Author's Note:Goddamned fucking tech glitches! I've had this chapter done since 7:30PM and now I have to post it at 3:54 in the damn morning! Well, I finally got through...

This may be a "twice a week" week because I'm about to have a hell of a lot of spare time. My school's prom is this week and the day after that is our Senior Ditch Day (which the Powers That Be refuse to acknowledge exists…) so my teachers aren't gonna assign shit unless they're truly evil. Less homework = more time for sleeping and writing. Ripple effects are awesome.

PS: All Spanish is courtesy of Google Translate and my brain. Round 1 of Mary v. Marshall will truly start next update. I want to get back into Marshall's head before I make him lose it.

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

"Un trago de tequila, por favor. Recta." ("A shot of tequila, please. Straight.)

The tired bartender looked at him askance and Marshall couldn't really blame him. After landing in Cancun, he had gotten cleaned up in the airport bathroom. He had traded his pajama pants for jeans and his shirt for a black wife beater. Feeling no inclination to even try to tame his hair (a reflection of his attitude), he had left it in its windswept disarray and tied an American flag bandanna over it. He had put on fingerless black gloves, black sneakers and had topped everything with a green military jacket. His scruff had become a day old beard and the dark circles underneath his still cold eyes looked as if they were bruises.

If he were the old man, he'd say that he was looking at a criminal or an addict.

"¿No es un poco pronto para eso, hombre?" ("Isn't it a little early for that, man?")

Marshall chuckled and saw that it was only 9AM. Conceding the point with a tilt of his head, he replied, "Así es. Pero he de negocios para atender, negocio que requiere fortaleza." ("It is. But I have business to take care of, business that requires fortitude.")

Now, the man's hackles were raised and Marshall could see him slowly going for a Bowie knife hidden underneath a stack of old magazines. It was unfortunate how circumstances forced this genial man to take on such tactics. But, it was understandable. Cancun and other tourist spots were Narc hot-spots and this man probably had to use that knife more than once. But, he had nothing to fear from him.

After all, even in his anger, Marshall had no intention of doing any physical harm to anyone. He was still a Man of Honor (insert last name pun here) and although Mary was deserving of every ounce of vitriol boiling in his gut, he was not going to put his hands on her.

At least not like that…, his heart whispered darkly, causing a mental nod of agreement.

".. No ha venido a México para causar más problemas de drogas, ¿verdad?" ("You have not come to Mexico to cause more drug trouble, have you?")

Reaching into his front pocket slowly, Marshall placed his badge on the counter, sliding it to the man for inspection. After a minute the man softened visibly and finally went to get his drink.

"No Señor. Nada de eso. Estoy aquí desde Albuquerque a un ajuste de cuentas mucho tiempo con una mujer, mi mujer.", he clarified, finally letting his pain filter into his detached tone.("No, sir. Nothing like that. I am here from Albuquerque to settle a long time score with a woman, my woman.")

A knowing look went through the man's eyes (his name tag read Gabriel, a source of bitter irony) and he set down two glasses to be poured.

"Ella ha sido infiel." ("She has been unfaithful to you.")

Marshall sighed heavily and pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"Muy. Muchas veces. Y acepto mi papel en sus decisiones, pero eso no significa que voy a tolerar más." ("Very. Many times. And I accept my role in her decisions but that does not mean that I will tolerate them anymore.")

Marshall had no patience for self delusions. He knew damn well that he wasn't blameless in this fucked up situation. He had become Mary's support system, her go-to friend to lean on and vent to. He had enjoyed that role and still did but he had expected her to pick up on his cues. He had expected her to break her pattern for self delusion and destruction and realize that he loved her and that she felt the same. He had expected to not have to tell her.

That was where he had gone wrong. Although Mary was different in many ways from women, she still needed to hear the outright words when the cards were on the table. His speech to her, while it had been sledgehammer to the balls obvious, had lacked those three little words and he was absolutely certain that it had made her flight easier. Apparently, she didn't think he loved her enough or at all or that she was unworthy of him, thoughts that were very untrue…

After he made known his displeasure at her latest Mary Shannon shit storm, he would make sure to tell her (and show her) just how he felt, whether she liked it or not…

"¿Más? ¿Cuánto hace que usted y su mujer están juntos?" ("Anymore? How long have you and your woman been together?")

"Será de ocho años en septiembre próximo." (It will be eight years next September.")

Gabriel sighed and pounded back his shot before slapping him on the shoulder, sliding his badge back to him as he headed towards a back office.

"... En la casa, mi amigo. Buena suerte." (…On the house, my friend. Good luck.)

"Gracias.", Marshall replied before sending the flaming venom straight down his gullet.

Once it kicked in, he would take the list of resorts he had looked up on the plane and get started on his hunt.

He would find his wayward lioness, first.

Faber could wait until afterwords.