Disclaimer: I do not own In Plain Sight or Mary, Marshall, or Stan. If you know where I can get me a Marshall, I'm all over it!

Author's Note: First fanfic. I hope y'all enjoy it! Chapter 1 is a bit short but I thought I'd see if people are interested before I give up too much plot. =)

Unintended Consequences

Chapter 1

Mary slid her key into the Probe's ignition. The battered car growled at her, coughed, spluttered and died. She tried again, and was rewarded only with a weak rumble for her efforts. The third turn of the key produced no reaction at all.

The Probe certainly wouldn't be doing any probing anytime soon.

Crap, just when I thought I had a shot at beating Marshall to work for once. Mary belligerently reached for her cell, belligerently dialed, and belligerently demanded a ride from her bemused partner. Marshall had just been heading out the door himself, and assured her that he would arrive shortly.

When Marshall arrived, Mary was still glaring at her car through slitted eyelids and chewing anxiously at her lower lip as she contemplated the vehicle's fate. There were not many material possessions that she had allowed herself to form any attachment to, but the car was such an object. Like Biscuit the bear, like the letters from her father, the car mattered in a way that precious few things ever would. It was her independence objectified. The car was…

"The car," Marshall interrupted her train of thought, "is dead, again? You really should consider trading it in… though it might be difficult to persuade a dealer to take it off your hands."

"Can it, Doofus. We're gonna be late if we don't haul ass." Mary rummaged in the Probe's trunk for her go bag, buried under junk of uncertain origin. Where does this crap come from? Mary wondered as her hands found the bag and latched on.

"You say that as if you weren't going to be late anyway."

Marshall grimaced as Mary socked him in the shoulder, if only to cover the fact that he wanted to smile instead.

When they arrived in the office, Stan was waiting for them.

"Hey, you two. Your new witness isn't coming in today. Some whacko called in a bomb threat to the airport and the relocation couldn't wait, so they sent him to the Detroit office instead. They didn't have anything pressing and had time to do a threat assessment and process him in." Having delivered his information, Stan retreated to his office.

"Sweet!" Mary called out. "No MOU to go over today! No whining, no tears, no false promises made by those dopes at the FBI…" She happily began settling in at her desk, chomping on a doughnut Marshall had stopped to buy for her on the way there.

Marshall rolled his eyes at her dramatically, but he, too, was secretly pleased. The file on their would-be witness had indicated a particularly neurotic individual with excessive paranoid tendencies and profound behavioral problems. Marshall figured he would have had to spent most of his time protecting the guy from Mary's temper rather than the people who wanted him dead.

As Marshall was rummaging through his desk drawer, Stan popped back out and beckoned to him. "Marshall, you've got a call in my office. It's your mother and she says it's an emergency."

Marshall's alarm was evident as he bolted from his chair and into Stan's office, closing the door behind him. Mary's brow furrowed in concern as she turned to Stan. "Did she say what was wrong? Why did she call you and not Marshall's cell? How did she even know how to reach you?"

Stan held out a placating hand. "I have no idea what the emergency is. She told me she got a number for this office from her husband's former office because she was worried about calling Marshall in case he was in the field."

"Huh. Practical and smart. Must be where Marshall gets it from," Mary muttered distractedly as she watched her partner through the blinds. Her concern grew as she saw him run his hand through his hair, never a good sign, and then lean heavily on the desk. He nodded a few times as he talked, then hung up the phone. Mary's anxiety kicked up another notch when, before coming out, Marshall rested his hand over his eyes and took a moment to compose himself.

Whatever it is, it looks bad.

By the time Marshall opened the door, Mary was already out of her seat. The look on Marshall's face did nothing to set her at ease; in fact, Mary had never known him to look so upset, even with the obvious effort he was putting into controlling his feelings. She impulsively put her hand on his shoulder, and Marshall looked at her as though he had forgotten where he was. Yeah, it's bad, Mary thought as she read his eyes.

Seeming to gain composure from her touch, Marshall spoke, his voice unsteady.

"My father is in the hospital and… they don't expect him to hold on much longer. Stan, I need to go home."