Chapter 3 - Only in My Dreams

The snow covered fields of Pennsylvania flew by, the pale cold light of early morning doing little to impart any warmth. Thin wisps of rose colored clouds greeted her glances into the rear view mirror. Ahead of her the sky was still smoky blue, the western horizon yet to be touched by dawn. Mary stifled a yawn, wishing briefly she had someone with whom she could share this drive. Raising her cup of coffee to her lips, she took a sip and reached over to turn up the heat a notch. Her Probe's heater had seen better days, but she stubbornly refused to spend the money to get it fixed.

The soft buzz of her phone intruded on her thoughts. Mary checked the number on her incoming call and sighed. Brandi. She ignored it, not having the willpower to listen to her sister's latest drama right now. Grunting, she jotted a quick reminder on her notepad to tell Brandi to ditch her loser boyfriend. She would have that conversation later, after she had a chance to do some investigation on him. Dig up a few priors that she felt sure were out there to bolster her case. Mary pressed end and returned to contemplating the most recent dream she had had that featured the tall man. Mary believed now that in her dreams, this man was her partner. They were still marshals, the distinctive star visible on her waist, but she didn't think they were in the FTF.

They were flying down the highway in a GMC, the tall man riding shotgun and an annoying man in the backseat. Tension filled the air of the vehicle, irritation thick and annoyance close to the surface. They appeared to have been arguing. Some kind of warning light lit up on the dashboard and Mary pulled the truck off the main road. The tall man got out and was looking under the hood. She was definitely angry at him. Hurt, betrayal, fear all roiled inside her. The man in the back seat wouldn't shut up. Suddenly another car pulled up behind them and shots rang out. The tall man walked around from behind the hood of the car and was shot. He collapsed on the ground while Mary backed the truck up putting it between the man and the shooters.

Mary frowned as she picked apart the dream. Her level of anxiety ratcheted up as the dream progressed. From checking on the prone man after he had saved her life by shooting one of their attackers, to trying to find a place to hide from their pursuers, to the fear that his injury might be life threatening.

They found shelter in an abandoned diner. Mr. Annoying was chained to the counter and the tall man collapsed onto a dusty sofa. They were having an intense conversation. Fear laced sweat dampened both their shirts, the heat oppressive. Drawing a clean breath was difficult; worry, anguish, deep seated concern conspiring to constrict airways. The injured man turned his blue eyes on her, carefully framed words directed towards her in reluctant tones.

"I feel like I'm the keeper of this exotic animal. And I spend my time either protecting you from the world, or the world from you. And it's just... It's just a lot of responsibility." She had been forced to push to get him to talk. She ran her hand tenderly over his jaw, then pulled his face down to place a kiss on his cheek. His eyes closed in...what? Pain, joy, frustration? Mary couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry. But that's your job. And you cannot quit." She looked at him, willing him to acquiesce. He couldn't quit. He couldn't. She would fall apart. He stared at her, his eyes fathomless depths she couldn't decipher.

"Okay." There was a slight hint of resignation in his voice. She had made him promise he wouldn't leave. She couldn't lose him.

Mary frowned. The man was obviously very important to her, but she didn't get the feeling they were lovers. The level of turmoil she felt in her dream made her uneasy. She didn't get that close to anyone, to feel that much emotion. Not since she was seven years old.

She focused on the road, relieved to see that Philly was only another fifteen miles. The Jersey marshal was scheduled to meet with Schwartz and Ferris. She couldn't allow any distractions from the task at hand.

Mary arrived in good time and was quickly shown into the conference room, meeting the additional members of the task force. She quickly evaluated the three men she didn't know, deciding they would be competent, if not outstanding. She so rarely got outstanding, she thought with a mental grumble. The best she hoped for most days was to have someone capable of covering her back. Something she didn't feel confident about with Pelman. Her thoughts turned dark as she considered her reluctant partner. What kind of partner doesn't even half-heartedly offer to go on a take down with his partner? She knew an assignment with Marshal Shannon was a difficult job, but good grief, he was supposed to have her back. Mary grimaced as she thought about the paperwork involved with her impending request to Evan to assign her a new partner.

The identity of the shady acquaintance in the motel had been discovered, one Greg Yanovic. Small time local petty thief. Mary snorted. Yanovic had no idea with whom he was tangling when he took up with Willington. Ripping off convenience stores and dry cleaners was in a whole different league from the bank robberies Willington engaged in. The motel was under 24 hour surveillance. There had been little movement in and out of the room. Plans were finalized, partners assigned, coordination with local law enforcement arranged. Mary couldn't think of a possibility that wasn't outlined in the final plan.

After setting the gear up time for 6:30 the next morning, Mary returned to her motel room, amped up and looking for an outlet for her excess energy. She showered and contemplated going to one of the many bars located on the same street as the motel. Find someone to chat up. Maybe do a little more than chat. She sat down on the bed, combing out her long blonde hair, feeling nervous and horny. A quick roll in the hay would take the edge off the tightness she felt in her gut. She was far more apprehensive about the next day's raid than was usual.

Mary stood up to grab her keys and found her attention held by the framed artwork over the bed. Odd, she hadn't noticed it before. It was another southwestern piece. Unexpectedly a flash of her dream the previous night raced across her minds eye. She saw the dusty landscape, the lonely road, the redstone hills, the deserted diner. Felt the sweltering heat, the sweat rolling down her face, the damp tank top clinging to her clammy skin. Peered into the strained face of the slender man who had been injured. Felt the connection. And knew. She knew he wouldn't like it if she found herself a cowboy. It would hurt him. The keys clattered back onto the desk. Clear blue eyes gazed into her soul and calmly asked her not to hurt him.

The TV was flipped on and a can of pop opened. Mary sat against the headboard, remote in hand, finally settling on The History Channel. Her fingers gently rubbed at her temple, trying to soothe away the hint of an oncoming headache. I think I need help. A figment of my imagination is now dictating my social life. And I don't want to hurt the figment.

Marshall distractedly drug his attention back to Beth, his sometime girlfriend. They had known each other for several years and shared many interests. They were comfortable with each other, but Marshall knew she wasn't the one. Beth was under no illusions about him either. They were...convenient for each other. An acceptable fill in until someone more permanent arrived on the scene.

She was looking at him curiously. It was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. Beth was used to a certain amount of secretiveness with Marshall that related to his job. She knew not to ask questions. But lately, he was distracted, his attention never fully focused on her. Even when they made love last night, it was different. Marshall didn't look at her, he looked through her somehow, as though searching for someone else. She found it mildly disturbing. Marshall had always been a thoughtful, considerate lover. He gave her his full attention. Last night though, it was almost as though he was pretending; pretending she was someone else.

Marshall felt guilty. His nightly dreams were something to which he now looked forward. The willowy blonde with the green eyes was becoming real to him. The dream last night...he sighed.

They were standing outside the office on the balcony. The blonde was terribly upset. Marshall was trying to talk to her, to get her to understand something. She was resisting.

"Have you ever tried to find him?" The question was cautious. He was wading into dangerous waters.

"No." She shook her head, unable or unwilling to look him in the face.

"Why not? You have at your disposal the best technology in the world to track down anyone. And I have to believe that subconsciously, or consciously, that's at least part of the reason you became a marshal. Are you afraid of what you might find?" Tentative words tracking carefully through the minefield of hurt and betrayal she had experienced.

"If he wanted me to know where he was, he would tell me." Defiant.

"And what about what you want? At some point, that has to matter, too. If your father's still alive, if he's still out there somewhere..." His vocal cords were tense, his pain for the agitated blonde was audible in his words. He felt her distress as a palpable thing; cloying, suffocating, like a sea of caramel that he tried to swim through in order to reach her, fighting all the way to not get sucked down.

"What?" The single word was choked out. He could tell tears were very close.

"I just can't believe he would want his daughter to suffer the way you're suffering." Her shoulders started to shake and her head dipped down. He hesitated briefly before moving to her and enveloping her sobbing form in his arms, pressing a light kiss to her hair as he held her. Her arms came around his waist. Marshall delighted in having her in his arms while agonizing over her pain.

"Hey." Beth snapped her fingers in front of Marshall's face. "Where'd you go?" The question was curious, but not angry. Marshall smiled an apology and murmured something about work distractions. Beth leveled an assessing look at him, then shrugged, accepting his statement. They both knew she wasn't getting the full truth. Clearing their breakfast dishes, she dropped a kiss on his cheek and gathered her purse and jacket.

"I'm off to work," she said. "Call me later?" There was an uncertainty in her voice that was new. Marshall squeezed her hand and nodded. Listening to the front door close after Beth's departing body, he moved to the couch and sank down, allowing his head to roll back on the cushions. He was going to have to do something about his relationship with Beth. He was just hurting them both at this point.

Pushing that contemplation off to a later time, Marshall sat up to pull on his boots, then collected badge, gun and wallet and left for work. Today was paperwork catch up. He had been out on a prisoner transport earlier in the week and had been neglectful of his visit write-ups for the day previous to the transport.

Arriving at the Sunshine Building and settling in at this desk, the lanky inspector gazed glumly at the empty desk across from his. It has previously been occupied by his former partner, Wendell Millipat. Wendell was four months into retirement in Santa Fe now. And Marshall was still on his own. He felt aimlessly adrift. Without an anchor in his personal life, he had long looked to his work life to provide social stability. His partners played a large part in his life, kept him connected. Made him feel not so alone. He was feeling very alone right now. He would need to speak to Stan again.

He glanced over the briefs sent each day on major Marshal Service activities across the country. His eye was caught by an operation gone bad during an FTF raid in Pennsylvania. Chuckling, he was glad he wasn't involved, as he skimmed through the report. No injuries, but no fugitive either. The lead on that one would have some 'splaining to do.