Special note:
Thank you, thank you, thank you to spud_runner who was kind enough to do a retroactive beta on these pieces. I do like to work with beta readers, and good ones are rare gems.
Like any officer of the law who wound up catching a bullet, Marshall had to visit with the department psychiatrist. Shelley Finkle was a dark-haired woman with an air of professional concern, but something about her made his eyes slide right over her. Female, Caucasian. Occupation: Department of Justice psychiatrist. Despite a high likelihood of very attractive smarts, her radio signal fired off "closed for anything but business." His libido had yet to catch up with his blood loss after the gunshot, so his lack of notice was just as well.
He answered the litany of questions with the correct rote-and-response. No, he was not experiencing anxiety attacks, nightmares, or breaks in concentration. His consumption of alcohol was at a dead stop while he healed. He did not feel helpless, violated or at a loss. Mary's immediate nabbing of Horst's entire team definitely gave him a positive sense of closure. He felt no concern whatsoever about any fallout from Horst or Horst's clients; with the identity of Lola revealed, Horst might not fare so well in prison the second time.
But then she asked a question that gave him pause. "Your director mentioned that you were considering a job change at the time of the incident?"
Marshall inhaled, rubbing his free hand along his chin while he thought about his answer. He stilled his hands and answered. "I was…exploring my options. There are times when my job is my first priority in my life, and I was curious as to what other options I might have."
She wrote something down on a long yellow form in front of her.
"How are you feeling about your job now?"
Marshall spread his fingers and looked into her eyes. "It's what I do."
Shelley fished out a file. "Your partner has a long series of minor incident reports. Actually not to unusual for a marshal in your department," especially since WITSEC marshals could not always declare their motivations, "but still a bit longer than average. Has she had an impact on how you perceive your job?"
Marshall smiled at the thickness of the file. "Marshal Shannon can be a bit intense about her witnesses."
Shelley leaned towards him. "Was your partner a factor in you seeking other employment?"
"I wasn't seeking, just … seeing what else might be available to me." Marshall refused to place any blame on Mary after she saved his life. "Certainly I did consider how my decision might affect her."
"But why were you exploring? A lot of people in your position take a gunshot injury right after interviewing outside the service as a sign it's time to change careers."
Marshall formed his words carefully. "The Marshal Service is what I know. ALL I know. I only spent two years as a police officer in Colorado before I was nominated by a supervisor, and the Marshal Service goes back in my family for five generations."
She tapped her pen and stared at him. "That's impressive."
Marshall flicked the four fingers of his good hand outward, a gesture of dismissal. "No, that's genetics."
"I wasn't talking about your family's legacy, Marshal Mann." Marshall's eyebrows knitted together in response, and she smiled. "I was talking about your capacity, given your family and circumstances, to consider another possibility for your life. Few people really know how to do that."
"Oh. Don't be too impressed. I've decided to stay."
"Yes, but it looks like you're staying for yourself, not for your family's expectations." The psychiatrist wrote something down, and then proceeded on. "Could you tell me about your partner, please, Marshal Mann?"
Marshall's brow furrowed as he considered the doctor. "I'm not sure I understand how this will help you evaluate my fitness for service?"
She smiled. "It won't. I just want to know more about a woman who made two state governors cry."
At the end of the session, the psychiatrist put down her notepad and leaned towards Marshall. "You must be a delight to work with."
He smiled. "My partner doesn't always think so, but her tastes aren't as cultivated as yours."
She laughed. Then her eyes turned absolutely serious while the smile remained on her lips. "I am declaring you fit for service." She raised a finger. "But – I want you to seriously consider building some new relationships in your life. I realize with what you do, it's hard to maintain a support system." She lowered her hand and leaned towards him. "It's obvious to me that you do a lot for your partner, and she does for you, too. That's the way it is with service partners. But you don't have to let your job define you, and surrounding yourself with several positive relationships will keep you sane and strong longer. Since you are continuing in this line of work, you need to start cultivating something for yourself that has no bearing whatsoever on the Marshal Service."
Marshall paused, considering her words. "I agree with your assessment. Thank you."
"Good." She stood at her desk, offering her hand. "Marshal Mann, once that arm heals, you're fully fit for duty. In the meantime, you are fully psychologically qualified as a desk jockey."
He accepted the handshake gladly. "It's good to be back."
Mary called an hour later. "The doctor and the department psychiatrist say I'm fit for duty," he announced. His partner stopped by twice while he was healing. Once, right after he came around from surgery, to tell him that they caught the bastard that shot him, and the second time to tell him to hurry his ass back to work. She called daily with a similar line of conversation.
"That's great!" Mary sounded genuinely pleased. "My witnesses, the Arnsteins, invited me to their art opening, and I won't know what the hell anyone is talking about. Want to come back me up?" While they were not technically required at public events for their witnesses, both marshals found that mingling when their witnesses mingled kept everyone safer – and better at abiding WITSEC rules.
Marshall also remembered the case, and felt very, very glad that Stan did no assign that mess to him. "An art opening really doesn't sound like your kind of thing." It wasn't. Mary's art appreciation rarely extended beyond pausing to wipe drool off of a fireman's calendar.
Her voice lowered, and Marshall guessed she was calling from home. "Raphael's staying with me after he tore up his knee and it's weird," she confessed. Marshall knew that they weren't together, and yet Raphael was staying in her house. He wondered if her sudden interest in caretaking was an extension of guilt about his own injury. "I just want to get out of here for awhile."
Marshall considered. "OK. I'll meet you there." Even though he wanted to see Mary, a little distance from her allowed him a good chance to meet someone, ideally an attractive female someone. His arm sling definitely worked as a conversation starter, especially when he coordinated his sling with his outfit.
Marshall arrived half an hour early. He enjoyed the lingering looks from a few women who walked by him, and intended to strike up a conversation with one or two. Unfortunately, his own curiosity worked against him – he became genuinely fascinated by the artwork, ignoring the women flowing around him. The use of cottonwood resonated with him, and the art as well as its medium brought back childhood memories.
He was reliving an escapade he had playing the Lone Ranger when Mary touched his arm. The fascinating artwork and boyhood memories paled next to the sight of Mary in another little black dress. She greeted him with her rare genuine smile. "Look at you, all upright and not dead! And with a matching sling even – I bet the ladies love that!"
"It's not without effect." He saw the looks. He just forgot to do anything about it.
He began to tell her about the art, the story, what excited him about it. Mary was not interested. "How about we just say our hellos and get the hell out of Dodge. Deal?"
This abbreviated his chance to meet any art lovers. He mentally kicked himself for not striking up any conversations before Mary arrived. "What exactly is your beef with humanity?"
"I have no beef with humanity. It's people I can't stand."
Marshall had no answer for that, and he could tell Mary did not feel ready to resume their friendly hostilities yet. She excused herself when she heard Jay closing a sale like a used car salesman.
Marshall stood back, watching Mary work. He knew she hated Jay and once again Marshall played zookeeper, making sure the exotic animal did not eat the witnesses. He wanted to stay out of it. He hated the situation with the Arnsteins as much as Mary did, and they needed some time to rebuild their rapport.
While Mary performed acts of social formality, he perused the room both for more fascinating works, and for anyone he might enjoy chatting up. Just as he caught the eye of a dark-haired woman holding a glass of cabernet like she didn't know what to do with it, Mary dragged Jay over to him.
"You enjoying the show?" It looked like Mary was in the middle of performance art.
"Oh yeah." Uh oh. "Tell Jay what happens if he dumps Kay and we move her out of town?"
This was actually a tactic they learned in the service, of appealing to male authority. It worked on their more spectacularly stupid witnesses. "If we move Kay, you and Marcie get relocated too." This was specifically was discussed during his intake while Marcie was in the bathroom. How conveniently this man forgot.
"Well that just doesn't seem fair."
Because this guy understood concepts like fairness. "It's a reasonable alternative to having a woman scorned deliver your address to the folks who want you dead."
"Oh." So that was the word for it.
Marshall decided to point out the other glaring error of the night. "This should say planks of cottonwood, since that is in fact on what these are painted."
Jay took the advice with about the same grace as he did the news about his mistress. "I think I know my art," he snapped.
"Apparently not as well as I know my wood." He could already hear Mary shaping a biting remark about his wood and looked at her. "Don't."
The smell of gin warned him of the interruption before he heard the voice. "Well, some party." A blonde in a print dress very similar to Marcie's came staggering in.
Mary looked at the woman like she was a skunk on a mission to soil the driver's seat of her Probe. "Who is this?" he asked her.
"Kay." Marshall had not met Kay. He was out on an emergency with one of his witnesses during her intake. His emergency was that he didn't want to meet her.
As Jay and Mary attempted to move the drunken woman back out of the gallery, Marshall trailed them checking to see if anyone took notice of the disturbing tableau. Then what could go wrong did go wrong, Marcie saw Kay and all hell broke loose.
Mary stood stunned, obviously caught in the dilemma of whether to eliminate Kay by just letting Marcie kill her.
Marshall stepped in. He might be off active duty, but he was still Mary's backup. "OK folks, nothing to see here. Go back to your champagne and 19th century folk art."
The look Mary gave him reminded him that even in that dress, the woman could hide a gun anywhere. He stepped backwards. "I'll just –" and then he simply ran for the exit. Mary's witnesses, Mary's cleanup.
Marshall volunteered to drive Kay home, because Mary might just kill her and dump her body. Mary, after blistering Jay with her opinion of his integrity and a few suggestions of where he might stuff his virtue, stormed out to her Probe in an attempt to peel off to the Sunshine Building. The car choked twice, stalled once, and Mary got out and gave something in the undercarriage a swift kick. When she restarted the car, it came to life displaying symptoms of emphysema and then rattled up Central Avenue.
Marshall regarded the woman he just strapped down in his passenger seat. She sat and cried. He could not bring himself to offer a tissue.
"I came out here to be with Jay, and then he leaves me," she gestured wildly out the window, "for that… woman?"
"That woman is his wife. Technically he's not leaving you, just returning to her." Marshall started the car and backed out of his spot.
Kay, to his irritation, continued to talk. "But it isn't right!"
"I'm pretty sure that the moral and ethical lines in this situation are actually very clear." Marshall gripped the steering wheel and hoped for Kay to pass out soon.
Alas, Kay could hold her liquor. "What do you know, Johnny Lawman? I have made sacrifices to be here!"
By the time Marshall arrived at Sunchase Apartment homes, he wanted to shove her out of the car with his foot. Instead, he watched Kay stagger up the walk to her door, trying to remove her shoes as she went.
He stopped by 66 Diner on his way back, just squeaking in before 10 pm. He cursed Kay: only two pieces of pie remained. If Kay had stayed home, he and Mary would have enjoyed a piece of pie of their choice and been on their way to their respective homes by now. He bought the pie slices without identifying them.
Marshall arrived at the office in time to hear Mary leaving Stan her message demanding relocation authorizations.
"Gotta love the ironic phone message." He never left any himself. He also wanted to tread carefully: he had some ground to regain with his partner, although he knew she counted his bullet wound as a mitigating circumstance.
"Did Kay get home alright?" He gave her points for asking.
"Alright being a relative condition, but yes. Pie?" He set a piece down in front of his partner, already knowing the answer. Mary never refused pie.
Mary, he could tell, was still running a "what's wrong with me?" inner dialogue. He wasn't surprised- Stan said she seemed to have a lot of them since his injury. "I shouldn't have gone along with the discussion. It's not like I had a gun to my head."
His old philosophy TA really enjoyed puzzles like this, and Marshall almost wished he could call up Dana and tell her about Mary's dilemma. They used to drive his old study group crazy concocting scenarios just like it to prepare for their critical thinking and ethics tests. "Actually an immoral decision made under duress is still an immoral decision. Understandable, yes, forgivable, perhaps, but still definitely immoral." The look on Mary's face told him she did not enjoy his intellectual exploit. "I'm just sayin'. If you didn't do it they would have found someone else to do it." It was true, and most marshals in WITSEC just don't bother taking moral stands. Mary's face reminded him of a puppy his cousin accidentally kicked. "Eat your pie. Pie makes everything better!"
Mary tucked into her pie. "It does help." Mary's act of acceptance meant a lot to Marshall. First, pie, then, not eventually killing him.
It was a happy moment until the phone rang. "House of Pie!"
The call was actually Bobby Dershowitz. He had a Jay Arnstein that was shot, and the emergency contact on his form said Mary Shannon rather than his wife. Bobby sounded displeased. As Marshall hung up the phone and communicated the situation with Mary, the wheels in his head turned. This situation made Mary volatile, and Mary made Dershowitz volatile for reasons she refused to notice.
Mary asked as they checked the files of their witnesses before leaving, "Maybe we should change into something more official before we go down there?" Both routinely kept changes of clothes in the office. While technically marshals were allowed to go plainclothes, certain types of clothing implied uniform. As much as Marshall enjoyed James Bond movies, their dressy attire was not on that list.
He considered Mary, still in her enjoyable little black dress. "No," Marshall answered. "Let's go as is." Dershowitz was a man who appreciated wardrobe, and one way or the other, he knew they would see him tonight.
On the way to the hospital, Marshall called the detective back. Bobby D. was definitely in a hostile mood, and it sounded worse than when he initially called. "I seem to have two women here who both have requested the presence of your partner," he said. "Is she a patron saint of women scorned?"
Marshall grimaced, reminding himself to keep it professional. "She's got a situation on her hands right now, but I'll check with her." At least they knew where their witnesses were. He had to give it to Dershowitz: the idea of Mary as some type of revenge fairy was funny.
"Is that situation a certain gunshot victim?"
"I really can't say."
Next came the conversations with INTERPOL and a flurry of calls to prisons. It appeared they only almost had a security breach thanks to Kay.
At the hospital, Mary was already working the case. While Marshall wasn't sure Jay could tell her anything relevant with an oxygen tube stuck down his throat, it gave her a focus besides any hapless staff in her way while he gave directions to the personnel around them.
As Mary extracted herself from the panicked roll-away, he filled her in. Mary's first thought was to the person she considered her witness. "I need to move Marcie."
"And…?" He did fear that one day Mary might turn a particularly obnoxious witness over to the criminals with a note saying "Free! Take one!" After his fifteen minutes with Kay, the day might come very soon.
"And Kay."
"They're both in police custody!" It came as no surprise to either of them. And they knew where both witnesses were, saving them some work.
"Anything on the art smuggler side of this?"
"We didn't hear back from Frawley." Frawley was the agent who broke the case. The only people that wanted Jay and his loved ones dead were almost all out of the picture.
"So this just leaves the American side of it." It looked highly unlikely to Marshall, but he knew Mary did not want to think her witness might shoot her own husband.
"Or Kay, or Marcie." She might not like it, but Mary had to look at the whole picture.
"Marcie didn't do this."
She was probably right, and while innocent until proven guilty, within the confines of their work they still needed to prove innocence by eliminating the possibility of guilt. "You don't have to convince me, but the Albuquerque PD doesn't share your conviction." He really wanted to avoid a showdown between Mary and Bobby. "You got a plan to get them out?"
"If they didn't get arrested I don't need a plan, they're coming with me." That was the standard procedure.
"And if they are arrested?" This was actually a drill they rehearsed for years. It felt good, this rapid-fire strategy review, allowing them to reconnect over what they did best, together.
"Then we cooperate with all local law enforcement agencies as is our obligation." Mary pouted a little, and he could almost hear her thinking, stupid obligation.
"I do love it when you talk protocol." It really was the equivalent of Mary showing up in a French maid's outfit.
He smirked when she said, "Watch me work." While she operated, believing Bobby gave over to her out of professional respect, Marshall stood back and watched her dress do all the heavy lifting.
Then he saw Kay sitting at Bobby D's desk, and he groaned inwardly. "Love the new uniforms," Bobby D. commented. Marshall smiled to himself. Yes, Mary's dress was already doing its work.
Kay turned her full attention to Mary. "They are keeping me against my will. Please tell this moron I have diplomatic immune-tee."
The stupidity was just as spectacular as it has been two hours ago. Mary was impressively polite in return, getting into her "we're all colleagues here" character. "I'm sure detective Dershowitz has a good reason for keeping you here."
Bobby D's admission that shooting her had crossed his mind as well did make Marshall warm towards the detective. Both men shared certain tastes.
Bobby D. launched himself out of his desk. Marshall could tell he wanted the excuse to get away from Kay, and an excuse to perhaps have Mary to himself. "You want coffee?"
Although the offer wasn't for him, Marshall felt the need to remind the detective of his presence. "I'm good."
"I'd absolutely love some." She looked back at her partner, on the surface signaling a "watch the pro" but in reality seeking his reassurance.
Marshall gave his partner a thumb's up, swallowing a snigger at Mary's ganache-level sweetness.
While Mary turned what she thought were her professional charms on Bobby D., Marshall focused on the personality problem still seated at the detective's desk. "For future reference, diplomats have diplomatic immunity. You're in witness protection, and have no immunity from anything whatsoever. Can you see the difference there?"
Judging from the blank, tearful glare she gave him, she did, but could not process any further humiliation for the night. "Why don't you come on back here with me." He jerked his head towards the interrogation rooms. Kay could not be trusted with anything she might hear Dershowitz and Mary say, and he wanted to separate her from Marcie and Mary right away. Kay's stagger made it clear her drinking continued long after he dropped her off.
He planted Kay in a chair and then bought several bottles of water from a break room vending machine. Marshall slammed down each one in front of her.
"We're going to need to relocate you, but first I need you sober." Kay made a whimpering noise, but reached forward, opened a bottle and took a sip.
He left Kay in the room and wandered down the hallway, looking for someone who might let him use a breathalyzer.
It took Kay almost three hours to consume and expel enough water for her blood alcohol levels to register as legally sober. This gave him time to arrange a room and 24-hour protection. This also meant listening to her sob, whine, demand, and at one point, fall off her chair.
He ran over the procedures with her in the car and on the way up to the motel room in an effort to reduce time spent with her. "There will be a security team posted in the parking lot at all times -"
Kay got a look at the room, and Marshall encountered the full force of her sober personality. "No, no, I have life-threatening allergies." She grabbed a pad and pen from the hotel stand, and began writing a list of what she needed to "survive these conditions."
He reviewed the list with disgust. "Cigarettes? I thought you were allergic to smoke."
"Good point." She added smokeless ashttray to the list. She then shoved him out of her room.
Marshall stood outside the room a moment, recognizing the unwelcome task ahead."Oh boy." A hostile witness was the one thing worse to work with than a hostile partner.
Marshall tucked the list in his wallet. He could run to a 24 hour Wal-Mart and pick up most of the list and be back in an hour. But going home and getting a proper night's rest seemed much more appealing. He somehow doubted Kay was at risk of death overnight, but if she didn't survive those conditions, Marshall would struggle to blame himself.
Ten hours later Marshall took a sadistic glee in handing Kay her bag of demands. "I hope this fills the void," he said and marched away.
Kay responded exactly how he wanted her to. "What is that supposed to mean?" He kept walking as she called him a mailman with a gun. She received his message: "You are not as important as you want to think you are."
The next visit he didn't even bother to open the door. He left the bag outside the door, knocked and yelled, "Lunch!" He needed her to feel rejected, because rejection forced Kay into pursuit.
Kay appeared at the door, looking sober and slightly less made up. "Wait. What is this?"
"Chicken salad on a baguette with garlic aioli." Judging from the look on Kay's face, she did not know he was capable of refined culinary choices. "You're welcome."
"Explain the void remark." She sounded near tears.
"I think you know."
He could see his words echoing in her, ricocheting painfully off her complete absence of real connection to anyone. She opened he door a little wider and gestured to him. "Come in."
Marshall entered, into the void.
Thus began one of the longest afternoons of his life. He almost but not quite found Horst's assassination attempt preferable. Kay's monologue on why she felt empty, how Jay filled that void and why she needed the man did make Marshall hurt for her: the woman clearly had an absent father-figure and in some ways Kay reminded him of his partner's sister, Brandy, albeit a more educated and arguably successful version of her.
At last, she said, "So you see, he should be with me, especially since I've given up my very identity to be with him!"
Marshall began with simply, "No."
Kay did not want to accept this. "Can't you consider the possibility that I'm the one that's supposed to be with Jay, not her, that ours is the true, pure love?"
He pretended to consider it, and found it echoed within him. How he was paired with Mary, but Mary sought out Raphael. "Nope. Our universe seeks order, and I'm afraid in this situation, you represent," he paused to consider the word choice, "entropy." Entropy, like the chaos that could have ensued if he had laid out his feelings for Mary on the table instead of seeking a different job. He wondered for a moment if he would need to explain the word to Kay.
Kay, it turned out, was much smarter when sober. "I don't want to represent entropy." His heart broke for her a little. He didn't want to represent entropy, either.
Marshall's phone rang, rattling him from his moment of empathy for the woman. "Hey, what's up? I'm kind of…in the middle of something." While Mary typically ignored his schedule, he hoped that one of her concessions to him after he almost left his job was demonstrating more respect for his time. Especially since keeping this albatross of a witness out of Mary's hair was actually a significant favor for her benefit.
"How sure are you that the paintings were done on cottonwood?" Mary might not act like it but ultimately she caught every detail of what he said.
"I grew up playing in a stand of cottonwood. It's a deciduous wood, strong, but much lighter than say an oak." He missed his days in northern Colorado, performing target practice out in the woods. He held a great affection for those trees.
"So if the artist actually did paint on poplar you would conclude…?"
"The gallery paintings are fakes." A-ha. So that was why Jay argued with him.
"Thanks Poindexter."
"Rock steady."
He turned his attention to Kay, who was now sobbing on the bed. "that's it, let it out. This is tough stuff we're doing." He brought her a tissue.
"I should never have stepped in the middle of someone else's marriage." It was the first time since he encountered her she showed a sign of other-awareness.
His empathy for a moment deepened, as he thought of Mary and a Dominican shortstop. "And with the onset of wisdom, comes transformation."
Kay ruined the moment of enlightenment as she did many moments, by opening her mouth. "I should have insisted he get a divorce."
"That's not quite the direction that we – " his alarm bells went off. Kay shifted off the bed towards him, her body moving in a familiar – albeit distantly so – liquid flow. His surprise made him freeze, leaving him trapped between Kay and the dresser.
"Make love to me Marshall." She pulled her blouse open, and the part of Marshall that was pure guy got a good long look at a fantastic bra.
Before she could kiss him, he snapped back control of his libido. "I see we've still got some work to do." He pushed her off and walked out of the hotel room, got in his car, and took a long, cold shower.
Mary's idea for the bust was simple, and she was vastly amused by the opportunity to make her partner where a wig and fake mustache. As he lay in the bed, the fake hair itched like hell.
Margaret made her murder attempt, and his fake seizure allowed him to scratch a couple spots where the itching was driving him especially crazy. He allowed the woman to babble "Something's wrong with Jay!" for a bit after Mary ran in.
Ultimately Mary was supposed to pull the sheet off of him, but Marshall just could not stand the itching. "I think it was the poison you injected into my IV."
He and Mary looked at each other. As partners, they were back.
At the end game, Bobby turned towards Mary. "Y'all drive home safely." The detective's eyes scanned over Marshall and settled on Mary.
Marshall gave him a curt nod. The well wishes were not for him. He felt strangely unbothered by the man's interest in his partner.
Stan wanted to know how it happened, and Mary's referral to him as "Johnny Cottonwood" made him smile and tip his imaginary hat. It felt good to know that Mary really did respect his opinion.
A few hours later he returned to Kay's motel room. "We need to talk about what happened."
Kay let him in. She had the look on her face of a person who hit self-awareness and found the discovery depressing. "What's wrong with me?" This might be a regression. "Why doesn't anyone want me?"
Marshall sighed. "Sit down." She went to sit down on the bed. "On the chair."
He pulled up another chair and they sat face to face. "Let me put it this way: are your choices making you happy?"
Kay bit her lip, chewing on what he said for a moment. "No, they're not."
"Then you need to find something new, cleanse yourself of your bad choices and start over. I don't think you belong in witness protection, do you?"
Kay looked down at the floor for a moment, and then looked at him, a newfound clarity brightening her face. "You're right. I don't belong here." She got up from her chair and went to the door. "Good night marshal. Please meet me here tomorrow morning."
Marshall stood up, puzzled, but sensing that in her emotional arc, she needed an exit. As he left she called after him, "And please bring whatever forms I need to fill out."
The next morning, she greeted him with a martini glass in her hand. "Let's go down to the pool."
"Why?"
"I need a little ceremony to mark my leaving the program. "
She led Marshall to the pool, and for a frightening moment he thought she might strip. Kay turned towards Marshall, her eyes seeing so much more than herself. "You might want to dip your toes in the water yourself there."
Marshall discovered that morning that his boots were surprisingly water proof. Kay stood fully clothed on the edge of the diving board, martini glass in one hand, cigarette in the other. This was definitely not how Marshall expected to spend his Tuesday morning. The situation still felt crazy to him. "You know, you really don't have to do this. When we speak of cleansing, it's figurative. More metaphorical than an actual soap and water deal."
Kay shrugged. "Yeah. Well, I tend to take things literally."
The albatross of a witness left WITSEC with a splash, and something in Marshall's own heart felt oddly clean as she went.
That afternoon, when Mary returned from transferring Jay and Marcie, he marched over to her desk. "I have a present for you!" He dropped Kay's opt-out card in front of her.
Mary picked up, and her smile lit up his day. "You're going to have to tell me how you did this?"
"Maybe over a piece of pie?"
Mary tucked the card under her keyboard. "Hell yes!"