Disclaimer: Not mine. Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Saturday morning.

Shuffling down the porch stairs to his driveway, Marshall Mann soaked in the unobstructed view of the Sandia Mountains, the blue sky and sighed. Witness visits completed. Witness visit reports signed off. No one in jail. None of his partner's family members in jail. The true meaning of peace.

Time to give his truck the TLC it deserved. He wore an old pair of jeans and a wifebeater. He didn't mind getting wet. With the hot sun heating up his world it would feel good to get wet. Wet, wet t-shirts. Wet white t-shirts. Shit. Last night's dream surfaced with a vengeance in detail. His partner, his Mary wearing a white t-shirt and nothing else. A wet white v-neck t-shirt. Wrenching his thoughts away from the dream he resolved to work. The truck wasn't going to wash itself.

He had survived an entire 10 minutes without thinking of his partner. He had to move on. Dating Abigail, spending time with her was the way to push Mary Shannon from his consciousness. At least that was the theory. In practice, not so much. The abrasive, brave, brash blonde had taken root in his soul.

Bucket, body work shampoo, chamois, squeegee, warm water, and a step stool were carefully arranged at the side of the car. Even he needed a step stool to reach the center of the truck's roof. He started at the top, as he'd been taught. He concentrated on the sheet metal, trying to forget last night's dream. He had an entire encyclopedia, hell an entire library of dreams about her. Before he realized it he had finished the roof, the hood and the sides and was starting on the wheel covers.

"Hey Marshall!"

Squatting by the tires, Marshall couldn't see who was addressing him, but it sounded like... Peeking through the driver's side window he could see his visitor. "Hey Abigail," he greeted the perky brunette. "What brings you here?" He stood to greet the detective.

"Sorry I missed our dance class last night." She ducked her head, not wanting him to catch her staring at the expanse of chest clearly visible under his wet wifebeater. "I'm sure there were lots of other women willing to take you for a whirl." She was aware that Marshall had caught the eye of several dance students. Not all of them were female. Needing a better view, Abigail moved closer.

Marshall had found a dance partner for the class. The tall blonde claimed her partner was out of town. She was light on her feet and followed his lead better than Abigail. Not that he'd ever tell her. The only problem was that she reminded him of another blonde. One with a callused trigger finger and a caustic tongue.

"S'ok, comes with the job. I understand." He sat back down on the stool spraying mud off the wheel covers. Turning toward Abigail, the sun in his eyes, he blinked. But it wasn't the sun. It was that he could look up her skirt. It didn't help that she was standing in a way that widened the opening. Marshall could feel himself turning pink. He hoped she thought it was the sun. He kept his eyes on the wheel covers. His mother would be proud.

Abigail looked down at the tall lawman. "I saw Mary last night."

Of all the topics he expected Abigail to bring up, this wasn't one of them.

"Oh?" Why would Abigail be meeting Mary? Were the women in his life ganging up on him? Comparing notes? If Abigail ever heard Mary's rants on his 'girly' ways she'd never date him. He and Mary used to spend Friday nights at Two Fools. With a start he realized they hadn't been out for drinks in two months. He had no idea how she spend Friday nights.

"We were doing a sweep of the Pagoda, it's a ..." As she hesitated Marshall realized she was uncomfortable discussing a lesbian bar with him.

Marshall chanced a look, relieved that she had moved and he no longer could see up her skirt. He gave her a tight but knowing smile. "I know what it is."

"Of course you do, you're a United States Marshal," she broadcast loudly with teasing sass.

"Yes, I am." Marshall stated quietly, giving the detective a tight smile. He didn't take kindly to having the fact that he is a Marshal announced to his neighbors. Old Mrs. Pinckney probably had her hearing aid cranked up. He had seen her curtains move and was certain she was watching. She'd been trying to get Marshall to meet her niece.

"Like I said, we were at the Pagoda when I saw something surprising."

"I'm sure there are lots of surprising things going on in that place." Marshall concentrated on removing road dirt with a soft brush. He and Mary had been to the Pagoda when they were investigating the murder of a woman who had just come out to their lesbian witness.

Abigail must have run into Mary on her way to or from the Pagoda. Lots of bars and 'entertainment venues' in that neighborhood. But not Mary's usual hunting grounds. Not the way she usually spent Friday nights. Or at least not the way she used to spend them.

"Yes. We didn't exactly exchange greetings because she was otherwise 'engaged.'"

"Engaged?" He drawled the word out as if it had a bad taste. He raised his eyebrows underlining the word. Engaged brought back painful memories of Mary's brief engagement to Raph. What kind of engagement could Abigail mean?

Abigail stumbled over the words. "Mary was sitting in a booth swapping spit with a dark haired woman. I didn't see her face but I caught a glimpse of the Marshal star tucked behind her belt when her tank top rode up during the . . . .uh.. . . encounter." She'd spoken the entire statement as quickly as possible. Like yanking off a band aid.

Marshall choked and covered it by pretending he had inhaled soap suds. His mouth had dropped open at 'swapping spit.' Then he remembered the time in the barn when Mary had 'smeared lipstick' on him. Mary had done some extreme things to protect her witnesses. Marshall had no doubt that she would do whatever it took, regardless of her personal preferences. He quickly rifled through his mental rolodex trying to figure out which witness Mary might be hiding. Helen Traylon was no longer in Albuquerque. He couldn't think of another witness who would be interested in what the Pagoda had to offer.

He tried to contain the jolt he felt when he saw a connection. Had Mary's experience with Faber been so awful that she was now batting for the other team? If any man could turn a woman against the male sex, FBI agent Mike Faber was the one.

Wiping the suds from his face the usually loquacious, even verbose, Marshall said "Oh," his eyes vacant.

"Is that all you have to say? Oh?" Abigail thought Marshall would express more interest in this development. Abigail had heard the numerous rumors of Mary's catting around. Many of them involved Marshall. Abigail wasn't sure how much credence to give the rumors. Maybe they were a well constructed cover for her actual sexual orientation with Marshall's help?

Law enforcement had to live clean. Blackmail was the downfall of many an officer. The US Marshal's had a reputation for being macho straight. A woman in a male dominated agency couldn't be too girly. The rough and ready men would eat her alive. Abigail understood that. But ABQPD had many women on the force at all levels. Mary was the only female marshal she'd met.

"You're sure it was Mary?" He tried to lower his voice, making it deep, masculine, not the high pitched squeak he heard in his mind. Abigail was a detective, trained to observe, but even trained observers made mistakes. Maybe Abigail wanted to discredit Mary?

"How many female marshals with long blonde hair are there in Albuquerque?" Good question. WITSEC inspectors didn't talk about their personal lives. That included the number and gender of marshals in the local marshal's office. He nodded and acknowledging her statement with a wry smile.

"What Mary does in her personal life on her own time has never been my business." Despite that statement Marshall was sure Mary had not changed teams. She had never appeared bi-curious. She couldn't even watch when their female engraver witness kissed the female CIA operative.

Despite her rough and tumble demeanor, Mary had never appeared anything but wantonly womanly. Her tight tank tops and form fitting jeans flaunted her curves, her generous cleavage . . . . Rein it in Marshall.

"Marshall?" He'd been brushing the same wheel cover since Abigail mentioned the Pagoda. Mary had a starring role in his fantasies and his dreams from the beginning. These days he quickly quashed any day time fantasies but had no control over his bed time dreams. Reminded again of last night's dream, he groaned.

Realizing Abigail was looking at him strangely, he smiled, "These corners are always hard to get clean. Want me to wash your car? I'll move my truck and we can give yours the Marshall treatment."

"Why Marshal Marshall Mann, that is so sweet of you!" Abigail exclaimed. Marshall ducked his head to hide his grimace. He liked the cheery Detective, but her voice could grate like nails on a black board.

"Sure. Marshall's Car Wash, nobody does it like we do."

"I'm sure," Abigail purred.