Title: Angst and Cheesecake (Sorry about this. Normally by the time I'm half way through with a story it's named itself. This one just didn't, so I had to make shit up)

Author: SciFiDVM

Rating: T for Mary's language

Spoilers: Up through "A Priest walks into a Bar"

Legal Stuff: I own nothing. I make no money (from this or my actual job, go figure). This is all fun and games. That's until someone loses an eye - then it's frickin' hysterical

A/N: The muses wanted angst. They wanted angst set in the tune of Snow Patrol. I really need to cut down on the emo Pandora station I listen to in my office at work.

I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My fingers in creases of distant dark places

…

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

Set the Fire to the Third Bar

Snow Patrol

The debacle that was Mary's vacation to Mexico had driven a very real wedge between the partners. Fortunately, it had only taken about six days before a late night visit, a case of Blue Moon beer, and a story about a certain federal agent's unexpected performance anxiety – reenacted with a soggy piece of pizza crust, completely dislocated said wedge. A few days after the partners had made their peace and consciously elected to put certain messy statements behind them, they were at the office and Mary's cell phone rang. Marshall saw her grimace and then toss the contraption to him. The only word visible on the small LCD screen on outside of the closed flip phone was "Crapweasel".

"Heh. Do I need three guesses?" He asked her.

"Do you ever?"

He nodded in agreement and flipped open the phone. "Albuquerque Hardware." He placed a bit too much emphasis on the word "hard".

"Uhh… I must have… Marshall?" The voice on the phone was confused.

"Faber. We were just wondering what you were up to."

"Would you just put Mary on already."

"Why wood I do that?"

Mary broke into hysterics in the background.

"Damn it Marshall. I can hear her in the background."

"Calm down. I didn't mean to get such a rise out of you."

Silence. Comprehension. "Whatever she told you… That lying bitch…"

Marshall began crinkling piece of paper near the phone. "What's that Faber? I've got bad reception in here. Flaccid? What? Impotent?" the line went dead. He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to her.

She looked like she was actually considering hugging him.

That was the last they would hear from Mike Faber for another four months.

:::_:::_:::_:::_:::

It was utterly humiliating. He ran half marathons for fun. He danced four different types of ballroom. He even did yoga on occasion. How could a thoroughly trained US Marshal with unparalleled proprioception end up disabled by something as innocuous as stepping off a curb?

They had been transporting a witness to trial. December in Denver was always inhospitable, but their less than cordial welcome during this trip had his mind a bit more preoccupied than usual. Also, he found himself unaccustomed to the freezing weather and its side effects after years in New Mexico. Between the unfamiliar weather patterns and the distraction, it was no wonder that he hadn't seen the spot of black ice on the street when he stepped off the curb. The giant goose egg on the back of his skull and the fact that he couldn't remember anything between preparing to step off the curb and waking up in the hospital were indicators that it had not been a graceful slip and fall.

When he'd regained consciousness and asked his partner what happened, her reply was, "You went down harder than a White House intern." He didn't get a chance to talk to her too much longer, as he was whisked off for an MRI. Unfortunately, his little accident had occurred as they were leading their witness from the courthouse to the car. She had finished her testimony and they were about to drive her back to Albuquerque. Stopping even to take him to the hospital could have jeopardized their witness' safety. By the time the glorified magnet had finished scanning his cranium an inspector from the Denver office had arrived to help Mary complete the transfer. He would be kept overnight for observation at best, and they needed to get Sarah Moyer as far away as possible from the meth ring she just test testified against.

As they wheeled him back into his room in the neuro ICU he heard the new inspector introduce herself to Mary, "Inspector Shannon? I'm Kate Green, Denver office. I'm sorry to hear about your partner, is he alright?"

Marshall knew this would end badly. The woman seemed nice enough, so he felt the need to intercede. "Mare?"

She quickly turned and entered his room, angry tirade completely abandoned. "You dying?" She asked. The sarcasm only partially hid the true concern.

"They say it can take up to three days to get the results back. I guess we'll know then." He smiled.

She shoved his shoulder. "Clutz. Now look what I'm getting saddled with because you don't know how to walk on your own." As her hand fell away from his shoulder it landed near his hand on the bed. He slowly moved his hand over hers and intertwined their fingers.

"She seems perfectly competent and polite. And you need to get going ASAP."

"I'm not looking forward to a full day of driving with the estrogen festival. I might have to go pre-menstrual on their asses."

"Mare, you know what I always tell you about picking fights with other female law enforcement agents."

"Use Jell-o and take pictures?"

"That's my girl." He smiled and squeezed her hand gently.

She smiled back at him, released his hand, and left the room.

The nurse came in and gave him some pain killers. The doctor came in about fifteen minutes later and told him that there didn't appear to be any intracranial bleeding, but they were suspicious of a concussion and strongly felt that he should stay in the hospital for a day or two for continued monitoring. After the doctor left, he turned on the television and flipped through the channels about three times before the pain meds fully kicked in and he felt himself drifting off towards sleep. In the background, the local news came on. By the time that the weatherman made his appearance, Marshall was unconscious. The announcement fell on unlistening ears, "Well folks, looks like we're in for a doozey this evening. That winter storm is going to get here a bit earlier than predicted. Expect up to six inches an hour to start falling any time now. We are talking blizzard people. Anyone thinking about using any of the major mountain passes, you might as well just forget about it. US 24 will start locking down within the next hour. Northern Boulder county can expect…" Marshall shifted in his sleep, adjusted his blankets and continued dozing.

:::_:::_:::_:::

The roads were icy in places and Mary begrudgingly allowed the Denver Marshal to drive the first leg. Kate had more winter driving experience and knew the roads well. She had agreed with the team's initial plan of avoiding I 25. That was the major southbound artery out of the city and it would just be way too obvious. Instead, they had decided to trek west a bit and take the jog southbound at Vail on US 24. It was generally the more scenic route, which Mary realized that Marshall would have enjoyed. It was a less direct route and took them through some questionable mountain passes, which would not seem to be the likely choice if anyone was trying to predict their route and ambush them. The worsening weather had slowed their progress more than Mary was comfortable with. She and Marshall had made this drive twice before, and she never remembered it taking this long. They had been on the road for just over four hours, and were coming up to the pass leading into the town of Leadville. It usually only took about two and a half hours to get to the little town. Mary remembered the town specifically because Marshall would always spout inane trivia about some fish farm that the town was famous for.

Mary needed a distraction. "Hey, did you know there's some kind of fish farm in this little shit hole of a town? Trout or something."

Kate gave her an odd look. "Well… that's some… generally useless trivia."

"Yeah. Useless trivia is kinda my partner's thing. Thought I'd try it on for size since he's not around."

"You two always try on each other's stuff? Because that could get kinda awkward… and creepy."

Mary actually liked Kate. As much as she could like a partner that wasn't Marshall. "There are times when I'm pretty sure he wants to get into my panties. Your theory puts a whole new and entirely plausible twist on that." They laughed. The other woman had been truly concerned for the well-being of Mary's injured partner and refrained from making any jokes at his expense. Mary knew that she would probably never let him live it down, but if someone else tried to pull that crap they would pay dearly. Kate also didn't pull any punches when she talked and appreciated Mary's choice of music. Her ipod remained plugged into the car's speaker system the entire time, and Mary realized it was likely the first time she'd ever been in a car for four hours and not had to battle about the radio.

Sarah had been asleep, stretched out across the back seat of the SUV for the past two hours. The now heavy snowfall had a lulling affect as it drifted through the headlights, and Mary was beginning to feel a bit drowsy herself.

"We should be coming up to the pass in a minute." Kate announced.

"Jesus, it's really coming down now. The forecast this afternoon should have given us plenty of time to get off the treacherous parts before the weather turned to shit." Mary grumbled.

"Yeah. Not so much." Kate grumbled back.

The road had been empty, except for them, for the last half hour or so. Everyone else had likely used the radio at some point in the previous four hours and heard the new storm warnings. It was dark and snow was coming down hard. The winding road nestled between the peaks of two mountain ranges was becoming dangerous and desolate. They noted a light off to the side of the road a short ways ahead. As they approached, they found that the source was a small white DOT maintenance truck with its headlights pointed at the thick steel barrier obstructing the road. A man in a thick parka and fur trimmed hat had just finished padlocking the barrier in place.

As they came to a stop in front of the barrier, Mary noticed that the passenger side door of the little truck was wide open. It seemed odd to Mary that no thought was being paid to the fact that he was letting all the heat out of the truck's cab.

"I've got a weird feeling about this." Mary announced, and unbuckled her seatbelt as her other hand instinctively crawled towards her firearm.

"It's nothing." Kate consoled. "They lock down this road all the time when the weather gets shitty. I flash the badge and a smile and they let me through every time."

The next ten seconds passed in slow motion, so many things happening at once. Kate began to roll down the window. Mary couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding and turned to put a hand on Sarah's shoulder and shake her awake. As she turned, the change in view point revealed a large area of disturbed snow marred with red by the wide open passenger side door of the truck. Illuminated by the red parking lights, Mary could just make out a pair of boots laying on the ground protruding behind the bed of the truck. Mary's right hand closed on her gun as her left squeezed into Sarah's shoulder. Before Mary could get a word out, the man in the parka extricated an automatic weapon from the jacket and a hail of bullets shot up the driver's side of the hood and shattered the windshield. Mary saw Kate's head snap back unnaturally before she felt the blast of cold air enter through the shattered windshield. There would be no saving her. She instinctively dove between the front seats, over the center console, and on top of Sarah. She had woken in the commotion and Mary flung open the passenger side rear door. They rolled out of the vehicle simultaneously, just as the assailant flung open the driver's side door. They bolted to the side of the road. Mary shoved Sarah through the open door into the road maintenance truck and dove in behind her. She pulled the door shut as the man came around the back of the SUV. The truck's engine was still running and Mary frantically reached for the gear shift and rammed the automatic transmission into drive, even though the dive into the truck had put Sarah in the driver's seat.

"Drive!" Mary screamed at her as the man raised the gun again. She was still mostly laying on her stomach across the seat and reached down and depressed the accelerator pedal with her hand, as Sarah had gone catatonic. Fortunately, the forward lurch of the vehicle snapped her out of it and she grabbed the steering wheel. Her foot replaced Mary's hand on the gas pedal and they skidded forward along the road away from the barricade. Mary reached over and pulled the seatbelt across Sarah and buckled it. Before she could reach for her own, a series of fast "pop pop pop pop" rang out, and the back window shattered. The flying glass startled Sarah, and she jerked reflexively. The high rate of speed and the icy road were a fatal combination. The abrupt movement sent the truck into a fishtail. A back tire slid off the road and caught the snow and rocks on the shoulder, sending them into a roll. Mary was helpless as she felt herself be heaved through the windshield by centripetal force on the second revolution. She guarded her head and miraculously made landfall in a snow drift on the side of the road, though her rolling motion was abruptly stopped when the lower portion of her right leg slammed into a tree. She was disoriented, but didn't lose consciousness.

The truck had come to a stop on its right side, a thick pine tree lodged where the cab met the bed. Mary tried to stand and run towards it, but her right leg completely gave out. It wasn't painful, it just wouldn't support her weight. Mary dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl towards the truck. She realized that her right leg seemed to be leaving a faint red stripe behind it in the snow and that the shoe sticking out the bottom of the jeans was pointing the wrong way. This was going to be bad, but right now, adrenaline and fear were keeping the pain at bay, giving her one last chance to do her job. She approached the hood of the truck. The front windshield was missing and the top of the cab looked like a soda can after a frat boy had slammed it against his forehead. Sarah's seatbelt suspended her body in the driver's seat, just as if she were still driving. However, there was one sickening difference. Her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle and there were weird lumps along the side of her neck. Mary climbed partially into the cab and reached to feel for a pulse. There was no pulse and even the slightest touch caused Sarah's head to jostle around as if it were held on by spaghetti. Mary flung herself out of the truck and vomited into the snow.

She sat against the demolished roof of the truck for a moment and realized that the world was starting to spin, and her leg was staring to throb. It took her another moment to notice that all the noise and commotion of the accident had quieted down. It was eerily silent on the dark road. Then an awful sound reached her ears – the slow deliberate crunch of a man walking towards her on packed snow. She reached for her gun and found that it had been dislodged in the accident. She had no weapon. She did the only thing her scrambled, shocky brain could convince her body to do. She grabbed a large branch from around the base of the tree, used it as a crutch, and set off into the woods the best she could.

She only managed to scramble about fifty yards up the bank and into the trees before her body could take her no further. She collapsed and turned to stare at the wreckage from behind a tree. One of the truck's fog lights had escaped the carnage and cast an eerie beam of light from the front of the truck. Mary saw the man slowly come around the truck and pass through the beam. He looked into the cab of the truck similarly to how Mary had a few moments earlier. He used the muzzle of his rifle to poke at something inside. He stopped and seemed to contemplate something briefly. She realized that he had found her tracks in the snow - the ones leading to the truck and away from it. The ghastly light behind him made him look more like a shadow than a man with features, but there was no mistaking what happened next. He traced her trail with his eyes and stopped at a point just to the left of where she hid. While he didn't actually see her, he knew exactly where she was. Her heart pounded. She was going to die. Then the evil shadow lifted a hand and waved goodbye to her. He then walked off towards the barricade. A few moments later, she heard what was likely a snowmobile, start up and fade away into the distance toward Leadville.

For some reason, the hit man had let her live. Why? The cold finally penetrated to her bones and she shivered. She shivered harder when she realized what had just happened. He hadn't let her live. He had merely prolonged her death. She had no vehicle, no weapon, no survival gear, and she was out in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere, going into shock, and bleeding. She would die as surely tonight as if he had put a bullet in her head. She wrapped her arms around her body to conserve warmth and a bulge in one of the zippered inner pockets of her jacket made he pause.

It couldn't be. Her hand fished into pocket and retrieved the object. It was! It was her cell phone. It was her ticket out of this death trap. It… had no service. She flashed back to her partner, her real partner's inane chatter on the way into Denver. There was a story about this valley being carved out of the million some odd year old mountains of rock and mineral blah blah, skip ahead… the size and mineral composition of the mountains towering along the road made cell phone reception nearly impossible for an eighty mile stretch. Well, fuck. That was all Mary could come up with.

Everything was starting to get a hazy glow around the edges, and Mary was still conscious enough to realize that that was a bad thing. She needed to stay awake. She had been thrown from the car and very likely had traumatized her head. If she fell asleep she wouldn't wake up. Pain and activity would keep her awake. Maybe if she could just get to the top of the embankment, she could get a cell signal. She hobbled forward for what seemed like an eternity. The pain in her leg was beyond searing. She noticed something tent the leg of her jeans when she manipulated the injured limb. Mary refused to pull them up and look, but she was pretty sure her broken bone was sticking out of her leg. She fought back a wave of nausea and pressed on.

She no longer had any concept of time. It was all just shades of pain. She closed her eyes and surged forward to brace herself on the next tree. When she opened her eyes, she realized that she had made it. There was a small clearing stretching out just beyond the tree. She crawled forward, because that was all she could do. Her head was swimming, she was weak, and her vision was starting to dim. Out of the tree line, the harsh storm whipped snow around her. She had made it about fifteen yards into the clearing. She rolled onto her back in the snow and held the phone before her. Her vision was blurry and she could barely see the screen, but "No Service" was obviously scrawled across the center of the LCD screen and no icon alerting her to the presence of reception was in the upper right corner. There was still no signal.

"Damnit!" She screamed. "You godforsaken mother humping piece of shit!" The string of expletives left her exhausted. She panted and blinked her eyes repeatedly. It was over. No one knew where she was, nor would she be missed for another day. There was no hope, and she was losing the battle to stay awake.

She looked at the phone again, then sat up and looked up to the sky. "I get it. I'm not exactly church-y, and maybe I'm not the nicest person in the world. You don't want to give me some divine intervention and save my ass, that's par for the course. And I'm not asking for it. I just want to tell my friend good bye, and that this is not his fault. Because he'll blame himself, and you know it. And if you want to hold a grudge against me, that's fine, but he's the best person I know, and if you're willing to do this to him…"

She dropped her head and laughed a small mirthless laugh. She spoke to the phone in her hand, "Fuck that. There's exactly one thing in my entire life that I have ever had real faith in, and sorry, buddy," She looked upwards again, "you ain't it."

Her voice was barely above a whisper now and she was beginning to mumble. Her arms felt weak and they fell to her lap. She slammed the open phone against her knee with all the force she could muster, which wasn't much. "Hey Doofus, ya hear this? I'm dying and my last thoughts are of you. When did that happen? I know you can't hear this, but it feels like it matters more if I say this out loud, so here goes. Marshall, I'm sorry. I'm not gonna make it, and I know it's gonna mess you up that you weren't here. But I'm glad you weren't, because then you'd just be dead too. And I need someone competent around to take care of my witnesses." She paused, speaking becoming more difficult. "You and this job are the only things I really care about. I trust you to take care of them both when I'm gone."

A fuzzy noise had slowly been invading her consciousness and she felt like it was starting to drown out her thoughts as it coalesced into a sound she could recognize – her partner's voice. "Mary, I will save you. If you can hold on a little longer I promise I will be there."

"Marshall. Somehow, and for reasons I will never understand, you have always been there for me. But we both know it's different this time. Just because I'm dying and you're imaginary doesn't mean you can start lying to me." She smiled and wasn't sure how much of her last thoughts were out loud and how much was in her head. "Goodbye partner."

She had nothing left. She closed her eyes. The last thing she would register was the sound of her partner's voice begging, "Hold on Mare, just hold on! I will get to you if you just hold on."

:::_::: 4 days earlier :::_:::

"Hold on!" Marshall chastised her. She reached for the box he carried and he slapped her hand away playfully.

"Gimme gimme gimme!"

"Wait for it." He commanded. She reminded him of those dogs that are trained to sit there with the biscuit on their nose until their owner gives them the command to flip it into their mouth and devour it.

She pouted until he put the box down on her desk and flipped back the lid. Then she attacked the pastry box and emerged a moment later with her mouth full and slices of the dessert in each hand. "Pumpkin cheesecake. I have missed you." She mumbled around the food in her mouth.

"Keep in mind that this is a seasonal treat. Why not try savoring the flavor instead of devouring it like a famished wildebeest." Marshall recommended.

"The sooner I finish this one, the sooner you buy me another." It was true, but he was not about to admit to that.

Stan walked up to them with a face that was unlikely to signal good tidings. "Inspectors." He greeted and used a fork to snag a bite of the cheesecake from the desk before Mary spirited it away, looking affronted. "How would you two feel about a bit of a white Christmas?"

"You better mean white as in white sand beaches in Aruba or the Bahamas, because you know how I feel about cold and snow." Mary retorted

"She really doesn't like the cold." Marshall added.

Stan just rolled his eyes. "Sarah Moyer's trial has been moved up. You need to be in Denver by tomorrow night."

"When does the plane leave?" Marshall asked.

"No plane." He dangled a set of car keys. "There's a huge storm due to roll in within the next 4 to five days. The last thing we want is you snowed into an airport with a witness that just publicly testified against one of the biggest meth dealers in Colorado."

"Much better that we get stuck on the side of the road in a car. After a few days stranded in the mountains in the freezing cold we'll have to resort to eating one another. Look at him! I'll still starve to death!"

"Did you know that recent anthropological work has shown that the actual Donners did not consume human bodies? It was some other, unrelated travelers that had joined their caravan temporarily, then split off from the family just before the famous incidence of cannibalism began."

"I might not eat you, but that won't stop me from killing you." She attempted to halt the trivia. Then her phone vibrated. She looked briefly at the caller ID, opened the phone and pressed a button before setting it down on the table. "Mary Shannon." She spoke into the phone.

"Kitten!" An unfortunately familiar voice emanated from the phone's speaker. "I suppose by now you've heard the good news."

"I did! Just now!" She sounded way too enthusiastic. "I mean, so exciting, right?"

"You, here, in my neighborhood for a couple days. I'd say so."

"Oh. I was talking about the recent discovery that the Donner party didn't actually eat the flesh of their emaciated and frost bitten family members." She retorted. "But, yeah, Denver. Can't wait." The last part was far less enthusiastic than the part about cannibalism.

"How about tomorrow night you ditch that prepubescent baby sitter you call a partner and I can treat you to a much more typical display of my favorite skills set?"

"Wow, kitten," she shot back, "There's really only one thing I can say to that." She paused a second for emphasis, "You're on speaker phone."

"Faber." Marshall greeted coolly.

"Michael." Stan said disapprovingly at the same time.

Faber couldn't really recover from that one, and he knew it. "Umm, call on the other line. I need to take this. See you around this week." Then he hung up abruptly.

"Who does that man think he is?" Stan asked rhetorically as he turned back towards his office.

Mary looked to her partner, who was unusually quiet and wouldn't look at her. It was obvious that the original incident in which Faber was chosen over him still stung, even if it was very apparent that that choice would never be made again.

She sighed and cut out a thin slice of the cheesecake on her desk and placed it on a small paper plate. She walked over to his desk and thrust the cake into his line of sight, as he still hadn't looked up at her. A pair of sad looking blue eyes met hers.

"Here." She continued holding out the small paper plate with the piece of cheesecake.

He realized that there was deep symbolism in the offering. "I only get a small slice?"

"Yeah, but you're the only one that I voluntarily share any of it with."

"I guess that will have to be enough then." A little half smile of acceptance played at his lips. He reached out to take the offering and their fingers touched.

She didn't let go of the plate. "I realize that cheesecake like this does not come along everyday, and even though it seems like it's always been available when I've needed it in the past, I know it's seasonal and won't be around forever."

Marshall's eyes widened. Their fingers were still touching.

"Right now a small slice is all I'm able to give. And I'm afraid that if you get the bigger piece I know you want, it'll be too much, and you'll get sick of it, and then I will have ruined pumpkin cheesecake for both of us."

"There is no such thing as too much pumpkin cheesecake." It was the only thing his shocked brain would allow to escape.

"I can't promise anything right now. But when I sort some things out, I may be able to give you a bigger piece… of pumpkin cheesecake."

"With whipped cream and everything?" Marshall asked tentatively.

"Jesus Christ! Whipped cream? Way to get ahead of yourself, Pervis." She released the plate and went back to her desk.

They casually went about getting ready for the next day's road trip.

:::_:::_:::_:::_:::

Marshall awoke in the hospital bed, cold and uncomfortable. He'd been having an unpleasant dream. He was lying in a white room, except there were no walls or ceiling. It was just an expanse of white in every direction. And it was cold, and he couldn't move, and he was alone. Now that he was awake, everything throbbed – the large bruise on the back of his head, the road rash on his left hand where he'd apparently attempted to brace his fall, even the hang nail he'd chewed on during the trial yesterday. He noticed the darkness outside his window and realized that it had been about four hours since his pain meds. He pressed the non-emergent nurse call button to see if he might be able to get some more.

He got up to use the restroom, and found that the hospital gown he'd changed into before getting the MRI did not provide nearly enough warmth. He located his clothes and personal belongings on a table beside the bed. He was debating putting the slacks that he'd worn to trial yesterday back on, when he noticed his cellphone silently vibrate and light up. Had he not been looking directly at it, he never would have known it was going off. He picked it up and saw Mary's name on the caller ID. He pressed the button to accept the call. The line sounded static-y, like she was somewhere with poor reception. "Had to resort to eating anyone yet?" He smiled into the phone. He noticed the blizzard raging outside and knew the driving would be slow. His heart plummeted to his ankles at what he heard next through the static.

"Marshall, I'm sorry. I'm not gonna make it." Her voice was small and weak. Then there was static again.

"Mare! Mary! What's going on? Where are you?"

"Take care of my witnesses."

He yelled into the phone as he pulled on his pants and clipped the gun to his belt, "Mary, I will save you. If you can hold on a little longer I promise I will be there."

"You have always been there for me." Silence and static echoed momentarily. "Goodbye partner."

The commotion had alerted the nurses, who now rushed into his room. "Hold on Mare, just hold on! I will get to you if you just hold on." The connection was lost.

Marshall was already dressed and making for the door. As soon as he realized the call from his partner had disconnected, he held down the number 2 key. To the horror of the nurses, he ripped out the IV catheter in his right forearm as the phone began to ring.

A doctor appeared in the doorway, "Mr. Mann. I'm not sure what's going on here, but you can't leave. You need to lay back down.

Marshall shoved his way passed the shocked doctor as Stan picked up.

"Marshall, I thought you weren't allowed to use cell phones in the hospital." He greeted, sounding slightly concerned that his normally respectful inspector was breaching policy.

"It's Mary. Something happened." He shouted, unable to control his fear. He was tearing through the hospital towards the stairs leading down from the sixth floor ICU.

"Do you know what's wrong, how bad is it?"

"She barely got the call in. Reception was horrible. She said 'I'm sorry' and 'goodbye'."

"What do you need?" Stan understood the significance of what Mary had said to Marshall.

"I need a ping on her phone or at least a GPS trace of where she was for that last call." He barreled out of the stairway into the lobby. "I need a bird in the air out of Denver or Colorado Springs yesterday." He ran out the ER doors into the night.

"Marshall, have you seen the news? The storm that's over you right now is being called the storm of the decade. Nothing is going to be airborne in this. There's nothing I can do about that."

The words penetrated Marshall's brain as sharply as the cold air. He looked around, feeling lost and helpless. He had no vehicle. There would be no rescue chopper. He spun around looking for inspiration or divine intervention anywhere. He found it as he looked upwards along the front of the building and his gaze reached the roof. "Stan, just get me the coordinates. I have an idea." He flipped the phone shut and darted back into the building.

Badge visible and credentials held in front of him, he stormed through the doors labeled "No Unauthorized Personnel Beyond This Point" and made for the elevator. He met no resistance as he reached it and hit the button for the top floor. As the contraption whooshed up twelve stories, Marshall remembered stories he had been told while sitting in the hospital as Mary was recovering from the bullet wound last year. Paramedic helicopter pilots are some of the best in the business, usually second only to the Coast Guard rescue diver pilots. These guys were usually ex-military and lived for treacherous rescues that they could brag about later.

The top floor was smaller than the other floors of the hospital and mostly housed administrative offices, whose occupants had already departed for the night. "I need a pilot and flight crew!" He yelled as he rushed out of the elevator.

"Down here." A voice echoed from a corridor to his left.

Marshall followed the sound of the man's voice and found a woman and two men in flight suits with the hospital's logo sitting around a table, playing cards, and drinking coffee.

"How long until you can be airborne?"

"How long until this storm ends?" One of the men returned.

"Which one of you is the pilot?"

The woman stood up and extended a hand. "Jill Gregory. It's my bird." The short haircut, perfect posture, and strong grip screamed military, and Marshall was relieved.

"I need your help." Marshall pleaded. His phone vibrated with a text message. It was a set of GPS coordinates from Stan. He quickly hit a few buttons on his smart phone and a map with a flashing blue dot appeared. "I need you to fly me here. Now." He held out the device revealing the location.

"In case you haven't noticed, conditions outside are somewhat suboptimal." The two men beside her sniggered. "I'm not sure I can even take off in this without killing myself and my entire crew, let alone fly through that mountain range. What is so important that you would ask me to take that risk?" The desperation in the strange tall man's face had her interest piqued.

Marshall took a deep breath and realized that all the protocol and regulation in the world would make no difference to him if Mary were dead. "I am a US Marshal with Witness Protection. My partner and our federally protected witness have been attacked at these coordinates. My partner is dying, alone, in the cold. And no other pilot is willing to try to help them."

The woman was as tall as Marshall and looked him straight in the eyes for a moment. His eyes were starting to well up with moisture, but he did not blink and break her gaze. She turned and addressed her flight crew, "Fire her up!"

"Thank you." Marshall whispered, only then able to wipe the forming tears from his eyes.

"Don't thank me yet. You're coming with and I still may kill us all in this weather."

"Still, thank you."

They had the helicopter ready and were strapped in within ten minutes. At just that time, a small break in the storm occurred and the helicopter lifted into the air amongst only 10 mph winds and slight flurries of snow. Marshall considered it a miracle.

He sat up front next to the pilot and the paramedics worked in back, readying their supplies. With a direct route over the mountains, they should reach the location within thirty minutes. He couldn't pull his eyes from the topographical map on his phone. The flashing blue dot a hundred miles away held an uncertain nightmare, and he couldnn't get there soon enough.

"She's more than just your partner, isn't she?" Jill asked.

"Yeah." He admitted, looking at his hands. "I mean, nothing's happened. It can't because we're partners. And there are issues… But I can't lose her."

"I know." She said quietly, never taking her eyes off the instrument panels.

Marshall turned and looked at her.

"I was Navy. Did two tours in the early days of Iraqi Freedom. Had the same co-pilot since flight school. You go through that much together and there's no way you don't end up… close. No matter what the rules say." She sighed. "We were three weeks from the end of our tour. We weren't renewing and once we got stateside we were going to give it a go. The whole rings, kids, picket fence, and a dog bit. Then a scud glanced our Blackhawk one night. We went down behind enemy lines." She paused again before continuing. "I sprained my wrist and got a small laceration on my forehead in the crash. He got twisted metal shrapnel in his gut. I held him, alone in the desert, for two hours while he died."

"I'm so sorry." Marshall was picturing the scene as she described it, but with him and Mary instead. Then his brain shifted from a hot desert scene to the snowy Hell he knew he was about to enter. He felt bile rising in his throat.

"How long have you two been partners?"

He was broken out of his reverie, "Almost eight years now." The realization that they might not meet that milestone made him visibly convulse.

"Love at first sight?" She was trying to keep him out of the dark places in his mind.

"We almost had a friendly fire incident in the first ten minutes."

"Yeah. Jack and I were the same way. Amazing how someone who drives you so nuts at first can grow on you so much."

"Wait." Marshall realized something. "His name was Jack? Jack and Jill?"

"Yeah, I know. You're not the first one to point that out."

The flight continued in silence for another ten minutes as they cleared the mountain range, which was the most dangerous part of the trip. They were streaking over the valley now, following the path of US 24. "We should be at the coordinates any minute now." Jill announced.

In the distance Marshall noticed a faint spot of light along the unlit highway. "There!" He shouted.

"I might have to put down a bit up the road. That clearing over there's not quite big enough and the road is too narrow there." The pilot started preparing.

As they flew over the light, Marshall could barely make out the overturned truck's one working fog light slowly becoming covered in snow. They were too high up still for him to make out any details of the scene. The obviously abandoned, snow covered SUV in the road a short distance up made his heart drop further. There was a scenic area pullout along the side of the road about 200 yards up that provided enough room for them to land.

Despite the warning, Marshall had unbuckled his restraints and dove from the helicopter about two feet before it actually touched down. He instructed them to stay at the helicopter until he called for them on the walkie talkie they provided, so that he could clear the scene. Weapon drawn, he ran as fast as he could to the truck. The bullet holes running up the hood in a straight line towards the driver's seat were unmistakable. He recognized the lifeless form in the driver's seat as the Denver Marshal immediately and he felt air return to his lungs. He felt bad about the relief the woman's dead body caused him, but he couldn't regret not having to face Mary's dead body in the SUV. He cleared the vehicle, and finding no one else inside, he began to move on. He noticed the body of a man in coveralls becoming enveloped by snow and laying just behind an area with decreased snow accumulation. It was if another vehicle had been parked there and then moved. After finding no pulse on the man, he darted the few hundred yards up the street to the next vehicle.

The scene was horrific, and he almost vomited at the sight of the frozen body of their witness hanging in the truck. He saw the drag marks in the snow leading to the vehicle, and area that looked thoroughly walked on. Then he saw the uneven, haphazard tracks leading into the trees along the road. He followed them mindlessly, his brain knowing he was getting close, but too terrified at the thought of what he might find. As he reached the small clearing, his phone made a sound, alerting him that he had arrived at his GPS coordinates, which were accurate to within about ten meters.

He scanned the scene quickly, and his eyes fell on a mound of snow about forty feet in front of him. He surged forward, the knee high snow attempting to trip him the entire way. He collapsed at the still form of his partner. Trembling hands went to her neck and he didn't feel anything. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Her skin was freezing and tinted blue. He was certain that his heart was about to stop right along with hers.

Then he felt a weak little thump against the fingers placed on her neck. It took more than a second for him to recognize the sensation. Then there was another. It was a pulse. It was far too slow and weak, but somehow she was still alive. He screamed directions to their location into the two-way radio and pulled her body against his. He wrapped his jacket around her and began vigorously rubbing her shoulders through the material. The two minutes it took the paramedics to reach his location with the backboard felt like an eternity. He could not imagine having to spend two hours like this.

She remained unconscious as they strapped her to the board, covered her with a thermal blanket and began carrying her towards the waiting helicopter. The door had not even closed behind the four passengers as the helicopter lifted into the air.

Marshall watched in stunned silence as Mary was wrapped in warm air blankets, IV catheters were placed in each arm, and fluids passing through a portable warmer were pumped into her body. There were injections of medications whose names Marshall didn't pay attention to. He just silently sat and held her hand as color began to return to her face. The frequency of the beeps from the heart rate monitor gradually increased to a normal rate, and her temperature had risen to 95.8 F by the time they landed on the roof of the hospital he had escaped from only a little over an hour earlier.

The ER doctors continued supportive care and raising her body temperature. When they cut off her jeans to see the extent of her tibial fracture Marshall left the room. Mostly because he had realized that the fracture was going to be horrific, but also because if she found out that he had seen her nearly naked, she would probably kill him.

They were stuck in Denver for another six days as Mary recovered from the shock and hypothermia, and orthopedic surgeons attempted to fix her mangled leg. Marshall never left her side. She was released from the hospital two days before Christmas and was glad that they would make it back to Albuquerque in time to not have a white Christmas. Now she really really didn't like the cold.

She limped into the airport, with him following closely behind. She eyed the security checkpoint suspiciously. "How the hell is this going to work?" She tapped her crutch on the giant metal frame of rings and wires that encompassed her right lower leg.

"Mary, it's not like they're going to worry about you hiding a weapon in there. We have those on our belts." He reminded her that as Marshals, their version of a metal scan and safety checkpoint would be a bit different.

"Touche."

The flight from Denver to Albuquerque was uneventful, except for when Mary almost shot Marshall. He had found the external fixator that the surgeons used to fix her leg so interesting, that he had thoroughly researched the topic while she was in the hospital. Honestly, it was her fault. She had brought it up.

She couldn't quite get comfortable in the cramped airline seat with the contraption on her leg. She absent mindedly picked at the scab forming around one of the wires that penetrated her leg and attached on both sides to a large metal ring. "Why didn't they just put me in a cast again?"

"Because your bone was broken into too many little pieces, and some of the fractures extended so close to the ends of the bones that they wouldn't be able to get a big enough plate and screws on the bone to stabilize it properly."

"Yeah, I guess there's that." She huffed and continued picking. It was kind of nice to be able to walk on the leg so soon after surgery, but she felt like a freak with big wires sticking out of her leg.

"The circular external fixator was first created by a Russian doctor named Gavril Ilizarov in the 50's. He developed the technique to treat injured soldiers in Siberia, and the first ones were made out of spokes and rims from a bicycle wheel. The ingenuity of it is astounding."

She slammed the metal frame and the few protruding wire ends into Marshall's leg. "Ow! That hurts."

"Huh…also works as a weapon. This guy might have been onto something."

Stan greeted them at the airport and hugged Mary thoroughly, despite her protests. He finally let go when she clubbed his shin with the metal fixator on her leg. "This shit is astounding." She echoed Marshall's earlier statement.

Marshall felt a physical pain when he left her at her house that night. He disliked leaving her alone in the house, but Mary begged for some personal time after being under his constant scrutiny for the last week. He begrudgingly acquiesced. They had agreed to meet for lunch on Christmas day.

Marshall checked in at the office the next day, though Mary had been ordered to stay home. Stan sat Marshall down for what would certainly become an uncomfortable talk.

"Based on Mary's description, Denver PD was able to apprehend the man that ambushed them. He was a fairly well know hit man in the drug circles up there. No one before has ever been able or willing to ID him, let alone testify against him. They suspect he has over twenty bodies to his name now, and this is the first time they have an actual chance to nail him."

Marshall knew where this was going. This was the schpeil he had given loved ones of witnesses for the last decade. "What are you saying Stan?"

"Merry Christmas Marshall." He handed the man a familiar manila folder. "You have a new witness to protect." The name on the folder was "Mary Elizabeth Shannon"

"Oh, this is going to go over well." He rolled his eyes and considered buying shin guards, at least until that thing was taken off her leg in two months.

:::_:::_:::_:::

He arrived at Mary's house about a half hour before scheduled because he just couldn't wait any longer. He brought alcohol and groceries, as their typical Christmas tradition involved drinking, watching television, and eating semi prepared food throughout the day. He had learned years ago that she didn't do presents at Christmas and showing up with one, despite her instructions not to, were usually detrimental to his health.

She greeted him at the door, still in sweats and invited him in. As she walked away, he noticed something and laughed out loud. She had strung red and green garland around the rings of the fixator on her leg, and there were ornaments hanging from it.

"How drunk are you, and why didn't you wait for me?" He laughed

"It was easier than getting out the tree." She answered as the both plopped onto the couch.

They turned on the television and easily settled into their usual roles. It amazed Marshall how they could go through what they just had, and yet nothing between them changed. As he sat in the hospital those many days, he realized how miraculous the rescue was. They had not discussed it themselves, beyond the initial questioning about how he found her. They realized that when she had slammed the phone down in frustration it hit something and redialed the last number she'd called at the exact moment that a brief bit of cell reception was available. He had heard bits and pieces of what she had thought were going to be her last words. It all just seemed too implausible after that and they didn't talk about it.

He couldn't handle the idea of losing her again, and while he wanted to use the experience as impetus to finally be more than just partners, he was concerned that the near-death experience might make her even more wary of going down that path.

"Hey Doofus, quit thinking about whatever it is you're pondering over there and go get me another beer." She tapped the empty bottle against the fixator as a reminder that she shouldn't be the one walking around, and he obeyed.

Upon entering the kitchen he noticed a medium sized box in wrapping paper and a bow sitting on the counter. He approached it carefully, concerned that it might explode. There was a note next to it that read:

"Yes, dumbass, it's for you. No, it won't explode. Promise."

He pulled off the bow and cautiously opened the box. It was an entire pumpkin cheesecake from their favorite bakery on Third Street. All he could do was stare at it. Did this mean what he hoped it meant?

"What's taking you so long? That beer ain't gonna walk itself in here." Was bellowed from the other room.

He grabbed two beers from the fridge, removed the caps, and carried them and the cake back into the living room. He put the cake down on the coffee table and handed her the beer. He just looked at her as she took a sip of beer and regarded the package on the table.

"I thought about a few things while I was in that field." She started quietly, "And I realized that you deserved way more than a little slice, even before you saved me."

Marshall's brain couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. She was sitting on her good leg, facing him with the bad leg dangling off the side of the couch. They both placed their beers on the table next to the cake. He turned and faced her, and suddenly found his hand on her cheek with her hair tangled in his fingers and no idea how it got there. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers.

"This could get messy." He warned, afraid that she'd realize what she had just said and change her mind. "And you heard about the deal with the hit man. Stan officially made you my witness. What if…"

She had to cut him off, "Hey brain-trust, Stan slept with his first witness, remember? I don't think he'll be one to freak if he finds out."

"Oh. Yeah." The feel of her breath on his lips when she spoke stopped all conscious thought.

"We gonna do this? Or am I eating that whole cheesecake by myself?"

He smiled and silently giggled. This had to be the best metaphor ever. He leaned forward and kissed her.

The End.

A/N: Yay! It all ended happily, despite the angst! Yay! Ok, this angsty shit takes way too much out of me emotionally and I pray the muses never ask for it again. As for Mary's external fixator, once I broke her leg, I couldn't resist. The use of circular and hybrid external fixators in veterinary medicine is kinda my thing. My mentor is the preeminent expert on it in the country (probably the world), and the single biggest compliment I've ever gotten is when I was told that I am the heir-apparent to take over research on the topic when my mentor eventually retires. So yeah… you want to hear me spout random Marshall-like drivel for hours, bring up external fixators…