"Echoes knocking on locked doors, all the laughter from before, I'd rather work out on the street than in this haunted memory…"

-Pink Funhouse

(Not my best work and I'll be the first to admit it, I have a load of regents exams coming up and I'll probably be away for quite a while! I love you readers and appreciate every alert and review! Much love, Hannanball13)

The WITSEC Office had always been Mary's home away from home, the place where she could escape the Shannon clan, the area we she thought her daughter to be the safest, because seriously, who wasn't safe surrounded by U.S. Marshals? But even the days approaching Stan's departure everything had seemed so severely different that Mary thought that warm feeling must have moved on with her former boss. Now Marshall Mann took what used to be Stan's spot in the WITSEC office, occupying his space with pride, but awkwardness. Pictures of Abigail and him scattered his desk, and alone, in a corner, covered in new dust, was a small, framed photograph he had hung up first thing. It was a picture of Mary, holding a three day old Norah, a triumphant grin on her face for it was the first time she got to hold her daughter in her arms, and Marshall stood beside them, grinning from ear to ear. She had tried to convince him not to frame it or to have the picture taken in the first place, and when he moved into the office she was one hundred percent sure he would stuff it into one of his fancy new mahogany desk drawers, never to be seen by the naked eye again. She was wrong; he retired it to the wall, the wall where Stan's college degree had once hung.

Mary wondered if it still stood alone in his office, even after the night before. They had kissed. It had happened, although, Marshall clearly wished it hadn't. He hadn't spoken to her since his many apologies that night, hadn't made eye contact, and hadn't acknowledged her existence in the office. It was tense and horribly painful to be within ten feet of the man, especially when all she wanted to do was ask him what he was thinking, ask him what he thought it meant, ask him if he had worked up the nerve to tell Abigail or if he drunkenly let his tongue slip when he entered the apartment as a means of explaining to his fiancé why he was late…

Of course he hadn't. And he would never. It would never be known to anyone other than the two of them what had happened that night; it would forever be their dirty little secret. How he would ever put it out of his mind she couldn't figure out, Marshall was rotten at lying and keeping secrets in general. He let guilt gnaw away at him, he let the feeling seep into the very depths of his being until it festered and eventually he'd make himself physically ill before he got gutsy enough to confess whatever the hell he was hiding. Mary hated that, and he knew it, that's precisely why he had never told her lies. He made exceptions though, there were moments when he condoned himself to lie through his teeth, like all of those times he told her he was happy for her, and that he was one-hundred percent there every step of the way when both of them knew it would be impossible.

She looked up at her Chief, usually pissed off to feel his eyes boring into the top of her head as she was hunched over to do her paper work, but today she was disappointed to find that when she shot him a glance- her usual warning glance for him to stop staring at her, he was innocently scribbling on his own mountain of paperwork, making the action unnecessary. Her heart fell, why did he still penetrate her mind even when she was clearly not on his brain? How the hell was he focusing? He couldn't have possibly escaped the killer hangover Mary had been consumed by this morning. There was no way in hell. Unless, Miss. Southern Bell Texas Cowgirl had nursed him back to sobriety when he stumbled into their home, but judging by that phone call Mary suffered through yesterday in the car, she probably wasn't happy when he entered their home hours late, reeking of Mary, buffalo sauce and beer, but he was probably forgiven rather quickly, their wedding being tomorrow in all. Tomorrow, Jesus Christ, Mary had a hard enough time at weddings, and now she had to sit through a long over traditional, orthodox ceremony, resisting every urge to hold her piece and not to speak now.

She entered her passcode into her computer. Access Denied. Again. Access Denied. She had had the same passcode for almost a decade, never had she forgotten it, never had she changed it. One more time, and still access denied. She scoffed at the thought of having to talk to him. He would just make her feel hurt all over, make her feel useless in a way he wouldn't intend and then come to her rescue…. Again.

Mary sighed, in no mood to deal with his childish inability to look her in the eye, why couldn't he be like every other man and successfully convince himself it was all a harmless intoxicated effort? That nothing would ever come of it? They could just put this all behind them and no one would ever have to find out, no one would ever tell… Of course she didn't actually believe any of that, but if that's what he needed to think to make this better, to push him through the vows and the reception so he could forget about his infidelity, then so be it. It would hurt like hell, but she would deal with it in her own way. Even if she had to move out of Albuquerque for him to be happy she would do it… But she hesitated at that very thought, she just needed him to want her to be happy too, she wanted him to be willing to make the same effort, she wanted to fix this, but she wouldn't be more miserable than she already was when all was said and done- that was unacceptable.

She rubbed her neck, ignoring the throbbing in her head; if she threw back anymore aspirin Delia would begin to think she had a drug problem. Imagine that getting around; Marshall would have no problem getting rid of her then.

"Knock knock! Marshall!"

"C-come in Mary!" he called, shuddering as she opened the door, "What can I do for you?" Marshall asked, a false twinkle of curiosity in his eyes.

"My password has gone all wonky, would you mind waving your magical Chief wand and fix it for me?" She forced a smile.

"Of course, I'll do it from my computer…" he assured… She nodded in understanding and began to close the door to his office, but he cleared his throat loud enough to halt her from shutting it completely.

"Mary?"

She poked her head back in,

"You will still be at my wedding right?" he questioned childishly, tapping his fingers nervously on his desk, a gesture Mary had never seen him demonstrate.

"Why wouldn't I be doofus?" she squeaked, raising her eyebrows, knowing exactly why he would feel like that question would have to be asked. It had to have something with the fact that thye had swapped saliva barely twelve hours ago.

"I guess…. Nevermind…" He pulled something from his drawer, fumbling to grasp it firm enough to set it on his desk before closing the drawer, "I want you to have something…"

He stood up, brushing his brown hair, gleaming in the light due to its dampness, he cleared his throat, handing it over, what it could possibly be was something Mary couldn't figure out, what could he possibly own or possess that he would want Mary to have, certainly none of his geeky memorabilia…

"I think it's best if you keep this. Also, I wanted to inform you, that during my absence while I'm on my honeymoon, you'll be in charge."

"So it'll be like normal then ?" she joked, looking down at the object he had handed her, feeling the paper it was wrapped in with the very tips of her fingers.

"Yeah." He choked, forcing a chuckle, " Mary, close the door." He said, walking back to take a seat again as Mary stepped into the dim room; the package still in her hands, what he wanted to speak with her about was all too obvious. Delia would eat this up if she was smart enough to plaster her ear to the door frame now.

"I need to clear something up." He stated.

"Doofus, we don't-

"We do, we really do, we don't want to but it's absolutely necessary." He said with such intense undertones it sent Mary's stomach doing flips.

"Okay…" She answered, using her pinky to scratch at her nose, taking a seat across from the stern, sweaty Marshall.

"I can't- huh, I can't do this anymore. Mary, you're my best friend and Abigail…

"Is your fiancé, and you love her, and that kiss was a mistake…" Mary finished a bit angry. Her entire body aching as she said the word 'mistake', the one word she promised herself she would never refer to that moment with.

"Precisely, and I love you, but you'll always just be my best friend…"

"Believe me Marshall I know. We had too much to drink, that's the beginning and the end of our story, and I'm fine with that!" she lied through her teeth, apparently seeming rather convincing by the relieved look on Marshall's face.

"Okay." He replied, leaving it at that. Silently going back to his paperwork, leaving Mary to let herself out.

She bit her bottom lip, stopping it from quivering, looking down at the parcel in her hand, as she made her way to her desk she began to unwrap it from the paper bag and she threw the empty paper shell on the floor, flipping it over it was the picture, the one of her, Norah and Uncle Marshall, could anything feel worse than this moment? This was his way of moving on she supposed, he probably replaced it with one of him and Abigail, touching noses, she hadn't bothered to look, she was too busy trying to escape from the clutches of her lies, too busy trying to get away from him so she could quit being happy for him again to work on her computer. Mary looked around for Delia, who must have left for lunch, because she was nowhere to be found. Quietly, she let her tears fall, he had just ruined her favorite place, and he had just practically destroyed her safe spot, her home away from home. But why would he care? All they would ever be were just best friends.