Frea's A/N the First: I know we said Thursday. Well, it's Thursday in Croatia. I think. Either way. I'm loving all of the theories, guys! I mean, Irene Demova as the Angel, that's an awesome one. This story would have...wait for it...a real case of the Demovas, if that happened! And I appreciate those of you trying to turn it into an Alias crossover. I'm flattered! Thanks to our readers, our reviewers, our beta readers, our pre-readers, our fans, and Joss Whedon.

mxpw's A/N the First: Please keep all the theories about the identity of Chuck's guardian angel coming. They are providing a lot of entertainment for me! And it's awesome to see you guys so engaged and thinking about the story. It's gratifying. Thanks for reading and sticking with us.

Unexpected Meetings

There wasn't a better part of the city to get a drink than the Broken Monkey. Actually, that was a lie. The Monkey invariably proved to be a terrible place to get a drink: usually whenever I moseyed up to it in hopes of drowning my sorrows, I somehow ended up in a completely different place than where I'd started out, and that final place didn't always involve wearing trousers. But Morgan was sleeping after his inking shift at the Trib, or running surveillance on his scientist, and most of the regulars were probably still asleep on their park benches, so I figured it was safe to wander to the Monkey and have myself a drink.

It wasn't even noon when I braved the crowds, limping a little down the street. In daylight, without the neon to hide the dirt and grime, the Monkey looked a sad sight, weary and a little ramshackle. Crowds hurried by without paying the joint a second look, always in a rush. I felt somebody brush against my side as I made my way to the door, but it was Chicago, so I didn't give it a second thought.

Skip Johnson was guarding the door, so we exchanged amicable nods as I let myself in. I peeled off my coat and hat, wincing a little as the movement jolted my bullet wound.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Jill said as I took a seat at the bar. "Where ya been the past couple of nights, handsome? We missed you."

I didn't have the energy to keep up our usual flirtation, though I managed to muster up a smile for her. She wasn't in her club-wear yet, but rather a well-fitted vest and a pencil skirt, so she must have just dropped by to get a paycheck. "Oh, you know how it goes," I said. I wanted to make a joke about interrogating Soviet spies and facing down the Bishop, but it would only worry her. "Burning the midnight oil. I'm sorry to have missed your show."

She flicked a hand at that. "I haven't brought anything new. The big fella doesn't care as long as the locals are happy."

"Listening to you, they're always happy."

"Aren't you sweet?" Jill lit her own cigarette this time, carefully blowing the smoke away from me. "You look tired, Chuck."

I thought fondly of all of the sleep I wasn't getting, but it didn't seem to matter much in the face of Sarah going to Detroit. She really was leaving this time. She'd been missing before, but this had such a taste of finality to it that it made my throat dry. "Yes," I said.

"Hot case?"

"It's work stuff, it'll pass."

"Still looking for that fellow? The one you couldn't find the other night?"

"He remains elusive. I'm starting to think he doesn't exist," I said, pushing off of the stool since there wasn't a bartender in sight. Jeff was likely sleeping off a raging hangover under the trash bins again. I lifted the partition and slid behind the bar. "Can I fix you a drink?"

"Bit early to be drinking, don't you think?"

"Probably." I shrugged that off and grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam. "But I do hate to drink alone."

"Looks like you're going to have to," said a new voice. "Miss Roberts, the big guy's asking for you."

"Oh, okay. Thank you. Chuck…" Jill gave me a long, considering look. "Are you all right?"

"Never better," I lied, and I knew she could tell I wasn't speaking truth, but she still inclined her head and left me at the bar with Anna, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. The Japanese sword should have looked out of place, considering she wore a suit and a tie like the rest of the Monkey's management. She made it look better than they did, naturally, but the sword hanging at her hip was still a tad bit jarring. "You've lost a bartender somewhere. I thought you should know."

"And you're looking to pay for your tab by fillin' in for him, Carmichael?"

I thought about it. "Will it help?"

"I can put you on the schedule."

"Better not. I'm nothing but trouble. You don't want that hanging over your house, Miss Wu."

"Probably not." Anna let out a sigh and, shifting the sword, took up residence on the stool Jill had just abandoned. She made a come-forward motion, so I obligingly poured her a couple of fingers, too. "A little bird told me somebody here took the advice of our erstwhile barhop the other night."

I grimaced and clinked my glass to hers. "And I paid for it dearly, trust you me."

"Yes, that was rather…"

"I know I'm an idiot." The liquor burned going down, but I deserved that. How long of a bus ride was it to Detroit, anyway? "Damn near ended with me dead or in the slammer. I owe Jeff a swift poke with a sharp stick. In the eye."

"Probably why he saw you coming and hid in the back room," Anna said.

"That mook is here?" I started to push back my sleeves, but I remembered the gaping hole in my arm courtesy of Shaw's bullet, and I thought better of it. "Figures. My fault for taking a line from a fat-head."

"Yes, it is. What'd you get?"

"Bupkis, of course. And nearly arrested. You keep your ear to the ground, Miss Wu. You been hearing things?"

"I hear things, like maybe the Bishop's not so happy with one down-on-his-luck private detective on account of said detective's vigilante pet turning his favorite gunsel into a human sieve. And maybe I hear that he's put out a bounty on your head, and on Bryce Larkin's. He wants you both just as bad now."

I couldn't hide the wince. "Ah."

"We don't take with his racket here, Carmichael, so you're safe now, but I wouldn't push your luck—or ours—until you fix this." Anna tossed back the rest of her drink. "This one's on the house. You look like you need it."

I picked up the hat I'd taken off when I'd spotted Jill. "Guess I'll see myself out."

"Don't get dead, kid."

"Thanks for the drink." After I slammed back the rest of the drink, I picked up my coat and put it on. In the corner of my eye, I saw something white flutter out of the pocket. That was strange. I kept my papers in the pockets of my trousers. Coat pockets were for gloves and sandwiches wrapped in wax papers—and extra ammunition, for today at least—for when I need to do a stake-out.

Curious, I bent to pick up the little twist of paper that had fallen to the ground. It took me a second to smooth it out.

The message on it wasn't complex:

We need to meet. Barker's Pub, East 21st, 2 pm. Don't be late. – B.L.

I turned the paper over, blinking at the back. It was a little pamphlet for Lady in Red cigarettes. A sophisticated redhead in a pink dress and a mink stole lounged against a blue backdrop, seeming not to have a single care in the world. B.L., I thought. Who did I know that—Bryce Larkin. The guy I had been hunting had been close enough to me to slip a note into my pocket and I hadn't noticed at all. Some detective I was.

Excitement began to thrum through my blood. The note could have been a plant from the Bishop, but they'd never been that subtle. If they'd been that close, they would have just shot me. No, this had to be from Larkin himself. Finally, I was about to get some answers.

"Were you really leaving before you could say goodbye?" Jill appeared in front of me, her coat folded neatly over her arm.

I stuffed the note back into the same pocket Bryce had slipped it into. "Of course not," I said, though I hadn't given Jill a second thought. I pulled my pocket watch loose and checked the dial. "But I'm afraid I can't walk you home. I've got a meeting to get to. Get your coat for you, though?"

"Please." Jill stepped close so that I could take the coat and help her into it. "You're really all right, aren't you, Chuck?"

"I am. I've been in over my head before. Never had a problem getting out of those scrapes, too."

"If you say so." Jill looked doubtful as she wished me a good day. I tipped my hat to her in reply, held the door for her to walk by—her scent was jasmine today, and it smelled quite nice—and headed in the opposite direction. Finally, a break in the case, I thought. The air seemed fresher and sweeter, even for Chicago air, as I stepped down the street with a definite bounce in my step.

Larkin would have answers, and after the last couple of days I'd had, I wanted answers.

How long did it take post to arrive from Detroit? The thought suddenly brought everything crashing back. I wanted to send Sarah a letter right then, to tell her about the case. Talking an ongoing case out with her, tossing around our silly Cubs ball as we threw ideas out. And given just how deep I was in with everybody now—the police, the Bureau, the Bishop—I could have used her insight. But she hadn't even left me an address, so it would obviously have to wait.

Two blocks from the Monkey, I spotted the tail. Every time I made a turn, so did the gent in the trillby about half a block back. Spiders prickled over my spine. I didn't recognize him, but the Bishop had half the city on the take. And with a bounty on my head, I was about to attract a lot of unsavory types. And in the event that it wasn't the Bishop catching up to me to bring me in for my sins, I had the Russians and the plainclothes police interested in me, too. It was just a smorgasbord of options for people who wanted Charles Carmichael's head on a platter.

I knew how to dodge a creep when I needed to, but it took time, and I didn't have that right now. And if I showed up with a thug right behind me, Larkin would rabbit. It was getting mighty hard to breathe in this spot between the rock and the hard place in which I'd found myself firmly lodged.

To make matters worse, my tail wasn't alone. I was close to 21st, ready to make a break for it, when none other than Mr. Colt rounded the corner at the end of the block. He hadn't even bothered with a coat and hat and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. I tried to tell myself that it wasn't to showcase the fists the size of cinder blocks that he cracked together, but I wasn't real convinced. And there was nowhere for me to run: with the mook behind me and Colt in front of me, and nothing but some boutiques to duck into, I was well and truly stuck.

I was, I saw in painfully clear detail, about to die.

I put my hand on the butt of the M1911.

"I wouldn't do whatever you're thinking about doing, if I were you," said a flat voice from behind me.

I whirled and made a sound that was definitely not a yelp. Agent Daniel Shaw of the Federal Bureau of Investigation straightened from where he'd been leaning against a pillar and casually folded his newspaper. "Where did you even come from?" I asked, looking around me in bewilderment.

"You're a hard man to find, Chuck, but eventually, we all know you'll go back to the Monkey. Everybody goes back to the Monkey. Put your hands on your head."

"Uh, this is really not a good time, Agent Shaw." Colt and the other fellow had slowed down, and I might not have harbored much amiability toward Shaw, but I also didn't particularly want to see him beaten to a pulp alongside me. "In fact, it's a really, really bad time."

"Really? Seems to me it might be the best time." Shaw reached into his coat. Though I tensed, he only pulled out his badge and blithely held it up in full view of the street. Immediately, Colt and the mook found interesting things to look at in various shop fronts. I couldn't help but be impressed. "You can run, Carmichael, but I sense you're not going to get far in your current state."

That space between the rock and the hard place tightened even further. I took a deep gulp of air to keep from feeling like I was suffocating. One thing was certain: there was no way I was going to make it to Barker's Pub to meet Bryce Larkin.

"And I checked, no mysterious figure helping you out this time, either." My shock must have registered on my face, for Shaw let out a little, caustic laugh. "Oh, yeah, Carmichael. I've been around. I've heard all of the rumors. Put your hands on your head."

I was out of options, but that had never stopped the bravado before. I put my hand near my gun again. "I need your word you won't let the Bishop's men get me in jail."

"Now, Carmichael, why would I do a thing like that? I need you just as much as you seem to need me at the moment." Shaw's smile felt a little flat and wrong, but there wasn't anything I could do. Trapped between a homicidal hatchetman and a crooked Fed, I'd take the Fed almost every time. At least I knew Casey had my back.

So I sighed and put my hands on my head. "This day just gets better and better."

Frea's A/N the Last: Good news! Our next update will be a SURPRISE. So watch your emails or our Twitters because when it arrives, IT WILL BE MAGICAL. In the meantime, here's a taste:

"I don't think you want to look in there," I said.

She gave me a long look and then turned to Carina, who sighed, holstered her Ladysmith, and stepped past me. And before I could stop either of them, the ladies stepped inside the room, seemingly without a care. With my stomach doing jumping jacks in my middle, I followed them.