off kilter, chapter 1: shaken
Author: yankee306
Pairings/Characters: Mary and Marshall, bien sûr
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Very general Horst & Stan by Me
Summary: Mary tells Marshall that her fear of his being injured again is interfering with her job.

Chapter 1: Shaken

Marshall's seatbelt had barely clicked into its lock before Mary pulled out of the parking lot and headed east. She was quiet, had been since another team of U.S. Marshals had driven away with the three fugitives they'd captured after an extended chase.

She'd thanked the other marshals before they left. "Glad you got here when you did. Nothing like the cavalry arriving in the nick of time," she said with a faint smile.

"And thanks for handling the ever-treacherous paperwork," added Marshall. "We'll send over our reports tomorrow for the file." He spent a few minutes b.s.-ing and joking with the other marshals while Mary called their boss to update him.

"All three are in custody," she told Stan. "Gaskill and Levin caught up with us and are taking them in," she said, referring to the second team of marshals. "Wilson still all right?"

Stan assured Mary that Reed Wilson, her witness, was safe.

"He's shaken up, but seems to be taking this more or less in stride. He's back at his apartment and we've got a security detail on the building. I've put in for an emergency relocation. Wilson's already packing up for the move."

"Thanks."

Mary's witness would have to be relocated now that he'd been found by those who wanted him dead before he had a chance to testify against them. Though three of the suspects were in custody, a fourth was still on the loose. There was a good chance they'd hired contract killers as well.

"Anybody hurt?" Stan asked.

"Cuts and scrapes," she responded. "Marshall's wrist is sprained and he's got a bullet graze."

Something in Mary's voice didn't sound right to Stan. "Are you sure that's it?" he asked.

"Sure, I'm sure. See you soon."

Mary wasn't sure. Even though she had been exaggerating with the "cavalry to the rescue" bit. Even though she and Marshall had been more than holding their own and likely could have subdued the fugitives without help from the other marshals. Even though Marshall's injuries were minor, her bruises and scratches trivial.

She was shaken just the same.

Now, Mary and Marshall were heading back into Albuquerque, the chase having taken them 30 miles or so outside of the city. Mary planned to drop Marshall off at home. He couldn't do much in the office with a sprained wrist and he didn't see any reason to stop at the E.R. "All they'll do is tell me to ice it and to keep from moving it. I've got ice, and I've got a sling."

After that, she'd stop by Reed Wilson's apartment and prepare him for the transition, then go to the office and write up her report. No big deal.

"Not bad for a morning's work, huh?" Marshall asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

"Yeah," Mary answered flatly, not taking her eyes off the road for even a cursory glance at her partner.

Marshall sighed and settled back into the silence. He was tired and his wrist ached and Mary could stew over whatever she was stewing over.

That thought lasted for a few minutes before Marshall tried again. "So what are you mad about? What Mary rule have I broken?" Usually he could tell what was bothering Mary, but not this time.

She stirred a little, surprised. "Mad? I'm not mad."

"Well, you're something. You don't do pensive. You sulk; you yell; you mock; you snark. You don't ruminate."

"I don't think snark's a verb, doofus. Even I know that."

This was progress. She sounded more like herself, calling him names and razzing him for knowing something he didn't.

"True, you won't find it in the Oxford English Dictionary, but it's become a common enough colloquialism that it's acceptable for casual usage. I, unlike l'Académie Française, for example, take a descriptive rather than prescriptive view of language. Language is a living thing and we shouldn't straitjacket—"

He stopped mid-sentence as Mary turned and glared at him. "In any case, it really is the right word for what you do."

"Whatever." Mary used that flat tone again and turned her eyes back to the road.

Marshall sensed he was losing her and that she would quickly sink back into her funk if he let her.

"O.K., you're not mad. What are you?" he asked.

"Tired. And bored of this conversation. Am I required to entertain you 24/7? I thought you were the court jester in this partnership."

"See? You snarked."

"Can't you just leave me alone?"

"Apparently not. C'mon, Mare," Marshall implored, his voice gentle.

There was a long pause before Mary said, "I'm . . . off kilter. Freaked out, I guess."

It was Marshall's turn to be surprised. Mary didn't freak out over a scuffle and a bit of gunfire. "At what?" he asked.

"At your getting shot back there."

"Shot? Jesus, Mare, it was barely a graze; it hardly needs a band-aid. Even if I'd gotten hit, it was only my calf—no major blood vessels there and not much chance of it being serious."

"It could have been worse." It had been over a year since Marshall had been shot while he and Mary were transporting a witness. He'd come terrifyingly close to dying.

It could have been last time all over again. It was only luck that saved you then. What if we weren't lucky this time? You could have died, Marshall. You could have died. Each word pounded in Mary's head, hammer against skull.

Just as she did every time she replayed that whole sickening day over again in her mind, Mary felt her chest tighten and a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck.

"It could have been worse," Mary repeated, struggling to push away the memory and regain her composure.

"But it wasn't worse. Besides, those guys were the Keystone Kops, not a squad of trained assassins—from the Arabic 'hashshashin,' by the way."

Mary's tone began to show her impatience. Marshall wasn't getting that this was serious. "I couldn't keep my mind on the Keystone Kops. I kept seeing you lying on the ground again, bleeding. It scared the hell out of me," she told him.

"I know the feeling," Marshall said quietly, almost to himself. 'Scared' doesn't begin to describe it.

"That was different," Mary protested, knowing Marshall was referring to her kidnapping six months ago.

"Different how? It doesn't count when I'm the one who's scared for my partner?"

He was both irritated and confused. How could Mary think that he couldn't relate to her fear? He could feel every minute of that whole nightmarish day of not knowing where she was, who had taken her, whether she were dead or alive. Each dead end had been crushing, each fresh lead agonizing, because what if it was just another one that didn't get him any closer to finding her?

"No, that was different because it wasn't on the job. It could've happened whether or not I was a marshal—hell, given Brandi's being . . . Brandi, it's probably inevitable that something like it would've happened eventually." Mary's sister Brandi was a walking disaster and Mary was forever cleaning up the destruction left in her wake.

"And that makes it okay that you nearly died, that—" That I nearly lost you. Marshall's voice cracked just a little. He looked away so Mary didn't see the tears start to well up.

They had no idea they were hurting each other by insisting that their own pain and fear had been greater than their partner's. They didn't know they were sharing the same thought: Don't you understand how much I need you? How lost I would have been—would be—without you? It wasn't worse for you than for me; it couldn't have been.

If Marshall had realized that Mary had to stifle a wail that was building at the back of her throat, he would have stopped contesting her claim to fear and concern. If Mary had known that Marshall had slipped his hands under the jacket on his lap so she wouldn't see them trembling with the memory of the moment he heard she had been taken, she would have allowed that the situations were not so different. But they didn't know, and blundered on.

"No, it's not okay. Marshall, listen to what I'm saying. It was horrible. I'd give anything for it not to have happened. I thank god you were the one looking for me." She paused, remembering both her terror and her certainty that Marshall was moving heaven and earth to rescue her. "But it didn't happen on the job and it didn't happen when you were there."

"I know. I'm sorry, Mare. I should have been there."

"That's ridiculous. I was driving to work, you moron. Partner or not, you're not responsible for me every minute."

"Still—" Marshall began.

"Stop it. If you've been feeling guilty about that, get over it. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one whose screw-up got you hurt. I wasn't doing my job because I was too wrapped up in being mad at you. I wasn't keeping watch. I wasn't even protecting our witness, never mind my partner." I wasn't protecting you.

"You've got that backwards. The witness comes first." Marshall paused and added dryly, "Until we find out he's a contract killer, obviously."

The witness is supposed to come first. But if I'd had to choose . . .

"Doesn't matter. I almost got you killed." Mary stopped, unable to go on. Her grief and guilt were starting to overwhelm her.

"Mare—"

"I can't talk about this anymore. Besides, we're at your house and I need to go see Reed." She pulled into Marshall's driveway.

Marshall had forgotten she even had a witness to check on. He climbed out of the SUV and closed the door. He opened his mouth to say something through the open window, then thought better of it. Mary was already backing down the driveway.

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My first fanfic, so comments & reviews especially appreciated. I don't offend easily; the negative is as welcome as the positive. Big thanks to bithablu and snerkyone for beta'ing.