep and come up with a good excuse why I bailed on Buy More poker night."

"Enterprise marathon?" Chuck suggested, smiling at the muffled groan Casey let out.

Bryce's eyes sparkled, his grin growing into a genuine smirk. "You know, buddy," he mused, shoulder bumping slightly against him. "If you're not sold on the whole sleeping idea, we could actually-"

"Deal," Chuck agreed, nodding emphatically. "There's no way my mind is shutting off tonight." He turned to Casey, whose studied ignorance of them wasn't going to save him. "Wanna join? Enterprise is a classic."

Bryce didn't even blink, his laughter brightening the corridor at Casey's predictable growl of what Chuck could go do with Enterprise. Which, really, was a bit rude, but Chuck supposed he could forgive him.

.

.

The next day, Chuck wandered the Buy More, existing entirely on a handful of hours of sleep snatched on Bryce's sofa and far too much coffee for anyone's peace of mind. He did, however, have to say that he felt better than Casey looked. The major was laid out on the couch in the Home Theatre Room, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking seconds away from going postal on the next person who dared breathe in his vicinity. And Casablanca was playing on the television.

Naturally, Chuck slipped in to check on him.

"Hey, Casey," Chuck greeted, quick and purposeful. "We need to talk."

"Is it related to last night?"

"Uh," Chuck scuffed his shoe into the carpet. "Well, yeah."

"Then I don't want to talk about it."

Chuck got that, really he did, but that wasn't exactly healthy. Not to mention a slightly awkward additional detail. "Listen, Casey-"

Casey jumped off the couch, before Chuck in a moment. "No, you listen. Whatever you thought existed between me and Ilsa, you were wrong, all right? That person has gone back to being dead to me." Casey stared hard at him. "You got something to say, Chuck?"

"Yeah," Chuck agreed. "Just that there's a dead lady waiting to see you."

Ilsa walked in behind Casey, the Major turning from her to Chuck. Casey widened his eyes, nodding slightly towards the door. Chuck smiled encouragingly, leaving the exes to their discussion.

.

Needless to say, things were a little tense at the Buy More after Ilsa left. Casey communicated solely in glares and grunts, and he left a little after lunch, citing that Bryce could take care of things if any emergencies popped up while he was gone. And Chuck tried to be supportive, really he did. He tried to give Casey his space and let the man process the end of whatever had been between him and Ilsa the French agent. But, as Morgan and Bryce and anyone Chuck had cared about would testify to, Chuck wasn't so good at the whole giving space thing. As Bryce had once put it; Chuck had many talents but non-interference was not one of them.

Chuck let himself into Casey's apartment, trying not to wince at the sound of Neil Diamond coming from the speakers. Casey was reclined on his chair, dressed very casually and drinking a lot of scotch. Chuck came up behind the chair looking down at the possibly tipsy major.

"Everything okay?"

"Just enjoying myself a little R and R," Casey replied, helping himself to another generous swallow of scotch. He offered Chuck some but since Chuck was apparently a "lightweight" and "couldn't hold his liquor if the country depended on it, sorry buddy", Chuck kindly declined.

"I just wanted to check on you," he said, perching on the end of what was probably either a crate of surveillance equipment or weaponry. "What with Ilsa getting married in an hour and-"

"Thanks for reminding me," Casey smiled. He actually smiled. It was a little creepy to be honest. He raised his glass. "Here's to John Casey, dodging another bullet."

Chuck smiled painfully.

"It's not like I want the wife and kids and the little league practice and the minivan," Casey stated, waving his glass in demonstration. "And the Costco runs on the weekend."

Chuck let his laughter trail off. "Really, you don't?" he asked curiously. "Because, it, uh, it seems to me that you'd kind of be into the whole American Dream."

"Nah," Casey decreed, sitting the chair upright again. "I do what I do so all those other slobs out there can have it."

"What would you say your dream is?"

Casey took a slightly frightening bite of some baked confection. "You're looking at it."

Well, Chuck did not know how to respond to that.

"It's not like Ilsa left me empty-handed, Chuck," Casey interrupted, rising to his feet. He snagged a necklace off a potted plant, twirling it around his finger.

"What is that?"

"Just a cheap little trinket I used to think meant something," Casey replied, dropping it onto his table.

Something small and round rolled from the necklace, Chuck flashing as he picked it up.

Casey broke away from his consultation with the scotch bottle, eyes sharp on Chuck. "You mind telling me what that is?"

"It's an RX-77 long range audio transmitter," Chuck explained quickly.

"Someone was listening in on Ilsa?"

"With a Russian made bug," Chuck confirmed, watching sharpness shine through the drunkeness on Casey's face.

"That means they heard last night," Casey said, jumping to his feet. "That means Victor knows she's a spy."

In short order, Casey threw some pants on, grabbed a few guns, and tried to tear his apartment apart looking for his car keys. Chuck picked them up, certain he was making a mistake going by himself but not really able to stop himself.

.

.

Once upon a time, Chuck had teased that Bryce had Spidey senses that tingled when something was wrong in his universe. And, for the most part, Chuck wasn't wrong. He called it a perfectly natural paranoia for someone in his profession and propensity for getting into near death situations. So, when Chuck failed to show up on time for their standing plan of doing absolutely nothing and enjoying it, Bryce's senses tingled. He briefly considered checking in with Casey, but nothing short of imminent apocalypse would drive Bryce to Casey's door if he didn't have to be there. Off to Chuck's he went instead.

Ellie opened the door, glass of wine in her hand, smiling in relief at the sight of him. "Bryce!"

"Hi, Ellie," Bryce greeted, unable to stop his smile. Only the Bartowski's could override his natural control of himself.

"I'm so glad you're here," Ellie beamed, her warm hand pulling him into the apartment and a hug.

Bryce gently disengaged, frowning at the usually composed elder Bartowski. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm just having a little wine," she informed him, leading him to the couch. "You want some?"

"Not tonight, thank you," Bryce replied easily, sitting down at Ellie's pointed look.

He knew that look on her face, though he'd never seen it there before. The look of someone sad but hiding it behind too much cheer and a little too much wine. Much as he loved Ellie, he wasn't exactly equipped to deal with this. Point him at a target and tell him to shoot or infiltrate, he was down for that, he was trained for that; but actual human comfort? Even to a Bartowski? That was a little out of Bryce's wheelhouse.

"Is Chuck here?"

Bryce had wanted Chuck anyway, but now finding his friend was imperative.

"No, it's just- it's just me tonight," Ellie said, sadness creeping into her voice. "Um, all by myself." She laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

"Is it Devon?" Bryce checked, noting the way her eyes dimmed. "I can go kill him for you, if you like. I can make it look like an accident."

"That's sweet of you," Ellie smiled, leaning unconsciously into him. It was probably because he was stable and warm, but it did feel good to be trusted like that, so implicitly. A stifled sob left her lips, her smile faltering entirely.

"Ellie," Bryce breathed, contemplating damning it all and just texting Chuck. But, Ellie was an older sibling, she probably wouldn't let Chuck see her like this. Bryce would certainly avoid it himself if he could. So, he did what he'd do if it was Chuck. He pulled Ellie into a loose hug and repeated his offer to go and inflict a little good old fashioned retribution.

Ellie laughed shakily, thinking he was joking (and that was probably for the best; she didn't need to know that he had planned a couple of scenarios for removing Devon if he ever was so stupid as to hurt one of the only truly good people in Bryce's life).

"It's just that I have both feet in," she said, gesturing with her free hand. "And Devon only has one foot in. So then it's just me, taking care of three feet. And I want it to be us, you know, taking care of four feet. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"You want to know that Devon's all in on this too," Bryce sighed, and he really hoped he was. It would be such a shame if Bryce really had to kill him. He liked the guy, unnatural awesomeness notwithstanding.

"Exactly," Ellie beamed, leaning into another hug. "I knew you'd understand."

"I'm a survivor of Chuck in college," Bryce quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. "I had to do a lot of research to understand half the things my twitterpatted friend was on about."

"You're a good friend, Bryce," Ellie said, half shrewd, half sweet. "You've been a good friend."

"I really haven't," Bryce disagreed, his years-long absence flashing vividly to the front of his mind. To say nothing of the fact that he turned the best person possibly to ever exist into a government supercomputer.

Ellie smiled at him, tipsy and kind. "You came back. That's what matters."

"Maybe," Bryce allowed, reaching for the other glass of wine Ellie must have instinctively poured. "But it was because I'd been shot and I needed him."

"You work at the Buy More, Bryce," Ellie reminded him. "In a job we can all see you hate. He wouldn't let you do that unless he needed you there as much as you need to be here."

Maybe it was overexposure to the Bartowski's, but that made perfect sense to Bryce. And he had the stomach plummeting feeling that he knew exactly where Ellie was going to go with that.

Fortunately, Bryce's phone chose that moment to ring.

"Oh thank God," Bryce muttered, swiftly answering. "Hey, Chuck, buddy. How's things? Where are you?"

"Hi, buddy," Chuck replied, tone frantic. "Victor planted a bug on Ilsa. He knows she's a spy and she's walking into a trap."

And the night was just getting better and better. "Okay, Chuck," Bryce said as reassuringly as he could manage. "I'll see you soon." He texted Sarah an update, gently slipping out of Ellie's hold. "Ellie, I really hate to leave you like this but Chuck needs me-"

"No, no, no, no," Ellie reached for him, trying to bring him back to the couch. "We are just gonna talk about Chuck and where you see that going and-"

And, he adored Ellie, really he did, but he was not going near that conversation without being a lot drunker than he'd ever been in his life.

"I should probably talk about that with Chuck first, don't you think?" Bryce smiled, calm and easy. Not that there was anything to actually discuss with Chuck, but he certainly wasn't about to tell Ellie that. Especially not Ellie in this state. "I'll come back with Chuck as soon as I can."

Before Ellie could form a rebuttal or utilise the unique Bartowski trait that made Bryce basically do whatever they wanted, he pulled the door open. There was a flash of movement, Ellie calling out for Devon, only for them both to be disappointed at the sight of Morgan.

"Oh hey, what's going on here?" Morgan asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Bryce.

Bryce had never been relieved to see Morgan Grimes in his life and he certainly wasn't about to start now, but he did breathe a little easier at the thought he wasn't leaving Ellie completely alone.

"Bryce," Ellie called, eyes wide and pleading. "Please don't leave tonight. I just, I really can't be alone right now. Please?"

Bryce could feel his resistance crumbling. So few people in his life had ever really needed him; it didn't feel right just to leave one of the people who did. But Chuck needed him too. Bryce would do a lot of things for Ellie, any number of them unpleasant and injurious to his person but, when it came down to it, his loyalty was to Chuck above all else.

"You," he glared, pinning Morgan with a glare that was nothing short of Arctic. "You do not leave her alone. You do not upset her. You treat her like the angel she is. Or, I swear to any and all gods, I will stop at nothing until I have obliterated you from your position in Chuck's life." Bryce smiled brightly over Morgan's shoulder. "I'll see you soon, Ellie. If he misbehaves, let me know."

Morgan muttered something, either a promise he had this or a complaint at Bryce's threat. Either way, Bryce ignored him, slamming the door swiftly behind him.

.

.

Following Casey through the hotel, Chick was torn between the strong desire to film everything that was happening (for future blackmail purposes as much as a very early birthday present for Bryce) and the equally strong desire to slam his head off the nearest wall.

Tonight, Casey was not stealthy. Tonight, Casey was not his usual gruff, Rambo meets Terminator self. No. Tonight, Casey was almost chaotic.

Casey came to a stop outside room 786, withdrawing a key card from his pocket with a flourish.

"Where did you get that?" Chuck whispered, predictably met with an order to shut up. Chuck narrowed his eyes at Casey, wishing Bryce was here already. Bryce didn't tell him to shut up. He did other stupid things, like deliberately throw himself in harm's way, but he never told Chuck to shut up unless it was imperative that he did.

Casey pushed open the door, Chuck tumbling inside after him.

They were met by Federov, staring at them with his arms crossed like a parent catching their kid coming in after curfew, and two men with guns.

"I assume you're with the bride's party," Federov guessed, a third, shorter man confiscating Casey's gun and Chuck's phone.

Chuck couldn't remember exactly how, but Casey ended up in a tux and they both were tied back to back very tightly with rope.

"You make for handsome groom," Federov told Casey. "It's a shame to ruin the suit."

Chuck couldn't imagine what Casey was feeling but Chuck really didn't like the sound of that. "Ruin how?" he asked, falling back on the old panicked standby of babbling. "How would you ruin it? With bullet holes or blood? Or would you maybe-"

"Shut up, Chuck," Casey sighed.

"Shutting up."

"Where's Ilsa?" Casey demanded, Chuck hearing the glare that was undoubtedly on his face. It was probably his I'm going to murder you slowly Glare.

"Waiting at the ceremony," came Federov's reply. "Quite a woman, huh? I'm going to miss her. Oh, well. At least we get to enjoy our wedding night."

Casey tugged on the rope, just enough for only Chuck to notice. "Leave her out of this."

"I have another proposal," Federov countered. "I was so moved by listening to you and Ilsa say goodbye, what if I told you you get to keep the girl?"

"Casey, you want to tell me what's going on?" Chuck asked, not really happy with the whole being-left-out thing.

"In fact," Federov continued, as if Chuck hadn't spoken. "How would you and Ilsa like to go on my honeymoon?"

"I love that idea," Chuck cut in, tired of being ignored. And held hostage. That was getting old. "I don't even have to go."

"You mean let me die in your place," Casey growled. "What'd you have in mind, Victor? A plane crash over the Pacific? A fiery wreck that leaves nothing behind but our two charred corpses?"

"Three corpses," Federov corrected, pointing to Chuck. "Your friend will play the role of pilot, or maybe one of those man-stewardesses?" Federov chuckled at his own joke. "If you'll excuse me, my associates have come to see me married. I would hate to disappoint them."

.

"Casey, I don't want to die as a man-stewardess," Chuck cried, staring blankly out the window.

"Relax," Casey gritted out, a little less kind the fifth time. "I think I see a scenario where we both get out of here with acceptable losses."

"And, uh, what exactly is your version of acceptable?" Chuck wondered, ignoring the way his voice went up an octave.

"Breaks and punctures," Casey listed, almost amused. "Possible loss of a limb, no major organ damage."

None of that sounded remotely acceptable to Chuck. In fact, it wasn't even in the same library as acceptable.

"I miss Bryce," Chuck groaned, wishing his friend would hurry up and ride to the rescue already. "Where is Bryce?"

"I have no doubt your boyfriend will begin planning a daring rescue as soon as he realizes you're missing," Casey snarked, his eye roll audible. "Unfortunately, that might be a little too late for us." Casey paused a moment, then his voice rang out louder. "Hey, Comrades. Mind if I ask you two fellas a question?"

Judging by the silence from the Russians, the answer was no. Or, at least that was the way that Casey immediately took it.

"Where'd you learn to tie people up? A Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon?"

"I don't think that you're helping right now," Chuck informed him through gritted teeth.

"No wonder you lost the Cold War," Casey continued, oblivious to incidental details like Chuck's preference for living. "A couple of Girl Scouts could tie people up better than this."

If Chuck died tied up with Casey, Bryce would never let him hear the end of it.

"Casey, what are you doing?"

Chuck's reply was Casey headbutting one of the Russians, using Chuck to knock one out and landing upright.

"Like you said, Chuck," Casey replied, a little breathless. "I'm sticking to my strengths."

Casey sticking to his strengths was apparently a Casey who delivered an ass kicking while being tied to Chuck. They (Casey) took a couple of hits, kept knocking down the Russians, and may have crashed into a couple of tables, but they held their own.

.

.

While Chuck and Casey were enjoying their enforced bonding time, Bryce and Sarah had arrived at the wedding. They watched Ilsa begin to walk down the aisle, but there was no sign of their colleague or Bryce's best friend.

"Where's Chuck?" Bryce asked, scanning the crowd on the miniscule chance he hadn't seen him.

Sarah pulled out her phone, dialling Chuck's number. The Mexican Hat Dance - the ringtone Chuck had allowed her - began blaring from a person that was most certainly not Bryce's only friend.

The Russian slipped away to answer the phone, Sarah beating Bryce to the undoubtedly cathartic experience of kicking the piece of slime into the nearest wall. But, Bryce wasn't about to let his partner have all the fun. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the Russian's head.

"Where is Chuck Bartowski?"

Unsurprisingly, the Russian neglected to answer. Bryce itched to shoot him, or maybe borrow one of Sarah's knives and really take his time with it, but Chuck was a higher priority than vengeance.

"Where is Chuck Bartowski?" Sarah demanded, her gun joining his.

A high-pitched, panicked sort of cry drifted down from the hotel, Bryce's head snapping up. "There he is."

The relief froze in his veins as Chuck's cry turned from panicked to terrified. Bryce's heart lodged in his throat, cutting his breath as he saw Chuck begin to topple, to fall from a balcony too far up.

There was nothing he could do. His best friend was falling, possibly to his death, and there was nothing that Bryce could do. Sarah knocked the Russian unconscious, Bryce's eyes fixed on the spot where his friend had entered the water.

He dived in, heedless of Casey's presence, grabbing onto his bedraggled best friend as soon as he was in range. Chuck was alive. He was alive. Bryce was so pleased to see him.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

Apparently, he was a little angry too.

Chuck's eyes widened, but he smiled. "Can we maybe discuss this when we're not held at gunpoint?"

Bryce, still with a fistful of Chuck's shirt, turned.

Casey, dripping wet and furious, stared down Federov. "I hope I'm not too late to object to this union."

Federov turned to his men. "Take them to my plane, and strangle them."

Sarah strode out, gun drawn. "They're not going anywhere."

"And who's gonna stop me?" Federov chuckled. "One little girl with one little gun?"

Bryce considered pulling his own gun out, but they were outnumbered and overwhelmed, and he really didn't want to risk any bullets flying near Chuck.

Sarah feinted putting the gun down, tossing it cleanly to Ilsa and snatching a gun from the nearest Russian.

"Try two little girls," Ilsa said, cocking her gun.

"And I've got a gun too," Bryce quipped, tossing Casey his backup while pushing Chuck further behind them both.

"She looks good with a gun," Casey muttered, and that was an insight into Casey's mind that Bryce neither wanted nor needed.

Chuck made a hum of agreement, his eyes focused on Sarah instead of Ilsa.

.

Between the four of them, they had the Russians disarmed and zip-tied in record time. Bryce could see the yards and yards of paperwork stretching ahead of him and he just could not handle it.

Chuck sidled up beside him, never far but closer now. "You okay, buddy?"

"No," Bryce sighed, feeling his shoes squelch with every step. "I'm cold. I'm wet. And my best friend just gave me a goddamned heart attack." He pulled his keys from his pocket. "Drive me home?"

"And I'm staying over," Chuck agreed, taking the keys automatically. "I'm not explaining why we're both soaking wet and squelching to Ellie."

Ellie. Yeah, Bryce wouldn't want to explain this to Ellie either, especially not the way she was tonight.

"Hot showers, hot cocoa and bed," Bryce listed. Simple, achievable goals. "We can debrief tomorrow. Or board a plane to New Zealand. Either one."

Chuck laughed, as bright and goofy as Chuck's laughter always was. "I'm on board with that, buddy."