Greetings to you all. I am happy to be here again with another story to share with the lovely IPS fandom. :) The last one was just too much fun to write, so I had to have another go. :)
This story is not used for profit; I own nothing of In Plain Sight. If I did, Abby would have walked into a bullet way back at the beginning of the season. I am merely using the characters of this show for my own nefarious purposes, and will put them back when I'm done playing with them.
I'm going to be trying something new here...this is a kind of Christmas Carol done IPS style. Comments, reviews, critiques and constructive criticism are all welcome. Hope y'all enjoy!
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Mary stood, stretching out the kinks in her spine. Her gaze drifted to the window and she sighed softly. The early darkness of winter had descended hours ago, and the city lights sparkled against the velvety background of the night. Perhaps it was her imagination but they seemed to be more predominantly red and green than normal. Maybe that wasn't so odd, considering the date.
Christmas Eve.
With a scowl, the blond inspector turned back around. Someone (Delia) had draped festive garlands throughout the office, complete with twinkling lights. One of the strands even pumped out tinny, off key mutilations of Christmas Carols. Or at least it had, until that terribly unfortunate encounter with a pair of extraordinarily sharp scissors and a pissed off marshal. Mary shook her head in disgust at the seasonal decorations. There was even a little tree set up in the kitchen area. Positioned perfectly so that its gold and silver tinsel kept drifting into the coffee pot.
It wasn't that she didn't like Christmas. Well, that wasn't true. It was that she didn't like Christmas. Family togetherness, sappy TV specials, horrible gifts that circled as white elephants for generations…Not to mention the tacky yard ornaments and heinous lighting plans with enough wattage to safely land aircraft.
Suffice to say, this was not her favorite time of the year. Brandi and Jinx became ever more demanding of her time, and witnesses got extra weepy and/or unmanageable depending on their temperament. She and Marshall had been putting out fires all day. Witnesses wanting to return home…trying to return home…asking for contact with their loved ones…and there was that ugly incident with the witness who tried to hop a bus only to get into a fight with the bus driver…
It was late, she was tired, and the bright, cheerful trappings of the office only made her scowl more prominent.
0-0-0-0
Marshall shrugged long arms into the sleeves of his coat as his blue eyes sought his partner. The whole office was a blaze of uncustomary color. Delia had taken on the task of outfitting the workspace with holiday trappings, and for the most part, she had done so rather tastefully. There was the unpleasant strand of lights with the musical properties, but Mary had taken care of that with her usual flair.
Speaking of Mary…
Marshall sighed. All of the color in the office served to emphasize the rather bleak emptiness that surrounded her. She had steadfastly (and sometimes profanely) refused to permit any decorations of any kind within a ten foot radius of her desk. Not that her adamant refusals to enter into the holiday spirit had deterred Delia in any way shape or form, but it did account for the enormous pile of holly, poinsettias, and other Christmassy garlands peeking out of the trash. If she had been allowed her way, she would've stripped the entire office of them, but Stan stepped in. Her desk space was one thing, the entire office was shared.
And now she stood scowling at the brilliant colors and shimmering baubles that surrounded her. The undecorated space encompassing her reminded Marshall of a black hole. Draining light and color out of the rest of the universe without ever actually acquiring it for herself.
"Ready to head home, Ebenezer?"
"And a bah humbug to you too, smartass," Mary snapped, even as she grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
Marshall rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever feel the need to indulge in a little goodwill toward your fellow man? You know…shrug off the cloak of cynicism you habitually gird your loins with and enjoy people? Just to shake things up?"
"Firstly," Mary held up a finger as she strode towards the door, "don't say loins. Secondly, my indulging in goodwill would involve a couple of headshots into some of our witness's thick skulls. Thirdly, no." She pulled open the gate and smiled at him. "And you should be thankful for that, because it saves you so much paperwork." She waited for Marshall as he slid a few papers into his own bag. "There would be the whole lethal force amount of red tape and then you would be faced with the decision of lying to cover my ass or finding me a psych ward somewhere."
Marshall followed her through the gate to the elevators. "You say that like it would be a difficult decision."
Mary began her ritual of beating the elevator button. Marshall had often likened it to the ancients performing a dance to bring about the rain…repetitive, yet futile. She glared at him, as though she knew exactly what he had just been thinking. "So, psych ward?"
"I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me."
"Do me a favor if you go the loony bin route and pick out one that doesn't allow guests, okay? That way Brandi and Jinx can't drop by to borrow money."
The lanky lawman chuckled. "I'll check around."
Elevator doors slid open, allowing the partners access. Marshall noted the way Mary leaned against the wall as they descended. Her scowl was deepening as they descended, green eyes glaring at the walls. He frowned.
Part of him had assumed that the decorations continually strung over and about her desk space by their obnoxiously perky co-worker had been the main source of her bad mood. Another part suspected that the true reason for her ire ran deeper. "Something troubling you?"
"I loathe this time of year."
"Really? You hide your true feelings so well." Marshall got a quick smile from his partner, but noted that it did not quite reach her eyes. "Care to elaborate on why?"
She snorted, indelicately. "Same old story year after year. Biggest freaking con game in history." The elevator doors slid open and she stalked through, her partner beside her. "Everyone is supposed to be filled with feelings of 'goodwill' and 'Christmas spirit', while being suckered into buying expensive, useless gifts for family members. Most of which won't even be appreciated but returned as soon as possible. As for feelings of goodwill and Christmas spirit, apparently the standard holiday stupor does not extend to parking lots." Reaching her car, Mary jerked the door open and tossed her bag into the back.
Marshall leaned against the car frame, watching his partner as she ranted. Her eyebrows were drawn into an ever deepening scowl as she continued to rail against the hypocritical driving practices of the holiday masses. He sensed that this was not the true source of her disdain, but she was not actually trying to hide something from him.
She didn't know why she was so pissed. Something about the holiday was ticking her off, and she was searching for reasons to explain rather than dig out her true feelings.
Marshall crossed his arms over his chest as she kept going. To what she did not wish to see, his partner was deaf and blind. Sometimes it amazed him to watch her. She would pick up on the slightest nuance of a witness' voice; notice if the wording used to describe a relationship sounded rehearsed…and be totally ignorant of a man's intentions when he asked her if they could get together.
Totally miss the point when he told her that she needed someone who would make her think. Call her on her B.S. Someone who was…messy.
"And don't get me started on the whole ugly family together time side of Christmas. Whoever invented a holiday that required people to spend the day crammed into a room with relatives they avoid all the rest of the year should be one of those bastards I share my own particular brand of goodwill with." Mary shook her head and crossed her arms.
"I'll start checking out the behavioral health clinics," he said calmly. "So are you…"
"Heading home to a beer? That's my plan. Just as soon as I clear the street bums off my car." She gave his shoulder a push and smiled.
Marshall smiled back and straightened from his slouched position, gallantly offering her his hand to help her into her vehicle.
"Jackass," she grumbled affectionately, slapping it aside and settling into the driver's seat.
0-0-0-0
Mary was already pulling on her seat belt when a frantic tapping caught her attention. Marshall was rapping his knuckles against the glass of her window, his phone pressed to his ear; face serious.
Oh dear God, why do you hate me so much? If she had to deal with one more stupid, whiny, homesick witness trying to sneak a phone call or a flight out of Albuquerque she was going to stand on the ledge of the office and scream until the men in white coats came to drag her away in a straight jacket. Maybe Marshall would follow through on his promise with the psych ward and she wouldn't have to see family tomorrow after all.
She rolled the window down quickly. "What? What's the problem?"
That grin of his suddenly split her partner's face from ear to ear. "Merry Christmas!" he said cheerfully as he quickly tucked his phone away and turned on his heel. His long legs carried him away from her car before she could come up with a counter shot; leaving her the options of yelling 'dumbass' across the parking lot like a lunatic, running him over as she left, or ignoring him for the moment while secretly plotting to disorganize all of his pens the next time she was in the office.
She went with door number three. Maybe she would unfold all of those stupid origami cranes too. And steal his pillow. A nasty smile curled the corners of her mouth. Maybe she would put his cell phone in jello.
Grumbling under her breath, the blond marshal put her car in reverse and pulled out.
0-0-0-0
Mary pulled into her drive and sat for a moment. With a sigh of frustration, she leaned her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes. Why was she so on edge? Part of it was the whole Christmas mess. She found herself to grow more cynical every year, hardened by con artists ripping people off with crummy Christmas gifts, holiday shoppers nearly shanking one another in a desperate attempt to beat each other out for the best deals, and Olsen twin TV specials. She made a face. What was up with those smarmy crap-tastic things anyway? Add to her already less than sunny outlook a co-worker who apparently couldn't respect personal boundaries (the whole office was her personal space, whatever Stan said to the contrary) and a bitch of a day where witnesses were concerned and she had more than enough reason to boil someone in their own pudding. She was also quite willing to try staking a caroler through the heart with holly. She could be a Christmas vampire slayer. The next Buffy.
Carolers counted as blood sucking demons, right? Maybe not blood sucking. Song sucking. Melody sucking. Sucking the melody out of the song. Just plain sucking. Reason enough for sudden and painful staking with holiday ornamentation.
As attractive a mental picture of chasing down carolers was, it couldn't lighten her mood for long. There was something under her usual layer of irritation with the world in general. Something under the deeper level of Yuletide cynicism.
Whatever it was, it could wait. Ruthlessly pushing the feeling back under the layers it had started to sneak out of Mary caught the handle of her door and shoved it open. She unfolded herself from her car and snagged her bag out of the backseat when a shiver rushed down her spine. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, December wind.
Mary straightened, alert. Her hand moved to rest on her Glock, fingers curling around the handle. Green eyes moved down the street carefully, taking everything in. Nothing was moving. Nothing was stirring. She didn't even feel watched so much as…vaguely creeped out. Like someone had just walked over her grave. Gave her a turn. Note to self; punch Marshall. Using expressions like 'gave me a turn' has to be his influence.
Slowly, she removed her hand from her weapon and shook her head, trying to ease away the feeling of expectation. Mary shot a glance at her door, semi-prepared to see the disembodied head of a former partner taking up residence.
Jacob Marley was dead to begin with. As dead as a doornail… She could've sworn she heard Marshall's voice quoting the Christmas Carol and actually started to reach and pinch him before she remembered that he wasn't there.
Her door remained plain wood.
Mary shook herself in disgust. She was being ridiculous. Of course her door was wood. With slightly more force than necessary, she slammed her car door shut. The very solid, very real crash of the latch comforted her and broke the stillness of the night.
Her breath frosted the air as Mary let it out with a 'whoosh'. A glimmer of a memory tickled at the back of her mind. A little girl holding a pretend cigarette in between two fingers as she blew smoke rings towards the stars. Leaning against a warm presence beside her. Enjoying the frosty stillness of the New Jersey winter night with the man who was her whole world.
A sudden surge of anger broke the memory into glittering shards. What was with her tonight? Why all the mopy dredging up of old memories and feelings? The blond marshal kicked her front wheel to relieve her frustration. She spent the next several seconds hopping on one foot, swearing bitterly at the stabbing pain of her jammed toes. This day sucks.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Mary trudged towards the front door, still wincing.
She jammed her key into the lock and looked up to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the glass windows.
Except it wasn't her reflection.
A little girl with blond hair falling past her shoulders stared back at her, smiling. The same little girl who had stood with her father on Christmas Eve to smoke a pretend cigarette and watch the stars spin on their distant, frozen courses.
Normally, the blond WitSec inspector was the epitome of stoicism. She could face down armed assailants, bandy scathing repartee with hardened criminals and had once shook hands with Chuck without spitting in his eye. (She did manage to bruise his hand though. Pussy.)
Seeing a reflection in her door of her six year old self was a little much.
Mary jumped back with a gasp and a curse, stumbling and landing with a painful 'thump' on her ass. She stared up at the door. From her position on the ground, she could not longer see her reflection, but the image was seared into her mind. Mary shuddered. Was she finally cracking up? Had the stress of the day really pushed her over the edge into Lala Land?
A scowl suddenly drew her eyebrows together into a V over green eyes. If she was going to go crazy she would be damned if she would let them institutionalize her for seeing things that weren't there. She was going to earn her place in the loony bin with a few well placed bullets.
Marshall had better carry through with his promise too.
The blonde inspector pushed herself to her feet, ready to confront whatever she saw.
The reflection was only herself. Clutching the strap of her bag. Her hair a little disheveled by the sudden descent, and her face pale and strained. Mary took a cautious step closer, half expecting to see her face morph into the rounder, smiling expression of her childhood.
Nothing happened.
She must have imagined it.
"Get a grip," she whispered to herself before seizing her keys once more and pushing the door open.
Despite her own insistence that she had conjured the apparition out of the fatigue of her overworked brain, Mary couldn't help glancing around the door as she stepped inside. Nothing there. Of course. Of course there wasn't anything there. There wasn't.
She then proceeded to turn on all the lights in the house and look through all the rooms. Even as she did so, the blond marshal inwardly berated herself. This was ridiculous. What she had seen had to have been the lingering after images of her maudlin reminisces. There was nothing creepy, spooky, supernatural (insane) or otherworldly about it. She was tired, and thinking about herself as a little girl. That's all there was to it.
These were the thoughts that were running through her mind as she pushed open the door of her spare bedroom. Jinx used to sleep here. The room was empty as all the others...except for the envelope sitting on the dresser.
The pink envelope.
Mary stared, green eyes widening. She had been in this room since her mother had left. Helped Jinx move her belongings to the former alcoholic's new apartment; cleaned and changed the bedding. She was absolutely certain that the room had been empty, and even more certain that particular envelope had not been there.
Slowly, she stretched out her hand and lifted it. It had to be a mistake. It couldn't be...
It was.
The first letter she had ever received from her father.
What was it doing here? How did it get here?
Frowning, Mary flicked the lights back off and wandered towards the kitchen. Her father's letter was placed on the counter carefully as the blond marshal dug into the fridge for the beer she had been looking forward to. She'd ask Jinx about the letter later. Maybe her mother had been here when the marshal was at work and had pulled it out. She would have to have another talk with Jinx and Brandi about 'personal boundaries.' Like her house. She really wanted them to stay out of it unless...
Well, unless the four horsemen descended and there wasn't another structure standing.
Even then, she wanted them to knock and ask permission to come in.
Yawning, Mary slouched her way to her bedroom and kicked her boots off and into the closet, closely followed by her jacket. The beer bottle clinked softly as she set it down on her dresser and went to pull her shirt over her head.
She froze, hands wadded into the material of her sweater, green eyes fixed on her dresser top.
Sitting beside her beer bottle was a pink envelope.
She was imagining things. She had to be.
Mary slowly released her top and reached out a hand that wasn't quite steady. No, it was her father's letter all right. How on earth...? She must have accidentally picked it up and carried it back into the bedroom without realizing it. She tapped the letter against her fingertips absently as she backed up to her bed and sat down.
The paper came out and unfolded easily. The letter was worn and floppy from being read and reread over many years. Her long fingers held it delicately; carefully. Green eyes scanned the lines that she knew by heart. Anymore, her comfort came from seeing the shape of the letters. Knowing that her father had thought of her in the last few minutes that he was in her life and had taken a pen to inscribe a message to her. Just to her. His writing was fluid and neat; easily read by a young girl. He made his l's and g's the same way she did.
Mary, sweetheart...
He was the last man alive to call her sweetheart.
Please take care of your mother, and your precious, baby sister. They'll need your strength to make it through the difficult times ahead.
Kind of a lot to lay on an almost seven year old. But of all the things she had clung to over the years, that plea had been the most insistent. Take care of Brandi and Jinx. And she had. Against all reason, she had taken care of her family to the best of her meager abilities as a young child, and then continued to do so as she grew ever deeper into the role of their protector.
Know that you are so special.
Really?
I love you more than anything else in this world.
Really? Mary bit her lip. Fighting the sudden prick of hot tears. Then where are you, Daddy?
Stay sweet, and warm and kind and funny. And do great things.
Sweet and warm and kind and funny. Now there was a group of adjectives not used to describe her in...years. Years and years. When had that changed? Mary closed her eyes and sighed, the letter lying limply in her hands. She had started to change right then.
Saddled with the responsibility that no seven year old should have, she had changed. Yes, she had taken care of her mother and sister. Yes, she would even say she had done great things. Notable things, at the very least.
Sweet? Warm? Kind?
No. She had not remained any of those things. Funny, maybe.
The little girl that had read this letter almost thirty years ago was gone. Dead. All that was left was a memory of her.
Mary opened her eyes and gazed into the oval mirror that stood by her dresser. She half expected to see her younger self reflected there, but of course she didn't.
She saw a woman coming up on middle age who was tougher than nails. Her eyes were hard and cold; mouth set in an unbending line. There were small lines beginning to form around the corners of her eyes, but they weren't laugh lines. There might be traces of that little girl still there, but Mary did not want to search for them. She was who she was.
Standing abruptly, she quickly folded the letter back into its envelope. Stupid holiday. Making her all sappy.
She wasn't sweet and kind and warm. She was hard, bitter and acerbic. Scathing. Sarcastic. She was still taking care of her family...but they didn't need her as much anymore. Jinx had sobered up. Brandi had Peter.
What did Mary have?
A box of old letters, a career, and enough bad attitude to keep any number of adolescents on their parents' last nerves.
She tapped the envelope against her fingers again. Thinking. Was that what she wanted in her life? Ten years from now? Twenty years from now?
Giving herself a shake, Mary snorted in disgust. This was ridiculous. "Bah," she snapped. She almost said 'humbug', but decided that it was just too...Marshall. She didn't need to change. Her life might not be the happy festival that some people enjoyed, but it was hers. So what if she was alone? People were scum. They annoyed her constantly. So what if she drove humanity away with the biting edge of her words? Everything she said was almost undoubtedly deserved.
If she had any regrets about the amount of time she poured into her career, she ruthlessly suppressed them. Her job was important.
With quick strides, Mary stalked to her closet and swung the door open. She reached up, snagging her box of letters off the shelf. As she pulled the box forward with a jerk, another box slid forward.
Mary tried to catch it, lost her grip on the first, and ended up getting smacked in the face with one and not catching either. The boxes fell to the floor, their contents bursting forth and littering the ground.
The blond inspector groaned. This day just got better and better.
Her old letters mingled with pictures. The other box must have been full of them. Crouching, Mary began to scoop them up. She wasn't taking the time to look at them, just stuffing them haphazardly back into their container.
A clock in her house chimed softly, once.
Mary's eyebrows drew together. One o'clock? Couldn't possibly be that late. Stupid clock must be broken...
She turned her attention back to the pictures.
Her hands stilled.
Pictures of a little girl spilled across the floor. Most of them included the smiling face of a handsome man. Mary slowly picked up one of the photos.
Time had faded the colors, but she could still see the little flowers embroidered on the light green dress the little girl was wearing. James Wiley Shannon held her in his arms, pointing toward the camera, trying to get her to turn her face into the flash. But the child of years ago wasn't interested in getting her picture taken. Her eyes were on her father. A smile split her face from ear to ear.
Mary swallowed hard. She sank into a sitting position on the ground, staring at the photo. How old had she been when this was taken? Three? Maybe four. It had been Christmas time then too. She could see the tree behind her father.
The inspector reached out and scooped pictures into her lap. Curling her legs under her, Mary looked back into the shadows of her past.
First chapter is done! Woohoo! Please let me know what you think! I may have mentioned once or twice in previous stories how much I love reviews, and I am pleased to report that I remain completely consistent. I LOVE reviews. :)
This story may take a little longer getting out than the last one, so to be safe I'm going to try posting once a week, on Fri. If I get the chapter done earlier, I will definitely post earlier. See you next week!