Caught in the Crossfire: Chapter 2,
Liquid Courage...
Mary Shannon was at least four shots away from being any kind of drunk, and they were out of whiskey.
Perfect...
She turned her attention to the empty bottle on Marshall's desk, staring at it balefully.
"You realize it's not going to magically refill itself, right?" her partner asked.
"If you're not going to be helpful, then you should probably just be quiet," she mumbled, still staring at the bottle.
"It was your turn to restock the liquor," he reminded her as he rummaged through his desk drawer.
"Again, if you're not going to be helpful..."
"Aren't I always helpful?" he asked as he straightened up, having obviously found whatever it was he'd been looking for.
"Do you really want me to answer that right now?" she countered, shooting him a dirty look.
"You might want to wipe that look off your face, missy," he said, brandishing a brand new bottle and depositing it on the desk in front of her.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, staring at the bottle with something close to awe.
"Yep."
She picked up the bottle, first studying it from every angle – paying particularly close attention to the small print on the label – then cradling it as if it were a newborn child. "You got me the good stuff!" she exclaimed, beaming like a kid who's just been given a candy-bearing puppy for Christmas.
"Don't I always get you the good stuff?" he asked, amused by her reaction.
"Now we're in business," she said as she opened the bottle, pouring each of them a generous shot of the amber-colored liquid. "Oh god..." she moaned after taking a sip, "I so love you right now..."
She never saw her partner's head snap up in surprise at her words; never saw the quick flash of longing in his eyes; never saw the hope fade away when he realized that she – once again – didn't mean anything by it...
Three shots later, and finally starting to feel the effects of the alcohol in her bloodstream, she turned her attention back to her partner. Frowning, she noticed he still looked like he'd lost his best friend. It was one ruined date, for god's sake... Hardly worth getting worked up about...
"It was just one date," she reminded him.
"I know," he sighed, staring morosely at his now-empty glass, "but it was nice and... uncomplicated."
"Uncomplicated's easy," she snorted. "You can get uncomplicated at any bar in the city, Marshall."
"I'm not really interested in your type of uncomplicated, Mare."
"Yeah, right," she scoffed, pouring him another shot. As if there was one guy on the planet who wasn't interested in 'uncomplicated'...
She waited for him to say more, but he kept silent, looking at her with a sad expression on his face. "What is it, then?" she asked, against her better judgment. Every instinct she possessed was screaming at her to just let it go, but she pushed on, never one to back down from a challenge. Her partner was hiding something, she could tell, and she was going to find out what it was...
"Mare--" he started wearily, looking even sadder, if that was at all possible. She could tell he was going to try to steer the conversation to another topic, and she was having none of it.
"You're interested in what?" she prodded, studying him. He squirmed in his seat, refusing to meet her eyes. "Oh my god... You're interested in her?"
"Can we just drop it, please?" he begged miserably, reaching for his glass and downing it in one gulp.
She frowned, trying to ignore her growing unease. It wasn't like Marshall never dated – or never had bad dates, for that matter – so why was this one different?
Why did he care so much?
And why did she?
"Not that this hasn't been fun or anything," he continued, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil, "but I'm just going to head home."
She watched as he got up, then unsteadily made his way to the elevator.
"I'll take you home," she offered, grabbing her phone off the desk and following him out.
"I'm fine," he argued, pressing the elevator call button. "I'll call a cab. Besides, you've had just as much to drink as I have; you're in no shape to drive either."
"I wasn't planning to drive, you idiot," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "I was just going to get in the cab with you."
He cocked his head at her, obviously confused. "Why-- Never mind, I really don't need to know... I'm a big boy, Mare--"
"I'm sure you are," she teased, playfully bumping his hip.
He stared at her like she'd sprouted a third eye, then shook his head, hitting the elevator call button repeatedly.
"You do know the elevator's not gonna get here faster just because you keep hitting the button, right?" she smirked. Talk about role reversal; normally, she'd be the one abusing the tiny metal square while her partner calmly stood by.
She glanced over at him, expecting to see him smirking right along with her, only to find him engrossed in the emergency evacuation procedure posted on the wall. What the hell... He'd written the bloody thing himself – his responsibility as floor marshal, he'd informed her at the time – so it wasn't like he didn't know exactly what it said. She'd had enough; time to find out exactly what the problem was...
"I'm pretty sure I can manage a cab ride home by myself," he blurted out before she had a chance to say anything, his eyes never leaving the 8x11 sheet of glow-in-the-dark yellow paper. "Just go home."
"I am going home," she agreed, resolutely stepping into the elevator. "Your home," she clarified, her tone of voice making it very clear she wouldn't accept anything other than 'yes' as an answer.
Mumbling something she didn't quite catch, he followed her into the elevator, head hanging in defeat.
She hit the button for the ground floor, watching as the door closed and the elevator began its descent. No matter what it took, she would find out what was wrong with her partner...