Me again. More crossover action going on here, so I hope you enjoy!

Usual disclaimers, plus Mike and Sam aren't mine either (they belong to the PTB over at Burn Notice).


"You want what?!"

"Files. I'm supposed to track down this guy, Michael Westen, and of course the bet is that I can't do it with my babies…"

"Well, as one of the judges I can't go rooting through them for you either," Kevin said, his voice sounding pretty set on the subject.

"I don't want you to," Garcia reasoned. "I just need access to some of his hard files—a place to start?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. "All right. Fine. But just a starting point—nothing else. Normally you'd get that if you were working a real case, anyway."

"Have I mentioned that you're awesome lately?"

"Only in the shower, babe. Only in the shower." Kevin's fingers tapped a little, looking for this Westen character's location. The minute the sent the name through his database, however, he got a nasty surprise.

"Honey?"

"Yeah?"

"You sure the name Oliver gave you was Michael Westen?"

"That's what he said. Come to think of it, though, he was kind of laughing as he said it…"

"Well, there's a reason for that…"

"Yeah?"

"And now I've got company. Gotta go now. Remind me to trash his accounts later."

"Kevin! The location!"

"Miami!" the tech hissed as three agents stormed his office. "Uh, hi, there," Kevin said meekly. "What, ah, seems to be the trouble?"

"Did you try to access any files this morning?"

"That's kind of…my job…" Kevin flustered. "Any particular one?"

"Our records show you tried to access blacklisted files."

"Bl-blacklist?"

"What were you doing, looking into Westen's file?" One of the agents got right into Kevin's face, and he suddenly wished he could trade places with Oliver Lawrence right about then.

"Oh, that. Look, some guy gave me the name, thought it was funny," Kevin replied. "I have absolutely no idea who this Westen is, really...did he, ah, do something?"

The agent eyed Kevin up critically, and then pulled away from the quaking tech. "It's above your pay grade," he said, his voice clearly a warning. "Next time, stick to what's on the paperwork, and we won't have a problem, eh?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. Won't happen again, I promise…"

"Let's hope not." With that, the agents left. Kevin heaved a great sigh and then pulled out his personal cell phone, heatedly punching a number. When I get my hands on you, Lawrence…

----

Anya was still munching on the remnants of popcorn she'd made earlier, still pleased that her new charge had managed to complete his first task successfully. Her mind wandered a bit, thinking on how to help Kyle in his next bit of work when she got a sharp punch in the shoulder.

"Ow!" she cried out, jumping to her feet and flaring out her wings. "What was that for?!"

"You, miss, need to keep a leash on that joker charge of yours," an older angel said, his horn-rimmed black glasses resting upon a giant Roman-style nose. "That Lawrence nearly got my poor charge into some hot water, he did…"

"He…what?"

"What, now you're not even bothering to pay attention to the boy? You kids today, I tell you…in my day we'd have gotten our ears boxed for that…"

"Look, Arthur," Anya said plainly, "Stephen's got us switched up for a couple days. Yeah, Oliver's my guy, but right now I've got this kid he works with, Kyle Parker. What's Ollie been doing I should know about?"

"He tricked those tech friends of his into accessing a blacklist file—nearly gave poor Kevin a heart attack, he did. I don't need my charges dropping dead on me before their time."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Sounds like Ollie. Listen, you've gotta talk to his temp angel, Gina. See what she can do with it."

Arthur sniffed. "Very well. But I assure you, if he tries something like this again, I may just allow Kevin to have his way with him."

"You do that, Arthur."

"Good day." The miffed angel continued on his way, and Anya sank down into the soft couch.

"Something wrong, Anya?" Stanley asked, holding a giant plate of nachos in his hands.

"Yeah. Ollie's trying to be funny again…"

----

"Okay, so, this Westen guy's in Miami," Garcia said, pacing the floor a bit. "But I'm sure that I've got to narrow it down a little…"

"How little?" Rossi asked, looking at his dinner companion. The two were in the dining room of the Plaza, feasting on lobsters and sipping a good red wine. "I gotta say, Penelope, you do pick good wine."

Garcia blushed. "I'm thinking to his current address. And judging from the sounds Kevin was making over the phone, he's probably not listed in the Yellow Pages."

"Work with instinct," the older agent suggested. "What would you try next?"

"I'd normally punch the name into a search engine, but…"

"Okay. There's a giant power outage. Now what?"

"I'd call someone who might have a lead on him." Garcia picked up her phone again and dialed a number.

"Chase Davis."

"Chase, it's Garcia. I need a little help. I'm tracking down this guy, Michael Westen…"

There was silence on the other line for a minute. "Garcia, did you say Michael Westen?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd you get that name?"

"Oliver. He told me that's who I had to find to pass my task."

Chase let out a derisive snort. "Well, he and I will be having a chat later…"

"Oh, by the way," Garcia added. "Nice job with Morgan."

"You like? I thought it was enlightening for him to be on the other end of the teasing for a change."

"Did you have to pick a gnome, though?"

"Don't blame me. Someone else picked that one. Anyway, your best bet to track Mike down is to get hold of a guy named Sam Axe. He's a little slippery, but I remember his number…" Chase rattled the number off, and Garcia took it down. "Good luck. Just mention you're working for me on his burn notice, and you should get a call."

"Burn notice?"

"Ask Rossi. Later." The phone hung up.

"Burn notice?" Rossi said. "No wonder Kevin had problems…"

"Should I take a pass on this?"

"No," Rossi said. "If Chase vouches for him, he's probably okay. I'd like to know why he got blacklisted, though…"

"I might ask him," Garcia said, dialing the number Chase gave her.

----

In a dive bar near Little Havana, Sam Axe was busy eyeing up the local divorcees. It had been a while since Veronica, and he was wearing out his welcome fast with his current lady friend, Lola. He had just finished his drink when the phone rang. "Yeah?" he said into the device, not bothering to check the number on the caller ID.

"Sam Axe?"

"The one and only," Sam slurred slightly. "What can I do you for?"

"Actually, I'm looking for a Michael Westen."

"Mike? Geez, what the hell's he done now?! Or is this that 'classified' crap again?"

"Actually, you were the number I got from a friend of mine, Chase Davis? She says it's about his 'burn notice,' whatever that means…"

Sam laughed. "So the dame finally got herself some help, huh? Nice. Yeah, he'll want to know if it's about that. Give me a couple hours. This your phone?"

"Oh, you bet," Garcia said.

"So, who can I tell him called, pretty lady?"

"Garcia."

"Mmm. All right, will do. Stay close." Sam hung up the phone, stretched his arms a second, then dialed a number. "Mike? Sam. Yeah, some woman called, 'bout your burn notice? Said her name was Garcia, got my number through Chase Davis…yeah, I'd assume that'd be the one. Listen, I, ah, got kicked out by my lady friend last night, and…look, Mike, I'd keep this one close. I mean, this is Chase Davis we're talking about, and she's got some pretty deep connections…maybe, maybe. Look, can I call this gal, tell her you'll be in touch? Great, buddy. I'll see you later."

Sam hung up the phone and sighed. It just wasn't like it used to be, no doubt about it.

---

Phoebe gave a slight chuckle. She raced over to Terrence, who was busy watching another angel's charge dancing a very horrific quickstep, all the while dressed like a reject from The Nutcracker.

"What's this?" she asked. Looking down at the mortal in the bright pink tutu, she started howling with laughter. "Oh, heavens," she said. "I hope you're taping this…"

"You bet," Terrence replied, quickly making a few introductions. "What's up, Phoebe? Michael trying to kill himself again?"

"Hardly. I thought you should know, Chase Davis gave someone his number. Thought you might know them—a Garcia?"

Terrence shook his head. "I know her—Penelope Garcia. What's she doing calling Michael?"

"Who knows. All I know is, your girl might get a phone call…"

"Actually, she's not 'my girl' at the moment. I've got this other woman right now—a kind of 'game' Stephen's having us play—but I'll tell you what, you should talk to Connie. I know she drew Chase, and it'll give her some experience."

As Phoebe ran off, both Peter and Malcolm looked at him quizzically. "Experience? For what?"

"Dealing with freelance intelligence agents and former spies."