Work Text:
Marshall's World
by IrenaAdler
Three hours after hearing `Freeze, FBI', Marshall was standing on a CalSci sidewalk, dazed, as a black SUV drove away. The world seemed to sway gently around him and Marshall stumbled over to sit on a concrete planter. Was LA having an earthquake?
The concrete was wet - no, it was Marshall's pants that were wet. They'd let him clean himself up as much as possible in the FBI bathroom, but he still smelled faintly of urine. How mortifying ...
He really needed to go back to his hotel and get clean clothes, a shower, a quiet nap. Instead, he stood, shakily, and headed towards the math department and the vacant office he'd been loaned while he was in town. He craved the soothing clatter of chalk against slate.
As he walked, Marshall slowly began to straighten up, come out of his FBI-induced fog. The comfortable environs of a campus wrapped around him. It didn't matter that it wasn't Princeton; it was his world.
That was my mistake. Stepping outside his world into the slimy, rough one that Eppsie inhabited. He didn't need to lower himself like that.
Set theory, that's where I belong. And that's where Eppsie belonged, too, though Marshall was now blocked from helping him realize that.
No matter. Let Eppsie play with his shiny new toy of Cognitive Emergence, he'd soon grow tired of it. Just like his dabbling in law enforcement. He'd soon come crawling back to real math.
Besides, there was no one in CE that would stand up to the `great Charles Eppes'. Without a guide and critic, Eppsie would flounder, wander aimlessly, and eventually hang himself out to dry. He needs me; he just hasn't realized it yet.
Humming to himself, Marshall cleared his mind and returned to the uncontaminated realm of numbers.
end