It was late March, and spring was beginning in Albuquerque. The weather was beautiful, the birds were singing, and critical witness incidents were at an all-time low. In the three months since the Myers breach, there had only been minor problems with witnesses at home. There was one crisis during a trial that narrowly avoided a shoot-out. His team turned in all the paperwork on time – 90% of it was in Marshall's handwriting, and on paper the encounter seemed straight forward and easily managed. It was no small shock to Stan when reports from other law enforcement agents that had been at the Baltimore courthouse that day began to filter back to him. They included terms like "impressive", "skillful", and "bad ass". The two things everyone seemed to agree on where that: one – these partners could get the job done seamlessly, and two – the string of profanity and insults that came out of the female's mouth afterwards was like nothing anyone had ever heard.
Had Marshall ever truly believed that he could "be responsible for her"? Then who did that leave as responsible for Marshall, because being in charge of Mary was beyond a full time job. Stan figured that it was his duty as chief inspector to look out for him, but the kid was not making it easy. Two months, max may have been optimistic. He wasn't sure if Mary had figured out what was going on yet, but he was afraid of what might happen when she did. They had a rapport going as partners and seemed to be starting to trust each other. You didn't have to be a therapist to see that Mary had some issues, and Stan feared that Marshall's feelings might be taken as a violation of her trust. Maybe after a few more mornings like the one a few weeks ago would knock some sense into him. She had strolled in a few minutes late and openly started commenting on the "cowboy" she had picked up at the bar the night before, and the "rodeo" they'd had back at his place. Marshall had attempted to act unphased by the conversation, but Stan could tell he was struggling internally.
The pair in question strode back into the office around noon, carrying grease laden white paper bags. Marshall tossed one to Stan as they walked over to Mary's desk.
"Vinny's?" Stan asked, eyeing the bag.
"Of course. Cheesesteak, no mushrooms, right?" Marshall asked.
"You're the man, Mann." He responded and dug into the bag.
Mary and Marshall sat on opposite sides of her desk. They chatted amicably and intermittently stole each other's french fries. Then Mary reached for his pickle spear, and he slapped her hand away.
She looked slightly taken aback, then reached for it again. Again her hand was slapped away. "Just hand it over. You know you're not even going to eat it."
"Would it kill you to ask?" He questioned and held the gherkin away from her.
A wicked grin overtook her face. "Marshall," She cried breathily, "I want your pickle."
His face became beat red and Stan had to stifle a laugh. Marshall had stepped right into this one.
Mary continued seductively and loudly, "Your salty dill spear, I can taste it in my mouth. I need you to give it to me. Now! Ooohhhh…"
He handed it over, and she took it excitedly. "That was unnecessary." He grumbled.
She made sure to take her time eating it, moaning in satisfaction the entire time.
"Unnecessary." He muttered again as he got up to throw their trash away and return to his own desk.
They worked quietly for a while, then he looked at her cautiously and asked, "Do you know what today is?"
"Tuesday?"
"Actually it's Wednesday." He seemed a little caught off guard.
"Really? Huh. That explains a lot." She pondered.
"But that's not what I meant." He continued, "Did you realize that today is exactly six months from the day we started working together? It's our six month anniversary!"
"You have got to be freaking kidding." She said flatly. "I apparently can't even remember what day of the week it is without my steno pad and you expect me to remember the date I first got saddled with you as a partner, let alone care?"
He looked slightly crestfallen.
She continued, "I don't think you could be a bigger girl if you tried. How do you propose we celebrate this most holy of holidays? We could braid each other's hair, sing Kumbayah, and give each other mani/pedis while dancing to our favorite Britney Spears album. Christ."
"Your idea has… merit… but I was thinking something more like going and getting a beer when we finish up here. All this time and we've never hung out outside of work."
"My god. You're actually serious."
"It's an important milestone. We should do something to commemorate the occasion." He in formed.
"You want to commemorate the occasion? Why don't you reach into that big vagina of yours and see if you can pull out a pair of testicles."
After a moment of shocked silence he looked to Stan. "How do I respond to that?"
"Honestly Marshall? A six month partner anniversary? I'm tempted to agree with Mary."
He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. He answered the phone and it hadn't been long before he was massaging his temples impatiently. He looked over at Mary, rolled his eyes, and mouthed something that Stan didn't quite catch. When the call finally ended about five minutes later without Marshall getting a whole sentence in, they grabbed their things and headed out the door.
"Trouble?" Stan asked.
"Sandra Fischer just caught her husband cheating on her with the babysitter." Marshall answered.
Mary added, "Would be way more interesting if Mrs. Fischer had been the one cheating with the babysitter. This is just going to be a lot of whiney woe-is-me bullshit." And with that they left the building.
They returned, looking drained, around 5:30 and Mary was talking into her cell agitatedly. "No, Mom. I'm in New Mexico. There is nothing I can do." She tried banging her head against a wall, but it didn't appear to help. "New Jersey and New Mexico are not actually anywhere near each other." Pause. "Fine. I'll take care of this some how. You just go have another drink." She walked over to the sink in the kitchenette, turned on the tap, and held the phone near the water. "What's that Mom? I can't hear you. I'm going through a tunnel. Bye." And she hung up.
Marshall gave her a look, full of concern.
"I have to go find a Western Union and send some money so my little sister can bail herself out of jail. Then I might just take you up on that beer. I need a damn drink after all this touchy feely crap."
Marshall's eyes lit up and Stan couldn't help but compare him to an excited little puppy.
"But you're paying and don't expect me to put out." She informed him.
They quickly gathered up their things and headed out of the office. Stan had no idea how them hanging out together would end, but if the last six months had taught him anything, it was that whatever happens will be hilarious to watch.
