mxpw's A/N the First: No regular A/N from me today. No, I'm going to use this space to wish my friend and co-writer a very happy birthday! She is a very special person, and one of a kind too. ;-) I count myself pretty lucky to know her, and fortunate that I have the opportunity to call her friend. I hope you guys all take a little bit out of your day to let her know how much you appreciate her and her benevolence! Hey, Frea, you are almost as old as I am now. :P

Frea's A/N the First: I'm taking the day off from writing A/Ns. It's my birthday. I DO WHAT I WANT.

My Guardian Angel

Some things are just old habits.

"Yes, well, you know," I said before my brain and mouth really communicated on what my reaction to Sarah sitting in my chair with her heels up on my desk should logically be, "some of us have to work for a living around here. You think this luxury comes free?"

Sarah snorted. She'd changed out of the traveling clothes, back into the regular skirt and blouse that she'd always worn as my secretary, day in and day out, and her hair was back in the twist that I'd always loved. How had I never noticed? There was such an inherent grace to her movements all the time. She was lithe, and beautiful, and had always been too good for me. I'd never thought I'd had a chance with her. And in the meantime, she'd been dressing up every night in a scarf and dark clothing and following me to every seedy joint in Chicago, usually saving my hide in the process.

I simply looked at her; she stared back, and the mood settled into a sober air. Around us, the trashed office seemed to hold its breath so that even the papers shredded on the floor felt like they were waiting for somebody to make a move, to say something, to break out of this locked moment we'd stumbled into together.

Sarah finally broke the stillness by leaning forward and picking up the cherished Cubbies' ball. "So I guess I have some explaining to do."

I peeled off my jacket and hung it neatly on the peg, taking the time to square away the edges. "I'd say that's a fair conclusion."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Why?" I asked, taking off my hat. "Why seems like a really good place to start."

Sarah let out a long sigh. "It's a long story."

"I got nowhere to be."

Sarah placed the Cubbies ball back on the desk and said, "I guess it really started when I answered Ellie's ad in the paper. Do you remember that day?"

I smiled, partly out of embarrassment, but mostly out of affection. "How could I forget? I was so unprepared. The place was a mess. I was a mess."

Sarah looked around and gave me one of her slow smiles, the smiles that I had grown to really appreciate over the years. "Not much has changed, it seems." The smile quickly faded. "And I think that was the problem, Chuck. Too much was staying the same for me. That's why," Sarah paused and took a deep breath, "that's why I left like I did."

"I don't understand, Sarah. What does that have to do with...well, everything? Why were you pretending to be..." I stopped talking. It suddenly seemed so silly to refer to my guardian angel like she was a different person, like she wasn't the same woman sitting in my chair.

"I—During the war it was different, you know? I mean for me as a woman. I could be a spy, and nobody cared, because everybody had to do their part. But after the war, when we had to all come home..." For a second, a look of abject misery crossed Sarah's face, and it hurt me inside. "They warned us it would be different, that there would be a period of adjustment. At least, the smarter ones did. My bosses didn't care much—we were just women, we had no value. Once the men came home, women were nothing but housewives again."

"That's a foolish assumption to make," I said, thinking about Ellie and how she'd worked her way up the company ladder at Our Lady of the Lilies and had fought to keep that job.

"It is, but..." Sarah tossed the ball from one hand to the other. "So I was prepared to deal with being nothing but a pretty face again. I had some skills, but I couldn't tell anybody about them, so I wasn't qualified for much but working as a secretary. I wasn't planning to stay long."

"When I hired you? But we made such a good team."

"You couldn't afford me, Chuck. You were barely making enough to keep your head above water, much less take me on. And I was restless all the time. Nobody told me I would come to miss it."

I knew of the men who'd gone to the front lines, fighting in the trenches, who had preferred it to the quiet life. Most of us had been happy to leave and leave in a hurry. But there were stories of the men—and women, apparently, for Sarah was sitting right in front of me—who had a taste for battle and who hadn't gotten enough. Again, I'd had no idea that my ex-secretary had been anything but a nurse in the war, but looking at her now, as honest as I'd ever seen her, it made a little bit of sense. I sat down slowly in the chair across from my desk, Sarah's words weighing heavily on me.

"Then why did you stay?" I asked, not bothering to deny that I'd been poor back then. I'd been lucky to have two dimes to rub together most nights, all told.

"I nearly left a couple, maybe four times. I had an apartment I kept up—you remember, the one up in the Gold Coast area? That cheap little place?—and I did my best to fit in and just be like everybody else. I got a cat."

"You had a cat?" That this would surprise me almost as much as her revelation that she'd been beating up thugs on my behalf for years made me feel absurd.

Sarah's lips flattened into an annoyed line. "He ran away."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You should have found a detective to look for him. I hear there's a decent one in the book."

"He was probably better off without me, actually. And I was so close on going back to the OSS, joining Carina again even though they'd made me do awful things during the War, but...do you remember Lev Youngman?"

It took me a minute to sort through the files in my memory, trying to bring up a name to the face. "The bookie who said his boss was stiffing him? We solved that case."

"And you're lucky to have survived it." Sarah looked at me, pointedly, and I was suddenly reminded of grammar school, sitting in the back hunched over while my teacher berated me for not having done the reading. "You went to talk to Ted Roark on your own. You dummkopf."

"And?" I asked, startled to hear her speak German so naturally, even if it was to insult me. "Roark's a business man."

"He was a thug. He had dealings with my father, I know his type. You told me you were just going to ask him some questions. Just waltz in and start asking Ted Roark, Fulcrum King of Chicago, questions. It was like you have no self-preservation instincts whatsoever, Chuck."

The anger was starting to rankle a bit, so I uncrossed my feet at the ankles and sat up, resting my elbows on the arms of the chair so I could straighten up more. "Now, you wait just a minute. I got all of the answers I was looking for, and Mr. Roark never so much as hurt a hair on my head."

Sarah rolled her eyes at me. "Because I was in the back-alley beating up the three men he'd paid to jump you when you left, cafone."

She'd switched from German to Italian and both accents were flawless, but I was too busy gaping at her to really register anything significant about that. "Say what?"

"That was the first time I had to save you from landing in hot water. And the first time I felt like myself since the War."

"But...but why not just tell me?"

"Because I was afraid about what you'd think, okay? Because all you ever seemed to see me as was your secretary and I wasn't sure if you'd understand or not."

"Sarah," I started to say, the overwhelming need to object nearly making me blurt out my words in a giant rush. I knew most men probably wouldn't have understood, but I didn't think I had ever given the impression that I would be one of them. Certainly not with Ellie in my life.

Sarah looked upset, but I didn't think it was because of me. "I know that was stupid, Chuck. I know that. I don't really think that about you. You've always treated me with respect and seen me as an equal and valued me as a partner. I mean, there were times where I wished you had seen me differently, I will admit, but not about this. At the time I just didn't think I could risk it, risk losing that connection to my old life, so I hid it from you. And after a while, it just seemed easier to keep it a secret. Until, it happened."

I don't think it was possible for me to feel more confused or overwhelmed by what Sarah was telling me. "It? What are you talking about?"

"Until you came back to the office one night and all you could talk about was her. The mystery woman that saved you. About how she was so amazing and interesting and was always looking out for you and how all I could feel was that I was just the boring secretary that sat in your office waiting for you to come back."

I gaped at Sarah. "But, Sarah, that was you!"

"But you didn't know that," Sarah said, and I could hear the frustration in her voice. "Do you know how frustrating it is to have to compete with yourself?"

"Compete with yourself? But why would you have to compete..." I fell back into my chair in shock at the realization. "Sarah, are you saying you have feelings for me?"

"No," Sarah said. She scowled and folded her arms over her chest, giving me a stern look. "I have feelings for some other handsome detective I've been saving repeatedly from getting his face punched in by Chicago's most notorious low-lifes."

"Now, hold on—" I drew back. Amazingly, only one thought flitted to the surface. My hand went unconsciously to my tie, tidying up the knot. "You really think I'm handsome?"

Sarah spread her hands wide to give me the most exasperated look I'd ever received from a woman.

"Sorry—no, really, sorry. It just—I never thought I had a single chance with you, Angel or not. You're the most stunning dame I've ever seen."

"Pardon my language, Chuck, but why the hell not? I'm a person, too, and even though you've got faults, I liked you from the start. I liked you a lot. You've got a good heart, and you care about people. What's not to like?"

I could name a whole list of things. Women hadn't exactly been lining up around the block to step out with me. "You really liked me?" I asked instead.

"I don't know how to spell this out any better," Sarah said, "but—"

"I'm in love with you," I blurted out. I stood up, though I had no idea why. Sarah continued to sit at my desk, gaping up at me with her mouth open in shock. "And I'm an idiot. I know that. I should have realized, but you have to understand, I never thought I had a single chance with you. Not a single chance, Sarah."

"But you thought you had one with the angel?" Sarah pushed herself to her feet, warily.

I shook my head resolutely. "Didn't think I had a shot with her, either, if we're telling the truth. Always thought she—you were one of the greatest things in my life. And now I find out you're the same person. If we're doing the math, that would make you twice as great."

"Or half as great." Sarah stepped around the desk and poked me in the chest with a finger.

The grin hurt my face, it came on so swiftly and in such force. "One thing you've never been able to best me at is math, Sarah Walker. Or Wechsler?"

"Walker," she said, firmly.

"I feel so foolish, that I didn't see it before. Humiliated."

"What? Chuck, no! I mean, I can't say I'm happy it took you this long, but you're a good man, Chuck and—"

Before I really knew what I was doing, I stepped forward and I kissed Sarah Walker. It wasn't something I would have had the courage to do even just that morning, probably. But it felt right. Sarah stiffened in surprise, her hands gripping the front of my shirt, and my brain went blissfully and happily silent for the first time all day. I could taste peppermint on her lips.

It was the greatest moment of my life.

When I drew back to grin at her, she blinked several times. My brain chose that time to wake up and inform me that she might slap me—Morgan had more than his fair share of stories that ended this way—but instead, a grin bloomed on her face that was almost as bright as the one hurting my cheeks. Her hands clutched the material of my shirt before I could step back.

"So that's how it is, huh?" she asked, laughter in her voice.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Finally." She pulled me close again.

This time it was Sarah that kissed me. I happily went along with her plan, and for several seconds, lost all track of anything and everything except for the feel of Sarah's lips on mine. Finally she pulled away, and it was all I could do to focus on something other than her.

"I'm sorry for lying to you, Chuck," Sarah said, her voice low and breathy. "I never meant for it to get out of hand like that. I should have told you what was bothering me instead of just leaving like I did."

"It's," I had to stop and swallow slowly, trying to find my powers of speech. "It's okay, Sarah, I think I understand. I just wish I'd seen things sooner."

Sarah took a step back and gave me a firm nod. "So do I, and I'd like nothing more than to keep doing what we're doing," and I was amazed at the way she couldn't stop staring at my mouth, "but we should probably talk about the case."

"Right, the case." I didn't really want to talk about the case anymore. But Sarah was right.

"So, uh, I ran into Jill earlier." I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to sort it all out. "Bad news: she was responsible for killing Larkin."

"That just figures."

"What?"

The scowl that overtook Sarah's face was truly a sight to behold. "I never did like her."

"So you suspected her of murder?"

"Of course not. I just didn't like her."

I turned around and looked for the box with the Omega Machine part in it. Where had I set that? "Yes, I never understood that," I said, finally spotting it at the foot of my chair. I picked it up.

When I turned back to Sarah, a faint blush colored her cheeks. "That's really not important right now, Chuck. What's in the box?"

As much as I wanted to prod at Sarah's dislike—up until an hour before, I'd never suspected there was anything about Jill to dislike—the case had to come first. Ellie was in protective custody, the Bishop was out for our blood, Jill's people wouldn't wait long to come after us. In that moment, it felt like the entirety of Chicago was looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to screw up. So I opened the box and pulled out the part, exposing it to the light. It took a little bit to clear some of the clutter from the desk so that I could set it down. "She got away, but she gave me this. It's part of something called the Omega Machine. Or at least that's what Jill called it. Do you know anything about it?"

"It looks complex." Sarah frowned, but didn't touch the gizmo. "The best I can think of is some old rumors floating around about a special encryption/decryption machine. They were working on it right before I left, trying to replace you codebreakers. It was supposed to work like a brain, but I always thought it was just rumors."

"And if it's not just rumors?"

"Then I can understand why so many people are after it. It'd be worth a lot of money, Chuck."

"It's not complete," I said, prodding at a hole toward the edge. "It looks like something's meant to be inserted here. Possibly a key."

"Bryce didn't have a key on him." Sarah frowned.

"No, he had this. But...my office is the one that got tossed. So somebody thought I had this device or somebody thought I had the key to it."

"But who?"

"And why did Bryce single me out if he didn't know you?"

"My reputation, probably."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

Sarah straightened her sleeve, primly. "I was quite successful in the OSS, I'll have you know. Bryce could have heard about me from one of my colleagues and decided I was far enough removed from the organization."

I skirted around her and dropped into my desk chair, plopping my feet up on the desk. This time, I was the one to pick up the baseball and toss it from hand to hand. "He needed more of a reason than that, I think. I mean, I'm good—"

Sarah snorted. I gave her a long-suffering sigh.

"—and you're great, but it's still a big leap to come to Chicago for just the two of us. There's somebody else in Chicago."

"Or the machine is actually from here." Sarah frowned at it once more and finally poked at it. It wobbled a little on the desk, looking mighty unassuming for a device that had caused three deaths in the same number of days. "Maybe whoever built it is from Chicago. It's not a stretch to imagine that, right?"

I mulled it over in my mind. "That sounds likely. But what changed?"

"What?"

"You can't build a machine like this overnight. If whoever built it was in Chicago this whole time, it must have leaked somewhere, or something happened to the scientist."

Sarah opened her mouth to say something but never followed through. She sprang up out of her chair and glided across my office to the doorway. I was very perplexed to say the least, but I was already beginning to trust her instincts, so I reached inside my jacket for my gun.

Unsurprisingly, it was unnecessary, for Sarah had already caught the rat outside my door. I watched as she dragged in a short man by his collar. She unceremoniously pushed him into the chair I had been occupying earlier, and quickly searched him. From his pockets she pulled a revolver that had seen better days and a pair of brass knuckles.

I vaguely recognized the man as one of the Bishop's hatchetmen, but not one of the important ones. He was certainly no Colt or Delgado, that was for sure, especially if he had been so easily caught. I was surprised to see him, though. I would have thought if anybody from the Bishop's organization had come knocking on my door, they'd be doing so to send me to meet my maker, not eavesdrop on my conversations.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

The man crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I ain't saying nothin'."

"Did you hear that, Sarah? He ain't saying nothin'."

Sarah snorted and I watched as a predatory gleam settled in her eyes. It made me very grateful that I wasn't on the business end of that look. "I heard. It's too bad we don't have the time to ask him nicely."

The man sneered and glared at Sarah defiantly. "I ain't scared of no broad."

I felt my blood boil at the man's words, but Sarah just ignored him. "Don't worry, Chuck. If I could make war-hardened Nazi spies talk, he'll be a cakewalk." Sarah pulled a knife from…somewhere. I peered at her closely, studying her, but her attention was focused completely on the man in my chair. "After all, a man really only needs a couple of fingers to make it through life."

I would have laughed at the way the man's eyes went comically wide at the sight of Sarah's knife, or the way fear quickly replaced bravado in the man's voice, but truthfully, I was a little frightened myself. And intrigued. I think there was something wrong with me.

"Hey, lady, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sarah reached out and forcefully plied one of the man's hands free.

"Hey, leave me alone!" The man tried to pull his hand back, but Sarah was too strong for him. This time, I was amused when the man looked up at me like I was some kind of savior. "Tell her to stop it!"

I just shook my head. "Sorry, man, but does she look like the kind of person who does what I say?" I placed my hand on his shoulder and pressed down with the slightest pressure, just to let him know he'd get no help from me. "If I were you, I'd start talking. She seems pretty serious to me."

I couldn't help but shake an overwhelming case of déjà vu as I saw Sarah slowly move her knife toward the man's fingers. They really were sisters.

"Okay," the man said, "okay! I'll talk!"

Sarah let the man's hand free and disappeared her knife. I wanted to see where she put it, but I kept my focus on the man in the chair. "What are you doing here? Who do you work for?"

The man looked on the verge of pouting, but mumbled, "Mr. Karpazzo sent me. Told me I was to follow ya, see if you learned anything, and then report back to him."

"And?" Sarah asked, poking him in the shoulder with her finger.

"And nothin'," the man said. "I ain't got nothin' else to say. That's all I was supposed to do."

"I don't believe you," I said. I looked at Sarah and said, "I think he needs more persuasion."

"You know, I think you're right." Sarah slowly moved her hand closer to her dress.

"Wait," the man said, blurting out his words in a rush, "I swear that's all! The boss, he don't care about you right now. I mean, he ain't thrilled you killed Mr. Delgado, but the boss, he said he was getting uppity lately so you did him a favor."

I straightened up and so did Sarah. The Bishop wasn't after me for killing his man? Really? That was very surprising.

The man kept talking, sounding more and more eager to please. "The boss, he's got some mook, some reporter, that's got all his attention right now. The boss said he'd deal with you later, when he was done with whatever he was doing. I was just supposed to keep an eye on you, I swear!"

"He seemed to mind earlier when he sent three goons after me at Our Lady of the Lilies," I said.

Sweat started to bead on the man's forehead. "That was all Mr. Colt. The boss, he weren't too pleased. Said he didn't have time to care that you had killed his friend."

If the Bishop really didn't care that I—well, Sarah—had killed Tommy Delgado, and Colt really was going off the reservation, then this could be the kind of opportunity I had been waiting for.

"Please, mister, I got a woman. And a kid. He's maybe not mine, but I'm tryin' to raise him right, I am. I don' wanna have to go back to the boss like this. Can't you give me something?"

"Your kid's gonna look at his one-eared dad funny all his life if you don't shut your trap."

I snorted and had to clamp my lips down to keep from laughing at Sarah's comment. She was enjoying herself maybe a little too much. "Tell me more about the reporter and I'll consider helping you out," I said.

The man nodded eagerly and said, "I don't know why the boss is interested in him, he don't tell me stuff like that. Just that he works for the Trib and was named Moran or Morlen or Morgan or something like that. Now that's everything I know."

I felt myself go cold all over and everything faded but the realization that the Bishop had Morgan. The Bishop had my best friend and was trying to extract information from him. I knew what the Bishop did to people he wanted information from; I'd almost been on the receiving end of it myself the other night.

"Chuck!"

I saw the concerned look on Sarah's face. "What?"

"Chuck, stop," she said, and it wasn't till then that I realized I had grabbed ahold of the man's shirt. I quickly let go and now it seemed the man was more afraid of me than Sarah.

"You're saying the Bishop has this man?" Sarah asked. "Right now, the Bishop has him?"

"Yes'm, he does. I swear."

Sarah turned away from the man in the chair and faced me. "Chuck, it's going to be okay. We're going to save Morgan, I promise."

I shook myself free from the horrible images plaguing my mind and said with determination, "You're damn right we are."

Frea's A/N the Second: Next chapter will be up on Tuesday! That's right, I'm making you wait six days this time. EVIL FREA STRIKES AGAIN.

Roan made a hmm noise. "Haven't we killed him yet?" he asked Mrs. Beckman.

"Not for lack of trying."

"Or at least arrested him?"

"Again, no, Captain."

You're still way older than me, Maximus. ;)