We're getting into the good stuff, kids! No, really, we are. This chapter has been in my head since before I wrote chapter 1! As soon as I had the idea, I had this chapter. So I hope you like it! If you don't...well, that's your thing. Anyway, enjoy! Or not. Your choice.

DISCLAIMER: Wish I did. Don't.

"Time to play again, Marshall!" Jason called from the stairs in a sing-song voice. "And it's a brand new game, too."

The smell of cigar smoke met Mary's nostrils, and she watched Jason warily as he came closer. He put down an ash tray with a lit cigar sitting in it, and hoisted Marshall up to the hook on the beam again. Mary was surprised by how easily he could do that. The Jason she had known was tiny, reminded her of a toothpick with hair. But this Jason was strong. He'd added at least forty pounds of muscle onto his lean frame.

And something vicious was driving him, some psychotic need to bring Marshall down from whatever heights Jason imagined him having. Domination was what he was after, and Mary wondered just how far he would take things to get it.

"I had this very interesting idea while I was watching the history channel," Jason chatted conversationally as he circled Marshall once more, checking the setup. "Oh, sorry, does that hurt?" he asked, catching Marshall's quick intake of breath as he fidgeted with the handcuffs. "Anyway, I thought this might be fun to try. Let me know how this feels, Marshall, I'm really curious."

Mary shifted uncomfortably as Jason moved for the ashtray. Something needed to change here, something needed to sway the control of power. He was too confident, too sure, but how could she change that? What could she do to keep whatever was happening from happening?

Suddenly, Jason took the cigar from the ashtray and pressed the glowing end to the exposed skin of Marshall's chest. Mary's gasp of both shock and horror coincided with Marshall's agonized cry through clenched teeth. The smell of burnt flesh began to pervade her nostrils and she thought she might be sick. She closed her eyes and winced as she heard Marshall again, heard the sizzle of burning cigar against bare skin, could almost feel it in her own chest. She swallowed down the bile that rose within her.

Think of something, think of something, her brain frantically cried. Distract him!

"Jason," she started, her voice more pained than she expected it to be.

"Hmm?"

"Jason, please," she begged softly, opening her eyes and looking at him. She had no idea where this was going to go, how it would play out, but she had to try.

He turned to look at her, interest flaring in his eyes even as he held a lighter to the cigar tip again. "Please what, Mary? What do you want?"

"Please stop hurting him." The words just sort of tumbled out and she was shocked by them. Please stop hurting him? Was that really the best she could do? That was pathetic!

Jason smiled at her with pity. "I'm afraid I can't do that, my love. Until you see what your partner really is, I'm going to have to hurt him, don't you see? But your concern for him is admirable, I'll give you that." He turned back and pressed the burning cigar into Marshall's other side, and he smiled as Marshall groaned loudly at the contact.

"Please, Jason!" she tried once more, her voice slightly higher. "Please stop hurting him, hurt me instead!
"Oh, now why would I want to hurt you, Mary? That's just silly."

An idea struck her and she seized it, knowing it was a risky move in many ways, but if it worked… "You are hurting me, Jason."

He stopped a moment, and looked at her curiously.

She nodded and moderated her tone, speaking calmly as if to a child. "You're hurting Marshall and that is hurting me. Marshall is my partner, Jason, which means I look out for him just like he tries to look out for me."

"I'm doing this for you, Mary," Jason said, a curious smile on his face, as if he thought she was being ridiculous. "You have to see. It's for your own good."

"No, it hurts me, Jason." Really, this patience thing was getting annoying. Patience was Marshall's thing, not hers, but for the time being, it was the best option she could think of. "Marshall is my best friend, and when he hurts, I hurt."

Marshall's breathing hitched slightly at her words, but she forced herself to focus on Jason. She could debate the meaning behind her choice of words with him later, never mind how true they actually were.

Jason's smile faded slightly, and he shook his head now. "I'm sorry, Mary, but I have to do this. You'll thank me later." He turned to Marshall. "You see what you've done, Marshall? You understand why I have to do this? No, of course, you don't. You only think of yourself, don't you?" He took the cigar once more and jabbed it hard against the skin of Marshall's left shoulder.

Marshall grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to hold back his cry, but in so doing, he made the sound that he did emit much worse to Mary's ears, and finally, she couldn't hold it back any longer.

"I love him, Jason!" she cried, pulling against her ropes.

Both men silenced and stilled in a heartbeat. She saw Marshall swallow, saw how his chest heaved painfully with the breaths he took, and she ached for his aches. There wasn't much she could do for him in their current situation, but this was something. It was her strongest card to play, and there would be no turning back.

"What did you say?" Jason asked softly, turning only his head ever so slightly to look out her out of the corner of his eye.

"I love him," she said as clearly and as calmly as she could.

He straightened and his expression turned wary. "No, you don't…"

She nodded, swallowing back a multitude of emotions. "I do. I didn't tell him because I was scared, Jason. I was scared just like he was. But I love him, and if you love me, you won't hurt him any more."

His eyes took on a strange, almost demented light as he stared at her. "I love you. I do. Not him, me."

"Then don't hurt him, Jason. I love Marshall. He's my best friend, he makes me happy, he knows me better than I know myself, he sees the best in me, and I love him for all of that."

"Stop," Jason said loudly, his fists clenching. "You don't love him. You don't."

Mary knew what would come if she kept going, but quite frankly, she didn't care. It could save Marshall some pain and that would be worth it. "I do, Jason. I do, I love him, and—"

"You don't!" he bellowed as he dropped the cigar and ashtray and headed directly for her. He grabbed her left arm and yanked on it, pulling her partially off of the ground, and bringing her face close to his. His eyes were wild, like that of an animal, and Mary actually felt more than a little fear curl her stomach. "Take it back."

Somehow, she found the courage to shake her head. "I love him, Jason. Not you."

He screamed once more and then, in one motion, shoved backwards against her torso with one hand while twisting and lifting her arm with the other, using more force than Mary thought him capable of, and before she could blink, a loud pop was both felt and heard.

She gasped sharply at the sudden pain and cried out when Jason dropped her, sending her crashing back to the ground and the rough, wooden beam scraped sharply along her back.

"I'm sorry, Mary," Jason said softly through his teeth, his breathing uneven. "I don't want to hurt you, but until you learn..." He twisted around in agitation, pacing slightly, then moved to Marshall and grabbed his arms, throwing him to the ground as well. Jason turned back to Mary, his expression unreadable. "Think carefully while I am gone, Mary, about what you think you feel. I will make you see that I am right for you. And your partner here will suffer until you do."

He turned from the room and stormed up the stairs, slamming the door loudly.

For a long while, there was nothing but the labored breathing of them both. Mary closed her eyes and tried not to whimper as she adjusted herself to a more comfortable position, her dislocated shoulder hanging awkwardly against her. She focused on breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Who would have thought those ridiculous breathing exercises Shelley had made her do would ever come in handy for anything?

"Are you all right?" Marshall asked, concern heavy in his tired voice.

She grimaced as she tried to reset the bone, and could not. "Oh, yeah, I'm great. Nothing like having a bone out of place to make your day."

"Mare."

"I'll be fine, Marshall. I can take it."

"Why did you do that?" he inquired softly.

She opened her eyes and glanced over at him, and saw that he was watching her, had probably been watching her for a long time. She tried to shrug, but hissed sharply at the pain. "Seemed like a smart idea at the time," she gritted through her teeth, then attempted to laugh it off.

"Mary." His tone was scolding now, and she could tell that he was genuinely upset with her. "Why direct his anger towards you like that intentionally? He is not stable, he…" Marshall had to pause and cough weakly, then was back to glaring at her, "It is dangerous to provoke him so directly. As the object of his fixation, lying to him like that is—"

"Who said anything about lying?" Mary interrupted softly.

That shut him up. "Wh-what?" he finally managed, his breathing more raspy than before.

"I was not lying, Marshall." She said it slowly and very clearly, letting some amusement finally reach her eyes. She was suddenly very tired of the game she had been forcing him to play. What good would it be to pretend anymore? They might never get out of this basement, might never be able to have a real shot at a relationship, messy and crazy as it would be. He loved her, and she loved him. Why bother trying to hide it anymore?

He blinked, as if he couldn't comprehend what she was saying.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. "Oh, for God's sake, do I need to spell it out for you?"

Slowly, very slowly, he shook his head. "So then…you…you really…"

She nodded, keeping eye contact, so that he would know just how serious she was, that she knew what he was asking but couldn't seem to get out.

He just stared at her then, apparently unable to say anything further. A small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of his mouth, and it was the only outward sign that told of his feelings. But Mary could read it; she knew just what that little hint of a smile meant, how much was really behind it.

"Are you going to say anything, or is this just going to get really awkward really fast?" she asked, faking irritation, but unable to resist grinning a little.

"How?" he asked quietly, his eyes soft. "When? Where? Why?"

She actually laughed out loud, despite her current state of pain. "Okay, Skippy, which one of those do you really want me to answer?"

He said nothing, just looked at her, his blue eyes sending odd warmth into her.

She sighed. "All of them, got it. Well, settle in for a story, it's a good one. Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mary and a marshal named Marshall…"

"Stan, Parks was on most of Jason's details," Sara reported from her improvised desk. "He filed all of the reports for Donaldson, offered to check up on him, stepped in whenever it was needed."

"Figures. He could doctor anything he wanted that way. And it would only appear he was being a good marshal. How are we on financials?" he asked, turning to Eleanor.

"He's got some funny stuff," she replied, her brow furrowed. "Charges to a chemical company, withdrawals of a few hundred every month, and it looks like he was paying for the private sparring lessons. Expensive stuff."

"So Parks was covering Jason's less-than-reputable activities. Wonderful." He rubbed his forehead with a hand. "Got anything, Bobby?"

"Running down the rental car in Parks' name. Got an APB out, haven't heard anything yet. We've got pictures of Parks and Jason out and the tip line is set with the feds running it."

Stan smiled faintly. "I bet they love that." He went into his office and sank into the chair behind his desk.

Traditionally, the FBI was not pleased with the smaller tasks, such as running a tip line. They preferred running shows, shoving aside smaller agencies, no matter how efficient they might have been, or how personal the case. In fact, Agent Raymond had called him a few hours ago to try to take charge, but it didn't take very long for Stan to…convince him that hell would freeze over before he would be removed from running this investigation.

Since then, the FBI had been very helpful, and Stan found himself oddly grateful for them.

"APB came back on Parks' rental!" Bobby called, and Stan jumped up from his desk.

"Where?"

"Empty parking lot over on the east side. Wanna go?"

"Absolutely." He looked over at Sara, who was sitting up straighter, watching him carefully. He waved her over, and she followed them out of the office.

The drive over was silent, whether from exhaustion, frustration, or worry, none of them knew. But the 48 hour mark was fast approaching, and no one needed to remind them of the statistics.

They found the FBI and ABQPD already at work processing the car when they arrived. The small Chevy Impala had no less than four people partially inside it, and another four around the outside.

"What do you got?" Bobby asked the young officer nearest him as they got out.

"No cameras, so no idea how long it's been here," the officer reported. "Rental agreement said the car was picked up a week ago. We're processing the car at the moment, but it may take a while."

"Why's that?" Sara asked, looking over at it.

"It's a mess. Papers, maps, envelopes, food wrappers, you name it, we've found it. You're more than welcome to go on over and check things out."

Stan and Sara headed over to the car in question while Bobby continued to question his officers.

"Have you found anything?" Sara asked them as soon they got there.

"Well, that would depend on what you want, wouldn't it?" came an impatient, irritated snap from a man inside.

Stan sighed, trying to keep his cool. "Anything of use?"

"Well, that would all depend on what you consider of use, wouldn't it?" the man said, turning to give Stan a look. "Do you want to know what he ate? McDonalds. Do you want to know what he was reading? Sports Illustrated. Do you want to know what the maps are of? Albuquerque. That's the extent of our investigation at this point, Inspector, and if you keep asking, it will take longer."

There was a second of complete silence, in which no one but that officer moved. Then Stan reached out and seized his foot, pulling him out of the car, then shoved him up against it. "Listen here, bub. I have two of my best marshals being held captive by a psychotic ex-witness who wants nothing more than to kill one of them and keep the other. I don't know where they are or if they are alive or dead. I have been up for almost 48 hours looking for them, and I'll be damned if I'll be spoken to that way by a punk like you. You either tell me what I want to know or you shut the hell up and keep looking, got it?"

"Got it," the man said softly, his eyes more than a touch terrified. He ducked back inside the car and didn't say another word.

"I've got something!" one of the officers in the back called.

"What is it?" Stan and Sara asked together, echoed by Bobby who was on his way over.

She handed it to Stan, who looked it over. "It's a lease agreement."

"A what?" Bobby and Sara asked

"A lease rental agreement. They rented a house here."

Bobby peered over his shoulder. "We got an address?"

"No, but there's a number of the landlord. Sara?"

"All over it."

Stan looked up at Bobby, grinning. "Now we're talking!"

Whew! Kind of intense, eh? And how about Mary stepping up to the plate with Marshall? Sorry about the torture...that's gonna stop soon, I promise. Reviews make our little fiction world go 'round, so review and see what tomorrow brings! Or the next day... =)