Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

A/N: The reset button has been pushed. Mary has no knowledge of events of the previous Miraculous Mary story when she met Marshall.

Miraculous Mary: Trojan Horse

MARY POV

Marion Galecky, my newest witness, spotted her high school sweetheart at the movies. They hadn't parted on the best of terms when he trashed her parents car as his gang initiation. She wasn't sure he saw her, but I had to check it out. The leader of an affiliated gang was on trial for murder next week and the other witness had refused protection and 'disappeared.' If there was a connection between her former sweetheart and Fetworth, her number could be up. I had to get her to a safe house while I arranged her transfer. When Marshall overheard the call, he didn't ask, he told me he was coming along.

At Marion's apartment Marshall took the stairs checking the other access point. Marion had been waiting for me and opened her door as soon as I identified myself. I checked each room. Then I parked myself and Marion in the bathroom, gun drawn, waiting for Marshall. After five minutes I told Marion to lock the door and lie down in the tub.

I run down the hall open the stairwell door and see Marshall lying on the landing below. His jacket is open, his legs bent at an unnatural angle and there's red spot growing on his shirt. No, no, no. The stairwell is quiet except for his labored breathing. I kneel down and put pressure on the wound with one hand grabbing my phone with the other. "Officer down, officer down," I shout adding the address.

"Dammit Marshall. You shouldn't have come." I drop the phone and use both hands but his blood keeps spurting between my fingers. "Marshall!" I yell. His eyes are closed. "C'mon partner, open those baby blues. Tell me what to do."

I take off one of my tank tops to sop up the blood. "You're just doing this to make me strip, right Stringbean?" His eyes flick open. "I promise to take the other one off if you keep you're eyes open." He groans. "You've got to hang on Marshall. The ambulance is on the way." His eyes close and his head lolls to the side. I grab his face, putting red hand prints on his cheeks. Staring into his eyes I force him to look at me. "You promised. You can't leave. Not now."

"Mare," he bleats. His eyes stare straight ahead unseeing.

"No," I wail and pound his broken chest. "No. You can't die!" I frantically start rescue breathing, my lips on his for the first time. "I need you Marshall. Dammit your partner needs you!" My miraculous medal hangs in his face. God, I could use a miracle about now, I can't feel his breath. His pulse is slowing. I tilt my head back and wail. "Nooooo!"

I haven't prayed in decades, but I do now. "Dear God, help him hang on." I plead. "He doesn't deserve this. Mother Mary, don't let him die! He's got so much more good to do!" I start reciting the Hail Mary between exhalations.

I decided praying was a waste of time when Jinx drank herself into oblivion and Brandi and I went hungry. Maybe we didn't deserve divine intervention. Sister Cecelia said God always answers our prayers and sometimes the answer is no. I can't accept that. Not this time. Not for Marshall. He deserves to live. Please God, please Holy Mother. Let him live.

I close my eyes trying to contain my tears but a bright light penetrates my eyelids. WTF? My eyes are open but I don't see a thing. No sound, no paramedics. The light softens and a woman appears. She's wearing a white robe with a blue cloak covering her hair fluttering in the wind. A wind I don't feel. I saw her every morning when Sister Cecelia took us to mass the year Jinx sent us to Catholic school.

I bend my head checking on Marshall and grab my miraculous medal desperate to keep him alive. Holding the medal between my hands I pray. "Blessed Mother, please let my friend live. Marshall is a good man. He deserves to live. Please, please save him."

A moment of deep silence enfolds us. "Daughter named for me." Her words reverberate through my body. "You can change his fate if you follow your heart."

Follow my heart? What the heck does that mean? Has hypoxia settled in? Suddenly the light dims and the woman is gone.

I check my hands for blood. They're clean and Marshall is nowhere to be seen and I'm not kneeling I'm standing. I'm in our office before the furniture upgrade. I'm walking toward Marshall's desk when I see a letter protruding from his stack of files.

The letterhead is Peterson Security's. This has to be their job offer. This means we will soon be transporting Horst Vanderhoff, the diabetic pasty accountant type who is a contract killer. Talk about casting against type! Which is why no one suspected that weasel of running a hit squad. Marshall almost died that time. How in the hell do I keep him safe? Can I get Stan to assign someone else for this witness transport?

In Stan's office I whine, "Stan, if I have to be in the same truck with that origami mambo dancing geek I'll shoot him." Stan glares at me. "At least let me gag him. I can't take hours and hours of verbal diarrhea."

"Mary, you are lucky to have him as your partner." I know that Stan that's why I'm trying to save his life. "He puts up with your crap, you can put up with his. It's what partners do. Got it?"

"Yeah Stan," I grumble. It's Stan who doesn't get it. He doesn't know Marshall will be shot during this gig. This time he could die. I leave Stan's office determined to keep my partner safe. He's not going to die. Not on my watch dammit. I have to get that glucose monitor.

We're at the prison taking custody and I insist Horst do a blood test. As soon as he's finished I grab the glucometer. "Ooops!" It clatters to the floor. My back is to them when I pick it up and twist it open. Sure enough, there's the GPS chip. I pry it out and close it.

"Give it back. That's my personal property. You can't take that!" Horst hollers.

He's a little guy with his hands chained to his waist. I hold the device over his head before dropping it into his dopp kit. I've palmed the chip but where in the hell can I stick it?

"Marshall, you got any gum? My mouth feels like the bottom of a bird cage." I haven't mentioned the Peterson letter so we are focused on the prisoner. No distracting bickering this time.

"Uh yeah. Here." He offers me a stick which I take without a thank you. Once Horst is in the car, Marshall heads for the driver's seat. I take my time pretending to check the area. I'm looking for a car that will be on the move soon. Aha. A UPS van. I get close and reach down and pretend to check my hold out. I stick the tracking device in the gum, sticking the gum under the back step.

How do I protect Marshall? I know last time the gang put acid on a hose when we stopped so Horst could pee. Hmm. Maybe this time I can convince Marshall to make him go by the side of the road? Even without the tracking device there aren't many roads through this stretch of desert. His gang could still find us.

I'm hyperalert and silent as Marshall drives. Right on cue, Horst whines about needing a bathroom, and Marshall reminds me that the regulations allow bathroom breaks, and that the desert has plenty of natural dangers. He stays with Horst and this time I stay in the car, making sure no one approaches it. There aren't many rest stops on this route so there are a lot of vehicles, a lot of people coming and going. I check the mirrors and don't see anyone. Maybe we'll make it this time.

We're a few miles from the rest stop when the car stalls. What the hell? No one touched the car. Check that. No one touched the front of the car. I'm an idiot! The back window is so high someone could have come around the back. The car coasts to a stop and I hop out. I'm bent down, checking under the bumper when I hear a car coming. Damn. There's something in the exhaust pipe. I reach in to pull it out but it's hot. I fumble for my gloves, and find a stick to get it out.

What the hell is this? A piece of potato? WTF? I stand and start walking to the open passenger door when I feel a hot poker in my back. Shit! I've been shot. Marshall got the car running. I manage to flop onto the passenger seat and Marshall frantically hauls me in by my belt. His face is grim. I flop against the dash thrown by the acceleration that closes the passenger door.

"Sorry Mare. Hang on, you've got to hang on."

Is it night already? Everything is black. Crap! How can I protect Marshall if I'm dead?

THE END

A/N: The second half of this story reboots season 1 episode 4, Trojan Horst. A new Miraculous Mary story will be posted next Saturday. Thanks for the review Meg!