Frea's A/N the First: So Sarah's secretly Russian, huh? How about that. A secret Russian. No, wait, Frea, that's way too cheesy, even for you* to put in a story.

puppet!mxpw's A/N the First: Again, gentle readers, my esteemed and lovely cowriter did not consult me as to what to put in my author's note, but I imagine that if I were writing this, I would extol the many virtues of Frea O'Scanlin and her fabulous wit. But since that would be longer than Fates and twice as thrilling, I'll just stick with thanking you for all of your support and reviews and speculation. Thanks also to our kickass beta team, Steampunk Chuckster and quistie64!

*If you think something is too cheesy for me to put in a story, you may have forgotten the thousands of horrible puns I slipped into Fates that still make my beta reader groan to this day.

The Double-Cross

Time passed, but I had no means or way to judge it, so I let it slip by while I stared at nothing, swaying whenever the train lurched on the curves. Outside, the rain had brought a chill to the city, and I could see people with their smart business clothing scurrying for shelter or opening black umbrellas. It all felt disconnected. The murmuring of the other passengers in the car felt like it was miles away instead of right next to me. I'd heard talk of out-of-body experiences before, but I'd never experienced one myself. Not until now.

I couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it.

The train shuddered on the tracks, stopping at yet another station. How many had passed? Two? Three? I sucked in a sudden lungful of air and closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe normally. I needed to look at this like I looked at my cases: dispassionately and objectively—or at least as much as I could manage under the circumstances.

Sarah being my angel all along made sense, when I thought about it. If I hadn't realized it before, I should have known the minute she said she'd been a spy. A voice in my head pointed out that I should have known a hell of a lot sooner, but I ignored that voice because it made me uncomfortable. Besides, if I acknowledged that point, I'd get bogged down on the same emotional path I was trying to escape.

I'd always wondered how my angel knew when I needed her help. I wasn't arrogant enough to think that she did nothing all day but follow me around, so there'd always been something in the back of my mind that insisted she had to be getting her information somewhere. And I'd been right. My angel had been getting information straight from me: Sarah had usually been the only person I told about where I was going or what I was doing on a case.

It all added up: the way she had moved while fighting off Colt and his men, the gun, the knives, the secret spy half-sister. But I shouldn't have needed all of those clues. I should have seen it right from the very first rescue, when she'd leaped down on a man trying to cut me from chin to belly and had beaten him to a pulp right in front of me. It shouldn't have taken me this long to see what was in front of me all this time.

And, oh God. She knew how I felt about the angel—her—whoever. I'd talked about it to her, like the idiot I truly was. I had never felt more humiliated and embarrassed in my life, and that was really saying something.

I tried to tell myself that it wasn't entirely my fault. Sarah had gone to an awful lot of trouble to hide her identity from me: the scarf around the hair, the mask, the accent. That drew me up short. Was the accent real or fake? Every instinct said Sarah really wasn't a secret Soviet spy, but I couldn't be sure, not anymore. She'd lied to me. She'd lied to me for a long time.

But I couldn't believe it. I knew Sarah. I'd worked with her for years. I'd laughed with her and teased her, and she'd done the same thing to me. I knew what kind of person she really was. So, clearly, she must have had her reasons. I might not understand them or wish they hadn't been necessary, but I knew they were there. Sarah would never do anything to actually hurt me, would she?

The same pesky voice came back, pointing out that I couldn't deny I cared for her. I'd missed her more than I would miss just any regular old secretary. I scrubbed my face with my hand, knowing I couldn't dwell on or even think about that right now. It was too confusing. The mysterious woman I thought I was maybe in love with was really the same woman who'd been my partner and closest friend for several years? It was too much to handle.

So I focused on something else, something I could handle: the case. My biggest lead had turned up dead with a knife poking out of his back, but that didn't mean all hope was lost. It just meant I had a different killer to find—or maybe the same killer who had done in the Soviet. To find that killer, I needed to get back to the Monkey. Filled with purpose, finally, I disembarked and hailed a cab. It was using up money I didn't really want to spend, but it was less of a hassle. I had enough problems.

In the cab, I forced myself to relax and clear my mind. Everything about the case needed to fit into compartments. Sarah's duplicity and all of my feelings were firmly locked away in a vault, to be dealt with later, my frustration with Agent Shaw and his obvious corruption pushed to the side, all so I could focus on the one tenuous clue I had: the smell of cigarette smoke. It had been familiar to me, but the Broken Monkey was a popular place, especially at night, and I spent a lot of time there. It was going to be incredibly difficult to find the person I needed, but it was the only clue I had at the moment. And I wasn't going to leave the place until I found myself back on the right path. If I begged hard enough, Big Mike or Anna Wu would dispatch goons to protect me.

I had the taxi drop me off about a block away from the back entrance, Sarah's admonition about Shaw casing the joint ringing in my ears. I made my way to the alley, just like I had a few hours before. Morgan didn't pop out in surprise, so I made my way through the old tunnels, past the aged casks of whiskey and Big Mike's other fine malts, and up into the Monkey's basement. Old set decorations and costumes for the performers lay about in untidy piles. I knew this was where the performers lounged when they weren't on stage.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when I ran into Jill Roberts in the performers' dressing room, but I really hadn't expected to run into anybody I knew so soon. I still wasn't in the right headspace for dealing with anybody quite yet. Everything still felt too raw.

Jill started. "Chuck! What are you doing down here?"

"I didn't know you were performing tonight," I said, lamely. Something crawled down my spine and I wondered abstractly if it was one of the creepy crawly bugs that were attracted by the stores of booze, or if something was really wrong. I tilted my head a little.

Jill waved a hand and laughed, nervously, turning back to look at the bulb-lined mirror in which she'd been fixing her make-up. It seemed caked on a little heavier than usual. "Big Mike asked me to come in special," she said, and paused to paint a line of lipstick around her lips. She smacked them together. "He said he expected a big crowd. How did...how did you even get down here? Miss Wu guards the door like a lion."

"I came in the back way," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.

"Oh, I didn't think of that." Jill picked up a mascara wand. It shook a little, and for some reason, I couldn't help but stare at it. I don't know why it fascinated me so. "Wait, why is it that you would need to use the back entrance? Is everything okay? I thought you were just looking for a fellow."

I hesitated. Unbidden, Sarah rose to the front of my mind. She'd messed me up so bad, I knew, that even though Jill was right in front of me, all I could think about was that Sarah was my guardian angel. And, funnily enough, that Sarah had never liked or trusted Jill. I'd never understood why. I just figured one of them had committed some sin I never picked up on and had let sleeping dogs lie. I hadn't ever really gathered the courage to ask either of them about the animosity.

But I thought about it now, and that was when it hit me. That was when the thing crawling down my spine and sitting in my gut congealed into a horrible, oily blob.

Jill was smoking.

The smell from the cigarettes was just like the smell I had picked up from Bryce's body.

I went for my gun before I had even made the conscious decision to do so. Jill reacted almost as fast. If it hadn't been for my head start, I might not have stopped her in time.

"Don't," I said, gun out. Jill stopped mid-lunge. She'd been going for her clutch, and it made me sick to wonder what was inside. Was it a gun? Did she plan on shooting me? What was going on? "I really don't want any more trouble. So, please, just...don't."

Jill settled back in her seat, face schooled to give nothing away. I carefully moved forward and grabbed her clutch, pulling out a two-shot derringer. It made me want to sigh, but I just slipped it in my pocket.

Was every woman in my life a liar?

"How'd you know it was me?" Jill asked.

I used the gun to gesture at the cigarette still burning in the ash tray. "Your cigarettes. I smelled them in the room."

"That could have been anybody." Jill's dark eyes never left my face. The light from her vanity wreathed her like some kind of angel, but if she was, it was a dark angel, brought up from the depths of hell. She'd either killed Bryce Larkin, or she'd been there when he had kicked the bucket. A sense of horror and disgust settled over the oily blob in my gut.

"Could have been," I said. I thought about seeing her earlier, suspecting nothing, and insight struck me hard between the eyes. "But it wasn't. It occurs to me now only one person had a chance to see me read Bryce's note. And only one person got close enough to me to pilfer it from my pocket while I helped her with her coat. Why, Jill? Why'd you do it?"

Jill didn't answer to a long moment. She turned away from me, but I could see her in the vanity mirror, the yellow light falling on her bared shoulders. She kept her head bowed, her eyes on her folded hands in front of her. Everything about her seemed to go still for a moment, like she was trying to capture herself as a photograph in time.

And then, without warning, her shoulders slumped. "Tell me something, Chuck."

"If I can," I said, since we had history.

"You ever wonder why I disappeared all those years ago?"

I always had, but asking had seemed rude, and Jill had never seemed to want to offer an explanation. I shrugged. "I thought something bad had happened to you, that you were in trouble, of course. Or you wanted to get out of town. You came back when I found you, though, so I figured whatever it was, you'd gotten over it."

"You can't get over it. Once they get their hooks in you, they never let you go."

"Who are you talking about, Jill?"

"I ran for a reason." Jill looked up now, but not at me. Instead, she stared at her reflection, and I saw nothing but defeat on her features. "I ran because I wanted so badly not to be the person they made me into. I tried to get away."

"Jill, I don't understand. Who had their hooks in you? If you're in trouble, maybe I can help you."

"You actually did me a favor that day, Chuck," Jill said and now it seemed like she wasn't even listening to me. "You helped me realize that you can't run from who you really are." She stood abruptly, and I took a cautionary step backward. "This is who I really am, Chuck. This is what I really do."

"So what, you work for the Bishop? The Soviets? Who?"

She sighed and I could finally see some kind of regret in her eyes. "You're a good guy, Chuck. You always did right by me."

"Then let me help you now, Jill." I wasn't sure what I could do for her, but maybe if she was willing to talk to Casey, they might be able to come to some sort of agreement. Certainly it would be better for her in the long run if she turned herself in. "Just tell me who they are. I can help."

"You can't help me, Chuck. Not anymore."

I studied Jill, really studied her, and I was struck by how rough she looked under the makeup. There were dark smudges under eyes, smudges she had been in the process of covering up before I had interrupted her. Her hair lacked the usual luster I had always admired when she was on stage. Basically she looked like I did, which made me realize just how much of a toll this whole Bryce Larkin affair was taking on the people around me.

Jill picked up the cigarette. When she lifted it to her lips, her hand was shaking. I focused on the glowing ember. "I know you searched the body," I said, remembering the sick feeling in my stomach at seeing so much blood around Bryce's lifeless body. The casual, indifferent way his body had just been left there, tossed aside once it had divulged all of its secrets to his killer. "What did you find?"

Given the way our conversation had gone, I wasn't expecting an answer. I wanted to see her reaction to my comment, to see if she gave anything away. A person's nonverbal actions could tell you more than words every time, so when Jill's eyes slid briefly to a wooden box sitting on the corner of her vanity, I knew. Maybe the action was even deliberate. I didn't know, but I did grab the box, snatching it away from Jill. Jill's hand twitched, as though she'd considered trying to stop me, but I kept my gun trained on her.

I thumbed open the sliding top of the box, keeping one eye on Jill. There was something heavy and metal inside, a piece of machinery that looked like nothing I'd ever seen before. It wasn't big—about the side of my hand, maybe a little longer, but it was covered in wires and parts I didn't recognize.

This must be the Machine everybody and his brother was trying to get his hands on.

"What is it?" I asked, just to be sure.

Jill sagged once more. "It's called the Omega Machine. I was told to retrieve it and bring it here. Tonight." She looked directly at me. "I don't know anything more. I don't know what it does, what it is, or if it's even complete. They don't tell me those things."

I couldn't figure out her angle. She had clearly wanted me to find the box, but why? Was it an elaborate plot to throw me off the scent of something else? Or had she meant for me to find it all along? She had no way of knowing I was going to be coming to the Monkey tonight. She had no way of knowing I'd run into her in the basement. I was inclined to think she was on the level, and that for whatever reason, she was trying to help me.

That only made me want to help her even more, I realized. A cynical part of me pointed out maybe that was her whole plan all along.

Still, there was only so much I could do. "I have to turn you in, Jill. I can't—I mean, I can't just let you go. You murdered somebody."

"And that's why I've always liked you, Chuck. You always try to do the right thing. That's why I never got mad at you for bringing me back, even though all I ever wanted was to disappear." Jill leaned forward and put on the finishing touches of her makeup, like I wasn't standing near her with a gun. "But I'm not going to go with you. I've said all I'm going to say."

I wanted to point out that it wasn't exactly her choice, that I was the one with the gun, but Bunny the cigarette girl popped through the opposite doorway. I glanced over for just a split second and Jill rushed out of her chair, springing at Bunny. By the time I was cognizant of her ploy, she was too close to Bunny for me to risk firing. Bunny shrieked as Jill shoved her to one side, dashing past.

"Mr. Carmichael, why do you have a gun?" she said, looking pale. "Are you going to shoot me?"

I put the gun away. "No," I said, and stepped past her just in time to see the last of Jill as she raced up the steps and around the corner. I could give chase, but my leg hurt and she was fast. I'd never catch her. She'd helped me, in her own way. I fixed the box securely under my arm and left the Broken Monkey the same way I'd came in.

Great. Now there were two women in my life that had been lying to me all along. This day was just getting better and better.

It wasn't smart to go back to my office, but since it had already been tossed and I'd been back once with no incident, I figured it was likely one of the last places anybody would look for me. Besides, I needed a familiar place to just sit down and think and maybe take a look at the Machine I now had.

I had been something of an inventor during the War. Little things, usually to help with communication and encryption, and I'd always enjoyed it. It was one of the reasons why I had become a private detective after the war ended. I enjoyed puzzles; taking things apart, figuring out how they worked, and putting them back together. I didn't get to do it as much now as I used to, but I still kept a few things around the office that I liked to tinker with when I was in-between cases. Sarah had always shaken her head at my hobby, but I remember she had smiled fondly, too.

Sarah. Just thinking about her made me hurt.

Jill had killed Bryce Larkin.

Somebody had saved me at the docks. Carina had claimed no knowledge of it, Sarah had seemed genuinely surprised when she discovered I'd been shot, and I was convinced the person I'd seen running away from the scene had been a man. That made the likely suspects Bryce and the dead Russian spy. My gut said it was the Russian, which led to a whole different can of worms.

Because somebody had killed the Russian and I didn't know who. I didn't think it was Jill. Something told me she'd have confessed to it if it had been her. Carina continued to protest her innocence. The way Sarkoloff had been killed made me think of the Bishop.

So I potentially had the most dangerous criminal boss in Chicago facing off against the Soviets and me, the Soviets using me like a canary in a coal mine, Shaw hounding my every step, and a secretary who moonlighted as a masked vigilante.

It was clear I had my work cut out for me.

I stepped into my office cautiously. Although I didn't think anybody would be there, I wasn't taking any chances. When I saw nobody in the front office, I sighed in relief and quickly made my way to my office proper.

I pulled up short. Somebody actually was there.

"It's about time you showed up, doll. I've been waiting for you."

Frea's A/N the Second: Oh, Jill, you rascal. Want incentive to come back on Wednesday? This happens:

"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."