Greetings everyone. I am back, before Wed as I promised. :) Yay for posting on time. Anyhoo, another well of gratitude from me to everyone who took the time to review. Really, very very awesome words of encouragement there. Gives me all sorts of warm fuzzies. :)

This chapter is a bit long, hopefully nobody minds that. ;) A touch heavy on the Trojan Horst side of things, but the next couple chapters will be more dealing with the past so it will all even out, I promise.

I think that's all I got for right now, thanks again for the reviews, and enjoy the chapter!

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Present Day

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Mary tried the handle of the abandoned gas station and swore under her breath. "Stand by yourself for a second?" she asked, looking up into his face. Her partner nodded. He was running short on breath, and didn't want to waste words. Mary's expression was worried. He could read her concern through the sweat soaked strands of hair hanging around her face. Gently, she unwound Marshall's arm from around her shoulder and settled him against the side of the building.

Marshall leaned his weight against the cinder blocks a bit more heavily than normal. His breath was coming in short wheezes; like his lungs couldn't expand. They couldn't, he knew. Air was entering his chest cavity through the bullet wound and building pressure. Too much pressure and he wouldn't be able to breathe at all. He was going to need that tube very soon.

Pulling her gun, Mary sent two rounds through the wood surrounding the lock. Timber splintered, and with a wrench, she pulled it open.

The blond marshal seized Horst and pushed him in first before turning back to her partner. She could be so tough, so unbending. Yet her capable hands were gentle as she took hold of his arm and pulled his weight onto her shoulders. Marshall wished he didn't have to lean on her quite so heavily. She was already dewed with perspiration from helping him make their way from the SUV. Now his weight was almost bending her double as they moved inside. He had the brief impression of dust, lots of it, coating every surface of the abandoned facility. It was cooler than outside, but the air was still; stifling really.

"Oh, oh yeah, this place is going to do wonders for my allergies, thanks." Horst's snide voice registered, and Marshall wished he felt better. He would like to have said something snarky and funny that would make Mary smile, but his concentration was absorbed with breathing at the moment. It was getting harder. Besides, as Mary lowered him onto the old couch, he had to admit that their witness had a point. His bulk caused dust to rise from the faded and tattered cushions, and his lungs wheezed anew with their effort to draw air to his body and brain.

"You." Mary's voice was menacing as she stepped back from her partner and approached Horst. Seizing his elbow, she pulled him to the bar. Marshall grinned inwardly at the way she completely disregarded his whiny sniveling. The blond marshal relieved Horst of the duffel bag before shoving him up against the counter and pulling one of the stools out of her way.

"There are gonna be lawsuits aplenty," Horst threatened, "trust me on that one."

Mary quickly closed his shackle around the post there. Green eyes glared at their witness briefly. "Shut up."

Marshall adjusted his grip on the bloodstained shirt he held to his wound. Terseness, thy middle name should have been Mary. His mind was starting to misfire with random thoughts. Never a good sign.

His partner hoisted the duffel bag and returned to his side. "How we doing?" She bent over him, blond hair swinging around her face.

"Tension Pneumothorax," he mumbled. The air inside his chest was making it impossible for his lungs to expand. He couldn't breathe.

"That's funny," Mary tried to keep her voice light, but he could tell that his sudden lack of verboseness worried her. "I was just gonna say that."

He knew what needed to happen. She needed access to the wound. "Tube..." he caught hold of his lapel and jerked, thankful he had worn the shirt with the snapped buttons. "...thoracostomy..."

"Marshall," Mary's voice was tense, but sounded as though she were trying to remain calm. "If I'm going to help you, you need to speak English."

She didn't know what he was talking about. He had to walk her through it slowly. The lanky lawman didn't know if he had enough air for that. There were already bright lights starting to flash around the edges of his vision. "Get the tube from the car."

"Right," she turned to the bag, hands moving quickly, almost frantically. "Right." she pulled the tube out, holding it up so he could see it. "Okay, okay, now what?

He wanted to tell her she needed to use the tube to relieve the pressure. He wanted to tell her to calm down. Everything was going to be okay. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't because his body had been telling him for the past ten minutes that it wasn't getting enough oxygen, and without his permission, suddenly shut down.

As he felt his head fall back against the couch, the last thing he heard was Mary's voice calling his name, and begging for him to wake up.

0-0-0-0

Bright lights and flashing colors. A maelstrom of meaningless gibberish passing before his eyes, and at the center of the chaos: her. Mary. The rock in the midst of a storm. His beautiful, wild, tender, cruel partner. His friend. She was smiling, and it was the real smile. He probably saw that smile more than any other person living, and he still didn't see it enough. Most of her life was spent with the mask firmly in place.

No, not a mask. A shell. A case. The crisp candy coating that hid the sweet center. Except her candy coating was ten feet thick and made from cement with glass shard studding. It took the patience of Mother Theresa and the indomitable will of Napoleon to crack through that case, and most people didn't bother. He had. He had made it to the soft vein running through the cement.

And it had changed him. His life was almost inextricably wrapped around Mary. Almost. He wasn't sure if that's what he wanted, because he wasn't sure that hers would ever be wrapped around him. He knew that he would lay down everything for his partner if she would ask.

But she wouldn't ask. He could look out for her, and guard her (and guard others from her) and she would never request his help once. It led him to believe that she was not as dependent on him as he was becoming on her. He was addicted to the venomous, cantankerous, acidic high that was Mary Shannon. Like any addict, he kept coming back for another fix. Not that he didn't give as good as he got, because he did. It was one of the highlights of his life to get a rise out of his pretty partner, and sometimes it was so easy. Like regaling her with the 'discovery' of crinoline.

He had the feeling that she could take life with or without him. Perhaps it was time to break out of his habit. What was the only way to break an addiction? Remove yourself from that which you are addicted to.

But he couldn't turn away from her. She was sauntering towards him, the real smile on her lips. Her face tilted up towards him and he tried to force himself to walk away. He couldn't. One of her hands came up to the back of his head, one rested on his shoulder. His heart was pounding. With a suddenness that surprised him, she pushed herself upwards, putting her lips on his. Except it wasn't exactly a kiss. Her hands were strong, firm; her mouth against his hard, and yet this wasn't passionate...

She was exhaling into his mouth, and he could feel himself breathing in her scent, breathing with her, his lungs responding to a pressure that wasn't his own...

0-0-0-0

Marshall woke with a choking cough, his lungs resuming their own rhythm. Mary pulled her mouth away from his and patted at his face and neck, making sure that he stayed conscious. "Marshall, Marshall!" He could hear the relief in her voice, but he knew that he wasn't quite out of danger yet. She had force fed him oxygen, but they needed to fix the underlying problem or he was going to pass out again.

"Insert tube through bullet wound..." he managed to gasp, "second intercostal..." he was already running out of air.

Mary stared at him, her eyebrows drawing together in consternation. "What ? !"

Procedures for dummies it was. He would have to remember to tell her that sometime when he wasn't about to die. "Put the tube in the hole!" Marshall allowed his head to fall back against the couch. It was suddenly too much effort to hold it upright and breathe at the same time.

"Okay," she pulled her hands away from him and seized the tube. "Okay, okay...I hope you know what you're doing..."

Him too.

Mary pulled back the right side of his shirt, exposing his wound. With a slight grimace, she took the end of the tube and quickly shoved it into the hole. To her credit, she only flinched slightly at the sucking, squelching sound before jerking his shirt back into place.

He could hear the hissing as soon as the tube was in place. It was working. More importantly, it was suddenly easier to breath. Marshall raised his head, and took a deep breath. His partner was staring in amazement at the end of the tube in her hands, listening to the hiss of escaping air.

"Oh," she said, in a slightly stunned tone of voice. "I'll be damned!"

"Better," he concurred, finding speech much easier now that he could breathe again. "Hand me a half empty water bottle." As he spoke he took the tube from his partner.

"Okay," she tore into the duffel once more, movements quick and agitated. He could tell she was still half-expecting him to pass out and die. Seizing one of the bottles she had bought at the gas station, she dumped roughly half of the fluid onto the ground and placed it in his hand. "Here you go."

Marshall inserted the end of the tube into the bottle. Bubbles immediately started boiling towards the surface, and he drew in another deep breath. It was working.

Mary was staring, her eyebrows drawn together, jaw slack with wonder. "Amazing..."

"It's a water seal," Marshall explained. Holding the bottle in his right hand, he motioned to it with his left. "Gravity and hydraulic pressure allow the air in the pleural space," he motioned to his chest, "to escape, but not to go back in." Now she was staring at him with that same slack-jawed look of wonder. He shrugged, and managed not to grin like an idiot. "What?" He even kept his voice innocent, as though to say, 'doesn't everyone know what a water seal is and how it works?'

Her lips came together and managed to quirk a smile. "Have I told you that sometimes, not very often, but sometimes I'm really glad you're a walking Jeopardy episode?"

Her body was relaxing, some of the tension leaving her shoulders and spine. Placing her hands on her knees, Mary allowed her head to drop forward with a suddenness that alarmed him. "Mary?" He tried to push himself up off the couch, but one of her hands immediately rose to press him back. She looked up, and the expression on her face stopped him in his mental tracks. She was vastly relieved.

"Sit still, doofus." Her voice still had some snap, but he knew her well enough to recognize that there was no malice behind it. "If you pull that tube out, I am not putting it back in. Once a day is my limit for sticking things into holes in my partner's body."

There was a moment of silence before she wrinkled her nose. "That came out much dirtier than it should have."

"Little bit, yeah."

She shrugged, then turned back to the duffel back and pawed through it until she unearthed the first aid kit. "Take off your shirt."

"I wish I had a nickel for every time..."

"With God as my witness I will punch you if you finish that sentence." Mary set the kit onto the couch beside him before helping him ease his right arm out of his shirt. Though her movements were quick and efficient, her touch was gentle, almost tender. "I don't think you're going to be able to salvage this," she remarked, wiggling a finger through the bloody hole in the material.

"And it was one of my favorites," he sighed.

"Fortunately Goodwill is still running a sale on used cowboy goods this weekend." She pulled him forward slightly, allowing her to slide his shirt off his left arm. "You might even be able to pick up a new pair of boots and a tasteless belt buckle."

"Tell me," he said as he leaned back against the couch with a wince. "Is there a day that goes by in which you do not think up new derogatory things to say about my apparel?"

The blond marshal pulled gauze and tape out of the kit as she considered her response. "Last Tuesday, I think. Oh wait, there was that comment I made to Stan about how all you were missing was the ten gallon hat and the ukelele."

He watched her tape the bandage over his bullet wound. Fortunately it wasn't bleeding heavily. His blue eyes observed her through half closed lids. Blond hair straggling into her face, eyebrows drawn together tightly in concentration. She was wearing a black hair tie around her wrist, but hadn't stopped fussing over him long enough to use it. "Actually, I believe you're thinking of a guitar as the standard 'cowboy' instrument. The ukelele is more indigenous to island living."

"Indigenous? Marshall, it's an instrument, not a flock of swallows." Mary took a step back and surveyed her handiwork. "How's that feel?"

Like I've been shot. "Excellent. Also, the ukelele has a fascinating history..."

"Please shut your hole, or I will rip out your tube and smile while you asphyxiate." Her words were harsh, but even as she spoke them she was folding her discarded button down shirt and using it to gently sponge sweat from his face.

"It has never ceased to amaze me that you chose not to enter the nursing profession," Marshall said wryly. If he kept talking, he could semi-ignore the throbbing pain that was spreading from his shoulder throughout the rest of his body.

Mary snorted as she put down her shirt and packed the first aid kit back into the duffel bag. "Are you kidding me?" She quirked her eyebrows at him in a manner he had always secretly found endearing, even as it signaled the beginning of a rant. In the interests of research, he had discovered that the angle her eyebrows tilted to corresponded to the length of her diatribes. Steep tilt; long rant. This one wouldn't be too bad. Probably only a couple sentences or so.

"Whiny, sniveling patients with God only knows what dripping out of every orifice. Long hours, bad pay, bending over backward for people you despise and would probably gladly see dead if you weren't focused on preserving their health." She paused for a moment as she straightened up, dragging both hands through the sweat tangled locks of hair hanging around her face and pulling them back into a rough pony tail. "It would be just like being a marshal except I wouldn't get to carry a gun."

He actually chuckled, but it turned into a cough quickly. The jolting made his wound throb anew. Mary had turned away to check if the door was secured, and she missed the wince that creased his face for a moment.

Marshall stared at her back, frowning. The white tank top she had worn under her professional button-down was already grimed with dust and sweat. He could see the moisture seeping through the material; making the shirt stick to her back. She needed to leave. She needed to get out of here, right now. This place was some shelter from the sun, but the moment the assassins returned it would turn into a death trap, for all of them.

She couldn't afford to wait for him. Marshall swore under his breath in frustration. It had been an effort to get him as far as this building. Mary was a strong woman, but she had her limits. She wouldn't want anyone to believe that, but he knew the truth. By the time they had reached the gas station she had been almost bent double trying to support his weight. Blood loss and trauma to his system had made him weak. He couldn't walk on his own, and she certainly wasn't going to get far carrying him through the desert. At the same time, he could only imagine what her response would be if he told her she needed to get out; save herself.

He would be lucky if she didn't slap him. Mary never did take well to what she perceived as other people's attempts to 'rescue' her. Worst damsel in distress ever. No, if he was going to get her out, he had to make her believe that it was in the best interests of her job.

"You should go," he said decisively.

"You should shut up," Mary snapped, as she turned back towards him from the door. Her eyes were glaring, fierce. Angry that he would even suggest that she abandon him and save herself. "I'm not leaving you and a witness like sitting ducks." As she spoke, she crossed the room and began to dig through the duffel.

Marshall reached across himself with his left hand and seized her arm, snagging her attention. She looked up in surprise, but he did not release her. He wanted to be sure that he had her focus on him. Blue eyes swung to Horst for a second, then back to her questioning gaze. "Take him with you. It's only a couple of miles to the highway." And ever second she stayed here increased the chances that she would be killed.

Mary snorted in dismissal. "It's not gonna happen," she was already breaking eye contact, turning him down without a second thought. "Forget it."

He tightened his grip, bringing her back to face him. "Come on," he raised his eyebrows and looked her in the eye. "You know it's the right call." his last word broke off as a cough shook him. Marshall tightened his jaw, trying not to let it show how much that cough hurt. If Mary thought that he was in real pain, he might not be able to convince her to leave.

Her face remained impassive, but she had some of the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. Concern was written there in large letters as she looked at him. Marshall could see her will crumble for once. She did know that it was the right call. It was the only thing that could have gotten her to leave him. And he took some comfort in that.

She glanced sideways at Horst for a second before turning back to her partner. "I can go a lot faster without him," she said softly, almost under her breath. She was thinking of him. Thinking that if she got out faster, she could get help to him faster. It was true, but he was also thinking of their job.

"Hey," Horst called across the room. "You! No secrets!"

Neither partner paid him any heed.

"You can't leave him with me," Marshall said between set teeth. "I can't protect him." It cost him to say the words, but he would do just about anything to get her out.

Mary's face was still, immobile. She and Marshall turned their heads toward Horst at the same time, observing him as they would any other problem. Something to be parsed out, planned out, and overcome. Together.

For the first time, he appeared unnerved. "Wh..why you lookin' at me like that?" The way he held his manacled hands close to his chest reminded Marshall of a nervous chipmunk.

Mary sighed, and turned her face back towards him. He knew that she had decided to leave before she spoke another word. He had felt the tension in her arm change. Instead of trying to pull away from him, she was still. Her eyes found his, and the look in them was...he didn't quite know what. He had never seen it there before.

"You better not die," she said quietly. No dramatic confessions. No heart wrenching dialogue.

"I will try not to die," he responded. "For you."

He didn't tell her that he promised not to die. Marshall knew that she still didn't like the phrase, but that wasn't the only reason he didn't say the words.

He didn't tell Mary that he promised, because she knew that if he made a promise he would never break it.

And he wasn't entirely sure that this was one he could keep.

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2003

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It was an auspicious day. Mary leaned back into her chair and placed her boots on her desk, crossing her ankles. Her long fingers wove together over her stomach as she gazed contemplatively at the ceiling. Auspicious. Now there was a word that probably wouldn't have been in her vocabulary three months and two weeks ago. Further signs that this was indeed a day worth taking note of.

Today, she had a partner.

The same partner that she had three months and two weeks ago.

Now who would have figured that?

At the end of this day, when she went home, Marshall Mann would be the partner who had officially (and unofficially) stayed with her the longest. More surprising, there was none of the tension she had felt in previous partnerships. The sidelong glances, uncomfortable whispers, screamed curses...none of those subtle hints that suggested the partnership was on a downward spiral into the crapper.

She verbally lambasted him on a daily basis. Instead of responding with a hissy fit, a sulk or reporting her, he drew mental steel. Marshall possessed a dry sense of humor that was the equal to her vitriol. He could hold his own, and gain ground. The only time she could claim any real advantage was when he went off on one of his discourses about a subject that no person should know that much about. Like the history of the handkerchief. Honestly.

She knew how many brothers he had.

He knew that she hated time travel movies. It didn't stop him from talking about them.

She could tell when he hadn't gotten enough sleep. Those were the days when she could really take advantage in their arguments, because he was too tired to think quickly.

He knew what her favorite song was, and which radio stations she couldn't stand to listen to without going off on a rant against the idiotic talk show host. Sometimes he left his car radio on that station on purpose, but he never touched the knob when her favorite song was playing.

She still hadn't figured out the cowboy boots.

Mary lowered her feet to the floor and stood, stretching. It was dark out. The city lights twinkled like grounded stars. Late night again. Her green eyes strayed to the desk of her partner.

There he was. The man semi-responsible for her sudden career shift to WitSec. He could arguably be called the reason she was here in Albuquerque. Working for Stan. Working with him. Sitting at her desk with words like 'auspicious' wandering through her head of their own accord.

All in all, she was fairly pleased with her life at the moment. Albuquerque wasn't the hell on earth she had originally supposed it to be. Working under Stan had caused her to realize that she had found the pot of gold hidden by U.S. Marshal leprechauns; namely, a boss that was competent and willing to fight for the welfare of his marshals. She had a decent apartment and a partner who was in the process of becoming...what? A friend?

Mary frowned at Marshall's bent head. She hadn't had a friend in...too long. Way, way too long. She wasn't sure she wanted one anymore. Besides, friendship, trust and respect went together. Did she trust Marshall? Maybe. Respect him? Maybe. Was she friends with him? Not yet.

Not a friend then. But a good partner. As partners went. With everything that was going right it was almost time for something to go horribly pear-shaped. Watch, Jinx would move to Albuquerque and want to live with her.

Mary shuddered and berated herself for thinking something so horrible.

"Wool gathering?"

Marshall's voice brought her back to reality with a slight bump. "You could say that."

He was leaning around his computer so he could face her. "Something on your mind?"

He was doing that...thing...again. Asking her what she was thinking. Inviting her to share part of herself.

As a general rule, Mary didn't like to share. Anything. Food, drink, time, money...most especially, she did not like to share herself. Although chocolate took a close second place. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Speak to your partner," Marshall intoned in what she had termed his 'sage' voice. "I have wisdom of the world. You should talk to me."

"That was oddly rhythmic," she said suspiciously.

Marshall shrugged and took a sip from his coffee mug. Her eyes narrowed. To the casual observer, his face was placid; innocent. To her, she could see that...grin...fighting to break out through the twinkle of his eyes. She thought for a moment on what he had just said.

Considered. Counted. He wouldn't.

She counted again.

He would! That sick bastard. Mary stared at him in a mixture of horror and wonder. "That was a haiku! A freaky little partner haiku!" She shook her head in disbelief. "You're twisted."

"Like a slinky," he readily concurred. The grin was out now, all over his face. "You're the one who recognized it." she could hear his laughter coming through his voice. He put down his coffee mug, grin dying down to a pleasant smile. "Seriously though. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not with someone who composes haiku," she snorted.

For a second, she thought she saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes before he turned back to his computer screen.

A strange impulse gripped her; one she had never felt before becoming partners with Marshall.

She wanted to tell him what was going through her head.

She wanted to take him up on his offer to share a part of herself and tell him about her thoughts concerning their partnership, and her life, and how he was to blame for the word 'auspicious' bouncing around inside her cranium.

She wanted to confide her fears about Jinx and Brandi, and how they would never pull their lives together.

She wanted to tell him about her dad.

Mary actually opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn't force herself to make a sound. The blond marshal slowly clamped her lips together and sighed. Maybe another time.

Maybe she would actually get to the place where she felt like she could talk to him before she drove him off.

Reaching under her desk, Mary grabbed her bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder. Time to go home. Tomorrow was another day.

0-0-0-0

As Mary bent under her desk, Marshall's cell buzzed. The lanky inspector took a quick look at the caller ID.

He froze, eyes widening.

Marie Andrews.

As Mary walked past his desk, he flipped the phone open. "Marie? What is it? Are you all right?"

"Marshall," Marie's voice sounded tiny and hushed through the phone's speaker, like she was trying to whisper. "I...I don't know what to do..."

"Tell me what's wrong," he said persuasively, even as he began to rise to his feet, reaching for his jacket. "Do you need help?"

Mary had already gone through the gate and was standing by the elevator. Her thumb was punching the button. As though hitting it more times would bring the car faster.

"It's Dominic," came the whisper, anguished.

Marshall could feel his heart starting to beat faster. He forced his voice to stay level. "Has he hit you again?"

"No, Marshall, that's not it!"

"Okay, then tell me what the problem is." He felt some relief at her words, but not much. She had lied about Dominic hitting her before.

"Do you remember what you said to me the last time I saw you?" Her voice was urgent. Desperate.

"Of course. I promised to come and help you if you needed it." Please, oh please, oh please...

"Dominic's in trouble! I think he's dealing again with those crooks from that horrible dive on Maple ridge!"

"Wait...what?" Please do not be asking what I think you're about to be asking.

"Marshall, I need your help. You need to come and stop him. If he gets caught, he'll get kicked out of the program and he'll be killed." Marie sounded like she was near tears.

"You...need me to come and help...Dominic." Just saying the words left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

"Yes!" She was thrilled that he had caught on so quickly. He could hear the relief in her voice.

"Marie, could you hold on for one second?"

0-0-0-0

Mary's thumb beat a tattoo on the elevator button. In her head, she knew that it wouldn't come any faster with repeated punching, but something about it just felt right.

Her partner's voice was a low murmur behind her, one that she was shutting out at the moment. The blond woman leaned forward, head resting on the wall. She was tired. It had been a long day. There was something about dealing with witnesses that left her emotionally drained.

"Of course," Marshall's voice cut through the fog that she was trying to sink into. "I promised to come and help you if you needed it."

Huh. Could it be? Was that woman really calling for help? And would he really give it? It was true, he had promised, but that had been several months ago, and it was late. Quite late. If she was tired, he had to be tired too. Would he put her off till tomorrow, or would he keep his word?

"Wait...what?" A new level of tension seeped through Marshall's normally calm voice. Mary felt her own, much more volatile temper start to stir. If he was that surprised, then whatever happened wasn't good. Maybe she should stay and offer her assistance.

"You...need me to come and help...Dominic." It sounded like the words had been dragged out of him on the rack, and she couldn't blame him. Mary closed her eyes for a moment. What the hell! ? For a moment, she wondered if Marie was insane.

"Marie, could you hold on for one second?"

Mary sighed. She should offer help. She should. Turning around, Mary faced the office and got a clear view of her partner sitting at his desk.

Holding his cell phone out at arm's length.

Apparently trying to silently strangle it.

She bit her lip to hold back her laughter even as she stepped towards the gate. He was going to say forget it. She knew that he was. Somewhere inside of her she was disappointed. The blond marshal swiped her card and pushed the gate open as her gangly partner pulled his phone back to his ear. There was no way he was going to keep this promise. It would be ridiculous. Hell, even she wouldn't blame him for not seeing this through.

Well...maybe she would. Secretly.

"Marie," he said in a measured, careful tone.

Here it came. What would the excuse be? It's too late? I'm too tired? Your husband needs to rot at the bottom of a river?

"I'm on my way. Stay at your house, I'll be there as soon as I can." Marshall closed the cell phone and tucked it into his pocket.

0-0-0-0

"I'll be there as soon as I can." With a baseball bat. It's the only kind of help Dominic is going to understand. Snapping the phone shut, Marshall slid it into his jacket pocket. Talk about a lousy way to end a day. Anything else the universe would like to throw at him? How about a flat tire in the middle of the desert?

He turned, only to almost crash into his partner. Mary was standing directly in front of him, her jaw agape. Staring. She made no effort to move out of his way, and he was forced to take a hasty step back, which almost caused him to overbalance and trip over his own chair. He caught himself just in time. "Something I can do for you?" His tone was slightly irate, but in his defense, he had almost made a most undignified descent to the floor.

His partner just stared at him.

Marshall's irritation ebbed slightly. He didn't know what it was, but there was something that was suddenly different in the way she was looking at him. Like some of the sharp edges had been removed. Her mouth slowly tipped into a smile, and he found himself taking his turn at staring; eyebrows soaring upwards.

"Want some company?" she offered.

No smacks about how his witness was stupid? No long-winded diatribe about women who allowed themselves to be abused? One brow rose higher than other. "Are you...feeling okay?" Are you sober?

"Never better." she jerked a thumb toward the elevator. "Come on. Hand-holding time."

He continued to stare as she turned away from him. All of a sudden she was walking with almost a bounce in her step.

He found it oddly out of character. Kind of unsettling.

Holding the gate open, Mary looked back over her shoulder. "Coming? I'm not about to go do your coddling for you."

Marshall shook himself mentally. Go with it. "I've got the tissues."

Mary pushed the elevator button, and before she could resume her previous drum solo, the door slid open. The partners entered in silence. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed...cheerful? The perverse quirk in his nature flickered to life. Maybe he would test this new good mood.

"So have I ever gone over the history and foundations of the 'haiku' and it's correlations to the structure of society?"

"No, but now would be a very bad time. How does three weeks after never sound?"

"That's not gonna work for me, I play bridge then."

The elevator door started to slide shut.

"The physics and engineering necessary to design a slinky?"

"Holy crap, I hate you."

0-0-0-0

Okee dokee, the next chapter should be up before Sat. Probably going to be another longer one. I hope. Where my muse leads, I follow. She generally tends to lead me into angst and hopeless emotional torment for my characters, but I always fix what I break. ;) Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I loooooooooooooooooooove me some reviews!