Chuck - Truth, Justice and That Other Stuff, Chuck/Bryce, PG
This is dedicated everybody who contributed to yesterday's brainstorming session,
Chuck
Chuck/Bryce, PG
Truth, Justice and That Other Stuff
"Okay, see, I can explain." Right now, Chuck Bartowski is having a bad day. So far today he's been kidnapped from his McJob by his other life-threatening job, flown six-zillion hours to Switzerland to thwart some sort of evil-doing, been kidnapped by said evil-doers, and now he's probably going to die.
He's sort of hoping the explanation will stave off the latter.
"You no explain, you die!" A man with very bad breath and appalling orthodontistry is sneering in Chuck's face at the moment.
"Yeah, see, but I don't want to die today," Chuck explains. Short, sweet and to the point.
"You die!" The guy with the bad breath also has a gun. Did Chuck mention that part? Because, yeah, Mr. Bad Breath Man is also holding a gun right where Chuck's third eye would be if he were a guest star on Star Trek: The Next Generation, except Chuck's not on Star Trek. Chuck's in the Alps, trying to thwart some sort of evil genius, but really aren't most geniuses evil? Except for Chuck, but he's not really a genius. Or he's a really reluctant genius. At the moment Chuck's just trying not to piss his pants while he waits for his handlers to rescue him.
"Chuck, get down!"
And that's exactly the rescue Chuck was waiting on. He doesn't care where it's coming from or who's doing the rescuing, as long as they kick Mr. Bad Breath's ass.
Except that the person doing the ass-kicking is neither blonde and lithe nor gruff and super-sized. "Bryce?"
Chuck may have almost pissed his pants, and Bryce may look like he's taken an extended sabbatical from his Gillette Mach 10 razor, but Chuck would know --
"Chuck! We're -- Bryce?"
"Sarah."
"Larkin?!"
"Casey."
Chuck has every right to be confused. He doesn't think Bryce is part of this particular plan, but the part where Chuck gets shot in the arm, yeah, that's most definitely not part of the plan.
Chuck hates plans. Especially the ones where he passes out.
The thing about being a spy that they don't teach you in spy school is that it's really hard. Or maybe they do teach you that in spy school, or spy summer school, but since Chuck never got the option of attending spy school, he's had to learn everything the hard way.
Making sure to pinch your nose before you jump into the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia, so you don't end up with water up your nose and think you're being stabbed in the brain?
The hard way.
Not getting involved with your handler, because she will totally break your heart when she realizes that not only is she still in love with her ex-partner, but so are you?
The real hard way.
Getting shot in the ass while fleeing with Tibetan insurgents in China?
The super-duper, harder than cookies left out for three weeks hard way.
And the thing is, if Chuck had been given the chance, he might've wanted to be a spy. Maybe.
When Chuck was six he wanted to be a fireman, because they got to have a dog and more than anything Chuck wanted a dog, except for the thing about his allergies. When Chuck was eleven, he and Morgan wanted to be Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, mostly because they couldn't stop jumping off the kitchen table and shouting "Cowabunga!"
When Chuck was fourteen he wanted to be a basketball player, because at least then he would have a reason for being the freaky tallest guy in his class, and maybe it might've helped with his non-existent hand-eye coordination.
And then Chuck got into computers and video games and girls, but the girls weren't really something he could make a living doing. At least not as far as he knew, and so he went to Stanford because he could make a living with computers, and we all know how that ended.
That's the thing about choices: when you're given the choice, there's no telling what you might select. You might choose a guy over a girl, or a brunette over a blonde, or to be a spy instead of getting expelled from school, but when people take your choices away, that makes people cranky.
Right now Chuck's choice is to wake up because his arm hurts and people are being very loud around him, or to go back to sleep, because drugs yay!
Chuck is voting for drugs, yay!
A long long long time ago in a land that's not Switzerland, Chuck was in love with a girl named Jill. She was a very cool girl. She liked to kick Chuck's ass playing Zelda. Chuck was also in love with his Best Friend Forever Bryce Larkin, but it was a different kind of love. At least Chuck thought it was. But then Bryce got Chuck expelled from Stanford and Jill broke up with Chuck, not because he got expelled, but because he apparently wasn't the man she thought he was, and that hurt. A lot. And the thing was, as much as losing Jill hurt Chuck, Bryce's betrayal hurt more, and maybe that taught Chuck more about love than anything else.
And then Chuck got older and found out that Bryce wasn't the scum-sucking ass-wipe that Chuck thought he was either, and it's been kind of rough going ever since then.
Apparently nostalgia is pining for something you never had; Chuck can only assume that this said pining is the reason that he wakes up in the middle of the night and sees Bryce sleeping in the bed next to him. Well, it's either pining or hallucinations, and if it's hallucinations, then it won't matter if Chuck reaches out to pet Bryce's hair. Except that that's the arm Chuck got shot in, and then the petting seems less important than scrounging on the nightstand for the drugs that Chuck just knows are there.
Two Vicodin are dry going down, but with three, well, maybe that third one will keep Bryce in Chuck's bed. It'll at least keep Bryce in his mind.
Being shot hurts.
Chuck may be a pussy according to, oh, everyone, but being shot still fucking hurts. That's non-negotiable. Of course, there are other things that are non-negotiable. Things like eventually getting out of bed because you have to pee, even though you have no fucking idea where the bathroom is and you have to wander around in an apartment that is so not yours for ten whole minutes. So then you think about peeing in the sink, but because you don't know whose house this is, you think that's a bad idea, and then you can't figure out how to get back to where you were, and sort of give up.
Or you do until you see your hallucination standing outside kind of opulent French doors in the snow.
Chuck's not really coherent at the moment, Vicodin and being shot will do that to a man, but he knows that knit hat. He also knows that brown hair and the New York skyline -- there was that one time he did that one illegal thing to save the world at Rockefeller Center -- and and. Okay.
Bryce's army green jacket doesn't really fit Chuck. It's short in the arms and Chuck can't fit it over his sling and Bryce's shoes are way too short for Chuck's feet, but that doesn't stop Chuck from shuffling outside.
"So, this is where you've been hiding -- oh my God, it's cold!"
Bryce's shoulders shake with laughter as he turns around and gives Chuck a grin Chuck hasn't seen anywhere but his dreams for entirely too long.
"Bartowski, were you always such a baby?" Bryce chides.
"It's fucking cold out here," Chuck complains. "Do you not feel cold like the rest of the human population, Larkin? I know you're all super-stealth man, but - oh, shit, you're really here."
Bryce cocks his head to the side and snickers. "And they said you couldn't be taught."
"I, you, you're not a hallucination?"
Chuck is really starting to feel the cold; it might have to do with the fact that he's not really wearing proper protection from the elements. Or it could just be the cotton pyjama bottoms. Bryce takes a step closer and Chuck quivers slightly. "Do I look like a hallucination?"
Chuck waves his non-injured hand irritably. "But you, you're off the grid and gone and then you were in the Alps and and -- you don't even e-mail me! You suck." Chuck is perturbed. And pissy. Mostly he's just cold. "Wait, who shot me?"
Bryce's face scrunches up. "Casey. He was trying to shoot me."
"And he shot me?" Chuck howls in disbelief. "Oh my god! He is so fired!"
"I don’t think you can do that, Chuck. But if you can, I'll help."
"I want to talk to my union rep!"
"Will you feel better if I tell you that I shot him back?"
"Maybe. Possibly. Okay, yes."
"I tried."
"And then you got to bring me home?"
"Winner gets the fainting Intersect."
"I was shot because of you!"
Bryce looks apologetic, but Chuck is not fooled. Not at all. "Yeah, okay, I suck, I know this. I know I'm supposed to stay away from you for your own good; you don't have to remind me"
"Because otherwise I get shot," Chuck repeats.
Bryce doesn't even try to hide his grin. "That doesn't mean that I don't know where you are, Chuck. Do you really think I'd leave it up to other people to protect you?"
Chuck blinks. The drugs are making him slow. "Of course you know where I am; I'm sleeping in your bed."
Bryce winks. "Yeah, well, it was the easiest way to keep an eye on you."
Chuck's mouth opens but nothing comes out.
"I'm always watching you, Bartowski," Bryce adds. "Just so you know."
Chuck sighs. He's cold. Well, most of him is cold, there are bits that are warming up. Very inappropriate bits. "I missed you," he says finally. "You suck, and you broke my heart. And Sarah's heart. And you got me expelled. And I still miss you," he corrects.
"I miss you too." Bryce looks unhappy; he looks the way Chuck's heart feels.
"Can we have a manly hug now?" Chuck asks hopefully. "I would initiate it, but I'm crippled."
Bryce just laughs. "We can have as many hugs as you want."
When Bryce touches him, for a minute Chuck believes him. For a minute, Chuck believes anything. "How long am I allowed to stay here?" he asks Bryce's neck.
"The place is compromised," Bryce admits, "We'll have to leave in 48 hours."
Chuck thinks this over. "That long, huh?"
"We can do a lot in 48 hours," Bryce agrees, his lips brushing against Chuck's exposed neck. "Battlestar Galactica, Halo 3, Terminator…"
Chuck ponders this thoughtfully as he pulls back. "Can we do this in bed?"
Bryce's eyebrows disappear under his knit hat. "Chuck, are you making me an offer I can't refuse?"
Chuck gives Bryce his most innocent look. "I got shot in the arm, Bryce, that doesn't affect anything else. At least I don't think it does."
Bryce nods. "I should check."
"I think your government would thank you," Chuck agrees
Bryce winks before ushering Chuck back towards the door. "All in the line of duty, sir."
-end-
Chuck
Chuck/Bryce, PG
Truth, Justice and That Other Stuff
"Okay, see, I can explain." Right now, Chuck Bartowski is having a bad day. So far today he's been kidnapped from his McJob by his other life-threatening job, flown six-zillion hours to Switzerland to thwart some sort of evil-doing, been kidnapped by said evil-doers, and now he's probably going to die.
He's sort of hoping the explanation will stave off the latter.
"You no explain, you die!" A man with very bad breath and appalling orthodontistry is sneering in Chuck's face at the moment.
"Yeah, see, but I don't want to die today," Chuck explains. Short, sweet and to the point.
"You die!" The guy with the bad breath also has a gun. Did Chuck mention that part? Because, yeah, Mr. Bad Breath Man is also holding a gun right where Chuck's third eye would be if he were a guest star on Star Trek: The Next Generation, except Chuck's not on Star Trek. Chuck's in the Alps, trying to thwart some sort of evil genius, but really aren't most geniuses evil? Except for Chuck, but he's not really a genius. Or he's a really reluctant genius. At the moment Chuck's just trying not to piss his pants while he waits for his handlers to rescue him.
"Chuck, get down!"
And that's exactly the rescue Chuck was waiting on. He doesn't care where it's coming from or who's doing the rescuing, as long as they kick Mr. Bad Breath's ass.
Except that the person doing the ass-kicking is neither blonde and lithe nor gruff and super-sized. "Bryce?"
Chuck may have almost pissed his pants, and Bryce may look like he's taken an extended sabbatical from his Gillette Mach 10 razor, but Chuck would know --
"Chuck! We're -- Bryce?"
"Sarah."
"Larkin?!"
"Casey."
Chuck has every right to be confused. He doesn't think Bryce is part of this particular plan, but the part where Chuck gets shot in the arm, yeah, that's most definitely not part of the plan.
Chuck hates plans. Especially the ones where he passes out.
The thing about being a spy that they don't teach you in spy school is that it's really hard. Or maybe they do teach you that in spy school, or spy summer school, but since Chuck never got the option of attending spy school, he's had to learn everything the hard way.
Making sure to pinch your nose before you jump into the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia, so you don't end up with water up your nose and think you're being stabbed in the brain?
The hard way.
Not getting involved with your handler, because she will totally break your heart when she realizes that not only is she still in love with her ex-partner, but so are you?
The real hard way.
Getting shot in the ass while fleeing with Tibetan insurgents in China?
The super-duper, harder than cookies left out for three weeks hard way.
And the thing is, if Chuck had been given the chance, he might've wanted to be a spy. Maybe.
When Chuck was six he wanted to be a fireman, because they got to have a dog and more than anything Chuck wanted a dog, except for the thing about his allergies. When Chuck was eleven, he and Morgan wanted to be Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, mostly because they couldn't stop jumping off the kitchen table and shouting "Cowabunga!"
When Chuck was fourteen he wanted to be a basketball player, because at least then he would have a reason for being the freaky tallest guy in his class, and maybe it might've helped with his non-existent hand-eye coordination.
And then Chuck got into computers and video games and girls, but the girls weren't really something he could make a living doing. At least not as far as he knew, and so he went to Stanford because he could make a living with computers, and we all know how that ended.
That's the thing about choices: when you're given the choice, there's no telling what you might select. You might choose a guy over a girl, or a brunette over a blonde, or to be a spy instead of getting expelled from school, but when people take your choices away, that makes people cranky.
Right now Chuck's choice is to wake up because his arm hurts and people are being very loud around him, or to go back to sleep, because drugs yay!
Chuck is voting for drugs, yay!
A long long long time ago in a land that's not Switzerland, Chuck was in love with a girl named Jill. She was a very cool girl. She liked to kick Chuck's ass playing Zelda. Chuck was also in love with his Best Friend Forever Bryce Larkin, but it was a different kind of love. At least Chuck thought it was. But then Bryce got Chuck expelled from Stanford and Jill broke up with Chuck, not because he got expelled, but because he apparently wasn't the man she thought he was, and that hurt. A lot. And the thing was, as much as losing Jill hurt Chuck, Bryce's betrayal hurt more, and maybe that taught Chuck more about love than anything else.
And then Chuck got older and found out that Bryce wasn't the scum-sucking ass-wipe that Chuck thought he was either, and it's been kind of rough going ever since then.
Apparently nostalgia is pining for something you never had; Chuck can only assume that this said pining is the reason that he wakes up in the middle of the night and sees Bryce sleeping in the bed next to him. Well, it's either pining or hallucinations, and if it's hallucinations, then it won't matter if Chuck reaches out to pet Bryce's hair. Except that that's the arm Chuck got shot in, and then the petting seems less important than scrounging on the nightstand for the drugs that Chuck just knows are there.
Two Vicodin are dry going down, but with three, well, maybe that third one will keep Bryce in Chuck's bed. It'll at least keep Bryce in his mind.
Being shot hurts.
Chuck may be a pussy according to, oh, everyone, but being shot still fucking hurts. That's non-negotiable. Of course, there are other things that are non-negotiable. Things like eventually getting out of bed because you have to pee, even though you have no fucking idea where the bathroom is and you have to wander around in an apartment that is so not yours for ten whole minutes. So then you think about peeing in the sink, but because you don't know whose house this is, you think that's a bad idea, and then you can't figure out how to get back to where you were, and sort of give up.
Or you do until you see your hallucination standing outside kind of opulent French doors in the snow.
Chuck's not really coherent at the moment, Vicodin and being shot will do that to a man, but he knows that knit hat. He also knows that brown hair and the New York skyline -- there was that one time he did that one illegal thing to save the world at Rockefeller Center -- and and. Okay.
Bryce's army green jacket doesn't really fit Chuck. It's short in the arms and Chuck can't fit it over his sling and Bryce's shoes are way too short for Chuck's feet, but that doesn't stop Chuck from shuffling outside.
"So, this is where you've been hiding -- oh my God, it's cold!"
Bryce's shoulders shake with laughter as he turns around and gives Chuck a grin Chuck hasn't seen anywhere but his dreams for entirely too long.
"Bartowski, were you always such a baby?" Bryce chides.
"It's fucking cold out here," Chuck complains. "Do you not feel cold like the rest of the human population, Larkin? I know you're all super-stealth man, but - oh, shit, you're really here."
Bryce cocks his head to the side and snickers. "And they said you couldn't be taught."
"I, you, you're not a hallucination?"
Chuck is really starting to feel the cold; it might have to do with the fact that he's not really wearing proper protection from the elements. Or it could just be the cotton pyjama bottoms. Bryce takes a step closer and Chuck quivers slightly. "Do I look like a hallucination?"
Chuck waves his non-injured hand irritably. "But you, you're off the grid and gone and then you were in the Alps and and -- you don't even e-mail me! You suck." Chuck is perturbed. And pissy. Mostly he's just cold. "Wait, who shot me?"
Bryce's face scrunches up. "Casey. He was trying to shoot me."
"And he shot me?" Chuck howls in disbelief. "Oh my god! He is so fired!"
"I don’t think you can do that, Chuck. But if you can, I'll help."
"I want to talk to my union rep!"
"Will you feel better if I tell you that I shot him back?"
"Maybe. Possibly. Okay, yes."
"I tried."
"And then you got to bring me home?"
"Winner gets the fainting Intersect."
"I was shot because of you!"
Bryce looks apologetic, but Chuck is not fooled. Not at all. "Yeah, okay, I suck, I know this. I know I'm supposed to stay away from you for your own good; you don't have to remind me"
"Because otherwise I get shot," Chuck repeats.
Bryce doesn't even try to hide his grin. "That doesn't mean that I don't know where you are, Chuck. Do you really think I'd leave it up to other people to protect you?"
Chuck blinks. The drugs are making him slow. "Of course you know where I am; I'm sleeping in your bed."
Bryce winks. "Yeah, well, it was the easiest way to keep an eye on you."
Chuck's mouth opens but nothing comes out.
"I'm always watching you, Bartowski," Bryce adds. "Just so you know."
Chuck sighs. He's cold. Well, most of him is cold, there are bits that are warming up. Very inappropriate bits. "I missed you," he says finally. "You suck, and you broke my heart. And Sarah's heart. And you got me expelled. And I still miss you," he corrects.
"I miss you too." Bryce looks unhappy; he looks the way Chuck's heart feels.
"Can we have a manly hug now?" Chuck asks hopefully. "I would initiate it, but I'm crippled."
Bryce just laughs. "We can have as many hugs as you want."
When Bryce touches him, for a minute Chuck believes him. For a minute, Chuck believes anything. "How long am I allowed to stay here?" he asks Bryce's neck.
"The place is compromised," Bryce admits, "We'll have to leave in 48 hours."
Chuck thinks this over. "That long, huh?"
"We can do a lot in 48 hours," Bryce agrees, his lips brushing against Chuck's exposed neck. "Battlestar Galactica, Halo 3, Terminator…"
Chuck ponders this thoughtfully as he pulls back. "Can we do this in bed?"
Bryce's eyebrows disappear under his knit hat. "Chuck, are you making me an offer I can't refuse?"
Chuck gives Bryce his most innocent look. "I got shot in the arm, Bryce, that doesn't affect anything else. At least I don't think it does."
Bryce nods. "I should check."
"I think your government would thank you," Chuck agrees
Bryce winks before ushering Chuck back towards the door. "All in the line of duty, sir."
-end-