Chapter 2 - Kismet
Mary watched with concern as Marshall sat in the conference room with his father. She could tell by his body language he was distressed, emotional. Seth Mann was strangely engaged with his son. Mary could tell that whatever the content of their conversation, it was important. It was important to Marshall.
She had been almost euphoric at the prospect of meeting Marshall's father, of the endless teasing possibilities it presented. Once she had seen the stiffness of their relationship she had backed off, actually feeling bad for Marshall. A man approaching middle age still trying to impress his father.
A small tendril of resentment sprouted in her stomach. Her partner was a good marshal; no, he was a great marshal. He was better at his job than anyone she'd ever met within WitSec. He was a dutiful son and a good man. Maybe the best man she had ever met. He was a loyal friend to her and the best partner she could ever hope for. Seth Mann had no right to belittle Marshall.
She had told him as much, feeling oddly protective of her partner. No one got to cut down Marshall, except for her. Watching the two men, she saw Seth withdraw something from his briefcase and hand it to Marshall. Whatever it was, it made an impact on him.
Mary hesitated at Marshall's front door. She felt somewhat uneasy. Marshall was not his usual self. The parental visit had been stressful and she could sense the tension in him as he left the office. She stared at the welcome mat under her feet, cacti surrounded by desert, then brought her eyes up to the small bunch of red chilies hanging from a hook in the corner. A small circular wooden planter resided in the corner below the chilies , filled to brimming with colorful pansies. A smile tugged unwillingly at her mouth as she read the placard on the door. 'May the Force be with all who enter." She rapped sharply.
Marshall swung the door open, his tired face breaking into a smile when he saw her. He stood aside, waving her in. Mary brushed past him, pushing down the memory of standing in this hallway, arms loosely around him, cool lips gently pressed against hers. She forged ahead to his living room, tossing her keys onto the coffee table before dropping down onto his couch. She propped her legs up and eyed Marshall as he leant against the curved archway leading into the hallway, gazing at her.
Her sharp eyes slowly moved up from his bare feet, over his tattered jeans, torn t-shirt, five o'clock shadow, hair spiking every which way.
"Your dad get away okay?" He nodded once. "Have you been working out in the yard?" That was his usual way of dealing with stress and high emotion. Again that slow nod.
"Hey, doofus, come on. Talk to me." He gazed steadily at her, then pushed off from the wall and ambled over, dropping easily beside her on the couch, his long limbs pressed against hers. He leaned back against the cushions, then rolled his head around to look at her. Mary reached down and clasped his hand. Marshall permitted a slight smile, then sighed.
"He said he thought I wasn't cut out to be a marshal. That I wouldn't be tough enough." He glanced down, studied their intertwined fingers. "I was a dreamer, a philosopher. He tried to make me tough. Because the world is tough." He gave an ironic laugh. "Guess it backfired on him."
Mary winced at the pain in his voice. "Hey, you are one badass lawman. You are plenty tough enough to stand up to me."
Marshall brought her hand up and pressed a warm kiss onto the back, the contact sending little shoots of warmth through her. "He worried about me, getting hurt in the world, by the world. I think he is actually proud of me though. He acknowledged that my approach can have its merits. Coming from my father, that is huge." Marshall slowly rubbed his thumb on the back of Mary's hand, lost in thought.
"Everything matters. My father always said that. He kept a drawing I made when I was little. It was of him and me, him with his marshal's badge prominent on his chest. I had written 'to Daddy, from Marshall'. And he kept it. All these years. It had to matter to him." The slow friction of skin over skin didn't stop as he sank deeper into thought. Mary held her breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. Marshall suddenly smiled.
"We are never going to get along like Wally and the Beaver did with their dad, but he loves me. He was harsh because he wanted me to survive in a cruel world." Blue eyes came up to engage solemn green ones. "He was quite taken with you." Mary's eyebrows rose in surprise. "He thinks you're one hell of a shot."
"Well, I am," she said matter of factly.
"Nothing hotter than a sharp shooting woman." Marshall affected a serviceable leer. Mary grinned up at him.
"Also, he was impressed that you stood up for me. Said that was the hallmark of an excellent partner." Mary felt a rush of pleasure, followed by embarrassment. Did Seth tell Marshall what she had said about him?
Marshall watched her face then grinned. "Not to worry, Mary. He didn't tell me what you said, just that you vociferously defended me. Want a beer?"
She nodded and watched appreciatively as he walked into the kitchen and bent over to retrieve two bottles of beer from the fridge. Returning with the opened bottles, he flipped on the TV and settled down beside his partner, a comfortable silence settling between them.
A movie and a half later, Mary glanced regretfully at the clock on the wall and heaving a sigh, placed her hand on Marshall's thigh and pushed herself to her feet.
"Ow," he complained, making a show of rubbing his denim clad leg.
"Wuss," she tossed back as she reached for her car keys and started down the hallway. Marshall was behind her before she could place her hand on the doorknob, his light grasp on her shoulders turning her to face him.
She lifted her chin so she could look him full in the face, a delicious knot of expectation taking up residence in her stomach. Would he kiss her again?
"Thanks for listening." A simple statement, accompanied by a simple gesture, his slender fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek.
"I'll see you in the morning, okay Sunshine?" With that he released her shoulder and his hand fell from her face, sending a rush of sharp disappointment through her. Until his hand snaked around her neck and he drew her close, bending over and grazing a whisper of a kiss on her lips. He lingered with his cheek against hers, the rough stubble of his beard sending strange sensations all the way to her toes.
"Yeah, in the morning," she managed to stammer out, as she pulled back and turned once again to open the door. Standing in the crisp night air, she took a deep breath.
Mary unlocked the door to her hotel room and entered, Marshall close on her heels. Dropping her jacket and weapon on the closest bed, she flopped down on the other bed, a groan of exhaustion escaping her.
It had been a long day in the courtroom and emotionally draining watching Danny try to hold it together under withering drilling from the defense attorney. The defense could find nothing to impugn Danny's character. He was a good kid, straight A student, who had never been in trouble. Active in the youth group at his church. Eagle Scout. So they had gone after his identification of the two gang members hard.
Mary was proud of him. He had stayed on point and never strayed from his conviction that the two young men with short cut hair, wearing charcoal gray suits, were the same as the two pony tailed thugs in Knicks jerseys and jeans that barely hung on their hips. When one of the young men was asked to remove his suit jacket and dress shirt, to prove he had a particular tattoo on his upper arm, Mary had gotten a satisfying feeling from watching him struggle to redo his tie. He obviously didn't know how to tie it.
The second young man had a visible knife scar on his cheek. The id's were solid. The defense attorneys had been harsh on Danny. Mary's blood was up. Danny did great though, always managing to hold onto his calm, although visibly struggling to do so on several occasions.
He was just a kid. Marshall had been taking extra interest in his young charge. Mary could see Danny's admiration whenever she saw them together. She felt a tingle of warmth. She liked to see Marshall playing the role of mentor. Playing the role of substitute daddy. Marshall was old enough to have a child Danny's age. He would make a good dad. He enjoyed kids. Mary felt a little puddle of goo in her belly when she watched her friend with a baby or toddler. Not that she would ever admit that to him. Best not to wander down that lane just now.
She watched lazily as her partner removed his suit jacket and hung it tidily over the chair back. Even tired as she was, she could appreciate the lean line he cut, his white dress shirt contrasting with the dark leather of his shoulder holster. God she loved a man in a shoulder holster, even if it was just Marshall.
He actually looked quite good in a suit. She didn't often get to see that. He rested one slim hip against the dresser and looked at her in mild amusement. Mary's attention was caught by his dress pants slung low on those hips and the words were out before she gave them any thought.
"God I hate you for those narrow hips. It's not fair." His eyebrow quirked up and he got that look in his eye, the one that said he was going to spout trivia.
"You know, women have hips to enable them to carry their children through pregnancy and wide hips help in the birthing process. A woman's hips play a role even before she is pregnant. Wide hips signal to a man that a woman is fertile, that she will be able to bear his children. That she won't die in childbirth and will be around to raise his children." He looked at her. She was too stunned to speak.
"Anthropologically speaking, of course." He continued, "Of course men do still notice women's hips, even if it's not to judge whether or not they will survive childbirth."
"Please tell me you haven't been looking at my hips," she said dangerously. He gave her a slow once over that had her feeling warm, and then he grinned.
"Well, I am a man last time I checked. And I do check pretty frequently." Mary felt a blush suffuse her cheeks. Why was he doing this? That brought an image she didn't need. Rolling onto her side, she propped her head up on her arm and regarded him speculatively.
"Why do guys do that? Self-gratify?" She was genuinely curious.
He shrugged as he started to undo his shirt sleeves and to roll them back up his well muscled forearms "We're guys. It's what we do. Don't tell me you've never." He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her.
Mary's attention was drawn to his arms. "I don't have much need. If I want an itch scratched, I find someone to do it for me. But guys, even when you have a girl...I just don't understand." She raised puzzled eyes up to his.
He was silent a long moment. "Sometimes there's not a woman in the picture. Sometimes, when there is a woman, she isn't in the mood. I know exactly how I like to be touched." Her eyebrows shot up. "Sometimes you can't get another person to do exactly what you want. To touch you just the right way."
"What, you can't tell her or better yet show her what you want?" She sounded incredulous. He shook his head regretfully.
"Doesn't always work."
"Well maybe you're using too big of words. Keep it simple. Take her hand and show her." The air hung heavy with unspoken thoughts, wishes, desires between the two partners. Marshall kept his gaze steady on the blonde tresses of his partner, spilling over the hand propping up her head.
"Is that what you do? Show guys how to touch you?" The amusement in his eyes had faded and something else replaced it that made her slightly uneasy. His arms were crossed and he leveled an intent look at her.
Mary swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She retrieved her weapon from its location on the other bed and turned to place it on the nightstand.
"Yes, I do," she replied, keeping her back to him. She felt his silence like a blanket, wrapped around her.
"Good to know," he whispered in her ear, startling her. He had crept up behind her and very lightly wrapped an arm around her waist. Leaning in he sketched a feather light kiss on her cheek, before moving down to breathe a moister, damper kiss on her neck.
"I'm going to check on Danny. See you tomorrow, okay?" Mary nodded silently, her knees suddenly wobbly as she listened to the soft snick of the door as it closed behind him.