Author's Note: I don't own them. I don't get paid for this (except in reviews, which are ALMOST as good as cash). Don't sue me.
Thanks for all the reviews! You are all too kind, and I'd hug you all if I could. So, find a buddy, and have them hug you. I'm all moved in. Mostly. I have a few boxes to unpack, but no where to put the stuff that's in them. So...they might stay unpacked for a while. Board exams SPECTACULARLY sucked, but from what I hear, that's just how they are. Hopefully I passed! I won't know for a few weeks. This chapter MAY have been inspired by my trip to the gym this morning. Some one pissed me off. Et voila! Enjoy!
Mary was having trouble paying attention during the lecture today. The slight headache wasn't helping matters, but it was not the actual cause of her inattention. No, Mary was deep in thought. About Marshall. She was having thoughts about Marshall that she knew she shouldn't be having. Thoughts she tried to keep from having. He didn't know it, but she had indeed awakened during the night only to find that her partner was curled around her like a security blanket. The weird thing was that she found herself sitting here, inhaling the clean, manly scent of her partner and missing the warm, comforting feeling of laying there in his arms. She was still trying to puzzle out exactly why she didn't mind Marshall being snuggled up against her. She wasn't usually the touchy-feely type. She didn't like to cuddle. She preferred her encounters to be over quickly, and then move on. Why is it that Marshall always managed to get inside her defenses? Why did she want to feel his arms around her again? When did she stop minding when he invaded her permanent bubble of personal space? How did that happen?
It annoyed her that she couldn't remember, so she sat fuming while Marshall dutifully took notes for her. He'd noticed her inattention, and had attributed it to the hangover that he assumed was splitting her head into pieces. Since he was aware of her newfound penchant for dictating lectures, he'd taken the responsibility upon himself to see to it that she'd have her notes when the haze cleared. After all, he was her keeper.
She sat, not paying attention to the speaker and chewing on her bottom lip in that pouty way that made Marshall's knees feel like limp noodles. He tried not to stare; even turned his face a few degrees away to shield his eyes. It didn't work.
Mary, for her part, was puzzling out when and how she had gotten so comfortable around Marshall. When was it that she'd stopped moving away when his shoulder brushed hers or glaring at him when he walked with his hand on the small of her back? Hell, he was the only person in the history of Mary Shannon's past thirty two years to gain her implicit trust. She let him drive. She let him pick out her food. He brought her coffee. He bought her little gifts. Spent time with her. Gave her pep talks. And she didn't rip his head off for any of it. Of course, she razzed him. Called him girls names. Questioned his sexual orientation. But that was all in jest. She never actually wondered if he was secretly more of a girl than she, and she'd never once questioned that he was all male. Hell, just the scent of him in the morning, freshly showered as she breezed past him on the way towards her desk was enough to make her close her eyes for a brief second and just…inhale. He was never patronizing, either. When he did things, brought her things, she didn't push him away. He'd started out small: doughnut, water, new pens when hers ran out of ink. She'd never second-guessed it. He was just being a good partner. A decent fellow. But somewhere along the way, the "things" gained significance, and she'd failed to notice that his little trinkets were really tokens of how closely he paid attention to her life when she talked. He listened. He absorbed. And she hadn't noticed. When they watched movies at her house or his they didn't sit on opposite sides of the sofa or in separate chairs anymore. They sat close. Shoulders against one another. Legs comfortably touching. At the theater they shared a popcorn and soda. Same straw. If Raph had tried to drink out of her straw she'd have sucker punched him. But Marshall…
God. When did this happen? When did she get so damn comfortable around him? How did she let this happen? Hell. How did HE let this happen? And his arms around her this morning had stirred all manner of emotions inside her that left her feeling jittery and uncomfortable and …what was that other feeling?
It occurred to her that she hadn't been paying attention for…glancing at her watch, she saw it had been a good three hours now. She'd failed to take a single note, too, she realized. Now if only she could find her pen. Her pockets were empty. Jacket pockets similarly failed to produce any sort of writing implement. She searched around her chair, under, beneath her feet. Nothing. She blew out a breath of frustration and looked in Marshall's direction when she heard a low chuckle.
"Something funny, doofus?" She hissed, and only noticed after that he was currently taking notes with her pen. "Give me that!" She tried to grab the pen from his grasp, but he held on tight.
"It's mine!" Her voice was rising in volume. "Give it here."
"You weren't using it!" He held it just beyond her grasp, long arms giving him an advantage. For the first time in a while she actually sounded like herself. It made him want to jump for joy. Turn back flips. Tap dance on the ceiling. Or, more likely…and more importantly less light in the loafers, go for a nice long run or hit some targets squarely at center mass at the range. Yeah. More like that last one. Mary would appreciate that last one.
"Marshall, give me my pen!" She was practically in his lap now as she reached for her favorite pen. Well, it was her favorite today. It was her only pen today, which made it her favorite by default. And she wanted it back.
She managed to grab his wrist and wrestle the pen from his grasp, aided of course by the fact that he was laughing so hard he could barely contain himself.
"Jerkwad." She muttered under her breath as she adjusted herself back on her own chair.
"Control freak." He whispered back, pretending to wince when she punched him in the arm.
"Moron."
"Whiner."
"Uh…" Her brain failed her for a moment.
"Oh. Sad." Marshall goaded. "Round two, and already tapped? Really, Shannon, you've gotta work on your smack talk."
"Shut it!" She warned.
"Or what?" He'd missed this.
"So help me, Marshall, I will shut it for you!"
"Hey!" Some large muscled, red-faced man from behind them said none too quietly. "Why don't you both shut up!"
"Oh, stuff it, you steroid-induced Neanderthal." Mary didn't even try to whisper, and Marshall had to turn around to face forward to hide his smile. "We'll talk if we want to."
She turned back around before he could respond and elbowed her partner in the ribs. "Way to go, Nerd. Get us both in trouble with the local behemoth."
"Relax." He smiled at her. "I have a plan if he gets violent." He waited for her eyebrow to raise before continuing. "You flash him, and I'll run away."
"Please." She smirked. "Like I'd whip out the girls just to save your sorry ass."
"What's wrong with my ass?" He feigned hurt, but his brain was wandering into dangerous territory.
That earned him a kick in the ankle and another elbow to the ribs. How did she always manage to hit the exact same spot? He was fairly confident that he'd had a permanent bruise in that exact same spot for the entirety of their partnership, and another one mirroring it on the opposite side. The woman could aim. Not that he minded.
"Do you want my notes?" He offered her the scribblings he'd worked so hard on all morning.
"Um, Marshall?" She was grinning, and he knew something was up. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the handwriting of a serial killer?"
"Just you, Mare." He laughed and dropped the notes in her lap. "I'll type them up for you later if you want."
"I can read it." She grumbled. "I've spent the last seven years learning to decipher your chicken scratch."
"Oh, like your penmanship is something to write home about?" He quickly moved his arm in front of his rib cage and discretely moved his ankles out of reach of her legs before she injured him again. Devil woman kept him on his heels, that for sure.
After they were done with death by powerpoint for the day, Mary goaded Marshall into going to the gym with her. He really hadn't felt like it, but the woman did make a valid argument. He knew his partner. He knew what she looked like. Mary was a beautiful woman. It was just a fact. She didn't particularly enjoy the ogling that went on when she went to a gym filled with predominantly men by herself. She could handle it, she just figured things would be easier if she had Marshall around to deflect. Damn him. If he'd volunteered for this duty five years ago, she would have kicked him in the face. But here she was, asking her partner to run interference for her so she didn't have to fend off the unwelcome advances of a bunch of guys in law enforcement who just naturally assumed she'd be down for a roll in the hay with them. Marshall had grown accustomed to this role over the years, as they often worked out together. It was a job he'd done surreptitiously at first, but the first time Mary had wrapped an arm around his sweaty waist and announced to some unfortunate hopeful suitor that they'd been happily together for three and a half years now, he'd thrown himself into the job with gusto. She'd thanked him for playing along and rolled her eyes at the situation.
He never minded playing jerk repellent, although he knew his motives were not entirely altruistic. Yes, saving Mary from being hit on at the gym, the bar, wherever, was nice. Possibly preventing her from hooking up with some idiot man who was only interested in her décolletage and other more feminine aspects was a perk. Keeping her from starting a relationship with ANY man, at this point, was more what he was going for. More to the point, any man…except him. He felt he was making headway in that matter, though. Had been for a while. And honestly, he didn't mind working up a sweat with his partner. There was something very appealing about a flushed, sweaty Mary wearing those tank tops and shorts that exposed her usually well-hidden legs. No. He didn't mind this part of the job at all.
Mary grabbed an elliptical machine and pumped up the resistance, smirking as Marshall opted for the treadmill beside her.
"How long?" They varied their workout routine, and he knew not to just assume how much she would do. Personally, Marshall preferred a standard routine. Before Mary, he'd had a system. Thirty minutes on the treadmill. Lift for twenty minutes, alternating upper with lower body. Then core last. But Mary got bored. She liked variety. So he gave it to her. He could step out of his routine if she needed him to. That would not be a problem.
"Thirty?" She raised her eyebrows in question, and he smiled. He knew she was aware of the fact that he preferred a certain order. She'd done her share of adapting, too. Marshall wasn't a gym rat, but he knew more about working out than she did. He shared his knowledge of safety and how to order the exercises to get the most out of the workout, and she'd learned, peppered him with questions, and quickly rearranged her own workouts with her new information.
"Thirty it is." He punched the information into the machine and started up, glancing around the room to note exactly how many men were currently fixating on his attractive friend. Too many.
He was sweating and breathing heavy by the end of his run. A glance at Mary earned him a smile from her.
"All done?"
"Yup."
"Arms or legs?" It had been a few days since he'd worked out, so it didn't matter which.
"Arms." She nodded affirmatively. "Wanna spar after?"
He could do abs later. "Sure." He knew Mary hated situps.
They'd only been sparring for a few minutes when one of the, he had to assume…feds, just had to throw in his two cents.
"You know, if you always take it easy on her, she'll never learn how to take a punch." The dark-haired man called across the mat.
Marshall opened his mouth to retort, but Mary beat him to it.
"Well the, big boy, why don't you come over here and try to teach me."
"Mary, no." He grabbed her elbow and spoke softly but firmly. "Don't."
"I can take this guy, Marshall." She shrugged off his hand.
"Let's go, girlie." Dark-haired jerk crooned, and Marshall winced. Mary would never let that go.
"Mare, you don't have to do this." He advised. "Come on. Let's just go back to the room."
"Stuff it, Marshall." She wasn't backing down, and he knew it.
Edging over to the side of the mat, he stood nervously watching as they circled each other. It wasn't that he thought she couldn't take care of herself. She could fight with the best of them. He just hated the unknown. He knew her capabilities. He knew her weaknesses. He pushed at her weaknesses, but only so she could defend herself better should he not be around. They had rules, though. He never punched her in the face, nor she him, and she never punched, grabbed, kneed, or kicked him in the groin. Well, she didn't do that on purpose.
She was doing well. She'd landed a few good punches, dodged a few others, and took a direct hit to the chest. She took that no problem. Then Idiot's fist grazed Mary's cheek, and Marshall tightened his own fists as he watched Mary spin around and go down. It didn't make sense. She didn't take that hard a hit. She rolled on her back, and Marshall understood her method. She hooked her legs around The Idiot's and brought him down with a twist, immediately moving her legs into a more secure grip. It was a move he'd taught her.
"That's my girl." He said quietly under his breath. Jiu jitsu was a hobby of his, but it hadn't always been. He'd started taking classes about two and a half years into their partnership. They were friends by then, and sparred on occasion. He realized what a disadvantage she could be in when it came to size and brute strength. The first time he'd pinned her with a joint lock, she'd tapped out and demanded a rematch. And another. Finally, she asked him what it was, and made him teach her. They'd done it again and again until she'd mastered it. From then on he took classes, then went to the gym and taught her what he knew. She was a far superior fighter than most men after all this time, and she knew how to use the fact that she's a girl to her advantage. No one ever suspected they would be bested by a girl. She enjoyed the satisfaction of watching them lose. Frankly, so did Marshall.
The Idiot finally gave up and tapped out, and Mary gave him an "accidental" kick in the gut as she released him.
"Rematch!" He immediately demanded, and Marshall intervened.
"Let's go." He gripped her elbow tighter this time, and she knew he meant business.
"Come on, Marshall, I won." She protested as he marched her back to the dorm.
"Yes. You won." He was seething, but secretly proud. "You did good." Okay. Maybe it wasn't a secret. "But why'd you do it in the first place?"
"He pissed me off." She shrugged.
"And you wanted to prove yourself." Marshall supplied, knowing that being pissed off was far from her only motivation.
"So. What if I did?"
He sat her down on the mattress and rummaged for his first aid kit. Grabbing the plastic bag, he punched it, fiddled with it for a moment, then held it to her cheek.
"Why do you feel like you have to prove yourself to every chauvinist that hollers something rude your way?"
She didn't reply, but he knew the answer anyway.
"Mare?" He removed the ice pack and checked her cheek bone gently with his fingertips. "That hurt?"
She shook her head, no, and he grabbed a towel to wrap the cold pack in.
"Mare, you don't have to prove anything to anyone else." He reapplied the cold pack. "I know you. You've proven yourself to me. They don't matter. Just ignore them."
She was still quiet, but she mulled over his words. He watched as she bit the inside of her cheeks. It was her nervous habit, and he knew it meant she was thinking about what he'd said.
"Fine." She finally spoke.
"Fine?"
"Fine."
"No more challenges from random jerks at the gym?"
"No more challenges from random jerks at the gym." She agreed reluctantly. "But that just means you have to spar with me more." She grinned at him. "I have to kick someone's ass on a regular basis or I get crabby?"
"GET crabby?" He grinned right back.
"Watch it." She warned, but she wasn't mad. Instead she took the ice pack from him and held it herself.
"You want to shower first?" There was a shower between the adjoining rooms.
"I'll wait until this thing dies." She waved the pack at him and watched as he stripped off his shoes and shirt, grabbed his clothes and supplies and sauntered into the bathroom. THAT was a view she didn't mind one bit.
A/N: that's all for now. There will be more later. Writer's block seems to have lifted. Have a lovely week!