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

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Chapter 7

Still Wednesday

The afternoon sun reflected off the glass door as Marshall carded himself into the quiet WITSEC office. His obstreperous sometimes obnoxious and often profane partner wasn't at her desk. Marshall spied her in Stan's office. Something was off. Mary was facing Stan, her back to the glass. She wasn't standing and shouting, as she usually did. She wasn't angry and neither was Stan. Stan was paying full attention.

Although Stan was frequently pleased with the outcome of some of Mary's escapades, he usually wasn't happy while they were happening, and preferred not to know the details. Mary must have pulled off something. Something she had managed without him. Without her partner. She should have told him. Stan counted on him keeping her in line. He was supposed to keep Stan in the loop, not the other way around.

Marshall's concern turned to irritation. What did she do? When did she stop talking to him? Actually, he reflected, she seldom 'talked' to him. She complained, whined and gave orders. She was his partner and yet for the past two weeks, hell, the past two months if he was honest, he had no idea what she had been doing, or which witnesses she visited. He couldn't remember the last time she mentioned Jinx or Brandi.

Glancing back to Stan's office, Marshall saw Mary stand and quietly close the door behind her. Stan returned his attention to his cluttered desk, looking anxious but not angry. The hairs on the back of Marshall's neck stood straight up. Mary closed doors with a slam. Mary was a whirlwind, debris hitting innocent bystanders. She seldom acknowledged the havoc she caused. Yet here she was quietly closing the door and walking slowly to her desk.

"Hey," Marshall greeted her. He always approached Mary cautiously. He kept out of range of her pointy elbows, preferring to keep some furniture between them. That buffer zone had saved him from many a bruise. Too aggravated to be courteous he demanded, "Where were you? I brought coffee this morning."

Already seated Mary concentrated on her computer screen. "Coffee?" she muttered to the screen. Then clearing her throat, "Sorry. I went on witness visits right from home." She glanced his way, never looking him in the eye and shrugged, "You know, the usual."

Mary's calm considered response caused Marshall additional concern. He expected a 'mind your own business, what's it to you numnutz.' not this.

Mary was calm. Mary was polite. Mary said she was sorry. Polite. Oh my God. Something traumatic had happened.

Mary continued to ignore him, concentrating on her phone. Nearly knocking over his chair, Marshall strode the few feet to Stan's office. The Chief looked up startled when the door slammed

"Marshall, what the hell?" Stan had never seen his courteous Inspector so volatile.

"Something bad happened to Mary." He stated baldly, breathing out heavily, leaning on Stan's desk.

Stan looked at Mary working quietly at her desk. He ran his thumb over the edges of her recent witness visit reports. Reports he had just reviewed. Marshall didn't go off half cocked. He must have a reason. "Sit," he ordered. "What makes you think so?"

"Just look at the evidence," Marshall insisted. "Has she been yelling? Has she teased me about my love life? My hobbies? Has she pissed off ABQPD?"

Stan leaned back, steepled his hands and pursed his lips. "No." he replied. "Mary hasn't pissed off any law enforcement agencies, local, state or federal." Where was Marshall was going with this? Why would Marshall think something bad had happened? Stan realized that the office had been quiet the last few weeks. No spitball fights, no teasing. No bets. No singing the song. Mary had teased Marshall their entire partnership - when she wasn't defending him. Marshall may never have witnessed her defense, but surely he must know.

Stan looked at his worried Inspector. "Mary has been on her best behavior, as far as I can tell. As a matter of fact she just completed her recertification, early." He pushed a slip of paper with Mary's shooting scores toward Marshall.

"Early?" Marshall queried, and then looked at the slip of paper. "I had to nag her for a month last time." Marshall looked at the paper. "Are these her latest scores?" As her partner, he was entitled to know that Mary passed all the phases of certification, but he'd never seen her actual shooting scores. Stan sat back and looked on with a proud smile it was as if his own child had successfully pulled off a particularly tricky event.

After checking the numbers he looked at Stan. "I know Mary is a good shot, but these are better than her last cert."

Pointing to the top of the scoring sheet Stan noted "That's not her dominant hand."

Exhaling loudly, Marshall whistled. "Her scores are almost as good as mine."

"You two make quite a team. Check the shotgun scores," Stan suggested. "She scored higher than you. So tell me again. Why do you think something bad happened to Mary?"

Marshall wondered if his 'gut' feeling measured up to the factual evidence the Chief had just given him. But this was Mary.

"Stan, when was the last time Mary was civil to me, to you, to local law enforcement?"

Stan rubbed his forehead, moving his hand to his bald head, a distant look in his eyes. Suddenly, a spark gleamed. "After she was kidnapped and pistol whipped by Spanky."

"Exactly," Marshall acknowledged, nodding sagely.

Stan stood and paced. "What do you think happened? You work with her every day."

"That's just it. The last few weeks she's gone on witness visits while I'm tied up in the office. She's never available for a drink after work. I haven't seen her at Two Fools in over a month. You know she doesn't keep liquor in the house because of Jinx."

"Maybe she's found a new watering hole," Stan suggested reasonably.

"Maybe," Marshall acknowledged, thinking of the Pagoda. "But why is she being polite? She's doing all her own intake forms and she hasn't asked me to help with a witness visit report in a long time."

"Really? Because they're right here." Stan handed Marshall a stack of neatly typed multipage detailed reports on the status of four of Mary's most troublesome witnesses. "These look just like all the other ones. No typos. No grammar errors. Brief but detailed and just the facts."

Marshall was curious to see how Mary managed the paperwork without him. Taking the top set of sheets, Marshall read the name of the witness and exploded. "You let her go see Mayhem Mike, alone?"

"It's Mary. I didn't let her do anything. I didn't know she had gone till I saw that report." Stan confessed, looking contrite.

Marshall's distress made Stan realize how serious this could be. He continued rubbing his scalp. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"Yes," Marshall agreed emphatically. "Can you get Shelley to talk to her? If Mary is being polite she might not even yell at Shelley."

"I'll call Dr. Finkel," Stan agreed. "See how soon she can see Mary."

Marshall ran a hand though his hair. Leaving Stan's office he saw his partner still working at her desk. He approached slowly. Standing in front of her desk, Marshall cleared his throat. "Hey Mare." He waited for her to acknowledge him. When she looked up he asked, "How about lunch? I'm buying." Mary never turned down free food. He'd bet money that she never stepped foot in a grocery store unless she was buying staples for a new witness.

"Uh," she looked up, smiling. "Thanks." She looked down at her desk and continued. "Marshall, you always buy. It should be my turn. I'll buy next time. Okay?" She raised her eyes to his. "Just not today. I, umm..I ate before coming to the office."

Before he could return to his desk, she bent to her bottom desk drawer. "Wait." Mary removed a plastic bag. "These are yours. They're from Marie. I told her I'd make sure you got them."

If Mary's warm smile wasn't alarming enough, the fact that she was willing to share baked goods only made the alarm louder. Marshall examined the quart sized baggie filled with chocolaty goodness. Marie's brownies were to die for. Maybe that was Mary's plan - to do him in with poisoned baked goods.

Opening the bag, Marshall released their tempting calorie laden aroma and asked hesitantly, "Did you try them?"

"Yeah," she sighed, nodding. "I had one at Marie's and made sure she knew how much I enjoyed it."

Remembering her orgasmic relationship with chocolate of any kind brought a vivid image of Mary, head back, moaning over the last batch of Marie's brownies. Marshall hadn't gotten a crumb of those, but watching Mary had been better than any x-rated movie. He hadn't missed the brownies.

Marshall swallowed nervously. Who was this woman and what had she done with his partner? Maybe Mary was suffering flashbacks. That was the only reason she would share Marie's brownies. The only reason she would be polite. Something awful had happened. Drastic measures were required.

"Since you already had lunch, come to my place for dinner. I'll make my BBQ ribs and I've got a bottle of whiskey that you could help me with."

Hands flat on her desk, Mary looked at him, narrowing her eyes. "Don't you have a date with the detective or dance class or something?"

Mary hadn't teased him about Abigail in weeks. Marshall realized she was giving him time and space to work on his relationship with Abigail. It was what friends did. It didn't sit well with Marshall. This wasn't Mary. This wasn't his Mary.

"Not tonight. Dance class is Friday."He grimaced as he related, "Abigail has a spa date."

Mary looked away, raised her arm and flipped her hand at him. "No Marshall, you don't need to. . ." Putting her hand to her forehead, she paused. "Wait, am I the guinea pig for something you want to cook for her?"

"Maybe." This was really bad. Mary hesitating when there's free food? "You coming?" If this is what it took to get her to his place, so be it. He needed time and a Mary full of ribs and whiskey to find out what was bothering her.

Mary pursed her lips, considering. "My fridge is empty. Might as well." She raised her head, narrowed her eyes and said "Just to help you out."

TBC

A/N: Reviews make me do a happy dance.