Me again. Little crossover action in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Usual disclaimers, plus the characters from Burn Notice aren't mine either.


Stanley heaved a sigh. Now this is more like it, he thought. A nice, simple impersonation. Why can't the doctor have these sorts of things happen to him, instead of being terrorized and shot at and terrified to within an inch of his life?

The young angel watched happily as his new charge stood perfectly still on the front lawn. From his vantage point, Morgan looked rather convincing as a lawn ornament.

----

Morgan wanted to have a nice, long 'chat' with the joker who put in his latest assignment. He himself had put in a couple of oddball tasks, no question—after all, it was because of him that Kyle Parker had to go on live television and make a proclamation to his girlfriend. He'd rather hoped that Emily would get that particular task, seeing as he wasn't the only one getting bothered by her not-so-subtle crush on a certain fellow agent.

Across the street, he glowered as Chase and Kyle took a seat on a nearby bench, the latter waving brightly at him. Then the two old friends began a conversation in that sign language of theirs, and he swore a chuckle or two came out. First thing I do after this is over and done is corner Reid in a closet and make him teach me the basics, Morgan vowed. At least it's a fairly warm day out…

As Morgan continued to stew, a few cars passed by. Two of them honked. One actually stopped and had a picture taken with Morgan as he stood as still as the guards at Buckingham Palace. "Oh, she'll never believe this," the older woman said, grinning madly at her 'prize.' After about two hours, a small news crew came by and shot some stock footage, and a crowd began to gather. Chase eagerly stepped up and began the reporters in, and quickly opened the area to press photos.

Great, Morgan fumed. Not only do I look like an idiot, but now it's going to be on the front page of ever major paper in at least three states…

"What on earth is going on here?!" a voice rang out. A pretty black woman stuck her head out of the door, her hair askew and her eyes snapping like lighted coals.

"Oh, hello there," Chase said, quickly running interference between the reporters and the resident attorney. "Sorry to bother you, but ah, my friend over there, the one…"

"Dressed like the little guy from those commercials?"

"That's the one. Ah, you see, he lost a bet…"

"And he had to stand in my yard to do it?"

"Well, no. See, um…do you happen to know a Derek Morgan?"

"Oh, that FBI agent. Yeah, he lives right next…" The woman focused her gaze on the man standing in her yard dressed like a mythical being. "Oh, you're not serious…"

"Fraid so, ma'am. And we're sorry for the disturbance." Chase tipped her head back. "Okay, Morgan, you're good!"

The agent heaved a giant sigh. "Thank God," he said, forgetting for a moment that there were at least fifty pairs of eyes and three news cameras focused right on him.

"Mr. Morgan? How did you end up taking this bet?"

"Mr. Morgan? What made you pick this location?"

"Mr. Morgan? Why a gnome?"

Chase looked sympathetic. "I'm afraid we might be tying up your yard for a while," she said. "I can make sure your name is kept out of this…" She handed the attorney one of her business cards.

"Private investigator, huh?"

"My firm specializes in freelance government work, and we take private clients. I can send references, if you're interested…"

"Davis! Get over here!" Morgan shouted, trying to fend off the relentless reporters.

From his berth on the sidelines, Kyle snapped a few private photos. See if he tries anything now, he thought with a grin. Garcia's not the only one who knows Photoshop…

----

"She humiliated him," Connie whined.

"He deserved it," Stanley countered. "After all the times he's given Dr. Reid a hard time…"

"Plus, she drummed up some potential new business," Anya mused. "Very clever."

"So Morgan gets humiliated and we're happy she made new contacts?" Connie huffed. "I swear…"

"One more word out of you and it's to Stephen's office we go," Anya said flatly. "You are out of control."

"ME?!"

Anya stood so close to Connie that the younger angel was suddenly intimidated by the little Russian. Anya's wings were brushing against Connie's skin. "There was this angel once…a man named Vladimir…"

"Never heard of him," Stanley said.

"You wouldn't," Anya said evenly. "He became, ah…attached. To his charge, that is."

Stanley didn't like where this was leading. "How attached?"

"It's said that he broke the ultimate taboo."

Stanley's eyes grew to the size of turkey platters. "No…"

"Is true. This was several thousand years ago, mind…I was even younger than you are now when this happened…"

"What happened to him?" Connie asked in a very small voice.

"He had his wings stripped. Was sent to live as a mortal after his charge was killed in a siege of the little town she lived in. Eventually he gave up."

Every angel worth their salt knew what that meant.

"You keep on like this, and it might happen to you," Anya finished, looking pointedly at Connie. The younger angel swallowed hard and became more determined than ever to focus on the work.

----

"So, who're we looking for?"

Rossi held his chin between his fingers a minute. Though he'd figured that a practical search was probably the most effective to get the 'task' complete, he knew it couldn't be too easy. That left out the rest of the team members, the 'Campbell crew,' as Rossi liked to refer to them, and Agent Hollenbeck. It also left out anyone connected to them, because a few phone calls could make the exercise way to easy to be counted.

"Let's call Oliver," he said finally. "That way we can't be accused of making it too easy to find a particular person. I'm sure they've got some problem people on their list…"

Garcia sniffed a little. "Fine. But if he makes it impossible, I'm making his banking life hell."

"Fair enough." Rossi motioned the tech to call her partner-in-crime.

"Oliver."

"Oliver, we need a target to track. Any ideas?"

The line went silent for a minute, but in the background Garcia and Rossi could hear little kids laughing and the sounds of something hitting the ground. "What are you doing there?"

"Oh, just putting on a show for some little kids. Hotch and Reid are pretty good, actually…"

The two agents smiled. "Get footage."

"Count on it. Now, you needed a name…"

"Someone hard to track but not impossible."

The line went quiet a minute, and a resounding cheer erupted through the speaker.

"Guess that went over well," Rossi mused.

"Yeah, those little rocket things of Reid's? Now half the kids want to do one."

"Name, Oliver?" Garcia said briskly. The idea of doing this without her babies…

"I know. Chase has this ex-spy friend…Westin, his name is…"

"Westin?"

"Yeah. Michael Westen. That should be hard enough."

"Don't gloat."

"Oh, trust me—if you can find him, you're doing a pretty good job. Remember, no computers."

"Phone okay?"

"Sure. Have fun." The line went dead.

"Okay, so…Michael Westen…" Garcia picked up her cell phone. "Hey, it's me, sweetie," she said. "I need some hard copies on a guy named Westen…"

----

"What do you know," Jorge said. "They're going after him? Oliver's got a sick sense of humor, right there."

"Vhat are you talking about?" Wilhelm asked.

"This guy Westen…Chase apparently did a few favors for him way back when, mostly involving getting him out of places and saving his hide a couple times. His angel's a friend of mine—Phoebe. She's cool, but she wishes he'd remember that he's mortal half the time."

"How ees this a seek sense of humor?" Wilhelm inquired.

"He's on a burn notice, restricted travel. Makes him easy to find but hard to track if you don't want flags raised."

"Hence the non-electronic trail," Wilhelm realized. "You know, eet is not all that hard to track a person..."

"Really?"

"How do you think we angels survived before the advent of all thees technology?"

"Still, it'll be fun seeing her try. He's a slippery character, that guy…good man, but slippery."

----

"So, Charlie…who're you gonna root for in the playoffs?"

"Go Redskins!" the store clerk said, a huge grin plastered all over his face. He'd managed to sell one of everything he had with a Redskins logo on it, and he himself decided to pick up a team jersey and matching cap. The pretty blonde was more then happy to pose for a picture with him, and he promised to send her a copy to her email.

As the three agents left the store, Emily couldn't help but chuckle. "What's so funny?" her friend asked.

"I notice you did just a little more than 'flirt' with him, JJ," the brunette replied. "You could have had him eating out of your hand, if you wanted."

"Well…"

"And I also noticed that you never mentioned you were involved. Or had a baby…"

"Same tactic bartenders and waitresses use. Look available, even if you're not. Nets better tips."

"Or wins bets." The two women looked over at Josh, who was still engrossed in his sign language book. "You up for some dinner?"

Josh nodded, then stacked his fists on top of each other and circled the top one clockwise.

"Coffee," the women said in unison.

"I could go for that," Emily said. "It is early, after all—just past noon."

"And after last night, how could you resist some decent food?" JJ joked.

"Hey, at least I didn't turn the guy into Jell-O."

JJ just smiled. "There's a great place up here, Josh," she said. "They've got good wine and great salmon."

The smile on the older man's face was enough to brighten a room.

----

"Well, she certainly made him happy," said Malcolm. "He loves his food, and loves his wine."

"I'm surprised he's not better at sign language, with as much time he spends working with that crew," Peter said. "I mean, does he really use Chase and Oliver to talk to Kyle all the time?"

"There was this one case…he spent most of the time writing on a tablet or looking at emails."

"Geez."

"This is good for him. Just keep an eye out for what he has to do next, young man." Malcolm's eyes narrowed.

"I won't let anything happen to him. I promise," Peter said, standing at attention in his white shirt and his yellow-ducky boxers.

"Ooh, what'd I miss?" asked Terrence, who returned with a giant sandwich.

"You got snacks, and didn't bring enough for the class?" Peter complained.

"I got hungry! I'm not used to getting a chance to eat on the job!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'll put a call in to Chou Lin," he said, pressing an intercom button on the wall of the meeting room. "He's great at organizing good stuff…"

"And who's getting the bill?" Malcolm asked.

"Oh. That," Peter said, quickly rattling off an order for some Chinese. "Put the bill on Wilhelm's account, over in accounting…yeah, he's good for it…"

Malcolm just shook his head.