I don't know why, but I had a sudden desire to right about our favorite Marshall Mann getting sick. I actually think this is bad luck, or joojoo, or whatever since I'm going on an extended, expensive trip to China soon. I'd hate to get sick on such a trip so I wanted to finish this as soon as possible in case I can reverse any jinx I placed upon myself.

Anywho, I had a lot of fun with this fanfic. It may even be one of my best. Hope you enjoy.

As always, I love you feedback and comments. I really do. They're what keep me writing sometimes. ^_^

Oh, time for a random comment: I HAVE ABSOLUTELY FALLEN IN LOVE WITH TRANSFORMERS. EVERYTHING TRANSFORMERS. I'M TOTALLY AND HAPPILY OBSESSED WITH IT. ESPECIALLY BUMBLEBEE. HE'S SO CUTE!

Now that that's out of the way, on to the story. Enjoy.

Get a Flu

Chapter 1:

Mary had lost count of how many times she had looked up from her work to stare at the empty desk across from her. In the end, it didn't matter if she had counted or not because the outcome was still the same: Marshall was not there.

Mary glared at the empty desk as if her threatening stare would force the desk to reveal her hidden partner. As if he would pop out from underneath with that stupid grin glued to his face as he laughed at her for worrying about him.

Mary shook her head and looked away haughtily. She wasn't worried. Why should she be worried? It wasn't like her partner was laying face-down in a ditch somewhere or anything. He was too careful. Plus, if Marshall was in trouble, he would call. Wouldn't he? But what if he had been kidnapped like she had been? What if he was locked in a basement with a madman waving a gun around like it was a piece of licorice at this very moment?

Again, Mary's gaze shifted up to her partner's desk; her worry becoming harder to conceal. No, no, no. She had her own problems to worry about. Mary forced her eyes to settle back on the rising pile of paperwork on her own desk. She had several witnesses asking for money and job opportunities and several more complaining about lack of money and job opportunities as well as demands for better living accommodations.

Trying to focus on her work rather than the lack of company in the room, Mary picked a random slip of paper from the pile and started to read it.

Dear Mary Shannon,
This is Shelley Finkle. Mr. Mann has informed me that calling to talk to you personally would not be an efficient method to reach you seeing as you never pick up your phone. He did, however, suggest that I write you. I'm sure you'll get this letter eventually and Mr. Mann has also informed me that he frequently checks your trash to ensure that no important documents – or in the case, letters – get thrown away.
Now, the reason I'm writing to you is to tell you that I think it's about time to meet up again and talk about how you are doing. I've told you before how these meeting let me know how you're doing emotionally and I've told you before how these meeting let me know how you're doing emotionally and -

Mary blinked, realizing that she had dazed and read the same sentence twice. She put down the letter, unable to concentrate hard enough to allow the words to take meaning in her mind. She looked up once more and her gaze automatically locked onto the empty desk of Marshall Mann.

She heard the sound of the clock on the far wall ticking away the seconds and realized just how quiet it really was without Marshall in the room with her. She never realized just how much she liked the sound of his fingers as he fiddled with the papers on his desk or the sound of his keyboard merrily tapping away. Hell, she even missed the humming noise he made when he was writing a dissertation for a witness. Strange. She never realized just how much she enjoyed Marshall's company until it was gone. It was just too damn quiet.

The silence was suddenly blasted away by the sound of the metallic door opening. Mary snapped her head in the direction of the noise and saw Stan walk in.

"Stan," Mary breathed with relief. "Thank God."

Stan looked up at Mary quizzically before shifting his gaze away nervously and slipping out of his jacket. "I don't think you'll be thanking anyone by the time I give you your two-tens," Stan replied.

Mary didn't even cringe. She was already up and out of her chair, making her way over to Stan at one level below a trot.

"What? Oh. Whatever, I'll do those later," Mary said, clearly proving that she hadn't heard a word of what Stan had just said. Instead, she got down to the point. "Where's Marshall?"

Stan met Mary's waiting gaze with a quizzical one before a thin smile spread over his lips. He nonchalantly hung his jacket on the coat rack and ambled towards the coffee machine; Mary right on his heels like a dog waiting for its master to give it a treat.

"Now why would you worry yourself about Marshall?" Stan asked casually, knowing full-well that he held the winning hand. "Can't trust him by himself?"

"I'm not worried!" Mary countered, a little too quickly… and loudly. She sobered immediately. "I just want to know where he is. Who else is going to rescue my mail from the trash?"

Stan grimaced. "Found out did you?"

"From a letter that's going through the shredder," Mary remarked coolly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Stan nodded with a slight shrug. "That might not work. Marshall's pretty persistent. Plus, he has the tape."

"Well then I'll –" Mary began "– No, nevermind. Just tell me where he is."

"All right," Stan said, knowing he couldn't keep his cards a secret for long. He's poker face was terrible. "He called in sick. He's taking the day off."

"Sick?" Mary asked with complete astonishment. "Marshall?"

"That's what he said," Stan confirmed, taking a sip of his coffee and moving towards his office.

"The slacker," Mary hissed under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm taking my lunch break now."

"Lunch? It's only 10:15."

But Mary was already gone, her paperwork left unattended at her desk, and the elevator doors sliding to a close.

Stan chuckled with a shake of his head. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed a number and held the device to his ear.

"Hello?" a female's voice answered.

"Eleanor," Stan said, "its Stan. Listen, there's been a change of plans. I'm going to need you to come into work today… Why?... Well, it seems as if both my inspectors have caught the flu."

---

I derived the title from the show "Get a Clue". Just one of those play on words like the actual IPS episode titles. I thought it was clever. But it doesn't really mean anything. Oh well.

Well then since I want to get this done before my trip, I'll be posting again soon.

Until next time,
Hobey-Ho