A/N: Well, thank you for those compliments and all of that interest! That's thoroughly exciting! You guys have me down, but I hope you enjoy anyway!
Enjoy!
It had been 16 weeks.
He was pouring a cup of black coffee, chewing over locking himself into his dismal office, and passing out on his futon. Delia came up from behind him, smirking, eyes glazed over, apparently medicated. She limped around him to set a basket of muffins on the counter. "Good morning, Chief!" the woman chirped, wobbling on her feet for a split second and then, regaining her balance.
"A morning it is, Delia. Good may be an overstatement," he replied, sipping at the hot liquid in solemnity.
"Uh-oh, trouble in The Sunshine Building?" she wondered, arranging a napkin near the basket to catch crumbs. She was partially occupied with her baked goods, hazy from the meds, and only half listening to her boss.
"Bingo," Marshall sighed. "It's been rather difficult being short an inspector, and down two for fieldwork." He took special care not to sound accusing, and made pleasant eye contact with the woman to further along the conversation, "Mary comes back in one-hundred and twelve days."
"That's an awfully lengthy countdown there, Chief." She turned to grab a cup from the top shelf, which Marshall could see was going to be problematic. He reached over the Inspector and pulled her floral mug from the back of cabinet. Marshall gently set it down on the surface near the pot of caffeine, and kindly nodded in her direction.
"Don't work yourself too hard, Delia," Marshall warned tiredly, "I can't afford another one of my Marshal's out of my reach."
He heard her chuckle, but was well on his way into his office and was in no mood to maintain a friendly disposition. As he was fighting his uneasiness toward beginning the stacks of paperwork, to his surprise his WITSEC phone started to yell. Plopping down in his place, he pressed the receiver to his face and huffed, "Chief Mann."
"Marshal?! What the hell is your Inspector's problem?!" It was Lance Carter, the Chief in the New York City WITSEC Office.
"Excuse me?" Marshall Mann sat up in his chair, his brow furrowed. He had an inkling he knew what inspector the man on the other end of the line was talking about, but he was to remain oblivious in hopes of a miracle.
"Your Marshal, Mary Shannon cold cocked one of my high potential trainees and I wanted to know why the hell you would send her here?!" the man growled, "this was supposed to be a revamping. Now, I have a cop with a broken nose and two black eyes, and no way to control the busty blonde in the weight room! Were you in your right mind when you threw her on the plane, or were you just trying to get rid of her?! "
"She may not be good humored or sunshiney, but she's a hell of a good Marshal!" he defended, "There has to be a good reason for this physical altercation, do you know why Inspector Shannon was possessed to do something of that nature?" Marshall frowned, trying to understand why Mary would haul off and hit a man without good reason, then, the other half of the conversation took an understandable turn.
"Well, apparently, in the midst of this morning's workout," he coughed, "there may have been some disrespectful comments thrown around…"
His eyebrows rose, "Was the disrespect on Mary's end?"
There was a short silence, and then a sigh, "Um, no. But, the point is-
"I don't need a lengthy explanation, what did your Inspector say?" Marshall interrupted, slightly ticked off by the call.
"It's unclear at the present time."
The aggravated Chief ran his fingers through his hair, searching through his inbox for any messages from Mary defending herself, but there were none. This led Marshall to believe the punch that was thrown must have been in proper rationale. "Don't give me that cowardly, dim-witted response. If you weren't aware of the precise reason for the argument, you wouldn't have called. Now, tell me the true vindication for this impromptu discussion and perhaps I can take disciplinary action." He was lying, he wouldn't be punishing her, even if she did deserve it.
"One of the trainees may have called her 'round'," the man replied hesitantly.
"Round?!" Marshall parroted disbelievingly.
"Not 'round', but, a variation of it."
"What exactly did he say?" Marshall sighed again, "Don't prance around the facts, Lance."
"He called her a linebacker."
He cringed, understanding flooding his mind, and a response quickly clearing his lips, "Not to be unprofessional, but don't you think such harsh words were rightly countered with bloodshed? If I remember correctly, when I sent my Inspector, although shapely, she was not, a linebacker." Marshall gritted his teeth at the idea of someone having the gull to spit such slander at Mary, fully prepared to safeguard both her career and her pride to the bitter end. But, it seemed that Chief Carter was easily tongue-tied so shortly into the heated chat.
"Uh, well, she's definitely not, a—I will see to it that it is appropriately taken care of."
"And you assure me that Inspector Shannon will not be unfairly punished?" Marshall added sternly.
"No harsh treatment, Marshall. But, perhaps a small warning would be in order?"
"Yes, but your discretion is advised," he smiled amusedly to himself, crossing his legs. "You obviously have not learned your ways with my Inspector yet."
With that he hung up the phone.
He had never been so unmotivated during the entire stint of his time in the Marshal Service. It had seemed so romantic at first to hold a title which tied him tightly to the ABQ WITSEC office, but now, Marshall found often he was wishing he was Inspector Mann again, and working feverishly beside the others who now quietly performed outside of these four, darksome walls. Perhaps he'd be in New York instead of Mary, if Stan hadn't given him the position so kindly. He did appreciate it, and his whining was seldom, for he would never want to appear falsely unappreciative for this opportunity. But, if he were honest with himself, on days where the work wasn't as tedious, and the calls were not rapid and back to back, he'd get to puzzling if this job was still where he belonged. Being aptly named for the employment in this branch of law enforcement was becoming less and less desirable.
Marshall had grey strands of hair growing into his formerly always deep brown locks. The toll of it all, the new job, the divorce, and moving Mary to a different time zone was stressful, and it wasn't difficult to see it in the man. The lurking snowy hairs made their debut only a year ago. Norah had a case of the flu, the poor little one had to spend a few nights hooked up to an I.V. in a pediatric E.R. because she was having trouble keeping down even just sips of water. In a panic, Mary had called, and it hadn't gone over well with Abigail. The moment was intimate, and Marshall had every intention of ignoring the phone but, he found it impossible. Four calls, and thirty-three rings in, he covered himself with a sheet and picked up his iPhone. He could feel her eyes like icepicks on the back of his neck even now, just thinking about it. Abigail's breath was close on his neck, Make your decision, Cowboy. But, if I have to wait fifteen more seconds, these pajamas are going back on.
What a manipulative tease.
He had answered it. He had spent a night cramped and curled up on a cushioned waiting room bench, Mary's head resting on his stomach, his movements few, because he knew she hadn't slept in days. He would never be able to truthfully admit he regretted having to leave his wife that night.
Not only did his mop take a beating, his form was haggard, his face having aged considerably in the past months as well. The boyish complexion had been riddled with wrinkles shortly into his marriage to Abigail. He'd find himself awake at four in the morning, wondering where the redhead was off to, and most often he'd shrug it off to roll over and close his eyes again. Marshall believed, maybe if he had taken that time to be untrustworthy, or act jealous, or worked up the energy to accuse her of the infidelity she thought she was being covert about, their marriage wouldn't have been grinded so finely into dust. It was young, fragile and they didn't make the effort to fix it when it was still fixable. The divorce had taken longer, had been messier, she had taken Oscar. It was a pretty unprincipled deal. She got to commit sexual acts with a temp at the Police Department, and then when the proverbial cap was unscrewed, got the dog as a parting gift.
This time, when his pocket rumbled he was expecting her.
"Marshall Mann?" He smirked, already knowing what she was going to say, but wasn't expecting the shaky, tired tone that filled his ears.
"I can explain." She breathed heavily into the phone.
"Are you alright?" the question came accidentally, he would have much preferred to avoid her snapping at him.
"I called to explain, not to talk about my health, Marshall!" there was a lengthy pause, and a sigh, "Some kid called me fat, today." Her voice quavered, the usual, tense, hard tone was dry, actually quite hurt. It caused a silent shiver to pulse down his spine and his smile to dissipate from his face.
"I was informed. Carter is taking care of it," Marshall knew this wouldn't be a good enough reassurance, so he continued, "I'll see to it every WITSEC branch from here to hell knows he disrespected you if need be."
"So, you're cool with me- there were these noises which he couldn't make out, then came static as if she had dropped the phone and after, a loud 'click'.
He had been worried. Mary was being uncharacteristically soft spoken, and never had he heard that kind of break in her words, never one of undeniable hurt. It was usually seething rage that spewed from her lips with such ease. He had begun to think perhaps that her sadness could only be churned and conjured with Norah's small childhood troubles- the high fevers, the scrapes and bruises, that one time she bounced her head off the coffee table only a few weeks into being steady on her own two legs. Mary had never been unhappier than when Norah was unhappy. And, on one other occasion, which Marshall barely ever brought up. The death of James was in their rearview, but so fresh in her memory. So crisp in its existence it was, he had caught Mary in the midst of reliving that fateful day. They shared a hotel room, Marshall slept upon the firm, depreciated loveseat, his legs resting on the arm, while Mary tossed and turned in the queen, wrapped in blankets, sweaty, uncomfortable and shouting in her sleep. He had awoken her, a touch of his fingertips to her clammy skin, one more yell- this time startled came from her mouth and she looked up at him with hazy, wild eyes, what's your problem, doofus? Don't you think its creeptastic enough to sleep in the same room with you?
This time, a knock.
"Sir, D.C. just contacted me, said your line was busy," she scanned him over, "Somethin' wrong?"
Marshall looked up, "No. Sorry, I just received a rather strange call from Mary, who promptly hung up in the middle of her own sentence."
"I'm sure it's just bad connection. There are big ol' buildings in New York, probably ducked under an awning and lost ya," she smiled, obviously just trying to make him feel better.
"That's a theory, although, I am ninety-eight percent certain she was closed up into one of their training facilities up there. But, you know, Mary's Mary," he shrugged, placing his calling device on his desk.
"Do I ever," Delia agreed jokingly.
In the squabble that ensued when Stan departed, and Marshall was thrown into Chief-hood, Mary had to be placed with another partner. It couldn't be him. He missed that the most. Inspector Parmalee was next in line to take on the overwhelming duty of keeping Mary calm, cool and collected. She had taken to the position with grace, which Marshall couldn't be any more thankful for. It could have been disastrous, but thanks to a seemingly mellower Mary Shannon these days, they slid into the daily grind with each other with ease. That's not mentioning the increase of Mary's day to day bitterness, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Delia was well versed in counters and, laudable verbal retorts by now, having learned from observing Marshall's benevolence in light of Mary's attitude.
Noticing he wouldn't be saying anything else, Delia closed the door quietly, and he grabbed the receiver of his office phone, but hesitated, thinking she'd be calling him back soon. He put the phone down carefully as not to make a noise of defeat.
She didn't call him back.
It had happened fifteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. The Chief dialed D.C. WITSEC's extension, shaking his head at the memory, still from disbelief.
It didn't matter, he thought.
Marshall had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.
Please Review and tell me what you think!
Mary McCormack wished me a late Happy Birthday, I feel very grateful!
Hope you liked it!