Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

Miraculous Mary - Extended Play Version

Training? We don't need no stinkin' training.

MARY POV

It was weird talking to Marshall about breaking up with Raph. But it shouldn't be. He's my best friend. Should I call him about going running? I don't remember what kind of running shoes I had then. Might as well ask him about those too. He's probably done a spreadsheet on shoe features, performance and price. His geekiness leaks into every aspect of his life. I realize now that it's actually useful. Huh.

Time to go through my closet. There's gotta be stuff in there I don't remember. Jeans, boots – oh those boots! Had to throw them out after a disgusting chase. This city girl didn't do so good in farm country. Phew! I remember that smell. Hmm, what's this. I don't remember this box. It's not Daddy's letters. I can see them on the shelf above.

I take the box out of the closet and sit down on the bed. It's a small box, deeper than a shirt box. I open it and see ticket stubs and pictures and what looks like food wrappers? What the hell? Why don't I remember this? There are three photos and they're all of Marshall and me. Where did I get these? A closer look at the trash shows the stubs are from events we attended together. A foreign language movie, a baseball game, a slick brochure from an art gallery, a bookmark from a museum. Why don't I remember these?

This is different from the life I remember. Isn't it? Was I this attached to Marshall in my real life, other life? Why else would I save this crap – except for the photos. Where did I get those? I study the backgrounds. These might have been taken at a crime scene. Maybe I got the CSI guy to take them? I have a vague almost memory of wrestling a camera away from a guy and snapping some pictures. Why wouldn't I just take them with my phone? Think Mary! Camera phones weren't that common when these were taken.

I have time to think because even with Jinx and Brandi home the place seems emptier. That little box in my closet set off an emotional explosion that I can't begin to deal with. Did I have a crush on Marshall? None of the stuff in that box could be used to tease him. If anyone knew it existed it could be used to tease me. I'm breathing hard trying to fit what I see into what I know. Or thought I knew. I have to get away from that box.

Sitting in the living room my eyes latch onto the white outlines of a rectangle of drywall - Raph's repair attempt. I don't miss him as much as I miss the ambiance -as Marshall would say - of having a man in the house. That and the chores he'd done. Which reminds me, my laundry is piling up. I can do my own damn laundry.

I need to get out of here and take Marshall up on his offer soon. He will be so flabbergasted when I arrive bearing pizza and beer, he'll probably faint! Moocher Mary bringing food and not asking for money? I'm going to do it just to see his expression! But not tonight. I'm tired but can't face my own damn bedroom. This couch is pretty comfy.

Getting ready for work the next morning I try to remember what happens next. Jesus and Olivia have been relocated. She realized her dad really had her best interest at heart. They're in a new location with new Inspectors. I hope they appreciate what they have. Her mother is dead but at least she has her dad.

When I arrive at the office I take a careful look around. I'm supposed to know where everything is, even though for me it's where everything was. Eleanor and I trade quips and when I don't have a comeback I go on witness visits. When I get back there's a suit and a casually dressed guy in the conference room. Crap! It's Tom and Brad, the WitSec training video guys. Maybe this time around I can get them to explore the real life of a WitSec Inspector. Lying to your family, hiding your job from your friends. Keeping douchebags from being killed. Actually it's a good idea if you don't have any friends.

I can see the WitSec recruiting ad now: Don't have any friends? Don't want any? Do you want minimal meaningful contact with your family? Can you see yourself lying to your lover, your spouse, your mother? You could be a WitSec Inspector! Especially if your stomach is strong enough to deal with criminal scum in the name of justice. Yeah. Right.

Stan motions me into the conference room. Showtime! This time I don't spend all my time checking my phone. Just most of it. Paying attention to the screenwriter wanna be and his schlock director would spook Stan and Marshall, especially Marshall. I try to weasel out of it, and right on schedule, just as Marshall accepts his role as 'technical advisor' his computer beeps. Joey Tancredi's son died, leaving Brad and Tom with yours truly to technically advise them.

The video turns out pretty much like it did last time. Except this time I actually read the script and get kicked off the set for complaining about the stupid ass parts right away. They came around although Tom whined about script approvals. Brad actually listened. He thinks I have Ghandi like passion! Ha!

Marshall goes off to Philly with Tancredi and I get to watch videos. Well, a video. It's not great film making but it's better. I had promised to take Brad out for drinks if he became difficult so when Tom called Brad 'difficult,' I had to make good on my promise. It was better than going home. Brad's okay company. He even laughed at my WitSec recruiting ad. He had a plane to catch and I had to return to my empty house. Brandi is out with Peter. Jinx is at an AA meeting. The place is too damn quiet and I can't even take Marshall up on his offer to hide out at his place because he's not home. Dammit!

At least this time I have the integrity Eleanor accused me of having. It was right after the video filming finished that Peter advised me to open up to Raph, Jinx and Brandi – and I did - in exactly the wrong way – telling Raph about WitSec. This time Raph is already gone so Marshall's secret and mine is safe. Did the fact that Raph knew what we do get Marshall killed last time? What's that saying about butterflies and China? I'm sure Marshall knows.

Peter gave Brandi a car this time too. But his response to my rant about him spoiling them is the same. He said I was so accustomed to being the responsible one, to being the adult, I forgot to let Jinx and Brandi grow up. He's right. I didn't believe they could, but they did it anyway. A 25-year habit is damn hard to break, but I have to try. Peter's been good for both Brandi and Jinx. I'm proud of her for staying sober but haven't told her – yet.

Maybe if I have a heart to heart with Brandi – yuck hate those words – she'll feel better about herself, able to accept Peter's love. Hell maybe this time Abigail won't arrest her. Yeah, gotta work on that. But for tonight, it's bourbon and bed. I miss my baby most at night. I didn't get a solid night's sleep for months after Bug was born but I'd give anything to wake up to her cry. Anything but Marshall's life.

Morning comes too soon. After hiding that box deep in my closet again, I was able to sleep in my own bed. I miss my baby but I sure like the way I look in jeans now. You never appreciate what you have till it's gone.

When I get to the office Marshall's at his desk. "So how was Philly?"

"Okay. Bobby and I went to the wake." Dershowitz went with him! I didn't know that. "I heard Joey Tancredi didn't come back with you. What's up with that?" How could Bobby go with him? Isn't that a breach of WitSec regs? I never got the whole story out of him in my former life. He's my friend, my best friend. Why didn't I ask?

"I'll tell you about it later. I've got a lot of catching up to do, and if I don't do it today it will only get worse." Marshall focuses on his computer, doing threat assessments and reading email.

The day winds down, the office empties out, only the lights over our desks still lit. It's time. "Hey Marsh!" I'm sitting at my desk, computer off, files filed, leaning back in my chair.

He looks up, jet lag clouding his eyes. "You look like you could use a drink." I get the whiskey out of my drawer and pour a generous amount into two glasses.

I take a sip and thrust the other glass toward him. "What happened with Joey?"

Marshall clears off his desk and comes to sit on the edge of mine, taking the glass I offer.

"He signed himself out of the program." Tancredi's no longer in witness protection? How did I miss it?

"Why did he do that?"

"It's the only way he could go to his son's funeral." Marshall sips his whiskey.

I think about that for a while. That explains Joey, but how about Bobby? "How did Bobby know who Tancredi was?"

"Bobby's a good detective. He hangs out at the bar where Joe worked. Bobby was there when I went to tell Joe his son had died. When I wouldn't let him buy me a drink he knew I was working. Then when I asked to see Philly Joe he put two and two together. I pulled Joe aside, told him what happened and said I'd check to see if he could go to his son's funeral. I did, but the answer was no. Stan said it would take too many marshals.

When I went to tell Joe the bad news, Bobby was there and he had dug up the story of Joe and the Philly mob. Joe came to our table and said he wanted out. I had done a threat assessment before asking if Joe could go. It's been 30 years and most of the potential threats are dead or senile. Still it didn't feel right to let him go alone. I gave Stan Joe's opt out card and told him I was taking some vacation days."

I squint and tilt my head. "Did you tell Stan Bobby was going with you?" Marshall's eyes go up and he looks away. Got him! "Stan knows now, right?"

"Yeah."

"And he's okay with it?"

"Yeah. Nothing I did was counter to WitSec regs. Once Joey opted out where he went and with who was no longer our concern."

He's cradling his drink staring off into space. "Why do I think there's more to this story?"

Marshall seems pleased I figured it out. His eyes crinkle with warmth. "Because there is. Joe's a pretty smart cookie, but old habits almost got him thrown in jail. The rumor about his disappearance said he died on his knees begging for his life. He may be old but he still has his pride. He found the guy responsible for the rumor and when Bobby and I found Joe he had a gun to the guy's head. I was all set to arrest him when he comes up with information about a 20 year old murder committed by the very guy he was threatening." He grimaces as he swallows the whiskey. "So instead of being prosecuted for attempted murder, he gets a deal and stays with his family. And the guy he wanted to shoot gets 20 years."

"Sounds like a win win to me." Giving criminals protection from other criminals just so some of them can be brought to justice is a Faustian bargain. Is justice actually served? It's not for me to decide. I just deal with the douchebags they send me.

Marshall shakes his head and stares off into the distance. "All those years he was sure his family hated him. His son became a DA because he was proud of his dad for breaking up the Philly mob. Joe had no idea."

"So he got a warm reception from his family?"

"Yeah. He did. Before his son died he told his wife that Joe would come. He was right. He hadn't seen his father since he was 11 but he knew his Dad would come to his funeral." Marshall stares at the star filled sky through the balcony doors.

"You know," he sighs. "Our witnesses go into the program and live with the lies and the distance and the unanswered questions. You can tell just by looking at them there's something missing, a void. Very few of them get the chance to fill that void. Joe got it." He takes another sip of whiskey. "I've never heard of a case where a mobster turned witness was able to go back to his family, let alone be welcomed with open arms. Guess all it takes is 30 years."

"It's not quite the same but remember Treena?" Marshall's ears turn pink. Bet he's remembering that black sequin dress Brandi poured me into. "She opted out after we caught the diamond smugglers. She chose her husband and family over WitSec. With the diamond smugglers out of the picture she felt she could. Course it didn't hurt that her mother in law's compound is guarded better than Fort Knox."

Treena told me to expect something more out of life. Something beyond the job. I was with Raph then and thought that was what she meant. I bombed out of her wedding but still missed saying goodbye to Raph when he was called up to the majors. I should have known that was a sign that we weren't meant to be.

My something more was Norah. This time around it's more than my biological clock counting down. Now I know what I'm missing. Having another child won't replace her, but it might begin to fill the hole in me. That must be following my heart.

Marshall is too caught up in his own thoughts to notice how maudlin I've become. He takes the glasses to rinse in the break room and I put the bottle back in my drawer.

"Hey." He's locked his desk and comes back to mine. "Want to get dinner?"

Marshall's asking me out. I squint at him. He's serious. I give him a tenuous smile. "Sure." Why not? Marshall knows my penchant for free food. My figure is slimmer than it was in my old life. I can afford the calories. How does a time traveler figure their age?

We take his truck and end up at a nice restaurant – white table cloths and a wine list nice. I feel underdressed in my jeans, knit shirt and leather jacket. Oh hell. This is Albuquerque not NYC. My only concession to the formality of the place is to unbutton a few more buttons and pretend it's evening wear. Marshall's wearing a suit jacket and a dark dress shirt, so he fits in, even without a tie. I catch him focusing on the additional skin I've exposed. I snicker as he hides behind the wine list. He orders wine and appetizers and soon we're relaxed enough to enjoy each other's company.

After our meal arrives I do my best to suppress a giggle at Marshall's nervousness. He's spewing trivia like there's no tomorrow. "Hey." I reach across the table for his hand. "Not that I don't find how Intel has speeded up their processing chip fascinating, but your dinner is getting cold."

"Oh, yeah." He looks at the fettuccini alfredo congealing on his plate and tucks in.

Marshall and I know what to expect from each other when we're on witness visits or when we're under fire or when we're having a spitball war in the office. We don't know how to act on a date. Not that either of us would call this a date.

Once he begins eating it's my turn to talk. I tell him how Brandi and Jinx are doing, the cost of pool maintenance and my roofing concerns. Once he's done eating I ask about running shoes and we discuss them at length over dessert. I don't think I've dropped hints this big to any man, but he finally offers to help me buy running shoes. There are so many layers to our relationship it might take a while for him to look beyond our work partnership to the something more I'm hoping for this time around.

"Thanks for dinner. The food, everything was good." I nod my head as he stops next to my car in the parking structure. "Great even. Thanks." I've missed that purple bomb, the first car I ever bought and paid for. Ever the gentleman, he gets out of the car when I do.

I clear my throat and lean against the Probe, peering up at him in the semi-dark. "I might just take you up on your offer to hide out at your place. Some nights I need to get out." I sigh, examining my boots. "When Brandi and Jinx aren't there it's too damn quiet. When they are there I'm too annoyed to relax." I look up into his warm blue eyes. "Being at your place might do it." Marshall smiles, a sweet smile. He's pleased. Hell, he's thrilled. I can see it in his eyes. It's so easy to make this bad ass lawman happy. He's a good story teller too. Why didn't I ever really listen before?

"Mi casa es su casa. You're welcome any time Mary."

I push off the car and get my keys out. "Be careful what you wish for Marshall. I'm not exactly good company."

"I mean it Mare. You're always welcome."

I can almost hear him completing that sentence. You're always welcome in my car, my house, my bed. Jeezus! What am I getting us into?

A/N: Thanks Meg and Kyrielslight for the reviews! Not bad for a story about a show that ended in 2012.