Disclaimer—Characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Unbeta'ed. All errors are mine. This was just too much fun.

Spoilers—Chuck versus the Other Guy. One detail from Chuck versus the Seduction way back in Season 2.

Back in Black—There's one problem in Casey's "request" for a black suit. They're all black.

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Morgan ignored the pain in his back from being shoved into the wall. It didn't matter. Why? Because, he was part of Team Bartowski. Because Team Bartowski had a mission and he was taking part in it. And, because he couldn't be prouder.

He took the stairs two at a time to get to the bedroom on the second floor of the apartment. It was strange, to see the place with practically nothing in it. While he'd never really gotten a good look inside the apartment before, he was somewhat certain there had been stuff. Since Casey had lost his job with the NSA, there seemed to be an abundance of nothing.

The furniture was all folding and temporary. There was some food in the kitchen, but not much. The walls were completely bare, but there were holes in them from where things had been hung once before.

He stilled in the hall just outside the bedroom. There was more nothingness, more temporary furniture. No wonder Casey could be grumpy at morning shifts at the Buy More. The dude was sleeping on a sleeping bag. Morgan decided that Marines were hard core dudes. And that he'd much rather have a bed.

Crossing to the closet, he opened the door. Everything within was neatly organized. On the left side, green polo shirts and khaki pants. Beneath them, two pairs of black tennis shoes.

In the middle, some dark-wash blue jeans and black shirts. Beneath them, two pairs of combat-ready boots. Steel toe, if Morgan had to guess.

On the right side, there were suits. Beneath them, loafers.

"Bingo," he said as he started to reach in for one. He paused in mid-reach, however, as he realized that there were several suits. And only one of them wasn't black.

There had to be a dozen black suits, all of which looked suspiciously similar to him. But, would they to the big guy?

He tried to remember what Casey had said specifically. Very clearly: go to my closet. Slightly less clear: bring me my black suit. Was there some other directive he'd missed in the excitement that Chuck and Casey were going to save the day? Or, maybe, he'd lost it because he'd suffered more pain than he realized in his trip into the wall?

He then tried to weigh the options. Which would be worse: bringing down the wrong suit or bringing down too many suits?

Did he ask? Was this a spy test? A judgment call?

Morgan's mind raced and his mouth went dry while his palms became moist.

Taking a slow breath, his blue eyes assessed the situation critically. There was the potential for gunfight. Casey would need a sturdy suit. They were going to have to hop a plane and fly out to France. He'd need something that wouldn't bunch on the flight, that would be comfortable. Something that could get through security easily without raising suspicions.

He ran a hand over his beard. There were too many options! Too many similar options! "Screw it," he muttered, grabbing up all the black suits. He balanced them precariously over his arm before squatting down awkwardly to grab the two pairs of black dress shoes.

Straightening back up took some effort, and he dreaded trying to maneuver down the stairs with practically Casey's entire suit collection, but it was worth it.

Because, Chuck and Casey were going to save the world. And Chuck was going to get the girl. And Morgan... Morgan was going to help.

End.