Work Text:
Standoff
by Irena Adler
Trying not to pull against the handcuffs, Marshall watched Eppsie and his meathead partner-in-crime try to find a way to stop the inevitable shredding of Eppsie's career. They were murmuring earnestly together, and Marshall noticed with satisfaction that Eppsie looked quite shaken.
During his enforced wait, Marshall was constructing his damning article, with his current favorite title being, `Cognitive Emergence and its Connection to Paranormal Phenomena: Mathematics or Mumbo-Jumbo?' Some graphics would be especially cutting, perhaps a chart on the occurrence of reported UFO sightings increasing in the vicinity of CE theorists, particularly heavy in the area of Pasadena.
However pleasant this mental exercise was, Marshall's mind kept straying to what he was going to say to Eppsie's department chair. He pictured himself full of righteous indignation, speaking eloquently on how CalSci had become a police state, with anyone critical of the entrenched ways of thought being threatened and beaten.
His tongue poked at his split lip. There'd probably be a bruise on his cheek, too. A black eye would be ideal. How long did it take black eyes to show up?
There was movement across the office and Marshall saw that the FBI thug had moved as far away from Marshall as possible and was talking quietly into his phone. Probably talking to his lawyer ... or his mommy.
The thug shut his phone and silence fell, interrupted occasionally by murmurs between the other two. Probably deciding how to get out of town. Marshall stayed silent, adding `suppressed speech' to his list of grievances. It was difficult, though, not to gloat outloud. But watching Eppsie's stricken face was enjoyment enough. The thug's dark, troubled face was a pleasant bonus.
Suddenly, a knock at the office door broke the quiet.
Thank God, rescue!
"Hey, in here!" Marshall yelled. "Help me!"
end