Disclaimer: I own nothing and no infringement is intended. We're just having fun!

A/N: Huge thank you to Bujyo, as always, for listening, cheerleading and/or needling. I know I can count on you to provide whatever I need when I need it. ;) And to RJ Lupin's Kat, who challenged me to take that next step. I can't thank you enough for the advice and stellar proof reading.


Survival skills:

techniques a person may use in a dangerous situation (e.g. natural disasters) to save themselves or to save others (also see bushcraft.) Generally speaking, these techniques are meant to provide the basic necessities for human life: water, food, shelter, habitat, and the need to think straight, to signal for help, to navigate safely, to avoid unpleasant interactions with animals and plants, and for first aid. In addition, survival skills are often basic ideas and abilities that ancient humans had to use for thousands of years, so these skills are partially a reenactment of history. (Wikipedia)


"…set?" Marshall dully inquired.

"Yes, damn it, I'm not five," Mary barked back.

Marshall didn't look at her… didn't have to. The slight shake of his head as he went about readjusting his boot straps spoke volumes. She was acting childish. And the failure to meet her gaze confirmed his unwillingness to make allowances for the immaturity.

God, his non-answers piss me off even more than his never ending ones. Why the hell is that?

For the past month, they'd been working under the pretense that all was well. Laughable, really, except that it was far from funny. No conversation between them beyond work. The banter, the trivia, the jokes…gone. Mary had long surpassed her breaking point, emotions raw and exposed. Part of her wanted to kick and scream and shoot something until there was nothing left.

That part was staging a coup.

"We've been doing this idiotic trip for seven freakin' years; I think I know the drill by now," she said, voicing annoyance instead of the truth. Their survival weekends had always been one of the highlights of the year. Information her partner didn't need to know.

"Riiight," Marshall crooned condescendingly, "like the no guns or cell phones rule." As he straightened his tall frame, the tension was evident and his irritation unmistakable. "Oh, I forgot," he added bitterly, "the rules don't apply to Mary Shannon."

The tone of the remark caught Mary off guard, kicking defense systems into overdrive.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

All this time she hadn't gotten away with anything. Marshall knew. About the phone, her back-up weapon…everything; yet never said a word. The significance of this was lost on Mary. Instead, feeling the fool, anger won out.

"You want to pat me down?" she challenged, tongue laced with venom as she flung her arms out to the side to give Marshall access.

His eyes shot to hers and there was a flash of warning behind the darkening blue orbs. Taking a step closer, she squared off against him. Controlled breaths grazed her cheek. The reaction in her belly ignored as she lashed out.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" she said callously. It was a cheap shot; one she regretted. But even as she cursed herself for it, Mary showed no signs of remorse.

XX

Marshall's hands balled into fists at his sides. Eyes shutting, he inhaled deeply. Even when aware they were about to come to blows, Mary always managed to hit below the belt. He wrenched his neck and exhaled before speaking.

"Is that your way of saying I can't trust you?" It was a calm and calculated question, posed to fluster her.

It worked.

She took a half step back and looked at him, stupefied.

"What?" he asked as if having been accused of swiping the last donut over morning coffee. The nonchalance of his tone had a single purpose…to irritate the hell out of Mary.

"Eight years of partnership and…" Marshall watched as she caught the words before they could escape. Stance widened; fists clenched on hips. Green eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. "Are you seriously questioning my loyalty?"

"No, Mary, I'm not," stated without hesitation. Curiosity piqued, he briefly pondered what had been left unsaid; a similar unfinished thought rattling around his own mind. Shaking it off, attention was redirected back to the question at hand. "Should I be?"

As the words registered, so did the hurt on her face and Mary turned to leave. One, two, three steps…she stopped.

Marshall prepared himself for the onslaught.

"On second thought, let's talk about trust, Mr. Peterson Security." Turning back, Mary eyed him like prey as their gazes met once more. "That's right. It's not exactly like you're the poster boy for honesty, are you?"

He knew they should walk away before anything else was said. Things that were meant to hurt for the sake of hurting. But…it was already too late. The gauntlet had been thrown. The gloves were off. There was no going back.

"I'm not the one that tried to salvage my sham of an engagement by disclosing confidential information about my job to my fiancé without a single thought about what it meant for my partner." Marshall couldn't help but smirk. Too much had been brushed aside or locked away for far too long.

I'll be damned if I'm going to roll over this time.

"No, you just nail the office accountant and send her running back to Phoenix."

A deer caught in headlights.

He hated the smug look of satisfaction on his partner's face. Of course, it had been foolish to think that Mary wouldn't find out about his office indiscretion.

Had she bothered with the details? Did she know it was one drunken night? Specifically, the night after she'd taken off to Mexico with Faber. Two days after she'd left me standing alone in front of her desk with my heart on my sleeve.

"Didn't think I knew about that, did ya?" she questioned. Not able to leave it alone, Mary continued to add insult to injury. "Just how fast did Theresa high tail it out of Dodge?"

Breathe.

He took a moment, his eyes never leaving hers.

Obviously, Mary was unaware or…had simply chosen to ignore the facts. He had parted with Theresa on good terms. It had been a night of comfort, neither looking for a future. Marshall was in love with Mary and Theresa deciding to give the ex-boyfriend another chance.

"If memory serves," Marshall responded coldly, "she's not the one who ran."

The thought was left to ruminate as an oppressive silence settled between them. Marshall counted the seconds that ticked by before making a crass and calculated query.

"Still screwing Faber six ways to Sunday?"

"Fuck you."

Mary stormed off toward the trailhead. A hand reached up and wiped away tears she would never admit to as she tried to put as much distance between them as possible.

"Damn it," Marshall cursed under his breath. Kicking at the dirt, he watched Mary walk away from him for the second time in less than two months. Of course, based on his last acrimonious remark, who could blame her?

The pettiness and cruelty had become an all too familiar…and disturbing…pattern. It was a cycle that needed to be broken. His gut screamed at him not to let her go. Not to let her walk away this time.

"Mary!"

"Better get moving, asshole," she called back over her shoulder, refusing to stop. "I won't wait forever at the Pass."

Marshall stared after her, struggling with the urge to follow until she disappeared from sight.

Grabbing his canteens, he headed off in the opposite direction. He hoped the fresh air and exertion would pacify the demons. Allow them to talk things out when they met again. If not, he doubted even his ability to find an olive branch large enough to satisfy the likes of Mary Shannon in her current state.


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