Oh the fun…thank you to all of you who have reviewed so far! They really do inspire me every time I read them. I dedicate this chapter to all of you who have reviewed – especially those who I know have pretty much reviewed every chapter. Love you all and please enjoy!
~SRDempsey
Fury and Flames
Chapter Six
The shot came at his left, buzzing just beside his ear, and for one terrifying moment Mary was afraid he'd actually gotten shot this time. No near-miss about it. But his curse a second later confirmed he was alive and mighty pissed, rolling behind one of the thick hedges out front for cover, wedged into the corner with a white picket fence at his back.
Another shot pinged off the garbage can lid close to Marshall's head –closer then she wanted them to be – and she fired a shot in the general direction of the bullet's estimated trajectory before moving her position. She motioned for Micah to do the same from his position behind the GMC's truck bed, unsure of their assailant's position but having a sneaking suspicion she knew where it might be. It was the right angle for it, at the least. Another shot dinged against the truck bed and she confirmed it as she spied the shadow of someone moving through what was left of her house. He's shooting from what's left of my house's attic. Half of the roof had been burned away, leaving him exposed partly, but most of the front and side walls remained in tact with only the back wall being almost entirely destroyed. His cover is decent. We don't have a shot.
She didn't move when Marshall dodge-rolled across the open spot between them to her position, though it was an effort. Her nerves were better then that, but apparently at the moment she wasn't quite so calm. Adrenaline and anger made her jumpy and he knew that, the idiot. "Any bright ideas, doofus? We have an open field between us and my house and absolutely no shot from here while I'm willing to bet he has at least a scope on that rifle."
Marshall didn't answer for a moment, but she could see the gears spinning in his head as he calculated and figured out numerous possibilities. "Micah!"
"Yo, Techie?" His brow wiggled, awaiting his bright idea. For all his bluster and irritating personality, at least he was good with teamwork.
"Do a Houdini."
And there we have it. He's finally cracked.
"Doofus, now is not the time!" she snapped, but he was serious as he motioned her silent. He was watching Micah with a look full of meaning that Mary had no clue about, and before she could blink he popped open the lid into the sewer system near his feet and disappeared in a blink. "What the hell are you two doing?"
"Patience," he said with a smile, firing through the bushes at her sad excuse for a house and motioning for her to do the same. At over 40 yards away, only dumb luck would allow them to actually hit him.
Then again, she supposed they didn't need to.
Five minutes passed before she watched, boggle-eyed, as what remained of her house collapsed in on itself, a heavy cloud of dust rising up as the plaster and wood fell away with a loud crack. They both took off towards the house at a run, tensed to hit the ground if bullets started firing, but it was a wasted effort. As the dust began settling with the rubble, she looked up and let her eye twitch once as she saw DiFranco was already there, covered in dust with goggles – where the hell he got those she'd never know – to protect his eyes and his Glock pointed at the coughing man lying amongst what had once been her house's living room.
"Either of you going to tell me how you did that?" she demanded, gun never lowering.
With a rogue's grin, DiFranco chuckled, "I would, Shannon, but then I'd have to kill ya."
She smirked slightly. "You could sure try DiFranco, but I'd drop you before you could lift a finger."
"Our sniper friend first," Marshall reminded them both a little loudly, shaking his head. "Depressurize after we bring him in." His voice was tense, which brought Mary back to the moment, and it was then that she noticed something…off about the man in front of them. Something wrong. He was continually shaking his head, eyes not focusing well on anything at all.
"No," he said, his voice like a petulant child then anything. Lost. Confused.
Is this really the man who tried to kill us? The doubt was there, but she looked at the rifle – a standard issue M40 for most military snipers. He still had his military haircut, even, but…
"Marshall."
"I know." He saw it too, the lack of substance to him – the lost weight and the overall state. "This makes no sense, Mare. He's too…gone. Even if he could hold that rifle correctly, it's doubtful he could make a clean shot like these last two have been. Our shooter is in top performance. This man would be lucky to nail an elephant at 5 feet."
"Another shooter?" Micah offered, lips pressed thin. He didn't like what they were saying at all, nor could he really say they were wrong. Mary didn't like what she was saying.
Nothing is ever easy, is it?
"Maybe," Marshall mused, the silence heavy with meaning. "Or maybe this was a setup."
It happened so fast Mary barely had time to react. The silence hung in the air, thick enough to slice with a knife, and then…gunfire. Lots of gunfire. Pain exploded in her leg as it buckled mid-turn and brought her to a knee with a curse, dragged to cover behind a large piece of wall by Marshall before she could get her good leg working from under her and covered by DiFranco who was holding an arm that had obviously been hit but shooting with it anyway despite the pain of the kickbacks with his secondary. Gregory Hollands had never stood a chance – his body lay crumpled where he'd been dropped, twitching every so often when the stray bullet hit him but otherwise a sad man put out of his misery.
Dragging herself to a sitting position, Mary returned fire, furious. They used him. Any animosity she felt was filled instead with red-hot fury. He serves his country, probably does all the right things, and comes home to find his family has been murdered a day before he landed. Then he finds out their murderer won't even come to justice for it. She spared a look at his body, only half of what it had been a year ago from the picture in his file. At least he probably had no idea what hit him.
The gunfire ceased a minute before they heard tires squealing, Marshall taking off like a bullet, but she didn't have much hope for anything. It was a cover so they could police their brass and clean their tracks. They'd have tire tracks at the least, but she'd bet anything they'd dump the vehicle the minute it was safe to.
Just what the fuck are we dealing with?
The explosion that boomed mocked her more then anything, a plume of fire hitting the air just as Marshall came back into her line of vision. Mary knew before he ever cursed that it was his beloved GMC, and she let her head fall against the wall remnant holding her upright with a dull thud.
Great. Now I'll never get him to stop whining about this for at least 6 months now…
Laurence was furious.
Marshall found it difficult to not sympathize with him – they got to have FUN the one day he DOESN'T come? – but he didn't classify anything from this morning fun. At all. He was absolutely livid, thinking things Mary would laugh about if she could hear his thoughts.
He cursed, alright. He just never said any of them out loud.
Marshall cursed in ten different languages when the ME loaded Hollands' body into the cadaver bag, his head bowed. The sister-in-law was found in her house shot in the head – a single bullet in her head execution style. She was brought out not long after her brother-in-law, her face forever stuck in that terrified half-screaming expression that would haunt his memory for a good long while.
The only good thing – sort of – was that Cassie had awoken.
Her verbal skills were…damaged to say the least, though possibly repairable, and she couldn't write very well at all, but what made her uniquely Cassie was there. It was there with the fire burning in her eyes and the inarticulate attempt at cursing she tried to do when they updated her on everything.
"I just got done assuring Gunnery Sergeant Hollands' former CO that we would find this bastard." Stan wasn't happy, but he did waste a small smile at Cassie as he stepped into the tiny room. Always glad to see his people safe. "Which we will. We have everyone now. The CIA is letting us keep Ms. Mann until this is over, as well as her partner who will be joining us tomorrow morning, and the FBI is sending us some of their best to help with the investigation besides Special Agent Mann."
There was dead silence for a moment as everyone replayed that sentence in their heads.
"God, can't we just call them numbers 1, 2, and 3?" Mary finally said, always the first to break the ice. She was walking with a crutch, but was otherwise fine. "Ms. Mann. Special Agent Mann. Marshal Marshall Mann."
"That's a lot of…Mann." Micah's lip twitched in amusement, his wounded arm hanging easily in its new sling. Josiah shot him a dirty look, all 5'11" of him leaning against the wall scowling since the impromptu debriefing had begun.
That's a fight waiting to happen, Marshall thought with a sigh. But not now. He knows this.
Even Laurence joined in the ribbing, perhaps because his partner could not. She tried, but the words in her head refused to form in her mouth, much to her frustration, and Laurence settled a hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't push it. "More Mann then Shannon can handle, probably."
Mary sneered at him, but her eyes danced in barely suppressed laughter.
There are worse ways to depressurize, I suppose. Resigning himself to being the butt of the joke for the night, Marshall added, "Just call us Cream Puff, Stringbean, and Beefcake. We'll get it."
Dead silence.
Then the laughter, to which Mary demanded over the noise of it, "And which one are you supposed to be, doofus?"
Innocent eyes. Mischievous smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
God, Buddha, Gandhi, or whoever the hell was up above was laughing at her. Loudly. And pointing as they clutched their side in tears.
Mary stared at the suddenly too small living room and scowled. Notably. Marshall's house wasn't exactly much bigger then her own had been, though it appeared more spacious because of its vaulted ceilings. With five soon-to-be-six people staying under it though, even his place was starting to get cramped.
Currently, the argument in question was about room assignments.
It wasn't as if she and Raph hadn't shared a room before…but she didn't want to. She liked her room here and she liked sleeping in it alone. This was her place. This was U.S. Marshal Mary Shepard's room. Mary Shepard who had an easier life and didn't scowl 18 hours a day and actually laughed for most of it, because her partner had so many screws loose his head fairly rattled every time he walked. Not like Mary Shannon who worried about a former alcoholic mother and drama-prone sister and a well-meaning but pushy as hell soon-to-be-ex fiancé. Mary Shannon who scowled at everyone and trusted no one. The marshal in her didn't trust anyone either, but that was because of the job. Mary Shannon didn't trust people for a whole bunch of other reasons.
I wonder if I can make Mary Shannon disappear and just let Mary Shepard take over?
It wasn't the first time that thought had crossed her mind, nor was she suffering from some split personality disorder no matter what Marshall said. It was simply easier for her to compartmentalize her job and the rest of her life. Mary Shepard was the job. Mary Shannon was everything else. And as a whole Mary Shepard is a lot happier then Mary Shannon.
But why?
"The living room is more then suitable for us," Rachel protested, speaking for her and her MIA partner. "Chris sleeps sitting up most of the time, anyway. It's not like he's very picky about where he sleeps. There's an outlet for his computers. He'll be happy. And there is a kitchen right there-" She motioned towards said room with her arms. "-so I'm happy. You know how much I like to munch at night."
"Fine!" Marshall tossed up his arms, utterly exasperated. "You guys can have the living room. Jared can sleep on the floor in my room…"
Mary tuned out that argument the moment it started, watching as Marshall once again attempted to be the peacekeeper. No wonder he was never bothered by her combative personality. His siblings made her look like a lamb in comparison. They argued over everything. The affection was there too, obviously, but mostly just plain old sibling sniping that she and Brandi did. Sometimes. When she wasn't doing something ridiculous like drug trafficking. Or causing drama.
"Why don't Mary and I share?" Raph offered, obviously pleased he could contribute something, "He can take the room I'm in then."
I knew he'd offer. As her fiancé, it made sense, but that was something they'd have to talk about…later. Not yet. While in theory she had the time now while they tried to dig up leads on who the real string-puller was, they would have to go at a moment's notice to chase this bastard across the continental US if necessary and it would be possibly fatal on her part to be shouldering the emotional baggage for that during such a dangerous mission.
That's what she was telling herself, anyway.
Marshall glanced her way momentarily before answering Raph's suggestion. "If Mary has no problem with it, that's fine." He looked at her, obviously aware of…something. It made being his partner easier that way. He was always aware, even if he wasn't sure of what he was aware of. Confusion was clear in his face too, further proving her point. He knows something is bugging me about this, but he's not sure why. He doesn't know yet. Maybe I should talk to him about it tonight. It would be nice to vent this anger to someone so Raph won't notice.
"Its fine," she shrugged, as if her brain weren't in the middle of an inner debate with herself. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Why indeed," he smiled, but with a pointed look in his face. Ask a question without asking. I hate it when he does that. "Well, now that that's settled…I'm starving." Marshall turned on his heel towards the kitchen, his sister trailing after him like a puppy in her enthusiasm to help.
Interesting family. Mary had to tear into him about not mentioning them to her later, too…all the more reason for her to speak with him tonight. You can run, doofus, but you can't hide…
Marshall was soaking in his single most guilty pleasure – his Jacuzzi bath tub – in his large master bathroom when Mary came knocking. She only paused to confirm he was in there before opening the door, smirking slightly when she noticed where he was before she settled herself on the bench near his feet, her back flat against the built-in entertainment center.
"I forgot how much I love your bathroom," she grinned, hands behind her head and her eye raking him up and down in typical Mary fashion. Marshall thanked God for the bubbles, wondering idly how long they lasted on average before they started to fade. "Is that bubble bath?"
"It smells nice!" he defended, mock-scowling when she laughed harder. He flicked bubbles at her out of habit – a petulant reaction that also uncovered his other childhood memory he'd have preferred she never see. On pain of death. He tried to delay the inevitable anyway. "And it's a foam bath. A common misconception, actually…"
She ignored him, as he'd thought she would. "Marshall!" She grabbed it from the water before he could hide it, his head thunking against the tile wall behind him lightly. "It's a rubber duck." Glancing around, her grin widened further. "THREE OF THEM!"
Shoot me now, Marshall thought with a shake of his head. He would never live this down. Ever. Bad enough Jared knew about it. It was actually a miracle she hadn't discovered this particular secret in the nearly four years they'd been partners now. "Mr. Quacks-a-lot," he deadpanned, staring at the one in her hand. "The female is Mrs. Mallard. The other tiny boy one is Ducky."
He waited until she got done laughing before continuing.
"You did come in here for another reason beyond laughing at my childhood keepsakes, right?" He snatched Quacks-a-lot back and let the three of them drift around his feet as they'd been doing before, waiting until her brain caught up with her. "As much as I do love sharing with you, Mare, I would prefer to get this conversation done with before the bubbles cease to exist. Or after I finish bathing, even."
"Right, right." She shook her head to clear it, though she kept looking at his innocently floating yellow ducks and smirking. Widely. "God, my head. You should be named Quackers Mann."
"Father calls me that." He said, utterly serious, and making Mary double-take. Again. "Quackers, I mean."
Mary made a funny little choking noise, head bowed while she held up a finger in the universal 'give me a moment' gesture. When she was done choking on her laughter, her eyes still shiny with tears, she managed to tell him, "There is something I came to talk about. Really." She paused a moment to think on it again.
Long arms extended on either side of his tub, Marshall made himself more comfortable, thankful that he could stretch his legs out all the way and still keep them submerged in the nice warm bath he'd drawn. His ducks bounced in the water unobtrusively, and he firmly decided that perhaps he really did have a screw loose somewhere. It seemed far too natural to be speaking, utterly naked except for the foam bubbles on the water surface, to his fully-clothed partner like this. Logic told him he should be embarrassed.
Then again, the flag is flying at full mast below the water, so SOMETHING is working normally at least. Yet another reason to bless the fact that he'd chosen bubbles instead of the water jets tonight. The jets would have made this conversation even more awkward to tolerate. Like poking a hungry tiger with a stick. Repeatedly. Only he likes it.
Just thinking about it made him squirm.
"I'm breaking up with Raph."
Marshall's eyes shot to her dead serious ones, ignoring the single finger she had dipped into the water and drawing lazy circles around his duckies. He had many things he wanted to say to that statement, but he settled for, "And you're happy with this?" instead.
"He'll never leave it alone." She closed her eyes, head shaking slightly. "He'll never understand exactly how secretive my job has to be. Why he can't joke about it. And…" She reached into the water and tugged one of his legs up by his big-toe, eyeing the scars from the burns critically. "I'm pissed! I'm pissed that he did this to you. That he got Hayner shot in the head so bad she's having difficulty talking and writing and that I may lose my job once this is over!"
It took a bit of maneuvering to do without flashing her by accident, but Marshall reversed his position so he could hold onto her wounded leg easier. "You won't lose your job," he promised. "Stan will make sure of it. I'LL make sure of it if necessary. There will be fall out, obviously, but you will still be my partner when the dust settles." He poked her when he got no response. "Understand? I will have my father pull strings if necessary, and I HATE the idea of doing that. But I will. For you."
He knew she was OK when she poked him back – a single jab with her pointer finger that was hard enough it was probably going to leave a bruise. "You won't have to, doofus. Geeze. The bath salts are making your brain mush."
"Hey, bath salts are great muscle relaxants and have many medically beneficial uses," Marshall protested, grinning. "Plus, some of them smell nice."
"You're such a girl!" Mary complained, back on her normal footing and away from the emotional place he knew she hated. "I'll bet you get manicures and pedicures too."
"What's wrong with that? It's a perfectly natural thing to want to look nice and-"
She slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue, kneeling on the floor and half leaning into the tub to do so while he chuckled behind her hand, amused. "Not. Another. Word. I will shoot you, doofus. I mean it!"
He held up two fingers. Boy Scout's honor.
"You would be a boy scout," she muttered, obviously amused as she went to let herself up. "Oh, and Marshall? The bubbles are fading."
His head immediately jerked downwards, vexed that she was right, and fighting not to blush like some school kid when she wiggled her eyebrows tauntingly with that ribald expression on her face.
But when she opened the door, the expression dropped completely, and Marshall consigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting out of his bath any time soon to save what little modesty he had left.
"Hello, Raph," he said cordially, as if nothing strange was afoot. "Come on in. The air blowing in is rather cold."
A/N: I have to admit, this has been my favorite chapter. By far. Oh, the fun. The PLANS I have for this…haha. Any guesses on how Raph reacts?
As always, give me some feedback! You know how much I love it. Come on now…
