A/N: Stan arrives! He is not in this story as much, but I do work him in from time to time!

XXX

There had been a time when both Mary and Marshall had believed the intensity that was WITSEC would chug along like time itself – marching ever forward, never slowing down, and always cranking out a new batch of problems as well as solutions. Minus that fateful six months where the office had very nearly relocated to Denver, the cases poured in as steadily as they ever did. A lot of that was Stan's doing, once he had gained so much clout in DC.

But now, upwards of twenty years after Mary had first set foot in Albuquerque as Marshall's partner, it seemed the cycle – such as it was – was finally beginning to slow down. Since relocating to Albuquerque three years earlier, Stan's influence had dwindled, although he certainly made it very clear that their branch of WITSEC was to stay firmly intact. Nonetheless, they had fewer and fewer new charges these days, as DC was sending most of them into Colorado and Arizona, both of which had bigger Witness Protection divisions.

In some ways, Mary couldn't say she was sorry about this. Their current crop of witnesses, even though they were growing older and more accustomed to the program, still kept her plenty busy. With the kids, though, she enjoyed not taking on a new case every three days and being able to manage the ones she did have like clockwork. Most new individuals went to Delia, as there were so few of them, and either Mary or Marshall assisted. Whoever didn't was assigned to Stan, helping him manage his high-brow government work. Mary liked that she could still focus on being a mother, not devoting her entire existence to the Marshal Service like she used to.

And yet, she wondered about the day when the girls were adults and the Albuquerque branch of WITSEC had all-but folded completely. What would she do with her time then? It seemed foolish to fret about it now, especially since Alice wasn't even seven years old yet, but Mary was a woman who needed activity to keep her happy. Between her daughters and her job, she had never had a period of downtime, and that was the way she liked it.

On this crisp and fairly sunny Tuesday, the three inspectors plus the deputy director were in their usual places on the roof of the Sunshine Building. Although it had taken Mary awhile to get used to it, having Stan reside at the desk Marshall used to occupy was mundane anymore. As the acting chief, her husband got the office, with Delia still bunking next to the conference room. As it had been in their days with Eleanor, the blonde refused to reposition her living quarters. Her desk stayed put.

Today was a good one to have Marshall even remotely out of her presence, separated from her across the floor. Although they had sent Norah to sleep last night in a better mood than usual, she had been back to her surly self this morning, something that worried Mary more than she cared to admit. This was mostly because Marshall didn't seem to be concerning himself whatsoever. He recognized that she had changed, certainly, but he chalked it all up to adolescence, which Mary found more difficult to do.

Stan must've noticed her quiet introspection when he crossed the room to deliver her a stack of papers, because it took him two tries to get her attention.

"Mary?" he said for the second time, and likely louder than the first.

She looked up from where she'd been tapping her pencil against her desk, slightly vacant as though she were feeling especially sleepy.

"What?" she murmured, blinking and shaking her head. "Sorry."

"Forms for that family of six that came in a few months ago…" he reported warily, slipping the file folder into her hands with a suspicious glance. "You okay? You seem distracted this morning."

"It's nothing," Mary insisted, not expecting Stan to know the ins and outs of dealing with a teenager, never having been a parent himself. "Stuff at home. Nothing serious."

Long ago, the woman wouldn't have dared to reveal even that much, considering it an excess of information that no one but herself needed to know. But, the days of Mary closing herself off seemed very distant now. She'd been married to Marshall almost seven years, and she'd been a mother for thirteen. It was hard to say if she was still considered a daughter, what with both of her parents having passed away; but nonetheless, she had still played every position. Her sensitive side and ability to accept help had honed significantly – so much so that she scarcely noticed it anymore.

It seemed Stan was aware of this as well, because he didn't shy away from fishing for details.

"Anything I can do?" he wanted to know while Mary took a quick glance at the documents he had provided her with. "Is something going on with the girls?"

"No…" she sighed, wondering when Marshall was going to appear and explain the entire situation away, casting it off with a flutter of his fingers. "Alice is fine. Colorful as ever," a smirk.

Stan grinned as well, "Lia said she's really coming along in that new jive class she's started teaching."

"Yeah, my Little Bit was never much for ballet," this made the blonde think of Jinx, who had managed to pass on her figurative tutu to Robyn alone. "But, only your wife would be teaching a first grader to jive. It's not one of those sexy, fling-your-clothes off ones, is it? Because I think CPS would be calling if they caught me letting my kid engage in something like that…"

"I think it's a little tamer than that," the man chuckled. "But, Lia says she's really got the moves. Quick as lightning."

"Well, she'd be making Jinx proud, I suppose."

The 'she' in Mary's comment referred to two people, both her youngest daughter and Lia. Jinx would indeed have been beaming to realize that Alice had taken up her dancing habits, even if they weren't of the more swan-like variety. She'd also likely be tickled pink that someone like Lia had taken over the studio, even if she had-had to hire an additional set of teachers to instruct in ballet because it wasn't her specialty. There was still nobody better to have filled her shoes.

"In any case…" Stan continued, not wanting to stay on the topic of his former inspector's deceased mother too long. "Sounds like she's nothing to lose sleep over…"

"And yet I still do, since I've never met a kid with so much energy – second only to Brandi," Mary noted of Alice. "But, I guess that's good for the dance circuit. And, she's such a little intellectual at school, she could be behaving horribly for all I know, and her teacher wouldn't say boo."

"Somehow I doubt that," but, Stan always believed the best of the girls. "She wouldn't be a Mann-Shannon if she didn't have a mind as sharp as yours and Marshall's."

"That's some brown-nosing you're doing."

He ignored her, "So, if Alice is thriving, then is something going on with Norah?"

It was the next logical step, and Stan might be revering Mary's and Marshall's smarts, but he definitely had brains of his own. If the blonde mentioned anything related to her home, then it was a guarantee she was referring to her children. He knew what a devoted mother she was, despite many years of believing she had no maternal instincts whatsoever.

Mary could only shrug, but was secretly glad he had guessed on his own so she didn't have to unload her worries without a proper segue. She might be more tenderhearted than she used to be, but that didn't mean she was a whiner.

"Like I said, it's nothing serious," she repeated, now twirling her pencil in her fingers rather than tapping it. "She isn't exactly thrilled with school these days – brought her gym clothes home smelling the part of sweat socks last night."

"I wouldn't say that's unusual…"

"Maybe not, but staying up all night to talk to Robyn just so she can have the inside scoop?" Marshall had filled her in after they'd finally put the kids to bed for good. "For Norah, that qualifies as unusual."

"You don't think she's just…?" Stan seemed to consider his words carefully, hesitating, waffling where he stood. "I don't know…" his theory was going to sound stupid once he revealed it, and the narrow-eyed stare he was getting from Mary indicated it. "Exercising her more feminine side now that she's…you know…" the woman distinctly saw him swallow. "Getting older?"

His cheeks turned faintly pink once he'd finished and, foolish as his conjecture was, Mary couldn't help thinking it was sweet of him to take such an interest. But, before she could turn down his hypothesis, regardless of how kind he was being, Marshall strode out of his office, his arms occupied by a teetering stack of papers. It also seemed he possessed ultrasonic hearing, because he joined in their conversation as if he had been present from the get-go.

"Who's exercising their feminine side?" he repeated joyfully, marching over to Stan's desk – his old one – and depositing about half the papers on top of it. Once he was right next to the man, "Not my cutthroat wife, surely," he cracked a joke.

"He's talking about Norah," Mary informed him snidely, scowling when she saw Marshall dump the rest of his documents on the only spare space of tabletop she had visible. "And no, she isn't," she added to Stan.

"Oh, Norah's got the growing pains," the taller of the two males declared, casual as ever. "We've all been there, haven't we, deputy?"

Mary scoffed, "Growing pains? Stan? The shrunken wonder?" she joshed. "Watch who you're talking to," taking pot shots on the bald one's height.

"I meant growing pains in the metaphorical sense," Marshall clarified unnecessarily. "The emotional upheaval that comes with struggling through adolescence – teenagedom, puberty, and the like."

"Not this, again…" Mary groused, targeting the final term he used to describe Norah's aging. "Wait for it, Stan. Your former inspector here is going to quit his day job as chief and become a gynecologist." Sneering back in Marshall's direction, up into his long and angular face, "You really should see somebody about this obsession you have with the female body. It isn't right."

"You don't have to make me sound like I'm prodding around where I shouldn't be; I'd never start engaging Norah in conversation about her inevitable maturation…"

"Sure you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't!" he insisted while Stan chuckled, hands in his pockets. "I know better than that. I would mortify her…"

"Then you need to leave it alone," she snapped, seriously considering flinging her pencil his direction so it would flick between his eyes and leave a mark on his forehead. "I don't understand how you can act like the way she's been behaving lately is no big deal, and at the same time practically salivate at the idea that it might be because she's far from a kid anymore…"

"You're embellishing, Mary," he informed her mildly. "Norah's been difficult, there is no denying, but it isn't press-worthy. It happens…"

"I shouldn't have brought this up," Stan suddenly interspersed, looking guiltily from one face to another. "I just wanted to help; I only thought…"

"No, I'm glad you did," she was staring directly at Marshall now, daring him to defy her. Why she had risen to the bait so quickly, she didn't know, just that now that she was in the fray, she might as well say what needed to be said. "Because my all-too-understanding husband here seems to think that I'm not doing my job as far as educating my kid is concerned."

"I didn't say that!" he spluttered, Stan looking more remorseful by the second. "I know you spoke to Norah, but girls hear things – the locker room is notorious for…"

"And, have you been in there recently?"

"Mary, you know what I…"

"You don't think I know seventh grade's a dogfight? You don't think I'd fix Norah if I could?"

"She doesn't need fixing; there's nothing wrong with her; she's probably just confused…"

"She is not confused!" now Mary was yelling, abandoning her work all together to give Marshall her full and angry attention. "But, she's not just some other thirteen-year-old either! She's my thirteen-year-old – our thirteen-year-old – yours and mine and Mark's. She has her own issues and her own problems. I am telling you that whatever's up with her is not going to be explained away by making sure she's familiar with every sexual and reproductive scenario under the sun!"

Her voice rang across the vast expanse on all sides of the trio, echoing up to the rafters. Marshall looked startled to say the least; unable to fathom that he had done something wrong without even meaning to, without even trying to push her buttons as he was really very skilled at doing. He'd known she was troubling herself over Norah, but it appeared it was bothering her more than he'd realized.

And Stan, in transpired, seemed to have had enough. The mention of puberty had probably done it for him long ago, and Marshall might be the chief these days, but that didn't mean he couldn't lay the smack down when he needed to.

"Come on you two; cut it out…" Stan's tone was straight without being steely or too serious. "This is a place of business…"

"What business?" Mary interjected, knowing their portion of the building had long since become a ghost town compared to the rest. "Are you worried the dust bunnies heard me ranting?"

"This is my fault," he went on while Marshall continued to goggle. "You all probably weren't interested in bringing Norah's…predicament, whatever it is, to the office…" he figured. "If you want to discuss it, I am here. Otherwise, I'll leave you to deal with it on your own; I have no doubt you will tunnel to the root of things soon enough."

At this closing remark, Marshall exhaled slowly, looking like he wanted to leave on better terms, to not exit with his wife still fuming, however silently. But, Stan's words rang true, and to beat this to death now would only result in another argument. How they'd gotten ensconced in the one they'd just had, he still couldn't be completely sure, but it wasn't Stan's doing, despite what he'd said.

"I'm trying to get a stipend from DC to book the next few witnesses for Albuquerque rather than Phoenix…" he murmured, trying to prove he could move on. "I left the information on your desk," he went on toward his previous boss.

"I'll take a look at it – make some calls."

"Great."

Giving Mary another sideways look, with nary a word about the files he had saddled her with, he retreated back to the office, apparently with nothing else to say.

It stood to reason that Stan would bid the same retreat, especially considering he was feeling culpable for having caused the rift in the first place. But, instead, he stuck around; Mary could feel his gaze even though she was determinedly staring at the form in front of her. She wondered if he would go away if she just ignored him long enough, but Stan could be fairly patient when he needed to.

When she thought she could chance it without looking like she wished to dissect the subject of Norah, she raised her eyes a fraction of an inch and saw that he was blinking his large brown orbs right down at her. Evidently, her wish for him to leave well enough alone wasn't going to come true.

"This is really getting to you, huh?" he surmised slowly, quietly enough that Marshall wouldn't know they were still talking. "I didn't know things had gotten so bad…"

"They're not bad," Mary resigned herself to finishing this out, not without a sigh. "This isn't a tragedy. It's just that she's not…"

Would Stan understand what she meant if she used the words she had in mind? If she were to respond the way she wanted to while hashing it out with Marshall, she'd have gotten a detailed lecture on why she felt the way she felt. More often than not, she enjoyed his insight, but today she could be glad that Stan wouldn't analyze her feelings so critically.

"She's not really Norah anymore…" she'd thought admitting it would make her feel better, but instead it just made her sad. "Not my Norah, anyway."

Stan nodded sedately, a silent invitation for her to continue.

"She used to be so sure of herself – confident about who she was and what she wanted…"

"Like you," the man interjected, but Mary shrugged this off.

"But, lately…" shaking her head. "She's confident in a way that I wish she wasn't – like, she'll go toe-to-toe with me, and she was never like that before. I hate fighting with her, even though I pretend all the time that it doesn't bother me…"

"Right…"

"But, I can't imagine she's that way at school," a hunch deep down just knew that Norah lost whatever poise she possessed when she set foot inside those double doors. "Every morning it's a battle – she hates it, but she won't tell me why."

"Yeah, but you know teenagers don't want to talk to their mom; I doubt it's specific to Norah…"

"You sound like Marshall," Mary griped, halfway between exasperated and endeared that they could be so alike. "And he thinks once she's through 'maturing' or whatever you want to call it…" Stan went distinctly red. "That she'll be okay, and I can't see it. She's a good kid, Stan…" she sounded pleading, rotating her pencil between her fingers as she spoke. "She still is, but I never see it anymore…"

As far as the deputy was concerned, Mary sounded just about as mixed-up as her daughter must be, and he couldn't say he had a lot of experience dealing with young girls, or even children as a whole. But, he'd known Mary and Marshall as well as Norah an awfully long time, and he knew that in spite of how growing up and moving on changed people, that didn't mean who they really were underneath was put to rest forever. He had always known Norah to be fiercely independent, like her mother, but surprisingly sensitive, like Marshall, and a jokester, like Mark. Having the best of all three worlds had always served her well, but it seemed the latter two traits were going by the wayside these days.

Leaning in, placing his hands on the desktop so that he was inches from Mary's face, he saw a woman who looked unusually woebegone, proving Norah was on her mind just as frequently as she was telling him she was. If he could do anything to ease a psyche that was likely filled with nothing but worry, then he would.

"I know she's a good kid – one of the best," he didn't want the mother to think he envisioned Norah as having gone sour, even if that was the case. "She's got a big heart, and that just doesn't go away overnight…"

"Could've fooled me…" Mary rolled her eyes.

"She may not be acting like your Norah…" he brought her back to her original claim. "But, she still is underneath. This period of her life is probably going to take some patience…"

"Not exactly my strong suit," she murmured, which produced a soft smile from Stan.

"Give it time," he insisted. "You know you've got back-up wherever you need it."

Mary supposed this consisted of Marshall and Mark, as well as Stan himself, and she could be grateful for that. There had never been a shortage of parents or parental figures in Norah's life, and in remembering this, she nodded to show she recognized this wasn't something she could take for granted.

"Who would've ever thought I'd spend this much time worrying about my legion of offspring?" she teased, including Robyn and Max in her term. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Yeah, once upon a time, you said I should shoot you if you ever decided to have three kids," Stan raised his eyebrows. "Norah isn't the only one who's changed."

The only difference was that Mary liked to think she had changed for the better, but did her best not to dwell on that. In some ways, her success with all the children – even the ones that weren't hers – was to be admired. Her niece and nephew might not be living under her roof, but she often felt she'd had as much of a hand in raising them as Brandi and Peter. Robyn was flourishing, and Max had made enormous strides since his timid, mute days, even if he still kept to himself.

"And, I trust the rest of the troops are making their way," Stan assumed, reading Mary's mind when she began to look contemplative. "You said Alice couldn't be better, right?"

She chuckled hearing him mention her youngest daughter for a second time and wagged her head, knowing the brunette's problems paled in comparison to Norah's.

"She wants to know what hell is," she informed Stan grimly, resting her chin in her hand. "Nice, right?"

"I'd expect nothing less from your kid," he proclaimed. "You're doing your best, kiddo. Nobody can ask for more."

There was plenty more she could've said as a way to inform him he was wrong, that if her best wasn't good enough than it didn't qualify as her best, but he had already turned to head back to his desk before she could argue further.

In his absence, Mary just felt stupid as well as annoyed at herself for having fought with Marshall. He was hardly to blame for the situation they were in, and in many ways, his approach was preferable to her own. He was perpetually calm, only sparingly sitting Norah down to tell her-her behavior was inappropriate. Typically, that task was left for Mary and Mark, as he didn't want to step on any toes or play the role of a parent because, in name, that was not what he was. The woman would've been more than happy to have him lay down the law on her more often, but his method was better. She needed his serenity to get her through.

In many ways, Mary wasn't so terrible at dealing with her child, but the whole thing often felt like a farce. She could be as rational and as steady as Marshall, but inside she was neither of those things. It took all her strength not to make things worse by hollering or bickering ad nauseam. Nonetheless, she probably deserved some credit for that.

Looking up, she saw that her husband was feigning that he was busy inside his office, but he had left the door open. The high window behind her was throwing beams of warm autumn sunshine onto the floor, casting him in half-shadow, but there was no mistaking that he was looking at her too. Without much she could do from far away in terms of apologizing, she only nodded her head, making sure she was catching his eye.

In typical Marshall fashion, he held no grudge, and sent her a nod of his own, even smiling slightly to show there were no hard feelings. Mary tried to work the muscles of her face into something similar, but when she glanced away again, her gaze caught one of the very few framed photos on her desk, and she found it still more difficult to grin in return.

There were the kids, smiling and laughing on the couch, stuffed into holiday attire of Jinx's choosing, completely spoiling any semblance of a posed Christmas portrait. Norah, in a dark green sweater and jeans, sat in the middle, probably about eight years old. Her blonde hair had been trimmed since its extra-long days, but still hung below her shoulders. Robyn sat next to her, far more decked out than her cousin, in a red shirt with a sparkling reindeer on the front, her hair tied off in elaborate French braids. Both girls were laughing; Robyn's eyes weren't even open, but her mouth was. Norah's tongue was poking between her teeth.

A two-year-old Alice sat on her sister's lap; it was impossible to tell what sort of frilly dress she was wearing, because she was making a break for the floor, crawling toward one of the armrests. Her brown curls were lighter and finer here than they were at present, growing in coils all over her tiny head. Max, being squeezed to death by Robyn, was a wide-eyed wonder, a spindly four-years-old, his mop of sandy hair rumpled all over his head. He stared, transfixed, at whoever had been behind the camera, chubby cheeks and all, looking curious without his glasses to conceal his beautiful baby blues.

Marshall had constantly teased her for choosing this picture to display, and yet when Mary stared at it now, she knew exactly why it was still out for the entire world to see. This was the kids as she had always molded them – Norah playing a sneaky joke, Robyn putting on a performance, Alice off to do her own thing, and Max just trying to make sense of it all.

She longed to hold the faces in the photo, to preserve them in time, because there was no telling if the individuals within would ever come out to play again.

XXX

A/N: I don't mean to belabor Norah's troubles, but I feel like I need to set the scene, so to speak. Thank-you to those who are reading!