Title: The keeper's keeper
Author: SciFIDVM
Fandom: In Plain Sight
Pairings: Mary/Marshall
Rating: PG 13 for the usual language
Summary: "This was no surprise to him, for he saw this coming the moment, years ago, when the younger agent asked him to 'snap her up'."
Author's note: I have been avoiding writing any fic lately, as I was afraid that the difference in style between this and my "work writing" might cause the latter to suffer. Turns out that channeling Marshall actually improves my scientific writing. Go figure. Updates may be a bit slow for the next week or two - big work deadlines. But after Halloween it's smooth sailing.
Stan McQueen could finally rock back in his chair and relax. The new witnesses were settled, and all his agents had returned safely. He had been rather concerned for marshal Marshall, after being stuck with that FTF agent for the transfer. The poor kid's name still made the corners of his mouth peak slightly, but he was a good agent. It was a shame that the young man's enthusiasm and personality made him seem more green than he was, both by experience and pedigree. Finding him a new partner had been difficult since Kowalski retired the end of last month. Most agents seemed to interpret his sensitivity as a weakness, and preferred to partner up with other more alpha types. They didn't realize what an asset that sensitivity could be with frightened or traumatized witnesses, and were surprised at how good his stats usually were. Marshall was probably the cleverest guy on the team, but his submissive personality tended to let that fact be overshadowed. There had been occasional flickers of appropriately channeled aggression when the right stimulus was present, but generally, the lanky figure seemed about as threatening as a doily. Stan knew he needed to find the kid another partner, but finding somebody that could compliment his particular skill set was proving more difficult than he thought. What kind of guy is going to have a personality that tolerates his level of sensitivity, recognizes its utility, yet has the cajones to kick ass enough for the both of them, or the ability to bring out the kick ass in marshal Marshall?
Stan was snapped out of attempting to picture what such a man would look like by an abrupt "hrmph" and shuffling of paperwork from the blonde agent temporarily borrowed from the fugitive task force. He noticed Marshall give her a look, attempting to impart patience via telepathy. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he just sighed. A few moments later, both agents stood up from their desks. Marshall looked at Stan and gestured to the corner of the office, indicating that he wanted to speak privately. The blonde started to pace anxiously. Stan had spoken to her unit commander after she had been assigned to assist Marshall in the relocation of Henry and Claudia. He always wanted to know what kinds of situations his agents were being put in. Based on the reports of her superior and Marshall's initial complaints over the phone, he had his doubts as to whether or not Mann would survive the encounter. When a task force supervisor chooses to focus more on the disciplinary and interpersonal problems of a marshal than the fact that said marshal has the highest collar rate of anyone in the tri-state area, you have to take the concerns seriously. Mary Shannon was the definition of an administrative nightmare. When the call ended with, "you wouldn't happen to want to take her off our hands, would ya?" he had instantly regretted putting one of his agents in such a position. Marshall looked around the room and cleared his throat. Stan steeled himself for what would undoubtedly be a very well thought out and verbose diatribe on the permanent damage the younger agent had suffered from being paired with the volatile ball-buster.
"Marshall, I know what you're about to say, and I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do, but it's over now. She'll be on a plane back to Jersey by morning, and I promise that you'll never have to work with her again."
"See Stan, that's the thing…"
Maybe he didn't know where this was going. Because there is no way this conversation is about to take the kind of turn that that statement usually indicates. The topic of conversation was now circling the room, trying very hard to make it seem like she was paying attention to anything but their conversation.
"I know it sounds crazy, but it worked."
"You mean you barely got the witnesses here without any friendly fire incidents. Yeah, you got the job done."
"No. Her, as a Wit Sec inspector. Us, working together. It worked"
"You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little confused here. I thought you just said that you enjoyed working with the agent that Jersey has been trying to pawn off on any other department for the last six months."
"Stan, I'm telling you, snap her up."
"Is this some kind of Stockholm Syndrome?"
"I need a new partner. She'll be my responsibility. You won't regret it."
"Did she say this is what she wants?"
"Not in so many words, but the topic was breached and I believe that she is amenable to it."
"I'll make some calls." What had he just gotten himself into?
At that, she looked over at them. Marshall smiled genuinely and shot her a thumbs-up.
She gave an overly saccharine smile and thumbs up, which then quickly became a scowl and a different hand gesture that involved only a single finger.
He shot her a whimsical smile and pointed, as if to say "oh you silly goose".
She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance, turned away, and sat back down at her desk with the remaining paperwork.
From where he was standing, Stan could just barely make out the soft smile that played across her face, hidden almost entirely by a wall of loose blond hair. He figured that no one was supposed to actually see that smile, and made no outward comment. Marshall, on the other hand, remained rooted to the same spot, with a giant goofy grin plastered across his face. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy of their very own. Stan realized that he would likely never know what had happened between the two agents during the relocation to alter their dynamics so drastically. "Inspector, don't you have work to do?" He asked. Marshal scrambled back to his desk and quickly busied himself, intermittently looking up to steal an excited glance at his new partner. Stan noticed the glances and wondered if his inspector could have a bit of a crush on the new addition. Mary Shannon was not the type of woman to tolerate a crush. If present, it would likely prove to be self-limiting rather quickly.
To say that Stan questioned his decision to accept marshal Shannon's transfer during her first week in Albuquerque is like saying that the surface of the sun is a bit warm. She was like a wrecking ball inside a tornado, pushed on by a hurricane. She snapped at everyone, accepted help from no one. The first order of business had been rearranging the desks. No permission was sought and no other agents consulted. Marshall silently played along, and they eventually settled on a configuration that pleased them both. The new seating arrangement did little to improve her mood. Everything in the office, from stale coffee, to a paper jam in the copier, to the dwindling supply of staples was a personal affront and worthy of a series of profane expletives that would make a sailor blush. An intern made the mistake of bringing her a diet soda instead of the regular she had demanded, and he ended up wearing it. Her new partner sat by quietly, taking it all in. Marshall had not escaped the rants either. His life, limbs, and genitals had been threatened in ways Stan had never previously even contemplated, should one more trivial fact escape his mouth. Stan had no idea what it was like seeing witnesses with her outside the building, but he had a hard time imagining that her personality altered much due to location. He just felt fortunate that no witnesses had complained yet. It was a wonder that Marshall hadn't come to him regretting his previous request. It was bound to happen soon. Stan could not imagine a personality type more wrong for a partnership with Marshall Mann than this Mary Shannon.
It was her eighth day in Albuquerque and she was in as foul a mood that morning as Stan had ever seen. She was in the middle of a tirade, screaming and hand gesturing wildly at a visiting agent that had just deposited a new witness in the conference room. Everything from his competence to his parentage seemed to be in question. Marshall approached her quietly from behind with a freshly poured cup of coffee. He had to exert some effort to not end up smacked by her wild gesticulations, but simply stood slightly behind her and off to the side. He never interrupted her, and it seemed like she was unaware of his presence. Then in a beautifully choreographed move, he extended the mug of warm caffeine just as a violent hand gesture brought her left hand into its proximity. Without looking, she instinctively sensed its presence and took the cup without a word or sign of acknowledgement. There was a brief pause in her insults as she stopped to drink. The coffee was obviously prepared to her liking, because she finished the entire mug.
"You can go now." She shot a look at the visitor. "Unless there's another witness here you would like to try to get killed." The statement followed him out the door. She grumbled "Jesus" under her breath and gave her partner an exasperated look before leading him into the conference room.
Marshall had just read the situation and appropriately diffused her. While no gratitude was expressed, she didn't bite his head off either. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear those two are actually partners." Stan remarked quietly, to no one in particular.