*** The question remains...what *did* happen in Mexico? Faber and Mary have it out, but will Marshall ever get some answers? ***
No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place.
– Meir Kahane
But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.
– Revelation 21:8
Faber couldn't believe his luck as he entered the Marshal's office and saw Mary at her desk. Alone. Unaccompanied. He cast his gaze about for Marshall or Stan and saw neither immediately, only noted the faint conversation and occasional silhouette of the newer marshals towards the back of the office. Shrugging out of his coat, he carefully folded it over his arm and smoothed the front of his jacket.
"Knock knock," he sing-songed through the barred door. Mary didn't budge, nor did she seem to hear him.
"Well, I could stand out here and serenade you," he teased, tamping down irritation, "but I'm sure you don't want the rest of the office to be aware of my intentions."
Mary sighed deeply and gave him a baleful look. Mike cleared his throat and hummed a few notes and she threw her pen onto the desk as she forcefully pushed back her chair to approach the door. Unamused.
"Step back," she ordered.
He complied, then raised his eyebrows in surprise as she stepped through the door instead of allowing him access. Stood in front of him with her arms crossed.
"Let me tell you about your intentions, asshole," Mary began, voice low and mean. "Your intentions are to keep your head down, your mouth shut, and do your job so my partner can get back to doing his. There's no socializing, schmoozing, ass kissing or other specialties of your kind that you think might somehow earn you a spot back into my good graces."
Faber tilted his head and grinned slightly. "And here I thought me traveling all this way might impress upon you my true desire to apologize. You did say you'd like to see me again if I was ever in Albuquerque."
Mary's expression grew a bit darker and she opened her mouth to retort as Stan emerged from his office. She glanced over her shoulder to watch her boss meander towards the copier, turned back to Faber, and jerked her chin in the direction of the lockers before leading the way.
He followed, the clack of her heels on the tile somehow heightening his anticipation as the sway of her hips drew his gaze, and he had to stop suddenly when she whirled on him a safe distance from the anteroom; a hallway and another doorway now hiding them from view.
"Well, this wasn't quite the alone time I was hoping for, Kitten." Faber tossed his jacket and briefcase on one of the low benches. "You know, I stopped by your place last night. You weren't there. I have to say I was disappointed."
Mary crossed her arms as she faced him, posture screaming 'fuck off' in about four different body languages. Faber's gaze was drawn to her enhanced cleavage before returning to her face, and if possible, she tightened her glare.
"You probably thought all your efforts to woo me had paid off, didn't you? Thought that call to Mexico meant I had fallen for your spiel, and I'd swoon at your charming feet, let you have your way with me and then come back for more?"
Faber loosened his tie slightly as he stretched his neck in displeasure. She was mocking him.
"I checked you out, asswipe. Looked you up right after you left town. Did my own personal threat assesment. If I hadn't done it, Marshall would've, and I really didn't want his nose in my business." She chuckled dryly with the statement.
Faber tried for an easy grin and a deep breath. Wanted to throw her off balance. "I expected nothing less of you, pet. And I knew what you'd find. A few dalliances here and there, but then, you've paddled that same boat. Didn't figure you'd mind." He rocked back on his heels and shoved both hands into his pockets.
"We've both played the field, gotten a little muddied up, but I still don't understand your objections to the game. Don't know why you're so…resistant to playing the second half."
"You don't get it, do you?" she asked, eyebrow raised in parry. "You were convenient. A slightly interesting prospect that became a needed distraction when my world went a little crazy. A fling…hook-up…cowboy ride. Nothing more." Mary watched Mike's grin fade and pushed a few more buttons.
"There is no second half because there is no game, Faber. Your halftime entertainment was more than just a wardrobe malfunction, and you were ejected. It's done…you're done."
He raked her with his eyes as his lip curled. "So you say now. You were singing a different tune when you thought you were a woman scorned."
Mary barked a humorless laugh and put her hands on her hips. "Jesus Christ, moron," she spat. "Do you really think it was a quick fuck behind my back I objected to? Are you that stupid?"
Faber pointed a finger at her. "Don't call me stupid," he warned.
She smacked his hand down and leaned in, furiously disregarding his threat. "You fucked a minor, you sick pervert. You tried to deny it, tried to hide it, and I called you out."
He saw red as she dressed him down. The snide tone and belittling posture reminding him of past humiliation. Suave departed for more civilized lands and he traveled over the border into nasty.
"I wouldn't have needed to…accessorize my experience if you had delivered the goods, sweetheart. Needed something young and fresh to brush off the dust."
Mary flushed, but ignored the bait and stepped into his space to growl, "Stop accessorizing from the children's department, Faber. You're sloppy and you're an idiot, and I'd be more than happy to help take you down. I'll hold you face down in the burning coals and watch them walk all over you."
Faber moved quickly and slammed his hand into the locker near Mary's face. She jumped back instinctively and placed her hand on her gun, poised to fight.
"Your mouth," he ground the words out through gritted teeth, "is too big for your face. Don't make me smack it back down to size again." He fisted his hand against the metal surface.
Mary stared at his face, shifted her gaze to his hand and took three steps backward towards the doorway. Faber leaned forward slightly.
"Don't even think about it," she warned. "You're lucky the bruises faded before I got back to the States, and that the Mexican law is too warped to deal with. But know this…your own personal hell awaits you if you touch me again."
He saw something in her eyes that cemented the threat, and Faber remained still as Mary continued to back slowly out of the lockers. He could hear the blood ringing in his ears and closed his eyes to slow his breathing. Slowly, he straightened and smoothed the front of his jacket and shirt. Fixed his hair. By the time he gathered his coat and briefcase, he had managed to affect an air of nonchalance and whistle a low tune. Time to move on.
/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\
Marshall's third look at his watch was well out of the realm of surreptitious and firmly ensconced in the arena of 'I don't have all day.' The evidence clerk couldn't quite decide whether she should refresh her piece of gum or sign out his request, seemingly deaf to his polite prompts. Finally, just as rare impatience flared, the clerk snapped a bubble and pushed the large manila envelope into the receiving basket. He sighed a relieved 'thank you' and trotted towards the elevator. Faber had likely arrived while he was gone and Marshall imagined carnage of Napoleonic proportions. Vlad the Impaler. Freddie.
He cringed and veered left, headed for the stairs instead.
The hallway behind the main office was quiet, and as he walked towards the anteroom with a sigh of relief, Marshall heard voices coming from the lockers. Mary's bark of disbelief. Uh oh. Words were being traded, low and angry, and Marshall's gut tightened with concern.
Heel-toeing with care to mask any sound of his approach, Marshall inched forward to stand against the wall within hearing distance. Slowed his breathing to listen. A male voice intoned a question, and Marshall grunted as he identified Mary's opponent. Finally close enough to decipher actual words, he concentrated on his partner's voice.
"You fucked a minor, you sick pervert. You tried to deny it, tried to hide it, and I called you out."
Her voice cracked like a whip. No hint of uncertainty or possible room for leverage. Furious. Marshall's brain fumbled the information for a moment, and he curled his lip at the dirty laundry even his synapses didn't want to touch. A minor. The maid. Faber had not only stepped over the bounds of decency, but he sucker punched morality during the process. Hands balling into fists, Marshall waited for the agent's response.
"I wouldn't have needed to…accessorize my experience if you had delivered the goods, sweetheart. Needed something young and fresh to brush off the dust."
Marshall tightened his fists with a nearly inaudible growl. Sniveling insults directed at Mary's womanhood pushed a testosterone button rarely used and ignited a territorial torch. A fiery tool of masculine power he wanted to shove into Faber's face; watch the man scream and try to beat out the flames. He flared his nostrils as his rational mind tried to talk him down; reminded him that Faber provoked people for a living. The agent had chosen words sure to twist and carve at the psyche.
Don't take the bait, Mary, he mentally coached. He's just trying to get you to tip your hand.
Her responding low growl was just barely audible, and Marshall unconsciously stepped towards the doorway to hear the words.
"Stop accessorizing from the children's department, Faber. You're sloppy and you're an idiot, and I'd be more than happy to help take you down. I'll hold your face down in the burning coals and watch them walk all over you."
Marshall silently cheered as his partner threatened life and limb. It never ceased to amaze him; her seemingly blasé approach to mores and social norms that could turn on a dime to become righteous anger. There were invisible lines that should not be crossed. He was drawn to that sense of justice from the day he met her. Well, maybe a few days after that. A sly grin rippled across his face. Provoking Mary was about as wise as riding a pogo stick into a mine field; you only needed to hit one mine, and there wouldn't be much left. If you survive at all.
His mental cheer was rudely interrupted by a loud slam. Senses alert, Marshall leaned onto the balls of his feet in anticipation as he could almost feel the shift of emotion in the air. Anger had taken a dark turn and now he was nervous.
"Your mouth is too big for your face. Don't make me smack it back down to size again."
The threat seemed to reverberate through his skull; his vision narrowing to the doorway through which the voice of reason had just lost all hope of escape. …smack it back down to size again. …again.
Mary's carefully veiled reluctance to discuss Mexico beyond the generalities. Her outright hostility towards the agent when he had arrived. Her flinch with his reach. Somehow, at some point, the confrontation over the maid had become physical. Heated beyond the verbal boiling point and the man had laid hands on her. On Mary.
Faber's words clung to him like an oily residue that reeked of cowardice. A miasma that would only be washed off by some cleansing ritual of retribution. The marshal was brought back to awareness by pinpoints of pain as his nails dug into his palms. Sensing movement in the doorway, he quickly side-stepped back towards the main office as Mary's voice reached him.
"Don't even think about it. You're lucky the bruises faded before I got back to the States, and that the Mexican law is too warped to deal with. But know this…your own personal hell awaits you if you touch me again."
Barely noticing his own actions, Marshall jogged across the linoleum to key himself into the office and sit at his desk before Mary cleared the hallway. He gripped the underside of his desk drawer in an attempt to ground himself in the present; funneled the roiling rage he wanted to direct towards Faber into the cheap metal and took some comfort in its groan of protest.
Breathe. Calm down. Play it cool, and don't let her know you overheard.
Mary was a woman who fought her own battles. A lifetime of carving her own notches in her belt and wiping the blood from her knuckles had molded a sense of pride that she'd no more give up than her witnesses. She wouldn't hand that to him, or any man. Even if he asked. Especially if he asked.
Despite his willingness to wait for her to toss him a vengeful bone, Marshall knew that this time a scrap wouldn't do. He needed to sink his teeth into the meat…rend tissue…bury what was left. His knees hurt from where they were pressed into the corner of his desk, and he hurriedly relaxed his posture as Mary approached the office door. By the time she blew by his desk like a Nor'easter, he had managed a semblance of busyness that she readily ignored.
*** Uh oh...will Marshall's desk survive the onslaught? :) So...what can he do? Will Mary tell him about the conversation? Will Marshall get a chance to confront Faber? How old *was* that maid, anyway? What do you think...should I let Marshall have Faber? Please REVIEW and let me know! ***