Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. I just like to write awesome stories about it for y'all!

Author's Note: Updating a little later than I wanted to... but the result is an extra long chapter! I got carried away while I was writing in a character from the show who had not yet made an appearance in the story! =P

Fish Out of Water

Chapter 3

"Today, we're going to begin an assignment that will address your aspirations in life," Mr. Brunswick announced once the class was settled. "I'll be handing out a worksheet on which you will write a list of colleges you'd like to attend. Over the next few weeks, you will obtain admissions forms for the institutions on your list, fill them out, and submit them to me for review. Subsequently, you may mail them if you wish… and if you believe your chances of being admitted are reasonable."

Mary rolled her eyes as he distributed the sheets to the class.

"Like he hasn't already decided where each of us should go," she grumbled quietly. Marshall had a feeling her suspicions were right on the mark, and he was proven correct when Mr. Brunswick approached her.

"And what do you have in mind for your future, Miss Shannon?" he asked, his voice fairly dripping with sadistic merriment. "Brown? Vassar? Bryn Mawr?"

She bit her lip and remained silent.

"I've taken the liberty of filling your list out for you. You'll find the local community college listed as the first entry… which is, not coincidentally, also the last." The teacher dropped the paper on her desk before swanning off in the midst of the gleeful tittering of the class.

Mary's grip on her desk was white-knuckled as she struggled to keep the tears brimming in her eyes from falling. Marshall fought the urge to give their teacher a piece of his mind; he knew any intervention from him would only make things worse. Once Mr. Brunswick was safely engaged in assisting his favorite students with their choices, Marshall reached over and put his hand on Mary's wrist.

"Don't let him see you upset," he whispered. "It's what he wants and you can't give him that."

"I know that," she hissed, "but he kind of has a point, doesn't he? That's exactly where I'll end up if I'm lucky enough to even go to college at all."

"Mary, listen to me," Marshall growled softly. "I absolutely forbid you to hand that paper in with just his choice for you written on it."

"Yeah, and what else am I gonna put on there?" she laughed with quiet bitterness. "I don't know shit about colleges. I've never even thought about it before."

"I'll help you. You can just copy a few off of my list."

"I won't be able to go to any of them," she hedged.

"You don't know that yet," he murmured, "but that doesn't matter right now. Just don't give that asshole the satisfaction."

Mary nodded, still chewing anxiously on her lip, and watched Marshall while he quickly scribbled a list on his worksheet. He turned it toward her and she looked it over.

"Holy crap, Marshall! There are like ten schools on here!" And none of them are community colleges, Mary added silently.

"You only have to write down three or four of them," he replied calmly. She scanned the list.

"Cornell? Jesus, isn't that school like, a really big deal?" she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah, it's an Ivy League school… don't put that one on your list. It'll probably just set Brunswick off again," Marshall grimaced.

"Duh, I know that," she grumbled sarcastically. "But you're seriously applying?"

"I don't actually want to go there. I just want to see the look on his face when I show him the acceptance letter."

"You think you'll actually get accepted?" Mary eyed him dubiously. Marshall grinned.

"I like my odds. And the payoff will be spectacular."

Mary shook her head. "You're like some kind of weird, evil genius or something. So anything else on this list is good?"

"More or less. Stick to state universities, it'll sound plausible and they're usually more affordable, so you'd have a better shot at actually going."

"University of New Mexico?" Mary's lip wrinkled as she scribbled down a few random selections. "Why would you want to go there?"

"I like the southwest," he replied with a shrug, "and it adds variety to my potential options."

"You want to go there so you won't look like a dork wearing cowboy boots."

"Maybe," he said noncommittally.

Mary shrugged and added it to her list. Better than New Jersey, anyway. Not that I'll be able to go…

"Think that's good enough?" She handed the list to Marshall and he looked it over.

"Looks good to me," he nodded. "Now all you have to do is hand it in."

Mr. Brunswick had seated himself at his desk, presiding over the pile of papers in front of him which grew taller as the other students turned their worksheets in sporadically. Mary defiantly smacked her paper onto the top of the stack. Marshall, right behind her, added his own paper neatly to the pile.

"Well," the teacher smirked, scooping their worksheets up, "what do we have here?" The pair watched as he looked over each list.

"Really, Mr. Mann… Cornell?" he laughed. "Do you really think you have what it takes to gain entry into such a renowned institute of higher learning when you're willing to associate with the likes of her?"

"We'll see," he replied softly, but with conviction.

"Yes… I suppose we shall," Brunswick eyed him with irritation before turning his attention to Mary. "And should I simply ignore the fact that you've obviously copied the bulk of your list from Mr. Mann's worksheet? Haven't you an original thought anywhere in that little blonde head of yours, Miss Shannon?"

Mary's hands fisted at her sides. If she said what she felt like saying, she would probably get suspended, or maybe even expelled. If she jumped across the desk and punched the man in his bloated face, like she so badly wanted to, expulsion would be a definite. Even though so much depended on her lack of response, it was still a struggle. Her face burned with suppressed rage and unmitigated shame.

"Actually," Marshall interjected, stepping slightly in front of her without consciously realizing how protective the gesture was, "I couldn't help but notice the intriguing regional variety in her selections, and I decided to add them to my own. It certainly won't hurt to add some diversity to my options before I make my decision."

"You're fairly confident that this is a decision in which you will have your say, aren't you? You don't think you're being a bit presumptuous to assume all these schools would actually be willing to accept you?"

Marshall smiled humorlessly. "As I said before… we'll see."

"I told you before, you really shouldn't do that!" Mary ranted as they walked after school. "He's just going to end up hating you, too."

Though English was not their last class of the day, it had become the norm for them to meet up and walk home together, if only up to the point where they parted ways. She had repeatedly insisted that Marshall should not walk her home, and he could hardly force the issue, but he was curious. It was a dark curiosity; he had a feeling that whatever she was hiding about her home life, it was not likely to be good. Otherwise, why bother hiding it at all?

"I'm pretty sure he already does hate me, so I'm not worried about it," he stated dismissively.

"The man can keep you from graduating if he wants to!" she cried. "You're not taking this seriously at all! It's bad enough that I'm probably screwed as it is, do you think I want to take you down with me?"

"I told you, it's fine," Marshall stopped and put his hands on her shoulders, facing her. "There's no way he can fail me as long as I can prove I deserve a passing grade. I can take my case to the principal if it comes to that, and it almost certainly won't."

Mary shook her head. "I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Marshall. That bastard is horrible. He subbed for my freshman English class once. Something happened at home… anyway, I came in late, wearing dirty clothes and apparently looking too poor and raggy for his delicate sensibilities to handle, and he's had it in for me ever since. Every time he saw me in the halls, he'd either make a comment about my low breeding or find a reason to give me detention. I think the prick actually requested me for his class this year."

"Why do you let him get away with it?" Marshall asked softly. "Why don't you report him, go to the principal or your counselor?"

"Because they all know me, and they won't believe me," she muttered as she looked at the ground between their feet. "My mom… she's kind of a mess, and they won't believe anything coming from a kid with a mother like that. He has all the power and there's nothing I can do."

Marshall's jaw worked in frustration. Mary didn't seem to have one ally in the whole world, either at school or at home, not one person she could turn to for help. Except for him.

"Yeah, there is something you can do," he said firmly as he gently gripped her shoulders. "You can keep your grades up, just like me, and prove that you deserve to pass. Then you can graduate, go on to college, and make something of yourself. He can't tell you who you're going to be."

"You just don't understand, Marshall," Mary whispered. "It just isn't that easy, not for me…"

He was about to ask her for an explanation, because what he didn't understand was how she could be so defeated before she even tried, but he was cut off by a shriek coming from the end of the block.

"Mary! Mary, help me!" the voice cried, and Mary's head immediately snapped up to look.

Marshall followed her line of sight and saw a small blonde girl pounding down the sidewalk, heading in their direction. Tears streamed down her face and one of her shoes was missing. He tried to guess her age but it was difficult; she was small, but well-developed physically, and the way she was dressed made him think more of a tiny adult than of a child… at least, if the tiny adult in question was also a hooker in training. She wore a skirt so short her panties showed when she ran, and her tank top was low-cut to the point of being appalling. He thought he might have her pegged as an undersized fourteen year old, but it was really hard to tell. Mary brushed past him and ran to the girl, catching her in her arms.

"What is it, Squish? Are you okay? Tell me what's wrong," Mary asked, frantic as she pawed the girl over, checking for any obvious injury or mishap.

"I was… walking… home, and…" the girl choked her words out through tears and hiccups, "… and there were these boys… and they… they tried to grab me… and I ran away…"

Mary hugged the girl tightly to her, stroking her hair as she shushed and whispered soothingly. "It's okay, Squish, it's okay… they didn't hurt you, did they?" Marshall didn't miss the worry in her tone; Mary wasn't nearly as calm as she was pretending to be.

"Nuh-uh," the girl whimpered, shaking her head as she buried her face in Mary's shoulder. "But I was scared…" The girl burst into fresh tears, and Mary glanced worriedly to Marshall, who had caught up to her. The girl, he realized, had to be Mary's little sister.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Some boys harassed her, I think." Mary pulled back from her sister determined to get to the bottom of the matter. "Do you know who these boys are?"

"No," she sniffled. "But I think they go to the junior high, maybe? They said they were waiting for me…"

"Where, Squish? Can you show me where?" The girl nodded in response to her sister's question, and took her hand to lead the way.

"Should we call someone?" Marshall asked, concerned. "The police, maybe?"

"No!" the smaller girl shouted. "No cops! It's a rule."

"Shush, Squish!" Mary commanded before turning to Marshall. "I'd rather not. I'll handle this."

"I could call my dad, if that will help," he offered, perplexed at their odd reaction to the mention of law enforcement.

"What would your dad do about it?" Mary asked, squinting at him. Then her eyes widened as she understood. "Oh my God… your dad isn't a cop, is he?"

"Kind of. He's a U.S. Marshal," he replied. Mary rubbed her face with her hand.

"This has got to be some kind of joke," she muttered. "I finally get an actual friend and his dad's a goddamned federal agent. Fucking wonderful."

"You've had some experience with federal agencies, I take it?" Marshall asked dryly.

"You could say that. I don't want to talk about it, though, if it's all the same to you," Mary sighed. "Anyway, I have to deal with this."

"Come on," her sister pulled her arm. "I'll show you where they were."

The sisters headed down the street, and Marshall felt compelled to follow after.

The girl, whose name turned out to be Brandi, was indeed Mary's little sister. She was much younger than Marshall originally thought. Rather than fourteen as he had guessed, she was in fact twelve. "Twelve and a half!" she had enthusiastically corrected her sister when Mary had revealed her actual age. She was apparently an early bloomer, a trait that ran in their family, according to Mary.

They had retraced Brandi's path, but the boys were long gone, although they did find Brandi's other shoe along the way. She'd been so afraid that she had run right out of it. Afterward, they didn't go home but went instead to a small park. "You know how Mom will react if we go home while you're still upset," Mary had told her sister, and though the statement didn't make the best sense to Marshall, Brandi had nodded as though it was a piece of genuine wisdom being handed down by an enlightened authority.

Marshall sat in silence next to Mary, who was watching her sister play on the playground equipment. He was genuinely surprised that she had not commanded him to leave, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to believe that this was some kind of test of loyalty, one which he had the impression he was passing. She would never have allowed this in the first few weeks they had known each other, but it had now been almost a month and it seemed Mary had come to accept his presence in her life.

"You know," Mary spoke, breaking the silence between them, "I've told her a dozen times this month not to go out dressed like that. She'd probably get harassed anyway, since sixth graders with boobs are apparently really choice targets for shithead boys like those, but the outfits aren't helping. Not that it's her fault, since those are the clothes Jinx bought for her."

"Jinx?" Marshall asked softly. "That's your mom?"

"Yeah. It's her real name too," Mary sighed bitterly. "It just makes me realize that none of us ever had a chance."

"What do you mean?" he prodded. It seemed like Mary was in a talkative mood and he didn't know when another chance to fill in the blanks would present itself.

"Jinx was like Brandi is now. The body of a grown-up and none of the brains to go with it. I got lucky; I was pretty stacked in sixth grade, but I was too mean for the boys to keep at it for long. But Brandi's different. She's never guarded, too easy to take advantage of. Jinx was probably like that too. She was going to be a dancer, or something, and I guess she was pretty good, but then all of a sudden she was pregnant with me and married to a guy who was way too old for her. Obviously she was older than Brandi, but still…"

"What about your dad?"

"He left, when we were little. I was just about to turn seven, and Brandi wasn't even two yet."

"He just left you? He didn't even say goodbye?" Marshall was horrified. He couldn't imagine someone just walking out on their family. His own father might be a jerk most of the time and he wasn't always around, but that was the job. He would never just leave.

"He left a note. I found it later. I never heard from him again, but…" Mary looked at the ground. "That wasn't the end of it. There were cops, and then men in suits, feds, who asked us all sorts of questions about where he'd gone. There were marshals too, who said it was their job to find him, but I guess they never did."

"Fugitive recovery," Marshall supplied, nodding. "That's what my dad does."

An awkward silence settled once more. Mary seemed to be chewing something over; the inner conflict showed on her face, along with what looked like worry or fear. Finally, she spoke again.

"Daddy… robbed a bank. At least that's what they told us," she revealed. "So does that mean you're going to hate me now?"

"What?" Marshall was taken aback. "Why would I hate you for something your dad did over ten years ago? He isn't you."

"I just thought… since your dad's a marshal…" she hesitated.

"Well, you thought wrong," he said firmly. "My dad doesn't choose my friends, and as far as I'm concerned, your dad has nothing to do with us."

Mary smiled faintly. "So are you named Marshall because that's what your dad does?"

"Yeah, but in a more roundabout way than you'd expect," he replied. "My dad's a fourth-generation marshal. My mom wanted me to be something else, so she named me Marshall."

Mary's brow furrowed. "So if you were a marshal… you'd be Marshal Marshall?"

"Yeah," he smirked.

"I can see how that would keep you from following in your dad's footsteps. So what do you want to be?"

The smirk broke into a full-blown grin. "A marshal."

"What? No fucking way!" Mary's eyes widened. "You actually want to be a marshal? U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann?"

Marshall broke out laughing. "Yeah, I really do! How cool would that be, to have my name match my job?"

"You're fucking nuts," she shook her head, but couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm.

"I think it's more crazy not to go after what you really want," he said with a pointed look.

Mary cocked her head and looked at him thoughtfully. "You're like one of those little talking mice in a kid's movie, you know that?"

Marshall froze as an appalled look passed over his face, but Mary realized he was no longer looking at her. She turned and saw what had caught his attention: Brandi, dangling upside-down from the monkey bars by her knees, skirt and tank-top forced by gravity to hang in completely the wrong direction.

"Mary! Marshall! Look at me!" the girl cried in glee.

"Squish, for the love of God!" she shouted as she dashed over to her sister. "You're showing all your underwear! You're too big for this now, remember?" Thank God she's wearing a bra, Mary thought, shaking her head. That had been a recent but necessary addition to her sister's wardrobe.

"Sorry! I forgot!" Brandi apologized, not sounding particularly contrite as she flopped to the ground in an awkward dismount and straightened her clothes.

"Go play on the slide or the swings or something. It'll be getting dark soon and we can go home then. Mom will probably be out."

Mary made her way back to Marshall as Brandi scampered around.

"Sorry about that. The other girls at her school all do that, with the bars. They just aren't built like her yet. She really doesn't get it."

Marshall nodded. "So your mom's going to be out? Isn't she wondering where you are?"

"Probably not. She'll just assume I'm watching Brandi, and she'll go about her business," Mary heaved a sigh as she sat down.

"Um… what business might that be?" he asked in a dubious tone.

"If you're thinking my mom's a hooker, she isn't," Mary replied defensively. "But I guess she's not that far off. She goes out to drink and look for men to pay our bills. Mostly drink."

Marshall couldn't think of anything to say, so he reached for Mary's hand and took it in his own. Mary was tempted to pull it away, but for some reason, she found the gesture comforting. The pair sat, hand in hand, keeping watch over her sister until the sun began to set.

A/N: Brandi! I enjoyed writing Brandi as a kid in all her raised-by-wolves naiveté. For me, she epitomizes the kid that's been royally screwed by fate and just doesn't realize it yet. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and join me again for the next one! =)