the start of something
a/n: based on the idea that they've been partners for 3 years, and Mary's first witness was from 5 years ago...meaning she was there first. ;)
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She wasn't sad to see him go, not at all. Two years with the asshole was more than enough time to willing devote to tolerating his fat, slacking ass. His "experience," if it could be called that, was supposed to help acclimate her to the program – in their words, he was her handler for the first few months – but any moron could figure out computer systems and paperwork, his two key contributions to the office. Oh, no, need to track down a witness? He was busy. Want some back-up on a transfer? Not his job. Hell if she could get him to do any physical work.
God, she'd shoot herself before letting a looming retirement allow her to become a freeloader.
Then again, his retirement wasn't looming so much as imminent – it was Stan, Chief Inspector, who did most of the teaching, field work, all that supplemental stuff. After gaining a promotion from fugitive recovery, Mary Shannon went through the rigorous eight month training required of all WITSEC agents, learning from the best of the best how to protect a person at all costs. Beforehand she'd been pretty confidant that it'd be a cakewalk but she soon learned it took another level of devotion, both mental and physical.
Okay, so maybe she was being too hard on the guy. Sure, Doug Hoptel was a bit lethargic when it came to doing anything, but he did have an impressive record when it came to securing witnesses.
He was just so dry.
But sending someone off with a bit of fanfare seemed the polite thing to do, and as she was no authority on what was normally expected of someone when it came to these sorts of situations, she left it to Stan to plan things out. She'd smile and talk about how much she was going to miss him, probably fighting a gag-reflex the entire time, and then go do her job.
Her to-do list was growing already when she got into the office; a few witnesses had come in recently and needed extra hand-holding – an unavoidable fact of the job– and she had to get her car back before Jinx left for some nighttime cocktails.
All of this on her mind, she swiped her card, entered the office, and dropped her leather jacket into her chair. Coffee in one hand, she picked up some message slips from her desk and started reading through them. Maybe if she got out of there real fast, she wouldn't have to deal with any of this transition shit.
"Hey, look who decided to come in today," Stan said, cheerfully.
Shit, this was exactly what she wanted to avoid. Stan was coming out of his office, Doug in tow. A glance at his desk showed boxed belongings and left essentials – computer, pens, some file organizers. Generic and ready to be filled.
Oh crap. She suppresses a groan. All these weeks, knowing Doug was leaving, knowing the office needed two inspectors. Maybe she'd been in denial, but the thought of having another person to deal with, to learn to avoid, oh God, it was going to be exhausting.
She turned and put on a smile. "Good morning, Stan. How's it going?"
"Doug just came in to grab his stuff and say goodbye, why don't you come see him off?"
"Oh, Stan, you know, I'd just love to, but I've got a lot of work to do, and this witness really needs some TLC. You know how it is, new city, no friends, left the old life behind and everything." Mary put the messages down and moved to gather up her coat.
"And you're very good at that, Mary, I know, I know," Stan continued. "We all appreciate that around here. C'mon. Say goodbye, meet your new partner -- "
"They're here, now?" Mary interrupted, coat still clutched in her hand.
"I knew that'd get you."
When she looked up, face sporting a less-than-thrilled expression, she noticed that Doug wasn't the only other person in the office.
Double shit.
Putting on a charming smile, she looked over Stan's shoulder at the newcomer. Tall, thin, and cocky, by the way he was looking at her.
"What are you looking at?" she snarked, swaying past Stan to stand in front of Doug's replacement, hands on her hips.
"Nothing, nothing," he replied. The smirk widened and he looked down at her – nice blue eyes, if she was looking, which she wasn't.
"Listen, numb-nuts, let's get one thing straight. I am not some woman you can just push around. I don't get coffee, don't take calls, and I don't help you out. We're equals. Okay?"
"Sure. No problem."
His tone was so casual, so blasé, that it made her want to smack him just for his reaction. Most people either shied away or responded with the same level of venom, often going for the idiotic overreaction. Those she was used to. It set the tone for the relationship – either she'd be on top or nowhere in sight. But this guy, this blue-eyed monster with rodeo attire, brushed her off like she'd said some sort of pleasantry and he was happy to be there.
"Don't worry," Doug spoke up, suddenly beside them. "She's like that with everyone."
"Oh, I'm sure." And that smirk was still in place. He held out a hand, suddenly down to business. "Marshall Mann, at your service."
"Don't patronize me," Mary shot back.
The smirk changed to a true innocent look, raised eyebrows, then a chuckle. "My parents were funny people, you know. I must have gotten my sense of humor from them."
"Marshall here's been with WITSEC up in Reno," Stan broke in. That certainly explained the odd line-dancing outfit, as well as – Jesus, she felt like an ass.
"You're a Marshal named Marshall," she deadpanned.
"Alright," he groaned, rolling his eyes, "get it out of your system."
"Seriously? That's ironic."
"Not exactly. More," he paused, searching for the right word, "like a practical joke. My family's been in the Marshal Service for a long time; my ending up here was inevitable."
"Ouch," Mary winced sympathetically.
"Exactly."
"Mary Shannon," she decided, now holding out her hand. He grasped it, unsurprised by her firm shake, and smiled. She returned it.
And for the first time that day, she wasn't faking.