A/N:

Ok, I know it's been forever since I wrote anything… Sorry about that my life has been insanely hellish for a really long time. But anyway this is a fic that I started a long time ago but didn't post because I wasn't sure of it's quality or whether or not I'd continue it. While I'm still unsure I figured I'd let you guys see it and if you like it I'll do what I can to continue it, although I do have NaNoWriMo coming up soon. (For those of you that don't know its National Novel Writing Month- Google it!)

For the readers of my WIP CSI stories, I'm sorry but those are still on hiatus. I don't have the drive to write CSI only stories at the moment due to my more recent infatuation with IPS.

Lastly, here's a few things you should know about the story. It's more IPS than CSI, so you'll see more of the IPS characters, although it is placed in both Albuquerque and Vegas. Sara's the only CSI character with a main role. There WILL be Mary/Sara ship if the story continues, although it isn't in this portion in anything more than hints. Rated M for violence and safety… there won't be any detailed intimacy scenes… I just don't write that, sorry. Also, I could really use a beta, not for spelling and grammar but more for plot and dialogue adjustments… Anyone who's interested can PM me, since I refuse to go through the Beta selection process, and it would take too long to search through all the available beta's to find one that knew both CSI and IPS… Anyway enjoy the story and please please PLEASE review otherwise I have no idea whether or not I should continue.

Mary's POV

WHY Stan decided I was suddenly on call twenty four hours a day is beyond me. Not that I dislike my job or anything but REALLY. I swear he thinks I'm not human. Humans need sleep. He doesn't seem to understand that concept. Anyway he called me in at two in the morning to tell me I had a new witness to protect- or rather a couple of witnesses. Two women in a relationship had both witnessed a mafia shooting and reported it, not realizing what they had gotten themselves into. Once the government realized they weren't going to live until the trial unless something changed, it ordered them into the program. Why could these things never wait until a decent hour?

Regardless I went to meet my new witnesses. Their names were Beka and Riley. Beka was clearly the rock in the relationship. She showed no sign of fear of her attackers, and I had a feeling she was only agreeing to enter the program to avoid being separated from her partner. People like that only had one visible weakness- their lover. They would do anything for him or her, and they knew that was the one thing that could break them. I found myself wondering what set her on the path that made her fear her vulnerabilities so much she refused to have any, but there had to be something. I would know. I was like her. Riley also seemed to know this, using her influence over her significant other to protect her, all the while being careful not to make it seem like that was what she was doing. Showing that you knew what a person like Beka's vulnerabilities were was the surest way to have them push you away, completely out of what they see as self preservation.

I walked them through the instruction packet for WITSEC, which is way longer than anything besides a really good novel has the right to be, trying obscenely hard not to yawn. It would probably seem unprofessional if I fell asleep at the briefing table. Probably. By the time they had signed every last paper and we had WITNESSED that they had signed every last paper, it was four in the morning. Well, if nothing else, I figured I had to bring them to their new home. That way at least two thirds of us could get some sleep. I on the other hand knew I was going to be up until late that night. I could NEVER fall back asleep. It just didn't happen.

I brought them home and went back to work. I figured what the hell? I might as well torture Marshall. Its not fair that only one of us be miserable. Or at least that's how my mind works. I decided to go back to the old standby- who was the first girl he had sex with. It was almost a game for us. Whenever I was bored I would pester him into damn near insanity, then he'd give me some name out of nowhere, I'd look it up, only to find that there was no way in hell Marshall ever knew her. The problem with the game was that Marshall would then take the moment when I was furious at him to ask me who the first guy I had sex with was. Wouldn't seem like too much of an issue right? Wrong. I've never had sex with a guy. Why you ask? Not because I have religious reasons not to. HA! Not because I'm just a virgin either. No… I have never had sex with a guy, because I am interested in girls. The problem is no one knows that…aside from various flings in the past who I never saw again after we did the deed. Some people might find that slutty. For me it's the only way. With my job it's too difficult to have a meaningful relationship. Besides, my one actual fear in life is that the people I care about would leave me if they found out. I don't honestly care about the rest of the world. Screw them. But my sister, Marshall, Stan, and a few other people have opinions that actually matter to me. And if they didn't accept me, it wouldn't kill me (I'm not one for melodrama) but it would be difficult to take.

So once again I dodged his question with another bogus name, figuring if he played dirty I could too. No guilt, just the problem that arises when I run out of names. Too often I use gender-nonspecific names or names of people I actually knew. One of these days he's going to figure it out. Just hopefully not in this round of the game.

THREE DAYS LATER

Life goes on. Marshall didn't figure out my sexuality, (yet) my new witnesses were settling in as best as they could, and my mother was about as sober as a guy at a bachelor party. Like I said, nothing too surprising. Which is why I wasn't expecting the call I got from Riley saying that Beka had gone missing. Despite the fact that it was, once again, a VERY, VERY late hour, I sprang out of bed and into action. I called every Dershwitz and pretty soon every cop in I knew was looking for her. And let me tell you- that's a lot of cops. Meanwhile I went to their house to talk to Riley, see if there was anything I could use in the investigation.

Riley gave me some interesting information, starting with the fact that they had been receiving strange calls, where the caller would hang up as soon as they picked up the phone, but not until he had heard their voices. Apparently somehow the Mafia had traced them. Why am I not surprised? They have people everywhere and apparently Beka and Riley were priority for them. Makes sense. They wouldn't want some of their semi-top guns going to jail now would they? And more than that they wouldn't want them to give away anyone higher in the food chain than they are, because THAT could actually do them some harm. Supposedly the Mob protects their own. Honestly they protect their own ASSES.

I did what I could to calm her down once she had given me everything she could, but honestly there wasn't much I could do besides remind her that Beka was a fighter and would never give up on us- I hoped. What I didn't have much hope for was the idea that we would find anything useful before it was too late, although I kept that to myself. The Mob is also notorious for covering their traces, but Riley was distressed enough. I figured that little detail wouldn't help. Which is why I was so surprised when my phone rang almost immediately.

I was informed as I ran to my car that Beka's vehicle had turned up in… Vegas. Of course it did, that was just my luck wasn't it? I relayed the info to Stan who told me I'd have to get my ass down to Vegas immediately. Well that's just great. So I ran home, packed, and drove to the airport in just enough time to make my flight. Tried to sleep on the plane, but naturally it didn't happen.

I pulled into the abandoned lot where Beka's car supposedly was, and found it literally surrounded by the Vegas CSI's. They had been informed (as I was told by their supervisor Grissom, who was as much in the dark as they were) that the car belonged to a government worker (My guess is Stan was slightly short on excuses, and also wanted to make sure their work was as quick and clean as possible) who had been abducted by the Mafia, in one branch or another.

The CSI who was lead on the case was a blonde woman named Catherine Willows, but she directed me to another woman, named Sara for all the information.

I saw Sara, and basically felt like I had gotten hit in the gut with a bowling ball. She was… amazing. I could tell instantly that work was her life, but because she chose it to be, not for any other reason. I walked over to her, knowing that despite whatever freakish thing was occurring with me (most likely sleep deprivation) I had to talk to her. Case details were more important than a love interest.

"Hi… My name is Mary Shannon and I work for the… Government" I stopped myself just in time. For some reason I had almost told this complete stranger where I worked.

She took my outstretched hand and I thought I heard fireworks in the distance. Hell I probably did. It IS Vegas after all. "I know. My boss told me all about you and your coworker. I'm Sara Sidle. My guess is Catherine told you to see me about the actual details?"

I nodded. She was good. Then I locked away the fact that Beka was to be treated as my coworker for the remainder of my time here. "Yeah she did. I thought she was in charge here though?"

Sara rolled her eyes "Yeah well, when you've been promoted to supervisor on another shift ONCE you suddenly become too important to talk to anyone except the press." Okay, clearly some friction there. "Besides, " she continued, "She absolutely HATES FBI agents."

Ah crap. What now? Should I stick with FBI since that was clearly the impression everyone had? No, because then it might seem like I have more authority than I do. Wait what the hell? I'm a US Marshall. I DO have more authority than the FBI. No, it's probably better to be honest on the rare chance that any agents do bother to show up here. Besides, I HATE feds, so it would really suck to impersonate one. "I'm actually not FBI, I'm in a different branch of government work. I probably hate FBI agents more than she does."

She smiled and I lost myself for a minute. What the hell? I'm a freaking badass. I don't do the lovey-dovey crap. "Well," she said, "I DID think you seemed too… well I'll start with intelligent, and also add cooperative, to be FBI"

I half-smirked and thanked her. "So, what do you have here?"

She suddenly moved straight into business mode. "What we have may or may not be useful, I warn you right now. We have a brown hair, possibly from the Vic, a couple of bloodstains in the back seat that indicate a few superficial wounds, and shoeprints on the windows, also in the back. Your coworker was a fighter. "

"I know." I said, glad that I was honest with Riley. "Anything else?"

"There was a cigarette butt in the front ash tray, possibly from the kidnapper. If something shows up in the database we're golden. Otherwise it'll help with conviction assuming we get the guy. Otherwise they were pretty good at covering their tracks however. The DNA could even be planted for all we know. I wouldn't put it past the Mob."

I wouldn't either, but I kept that to myself. "Great. At least some of that'll probably help. It also gives us a general idea of where she is."

"Yeah… chances are she's somewhere in Vegas. Why bother changing cars? They were really careful with this one, there'd be no need as long as they ditched it before the cops came. Anyway I have to take this back to the lab. You want to come?"

I needed something to do, besides it wasn't like I had anywhere to go at the moment. I'd have to find a hotel somewhere. "Sure. Why not?"

At the lab I met all of Sara's coworkers. The team was admittedly slightly funny, especially Greg who's blatantly obvious about his thing for Sara. She, while not interested, seemingly puts up with it. The results took forever. That's the thing about forensics that turned me way away when I was trying to pick a job. I have a thing about instant gratification. I also have a thing about guns. Grissom doesn't even carry one. How the hell does he feel safe putting psychos behind bars without a gun. Most of the rest of the team does carry, although not to the point of my one on the hip, one concealed level. What can I say? The Marshall Service has trained me well.

That's not to say I can't defend myself without a gun… All government jobs like mine want you to have at least some martial arts/ self defense background. Logical, and I have to say I really don't mind having the opportunity to punch something as hard as possible every once and a while. Bu t I still like my gun.

Hours, and I do mean freaking HOURS later the results came back. The DNA from the hair came out of CODIS as an official no-reply. I'd have to call Stan. Chances are it was from Beka unless these guys kidnapped someone ELSE in the program. The DNA from the cigarette came back to a known Mafia hitman, but it was decided we'd scope things out first. It wasn't likely that it was going to be that easy. The cops wanted to wait until tomorrow for some unknown reason, and refused to budge despite my very LOUD protests. I could go in without cover, but if the guy really was stupid enough to have a kidnapped witness at his HOUSE when he was in the system, he would probably be sitting next to an armory. It would basically be suicide and I knew it. So instead I settled on trying to find somewhere to sleep until tomorrow, and hoping my witness didn't get killed before the cops decided it was convenient to make their little raid. I knew Sara was my best bet for info considering she was the only person I had talked to at length, so I approached her.

"Hey, do you know any hotels nearby? I don't really want to sleep in my rent-a-heap"

She smirked, sensing that I was less than happy about my crappy Toyota rental. I want my SUV back. It's so much more... defendable. My rental ALREADY had bullet holes in it from some previous expedition. Great…. "Well, honestly, you picked the worst weekend of the year to come to Vegas. It's fight weekend."

"Fight weekend?"

"Boxing" she said, with obvious disgust.

I had to agree with her on that one. Mixed Martial Arts is one thing, boxing is a whole different ball game. "Great… meaning everything's booked."

Wincing, she replied, "Well, unless you want to stay in one of those murder-a-night-hourly-rates-available places in the… less…pleasant part of town then yeah…"

I thought it over… "I'll pass."

She looked like she was considering something and for a second I had some hope that maybe she had thought of some other hotel that nobody goes to. Instead she said "You can…stay with me if you want? I mean you don't have to but it might be more convenient for you, and I live alone. My place isn't that big but it should be big enough for the two of us. "

"Thanks, I think I'll do that. I don't take up much room I promise. I just need a place to crash until we find my… coworker." Wow. And I again almost give myself up. Brilliant Mary, I haven't come this close this many times in one day since… oh right never.

"Okay, well follow me then. My place is just down the road from here." Figures she'd live close to the lab. Complete workaholic. Not that I didn't know what that was like… I practically live at the office half the time because my mother is so… unpleasant sometimes.

We got to Sara's place within a five minute drive. It was a small apartment, but nicely furnished. Nothing fancy- just how I like it. She got us 2 cups of coffee almost as soon as we walked in the door- thank god. I was getting such a migraine. Caffeine, it's your best friend and worst enemy.

We talked about various things for a while until my home life was brought up. She asked me if I lived alone and I told her that I lived with my mother and sister at the moment. When she asked why I gave her the excuse of the falling economy, and left it at that. She asked if I wished things could be different, and I told her I would give anything to have things back to normal, but that they are my family, and even if they are going to kill me, I can't kick them out. She understood, and the subject changed again.

Soon we were talking about Beka, and I gave her all the details I could, knowing that she would be a valuable ally. "Do you really want to wait until tomorrow?" She asked

"Not in the least." I replied "but going in without cover is suicide."

She looked me over "Correct me if I'm wrong," she said, "but I'm going to venture a guess and say that you…doing whatever you do… gives you a lot of authority, and that no one would question your judgment if you, say, enter a house without a warrant?"

I returned her stare and replied slowly "That's about right yeah."

Her expression changed in an instant. "Then I'll cover you if you want to go now. I can't stand sitting around knowing that an innocent woman is getting tortured or god knows what while we sit here and wait."

"I agree. I'll do it if you will" She nodded. "Do you have the address of the guy's DNA you found?"

She pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket "I figured this was going to go this way. Of course I wrote it down."

"Great. You do… have a gun… right?"

"Yeah… and a black belt" She smiled. I knew she knew what she was getting into. I also knew she could and would protect her ass if she needed to. Finally, a woman who could defend herself, it was about freaking time.

"Good. Now look. How many guns do I have?" I put the one on my hip in plain sight, but left my other one tucked inside my combat boot.

"It looks like one from this angle." Ahah, and smart too. I could get used to this. I rolled up my pant leg and unzipped my boot, revealing my ankle holster with an extra Glock 40 and 3 full fifteen round magazines, not counting the one in the gun.

"This is my backup. I'm going to keep it hidden in case this goes south. Having been kidnapped before, I can tell you right now people hardly ever look there. I also "I reached into my pocket, and through the hole inside to reach my knife "carry this. It's not in my pocket, specifically, but in a holster around my leg that's accessible through a hole in my pocket. I keep it just in case I run out of ammo and it comes to hand-to-hand. Are you trained in knifework?"

She nodded. Good. I'd throw my knife to her if I still had bullets.

"Do you carry anything concealed?" I asked her, having to know.

"Not normally" she said, "I'm a CSI, we don't usually need heavy gear." I saw right through it.

"Okay I'm not your boss give me the real answer" She seemed slightly surprised.

"Grissom doesn't like the idea of us carrying extra weapons; he says we don't need them. But I keep a knife of my own strapped to my ankle" I looked down and realized we had almost the same kind of boots on. HAH.

"There we go. Now we're talking. Okay lets go. Keep your phone on, and the tracer on it. I don't honestly care if the cops show up before we can get in as long as they know where we are if something goes wrong. We'll get out fine without them but that doesn't mean we want them wondering where we are."

"Okay." She pressed a few buttons on her phone then nodded. "All set."

"Lets go."