Hey all, many thanks for the reviews I have received already! Very uplifting, very encouraging. I already have a fair amount of this story written out, so I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter since it's relatively short. Third chapter should be quite long. Anyhoo, most of the chapters will start out in the *present day* meaning the time during Trojan Horst, and end with looking back into the past. Once again, thank you soooo much for the reviews! Enjoy the fic!
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Present Day
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The SUV rumbled off the road, smoke rolling from the engine in white columns. The clanking and pinging sounded ominously like a car on its last legs. Marshall was already pulling his jacket off as Mary put the SUV in park. "Pop the hood," he said "I'll have a look." Mary did as she was bid and leaned back against the open window frame with a groan of frustration.
Stepping out of the car, the lanky inspector was struck by the heat. That boded ill if the car was indeed unfixable. Marshall pushed the hood up before pulling the cuff of his sleeve back on his right arm, rolling it loosely to his elbow. The tall man peered into the smoking maze of black tubes and wires. There was something...he couldn't see very well through the cloud of smoke boiling into his face...
"See anything?"
So impatient. Marshall leaned to the side so he could fix eyes on his partner. "Hang on, it's complicated under here." And I've looked at it for all of two seconds. Ignoring her eye roll, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. He could see something, but with the white haze the engine was exuding he couldn't be sure what it was exactly. Maybe it would be clearer from the bottom...
Marshall crouched, peering under the car. Immediately, his attention was caught by the trickling waterfall of some necessary fluid. The radiator hose had been ruptured. There was some kind of black goo smeared across it. That can't be good. The lawman dug into his back pocket for his handkerchief. And Mary said only grandpas carry handkerchiefs. Ha! Marshall wiped the goo away and pulled back to examine it. It didn't look like anything but oil, grease, or any other number of things that someone would normally find under their car.
He sniffed the substance gingerly. As the biting, acrid smell reached his nostrils, he felt his stomach plunge and a shot of adrenaline punch through him. He recognized that smell from his high school chemistry class. The teacher had never forgiven him.
Acid. Someone had smeared acid over their radiator hose. Someone had deliberately sabotaged the car, which meant that they were all in danger right now.
Mary's voice called something, but with the hiss of the seizing engine in his ears, he couldn't make out the words. Rising to his feet, he took a step forwards, intending to come to the driver's window. "What'd you say?"
That's when he saw the two traveler's from the gas station, but by then it was too late.
He heard the shot; felt the impact drive him from his feet and backwards into the dirt. Mary's voice called his name, and he could hear her fear and distress.
He gasped as he hit the ground. The SUV's engine gunned and he realized that Mary had put it in reverse, spinning so that it covered him and she could shoot through the passenger side window. Not ideal. She was trying to protect him.
Marshall rolled, crawling forward until he could reach up and catch hold of the car. Mary was firing. The assassins were firing. They were firing at his partner.
He had seen them. He had seen them, but like an idiot he had overlooked the threat!
If Mary died it would be his fault.
Inch by painstaking inch he hauled himself up, ignoring the sudden and brutal flare of pain. Mary had stopped firing. Why had she stopped firing? His head came up over the edge of the SUV's hood in time to see the male taking careful aim at her.
Oh hell no.
His right arm holding him upright against his vehicle, Marshall drew his gun with his left, took aim and fired. The man spun as the bullet impacted with his left shoulder, throwing him backwards. Marshall kept firing, slowly moving around the front of the SUV. Both the assassins were retreating, moving back to the relative cover of their car.
He knelt, even as he kept firing to draw his backup gun from his boot.
They were back in their car. The man fired around the door frame.
He heard the SUV door slam. Mary had gotten out. "Marshall, take cover!"
He wasn't listening to her. Straightening up, he advanced towards the assassin's car, both guns blazing. Their windows were shattering. Mary's gunfire joined his, as the female assailant threw their car into reverse and peeled off. The partners kept firing until their attackers were out of sight.
Marshall slowly lowered his weapons to his sides. They were gone. Mary was alive. The tall lawman breathed a sigh of relief. "Well," he said, turning his head to look at his partner. She hadn't been harmed. An almost giddy wave of relief swept over him, coinciding with the spread of throbbing, agonizing pain. "That was..." He intended to say 'interesting', or something else that would put a light spin on their near death experience, but his attention was arrested by the black fog crowding around the edges of his vision.
He didn't get any farther before face-planting into the ground.
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2003
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Marshall leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at his partner. She was ticked at him. It was obvious in the intent way she was ignoring his every attempt at communication. Geez, she reminded him of a petulant adolescent; sulking around the house until the adults grew sick of it and asked what was wrong. Well he wasn't going to play that game. He was not going to ask what he had done to piss her off so royally. He wasn't.
Rising to his feet, he snagged his coffee mug and sauntered towards the pot. Green eyes fixed him with a baleful glare as he walked in front of her desk, but he ignored the potential threat. Keep cool, Marshall. Hang tough. His back was turned towards her now, but he could swear he could still feel the heat of her eyes. Hang tough, hang tough hang tough...
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Marshall stiffened slightly, sure that he was about to be assaulted. Hang tough, hang tough, hang tough...
Just as he reached for the coffee pot handle, his partner pushed her curvaceous self in between him and his caffeine fix. Marshall snatched his hand back just before it made contact with her jean clad derriere. He scowled at the back of her head as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She had planned that, he was certain. Hang...tough...
Mary slapped the coffee pot back into place and stalked her way back to her seat.
She had taken the last cup and left the pot empty on the burner.
Hang tough, hang tough, hang tough...
Marshall slammed his coffee cup down and whirled angrily. "What is wrong with you? !" Fail.
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Mary looked up from her paperwork, eyes snapping. She had succeeded in provoking a reaction. To give the nerd credit, he had held out much longer than anyone else. "Interesting question," she said with a cold smile. "I thought you 'didn't actually want to know' what was screwed up with me."
Marshall's eyebrows drew together dangerously. Back stiff, he turned and began yanking coffee implements out of various drawers. "Recent events have led me to revise my previous conclusion,"
He said over his shoulder. Mary was pretty sure that he said it through clenched teeth. Her smile ratcheted up another notch. Right next to hunting down the scourges of society, keeping those around her at permanent arm's length was one of her favorite hobbies. This guy would be no different from the rest of humanity. Her jaw tightened even as she thought of it. No matter how sincere he seemed to be, guys like him always let you down. Promises were like soap bubbles to them. Very pretty, but easily broken and filled with nothing but the rancid breath of whoever happened to blow them into your face.
She would take delight in making him cry.
He would probably break faster than that damn physicist. "Would you like the short list, or the alphabetized one with footnotes?"
Marshall turned back around and leaned his weight against the counter. The bubble of the brewing coffee filled the sudden silence as her partner observed her shrewdly. To her surprise, he was not glaring. His gaze was intent, but not livid. "I would like whichever one has the reason why you're ready to nail me to the wall." He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head thoughtfully. "I don't recall having ever met you before we transported Henry and Claudia," pushing himself away from the counter, her partner closed the distance between himself and her desk slowly. "I didn't go out of my way to annoy you, which," he raised a finger "incidentally, is not my wont. I've been accused of having a puckish side."
Despite her ire, Mary almost felt her mouth tip with a real smile. "Wont?"
He ignored her, placing both hands on her desk and leaning forward slightly. "But now I have to wonder exactly what I have done..."
"Wont?"
"You can borrow my dictionary. Or said to bring about this petulant, childish fit of the sulks." Bending over her desk, semi hovering over her, he somehow managed to not make the pose intimidating.
Mary scowled up at him. She didn't trust him. Shocker there, she didn't trust anyone, really. "What do you want, an apology?" Fat chance.
Marshall straightened, resting hands on hips. "I would settle for the bare minimum of professional respect and courtesy. You know, something below saluting but above open and venomous diatribes."
"How about if I salute while diatribing? Would that average everything out?"
Now there was a glare.
"Look," Marshall's voice had returned to the clipped diction that denoted that the fuse on his temper was dangerously short. "Firstly, 'diatribing' is not a word. Secondly, I am not a mind reader. So unless you tell me what I did, or said, there's nothing I can do to fix it. Talk to me, and I promise..."
He abruptly stopped talking, blue eyes focusing on her intently. Mary suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation of being...understood.
She didn't like it.
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Marshall knew that he had inadvertently stumbled upon the source of his partner's disdain the moment the words left his lips.
He had always been adept at reading body and facial language. Generally, women were harder to read than men. Surprise, surprise. It was part of their charm; one of those enigmatic quirks that kept men following after them, trying to ferret out their secrets. Mary, however, was in a class of her own. Most of the time, her face was set in a mocking cast that defied definition. Her lips would curl in a smile that was sharper than most swords; her laughter more painful than broken glass. Everything that was soft and comforting on someone else became harder and razor sharp on her. It was almost impossible for the layman to dig her true meaning out of the constant barrage of sarcastic wit flowing from her tongue.
Marshall was not a layman. He possessed a quick mind, and a love of learning that turned him to the study of difficult subjects. He was learning now how to read his partner.
And her problem lay in the words, "I promise."
"Why don't you want me to promise you something?" his thumbs hooked into belt loops, eyes looking on Mary with a gaze akin to the one he turned on the frog he had to dissect in fifth grade.
She almost flinched. He had exposed a secret, and she didn't like it. Her green eyes glared at him a bit more ferociously than before. He was pushing into territory that was private. She obviously did not want him there, but he didn't care. Marshall glared back. He was closer to really losing his temper than he had been in a long time. If his partner was going to hate him, he wanted to be darn sure that he deserved it.
"Because promises are easy to make, and hard to keep, and I have yet to meet one person on this planet besides myself who takes them seriously." Mary pushed her chair back and rose to her feet, fists planted on hips. "I deal with liars, thieves, murderers and assholes all day long, all of whom promised someone something at sometime in their lives and then didn't follow through."
She said the word promised like it was a foul taste on her tongue. Marshall sensed that there was something underneath the anger that was driving her speech. Pain. A lot of it.
Mary was coming around her desk, getting up into his face. Or as near as she could get to it. She was actually fairly short. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before. Probably because her personality was larger than life.
"Think about it! Saying the words 'I promise' anymore is synonymous with 'screw you.'"
Marshall's eyes narrowed. "I find your sweeping generalization of society to be one of the most cynical and bitter things I've ever heard." He held up a hand to stop her before she could bulldoze ahead. "I also think that you should deal with your own issues before taking umbrage over phrases your partner uses." That shaft had sunk in; he could see it in her eyes. "Furthermore, you couldn't be more off the mark."
He turned and stalked back to the coffee pot. "I don't know what sort of people you're used to dealing with, but where I come from promises mean something." The coffee flowed into his mug, hot and bitter. Kind of like his new partner. What a coincidence.
"The people I'm used to dealing with?" Her voice was low and deadly. He turned to see her slowly stepping towards him. His mind flew to a special on animal planet he had watched recently. A documentary on lions, and the predatory ferocity of the females in particular. Marshall mentally juxtaposed the clip of a lioness stalking helpless deer over his partner. Yep. It was a match.
"Let me tell you about the people I'm used to dealing with," she said tightly. "I'm used to dealing with mob members who swear familial loyalty one instant and flip on their friends the next." Her sarcastic smile was slipping. "Couples who swore to be true to one another, only to sleep with someone else on their honeymoon. Families that made the promise 'till death do us part' and decided after ten, fifteen, twenty years, that it was just too hard so they wouldn't keep their promise after all. Convicts who by all rights should be rotting in a cell but aren't because they broke their word not to squeal to the authorities. Fathers who promise their kids they will always be there only to leave one night and never..."
To Marshall's astonishment, she cut off her words abruptly. Her face was stone still, no hint of emotion, but he could see the glitter of tears in her eyes. She was good at hiding it. If he wasn't scrutinizing her so closely, he would probably miss the unshed droplets.
"Those are the people I'm used to dealing with," she said finally, voice low and intense. He had to give her credit. There was no waiver in her tone, no hitch in her breathing. She had accidentally uncovered something that obviously caused her pain, but was taking extra care not to let it happen again. "So when you tell that beaten and bruised woman that you promise to help her, it galls me. She's hurt and desperate, and she needs action, not words."
As his partner spun on her booted heel and stomped back to her desk, Marshall saw her raise her hand as though to flick her hair back. Her thumb swiped surreptitiously beneath her eyelid.
He sighed. He had been right. Pain. A lot of it. For good reason. And she didn't know him yet, so she had no idea how far he would go to keep any promise he made. His word was important to him. Marshall had been taught from a very young age (repeatedly) that everything mattered. His words, perhaps most of all. Especially when those words were given in some kind of vow.
The lanky inspector dug into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Normally, with a crying female, he would offer a hug. A shoulder to weep upon. Kind, sweet words of comfort.
He had the distinct impression that if he did any of these things with Mary, she would hurt him. She did not want attention drawn to the fact that she was human, with deep sorrow lurking behind the shell of biting witticisms. She would probably like it best if he left her alone and went about his business.
Ignoring people in distress went against his grain. Marshall was incapable of abandoning anyone who so obviously needed help. White knight complex, through and through.
The idea of Mary being a damsel in distress almost made him snort, but he manfully suppressed his laughter.
Walking up to her desk, he laid the handkerchief on the corner and moved away.
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Mary turned her back on her partner, biting her lip. The tears she didn't want to be there were filling up her eyes, making the trip back to her desk blurry. She hadn't meant to say that about fathers. Hadn't meant to reveal that part of herself. A tear escaped her lid and tried to make a break for it down her cheek. Under the pretense of flicking her hair over her shoulder, she ran a thumb over her skin, collecting the traitorous droplet.
She would not cry in front of him. She would not.
She hadn't cried in front of anyone else since she was seventeen. And she would be damned if she started now. Crying was for the weak; the spineless. For the same kind of people who drank herbal tea and listened to recorded whale song.
Slumping into her seat, she drew in a deep breath. Get it together.
He was approaching her desk. Damn it. He probably had noticed and was now going to be all sappy and sweet. Blech. What if he tried to hug her? Offer her a shoulder to cry on? Mumble meaningless, kind, pretty words of comfort?
She would have to hurt him.
Mary groaned inwardly as her tall partner stepped up to her desk. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away...it never worked with Brandi or Jinx, but hey, she could dream.
Marshall set something down and walked away without a word.
Surprised, Mary looked up. He was settling himself at his own desk, not even looking her way. It suddenly dawned on her that he knew she did not want to be fussed over, and was respecting that. Her throat closed tightly, bringing fresh tears to swell the old. Do not cry! Leaning forward, she picked up the object he had placed on her desk.
It was a handkerchief.
Not a tissue, an honest to God, old-fashioned, made from cloth handkerchief. Seriously? !
The tears suddenly dissolved as a giggle forced its way up her throat.
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The giggle was probably the last thing he expected to hear. Looking up from his computer in surprise, Marshall saw his new partner staring at his handkerchief. Amusement was written across her features. She looked over to him, wicked glee giving her an impish expression. "What is this? !"
"A handkerchief," he replied, nonplussed. Did she really not know? "They actually have a history of several thousand years. In ancient Rome, they were waved during the games as a sign of favor, encouraging mercy for the gladiator of the crowd's choice..."
"I know what it is, numbnuts," she interrupted. For once, however, her insult sounded more like a term of endearment than nasty. "What are you doing with one? Are you secretly eighty-five years old? Have three grandkids that come see you on Sundays at the retirement home?"
"We play golf," he said dryly. "You know, there was a time when the handkerchief was not only an expensive accessory, it was a symbol of wealth..."
"I'll bet you anything it wasn't a time within the past hundred years."
"...and handkerchiefs used to be all sorts of shapes..."
"Is it sad to you that you know this? Because it's sad to me."
"...it actually took the edict of King Ludwig the XIV to determine that the length of a handkerchief should be equal to its width..."
Mary was smiling now. A real smile. It was a much softer smile than the one she normally wore. All the sarcastic edges were filed away, and that small piece of humanity was glimmering through. "Wonderful. I'm partnered with a grandpa/jeopardy episode hybrid."
He felt his face creasing into a grin. The tension that had been filling the office had snapped. He was sure that it would be back at some point in time, but he might as well enjoy the moment. "You're just jealous."
There you are. Hope you all enjoy! Please review! Next chapter should be up by Wed at the latest. Oh, and did I mention I love reviews? I really, really do. I'm not above begging for them. :)
