A/N: I know, I'm slow, and this chapter is short, but I figured I ought to give you something to hold you over while I work out the details of the much meatier next chapter.

Reviews lure my muse out of hiding. =)

Disclaimer: The fact that you're reading this on a blog and not watching it on TV should be your clue that I don't own these characters. Expect for Betsy—she's mine.

All Bets Are Off – An IPS FanFic

Chapter Nine

Three Months Later

Marshall lowered his shield just long enough to confirm he was still under attack. A mere five feet away, the enemy still lurked, still armed, still showing no sign of stopping. Spent ammunition collected around him. A projectile whizzed past his ear.

"Whizzed" may have been overstating it. More of a "pppbtthh."

"You had your name on the board a lot in elementary school, didn't you?"queried Marshall.

Mary just grinned from behind her desk as she launched another spitball his way. He heard it splat on the reverse side of his folder-cum-shield.

Marshall dared another look across the battlefield. "Are you ever going to get tired of this—maybe I could just leave and come back when you're done?"

Mary's response was a spitball lodged in his hair near his temple. He plucked it free and stared at it a moment. "Did you know that there are 600 different types of bacteria living in the human mouth?"

Mary put down her weapon, tilted her head, smiled that smile. "How do you get it on with anyone knowing stuff like that? Bit of a mood breaker."

He smirked. "If she's good enough, I forget."

"I see." I'm good, she thought, startled a bit by the image of inducing bacterial amnesia in her partner. Not entirely bothered by it, though.

"Still not one for the copious exchanging of saliva, though," Marshall explained, as though discussing nothing more risqué than what toppings he preferred on his pizza.

"Me neither. Always makes me think of dogs, all licks and drool."

Shaking his head at the unsavory collision of lovers and housepets, Marshall logged off his computer and stood. "I'd love to continue this conversation, but I need to take Betsy to see a man about a job."

"Sounds like fun," said Mary, taking a last frustrated look at her solitaire game before logging off her computer as well. "Then we can continue our conversation."

Marshall had opened the security door when he stopped and turned. "Mare," he took her arm, suddenly serious.

"What is it, Doofus?"

He leaned in close, stretching the moment, then laid a long, wet lick across her cheek, pulling back with a mischievous smile.

Mary exploded in all her indignant-child glory, pushing Marshall through the door and towards the elevator. "Ew. Ew. Ew." She grabbed his arm and wiped her face with his sleeve, then shoved him again for good measure as the elevator doors opened.

"I'm confused. Did we just slip through a wormhole and end up back in Minnesota?" Betsy stood on the curb near Marshall's truck. Mary stayed inside the vehicle, on the phone with another witness.

Marshall came around from the driver's side. "Nope, definitely still Albuquerque."

"Do I look like Abraham Lincoln? How did a log cabin end up in New Mexico? There aren't even any logs here."

"There's no dolerite stones within 150 miles of Salisbury Plain, and yet there stands Stonehenge."

Betsy cocked an eyebrow. "I hope you're not suggesting that this building was constructed by Druids."

"No, it was built in 1903 by Charles Whittlesey, who, as far as I know, was not any sort of pagan. In 1915, it became a hospital for TB patients."

South of the building stood row upon row of headstones, many of them weathered and crooked. "Right next to the cemetery—how convenient."

"Which is why Mr. Deakins purchased it in 1932." Marshall pointed out a low-slung sign nestled amid the neat landscaping.

Betsy shook her head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding."

Marshall shrugged his shoulders. "Makeup's makeup."

"Um, I guess I'm just used to clients who, um, blink."

"Then this should be a piece of cake."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"How do you even know this guy?"

"Tango class."

"Stop talking." Betsy rubbed her forehead.

"Think of it this way—you could always work at the mall."

"I hate the mall." Betsy followed Marshall up the stone path into the Desert Bloom Mortuary and Cemetery.

A/N: There actually is a Whittlesey House in Albuquerque and it really is a big log cabin built in 1903. The rest of its history has been changed for my convenience, as has the location of the cemetery.

~To Be Continued~