A/N: Hello Everyone! I am back with another tale! And this one, I am many chapters ahead! I will hopefully post one/two chapters a week. I do hope you enjoy it! I've worked really hard! I was really excited when so many people like "Her Moment of Weakness," and hope you'll all give this one an equal shot!

Happy Reading!

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It had been 15 weeks.

Marshall held a pen in his grasp, his fingers curving around the writing utensil as his elbow rested upon paperwork stacked a mile high. He held a fiercely critical expression upon his face; it was as though his features were jumbled between troubled and ponderous. His newly polished loafers gleamed in the meek sunlight still glowing through the cracks of the blinds, and he stared off at the dusty white shades in deep thought.

Slowly, he lifted himself from the office chair, advancing to the windows and exposed the setting sun. It glowed across the horizon, falling from the sky in just moments, and soon, he was observing the darkness filling the streets of Albuquerque.

He crossed back to the desk where he had been doting, and collapsed back into the seat. Marshall inspected the contents on its surface; it was undeniably no longer his. A fresh flower had begun its demise in a purple vase etched with flourishes and intricate designs, there was a pink mouse pad resting beside a cup filled with pens and pencils as well as a decorative bowl filled with incense. He shrugged, contemplating how much the floral scents were combatting the nag champa redolence, and then sighed, peaking into his office, desolate and unwelcoming. Delia had no trouble making this area her own, but Marshall, nearly three years after his promotion to chief was still struggling to personalize his workspace.

He found himself perching at Delia's service on most days after the building cleared of Inspectors and he was left to his own devices. There had been something lost when his promotion had gone into effect, and he had kept that to himself. Yes, being Chief was honorable, and the pay was a fraction better than he had thought it would be, but it had come with responsibilities that mostly needed care for on paper. The glock resting in his holster was now for show more than anything, and his badge barely ever needed flashing whilst he worked his finger to the bone during the solidarity of his chiefly duties.

Marshall was lost in his thoughts when his eyes wandered to the adjacent desk, free of any embellishments aside from a framed picture. Every now and then, it was replaced with a more recent photograph as per diligence of Mary. It stared back at him; Norah Shannon smiled a front toothless grin, gazing toward his haggardness with captivation, while Mary did so as well. Except, it had not been him they were mesmerized over, but the tiny tot's large birthday cake, frosted in chocolate and aesthetically exquisite. To this day, Mary gloated that she had outdone herself.

It had taken her a few weeks to settle into her new groove in New York City and longer for the first phone call to fly through the many states of telephone wires, which only brought him conformation that she was feeling all but giddy about up and moving away from Albuquerque. Especially, since they had to displace Norah from Mark and Joanna for this short while. He had tried to take her every word with a grain of salt, but it was much too difficult sometimes when he listened to her mindless yammering. Marshall was well aware he was subjecting New York to something far worse than anything her words could conjure in him, so usually the scarlet in his face would vanish in a moments time. It was Mary, after all.

Marshall was a bit discouraged to hear of the implementation of training officers throughout the nation. WITSEC was being beefed up as crime rates increased in the U.S. and of course his office would be the first to feel the effects. A desperate co-Chief in the New York State WITSEC division has operations based partially in New York City, an easy place to push someone covertly into the background. D.C. was notified of his troubles shortly after an incident regarding one of their witnesses, and Stan McQueen quickly sent the burden to Albuquerque. Marshall Mann had no choice other than to handpick a Marshal, both worthy and qualified to run some wannabe Inspectors ragged. He was banking on Delia heading out, but an accident left her combatting a minor back injury. His options were few, for he could not fly any of his newly instated men into the concrete jungle, because they barely had hairs of experience on their chins. His well of willing volunteers was dry and he had no other choice than to victimize Mary, who in retrospect, was a faulty delegate to do the revamping the offices needed. She was never one of those strangers to look to in rough times; it took substantial trust for her to comfort you in any way. Even as her friend, sometimes it was challenging to obtain any sympathies from the woman.

Not to mention, he had been in such a bind, Marshall had not given her proper time to prepare, but he knew she would have the facilities to get herself in gear and be prompt to her calling in the Big Apple. But, it was not without scoffing, venom and utter nonsensical threats before she whole-heartedly agreed to be on the tarmac to board that five hour flight.

Marshall knew she would. Mary would never let him crash and burn in such a preventable way, and she was particularly considerate to how much he needed his career. She had been the same way at one point, grasping for any control she had left and as always she had found it in the Sunshine Building, where, now, Marshall was trying to do the same.

Mary had taken very much to complaining each time they spoke, although she had only been gone a few months, calls of her whining were not far and few between.

It was a strange coincidence, as if the thought of him not having spoken with her in a while had converged with her springing reflections, his phone was letting out an obnoxious tune which fit snugly into the silence next to his breathing.

"Marshall Mann?" He called into the phone.

"How's molding in that office of yours, Chief?" she greeted

"It's barely tolerable, Mary. But, I will not trouble you with the vast complaints of my boredom. How goes it in NYC?" Marshall replied cheerfully, pinning the cellular device to his cheek with his shoulder.

"Jesus, just say, 'New York City'. You speak English not acronyms," she teased lightly, and he could almost see her shoulders drop and her eyes roll in response. He heard her sigh and then she continued, "Honestly, it sucks. I miss New Mexico, where I can breathe semi-clean air and not be assaulted by the mingling scents of truck exhaust and goddamn deli meats every time I leave the apartment. Not to mention, the subway puts my stomach in knots. They're not kidding about those bums." She scoffed, and he heard a humming of a radiator in the background.

Marshall leaned back in his chair, "There are nearly fifty-thousand homeless people in the city, Mary. But, do you know, the majority are children?" There was a short silence, which he took as her aggravated reply. "Anyway, how's the apartment? Is it up to snuff?"

"Yeah, it's up to snuff. If you count snuffing out the cockroaches," Mary snorted. "Really Marshall, are their nice apartments in this city?" Marshall listened while she slammed a few unknown objects on a hard surface.

"While there are more charming dwellings in the Manhattan area, there are none inexpensive enough for the Marshal Service to spring for to house a family of three." Marshall grabbed his computer mouse and clicked on a hyperlink leading him to his e-mail inbox. His request for 'larger interim lodging for ABQ personnel' had been denied once more. He began to re-file the claim.

"I don't want charming Marshall, I want insulated. Jinx has her winter coat on twenty-four/ seven!" There was more slamming.

"Is Norah well?" he asked, avoiding his guilt for not being able to get her a better temporary home. "I assume you haven't let her outside for even a moment."

"She's been out," Mary answered defensively. "Just not for longer than a half an hour. I don't want her soaking up too much local BS. After all, we'll be back in Albuquerque in one-hundred nineteen days." She responded with precision.

"I'm glad to know you're eager to return."

"You can only imagine, there's a countdown written across a calendar on this dinky box the landlord calls a refrigerator. As soon as I don't have to get up for three A.M. jogs through dark alley ways, the better. Sharp shooting is my thing, not running. I hate running. My ankles swell, my throat burns, I'm telling you, if there was any time I wished that whole cop-doughnut stereotype was true, it'd be now." Her exhalations were heavy through the earpiece, as if just by talking about the invigorating exercise made her experience the unavoidable effects.

Marshall furrowed his brow, "Perhaps if you're feeling overexerted, you should take it easy."

"Take it easy? I'm not giving this pansy New York State Marshal one second to bust my chops! Besides, what possible harm can a few basic workouts do to me?"

"No harm, exactly. I just want you to get back here in one piece, is all," he said noncommittally, even pulling some lint from his jacket, even though she couldn't see him.

"Easy, Doctor Doofus. I'll be back, that's threat enough. Whether it's in pieces or just one sore blob…" Mary joked, huffing loudly.

"A blob? I'm not sure you're giving yourself enough credit, you must be stretching the truth a bit. If you are forced to participate in such a vigorous workout regimen, shouldn't you be the opposite of… blobbish?" he playfully ridiculed, setting his feet atop the file cabinet near Delia's working abode.

"It must be I'm dehydrated or something, because I'm all… puffy," she responded hesitantly.

"Well, then, up your intake of fluids," Marshall grappled politely, as if the problem was identifiable from Albuquerque. "But I do advise, if the problem persists, to seek medical attention," he began rifling through her folder, "I'm sure WITSEC has a befitting physician in the Big Apple."

Mary yawned obnoxiously, obviously in no mood to talk of doctors, "I think I'm going to catch a few winks before the sun rises and Marshal Asswipe is blowing up my cell, claiming I'm late."

Marshall frowned, suddenly aware of the time difference, it was well into the late evening there, and it would be rude to keep her any longer. "Of course, Mary. Do not hesitate to contact me if you need him taken care of. I'm sure I could arrange for him to take a scolding from our friend the Deputy Director."

"You're not my keeper. I can take care of myself. Good Night, Cheekbones."

The line had since gone dead, but he still sat there with his cellphone to his face. Marshall's heart thudded solemnly in his chest, for he would only be going home to an empty bed. He'd toss and he'd turn, and maybe his body would succumb to sleep. It was doubtful, though. He sighed, getting to his feet and taking an armful of his paperwork to pile back on his own desk. When the last sheet had been locked safely into his office, he grabbed his keycard, took a situating breath, took off out the door, and slid into the elevator.

What a special kind of hell this had been. No one prodded for the lowdown anymore when it came to the hairy details of the recent events, which he appreciated. Even Delia. All of this could have been so right, if it hadn't been for a few missteps only a few years ago. He could have had it all, and now, it felt like he had nothing. He traced one of the buttons on his blazer with his fingernail, occupying his fine motor skills in lieu of thinking.

When his feet transferred from the tile floor to the concrete pavement, the night air blew his hair from his forehead, and his face was suddenly chilled. As of late, Albuquerque seemed empty. The perpetual bickering he was so accustomed to, staid trapped in New York. He hadn't done it purposely; he hadn't sent her miles away for any reason, none at all. It sure seemed that way, and he knew she felt that way. There was nothing which he needed this time to mull over, he had been mulling for ten years, and did most of his thinking only the past couple of them. As old as he was, and was becoming, he always thought he'd have it all figured out by now. But, in actuality, he was just coming to the realization that had been creeping up on him for a decade, he felt cold, he felt lonely, and he felt tired without that wonderful nagging to his right. Marshall Mann would give anything to be five years in the past- when everything was so much less complicated.

It had happened fourteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. The Chief shoved his hands into his pants pockets, shaking his head at the memory, still from disbelief.

It didn't matter, he thought.
Marshall had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.

Any guesses as to where this is going faithful readers?!

I hope you all enjoyed. PLEASE Review and tell me what you think!