A/N: okay, so I love the USA Network, (despite them canceling The 4400) but I just realized they're going to give us a cliffhanger. And we won't get anything until next June. But on the upside, at least we do get a second season! I hope more people get pulled into this show. It's too good and getting better, and it needs support! That said, if there are any Gilmore Girls fans on here, does anyone else hear and feel a striking similarity between Lorelei and Mary? Do they have one of their writers on the staff? I ask, because of the "I love you like an eight dollar whore" comment from last week, similarly quoted by Lauren Graham's character. It's a weird connection I know, but it's something I've been picking up on through the series. Both witty, and it's not a bad thing. Just interesting. Well, here is my next endeavor. Also a multi-chapter. I want this one to be longer chapters, so it may be three parts, that's my goal. "The Special Two" lyrics by Missy Higgins. I use lyrics like people use quotations…I am aware.

Killing Time

The Conscience Never Fades

I've hardly been outside my room in days,
'cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.
The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,
And it was then I realize the conscience never fades.
When you're young you have this image of your life:
That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.
And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,
And if you happen to you wake completely lost.
But I will fight for you, be sure that
I will fight until we're the special two once again.

It's hard to say exactly how they ended up like this. Albuquerque seemed about a billion hot, sticky, sandy miles away from where they were now. In what most people considered a pretty, vivid wonderland of pure white snow and ice, she considered a bitter cold disaster waiting to happen.

And she was right; they weren't getting out of this alive.

They didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell.

Seven days ago…

"Stan, you can't make me!" Mary pouted in a last ditch attempt she hadn't used since she learned the word 'no' and decided to make it her personal slogan, sounding far more childish than her thirty-six years. Marshall leaned against his desk, looking on with amusement, a half smirk at her obvious pain, waiting to see her stomp her feet in defiance.

Stan looked at his challenging employee, whom he was typically quite fond of, and sighed with resignation. She'd already argued that they were drastically understaffed, and any time off would reduce the protective detail of their witnesses…and lost.

"Mary, I really don't care. My blood pressure is through the roof, and I think for the sake of my health, you and Marshall need to take a few days off. Go away. Go to the tropics. Go to Mount-Freaking-Everest and bother some yaks or goats or Eskimos or something!"

Marshall opened his mouth at the misnomer—stopped though, when Stan held up his hand haltingly. "Marshall, don't start. Mary, if you don't get out of this office, I will…I will send you to the WITSEC counseling services," Stan threatened, satisfied at Mary's horrified expression.

"You would honestly have me shrinked?" She gasped, repulsed, and somewhat hurt by the insinuation.

"If it meant getting you out of my hair—" He gave Marshall another pointed, don't-even-think-about-it, look, "then yes…by all means, I will have you see a shrink on a daily reported basis."

Mary chewed her bottom lip, scrunching her nose in disgust and holding back her vehement protests against the accumulated vacation days she'd have to take, mandated due to "recent on-the-job stress," (example, her partner's near death; having had relations with a witness, something that no one knew they could truly prove, and which she greatly appreciated; and the fact that Mary Shannon had never once taken a vacation for so much as a toothache since her employment). Why would she want a vacation? So she could spend more unfortunate time with her mother and sister, drinking copious amounts of alcohol at home and getting the family discount for spaghetti at the restaurant? Really, there was only so much pasta one could eat. And even if she managed to get away, she would be alone. But she liked being alone. Really.

It wasn't like Raph was waiting on baited breath for her anymore. His fat therapist and her little sister later, she'd lost about as much interest in him as she'd had in the first place.

"Fine," she acquiesced, exasperated. "But I'm taking paperwork. And files. And—"

"I get it, I get it, you'll work away from work. As long as you don't step foot in this office, not even the parking lot, Mary," Stan warned. "And don't try to pull a fast one over the receptionist downstairs. I gave her strict orders, your picture, and the power to detain you if you try to sneak in after hours."

"Stan, I'm offended," Mary paused thoughtfully. "And yet, strangely humbled that you think of my powers of persuasion in such high regard."

Marshall stifled a laugh. Stan massaged his temples. "I'm leaving…before I have a coronary. Marshall, make sure she leaves this place. Or you'll be joining her in therapy."

Marshall's smirk faded. "That's not fair, I'm all for vacation," he said defensively.

Mary smirked proudly at him now, bringing down the Golden Boy with her. She itched to stick out her tongue.

"Enough! Get out!" Stan yelled. He grabbed his briefcase and coffee cup, turning on his heel and storming for the elevator. Both WITSEC officers distinctly heard his half hearted, more or less affectionate, mutterings of being a "glorified high school principal with a slightly bigger paycheck" as the automatic doors clanged shut beyond his form.

Mary faced Marshall, sitting on her desk with a distant stare. "What the hell do you actually do for two weeks when you can't work? Watch crappy daytime television? I'd rather watch paint dry," she muttered, then glared at him, suddenly perturbed. "And what was that? You are so not 'all for vacation,' doofus."

Marshall shrugged. "Hey, beats being shrinked by some second rate high school guidance counselor from where I'm standing," he said with a grim smile. No, he wasn't looking forward to this "recommended" (code word for forced) vacation any more than she.

It wasn't like he had anything to go home to; a list of house repairs, some reading and a few movies he wanted to catch up with, maybe hit a museum in California…he did like the drive, and celebrity stalking was fun. He would like the opportunity to visit some old friends from college, but they were few and far, and most were married and saddled down with a soccer team of kids. His family had scattered across the country. Reunions, holidays, and weddings were the sole events that brought them together. Crazy as Mary's mother and sister were, they were still there for her. She just didn't see it that way, or wouldn't admit it.

She was fidgeting with a pen she'd tied a strand of chain linked metal paper clips around, when the idea hit him.

"Let's go to New York."

Mary's hand stilled, and she glanced up to see if he was speaking to her or someone on his cell phone. No. He was definitely implying her. Well, implying her and him.

"What? Who go where? Why?"

"You and me. It will kill some time, fourteen days? Come on, seriously, its' snowing in New York…and it's beautiful there in December. I'll teach you how to ice skate?" He sent her a long, pleading look. She squinted, studying him closely, trying to figure out his motives.

"Marshall isn't the point of a work vacation to get away from the people you work with?" she said, her tone making the question far more harsh than she'd intended. He looked away. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that."

She really hadn't either.

"Well…if you change your mind, I'm leaving on the first plane out tomorrow," he said evenly, collecting his notes and organizing files on his desk absently.

This vacation was off to a relaxing start, she thought. She'd already nearly pissed off Stan to the point of causing his somewhat hypochondriac induced heart attack and alienated her best friend in less than twenty minutes. Maybe she should have chosen therapy.

"Hey," Mary started softly. Marshall tensed. "Just…let me think about it. I've got to make sure Jinx and Squish don't burn my house down while I'm gone. And that kind of argument is going to take a lot of blackmailing to win."

Marshall nodded. Convincing her was part of the process, he knew. "Okay."

"Mom! Brandi! I'm leaving!" Mary called from the foyer. No answer, no surprise.

She'd spent three hours fielding questions, interrogating, feeling as if she was putting them in the WITSEC program, and even wrote up a 'binding contract' that not even Siegfried and Roy could maneuver their way out of. She'd made them recite her words, demands, and rules—especially the consequences of not following those rules—back to her verbatim, for another hour, before making up her mind to go to New York for the duration of her recommended vacation.

And she was already regretting it.

Mary tugged her beat up carry on luggage out the door, along with an overnight bag and the suitcase she would check when she got to the airport. All of the ground she'd covered with her family, the packing that had been relatively easy, and one nagging thought pulled at her in her haste to get into her car.

She was forgetting something.

Halfway to the airport it hit her like a semi truck. She'd never called Marshall to tell him she was coming.

She pushed the gas pedal down with vengeance. Vacations were supposed to be calming. Were, being the operative word.

Not so; which, conclusively, was probably why she'd never taken one.

She was the worst person in the world.

"If you can't drive get off the damn road old lady!" Mary screamed out the window, receiving a few not so polite finger gestures and horns honked at her as she sped by. She ignored them all.

She grabbed for her cell phone, hitting speed dial one, and hoped he'd answer if he hadn't gone through security. No luck.

Frustrated, she swerved around the airport parking lot, paying extra for two weeks and most likely parking in the wrong section, she figured, because she hadn't trusted to leave her car with her sister and hauled her luggage out as fast as possible. Making her way into the lobby area, she found the first person that looked even somewhat capable of human interaction and asked for the first plane ticket out to New York.

The woman had looked at her quizzically. Probably because she lived in New Mexico and couldn't fathom why someone would want to travel to one of the bitterest cold parts of the states, Mary reflected, then glanced at the clocks lined up, each reading different time zones. She had less than ten minutes to get her bags checked, go through security, and find the gate.

And she flashed her badge all the way through.

In the midst of harassing a particularly adamant security officer, thinking the ways in which she would get back at Stan for forcing them out of the office and Marshall for picking a state three thousand miles away, she heard such the familiar voice behind her.

"You do realize that one of these days that badge won't get you out of trouble?"

Mary smiled, turning to see Marshall with his carry on bag slung over his shoulder. "Yea, but it works for situations like this, you know, when flashing people won't," she said with a shrug.

"She's with me," he told the security guard, amused. The guard looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say by the grace of God, good luck, and let them pass. "What changed your mind?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know really…it may have been that Stan really did give Vivian the receptionist my picture. Seriously, it's a rare day when I'm intimidated by a former librarian. Maybe it's all of those creepy male fantasies that have me thinking at any minute she's going to pull a ruler from her pantyhose," Mary said pensively. "Sorry I didn't call though. I spent half the day going over my own set of Marshal house rules with my family. If my house is gone when we get back, I'm moving in with you," she threatened. He laughed.

"Well I'm glad you changed your mind, creepy librarians and potential homelessness aside," Marshall said, nudging her shoulder with his.

Their flight was called to board.

"Why do want to spend two weeks with me anyway? I'm sure you could find someone else who's much more agreeable company. Or even, you know, nice," she asked, honestly curious.

He grinned, but didn't meet her eyes, thankful that they were walking up the ramp to the plane and not directly facing each other. "You're nice…when you want to be. I don't know, you're my friend. What do normal people usually do on vacation? They spend it with their friends."

She handed her ticket to the woman by the plane's entryway, who pointed them to a row midway in the plane. "I'm starting to feel really bad for you that I'm your only friend Marshall," Mary admitted, trying to keep her voice light as one of the flight attendants let her sultry gaze linger on Marshall a little longer than Mary deemed necessary. Damn stewardess, she thought. Like the first time that happened wasn't bad enough. Her smile was more of a grimace, saying, "I think I'm cramping your style."

Marshall looked behind her, throwing their carry on bags in the overhead bin, confused. "I don't understand." They took their seats; her by the window, him in the aisle, able to stretch his long legs.

"Well, most guys don't have friends with boobs and estrogen," she emphasized the word friend, hoping he'd catch her drift. "Plus I'm not exactly the most compatible person to bring along on a trip to a city of millions of pretty people, where I'm certain you'd find a…lady friend quite…easily. Thus, bringing me has ruined your chances at a New York romance with a totally random stranger."

He blinked, trying to consume her uncharacteristic long-winded explanation. "I have got to stop letting you borrow my DVDs," he finally said, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

He knew she was a girl; there was no real denying that. Especially, he reflected, after the black cocktail dress she'd worn to Trina's bachelorette party months ago that still shimmered in and out of his mind. No denying it at all. "And to comment upon your first observation…most guys aren't as lucky as me then," Marshall answered, seeing her brown eyes warm up and her shoulders relax.

Her composure wouldn't last, he knew, but he decided to enjoy the few blissful moments with her that he could. She'd grown defensive of her position on their relationship lately, and he was confused by her sudden dramatic switch. Before, he thought it was her way of looking out for him…but she'd become more and more wary of the lingering gazes women would throw, quicker to anger, and she hadn't mentioned Raph in some time. Not since she'd told him, after an interesting Tequila driven conversation, that Raph was a baseball player and that being so, he should know that three strikes meant he was out.

Marshall didn't tell her that it gave him hope. For something more. He'd pretended to feel for her when she'd ended it, finally, with Raph. Just because women noticed him, he wanted to say, didn't mean he noticed them. He'd rarely noticed anyone but her in three years.

Mary opened her mouth, but the preflight guidelines and safety regulations were suddenly blasted throughout the speakers. Why they felt the need to dumb down America, and the world as a whole, by explaining the complications of strapping a seat belt on was beyond her. She tuned out, instead rolling Marshall's comment…compliment…over her mind. It was the way in which he'd declared it, sure, honest, with a hidden tone of something more…affection? Or maybe…she didn't want to go there. Not now. Not when she had to be on flight next to her ambitious double speak partner for awhile. And she hadn't even been able to form a response to it. What was there to say? Thanks, I appreciate it? You too?

So she just smiled. And he grinned too, before comfortably sliding down to close his eyes and rest, mulling over how to teach her to ice skate; she pulled on her headphones, scrolling through her iPod. Their relationship, partnership, friendship had been strained lately—not much, but enough for both to notice. Maybe New York was what she needed.

Maybe New York was what they needed.

Mary decided, for once, to make the best out of the situation. She looked out across the New Mexican desert sands as they took off to the wintry New York skyline.

End of Part 1…been busy, more to come hopefully soon…it's all about the muse.