A/N: This was inspired by a comment in an email discussion with BuJyo. So thanks for the idea and BuJyo, this one's for you! And in my world, Eleanor never left.

Transition

Chapter 1 – Lost...

Mary Shannon was many things. She was a daughter, a sister, a U.S. Marshal, a friend to at least one person. She was brash, loud, passionate, impatient. She was the polar opposite of PC in both her personal and professional life. Staring forlornly at her reflection in her bathroom mirror she could only think of one word to describe herself at the moment – lost. She was utterly and completely lost.

She bent down and scooped up the cool water running from the faucet and splashed her face. Yes, that was better. Now she couldn't see the tears mixing with the droplets of water. It had been three months, well ninety-two days, but who was counting? Ninety-two days of no playful banter, no thoughtfully filled coffee cups, no lunch companion, no new origami to critique, no competent partner, no relief from the aching loneliness, Ninety-two days of no Marshall. No anchor to keep her from floating adrift. More lost than those people on that island. Marshall was her constant and he was gone. Leaving her unsettled, lonely, sad. Lost.

The transfer order had come as a hard jolt to both of them. Marshall spent two hours closeted with Stan, reviewing options. At the end of the day though, he was a federal employee and he went where Uncle Sam told him to go. Appeals up the chain of command to Allison Pearson fell on deaf ears. An experienced inspector was needed in Oklahoma City. Marshall had no family that would be uprooted by his transfer and someone was needed who wasn't close to retirement.

Marshall had been sent off amid streamers, balloons and the clinking of glasses wishing him well. Mary sat at her desk, her only contribution to the festivities her determination not to become a blubbering idiot. It helped that she was able to scowl at her newly assigned partner, Robert Hillsdale. He was only one step above Charlie on the green scale. Someone thought it would be a good idea for Mary to break him in. The scowl deepened. She would eat him for breakfast.

Their private farewell had been awkward, with promises to call daily along with a savagely extracted pledge from Marshall to Mary not to get shot and die. He had bent down to kiss her cheek and she launched herself into his arms, abandoning her efforts to choke back her emotions, sobbing like a child. She felt his arms tighten around her, heard the murmured utterances men say when they have a crying woman in their embrace, was aware of his hand stroking her hair. When he had finally pulled back, he slid his thumb over the dampness of her cheek, wiping away the tears.

"It won't be forever Sunshine. I promise."

"But by the time you get sprung I'll be in jail because I'll have killed Robert," she muttered, watching a ghost of a smile cross his lips.

"I'll call you when I get there." They had stared at each other, Mary trying to decipher what was smouldering in the depths of his eyes.

Mary sighed and shook her head. These trips down memory lane were useless. Still, everyday she stared at herself in the mirror and wondered what Marshall had seen in her eyes that day. Every unbearable lonely day.

They did talk to each other daily. She called in the morning on her way to work. He called every evening after he got home. She was learning to cope with Robert and grudgingly told Stan she thought he would eventually become a good inspector. Marshall's new partner was approaching retirement and just wanted to peacefully serve out his remaining months so he could hightail it to Florida, where his wife already awaited.

When Mary arrived in the office, she saw Robert sitting at Marshall's desk, writing up a report. She could not bring herself to think of it as Robert's desk. She walked over to her desk, gently touching the origami crane sitting by her coffee cup. Stan stuck his head out of his office and waved her in, wondering if Mary was aware she caressed the fragile artwork every morning. Looking for some kind of physical connection to Marshall.

Mary walked in, coffee cup in hand, inquiring look on her face. Stan was obviously pleased with himself, unable to keep a broad grin off his face. He held a transfer folder in his hand.

"Inspector, we have a new witness coming in. I'll need you to go pick her up. Her name is," he glanced briefly at the file, "Caitlyn O'Meara." There was a pause. "She's in Oklahoma City." Mary stared, then grinned as she grasped Stan's hand, almost spilling her coffee in the process.

"Thank you Stan. Is Marshall on the transfer?" Stan nodded and Mary practically floated out of the office. Refusing to think about the reasons her heart was soaring, Mary pulled out her phone and hit number one on the speed dial.

"Mann's House of Pie." He knew. Mary could tell from his voice. He knew.

"Hey numbnuts, I'll be seeing you later today." She felt an almost irresistible urge to giggle, envisioning the slow smile that she knew was spreading across his face.

"See you then," he said, the deep rumble of his voice sending little shoots of happy through her.

Marshall had spent ninety-two days away from Mary. He tried to alleviate his loneliness by volunteering, signing up for classes. Swing classes at the Y, English Lit at the community college, drawing at the art institute, serving at a soup kitchen, working with Habitat for Humanity. He knew Mary would laugh at his endeavors, but he had to fill up the off work hours, had to keep his mind focused on something other than her willowy blond figure, her snappy green eyes, her irritated edge that needed constant soothing.

He worried about that edge. Worried about it becoming sharp and painful, prone to leaving splinters. Who was sanding it down, pouring water over it to keep it from heating up? He had seven years of experience with that edge; knew just what grade of sandpaper to use, knew when it needed to be oiled and buffed, knew when it needed a loving hand run gently over it. He applied himself like varnish to that edge, providing a protective barrier between Mary and the world.

Nobody knew his Mary like he did. Nobody knew how to handle her like he did. When she was handled wrong, everybody was unhappy. He smirked, realizing Mary would kick his ass if she recognized that he handled her.

His concern extended to Stan and Eleanor. Mary was probably bringing misery to the entire office. He barely spared an extra thought to Robert. Mary would chew him up and spit him out. Marshall recognized his own position as stabilizer in their office. He balanced Mary's wild swings with his steadiness of temperament.

Marshall received regular updates from Eleanor. He missed the older woman. He missed the snarky exchanges between her and Mary. And Marshall had realized some time ago that Eleanor didn't miss a beat. She was completely aware of his feelings for Mary. He knew she probably knew how Mary felt about him, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask her. It would just appear too needy.

Marshall had been almost in shock when he received the transfer order. The look on Mary's face when he came out of Stan's office and told her almost broke his heart. Abandonment. Again. The memory of her sobbing in his arms rose up in him every night and haunted his dreams. The tears had been flowing down his own face as he had driven away. Away from Albuquerque, away from home, away from Mary.

And now she was coming. He leaned against the hood of the SUV, restraining himself from appearing too eager. The jet was taxiing towards the terminal. She would appear soon and he hoped he could keep himself from pulling her into a bear hug and bursting into tears out of sheer joy.

Mary practically bounced off the Marshal Service jet, eyes scanning the tarmac for the lanky figure that had left such a hole in her life. He was leaning against an SUV, arms crossed, looking relaxed and good enough to eat. She strode over to him, delighting in the huge smile on his face, knowing it was mirrored on hers. Marshall pushed off the hood and dropping his arms down by his side, took a step towards Mary.

Her smile turned to a scowl as another marshal stepped around the vehicle and with a nod to Mary said, "Let's go Mann, they're waiting for us." Marshall's look of disappointment was hard to miss, but Marshal Tilbet stood there, not giving them any privacy. Marshall settled for stretching out his hand and clasping hers briefly.

"Good trip?" She nodded and only reluctantly released his hand, before turning to get in the back of the SUV, as Tilbet was already seated in the passenger front seat. Brief introductions were made before Marshall smoothly pulled out into traffic and headed towards downtown.

"So, what would you like me to expound upon? The history of the Native American culture of the area, how oil and gas exploration has shaped Oklahoma, the impact of the Murrah building bombing?" His eyes met hers in the rear view mirror. Mary heard Tilbet groan, but had an almost orgasmic grin on her face. God she missed this. Not so much the actual knowledge he spewed, but the comfort of the deep tones of his voice, the security that voice had come to convey.

"Dealer's choice," she said in a low voice, watching his face screw up in thought and then listening to him launch into the symbolism of the Oklahoma City Memorial, promising he would take her if there was time.

Marshall sat on the edge of his desk, watching Mary talking with Caitlyn. Her unique mixture of directness and compassion were on display again and he felt an upswelling of pride as he observed her efficient dealings with the witness. God love her, she could focus a witness better than any other inspector he knew.

Caitlyn had unfortunately run into someone from her old life at a concert she had attended and while the threat assessment was deemed very low, it was decided she should be relocated. She had happily settled into Oklahoma City and was not pleased at the prospect of uprooting her life again. Mary was reigning in Caitlyn's annoying habit of listing all the things she was going to miss, all the people. Listing them repeatedly, over and over. By the second go round, Mary was laying down the law.

Marshall's partner silently walked into the office, his sharp gaze taking in the lanky man's focused attention on the tall blonde. She was a looker. The kid had good taste, he'd give him that. She had to be the partner from Albuquerque, the reason for the slightly sad aura that surrounded Marshall. George had known from the day he met the younger man, that there had to be a woman who was left behind. It was the smiles that never quite touched his eyes that gave him away. Marshal had the haunted look of someone who had a void where his heart should be.

George chuckled as he observed Marshall drinking in Mary, a big grin on his face. Oh yeah, this had to be the woman.

"Hey George," Marshall turned as he heard him laugh. "Come meet my partner." George wondered if Marshall even realized his gaffe.

Waving Mary over, he gestured towards George. "George, meet my partner Mary Shannon. Mary, this is George, my part...oh sorry Big G. I guess Mary is my former partner." George warmly shook Mary's hand. He was a big man with a big heart and affectionate demeanor.

"Seven years of partnership, guess that makes you partners forever. Nice to meet you Mary. I know Marshall is very excited to have you here."

"Nice to be here George. Marshall likes your fair city." Mary cast a sour look at her witness as a fresh wave of tears started. "You know, technically she's not mine until the paperwork is signed over. Why don't you deal with her numbnuts? And where the hell is the paperwork anyway?"