Chapter Text
"Good morning, sunshine!" Chuck carolled, strolling into the kitchen.
Bryce leaned back slightly from his stool, giving his best friend a suspicious but probably far too fond glare. "Why are you so cheerful?" he asked, peering over the rim of his coffee mug.
Knowing Chuck as well as he did, there were many reasons. Only some of them actually reasonable.
Chuck's smile was a little too wide, especially for first thing in the morning. "It's a beautiful morning, it's almost Christmas-"
Bryce raised an eyebrow; letting that alone convert the depths of his dubiousness.
Chuck shrugged, getting his favourite mug out of the cupboard. "I've been drinking coffee since four am."
Bryce's eyebrow crept up, muffling a quiet snicker into his mug. "Still trying to beat that kid in Call of Duty?"
Chuck threw himself into his usual seat, the expression on his face nothing short of a pout. "My honour was challenged."
"You want me to find him, send a couple of agents to have a word?"
"You mock," Chuck sniffed, smothering his smile. "But what if I actually took you up on that?"
Bryce shrugged, already considering the logistics of framing his request. "Then that kid will be having a really rough day."
"Aw, buddy."
"Speaking of having a rough day, Casey's picking me up in about ten minutes," Bryce didn't bother hiding his shudder. To say he was unenthusiastic about the prospect of a drive anywhere with Casey would be like saying he was only slightly fond of Chuck.
"Spy stuff?" Chuck asked, a box of cereal suspended before his bowl.
"Briefing with Beckman," Bryce groaned, which was really just the sort of thing he enjoyed waking up to. "Lucky you, you don't have to go. But since the CIA still signs my paychecks, I can't conveniently forget to turn up."
"And you're driving there with Casey?"
"Unfortunately."
Chuck hummed, not quite meeting Bryce's eyes. "That's, uh, not good, but Morgan offered to give me a ride in this morning-"
"Morgan?" Bryce repeated, slowly turning to his best friend. "Some other Morgan that is not short, bearded and now possessing one of the most useless cars in existence?"
"No?"
Bryce felt a headache begin to pulse right between his eyes. "So, in the last twelve hours, give or take, you've jumped in on a con run on a financier of terrorism and are now planning on risking your life in Morgan Grimes's new - and I'm saying that only in terms of his ownership - car."
Chuck shook his head, apparently not seeing Bryce's very logical point. "You're overprotective."
"That's not news to either of us," Bryce replied, shaking his head. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
"Yes, Bryce."
"You're certain?" Bryce checked, ignoring the hammering now coming from the front door. "I can tell Casey to cool it and just give you a ride in as usual."
The hammering stopped, Casey's irritated voice barking through the door. "Let's go, Larkin!"
Chuck poorly hid a laugh in a sip of coffee. "The NSA, always so patient."
"Chuck-"
"Morgan offered to give me a ride in with his new car. I'm good." Chuck made a shooing motion. "Go."
Chuck really did not want to get Bryce started on that. Bryce had opinions on Morgan's "new" car.
"It's a Delorean that goes a max speed of twenty two miles an hour." Bryce threw his hands up. "If it went eighty-eight, that would be cool. That's not good, buddy. It's a death trap."
"Bryce."
And that was Chuck's own, unique getting-on-my-last-nerve voice.
"Fine," Bryce capitulated, sighing. "But I reserve the right to say I told you so in a very smug tone if anything happens."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Chuck cheerfully agreed, handing Bryce his travel mug from the counter. "Don't shoot Casey and I'll see you at work."
"Be careful in the death trap," Bryce grinned, strolling towards the door.
There was nothing quite like post breakfast banter with his best friend to get the day started off right. And nothing quite like the prospect of a drive with Casey to take the shine off of it.
"General, I have to apologise for last night," Sarah announced, getting the briefing off to as promising a start as they could really have hoped for. "Chuck never should have gotten caught up in my father's ridiculous con."
Casey offered a grunt of acknowledgement. "I recommend we place the Intersect in a protective lockdown until we're sure the sheikh is out of the country."
"I agree with Casey," Bryce said, unable to believe the words even as he was saying him. "Leaving Chuck in is dangerous."
"Out of the question," Beckman replied, regarding them all as if they were failing to see the abundantly obvious. "We have the perfect setup."
Sarah's eyes narrowed in a slight frown. "I'm not sure I follow."
"The CIA has been trying to locate the hidden bank accounts of the Amad family for years," Beckman briefed. "If you can convince him to wire you the funds, we can access those accounts and freeze them."
Sarah glanced across at Bryce and Casey. "Uh, funds for what?"
"The building," Bryce guessed, pulse throbbing between his eyes. "Nagamichi Plaza."
"It will need to be at least ten million to access his international accounts," Beckman continued, favouring Bryce with a nod.
"General," Casey began, taking a step forward. "Is the agency asking us to commit fraud?"
"No," Beckman replied, just as quietly. "That would mean that the CIA has some knowledge of your mission."
"How are we supposed to sell a sixty storey building in one day?" Sarah asked, quite the pertinent question in Bryce's opinion.
"Ask your father. He seems to be very proficient in his chosen profession." Beckman terminated the connection with the usual cheerful bleep, leaving the three of them to stand awkwardly in the wake of the pronouncement.
"Okay," Bryce began, stepping in before Casey could say something predictably tactless and Casey like. "Sarah, please go see your father, get him to come in on the con with us."
"Easy," Sarah replied, Bryce giving her the courtesy of pretending not to see how tight her smile was. "You and Casey?"
"Casey will be practicing facial expressions in the mirror to look like he is anything less than a fed," Bryce sighed, Sarah inclining her head in acknowledgement. "And I am going to find Chuck and some Advil. And yes, in that order. Meet in the Orange Orange in, say, half an hour?"
Chuck was debating whether or not to gently explain to Morgan all the logical and sound reasons why Awesome and Anna were angry with him, when he looked up and saw Bryce strolling through the Buy More doors. Bryce had tense lines around his eyes, either a burgeoning headache or Casey had gotten on his nerves again. Either way, Chuck had the pleasure of watching Bryce's eyes light up as they fell on him.
"Buddy!" Bryce called, flashing a grin equal parts warmth and teasing relief. "You survived the death trap."
"Don't knock the DeMorgan, buddy," Chuck teased right back. "It's your ride. Your car's back home."
"Problem for later," Bryce dismissed, eyes sparkling. "Now, you and I are getting some yogurt."
"Yogurt," Chuck echoed, frowning. "Before we go, headache or Casey headache?"
"A bit of both," Bryce replied, smile going soft at the edges.
Chuck ducked back to the Nerd Herd desk, pulling out his emergency bottle of Advil. Bryce caught it out of the air, because he was a showoff like that. "So, why the yogurt?"
"Beckman is very unofficially endorsing our participation in a con."
"The Nagamichi Plaza con?" Chuck whispered, leaning in closer to Bryce so he wouldn't risk being overheard.
"Oh, we're officially deniable," Bryce grinned, his gait earning a bit of bounce. "It's like we're in Mission: Impossible."
"Except-"
Bryce's eyes flashed to him, a playful warning etched in his face. "Don't ruin this for me, Chuck."
"Saying nothing," Chuck replied immediately. "Nothing at all. I have no objections. Not a one."
"Mm-hmm," Bryce hummed, but he was smiling so Chuck paid his feigned dubiousness absolutely no attention at all.
Later, after Bryce had hopped up on one of the tables ad given Chuck a quick rundown on the plan so far, Sarah walked into the Orange Orange with her father. Jack stood in front of them, staring critically at Chuck and Casey. Bryce grinned at Chuck from his table, close enough to be part of the lineup without actually seeing to be vying for Jack's approval.
Jack held out a hand towards Casey, frowning. "He's got a cop face."
"Told you so," Bryce sang under his breath.
Casey growled, glaring at Jack.
"No offense," Jack shrugged, Sarah drawing him away for a whispered discussion.
While they were talking, Casey turned his glower on Chuck and Bryce, Chuck helpfully trying to show Casey that his face did, in fact, give off cop vibes. It was probably the whole never had fun before/would arrest his own mother if Beckman or Reagan asked him to thing.
"Alright, Sarah and I will handle the deal." Jack pointed towards Casey. "Cop face, you're security."
Casey growled out a disgusted acknowledgement.
"I stay with Chuck," Bryce interrupted, smile charming but voice flat.
"Yeah, he stays with me," Chuck agreed, nodding wholeheartedly. No offense to Sarah's probably very terrifyingly con competent father, but if they were running a con against a bad guy like Amad, Chuck was staying right by Bryce. It seemed the safest thing to do.
Jack stared at them, meeting Bryce's stubborn stare evenly. "Agreed."
"We'll use our account for the wire transfer," Casey stated, handing Sarah a slip of paper. "Don't trust you," he said to Jack, really quite reasonably considering the things the Intersect had shown Chuck. "No offense."
"Uh, what exactly are Bryce and I doing?" Chuck asked, raising his hand. "I mean, I'm familiar with Castle Wolfenstein and Hogan's Heroes-"
Bryce made a soft sound of nostalgia. "I loved that show."
"It's hilarious," Chuck agreed, grinning. "Want to-?"
"Buddy," Bryce grinned, eyes bright. "You have to ask?"
"Hey, Bert, Ernie. Focus." Casey snapped his fingers, glaring harder at them.
"This is a private conversation, Cop Face," Bryce smirked, Chuck putting a hand on his chest. Fun as it was to watch his best friend bicker with Casey, the major did have a point.
"Beyond that," Chuck picked up from where he was fairly certain he'd left off. "My German is a little rusty."
"Schnook," Jack replied, pointing at him with his whole hand. "Your job is going to be hardest of all. You need to sit there and not say a word."
"And me?"
"Ah, Blue Eyes," Jack coughed, glancing at Sarah. "Stand by Schnook, look charming and keep him from saying anything."
"Not the hardest job I've ever had," Bryce acknowledged, humming.
"All right, everybody gather round," Jack called, pointing to the plan. "First we need to evacuate the current building management..."
Jack, Sarah, Chuck and Bryce left the elevator on the fifty first floor of the Nagamichi Plaza, dressed in protective clothing, masked and carrying supplies.
"Can I have your attention please?!" Jack called, voice distorted by his mask. "We need everyone out of this office immediately!"
"This floor is being fumigated," Sarah continued, holding up a clipboard slightly. "We have already released toxic fumes."
"That can lead to infertility and low sperm count," Chuck gleefully added, pointing his wand at one of the businessmen.
Sarah handed her clipboard to the businessman, the four of them adopting we're too busy to deal with your questions Poses.
"Alright, you heard them," the businessman called. "Everyone out. Let's go, people. Quickly, quickly."
When the employees were safely on the elevator and out of their way, they got down to work redecorating the offices. From a corporate holding business, it became Lichtenstein Enterprises. Chuck and Bryce painted over the wall signs, Jack and Sarah taking care of the rebranding on the reception desk.
While Casey was downstairs, putting his "natural attributes" to work, Chuck finished painting the wall, Bryce helping him set up the Lichtenstein Enterprises logo in pride of place on the white.
Casey announced Amad and his party's arrival, Jack nodding to them to get moving. Chuck unzipped his jumpsuit, Sarah already out of hers and behind the reception desk.
Bryce grabbed Chuck's abandoned jumpsuit, shoving it into a case alongside his own. His friend gazed critically at the lines of Chuck's suit, fixing his tie with an approving nod. "Devilishly handsome, Mr Lichtenstein."
"Looking very snazzy yourself, Mr Anderson," Chuck approved, smoothing down a wrinkle that dared crease Bryce's dark suit.
"Please," Bryce demurred, flashing a warm grin. "Now, let's get you in your office and make it look like we're deep in conference with our European colleagues."
"In Rome," Chuck decided. It would be poetic like that. After all, this case had started in an Italian restaurant.
"Why?" Bryce asked, brows drawing close in an amused frown.
"I just think Mr Lichtenstein is the kind of guy who has conference calls with Rome, okay?" Chuck cried, flopping into his desk chair.
"Of course he is," Bryce agreed, because he was just loyal like that. "But, you don't speak Italian, bud."
Chuck leaned back in his chair, crossing his feet at the ankle. "You heard Jack, I have to stay quiet."
Bryce laughed, eyes sparkling. "You want me to speak Italian."
Yes, Chuck did want Bryce to speak Italian. But only because it would set a good impression, and help further their plan to let Amad think they didn't need to sell the building. It was all for very good, mission critical reasons.
"It's for the good of the mission."
Judging by the wicked twinkle that glistened in Bryce's eyes, Chuck knew his best friend was not going to let it drop. Fortunately, Jack's voice rang out outside the office.
"Wendy, I don't want to be interrupted," Jack told his non-existent assistant. "I don't care if Mr Trump calls. Tell him the building is no longer for sale. I'll see him next week in New York."
"Bryce?" Chuck asked, looking up at his far too fond looking friend.
"Fine," Bryce sighed, shaking his head at himself. "But, remember, you asked for it." He tugged Chuck to his feet, pointing at the stunning view. Then, with the sound of footsteps and Sarah's voice drawing closer, he slipped an earpiece in his ear and began to pace, the fluid language falling from his lips.
Ellie was right. Italian really was a beautiful language. Especially the way Bryce spoke it; his hands moving around in demonstration of whatever points he was making, eyes bright and warm. Ellie's arguments had been more towards making teenage Chuck pay attention in language classes, but she wouldn't t disagree with him if she were here.
Chuck turned from the window as Sarah opened the doors, holding up a finger in silent demand for them to wait. Bryce turned, pausing as if listening to the non-existent person on the other end, noticed them, and sighed. Another melodious sentence or two filled the silence, Bryce turning back to Chuck. He inclined his head in a slight nod, Chuck nodding back.
It meant absolutely nothing to Amad or the con, but it helped convey a kind of business at work vibe that was lacking with Chuck just standing at the window looking broody.
"Gentlemen," Sarah announced into the resulting silence. "May I present to you, Mr Hans Lichtenstein and Mr Anderson."
Amad and his party filed in, Chuck and Bryce simply offering cool nods of acknowledgement.
"Well, I'm sure you're very busy," Jack began, striding to the head of the conference table. "So, we'll make this as painless as possible. After your lawyers examine the contracts and the inspections are done, we can have a more formal meeting."
"For now," Sarah said brightly. "We only require a three percent deposit to take the property off the market."
"And that would be," Jack drew out, as if internally calculating. "Ten million dollars."
Amad didn't bite. "First, I would like to have a word with Mr Lichtenstein."
"Of course," Sarah agreed, using her overly bright assistance voice. "I'll translate."
Amad smiled pleasantly, telling them he brought his own translator.
The man began to speak, Chuck having absolutely no idea what the man was saying aside from possibly, maybe, Hello Mr Lichtenstein. After that, it just sounded like gobbledygook. German was, Chuck was sad to note, not a sexy language. Or, maybe it was, maybe the translator just sucked at his job.
"That is the worst German accent I have ever heard," Chuck announced in possibly what was the worst German accent ever heard. "You... You butcher my language." He turned to Bryce, trying hard to keep up an angry expression at the undisguised laughter in his eyes. "This pains me. The deal is off."
"Sounds like Colonel Klink," Casey muttered in their earpieces, Bryce making a slight inclination of his head as if he agreed. Which, not fair, buddy. "We got company. Time to wrap it up."
"I'm sorry, Mr Amad," Sarah announced, cool as ever. "It looks like the deal is off. But if I could have your account number, I'd be happy to wire you the $700,000 that you gave to Mr Burton."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Jack interrupted. "No reason to panic. Everyone calm down. We can work this out."
"Nein, nein!" Chuck barked, leaning into the Klink impression. He shooed a man away from the desk. "Out of my building! The deal is off!" Chuck began to mutter in what he hoped approximated angry German.
Bryce put his hand on his shoulder, beginning to mutter in actual German, glaring at Amad's man in what could only be described as wholehearted commitment to being Chuck's emotional support best friend no matter the role they were playing.
"You speak German better than I do," Chuck muttered, barely audible.
"That's because I'm speaking German," Bryce whispered, lips not even moving. "I don't know what you're doing."
Chuck didn't try not to pout at him. "Mean."
Bryce tilted his head, wordlessly saying sorry while also being very amused about the whole situation.
"Mr Lichtenstein has been offended," Sarah announced, barely apologetic. "Everyone out of the building."
Chuck continued to try and usher Amad's man out of the office, fighting a vain battle against the panic cresting inside him. Their cover was about to be blown, and if they didn't get the account information, Beckman was going to kill them and Amad would be free to continue beign bad guy and financing a whole bunch of other bad guys and it would be all Chuck's fault.
"Enough!" Amad barked, apparently at the end of his tolerance. "You're all crazy."
Chuck paused, unconsciously moving a little closer towards Bryce. He could sense this about to go horribly wrong.
"This ends now," Amad decreed. "No more games. This is my building. We had a deal."
Jack looked at Sarah, Sarah looked at Bryce. Bryce raised an apologetic shoulder, Chuck reluctantly nodding at Jack.
"Well, sheikh," Jack said, waving a hand at the computer. "Would you care to type in your account number for security purposes?"
"Uh, just go ahead and do the typey type," Chuck agreed, waving his hand at them.
Quickly as possible, they rushed onto the elevator. Jack farewelled Amad and his team, Chuck offering a jaunty little salute as the elevator doors closed on them.
"What was with the Italian?" Sarah invited, watching Bryce and Chuck lean back on the wall with amusement.
"Chuck and I felt it lent an element of legitimacy to our covers," Bryce replied, tone politely suggesting that no further criticism would be admitted. "You were the one who mentioned prior meetings in Prague and Moscow. Chuck and I decided that Mr Lichtenstein was the kind of man who would deal with Rome too."
Sarah's dubiousness was conveyed entirely in a raise of her eyebrows and a pointed turn to Chuck. "Chuck?"
"We were in there waiting, doing nothing, I panicked and, seriously, have you heard Bryce speak Italian?" Chuck wanted to bang his own head off the wall. "It's almost as good as his Klingon." And that didn't make it sound any better. He turned his head, groaning loudly into Bryce's shoulder. "Shut me up. I'm adrenaline babbling."
"I know," Bryce agreed sympathetically, rubbing his back. Which felt nice. Chuck needed that after nearly having the whole mission blown. "And I know what you meant."
"It was so close," Chuck mumbled, almost forgetting they weren't alone on the elevator. According to Ellie not being alone with Bryce was something he forgot quite a lot. "Two more minutes and-"
"Bad," Bryce agreed, nodding. "I know."
"Very bad," Chuck echoed, almost hearing Sarah's soft laughter. "But we did it."
"We did," Sarah confirmed. "We sold a building we didn't own."
Casey was waiting for them as the elevator doors opened, his disgusted scoff rudely interrupting the nice moment Chuck and Bryce were having. "Really?" Casey glared at them. "Again?"
"I think they're sweet," Sarah informed them, Chuck nodding along with her.
"See," Chuck made a face at Casey. "We're sweet." Chuck paused, glancing across at Bryce. "That's a good thing, yeah?"
"We're us, so that's a very good thing," Bryce nodded easily, eyes soft and warm. "Some people are capable of showing affection for people instead of cars," he continued, strolling off the elevator with Chuck right by his side. "One day you'll get that update in your programming."
"Be nice," Chuck muttered, bumping into him in a way that probably conveyed more fond amusement than honest reprimand.
"I'm always nice," Bryce gasped, eyes twinkling. "To you. And that's all that matters."
"Let's celebrate," Jack called, striding past Chuck with Sarah tucked into his arm. "I've got champagne and cigars waiting for us."
About an hour later, they were gathered in Sarah's hotel room, Jack stepping out to get more ice for the champagne. Chuck sipped at his glass, smiling triumphantly at his friends. His team. "Well, I'm not one to say I told you so," he announced. "But I think that worked out pretty good, now didn't it?"
Sarah smiled, nodding along. "I guess he came through for me," she agreed, pleased. "This one time."
Casey narrowed his eyes at them, breaking away as his phone rang. "Yes, General?" he answered, setting his untouched champagne on the table. "Mission accomplished. Money was transferred to the CIA account about an hour ago."
Chuck shared proud smiles with Sarah and Bryce, looking back to Casey in time to see the Major's eyes widen.
"Beckman never got the money," Casey said quietly, all four of them turning in horror to the door.
Sarah ran after her father, returning with an empty ice bucket.
Chuck opened the briefcase, staring into it's empty depths. "The computer is gone," he sighed, wondering how none of them had noticed. How he hadn't noticed.
Bryce rubbed the bridge of his nose, calling himself a whole host of names under his breath in Klingon.
"Hey!" Chuck objected, glaring at a particularly strong curse. "It wasn't your fault."
"He conned us," Bryce announced, sinking onto the couch beside Chuck. "We're three very, very highly trained government spies, and we got conned by a con man."
"He stole my cigar," Casey added mournfully, Bryce letting out a hysterical chuckle that was pure Bartowski.
"So, to recap," Bryce began, disbelief threading through his words. "He stole the laptop, your car, probably Sarah's car, and all our dignities."
Casey nodded. "Pretty much."
This time, it was Bryce's turn to groan loudly into Chuck's shoulder. "Fantastic."
"We'll work it out," Chuck told them, rubbing Bryce's back in the same reassurance he had given him. "It's what we do."