***Nope, I'm not dead. And I haven't abandoned this story. No way, no how! What I have done is discover my job can be stupidly busy, and as a respite from that I ran away to Albuquerque with five of my favorite people!
Oh, yes…Albuquerque…desert landscapes, endless skies, pueblos, and Garcia's Diner.
Yes! We dined at Garcias (green chili is awesome), visited just about every shooting location we could find (our resident Albuquerquian scoped it out), made nice with the local firefighters, hiked, visited Santa Fe, and then…are you ready…are you sure?
We were invited onto the set of IPS! Woo! We met Mary and Fred and Paul and watched them film! It was outrageous. It was unreal. It was the Best. Vacation. Ever!
So I thank my fellow travelers for their awesomeness: rj_lupins_kat, dispatchvampire, roar526, tilley_girl and neenerski. You are AMAZING! ***
-o-o-o-o-o-
***So, here we go...back into the game with our dynamic duo. The morning after the gut wrenching night before. ***
Mary was pacing again. She remembered someone once telling her, when she first joined the marshals, that she would do more than her fair share of running. And she had. But no one had warned her about the pacing. Wall to wall…hallway to hallway…the animal kingdom's physical display of mental and emotional stress that could even induce unease in the observer. And it didn't even help. Only aggravated the slowly healing blister inside her now dusty boots.
The wind moaned through the pines again, causing her to look up towards the low scuttling clouds and cease her marathon within the shadows behind her cabin. Marshall was supposed to meet her here and he was running late. They had decided an early morning meet up was required to regroup and share more details, both of them too much on edge the night before to think entirely clearly. She zipped up the front of her fleece to guard against the chill wind as the events of the past twenty four hours again ran through her head. Like the change in the weather, the plan of action had morphed quickly and left her with muddled senses and unease.
She hadn't slept well; visions of Cartel assassins, witness security breaches and the feel of her partner's hands low on her belly causing her to toss and turn well into the wee hours. The wind had picked up about the time the birds started to sing, and Mary had given up pretense of sleep for a hot shower.
She had let the steaming water run over her neck and shoulders while her mind tried to sort and arrange emotions that had been scattered like a dropped deck of cards. There was no way to put it all in order, you could only neatly pile the cards and guess which one would be pulled out next. Anger, fear, desire…all dealt to her by long lean fingers attached to a long lean man. Despite her best efforts to focus on the operation, the witness, staying in the saddle…it all kept coming back to Marshall. She found herself wondering why, after months of self reflection when the time was hers, that her mind and body would decide to gang up on her during the middle of this ticking time bomb called a ranch. And what she should do about it. An image of a wall hanging from the main lodge flickered to life behind her closed eyes. Some Native American prayer, and the first few lines had somehow imprinted themselves onto her mind.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
…I want to know what you ache for… have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain…Those two lines stood out the most. What she ached for what was she feared, and Mary didn't know if she had the strength to look the fool. She had told him she was done thinking, and now she either forged ahead or turned tail and ran. The latter being the more comfortable choice and her usual M.O. Another quote percolated up from the depths of stored information, this one from a decidedly non-native source.
"Allow yourself the possibility of something greater."
"Thanks, Treena," Mary had muttered, irritated with strumpet philosophy and turning under the spray of the shower. "The one person who takes my advice turns it against me."
Recall, the portent of introspection, snowballed into snapshots of partnership teetering on the brink of something more. One in particular closer to home and full of horse barns and shock as her partner's lips met hers with an intensity she had never expected. The same intensity that had smoldered beneath a tentative touch and careful kiss only days before; both memories redolent of the scent of sweet hay and dampened dust.
She had switched the shower to 'cool' at that point, lifting her face to meet the stream and trying to ignore the imaginary cheerleaders in her head. "It's now or never"…"step up to the plate"…"grow a pair"…
The scuff of a boot on the concrete walk to the cabin startled her out of her reverie, and Mary turned quickly to see Marshall slip around to the back. The echoes of misplaced encouragement refusing to fade completely from her mind.
"Did you hock your watch for that lap dance, Speedy?" she scolded. "I should've been at breakfast ten minutes ago."
Marshall's jaw was set and his eyes showed no flash of humor as he halted in front of her. Her gut tightened with anxiety. "What? What happened?"
He glanced around warily, then sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on her. "I just got a text from Stan. Taliswell died at 5:20 this morning. The bullet to his neck did too much damage."
It was like a physical blow, and Mary squeezed her eyes shut and spat, "Fuck!" as she ran one hand through her hair. She let her head fall back and opened her eyes to gaze at the gun colored sky and the birds that speckled its surface. Flat and dull, and even the birds seemed to have no purpose. The wind obliged the mournful mood with a muted dirge within the pines, and she just shook her head slowly as her hand fell back to her side. Marshall continued to stand silently as she processed the news.
Finally, he spoke to draw her attention back to the here and now. "DHS shuffled another HIS man to the forefront; Derek Platte. Stan and I chatted with him some the other night and he seems to have the helm under control. Was quick to bring us up to speed, at least."
He watched her as the shock of the news turned into anger and she glared at the mountains in the distance. The effort of controlling her emotions showed too clearly to him, and he was fascinated by the battle of irritation and grief played out upon her face. She'd voice the former, of course, but he knew the latter would stay with her long after she wound down. Her eyes snapped to his with purpose.
"Please tell me we're still doing this," she growled. "If they think they can yank us out now…"
Marshall held his hands up placatingly. "The plan is unmodified, just changing leadership. There's no reason to believe Brad or the Garcias suspect there's more to the situation than surveillance. I have to give DHS some accolades there, they've no leaks or breaches even this far in. Hard to do."
"None that they know of," she cautioned, crossing her arms and tossing her head to dislodge the hair blown across her face. "Who do they think is the Zeta's man on the inside?
He shrugged. "They're not saying. Dangled the idea that the mole was on the ranch, but Platte got evasive when questioned. Stands to reason they're not going to show all their cards."
"Their man is dead, Marshall. I would think that might loosen a few tongues for self preservation." Mary added a snort of disgust.
He allowed himself a crooked grin. "I wonder how many people have said that about us over the years, Mare. It would take more than the loss of a comrade to compromise our witnesses."
Toeing the dirt, she contemplated his statement for a moment before grinning back sadly. "Touché." She looked back out through the pines with a sigh and he thought she was mulling over the case. He was wrong.
"What would you have done?" Her voice had dropped in timbre, weighty in seriousness. She cocked her head to see his brow furrowed in question. "If they had killed me when I left you there with Horst. If I hadn't come back."
Marshall's mind tripped and swerved through his partner's circuitous thought process while playing back images of that day. It was still hard to think about, that moment when she walked out that door with a backward glance revealing more than she realized. Fear and apology and the hope that he would still be alive if she came back. To this day, he wasn't 100% sure of his answer.
"What would you have done?" A question was better than baring his soul.
She turned to look at him fully then and his chest felt tight. "You're more than just a comrade, Marshall. I hope you know that." They stared at each other for a moment, then Mary seemed to shake off the disconcerting cloak of seriousness. Tossed a snark his way.
"The OK Corral would've seemed like a church picnic by the time I was done with them and dragged your sad corpse out of there. Assuming you weren't going to keep bleeding all over me."
"Good to know my death wouldn't affect the pecking order," he drawled reproachfully, returning the emotional situation to safe ground.
"So," Mary began, finally tiring of wind blown hair and pulling it into a ponytail. "I'll assume Stan is chewing a few select asses in order to pin down as much new detail as possible? From what you told me last night, it doesn't sound like Sheryl is in any more danger…unless she makes some bonehead move."
"Doesn't seem to be her style," he interjected. "In fact, it would be out of character for a woman in her position to initiate change in this sort of matter. The abused does not often confront the abuser…even when children are involved. I see her waiting it out."
"Another tidbit you read in 'Abused Women for Dummies'?" There was more than a hint of irritation in her tone.
He opened his mouth to reply when a pair of women's voices approached. It sounded as if they would round the cabin, likely taking a short cut to the riding areas from breakfast. It would seem odd that he and Mary stood in private conversation, and Marshall's first instinct was to protect their cover. He reached forward to pull her to him, turning her towards the cabin wall and crowding her into the shadow. A private conversation would now appear as a covert tryst, fodder for gossip, but nothing suspicious.
She was stiff and wary in his grasp; thankfully silent, but she tested his grip until her eyes fell upon the women now in sight. Like a chameleon, her posture and attitude shifted seamlessly, and she wound her arms around his neck and closed the distance between them with a low whisper.
"You know, if they see us, word will be out by the time you saddle your horse."
Marshall ducked his head, fascinated with the curve of her neck so close to his face. She had a freckle behind her right ear and it beckoned with promises of untried delights. When he spoke, his breath feathered against her ear.
"We should give them something to talk about then." Obviously, his libido had mugged his brain in the last ten seconds. The feel of her soft curves pressed against his body as her fingers played with his hair at his neck was all the opportunity it needed to stage a lustful takeover. Mary sucked in a breath and he stilled.
"Sorry. That was out of line," he murmured, listening to the retreating giggles of the pair of women. He didn't release his hold on Mary just yet.
Mary's mental cheerleaders were back, and they had brought friends. Her initial surprise at his manhandling turned into smoldering desire more quickly than she would've liked. What you ache for…Oh, there was definitely an ache, she thought. Every inch of her in contact with his lean frame ached, and when he whispered in her ear she felt it down to her toes. Want…need…something greater. His apology irritated her.
"Marshall," she purred, burying her fingers in his hair and tugging gently on his head to bring his eyes up to meet hers. "Shut up."
His lips were cool as she captured them with her own, his hands gripping fistfuls of her jacket in surprise before he stretched his fingers around to span her back, holding her tightly against him. He matched her eagerness, and she found herself pressed back into the wall of the cabin without knowing they had moved.
She tasted…his brain stuttered as Mary's tongue flicked out to trace his bottom lip before she nipped it and again sealed her mouth over his with a low hum. She tasted like salvation from sleepless nights and too many solitary glasses in the sink. Like a cool breeze on a damp morning reminding you that you were alive. Marshall inhaled her scent as his hands moved to capture more of her, one hand reaching up to wind through her hair and grip the back of her head, the other sliding down to the curve of her ass. Biology and desire now dictating his actions, he slid one leg between hers and pulled her tightly against him, needing to feel her softness.
Mary pulled her head back and gasped at the feel of his hardness pressed into her belly, thigh against thigh while his hand firmly closed around one jean clad curve. She didn't know her body could respond this quickly to a man, especially a man who was her partner. His touch seemed to electrify every nerve and she wanted to feel more of him. Sliding one hand under his jacket, she rucked up the back of his shirt until her palms met skin. Warm skin with solid, shifting muscles beneath it. He jerked in response and tilted her head back with a groan.
"So soft," he murmured against her cheek…her jaw. "You're so soft." His lips trailed over her jawbone and he flicked his tongue out to lick an area behind her ear. Mary's nails dug into his back in reflex and he turned the lick into a suckle.
The sound she made as he tasted the longed for target would forever remain in his dreams. A murmured whimper that drove him to grind his pelvis against hers again while he continued to nip and nibble down the length of her neck. He wanted her to make that sound again.
Her groin ached in need as his lips trailed fire down her neck. She slid her own hand down to grip his hip, hoping to encourage a rhythm pleasing to them both. He lifted her thigh slightly to settle himself more firmly between her legs as he swiftly covered her lips again, and she could feel the heavy blossom of pleasure begin to unfurl deep within her. Moaning, Mary opened her mouth to his kiss and tangled her tongue with his own. She needed more of him…needed to know he was alive.
The next thrust of his hips pressed his own knuckles into the rough wood of the cabin wall, and some demon of rationality began to hammer at his brain until he had to acknowledge it. He had his partner in his arms, wanting and willing and nearly wanton, and he was ready to soil his own jeans himself in just a few minutes. In broad daylight. On an operation. Jesus.
Mary felt the change immediately. Felt the ferocity fade from desperate intent to a reluctant withdraw, and she opened her eyes to stare at him as he broke their kiss. The blazing blue gaze still burning with desire, but now rational and deliberating. She ran her fingers through his hair and along his neck down and around to his chest. Settled back against the cabin wall as he straightened and gathered his own limbs back to himself. Wondered what reaction he was expecting.
"You told me you were done thinking," he murmured, stroking her jaw with his fingers and reading her thoughts. "Don't start back up now."
She couldn't help but grin and played with a button on his shirt. "You said we needed to give them a show," she teased.
He had a momentary flash of doubt, but the spark in her eyes gave her away. "Just following your lead…as always. At least this time you didn't expect me to run down a horse."
She pushed him away playfully, smiling as he adjusted his jeans, and rearranged her own jacket. "The day is young, Cowboy."
Marshall squinted up at the sun. "However, aging fast." Returning his gaze to her, he looked her over affectionately before continuing. "Breakfast is a swiftly fading fantasy at this point, so I should head back to at least commandeer some coffee. You should go get something too. You'll need your strength for the barrel races."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not barrel racing."
He winked at her as he turned to head back to the barn. "We'll see."
"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded to his back. He only waved and kept walking.
"I'm not barrel racing," she repeated to herself, straightening her ponytail as she walked towards the main lodge, unable to resist a last glance at Marshall's retreating form. This whole situation would bother her later, she supposed. Her stomach growled loudly, protesting any other line of thought, and Mary just shook her head as she continued on her way.
***Well then...*ahem*...death and desire all wrapped up into one. Now they have yet another thing to work through on this operation...do you think the doubt and guilt will rear its ugly head. Yeah, probably :) Please let me know if you're still having fun reading! I love REVIEWS! ***