Marshall Mann was agitated in spirit. Uneasiness swirled through the cacophony of his thoughts. Details of his prisoner transfer and the paperwork remaining to be filed intermixed with doubt and concern over Mary and her possible interactions with that crap weasel Faber. Marshall leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for the ping to go off on his microwave, indicating his evening sustenance was ready for consumption. His head tilted back, eyes closed as he slowly sorted through his emotions.
Mike Faber. The very name made his gut tighten up. He was very afraid for Mary, afraid she would get hurt. Mary couldn't take any emotional trauma right now. Marshall understood that. Faber didn't.
He'd had a good feeling upon entering the office earlier today. Marshall would have laid down money that Mary had evaded the dubious charms of Faber and emerged from their week together unscathed. Now doubt was creeping into the steel trap of his mind. He knew her, knew what drove her, what motivated her, what distressed her. He knew her methods of comforting herself. And he hadn't been here to stretch out a steadying hand, to make her stop and consider what she was doing.
Marshall had spent years restraining himself from commenting on or trying to influence Mary's sex life. Each new man just widened the wound in his heart. Raph had left a gaping great hole, in fact had him almost gasping from the pain. He was just starting to place the stitches to close that baseball shaped wound when Faber arrived on the scene for a second time. He allowed a moment of self-pity. It wasn't fair. He finally saw his chance, but because he was the man he was, Marshall knew he had to give Mary time to heal, time to stand on her own two feet emotionally, before considering dating again. And while Marshall was being the sensitive, upright man he was born to be, that crap weasel swooped in and was trying to steal his girl.
And she was his. 'Mine', he thought savagely. Marshall had never been a possessive man. But Mary... He sighed. He had so gradually been branding her as his over the years that neither of them were fully cognizant of how deep his mark on her went into her soul. His branding iron was his unending support, manifested in each light touch, each helping hand, each set of paperwork completed on her behalf, each win he allowed her at rock, paper, scissors, each time he asked her 'tell me what you need'. Every gesture forging a deeper emotional bond.
And that jackass was trying to steal her, to steal his Mary.
The microwave pinged and Marshall leaned over to open the door. He carefully pulled out the steaming plate and setting it on the kitchen table, turned to retrieve a glass from the cupboard. His doorbell rang as he filled his glass with water. He stilled a moment, a frown crossing his face. Setting his drink down next to his meal, he made his way down the hall and opened the door.
The object of his dour contemplation stood in front of him, sporting a friendly smile and a bottle of wine. Marshall didn't even try to hide the surprise followed by displeasure that he felt.
"Inspector," Faber nodded to him. "Do you have a minute?" Marshall stared at him, trying to decipher his motives, then finally stood aside and waved him in. At least if the guy was here, he wouldn't be with Mary.
"Brought you a bottle of wine. Mary quite liked this one." The FBI agent faltered slightly at the scowl that crossed Marshall's face. Sighing, Faber placed the bottle on the coffee table and dropped down onto the couch. Marshall remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest.
"How did you know where I live?" The question was curt. Marshall could project ice when properly motivated and right now, a glacier was emanating from him.
Faber relaxed back into the sofa and spread his arms across the tops of the cushions. "I'm an FBI agent Inspector. I can find things out."
"Misuse of government resources then?" The look Marshall gave him was a challenging one. Faber smiled. The lanky marshal standing so stiffly in front of him was obviously jealous, jealous of the fact that Mike Faber had made more headway with Mary Shannon in a few days time than he had in how many years together?
"Look, since you two seem to be a bit of a package deal, I just wanted to tell you a few things. Observations. " Marshall stony gaze didn't falter. Faber shrugged and continued.
"This afternoon at the office after you returned, I noticed some...behaviors. For starters, the two of you have whole conversations without saying a word. You had one when you came in today, just by sharing a look. We both know the content of that conversation so no need to repeat it." Faber paused and cast a speculative eye around the living room, taking in the full bookshelves, the chess board set up on the coffee table, the framed photo of Marshall and Mary hung where it was in the direct line of sight from the sofa. He settled his gaze back on Marshall.
"Mary touches you. Voluntarily. I haven't seen her touch anyone else. Certainly not me," he paused, "not yet anyway. But today, when you dropped your bag by your desk, Mary walked over and asked you about the transfer. You gave a brief summary and then there was some kind of moment between you. You handed her some money and she said something about not getting shot. As she turned to go, she reached over, and grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze. She allows you little courtesies, like, ah," he thought a moment. "she lets you open the car door for her. I tried to do that and she about took my head off."
Marshall was staring at him like he had a third head. Faber plowed on. "As I said earlier, you are her one man entourage. Where she goes, there you are. Always looking out for her, keeping her safe."
"I'm her partner. It's my job to be where she is, to keep her safe." Marshall ground the words out, his hands flexing, itching to give the smiling bastard a good right hook to the jaw.
Faber pursed his lips as he nodded his head. "Yes, yes of course it is and you do," he paused, "except for when she got shot."
Marshall saw red and had to take a step back, forced himself to breathe deeply. He had a feeling Mary might be mad if he killed this guy with his bare hands. Did she tell him he failed her? How did this arrogant asshole even know about her shooting? He focused on the vibrant blue of the agent's tie, so he would not have to look at his smug face.
"Why are you here?" Pleasantries are over Marshall thought. Time to cut to the chase.
"Told you, I wanted to share some observations. Plus, I like to know about my competition. Whatever you two have going on, and believe me, I have no idea what that may or may not be, there is some kind of emotional connection between you. She trusts you and I have come to understand just how big of a thing that is. I spent a lot of time with her this week. She is a phenomenal woman. And I am going to pursue her. You do whatever you want. And I know, blah, blah she just broke up with someone, blah, blah. I don't care. Life is short and I'm going to pursue her."
Marshall struggled to maintain some sense of decorum. He really wanted to howl, to rail at the powers that be, to wipe the smug smirk of Faber's face. The man had no care for Mary's emotional state. He just wanted to get into her pants.
Faber stood up and contemplated the photo of the two partners once again. Marshall's arm was resting lightly on Mary's shoulders and she was leaning against him. It looked like it was taken outside a restaurant, an adobe structure was in the background, twinkling lights around the door. They were both grinning. Faber turned and looked Marshall in the eye.
"Stop protecting her. She's a big girl. And if you are interested in her, do something about it. But know this, I am not going to back off just because it would suit you."
Agent and marshal eyed each other, measuring, assessing, judging. It wasn't often that Marshal didn't have a height advantage over someone and he found himself missing that advantage. He begrudgingly respected Faber's forthright honesty about his plans. Could Marshall even admit to himself, much less to Faber what his plans were towards Mary? He may hate what Faber's intentions were, but at least he was clear about them.
"If I want something, I go after it. Maybe you should think about going after what you want. I'll be heading back to Denver now, but I will be back. I plan on seeing her again. And it will be up to Mary to decide." He touched his fingers to his head as if doffing his hat and found his own way down the hall, Marshall's hostile stare following him out the door.
Go after what you want. Faber was going to force his hand. He couldn't just stand by and watch that guy sweep in and spirit Mary away. Time to step up. Marshall stared sourly at the bottle of wine Faber had left on his coffee table. He unclenched his fists. Go after what you want. A slow smile spread across his face as he reached out to pick up the bottle. Mary liked this wine did she? He studied the label, turned to grab his keys from the table in the entry and strode out the door, his rapidly cooling supper left forgotten in the kitchen.
The End