***So Mary's off to the ranch and Marshall's left to think and wait. You *know* what he's thinking about. I wonder how many knots they can both tie themselves into?**

"Don't say it's a fine morning, or I'll shoot you."

- McClintock

-o-o-

"Lord...whatever I've done to piss you off...if you could just get me out of this and somehow let me know what it was I promise to rectify the situation."

- Maverick

Marshall fiddled with the small digital recorder he held in his hands, long fingers manipulating the various small buttons and switches as his mind busied itself separate of its corporeal host. He slouched in the too small reading chair near the desk in his motel room as he passed the time waiting for Mary to arrive at the ranch and find a moment to check in.

Why he thought he could be any more prepared for this operation than he was, he didn't know. He had been over the equipment time and time again, memorized the files, traced the maps…even drawn detailed plans of the ranch layout which prompted Mary to ask him if he needed a new box of crayons. The preparations had been completed and checked, repeatedly, but still Marshall worried. Worried about the unknown repercussions of governmental red tape…blue tape…green tape, that could possibly bind them and endanger the witness. Endanger them. Worried that this wasn't their forte, this subterfuge, and that stumbles normally covered with competence and grace would be noticed this time. Worried the back-up plan was tenuous at best, and relying on others through blind faith was better left to priests and trapeze artists.

The air conditioner rattled to life, jerking Marshall out of his reverie, and he blew out a long breath as he tossed the recorder onto the bed with a grimace of disgust. He was going to make himself crazy, grinding the mental 'what if' gears, and he reached over to grab the novel he had packed for the too quiet times. He flipped through the pages, but his eyes refused to focus on the words, instead sliding over to stare sightlessly at the floor as his mind shoved the morning's events determinedly to the forefront.

He could still see her standing there, posture and expression daring him to respond to her taunt in any way other than docilely. The spark in her eyes, the long fingers resting on the curve of a hip he had looked at too long, a piece of blonde hair curled tantalizingly over her collarbone. The poster girl for bad decisions. She didn't know; didn't realize she was testing a resolve teetering on the libidinous edge...

Marshall released a groaned sigh and shook his head ruefully. Mary. The woman he'd spent more time with than the sum of all his romantic relationships laid end to end. The woman he knew more about than any other friend he'd ever had. The woman who stood beside him, challenged him, humored him, angered him, protected him…cared for him. Played roles beyond roles in their partnership, some he couldn't even define, but that missing role was the one that had kept him awake during the wee hours; tossing and turning with want and self-recrimination as he wallowed in the second level of Hell.

"'Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form I floated with, about that melancholy storm,'" he quoted softly. He sat, stilled in memory as the words whispered through the room.

He could still taste her; a lingering hint of sweetness he was sure was only imagined, but heady nonetheless. There had only been a brief moment of contact, but even that promise of pleasure had rocked him down to his toes. He knew he hadn't imagined the way she had shifted slightly closer as his lips brushed hers; the way her fingertips slowly traced his contours through his shirt. She had not been unaffected. That, beyond everything else which imprinted those mere moments indelibly onto his brain, was what drove him to distraction these hours later. Wondering what she had been thinking. Wondering what she had felt. Wondering what this was going to do their relationship.

"And it's all my mother's fault," Marshall grumbled, imagining his father expressing a similar sentiment, the males of the family subject to the wants, whims and warpaths of the solitary female Mann. Rising from the chair to re-pack his bag, Marshall remembered the fateful conversation from a few months ago.

He stood staring out the window over the kitchen sink, fascinated by the large flakes of snow reblanketing the rolling hills behind the house. The dog played a game of wintry tag with the weather; pouncing on the targets nature threw at her, only to come up empty handed with a muzzle full of snow. Undeterred, she darted towards the next unsuspecting flakes. Marshall smiled through a mouthful of cereal as he watched her, reverting to old habits of eating over the sink while everyone else was still asleep.

"Aren't you a little too old for Lucky Charms?" she teased, slippered feet shuffling onto the tiled floor.

Marshall barely avoided fumbling the bowl into the sink and licked the spilled droplets of milk off his thumb as he turned towards her. "Never," he mumbled around a rainbow of flavor. Swallowed. "And if you thought we were too old, you wouldn't buy them for us when we came home."

"That's just to keep you from eating all the eggs before I get a chance to make 'second breakfast' after everyone's up." His mom helped herself to a cup of coffee and glided over to perch on one of the counter stools.

Marshall joined her, aware of her assessing stare. "What?" he asked warily, not sure he was up for a post-dawn reckoning.

She held the steaming cup of coffee with both hands and stared past him as she sipped. "I was going to make a quilt for Chris when he left for college," she stated, referring to his oldest brother.

He frowned as he tried to wrap his mind around the significance of the twenty-odd year old memory. Before he could question her, she continued.

"I gathered materials and supplies, even cut up some of his old clothes and a piece of his receiving blanket to add to the mix. Read up on quilt making and tried a few sample squares. I wanted it to be just right. Perfect, you know?" She cocked an eyebrow at him with a brief glance.

Marshall felt a response was required. "How'd it turn out?"

His mom smiled that smile he had learned to pay attention to. "That's the thing, Marshall. I spent so much time preparing and studying and planning in order to make it just right that the moment passed, the kid went off to school…then graduate school, and then he had a wife. And she used the materials to make them a quilt. I missed my chance to offer him something that, though it probably wasn't going to be perfect, would've been something he always remembered. Maybe even treasured." She shrugged a shoulder and took a long drink of her coffee.

"You could still make a quilt," Marshall suggested weakly.

"No, the moment passed," she replied with a rueful tone. After a minute or two of silence, she got up to refill her cup. Marshall watched her.

"So," he began, "I'm thinking that wasn't just a random story, Mom. Do I get the interpretation now, or do I have to decipher it myself?"

She tightened the tie on her robe as she smiled at him. "Marshall, you're my romantic. To you, life is a quilt. But don't spend too much time trying to figure out how to get that perfect piece in there. Maybe it's supposed to be sideways, or sewn in with clashing threads, but if you wait too long…well…someone else is going to snatch it up and use it for their own."

Marshall opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. "Do something about that woman before you've strangled yourself with your own jeans."

He just stared at her, speechless, as she disappeared down the hall.

Refolding another pair of jeans, Marshall stuffed them back into the bag more vigorously than he needed to. His mom's words and retreating chuckle had been bouncing around in his brain for months now. Do something…do something…

"Sure, Mom," Marshall offered to the empty motel room, abusing another piece of clothing as he wondered if his mother had ever read Dante. "'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'"

/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

The shuttle bus smelled like every other shuttle: the slightly unpleasant mix of upholstery cleaner, wet rubber, diesel fuel and a hint of cigarette smoke. This ride, due to its destination, also treated the passenger to a barely detectable whiff of substances that should have stayed in the pasture. Wrinkling her nose as she chose a Holstein patterned seat close to the front, Mary waited for the driver to finish stowing her luggage as she studied the van's interior. It was themed…even down to the music. She hated country music.

The first one on the shuttle by design, Mary would be able to assess each passenger as they boarded and get a feel for her fellow inmates as they lumbered slowly out to the Ranch. Despite Marshall's checklist, her own notes and the reassurance of Taliswell, she felt her stomach tightening into a knot with thoughts of the upcoming week. It was one thing to assume a façade for an hour to two…or even a day, but to maintain a cover that invited no investigation or curiosity for a week? And in that time establish some contact with a witness who wasn't supposed to know who you were in order to protect them from people who didn't know you were there…?

"And to top it off, I'm supposed to ride a fucking horse," she groused, letting her head fall back to rest on the seat.

Her grumbling was interrupted by the driver's greeting as he took his spot, and Mary forced herself to pay attention to the conversation and subsequent question and answer session that was supposed to put her at ease and bolster excitement. It wasn't soon enough that they pulled into the next shuttle stop, and Mary gazed out the window at two other women readying for the ride. Fifteen women, she thought with another jolt of panic. It was too much estrogen for her taste. The thought of soon to ensue gossip, giggling and other distinctly feminine activities set her teeth on edge. She carried a badge and a gun for a reason; the same reason that got her physically ejected from Mrs. Godfrey's home ec class sophomore year. Samantha Wood probably shouldn't have blocked my punch with her face, Mary thought humorously.

The women introduced themselves with bright smiles, and Mary responded with a friendly grin and firm handshake. Both were from Fort Collins, cousins who had saved up for this trip, and seemed happy to chatter between themselves after the expected courtesies to Mary. Relieved to have leapt the first of many hurdles, Mary settled back into her seat and thought that Marshall would've been proud of her. Grinned as she could imagine him tipping an imaginary hat with tilt of an eyebrow. Her grin slowly faded, however, as her mind backpedaled to that stunned moment in the motel room.

Marshall. The one man in her life she actually gave a damn about. The only relationship she held dear and would fight for, and it seemed as though lately he was determined to try to fuck it up. Scratching her head and watching out the window as a gaudy tourist shop receded from view, she wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell had happened that morning. At what point did the usual parry, thrust, riposte lurch into a tangled mess of footwork that had left them both unsure and confused? At least she was unsure and confused.

Mary had mentally reviewed her actions and reactions from beginning to end of their time together in her room. Was it her concern for Sheryl and the withering dregs of the nightmares that had thrown off her judgment and timing during their verbal sparring? Had she somehow missed some unspoken cue that had encouraged him? Or had he just lost his mind and stepped beyond the boundaries of partner and friend without thought to the consequences?

No, she shook her head slightly in disbelief. Marshall would never just… The thought trailed off as Mary remembered the earnest look on her partner's face all those months ago in the office.

Chewing nervously on a fingernail as she nodded greetings to yet more new arrivals, Mary furrowed her brow as the brief conversation ran through her mind. She hadn't wanted to think about it then. Didn't want to think about it for the many weeks following as she lay awake late into the night staring at the ceiling in her bedroom. Tried to avoid thinking about in the morning…at lunch…while cruising the friendly skies at 30,000 feet as Marshall softly snored with his head resting on her shoulder. She didn't need messy. What she needed was her partner and friend to stop putting ideas in her head that kept her awake well into the night counting the rotations of the ceiling fan. Ideas that had her considering alternate motivations for an early morning event that was likely a simple misunderstanding.

There must've just been some mixed signals this morning, that's all, she concluded with a soft grunt. They were both on edge, Marshall's brain likely as fried as her own with urgency and anxiousness, and the lack of attention to the situation had allowed it to become…odd. Mary couldn't really think of another word to describe it. It was like standing on the railroad tracks and suddenly hearing the whistle while the light shone in your eyes. A moment long enough to be aware of your fate, but not long enough to change it.

Fate, as though aware of its mention, massaged images into her brain. Mary remembered the feel of his slightly calloused fingers on her cheek, seeing his eyes darken to indigo just as the scent of his aftershave filled her nose and all chance of protest was lost. And then his lips on hers…

The shuttle lurched wildly as the driver turned into the ranch parking lot. Mary was jostled rudely from her musings and grabbed for the edge of the seat to steady herself; cheeks hot with surprise and a lingering arousal she'd just as soon forget. Grumbling in disgust, both at the driver's lack of skill and her unexpected trip down libido lane, she realized it was time to scrape her scrambled brains off the floor and perform the job she had been put here to do.

The women chattered and jostled each other slightly as they piled off the shuttle to gather near the back while their luggage was unloaded. As always, a small number made immediate friends; laughing and joking as though they had known each other for years. Others, like Mary, stood quietly and took in the chaos around them with a calm eye. Waiting for a conversation to be started for them, or just waiting for the opportunity to escape. Mary was torn. She'd prefer to just head to her room and settle in without having to interact beyond a cordial greeting, but she also needed to blend in slightly, and that meant making at least an effort at small talk.

Taking a deep breath, Mary assumed a pleasant expression and turned to the woman standing nearest to her to make the necessary first introduction.

"Mary Shepard?" the woman echoed, smiling widely. "That's great! I'm Diane Goldblum."

Mary had a moment of panic. Had she been made already? Was this some witness from their distant past that she hadn't remembered? How was she going to get rid of Diane without compromising her cover? Her uncertainty must've been plainly written on her face because Diane chuckled as she explained.

"It's okay. I didn't realize our roommate's name was on the shuttle confirmation either. I mean, who puts it there? But, no matter, I'm so glad to meet you!" Diane leaned over to nudge Mary's shoulder with her own as she lowered her voice. "Now…what do you say we get unpacked and head on over to the barn to meet us some real cowboys?"

"I, um," Mary stuttered, brain stumbling over words like 'roommate' and 'cowboys' and advice to 'be nice' before rebooting. "Yeah, sure," she reluctantly agreed with a shrug, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail before grabbing her bag and turning towards Diane with a sigh.

"Why not? For these prices, there better be something worth riding in that barn." Mary threw a glare at said building behind her sunglasses as they began to walk towards their quarters. "And I don't like horses."

***Mothers, misgivings and roommates, oh my! I hope Diane survives the first day. At least she's of the same mindset as Mary...they can ogle asses together :) So what becomes of that kiss? Shoved aside and forgotten until the mission is complete? Stay tuned, cowpokes. There's a lot of story left to be told! Please REVIEW...add to my thanksgiving treats! ***