In Plain Sight 1. Ticking Clocks

**A/N: Oh friends, how I have missed you. I cannot say that emphatically enough. It's been a little over three months since the close of "Critical Mass" and I am not exaggerating when I say I have mourned your support and kindness in that frame of time. There are days that I don't know what I ever did without you guys cheering me on; you are a band of the small, but mighty, and I can't thank-you enough for it.**

**It has been a somewhat trying three months in my writing world (elsewhere too, but we won't get into that). I feel like I have been writing this story literally forever. It is without question my longest ever, which I worry will make people think I just wrote with absolutely no direction or end in sight. I assure you that is not the case; it was always headed somewhere, even when it seems particularly elongated.**

"**Summer Stardust" takes place mid-to-late season four with a little bit of a twist from what actually occurred on the show. While Mary was supposed to be thirty-two weeks pregnant by the season four finale, I have made her thirty-five weeks here at the end of August. Also, I know that Marshall and Abigail moved in together somewhere around "Provo-Cation" but in this installment they have not made that leap yet. Other than that, things are pretty status quo; Mary is channeling her energies toward adoption and all that other stuff that was going on during the show. I don't think it's anything you can't pick up by reading, so that's good, right? ;)**

**Anyway, I hope that you enjoy the ride with me. This may sound terribly dramatic, but I miss "In Plain Sight" like crazy. I worry that the longer it is off the air, the fewer the number of people who will go hunting for fan-fiction. More than that, I worry that they'll miss out on a great show; it was pulled from the air way too soon! If I think of anything else I forgot to preface this with, you'll see it in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

XXX

Marshall savored his morning routine. Truly, he basked and reveled in it like a dog moaned when its ears were scratched in just the right spot. It was that comfort and familiarity that started his day off right, that led him to emit that sigh of contentment not unlike that dog he used in a perfect simile. That was not to say that he couldn't change when necessary, that his entire world was upset when man's gentle touch couldn't reach his itching skin that day, but the dawns when he was able to observe his clockwork procedures were those he enjoyed best.

Fortunately for Marshall, this was one of those mornings – a perfectly sunny and very humid Monday, not unlike the dozen or so others they had already experienced this Albuquerque August. He was not someone who was particularly bothered by the heat, but there were others in his most frequent company who frowned upon the blistering temperatures. It was that company – a certain "she" in particular – that he thought of as he scrambled out of his bed and pattered off to the bathroom to take his shower.

At 7:32 exactly, he emerged from the bathroom, wet-haired but appropriately refreshed, the shirt sleeves on his white button-down expertly rolled to his elbows. He journeyed to the living room and through to the front porch, where he retrieved the morning paper, left his suit jacket draped over the back of the couch, and took a seat in his alcove of a kitchen to peruse the headlines.

Marshall's house was not extravagant, but it was well-kept and suited him just fine. It boasted a single bedroom, but two baths – one off the master, and one in the hall. The living room and kitchen were essentially joined, a single stretch of hardwood that faced the front lawn, dual windows overlooking the quiet street. From his spot at the square-cornered table that had once belonged to his mother, he found it minimally difficult to keep his eyes on his paper because they kept catching adornments across the room.

As of late, Abigail had taken to plastering his refrigerator with photos – photos of the two of them, with a handful of Oscar thrown in for good measure. While he and his girlfriend had not yet managed to cohabitate, which meant she kept the dog most nights, the pooch had essentially become a part of their family. Marshall was rather fond of the pictures that showcased his drooping, sad-eyed mug, and looking at those snapshots helped him not to focus on the ones of him and the detective.

It wasn't easy. Abigail was a beautiful, radiant woman with an even more dazzling smile. Each and every picture showed her with her arms hanging around his neck, curly brunette hair cascading down her back. She appeared overjoyed no matter where they were – the rattlesnake museum, Isotopes games, hiking in the Sandia Mountains and braving the rough terrain. Though Marshall recalled those day trips as happy experiences, he suddenly saw his permanently preserved face a little differently as it stared at him from the fridge.

His grin was sheepish, almost resigned. Why would he appear as such? The smile was genuine, but it didn't meet his eyes, which weren't as lit up as he knew they were when he was truly stimulated. Before Abigail, he had never really kept prints exhibited like these were, and the sight of them was suddenly intruding on his typically regimented morning. There was no reason for it; the unsettling feeling was unnerving on a second level, but luckily Marshall didn't have time to dwell on it. The clock on the microwave was telling him it was 7:43, which meant he had already expended the usual eleven minutes he spent skimming the newspaper. Breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast was calling.

As he stood at the stove, browning his eggs while his hair dried, Marshall couldn't help contemplating why his morning exercises pleased him so. Perhaps it was because the habitual practices were observed so infrequently. Spending many nights at Abigail's certainly tested his need for normalcy, but he'd spent many a year before that living out of suitcases in hotel rooms when he was bunking up with witnesses. He dealt well enough when order was not studied, but the relaxation of his sometimes-daily endeavors always got him off on the right foot. Those intermittent happenings were the ones he knew he could not take for granted.

Back at the table, Marshall folded the paper directly in two and pushed it lightly beneath the salt shaker for safe-keeping. In two minutes promptly, his slightly burnt toast would pop from its confines, ready to be buttered and eaten. Just as he was about to sample the first bite of eggs – standing, so he could be ready to retrieve said toast – his cell phone rang. Unruffled by the interruption, he meandered to the living room to fish it out of his jacket – the place where it always resided unless it was buzzing, as it was doing now.

The four letters that represented his partner's name flashed at him from the lighted screen. A glance at his watch showed him that it was 7:51 meaning that, if his calculations were correct, Mary would be leaving her house in nine minutes – possibly a few seconds after, as she did not keep as tight a rein on her time as he did. But, as the man lived closer to the Sunshine Building, he could afford not to depart until 8:10, an option Mary often used even though it always made her late.

Hitting the tiny button printed with the even tinier green phone to answer, Marshall shook his damp hair out of his face before taking care to greet his friend.

"Might this first light phone call mean that you are taking a leaf out of my book and preparing to arrive at the office on schedule?" he quipped exactly what he was thinking, fully prepared for the irritable huff that sounded through the other end.

"Not the way I'm going, Poindexter," Mary informed him. "I've got a science question for you."

Marshall couldn't help but be surprised. Mary often mocked his intellect, although deep down he had the suspicion that she was glad for his intelligence because it meant she had a valuable resource at her beck-and-call. But, for her to ask outright for anything scholarly was quite unprecedented.

"Oh?" he was calm, not wanting to drive her away with excitement. "Do tell, inspector."

"Even you are going to be stumped on this one, though," she proclaimed in that superior way she often spoke about everything. "It goes against the laws of nature. They should pack me in ice, dump me in a lab, and study me."

Marshall had a vague inkling of where this supposed 'science' question might be headed now. She had pinpointed herself, meaning that whatever anomaly she was curious about likely had to do with child fostering its growth in her uterus. More often than not, Mary considered her pregnancy as exclusive – all the pushing and pulling was reserved for her and her alone. In her mind, no other woman could possibly have experienced what she was going through as housing for what would soon become a child.

"Ah…" Marshall breathed his recognition only semi-smugly. "Might we be talking about little Mango?"

What made him choose such an outlandish nickname out of the blue was anybody's guess, but he had a habit of doing that when it came to Mary. His mouth got ahead of his mind and he found himself uttering facts and figures – and nicknames, it seemed – that were pulled forth without his consent. It was a nervous habit, one he never seemed able to get over.

His partner's reaction was predictable, as was the sputtering, pseudo-cough she produced to indicate how disgusted she was.

"Mango?!" Mary repeated incredulously. "Your dork status just hit an all-time high," she continued. "How long have you been thinking of this kid as fruit? And, if anything, it's way past Mango and onto Watermelon. Not that I'm condoning this ridiculous title," she was careful to add.

But, as was often the case with Marshall, his own rapidly running mouth had turned his blunder into something worthwhile.

"I was thinking that 'Mango' is sexually ambiguous, as well devoid of sentiment or personality, both of which you claim to need no part of when it comes to this baby," Marshall couldn't forget Mary's many insistences that the child would belong to her for nine months alone, and then it was up to someone else to foster it into their family; it would be a Shannon solely in blood. "I figure that wooly moniker such as the one I have given little he or she will suffice until Mango's permanent family takes it under their wings for the future."

"At least you concede the future is going to be someplace far-far away from here," Mary grumbled, and her partner knew she was thinking of Jinx and Brandi, both of whom were still lobbying for her to keep the baby and give up the notion of adoption.

Truth be told, Marshall was on their side one hundred percent when it came to the thought of losing the offspring of his best and only friend – not counting Abigail. Such a thing put a knot in his stomach, but he knew Mary's reasoning was sound, and he also respected her decision. She had a dangerous job, no connection to the father as Mark was in New Jersey, and simply no desire to be a mother – so she stated. It was a trio combined that had Marshall neglecting to argue about it. Besides, she liked him a whole lot better when he didn't agree with her mother and sister.

"In the spirit of moving things along…" Marshall knew they'd gotten somewhat off the beaten path, especially as he made his way back to the kitchen to retrieve his toast. "I take it that my hypothesis about your 'science question' was right on the money," he surmised. "It does include Mango – or Peach, or Plum, or whichever you prefer. Enlighten me, please."

Sighing loudly through the speaker, Mary opted not to comment on his varying fruit-themed headings for her unborn spawn and hastened to get on with the reason she had phoned in the first place. If there was anything she was averse to discussing, it was the eventual outcome of the child's home.

"Tell me how I can outwit the laws of gravity to get my shoes on my feet."

Instinctively, Marshall frowned at this prospect, not entirely certain what Mary was getting at, but the longer he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. It was true that his partner had really started putting on the pounds since entering her third trimester, although she was a uniquely-shaped pregnant woman. Far from round with the proverbial Buddha-belly, she had grown a solidly stout stomach – an all-over mass that made it appear as though the baby were lying sideways most of the time. Still though, Marshall could see where problems might be beginning to occur.

"Having trouble seeing over the mountain, are we?"

"Marshall, it's sad," Mary conceded dully. "Really, it's pathetic. I can't bend all the way over anymore, so I sat on my bed and tried to pull them on, but my damn belly is still in the way! What am I supposed to do? Jump into the soles and hope for the best?"

"I would pay to see that," Marshall said with a chuckle. "But, I do recognize the conundrum. Might you own shoes that do not tie or buckle?" he was thinking of the boots she so often donned, which had to be murder on swelling feet.

"This isn't the beach," she sniped. "You want me showing up to work in flip-flops?"

"I do not think Stan would mind," Marshall was maddeningly cheerful. "In any case, I would think you are out of luck otherwise. Over-exerting yourself just for footwear is not a favorable idea. Is your mom around? Unless she can stop by and do-up your laces, I think you're stuck with slip-ons."

"And what if I don't own slip-ons," she sounded sick at the mention of the word.

"There's always the barefoot approach – many a culture do not even bother with shoes. Why not go the whole nine yards and cease cutting your hair as well?"

"So I can look like a homeless person?" Mary forecasted. "No thanks. Seriously Marshall, surely your pal Isaac Newton has some law of motion you can refer to so that I can swing my feet up enough to jam them into a pair of shoes."

"I am afraid I am not very well-versed in that particular aspect of gravity," the man admitted. "Sorry to disappoint," as he took a hearty bite of toast in order to stay on schedule.

Unfortunately, the crunch he made heightened Mary's awareness, and Marshall knew even before she opened her mouth that she was not going to be happy that he was behaving so leisurely when she found herself in such a knot.

"Are you _eating_ while I'm practically killing myself just trying to get dressed?!" she thundered, but he was used to her theatrics. "I didn't call you so you could rub it in my face that you practically whip-up a five-star breakfast without sharing it with me!"

"Eggs and toast is hardly gourmet worthy," Marshall was placid. "But, missing your coffee, I see."

Mary moaned in a representation of her mourning at this, "I _need_ my fix," now she was pleading. "I am so sick of all this damn tea that I am going to vomit. Since that's what I do when I smell coffee, I might as well have some anyway…"

"That would not be advisable whether you could stomach the beverage or not," Marshall pointed out, licking stray butter from around his lips. "Caffeine – not so good for the little one."

"Humph," was Mary's response. "What can it really do? I doubt a shot of Joe is going to make it any more hyper than it already is. I barely slept last night thanks to that incessant kicking…"

"You are a woman with many a complaint this morning," Marshall couldn't help but observe this, as well as the distinct drumming he felt when Mary griped so heartily, because he was always seized with the desire to help her, if only she'd accept. "Because I am such a dear and treasured friend, I am going to offer my services in whatever way I can. Perhaps if I lend a hand, you will cheer up, thus making the day more pleasant for all involved."

He was well aware that, had he been able to see Mary, she would've been squinting and wrinkling her nose at the idea that he believed his assistance could in any way quench her ongoing bad mood.

"If you tell me you're going to drop by and put my shoes on for me, you've got another thing coming."

"That would likely earn me a boot in the face…"

"Or up your ass," Mary added as an aside, but Marshall ignored her.

"I would like to know," he interrupted skillfully. "What do you hope to accomplish by singing your woes?" he was truly curious, not knowing he needed an answer until the question occurred to him. "Far be it from me to demean the obstacles of pregnancy, but most women would allow a little facilitation now and then, thus minimizing their concerns. As you are not interested in such hand-holding, I cannot help wondering what you wish to achieve."

In a classic defense, Mary motored around the actual inquiry and replied with something different, "I swear, I need a dictionary to decode your warped language most days, doofus. Why don't you try speaking English?"

"Which word did you need help with?" Marshall was still merry, knowing how constant optimism irritated a partner who was already irate. "Facilitation in synonyms refers to aid or assist, even to make something easier to do. Well…" he took pause, picturing Mary rolling her eyes as he did so. "Now I can see why that would be foreign to you, as you allow it to take place only once in a blue moon…"

"Spare me," she cut him off.

"Then provide me a proper response," the male inspector requested, marching back to his tiny table to take a few more bites of his eggs before throwing the remainder of his breakfast in the garbage. "Why such negativity? You don't want help, so it can't be that you're fishing for support. I don't imagine you are looking for anyone to feel sorry for you…"

"God, no."

"So, then?"

The finality of his having the last word was always a deal-breaker for Mary, and Marshall enjoyed the silence while she tried to manufacture a good comeback. He hoped it would be a truthful one this time, even as he sauntered to the trash can under the sink, noting that it was now 7:59. Mary was most assuredly going to be late to work, whereas he still had those eleven coveted minutes before he needed to be out the door. She must be sweating bullets on the other end, knowing this.

But, it appeared that Marshall's Monday was off to a promising start after all, even with his usual customs having been impeded. He was a flexible man, and Mary's honest reply made up for whatever minor scrambling he would do to right his day once more.

A more genuine, less snarky exhale escaped through the speaker. Marshall loved that sound. It was the sound of his friend weaning off her typical attitude and transitioning into her more authentic self, the self Marshall only saw in glimpses and glimmers.

"I don't know…I'm sorry…" though begrudging, Marshall had to admire the apology. "I'm just stressed, I guess."

As the most sensitive of their pair, Marshall knew he could not let a moment like this go by unnoticed.

"Understandable," he bequeathed. "Work's been pretty hectic lately, and you with all these additional appointments – Stan and Delia and I aren't dealing with that on top of the usual WITSEC hustle-and-bustle."

"It's not really the appointments…" she corrected him, although he wasn't sure this part of her speech was true; between the OBGYN and the adoption agency, the hours spent with others were piling up. "It's more…I don't know…" she repeated. "It's a lot of indecision, you know?"

Marshall did know, although Mary often claimed to be perfectly on board with her aspirations of giving the baby up for adoption. Any vacillation she experienced she covered up by saying she just wasn't sure which family to choose, that there was something wrong with every one of them. Deep down, Marshall had serious suspicions that she doubted whether to give the baby up at all, but he knew better than to say so. A promising day did not include getting his head bitten off.

So, he switched to something else. While Mary might ordinarily hate being treated like an invalid just because she was pregnant, in this case he had the feeling she might welcome discussing her health in lieu of reminiscing about the eventual residence for little Mango.

"I'm sure you are feeling somewhat sub-par, whether you would like to admit it or not," he guessed. "The third trimester brings all sorts of heightened discomforts – increased weight gain, Braxton Hicks, backaches, shortness of breath, heartburn, swelling…"

"Thank-you, Web-MD," Mary quipped. "But, I suppose you've got some of it right. Especially my back."

"Sore?"

"Yeah, I had trouble sleeping last night," she reiterated what she'd already mentioned when she'd brought up the child's kicking.

"Lord knows that makes all of us feel less-than-chipper," he joked, wisecracking that a temperamental Mary was not one that anyone wanted to deal with. "But, fear not. You're close to thirty-five weeks, so you're nearing the finish line."

"Christ, already?" it was just like Mary to rely on Marshall for specifics about her pregnancy, and not know herself how far along she was. "I still had it in my head I was thirty-three."

"Well, that should boost your spirits then," he trumpeted with gusto. "Two weeks less than you originally thought."

"Yeah…" but Mary didn't sound enthused in the least.

It was her one-worded response that had Marshall believing it was probably time to let this go. Mary had said all she was going to. How or why Marshall knew this, he couldn't be sure, but most of it came from just knowing Mary. Little alarms went off in his brain whenever he sensed that she might retreat, and he was nearly always right. Past instances where he had not listened to those signals had left him feeling stupid and hurt when Mary ran away just as he was getting to her core.

"You better get to work," he did a complete one-eighty so she would know he was through with anything deep. "8:02 already, inspector."

"You are a slave to routine," she proclaimed with disdain. "You ever try breaking out of the box a little bit?"

"I will if you will," Marshall made a small jab at Mary's inability to embrace change, and was glad when she didn't take it to heart.

"Guess it's time I unearthed some sandals anyway, with the heat wave we've been having."

"That's the spirit, inspector."

And with that, Marshall hung up, fully ready to begin another ordinary week in a life that prompted the extraordinary around every corner.

XXX

**A/N: It's a start, slow as it might be! I am trying my hand at chapter titles for this story, which is totally new ground for me, so I beg you'll forgive me if they're not very clever. I would absolutely love to hear what you thought of the beginning and hope you'll stick with me! XOXO**


	2. Wings for Tires

**A/N: Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for the initial reviews! I love reading them! You all are the best!**

XXX

Upon arriving at the aptly-named Sunshine Building at exactly 8:30, Marshall was surprised to see that Mary had beaten him there. Given his measurements, she should've been a few minutes behind him, especially given her footwear-dilemma. He was left to conclude that she had pushed the speed limits, or else used her Marshal status to careen through red lights, both of which he frowned upon.

Nonetheless, he placed his not-yet-sipped bottle of water on his desk, realigned his picture frames on the off chance they had been bumped, and booted up his computer. It wasn't until he had placed a black pen and single mechanical pencil on his desk atop his many stacked papers that Mary seemed to notice that he was even in the room.

"Should've put the pedal to the metal," she called across the empty space, clearly glad she had come out on top and beaten him to their mutual workplace. "Not losing a step, are you? Should I be busting out the handicap stickers for you to hang from your rearview?"

Contrary to most, Marshall often found Mary's sarcasm to be amusing and clever, rather than insulting. Perhaps it was because he was thick-skinned from growing up with a father who made no bones about the truth, or maybe it was because he knew Mary's acerbic nature was a way to shield herself from harm. Either way, he couldn't be bothered in feeling offended and strolled to the corner of her desk to bat back some banter of his own.

"I hear they have those for pregnant women these days," he reminded her, which produced a narrowed-eyed scowl. "In fact, at the grocery store they even display signs with little storks on them to signify that you park up front."

Not happy about being associated with anything resembling a stork, Mary retaliated by flinging the yellow pencil she was using right at his head, where he ducked instantly.

"The next time I hear you talking about my needing to be carted around on a scooter because I'm bigger than Fat Albert, you are asking for a wedgie."

Internally, Marshall noted that Mary had never mentioned his underwear, however vaguely, and had to fight to control his cheeks going pink.

"I will bear that in mind," was all he said, however, and was quick to move on. "You being handicapped is a stretch of the imagination, anyway. If it weren't, you wouldn't have been able to surpass me in arriving this morning."

"Damn straight," Mary snapped, showing just how much she enjoyed being the victor, even about something so trivial. "I caught all the lights."

"I'll have to take your word for it," he broke in coolly. "So, what have you got today?" he indicated the mass of files on her desk, which she was hurriedly sifting through in the absence of her pencil. "I'm actually not overly booked. I have to visit Riley this afternoon to see how he is faring after our little expedition with the Autoplex, but other than that I am just catching up on paperwork."

"Lucky you," she looked up only for a moment to spare him a look of contempt. "I have another ultrasound at four o'clock, plus these stupid release forms…" waving one in front of him. "I'm telling you Marshall, it sucks to be me."

It was clear she had forgotten – or was choosing to ignore – his little speech just an hour before about looking on the bright side, but that was very like Mary. What he was more interested in at this point was the 'release forms.' He hadn't gotten a very good look when she'd flashed them so briefly, and he leaned in and snatched them off the desk before she could protest.

"What are these for?" he wanted to know, scanning all the legal jargon with a less-than-critical eye. "They look like they're from the higher-ups…"

"They are…" Mary yanked them back; nearly giving him a nasty paper cut. "You weren't the only one who suddenly remembered I'm thirty-five weeks. Apparently, I've been in my third trimester for eons now…"

"Eight weeks, but not eons…"

"Well, some douche bag over at DOJ called Stan and read him the riot act because I've still been in the field toting Mango around…"

Marshall couldn't help but grin at the fact that she had already adopted his makeshift nickname, probably because she did indeed enjoy that it did not pinpoint a gender.

"…And apparently, if some big wig like, God forbid Allison Pearson, shows up and finds out I'm still cracking everybody's kneecaps, Stan would be in big trouble."

"And so…?"

"And so, I am chained to my desk, Marshall!" Mary bellowed abruptly, like he had been trying to tow it out of her for years. "No more gun-slinging or ball-busting or anything – you know – fun."

Knowing exactly what was good for him, the man did not say anything at first. It was only right to let her fume, to vent, which might account for her sourer-than-usual disposition. In a way, he could hardly blame Mary for being upset. Being in the field was what made her feel alive; she existed just for that rush of adrenaline, and to have it taken and replaced with mindless busywork had to be infuriating.

"Tough break," he eventually bestowed, hoping she would appreciate the sympathy. "But, it sounds like Stan extended it as long as he could for you…"

"Like I give a shit about that," the woman was ungrateful, something Marshall should've foreseen. "The point is, my life has just become a series of tedious data input and filing in those horrible archives back there," she jutted her thumb over her shoulder at the rows of black cabinets. "Couldn't the dust be harmful for me and this kid?" gripped with sudden inspiration. "I could sue for being made to go back there, right?"

"I wouldn't sell the farm," Marshall was blasé. "And, I like to think Stan will be fairly lenient. He's not going to stop you from meeting with witnesses. And, it's only temporary…"

"But, Marshall, I'm not supposed to pop this kid for another five weeks!" she argued. "_Five weeks _of this? If I can't shoot anybody else, I'll probably be shooting myself…"

Realizing that mellowing his partner out was going to take some doing, Marshall sighed, walked around, and seated himself in the chair that often occupied the inner part of her desk. To stall having to speak to him, Mary took an enormous bite out of the breakfast burrito she was devouring and then put it back on its greasy napkin. While she chewed, he sought to do what he always did when Mary was manic – guide her, foot-hole by foot-hole, back down the cliff.

"You know I'd sneak you out if I could…"

"You _could_," she berated him.

Marshall gave her an appraising look and raised his eyebrows, "Mary."

Looking lethal because she was about to be reasoned with, the woman tapped the nearest pencil, as the one she had flipped was still on the floor somewhere.

"You know this is the right call. You're too far along for field work anymore. It's not safe."

"Maybe I don't care about safe," she rebutted immediately, clearly not thinking her words through.

"That Machiavellian attitude does not fool me, inspector," Marshall proved his coveted position as the all-knowing friend. "Your job, for these next five weeks, is keeping Mango safe. You're still going through the old 'protect and relocate' but it's for your most fragile witness. Ever think of that?"

A frown, "No. And, if you tell anybody that we are referring to this kid like its some tropical sphere in the rainforest…"

"Yes, I know where I can go," Marshall finished the sentence for her. "My lips are sealed."

"This still blows…" she puffed, blowing her bangs out of her face and not even acknowledging his concerns for the baby, future Shannon or not. "Stan already told me about a situation with one of our own who still needs to testify, and now he's probably gonna get you and Delia on the case instead of me…"

"Who?" Marshall crinkled his brow.

"Savannah Doyle," she supplied. "You know. The…"

"The Pennsylvania Prostitute," both partners finished in unison, eliciting a sincere smirk from Mary at their harmony.

Marshall shrugged, "Nice gal, though. I had forgotten it had taken them this long to get her flown back out there to do the honors."

"It's not actually supposed to happen for another week or so," Mary commented. "And, by then I'll be the size of a woolly mammoth and Stan will definitely be counting me out."

"It's a dark day indeed when jumping a plane to Philly looks good to you," Marshall gave a grim observation, knowing how Mary typically hated courtrooms and the hazards they posed to witnesses who were afraid of testifying. "But, you never know. Stan's pretty good at finagling."

"Don't say 'finagling,'" Mary requested, almost stepping on the coattails of his phrase. "It's too close to 'fondling' and by then you are getting into dicey territory."

On that note, the one whom Marshall was hoping could 'finagle' at least in part emerged from his office, his jacket missing, the sleeves on his shirt rolled up. The taller of the inspectors knew that the air conditioning didn't always reach Stan's office, and that he kept a fan to ensure he was cool enough, but it didn't always get the job done. Therefore, the chief's navy tie was also loose at the neck to guarantee maximum ventilation.

"Morning, you two…" he started out gruffly, mopping his shiny brow. "Another scorcher, it would seem."

"Miss Clairol here would tell you that's good for the pores," Mary interjected without saying hello, not bothering to note that her chosen moniker for her partner dealt with hair care, not skin. "And, if you think you're as sweltering as yours truly, you've got another thing coming."

Stan had nothing to say as far as Mary's warmth was concerned, and Marshall knew it was because it would raise the subject of her pregnancy, something the older man forever wanted to avoid. He was like a squirmy middle school boy when it came to gestation; Mary's form alone made him so uncomfortable these days, it was a wonder he managed to converse with her at all.

"Did I hear you all talking about Miss Doyle?" he wondered, his ears obviously having picked up snatches of their discussion.

"Ms.," Marshall harked their boss back to the fact that the woman preferred to go by a hazy heading so men would not know whether or not she was married. "And, yes. Mary was just telling me how she's set to testify in another week."

"Or somewhere around there," Stan conceded, splaying both hands on Mary's desktop, which prompted the female to slide her burrito out of the way to make sure he wouldn't try and swipe it. "It's an open and shut case for the most part. All she has to do is sell out the ring of high-brow businessmen who were preying on all those girls who were not yet eighteen, and then she is on a full ride into Albuquerque WITSEC."

"Isn't she on a full ride already?" Mary couldn't help thinking that his wording made it sound like a scholarship to college.

"Essentially, but you know nothing is set in stone until that judge's gavel hits wood," Stan referred to what all three already knew. "Entering a life of prostitution is hardly permissible at any age, but it certainly helps her case that Savannah and her friends were not the age of consent for most of their 'careers…'"

"For want of a better term," Marshall chimed in, unsure how he would characterize such a thing as well. "And, Savannah _was_ eighteen for a better chunk of her time on the streets…"

"But, as she was the only one in her group willing to testify, we will take what we can get," Stan summed up. "I do think they'll schedule her hearing for sometime next week, around the twenty-third or so…"

"They're leaking into September, waiting that long," Marshall realized, turning around in his chair to face Stan directly while Mary continued chowing down, savoring the cheese and beef spilling out of her burrito. "Won't it have been almost two years since she was brought into WITSEC before all is said and done?"

"There have been hang-ups along the way," the other admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "But, at least the time is nearly upon us. The snags haven't exactly ended yet, though…"

"How's that?" Marshall probed.

Stan was suddenly looking hesitant, stealing glances at Mary like he was reluctant to disclose whatever was coming next. If it had to do with any 'snags' as he had alluded to, Marshall could see why he was tentative. Anything involving glitches were usually not well received by the blonde.

"Well, you both are going to be called to testify as well…"

"Why?" the man couldn't see why they would be needed, and this information definitely made Mary look up, her mouth still full of half-chomped tortilla.

"DOJ frowns on prostitutes – or anything similar, really – being let into the program, especially with all the budget cuts lately. They're really only looking for those 'wrong place at the wrong time' cases…"

"So…what?" Mary got in on the action, green eyes growing into slits in her suspicion. "They need us to confirm she's legitimate or something?"

"More or less," Stan granted her that. "They need a play-by-play of how, where, when, and why she was let into the program and how she's behaved since…"

"Savannah's a model witness," Marshall insisted, standing and gesturing to Mary to indicate that she pull up her file on the computer, which his partner was only too happy to do. "Not even a traffic ticket since she showed up here."

"They need us in person for something like that?" Mary couldn't ever remember having dealt with such a thing in all her time with WITSEC. "A phone call doesn't suffice? Taped testimony? How is this considered testimony anyway? Surely they won't have us sitting in the courtroom so these bastards who banged teenagers can find out where Savannah is?"

Stan sighed, showing that he realized it was unusual, but that would be of little consequence to Mary.

"It's asking a lot, but for as many times as they've threatened to shut us down since Allison Pearson and Teresa got involved, we're at their mercy. Tapes or phone calls aren't going to fly."

But, Marshall saw the challenge this presented almost at once. Pennsylvania was miles and miles away, and that was where the hearings would have to take place because that was where the perpetrators had committed the crime. If Mary and Marshall had to go along, not as the typical baby sitters, but as those who could vouch for Savannah, that meant hopping on a plane.

"Neither can she," he spoke up, gesturing to Mary with a long pointed finger. "Third trimester air travel is a no go…"

"You shut up!" Mary hissed, but loudly enough that Stan could hear.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the chief didn't need Marshall's expertise to tell him about the inner workings of pregnancy, no matter how much he attempted to avoid it. He nodded slowly; it was apparent he had already dived right into logistics.

"Their sympathy is limited," Stan went on. "They're prepared to hold you in contempt if you don't show when you're called. Short of going into labor at the exact moment they want you on the stand, they expect you to be there."

Mary, seething about the injustice that was their superiors, tasted a small inkling of amusement when she saw Marshall's jaw clench about how difficult everyone was being. He was so ridiculously protective of her sometimes that it was comical. Didn't he know by now that she could take care of herself? For that matter, he ought to know from their conversation just minutes before that she was itching for a little action, no matter how hum-drum.

"Get back to how we're going to testify without the whole world hearing," the woman had no words for the stupidity of DC and got on to other issues.

"They're not going to be able to get away with a full courtroom setup; I think it'll be a closed-door recorded meeting," Stan surmised. "Particulars of WITSEC and all."

At this, Marshall's obvious frustration reared its head. He couldn't believe that those in charge of their country's law enforcement would be so uncaring toward a pregnant woman – a high-risk pregnant woman, regardless of how often Mary shied away from the fact that she was at advanced maternal age and therefore more vulnerable.

"So, _they're_ going to record us, but we can't do that ourselves and send it to them?" he couldn't resist pointing out the irony, even as he leaned on Mary's desk and she looked up at him and smirked because he was on his way to a hissy fit. "Why make sense that way?" dripping with sarcasm.

"It guarantees the authenticity, Marshall, but I see the point," Stan shrugged. "They're throwing their weight around, and unfortunately for us they're in a position to do so."

"We've never had to bow down to them like this before!" the long and lanky was raising his voice without even meaning to. "Since when do any judge and jury need to hear about the intricacies of WITSEC in order to convict a bunch of lowlifes? It's absurd…"

"Easy, Tinkerbell," Mary wasn't fussed, especially if she got the opportunity to bolt in blind when she'd just been told she was to be affixed to her desk. "Stan, I don't have a problem putting one over on the quacks at the doctor's office. I'll fly out with Marshall and be back in one piece before they even know I'm gone…"

The response to this plan was mutual, "No."

Stan actually held up his hand to stop her, as though thinking she was going to take off that very second. Marshall had turned deadly serious, facing her with his normally sparkling blue eyes turned to grey stones of steel. Mary hadn't known one little fib would push them over the edge so heartily, and it made her more than a little annoyed.

"Would you stop acting like I've just announced I'm going to sprout wings and jump off the Chrysler Building?!" she snapped, shoving Marshall back because he suddenly seemed too close. "Jesus, I am so sick of you two acting like I'm some helpless infant!"

Shaking her head wildly, she took the last bite of her burrito with the ferocity of a lion tearing the flesh of a zebra. Marshall took the only chance he had while her cheeks were full to impart his wisdom.

"Stan, this is insane," he would call it nothing else; furious that anyone would grant Mary the opening to be reckless when she should be watching her step. "The same people who want to put you on restriction for letting her work past twenty-seven weeks also want you to fly her across the country so she can testify on their time table?"

"I am sitting right here!" Mary slapped a hand on the desk, spraying bites of egg and meat uncouthly in an attempt to swallow.

"That's DOJ for you," Stan obviously spotted the double standard as well, blatantly ignoring his irritated inspector. "I suppose in the event that something happens they can blame the doctors, not themselves, if they give her the okay to get on the plane…"

"They're not going to give her the okay," Marshall was certain. "She has an ultrasound this afternoon, and I can guarantee if she asks…"

All this discussion around her while she was not being consulted was enough to make Mary smack both men, but she refrained and settled for shouting instead.

"Can it, both of you!"

Though she had always been one of three underlings in the Sunshine Building, it didn't take much for Stan to take her seriously, especially when she was so swollen and intimidating to him. If she'd known pregnancy was going to get him to do what she said, she would've almost considered getting knocked up a long time ago.

Almost.

"I don't remember either of you being in charge of this!" jabbing a finger to her belly beneath the desk. "I'll ask Doctor Reese and I'll still do whatever the hell I want! If they want me in Pennsylvania and I've reached elephant status, I'll go. This kid isn't going to lose me my job."

A profound silence followed this remark, which was the way Mary liked it. In fact, there were few things she liked better than feeling in control, that someone had done something because she'd demanded it.

Marshall rubbed his temples, a sure sign that he was thinking hard. Stan had backed off completely. Undoubtedly, all the mentions of pregnancy were taking their toll. Never before had they had such a thorough chat about such things, and it wouldn't have been surprising if he'd begun to incur hives from having to hash it out.

Nonetheless, Marshall was quick on his feet, and it was not as if traveling by plane was the only way to cover three thousand miles. He just couldn't be certain how Mary would feel about his suggestion.

"Could we drive?" he proposed evenly, hoping Mary wouldn't explode a second time. "Mary and I could start the trek a few days before the trial, and then Delia could fly out with Savannah once it's closer."

Stan clearly hadn't overlooked the notion, "Maybe. It might be our only option."

"When did I say I was capable of sitting on my ass cross-country with this dweeb?" Mary was still angry that Marshall was coddling her so heavily, but she was about to be reminded of Stan's authority in spite of his previous embarrassment.

"Do you want to go?"

The older man's voice was sharper and tougher than it had been just minutes before – Stan's way of showing his inspector that he was still the one in charge, even if he did extend the length on her leash. And so, she buttoned up and took a swing of the Sprite she'd toted from the drive thru, glaring with her lips pursed over the straw.

"That's what I thought," Stan sounded satisfied that he'd hushed her. "You really have an appointment today?" falling back on Marshall's words.

After downing almost the entire cup, Mary replied, "Yes."

"Check into this," he ordered. "Get the specifics on flying and if the doc says _no_ than _no_ is what we are operating under, you hear?"

Emphasizing the shutdowns didn't endear Mary to Stan in the least; unable to believe she was being shuffled down the totem pole so quickly, especially after she'd just shocked the boys into silence. She was at everyone's mercy these days.

"And what if she thinks I can't even handle a little rough and tumble by the roadside, huh?" Mary bit just to show them she hadn't been beaten. "Decides I should be shackled to my desk as well as my bed a few weeks from now?"

Just the thought was horrifying to Mary. She'd never considered the possibility that she might become so big and bloated that she would be relegated to staying under the covers like someone who was truly incapacitated. Stan seemed to think this was as improbable as Mary was hoping it was.

"Is that likely?" he turned to Marshall for the diagnosis, apparently thinking Mary wouldn't have a clue.

"Probably not," Marshall deduced. "I mean, I suppose it's possible that travel as a whole is inadvisable, but I think if her condition were that precarious we would've known long before now."

"Do not call it a 'condition,'" Mary would have none of it. "And leave me in peace so I can get some of this work done before I implode or combust or burst into flame."

With an emphatic wave of her hand, she pointed both her partner and chief to their respective corners, both of whom seemed only too thrilled to retreat.

As Marshall made his way back to his own desk, he contemplated what it was about this scenario that had Mary so bent out of shape. Being trampled on by both Stan – however unintentionally – and the bosses in DC would definitely put her in a predicament. But, the opportunity to get away for awhile, out of Albuquerque, away from the doctor's office, and the adoption agency, had to have her salivating for that tiny bit of freedom.

Even if it did include being locked in a moving car with Marshall for upwards of seven days.

XXX

**A/N: Again, with the chapter titles…my cleverness is not to be celebrated where they are concerned. In fact, it will probably be better if you just ignore them LOL. I so appreciate the reviews!**


	3. A Far Away Glance

**A/N: Many a hug for the reviews! If I could give you all one in person, I would! :)**

XXX

It seemed impossible anymore that Mary might be able to escape to her OBGYN's office without being tailed by someone in her life. First, it had been Jinx and Brandi when they'd discovered her pregnancy and they'd ambushed her the second she walked in the door. Today, it happened to be Marshall, which Mary couldn't help thinking constituted a bold move for him. She had never neglected to notice that he kept himself at arm's-length most days – this was what she liked about him. He knew when to sit down and shut up.

Apparently, things were different on what was fast-becoming a dismal Monday.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mary barked when she saw him sitting with that obnoxious smirk on his face across the room.

Her loud timbre caught the attention of a few other women waiting for their appointments, but she ignored them as she marked the sign-in sheet, during which Marshall discarded the magazine he'd been browsing to join her at the front desk.

"Are you stalking me?" Mary wanted to know, and this time the receptionist looked suspicious, earning her a narrowed glower from the patient.

"Far be it from me to have qualms about your integrity, but I can't help thinking that – unless there are documents to be signed – that you might try to sneak under the wire and relay to Stan and I that flying is absolutely acceptable…"

"Maybe it is," Mary shot over her shoulder, not having the faintest idea if there was any fact in her phrase. "What do you know?"

This, of course, was a foolish question. Marshall knew just about everything. In truth, he constantly shocked Mary with just how extensive his knowledge was, and given his pregnancy fetish, she had every reason to believe he knew the ins and outs of what was harmless and what wasn't.

"In my experience, cruising at thirty-two-thousand feet is often nixed, particularly for as late as you are in that fated third trimester…"

"In your experience?" Mary repeated skeptically. "Have you been knocking up broads without me knowing about it?"

"Your political correctness is staggering," Marshall remarked dryly as Mary gestured him to a set of free chairs where they both sat down, Mary looking over her shoulder the entire time as though afraid of being spotted with him. "But, this is fairly textbook. Few doctors will let you fly at thirty-five weeks, and while I am well aware of this, it is Stan who I fear could be snowed if you made the choice to lie about it…"

"His fault for being a pregnancy nimrod," the woman claimed, though she too wished she were still ignorant about all the workings of her uterus. "If he wants the truth, he can look it up himself."

"Fortunately, I've spared him the trouble," the taller stated brightly. "In any case, I have never been given credence to attend one of your ultrasound appointments, so this shall be invigorating…"

"Just hold the bells and whistles," Mary butted in, raising one of her large hands to suspend in front of his face. "Who says you're being 'given credence' this time? I don't remember telling you-you could tag along."

Marshall was unfazed and continued his grinning, "I am not worried. The ladies – they love me."

"Not this lady," she muttered under her breath, though she didn't mean it.

What she did mean was a little difficult to discern, and Marshall couldn't help reflecting on her statement, though knew it was best that he didn't. Mary was grumpy and being made to feel incapacitated; her comment had no goal except to get him to be quiet. He knew Mary loved him in her own way – the way she loved anybody.

It was Marshall whose adoration was more unique, but that was nothing to be thinking about while his partner sat stony-faced and surly beside him. She was reminding him at this very moment that her passion and no-nonsense outlook were key players in his feelings for her, however big or small.

He thought about offering to leave just to please her, but he really did have misgivings about how forthcoming she would be concerning their travel plans. No matter how she hated it, keeping Mary from harm was always Marshall's number one priority.

"It isn't going to take long anyway, right?" he figured, referring to the ultrasound. "Just a scheduled check-up, not a full-on exam?"

"So I hear," Mary huffed. "God knows Doctor Reese will probably find somewhere to stick her fingers, just for kicks."

Marshall did his best not to blush, "I don't think physicians really get their jollies that way," he tried to reassure her. "Unless there's a problem."

"Hasn't been so far," Mary still would not look directly at him; he picked up on the fact that she was trying to conceal her enormous breasts from him when he was sitting so near to her. "Unless you count putting on more weight than a binging college freshman."

Marshall opted for sympathetic, "It is a hassle, I would imagine, not that I would know," being such a rail, he had no frame of reference. "But, again, it is temporary. This entire situation is."

For most people, no, but for Mary – at least at this point – there was nothing everlasting about having a baby. Short of the nine months she spent carrying little Mango, the connections would all evaporate the minute she handed the child over to whatever deserving family she deemed fit. And then it would be back to business as usual. In spite of her transparent reservations about the adoption, Marshall did believe one thing about Mary. Normalcy would be one thing she would be glad to achieve again. Change was not her friend.

"When is your next meeting with the adoption counselor anyway?" he posed, bouncing off his own thoughts. "Surely it's about time you narrowed your options…"

"No questions," Mary sniped, proving her discomfort with the path she'd chosen for her offspring. "You don't get to drill me. I'm still pissed that you followed me here. It is _so_ Jinx-and-Brandi of you and that loses you many points."

Marshall went for politely curious, "How many points did I start out with?"

"Zero," she claimed spitefully, making the number up on the spot. "Now you're in negative digits, doofus. Bad move, pulling a fast one on a pregnant woman."

"Well, as it isn't often I can put one over on you; I suppose I will take the compliment for what it is."

The blonde frowned deeply at him taking her insult and turning it into something positive, something her friend often did that seriously annoyed her. Lucky for him, she didn't have any more time to scold him, because a nurse hollered her name from the door that would grant her admittance to the exam rooms. Knowing that there would be no shaking off Marshall now that he was acting as her shadow, she decided she would simply pretend he was not there as he followed her back with the smile of a giddy little boy.

It was more bad news for Mary once Doctor Reese finally joined them, because Marshall's undeniable charm meant there was no way she was going to kick him out regardless of the fact that he'd never accompanied her to an appointment before. Nonetheless, things did get sticky just due to his appearance alone.

Doctor Reese held out her hand for introductions, glancing to Mary for an explanation as to who this newcomer was. Given the fact that her patient had made it clear that Mark was not in the picture, it was obvious that she was having trouble putting the pieces together.

"I don't believe we've met; Raquel Reese…" she pumped Marshall's fingers up and down and he responded in kind, Mary looking murderous from her spot on the inclined table.

"No, it is quite a boon that I have been let in to observe the magic that is the sonogram…"

Doctor Reese chuckled with yet another glimpse Mary's direction; evidently, she couldn't understand how someone as acerbic as this woman would have an acquaintance that was so cheerful.

"Marshall Mann," he finally got around to giving his name. "I'm a friend of Mary's…"

"Oh…" Doctor Reese breathed pleasantly before Mary mounted her courage to button his trap.

"He's just my partner," she knew if she downsized his position in her life that it would hurt him, and while it was mean, Mary's claws often came out when she found herself in a place where she wasn't in power. "At work," she clarified further. "And he's being an insufferable busybody, just like a rubbernecking old woman next door."

Because Marshall laughed, Doctor Reese clearly thought it was okay that she do so as well, skating over Mary's criticisms like the professional she was.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Marshall," she bestowed. "This meeting is pretty routine – just the ultrasound, blood pressure check, and then I have a few things I want to go over with Mary, but that's pretty much it…"

"Splendid," he really was enjoying this, while Mary drummed her fingers and just tried to feel glad that she hadn't had to don a gown for this particular rendezvous. "I'll try to stay out of the way."

And with that, he leaned against the back cabinets, arms folded behind his head, shooting Mary devilishly humorous looks the entire time. She, however, did not smile, mostly because his presence was starting to make her nervous. She was becoming a pro at wrangling the doctor's office anymore, but she'd never had anyone – not even Jinx – come with her to an appointment, and it was hard to know what to expect. Self-conscious without warning, she just hoped she would be able to maintain her angry façade so Marshall wouldn't view what she was feeling underneath.

"I'll try to be quick here, Mary, I know you're not crazy about coming in after work…" Doctor Reese commenced as she rolled the ultrasound machine over, where its wheels squeaked and made the hair on Mary's neck stand up. "If you could just hike up your shirt, we can get started…"

This direction was enough to make Mary want to spew forth every obscenity she could think of; why did it sound so stark, so invading when Marshall was in the room? Fortunately, he took her insecurity and humiliation for mere frustration and gave an exaggerated shrug as if to say there was no way out.

Because of this, Mary felt perfectly justified in giving him orders.

"You turn around!" pointing her finger to the cupboards he was leaning against.

"What?"

"You heard me," Mary was unrelenting. "Avert your eyes, Poindexter."

"Mary, I'm not going to see anything except…"

"No, _except_," she stabbed his final word viciously to signify there would be no negotiating. "I let you in. I didn't say anything about letting you look."

Disappointed, but knowing Mary meant business, Marshall decided he would grant her whatever portion of her dignity she still possessed, and revolved on the spot to face the wall. Once she was certain he couldn't even peek, Mary reluctantly bunched up her shirt, to many amused looks from Doctor Reese.

The globe was a true sight to behold. Instantly, Mary was grateful she had banned her partner from witnessing such a thing, because it was worse than she remembered. Whenever possible, she avoided analyzing her new body at all costs because it was just too depressing, but there was no skirting the reality here. She was a triple-decker bus, her skin stretched and tight with unsightly stretch marks. The image alone made her prickle all over but, at least she'd had enough foresight to make Marshall hide his eyes.

"Still five weeks away…" Doctor Reese observed as she administered the cool gel that would aide during the sonogram. "But, I'm sure you're getting uncomfortable…"

"You could say that," Mary grumbled, hoping she would dispense with the small talk and hurry up. "I don't think it would be half as bad if this kid would learn to simmer down once in awhile. It never stops moving."

"That's normal…" the other woman assured her. "Another week and a half or so, and it'll start to settle in to prepare for delivery."

This wasn't a line that was going to help Mary's anxiety. For the most part, she disregarded the fact that she was going to be faced with conquering the tumultuous labor contractions; if she didn't think about it, she was much happier. There was no denying it was fast approaching, however.

"Let's just take a quick look here…sounds like this little one is still doing just fine though…" Doctor Reese turned her attentions to the monitor, navigating her wand back and forth on Mary's belly, taking her word for it that the child was as active as ever.

Patient as she could be while the physician gathered the particulars, Mary did what she always did when it came to visiting the OBGYN. She took calculated glances to the screen, just enough to make sure that she believed in what she saw, and then wrote the rest off until the next time. There was no reason to get attached when the kid was going to be shipped off hours after being born. There was no bond to be made – no bond that would ever exist outside of yearly letters and photo updates.

"Everything looks good…" Raquel reported after a moment or two, at which point Mary distinctly saw Marshall try to turn his head a fraction of an inch.

"Ah!" she bellowed, seeing to it that he snapped back to attention. "Don't even think about it!"

What Mary didn't know was that if Marshall kept his head tilted slightly to the right, almost cocked like he was trying to hear better, he could spot the smallest sliver of the display using his peripheral vision. Granted, it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Marshall could only just make out a flat, splotchy shape that stood out white against the mass of black. The picture made a gentle, back-and-forth swishing motion each time Doctor Reese maneuvered the wand. A steady, sound and beating heart throbbed throughout the small room to accompany the dancing figure.

"Like I said Mary, everything looks fine…" Doctor Reese reiterated. "There's a nice strong heartbeat, and the little one is plugging along – even as we speak."

"Way to do it, Mango," Marshall called over his shoulder, just for the pleasure of listening to Mary attempt to explain what he was talking about.

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing he couldn't see her at this point, because his corniness in front of others would have his partner wanting to pummel him. And so, he heightened his ears to determine how she was tripping over the newly-minted nickname.

"Using food to identify this kid is the professor's idea of a joke," Mary huffed irritably. "Probably because he knows I wolf down anything in sight; it's his way of taking his jabs at me."

Truthfully, Marshall had spouted the title on a whim in his kitchen that morning because he'd had a bowl of fruit sitting on the counter – pears, nectarines, peaches, and finally, mangos. Of all the available choices, he'd thought 'Mango' was the least offensive, plus since it began with the letter M it reminded him of Mary. Her reasoning wasn't so outlandish though; Mary didn't always have faith in the best of people.

"Well, you're eating for two, so I would say you're entitled," Doctor Reese commented placidly in response to Mary's conclusion. "And, of all the names I've heard parents give their children prior to the birth, this has to be one of the most creative."

"Or moronic," Mary supplied. "One of the two," she decided to pay no heed toward being called a parent because even though Doctor Reese was well aware of her plans for the baby, apparently there was little else she could call her on the fly.

"Well, as we've seen everything we need to on this front…" Doctor Reese wasn't kidding about her speediness, and began dismantling the machine as soon as Mary nodded and gave her the go ahead. "Let me just get a read on your blood pressure and we'll wrap things up."

Maneuvering her tent-like shirt back where it belonged, Mary reflected that this was one of her more painless adventures to the OBGYN, contrary to her past – and probably future – occurrences. Five weeks shy of predicted delivery meant she was going to have to be in Doctor Reese's company a hell of a lot more, something that definitely didn't thrill her, and so she sought to savor the solitude while she could.

Hearing the sounds of retrieving the blood pressure cuff from its hook on the wall, Marshall opted to press his luck another time, though he was on thin ice with his fellow inspector already.

"Might I rejoin you now?"

Mary wasn't feeling charitable, even though she was covered once more, "No."

"Must you be so difficult?"

"It's the price you pay for showing up to a party you weren't invited to."

At least Mary could content herself with the fact that, if Marshall disobeyed and snuck a glance that there wouldn't be anything degrading for him to see any longer. That was why she found herself able to relax a little more freely while Doctor Reese pumped all the blood vessels out of her arm trying to get an accurate reading. Whatever numbers she reported didn't mean anything to Mary – just that they were slightly higher than she would like, which meant she was going to be chastised to 'watch her step' in the thirty-five days to come.

"So…" once all was said and done and the professional was back on her stool, Mary's legs dangling over the edge of the cot, it appeared the time for questions was upon them. "Before I delve into my part…" eyes flickering to a file folder in her lap. "Is there anything you need to ask me or are we up-to-speed?"

Mary knew if she didn't bring up the subject, then Marshall would no matter how she threatened to beat him. After all, it was why he'd followed her in the first place. She could only take a minimal amount of savage pleasure in the fact that he still had his eyes boring into the cabinets that lined the walls.

"Something's come up at work…" Mary began, trying to sound off-the-cuff, like she wasn't just dying to get out of town.

"With your maternity leave?" Doctor Reese took a guess.

"No," the other shot her down. "You know I'm a US Marshal, and we go when they sound the alarm; you can't waffle or rearrange…"

"So you've told me," Raquel acknowledged. "Are you being put in a situation that might have you or the baby in jeopardy?"

Mary wouldn't go that far, "Not exactly, but I'm not sure what parameters I have at this point. Basically, I've just been told I'm due to travel back east sometime next week, by which point not even a blimp would hold me, I'm guessing."

It was her way of showing Doctor Reese she recognized that it was an awkward state of affairs – perhaps it would gain her some leniency. But, she could tell almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she was about to be shot down. Doctor Reese was almost _too_ understanding, her eyes softening and a pitying smile playing on her lips.

"Flying in the third trimester is really not a good idea, Mary," she disclosed, which had the pregnant one internally cursing Marshall's name because he'd been right. "Technically speaking, I don't suppose I can actually stop you if you manage to worm your way onto a plane, but there are a lot of airlines who won't let you through the gate if you don't have some kind of proof that you're less than thirty-six weeks…"

"But, I'm thirty-five," Mary interjected, clinging to whatever influence she still retained.

"By next week, you won't be," Doctor Reese reminded her. "Even you weren't as far along, I would advise against letting you fly. You're high risk and your blood pressure is already starting to spike…"

"What do you suggest I do then?" the blonde was getting impatient with the ropes she constantly felt were binding her wrists. "There's such a thing as contempt when you don't show up in court…" that was as much as she could say without giving away her job title, but Doctor Reese appeared to have the same proposition as Marshall and Stan.

"There's always the old minivan."

The woman's tease extracted an uncontrollable chuckle from Marshall, something that didn't boost Mary's spirits in the least. She shot him a filthy look, as thinking of herself in some soccer mom vehicle was stroke-inducing.

"Is this your way of telling me that I've got the go-ahead to drive?" she pretended she had not been offended by the jab.

"Provided someone goes with you," the physician only had one stipulation. "Something tells me you already have a road-tripping buddy," referencing Marshall.

"I am designated chauffeur," he granted himself, forgetting all about Mary wanting him to stay out of things. "I would estimate the journey, as it were, taking about six days there and back."

"I can put you in touch with a few OB's on the path if you like, should an emergency arise," Doctor Reese offered. "Other than telling you to make sure you keep hydrated and take scheduled stops to stretch your legs, there's no reason you can't drive."

"Joy of joys," Mary grumped, not enthused at all, even more exasperated that she was being expected to be grateful for the flexibility when it was nothing but being knocked a rank lower.

Still, this might very well be her last blast as a Marshal before the baby was born. In spite of deciding not to become a mother, Mary had trouble picturing her life beyond that point. She was anxious to get on the road and put the thought of haunting, potential Albuquerque nurseries behind her.

XXX

**A/N: I neglected to mention that even though the road trip is the bulk if this story (without question!) I take a little while to actually get them on the road LOL! With how long the story is, I don't think it'll seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but I do set the stage first. ;) **


	4. A Partner for a Partner

**A/N: 20 reviews with only three chapters! You all are so flattering!**

XXX

If Mary thought she was out of the woods after being given the green light to traveling the winding Midwestern streets with Marshall, she was sadly mistaken. Fully prepared to leave after getting all the information she deemed important, she was stopped by Doctor Reese when she was halfway to hopping off the exam table.

"Hang on, Mary. I have a few things I needed to go over with you before your next appointment…" the other woman flipped open her file without even waiting for Mary to give consent, causing her to halfheartedly slide herself back onto the incline. "Just some specifics – nothing I'm sure you haven't already thought out."

She didn't know Mary very well then, because Mary tried to give the pregnancy as little thought as possible – to the point of foolishness. She knew in her heart of hearts that feigning carrying a child was nothing short of mundane was inconsiderate, especially since she had the eventual adoptive family to consider. Putting herself in danger meant putting the baby in danger, but it wasn't a conception that often crossed Mary's mind. Shutting out things that made her unsure was how she had always dealt.

Apparently, this method wasn't going to work anymore.

"Being that you're five weeks from your due date, you could really go into labor at anytime…"

Mary tried not to let Doctor Reese see how dramatically she had sucked in her breath at this news. If she knew nothing about pregnancy, she knew even less about labor and delivery.

"I don't anticipate that happening, but we'll see where you stand when you come in next week," she continued. "But, in the event that you do go into labor, I think it is sensible that we go ahead and discuss your birth plan."

The final two words acted as a foreign language to Mary and, unfortunately for her, she forgot about covering her ignorance.

"My…my what?" she stammered, hoping to sound aloof or merely questioning, but she was starting to feel uneasy. "I think calling it a 'plan' is pretty brave," the sarcasm helped her to master her nerve. "From what Poindexter over here tells me, no one tells kids in the womb what to do."

Using the word 'womb' of her own volition was disgusting to Mary, but if it got them off this ridiculous subject, she would throw fancy verbiage around all she wanted.

"Mary, its standard protocol for mothers to have…"

"I'm not a mother," she interrupted stiffly. "In case you forgot."

Though she couldn't see him, Mary felt certain that Marshall had abandoned his sedentary post hearing her say this, willing to take whatever thrashing he might receive for inserting himself into the debate. It seemed, however, that Mary barely noticed his presence – good for him, bad for her.

"That is part of why I wanted to talk to you," Raquel claimed, proving she had not been remiss about Mary's unique choice for her little one. "A birth plan specifies what you hope to receive when you are in labor – medications, interventions, monitoring, labor partners…"

"Think you're piling this on enough?" Mary retorted. "For God's sake. I come in when I'm about to pop this kid, you all-but knock me out so I can't feel it ripping apart my entrails, I push, Mango turns pink, I hand it over, and we all go home."

Doctor Reese didn't comment entirely, but Mary could tell she was attempting to save face, to not give away that she found her patient's endeavors very medieval. Marshall might as well have not been there, for all the attention they paid him.

"The 'handing it over' part is what I am most interested in right now," the physician passed over everything else, targeting what would obviously be the trickiest. "You mentioned to me early on that you were working on an adoption plan…"

"So?"

"So, while it is up to the agency you're working with to sort out all the essentials, the hospital likes to know in advance who you want in your delivery room when the time comes. It saves time with fact-checking ID's and gives the nurses an idea of how many people they have to work around."

Mary instantly felt her cheeks turn bright red, and she hated herself for having lost her poker face so many times already, but this wasn't something she had ever calculated. She had purposely sat on choosing an adoptive family, asserting to anyone who would listen that none were fit to raise her momentary spawn.

Really, she was just fickle because she couldn't be entirely certain that adoption was the right trail to blaze, but she didn't know what other alternatives she had. Becoming a single mother had never been in the cards – being a _mother_ had never been in the cards. She wouldn't accept responsibility for someone or something she could not devote herself to in her entirety, and as there were no guarantees when it came to this kid, sending it to people who would take care of it the way it deserved was best.

But, how could she say any of this to Doctor Reese? She'd really stuck her foot in it, waiting so long. The most she'd accomplished was narrowing down the insurmountable number of families to two – the Templetons, a storybook couple from somewhere in southern New Mexico, and a couple whose names she couldn't even remember at the moment from God only know where. All she could recall was that they had other children and that the mother was an elementary school teacher.

Seeing that this had thrown Mary off the mark, Doctor Reese opted for something closer to compassion.

"Mary, did you envision having the adoptive parents there when the baby is born?"

There was no halting the first thoughts that sprung into Mary's brain – she was just lucky she managed to stop them coming out her mouth.

_Of course not! Why would I? They're strangers! Forget it!_

And as Mary worked furiously to come up with a suitable answer, she knew she was losing momentum fast. What on earth had she done to get herself into this mess? It was time to put up or shut up. She couldn't go around looking like a faltering imbecile forever. Come tomorrow, she was off to the agency. It was time to pick a family.

Discounting the uncomfortable warmth that spread from her hairline to her feet at coming to that decision, Mary swallowed hard and fumbled a confident, if not entirely coherent response.

"I…I hadn't discussed it with them," that wasn't a lie, never mind that there was no 'them' to speak of. "But, I'll iron things out and we can have this sit-down next week…"

"Are they here in town?" Doctor Reese pressed. "Are they available should we need to contact them?"

Here Mary had thought she was putting up a believable pretense, only to be knocked down once more. She was beginning to sweat, her hands growing damp, her stomach cramping up. Why was she being forced to have everything out like this? Five weeks was still plenty of time, and yet everyone expected her to have the thing signed, sealed and delivered right now…

"I'm…I haven't…I haven't actually met them yet…"

The Templetons were just outside Albuquerque, but what about the second contenders? _Were_ they nearby? Mary didn't know.

"But…Mountain States has been letting me take things slow, and the biological father still has to waive his parental rights…"

"Well, you can work all that out with them," the agency, Mary assumed. "But, as far as labor companions go, have you thought about anyone to accompany you during the birth?"

"I don't need…I mean…"

Mary internally berated herself to get it together. She was coming off like some haphazard floozy who would sell her kid to any old Joe on the street. In a desperate move, hoping he might be able to provide some form of guidance without patting her on the head, she cast an anguished look at Marshall, begging him to know what she meant.

Halfway between pleading and can-you-believe-these-people aggravation, Marshall absolutely read the signs and knew at once that his fun and games had come to an end. His showing up for the appointment had been for laughs at first, but it was time to put that behind them. He had distinctly spotted the shift Mary's dark jade eyes made when she went from livid to upset. She was able to cover the latter very well, but being her best friend, he knew what lay beneath.

And, while Marshall would've loved to have been included in this rocky venture, he knew what would aide Mary the most would be if he bid a hasty retreat. His most fortuitous moments were those when his partner allowed him a peek into her inner circle, but this was not one of those times. She was spinning and embarrassed, and she didn't need him gawking.

"You know, Mare, I'm just gonna step out, okay?" he nodded toward the closed door. "I'll call Stan – tell him the good news about the trip."

Marshall knew exactly how to entertain the woman's eccentricities – say you needed to leave, and think up a plausible excuse for why. The task had been completed, he knew, when he saw a flicker of relief betraying her hardened features.

"Okay…" she stated with passable coolness. "See you in a minute?"

She wanted him to stay. Well, all was not lost after all. Bobbing his head and throwing her a casual smile, Marshall retreated through the hatch, leaving Mary to wrap up her problems in peace.

Once Marshall was gone, Mary could see that Doctor Reese realized she had tried to bombard the pregnant one with too much too fast. Still, it was evident that she believed time was wearing a little thin, and the sooner they got everything set in stone, the better.

Mary ran a hand across her forehead, feeling beads of perspiration resting there, and swept her hair out of her face. It was imperative that she not appear so frazzled; how she looked was a mystery, but how she felt was like a basket case.

"Mary, it seems this is a lot to take in for you, and I understand; it can be very daunting…"

"I'm not some average case, all right?" she didn't want to be lumped in with statistics. "I have more to deal with than the usual cribs and changing tables and sleepers too small for anyone. I have a job that requires me to be on call twenty-four-seven, and the amount of paperwork they need for all those adoption legalities is ridiculous…"

Raquel put up both hands, palms out, and removed all her files to the counter, backpedaling now that Mary was rambling.

"We can confer on anything with the adoptive parents when I see you next week, just like you said, all right?" this was placating, Mary knew it. "Right now, I would like to center in on that labor partner…"

Much better, the blonde thought darkly.

"I have seen the tough girl, Mary. I have seen plenty just like you…"

Hadn't she just asked not to be type-casted?

"No matter how unyielding they are or what their threshold for pain is like, when push comes to shove – quite literally – they _always_ wish they had someone with them for moral support," evidently, she spoke from experience. "Even if you are numb to the bone, birth is a powerful event, no two ways about it. If there is anything I implore you to consider, it is not being alone when you go through it."

This flowery, dramatic speech was not to Mary's tastes. It was throwing her headfirst into a whole other can of worms completely separate from the prospective mommy and daddy of her Mango. She had been urged at many a corner by Marshall to take Lamaze or some kind of breathing class and had turned him down every time. She'd heard all the horror stories about labor, but she'd always considered the contractions to be elementary – she'd been shot, for Christ's sake.

And the emotional impact? She was giving the baby away. What impact?

"I…I can do it on my own, really…" Mary tried, yet again, to present her case. "I hadn't planned on having anyone with me."

"I'd really like you to come up with someone that you could stand having around for me to put in your file," the physician nudged politely. "Do you have family nearby? Anybody?"

Mary's reply was tight-lipped, "I have a mother and a sister. Neither of which would qualify under the 'can stand to have around' heading."

"Humor me, Mary. Which would you prefer?" she was grabbing her folder once more, prepared to make a note.

Losing so many times in one day was a heavy blow to the patient. She really was relinquishing all command, throwing herself into the hands of others and hoping she came out unscathed on the other side. Fat chance.

"My mother, I guess," Mary barely opened her lips, displaying how gut wrenching it was to surrender like this.

"Her name?"

"Jinx Shannon," she revealed. "My sister is Brandi – same last name. Although, she may be Brandi Alpert by the time I'm attached to the IV," bringing up the younger's impending wedding.

Doctor Reese's pencil scratched across various pieces of paper inside the folder, leaving Mary wondering just how many places she needed to document her half-assed choices for companions during what were sure to be excruciating moments. When Raquel was through, it appeared she was still dissatisfied with Mary's inability to accept any kind of assistance, and went out on a limb trying to improve the inspector's stance.

"What about him?"

Her tone was calm and even, but she was definitely serious as she jerked her head at the door a certain someone had just walked through.

Mary inclined her eyebrows, "Who? Marshall?"

"Are you two close?"

"I'm guessing that's above your pay grade."

"He seems very kind, Mary."

"You just met him today."

"Yeah, and anyone with eyes can see that he cares a lot about you. Why don't you talk to him and see if he'd be willing?"

"Because this isn't something I want to ask him to do," Mary was frank. "We're friends – we're just friends. He has a very serious girlfriend; it's going too far, all right?"

Doctor Reese hunched her shoulders, "You know best. But, I would at least take it under advisement. You want someone you are comfortable with, and it doesn't sound like your mom and your sister really fit that bill."

But, Marshall didn't either, Mary couldn't help thinking. Her skin had started tingling like she was having some kind of allergic reaction just at the thought of him seeing her bare stomach. How would she fare if he were to be present when she was laid open for _everyone_ to see? 'Going too far' was exactly what it was.

On another level though, Mary couldn't help feeling somewhat letdown by the fact that she was so ill at ease around her partner when it came to this baby. She'd thought her and Marshall could handle just about anything, but her reaction to his existence proved otherwise.

"Well, I've gotten through quite a lot without the help of anybody," Mary would not let herself be belittled, even for a second. "I don't see why this should be any different. So, are we done here?"

It seemed she'd been in this room for hours, when in reality it had probably only been thirty minutes. She was sick of feeling like this – being told what to do, how to do it, what posed the fewest hazards, how far to go, how many times to pull back, and on and on. Since she was seven years old, she had been her own boss, and now she had DOJ, DC, Stan, Marshall, the adoption agency, and Doctor Reese on her case for twenty different things. Hadn't she demonstrated her worth as a tough cookie? Her life was all-but coming to a standstill for a baby she wasn't even keeping.

"The only other thing I would say is to look into some sort of labor preparation class…" this time, Raquel sighed, showing she knew this endeavor was going to be fruitless at best. "The hospital offers a few different ones."

"Fine," though Mary had no plans to do it.

"And, I want to see you before you take off on your expedition next week, so make sure you make another appointment with the receptionist."

"Yeah."

Mary couldn't get out of there fast enough, proficiently sidestepping the look of discontent on her doctor's face. She knew she was being thorny, and was likely to make everyone miserable when her delivery finally arrived because she had overlooked all aspects of doing her homework. But, she couldn't care less about that right now; running was in her blood, and running was what she was going to do.

Regrettably, skirting her setbacks wasn't going to be easy, especially when she found Marshall on alert in the waiting room. She knew she'd asked him to hang around, but now she couldn't remember why. Never before had she felt so exposed, so raw – there had been very few times in her friendship that he had seen so much of her, sides that most people wouldn't consider revealing at all, but that Mary certainly did.

And apparently, she still looked somewhat lost, like a deer in the headlights, and he shuffled up to her where she was putting in her name for another check-up the following week.

"Everything squared away?" he queried in his usual, neutral voice.

Mary just shrugged, not trusting herself to speak without sounding like a pansy.

"You know how hospitals are; they like to have all their ducks in a row so nobody can sue them for neglect or anything so juvenile…" Marshall teed up in an attempt to brush Doctor Reese's rapid-fire questions aside. "It'll all come together in due time…"

"Whatever," Mary cut him off; dropping the pen she was using to sign out. "I gave her what for, so there's no issue."

This was somewhat false, as she had hardly taken the physician for a ride, though lord knew she'd tried. The flat, suddenly docile quality of her tone would likely give her away to Marshall; he would know she was uncomfortable and overwhelmed.

And know he did. Marshall couldn't get her to meet his eyes for anything, and she kept fumbling with the blazer she wore to hide – or tried to hide – her ever-expanding breasts. It would've been kinder of him to just leave her be, to pretend he noticed no peculiarities but, yet again, his mouth took off before the thoughts seemed to have entered his mind.

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

Now his mind caught up, and it was screaming something along the lines of, 'You idiot! You're going to scare her away!' And, it was half right.

"There's nothing to talk about," Mary was resolute, hoisting her tote onto her shoulder. "Just…please don't do this again."

Marshall didn't want to make assumptions, and so asked for clarification, "Do what?"

"Show up here without telling me."

The appeal mortified Marshall almost on the spot, precisely because Mary sounded dejected and not enraged. It was how he knew she was serious, and he instantly regretted having forced himself on her in a string of personal moments. What had been funny before wasn't funny any longer.

"I'm sorry, I just…"

Not interested in him falling all over himself, Mary broke in, "Just…if you want to come, then tell me. I'm not saying I'll let you, but…I'd like a little warning."

"Fair enough," Marshall nodded, though he couldn't picture a universe in which Mary would accept him just trotting along for anything baby-related, but was glad for the stipulations in the here and now. "I just know taking a backseat at work is hard on you, and I wanted to be here in case there were other options as far as the trip is concerned…"

"Well, it looks like driving is the only one," Mary reminded him. "So, let's just prepare for that. I'm going home; I need to look through those adoption files if I'm going to settle on a family."

This was very abrupt of his partner, but admirable. Marshall just wondered if that was what she was actually going to do, but he shouldn't have been too suspicious. From what he'd seen in the exam room, she'd basically been hit over the head with the certainty of the approaching birth. Selecting a couple to take Mango home would be step one in getting ready.

Marshall had only one retort to this, "Let me know if you need anything."

But, he'd made the mistake he so often did when Mary showed him even a tiny portion of her gentler side – he'd pushed. And he was going to pay the price.

"I won't. I don't need anything from anybody. I can take care of myself."

XXX

**A/N: You know me; I can't ever resist piling on the pregnancy stuff, but I promise this fic isn't completely enveloped in it like some of my past ones (although it certainly has its fair share)! **


	5. Dress me in Doubt

**A/N: I don't know what I can keep saying except thank-you! If you all continue to read and review, I will count myself extremely lucky!**

XXX

That night, Mary was visited by Jinx with the usual manic energy she had displayed since Brandi had become engaged to Peter. With the wedding two weeks away, she was really starting to rev up, but she was still more tolerable than Brandi herself. Mary didn't want to think about how both women would behave once her little sister was at the altar. It would likely be a case of Shannons Gone Postal.

But, what would've ordinarily had Mary showing her mother the door provided a nice, neat distraction from perusing the contents of the Templeton's file. Or, indeed, the inside of the folder containing information on family number two – the Harmons, Mary had taken care to look up when she'd gotten home. Other than that minor investigation, she hadn't touched the papers, completely contradicting what she had told Marshall she was going to spend her evening doing.

It wasn't as if she would've been able to concentrate on something so pertinent anyway, because Jinx was chattering a mile a minute about bridesmaid dresses. To Mary, this seemed like something that should've been sorted out long before they were fourteen days out from the big, 'I do' but there was no sense telling Jinx that. As Brandi's maid of honor, the inspector was the only one who got a say-so in colors and fabrics, but she didn't like being entrusted with the job. What had initially seemed an important task – to ensure she wouldn't end up with anything too gaudy – now seemed very insignificant.

Sitting at the island with her chin in her hand, trying to decide if she wanted to order Chinese or just have a bowl of cereal for dinner, Mary listened to her mother babble with only one section of her brain. The other part was far-far away on the many obstacles in the road she seemed to have ahead of her.

"I told Brandi that you wouldn't dress in pink or purple without a fight, but she still really likes this magenta color…" Jinx flung one of her many swatches in front of Mary's nose. "If she doesn't give it up, maybe I can convince her to do a pink that is a little bit softer – paler, the kind you might see during Easter…"

Mary barely looked at the shade. It was ghastly – too bright, and just as pink as Jinx had said it was. Still, she couldn't be troubled with raising her fists to fight – not right now, anyway.

"If you had to choose, would you prefer the pink or the purple? Like this plum isn't so bad…" yet another scrap of fabric was yanked from the depths of Jinx's purse and placed on the counter for Mary to judge. "It's darker, a little more subtle…"

"Can't I just wear white to match Brandi?" Mary suggested, her eyes journeying upward for a fraction of a second. "It'd be simplest."

"Only the bride wears white, honey," Jinx said this as though her daughter should've known. "At least, that's what Brandi says – doesn't want to be upstaged, of course."

"She clearly doesn't know me at all if she thinks I have any interest in upstaging her," the younger griped moodily.

"Well, I am sure we will come up with a compromise…something between your affinity for earth tones and Brandi's for all-things vivid…"

"Mmm hmm…" Mary muttered, wondering what the chances were at this point that she'd even be able to squeeze into whatever dress she ended up with.

For that matter, how could she be certain what size she would be in two weeks time? At almost thirty-seven weeks gestation, she might have reached truly epic proportions – elephant or killer whale class, at least. Or, she could have been thrown entirely in the opposite direction – a lumpy, misshapen mess just days off from giving birth attempting to shimmy into some hideous ball gown. It was hard to say which Mary would really fancy, as neither was especially appealing. She wondered, vaguely, if Jinx or Brandi had thought that far ahead.

She decided to find out.

"Mom, how am I even going to be fitted for a dress?" she asked critically. "Am I going to have two? One in triple extra large and one with the end seams missing to accommodate for my being shaped like some Teletubby after I've had this kid?"

It was plain from Jinx's soundless gaping that she had most definitely not considered the riddle Mary had just presented. Immediately, she dove back into her purse and pulled forth a crumpled piece of lined yellow paper, where she began scribbling back and forth.

"I'll have to talk that over with Brandi…" she prattled more absently than she had been prior. "Because you'll be about due by then, won't you?"

Mary nodded slowly, taking a sip of water from her glass, "End of September," she replied. "Not that I actually expect it to stay on schedule."

"And Brandi's wedding is the fourth…"

"You don't say?" Mary had been reminded of that date far too many times since Peter had popped the question.

Jinx seemed not to hear her, "I can't believe we didn't think about this. Well, not to worry darling; we'll figure something out…"

"Be still my heart."

Two counts of sarcasm in a row finally had Jinx abandoning preparations, fixing Mary with a quizzical stare. There was nothing unusual about her jabs toward Brandi's nuptials – jollity was always cause for disdain on Mary's part. Therefore, she couldn't understand why her mother had halted just to ogle her.

The dark-rimmed reading glasses Jinx sometimes wore framed her green eyes nicely, but she slipped them off and into her palm, the better to see her daughter.

"What would you think about my swaying Brandi into letting me stand up for her?"

This bout of charity was nothing short of shocking to Mary – she even arched her brows and nudged herself back in her stool, thinking she could not have heard properly.

"Why would you do that?" distrust came first, as always.

"Well, honey…" that sugary sweet tone of Jinx's indicated Mary was about to be pacified. "I really don't know how this happened, but I hadn't realized just how close your due date was to the wedding. It really isn't practical for you to be all done up. You'll be exhausted whether you've just had the baby or are about to…"

"I didn't know you and 'practical' worked in the same sentence, mom."

"I'll speak to your sister," Jinx decided at random. "I'm taking care of all the maid of honor duties anyway; there's no reason you can't just be a guest…"

"Mom, really…" Mary was unable to believe the older woman could be so generous, so levelheaded, and she was suddenly remorseful that she had ignored all of her inquiries about designer fabrics. "I'd appreciate it if you took over, but Brandi won't be happy. I promised I'd be her 'MOH…'" the abbreviation was revolting, but she used it anyway.

"But, that was before you were pregnant," Jinx reminded her, sliding onto a stool of her own, seemingly forgetting all about the brightly colored cloths scattered on the island. "We can rearrange a few things – you can still be there for Brandi without being on your feet."

"I admit my feet have taken a beating lately…" the blonde conceded, remembering her quandary with her shoes from that morning, something that hadn't entirely been solved by wearing a crappy pair of sandals. "Who knew one kid could send all sixty percent of my water straight to my hands and ankles?"

Jinx cast her a sweet smile, tipping her chin into her hand – the stance Mary had been in not long before.

"Have you been feeling okay, sweetie?" she had likely wanted to know this weeks before, but everyone in Mary's vicinity knew it was unwise to bombard her about her well-being. "The end is kind of sneaking up on me…"

"You and me both," Mary agreed. "I guess I've been all right. But, the doctor's starting to hassle me about labor and everything, so I've really got to get on it as far as the adoption. I'm way behind."

The reasons she articulated this was two-fold. First, she needed to gear herself up for the process; regardless of how blasé she pretended to be, meeting and selecting adoptive parents made her panicky. Second, she wanted her mother to know that, though they were getting along and delving slightly deeper into the issue, her decision was the same. Mango was not going to be her grandchild.

And even as Mary thought such a thing, her stomach clenched into a knot. Rarely did she feel badly about denying Jinx anything, but she knew she was mourning the loss of being a grandmother. It was just one of those things they were going to have to live with.

And, predictably, the dancer's eyes turned sad and somber at the mention of Mary's map but, for her part, she did not attempt to swing her vote in another direction.

"I…I wasn't sure if you'd…" her voice went higher when she was tentative. "If you'd chosen someone or not…"

"I haven't, really," Mary confessed. "There are a few prospects. Nothing definite."

"Can you tell me anything about them?"

The inspector was civil, but firm, "I need to do this on my own, mom. It's up to me. I don't really want a bunch of outside opinions – Marshall doesn't even know who I'm considering," she said this so Jinx wouldn't feel slighted, a more humane approach for Mary. "It's just…my thing, you know?"

And, the brunette was clearly disappointed by being turned away, but it was hard to ignore the fact that Mary had been so moderate in pushing her back. Seldom was she so benevolent; you couldn't expect it to last if you started pestering.

"Of course…sweetheart…" Jinx eventually stuttered, folding her hands primly on the countertop. "Just…know that I'm here if you change your mind."

It didn't do wonders for Mary's disposition, knowing that Jinx was hoping fervently that she _would_ change her mind. For a split second, she began to envision how her mother would look with a baby – she would be so syrupy it would rot everyone's teeth, Mary was sure of that. The saccharine quality that was sure to rear its head on Jinx would likely have Mary rolling her eyes and begging the other woman not to babble incessantly at the currently nameless, faceless child.

But, amidst the pictures of Jinx practically drooling over her grandchild, Mary knew she would likely be doting to a fault. She'd spoil the kid rotten, and have a ball doing it. How or why the younger knew that this was true, she couldn't be certain, because Jinx had never behaved that way when Mary was a child – or a grown-up. Could it be that she was starting to see Jinx in a new light?

In a flash, Mary put the scenario out of her mind, shaking her head like she was warding off a fly. Just that afternoon she'd denied her mother the chance to accompany her during labor. She couldn't forget what the number one priority was here – get through the birth with as little drama as possible, and place the baby where it needed to be, where it would be safest. Nothing else should matter.

Mary must've been blank both before and after she jerked herself back to reality, because Jinx suddenly frowned and looked fretful.

"Are you all right, angel?" she proposed because she, unlike Marshall, did not have a problem badgering the woman with coddling. "You seemed distracted even before…" she gestured behind her back, perhaps to reference the talk over dresses.

Mary swallowed, "I'm fine. Just busy – tired," she made up an excuse. "It was a long day and…thinking about going into labor doesn't exactly have me jumping for joy."

It was a funny thing about the inspector. Things that made her markedly distressed or worried were the things she usually wanted to share with her partner. She craved his insight and his comfort, if only she were brave enough to allow him to give it. But, in the end, it tended to be Jinx that she confided in, and for reasons unknown. The brunette's advice was typically rather superficial, but it was probably that tiny seven-year-old still living inside of Mary that was seeking a parent's counsel. Marshall might be the better choice, but Jinx provided less angst over what asking might mean; she didn't want Marshall getting any ideas.

"You mentioned that earlier," Jinx harked back. "Have you been to the doctor recently?"

"Today."

"Did they say anything?"

"Nothing, just…I mean…" she mishandled her response. "I mean…it'll be soon, obviously. They want me to be prepared. I'm not, but I don't care."

By 'they' she meant Doctor Reese, and not caring was a bit of a stretch, but it was better than facing those demons head on.

"I could always help you, honey…" was Jinx's expected offer. "I have been there, after all."

"I don't know why everyone needs to make this into such a big deal," Mary tried to work in a scoff. "What happened to squatting down in the fields and then keeping right on with your plowing once all was said and done?"

Now Jinx looked politely amused, if slightly exasperated, "I wouldn't bank on going that route, Mary. You'll feel better if you've done a little research – some breathing exercises…"

"That'll just make me more nervous," Mary hadn't intended to divulge that, but it was true. "I'm better off just getting the thing done when it happens and not wasting any extra time beforehand, because Marshall says it isn't something you can plan for anyway."

"Not all of it, no…" Jinx murmured. "But, learning ways to cope is what plenty of women…"

"I am not 'plenty of women,'" the taller snapped somewhat heartlessly, wondering why in the world she had brought this up when she was getting agitated just talking about it. "Me and this kid, we'll get through it fine – live to see another day. That's it, okay?"

She finely tuned the intensity in her voice so Jinx would know she was not fooling around. When she said they were done, they were done, and no amount of finessing from her mother would change that. It was her own fault for trying to discuss it, but she was through trying. Labor, delivery, and the subsequent adoption might be unpleasant, but it would come and go like anything else.

Mary had every intention of treating it like it was 'anything else.'

X

"Marshall, did you want another glass of wine?"

Abigail's voice seemed far away and distant, almost as though it were echoing. It came to Marshall like he was dreaming. In his head, he answered her, telling her he'd had enough for the evening and to put the cork back in the bottle. But, since his girlfriend kept asking, he must not be reacting after all.

"Marshall?"

The otherworldly Abigail materialized in his line of vision rather slowly from where they were scrunched together at his compact kitchen table. She was wearing a red shirt that she'd had on under the blazer she'd worn to work, but had changed into a pair of grey sweatpants she'd left at his house the last time she'd slept over.

As always, she was smiling, although it was with a definite degree of bewilderment.

"Am I speaking Swahili, sugar bug?" Abigail quipped, buoyant as ever. She jiggled her own wine glass, "Can I top you off?"

Marshall did his best to grin as well, his mind seemingly impeded.

"No, I think I'm set for the night," stating his rehearsed lines. "Too much makes me fairly sleepy, and I don't need any help in that department this evening."

"You must've had your nose to the grindstone today," the detective assumed. "Anything we at ABQ PD can assist with?"

"No…" Marshall gave a chuckle, knowing his preoccupation had nothing to do with work, but with Mary. "We've got our bases covered."

"Well, what's got that vacant stare on your gorgeous mug, then?" she twittered onward, lifting her fork and sampling another bite of the asparagus Marshall had roasted. "You feel like unloading?"

The nudge was a kind one, and Marshall was well aware that Abigail just wanted to be a bigger part of his life – the parts he could reveal, anyway. It wasn't in her nature to be nosy or to root around, and yet the man's instinct was to balk. Anything involving Mary and Abigail was sticky business. His girlfriend continued to make valiant – almost overbearing – attempts to get along, whereas his partner was vastly uninterested in forging any kind of connection. Then again, Mary was disinclined to connect with most people.

"Work was…pretty status quo…" he started out with something impartial. "But, things are gonna start to pile up soon since Mary's going on maternity leave in another couple of weeks…"

It was his way of broaching the subject of his best friend in a casual way, but now that he thought about it, he didn't really understand what Mary's maternity leave would consist of. After a week or so off to recover – if that – she'd probably be breaking down the door to come back. Giving up the baby meant that most of the mandated vacation was eliminated, at least for Mary. He could be certain she was probably still entitled to a full break, but he didn't count on her to take it.

"She ever tell you anything about the baby?" Abigail ventured with Marshall's remark.

He couldn't be sure where she was going, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know…" she went on in her southern drawl. "I think Mary would be the first to admit that she's not the most maternal person…"

This could not be denied, and still Marshall felt the need to come to her defense, "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean she couldn't develop a more motherly temperament. We have scenarios at work all the time where she flexes those muscles. She's just not going to need them in this case, that's all…"

"Marshall, I wasn't trying to insult her," Abigail claimed with a flighty sort of giggle. "I've _heard_ her say that – that she doesn't consider herself anything close to a mom. I just wonder how she's dealing; I sure don't know how I'd be acting if I were giving my child away…"

Something about this phrasing rubbed Marshall the wrong way. It wasn't as if Mary was going to leave the baby in a basket on somebody's doorstep, and rationally he knew that wasn't what Abigail was implying. She and Mary didn't have much common ground, and by going to Marshall for details, she was trying to learn all she could whether she could relate or not.

"Well…Mary can be detached when she needs to be," he spluttered somewhat inexpertly. "She's doing what she thinks is best for Mango, not…"

"What?" Abigail interrupted, her airy giggle turning into something resembling a snicker. "Best for who?"

Unable to believe he'd slipped up that way, Marshall just shook his head and tried to smile in the woman's direction, like it was all in fun.

"Nothing – that's just what Mary and I have started calling the baby, since she doesn't know if it's a boy or a girl," he explained, even though the nickname had only just arisen that morning. "Like I said, she's just doing what she thinks is best. It's…brave of her. At least, that's what I think."

He wondered if Abigail would buy that. It wasn't exactly false – Mary's decision _was_ brave; it was sacrificing whatever happiness she might gain with her own flesh and blood to guarantee its security and fulfillment with another justified family. Although, he couldn't really be sure that she viewed her choice that way. He'd had a strong feeling for awhile now that Mary had strove for adoption because she didn't want to jeopardize her job, because she didn't trust herself with a baby, but he didn't dare say that – to Abigail or to Mary.

"Well…you constantly amaze me, Marshal Marshall…" Abigail chirped as she stood up and began clearing their dirty dishes, taking one last bite of asparagus. "I would think you'd be upset."

"Upset about what?"

Abigail tossed her reddish hair over her shoulder, dumping their plates in the sink, "Marshall, you love kids," it was said as though he should've known this already, like he was being inept about his own feelings. "Aren't you disappointed you won't even get to know Mary's baby? She's your best friend."

As if Marshall hadn't had enough pressing on his mind, what with Mary's more submissive attitude at the conclusion of the doctor's appointment, now he had to fool with this? He wasn't really angry with Abigail, as her theory was something anybody could guess, but being faced with it was another thing all together. He tried to come up with a magnanimous response that wouldn't reveal his actual emotions on top of making Abigail feel guilty for bringing it up all at the same time.

"Well, of course I…" maybe that wasn't the best way to start out. "I mean…it isn't as if I'd be against Mary keeping the baby, but it isn't my decision. Her life is her own; I'm just the guy who watches her back when it's raining bullets."

Was he though? He certainly wished he were something more, a thought that he forced himself to forget as quickly as it came on. To be fantasizing about Mary while he sat here with Abigail was obscene.

"You don't think she's being hasty?" the detective barreled on.

"No…" Marshall was quick. "Mary doesn't do what she does lightly; there's always a reason."

"I just know it's not something I could do…" Abigail stopped before joining him once more at the table, fiddling with the photographs on the fridge that Marshall had been poring over that morning. "Walk away from my own child."

Formulating an appropriate comeback to this wasn't going to be easy and Marshall, normally so eloquent with words, was having trouble. He and Abigail hardly ever talked about Mary; he knew the brunette regarded her as an accomplished inspector, but knew little about her as a person. Marshall wondered if Mary had Abigail on her radar, even as a fellow law enforcement member. Something within severely doubted it.

Abigail must've gleaned something from her boyfriend's silence, because when she bounced back over to the table and dropped into her seat, she fed him a winning smile and tweaked his chin playfully.

"Don't look so sour, cutie pie," she encouraged. "Did I say something I shouldn't have? Should I not have brought this up?"

"Oh…no…" Marshall hurried to talk her down, well aware that she couldn't really know the sort of effect her statements were having on him. "You're entitled to your opinion. It's good to know that if – you know – we ever procreate that I am aware of where you stand."

He said this captivatingly, not to identify any sort of heavy subject matter. For most couples, bringing children into the equation when you weren't even engaged was a red light. But, Abigail was always so appallingly perky that little could deter her sunshine-y persona.

"Well, that is farther down the road, good sir…" her eyes danced as she leaned across the table. "But, it's nice to be with a man who doesn't run for the hills when he talks about parenthood."

"On the contrary," Marshall agreed. "I welcome it whenever the time is right."

Abigail had alluded to, however unintentionally, his hopes and dreams for a child in the not-so-distant future.

And Marshall wasn't picky. A child he embraced with open arms didn't have to be his own. He just couldn't bank on Mary being the one to give it to him.

XXX

**A/N: Abigail had to show up eventually, right? ;) **


	6. Returned to the System

**A/N: It is finally a new day in this IPS world! It was Monday for awhile LOL!**

XXX

Mary liked Patricia Anders. She really did. She was fairly straightforward with just a hint of sympathy when it was warranted. She hardly ever overstepped her boundaries. However, being that she was Mary's adoption placement counselor; the inspector had the feeling she wasn't going to continue not crossing the line for much longer.

Sitting on one side of the sturdy brown desk, Mary did her best to look her straight in the eye, to appear confident and in full ownership of her decisions. Her eyes were twinkling, kind of like Stan's, though they didn't hold Stan's warmth. While Mrs. Anders didn't have the same kind of clout as someone like Doctor Reese, who could use her concern for Mary's physical condition to justify prying into her personal business, it was still entirely plausible Patricia was going to want to know more now.

On the surface in front of them sat two files. The Templetons – Nicci and Andre – with their landscaped backyard and beat-up truck, the teacher and the attorney. And then there were the Harmons – Brooke and Christopher. They were a vast contrast from the Templetons, other than the fact that Brooke, too, was a teacher. The Harmons already had two kids – Trevor and Hunter, ages eight and four. Chris was the principal at the same school where his wife worked. They also lived in Rhode Island, which seemed a lifetime away to Mary; the Templetons were practically down the street in comparison.

These pictures of these couples and their lives, staring Mary in the face, was very surreal to her. It didn't seem like it could possibly be happening, that she was really committing herself to something so monumental. And yet, here she was, with Mrs. Anders looking almost equally as skeptical from the other side of the desk.

"I guess you've been doing some thinking," the counselor observed. "I was going to call you if I didn't hear from you by Wednesday. I could be wrong, but I thought you were due soon."

"No…" Mary shook her head, scratching it absently for something to do with her hands. "You're not wrong. I have about a month to go."

Patricia nodded, "No wonder you want to get things set in stone. Are you having trouble picking one over the other?" she indicated both families. "Lots of women seem to struggle toward the end; they sift through dozens of files and manage to narrow it down, only to stall at the last minute."

Mary didn't think she meant 'last minute' the way it sounded, like she was starting to back away from adoption entirely, because that wasn't her intent. It sounded like she was recognizing that-that final leap could be a tough one, even when you did take the plunge.

"Yeah, well…" Mary shrugged half-heartedly. "These were the two that have stood out from the beginning, so…I don't know where I go from here…"

Mrs. Anders folded her arms on the tabletop, "Typically, the next step would be to meet the prospective family – or families. Did you have an interest in meeting both?"

Truth be told, Mary had no interest in meeting either couple, but the last time she'd said that to Patricia, she had seemed taken aback, so she knew better this time. There was no way in hell she could give little Mango to someone without having scrutinized them in the way only she could, but the thought was frightening, even for someone who wasn't easily spooked.

"I don't…I don't really know…"

"Well, let's back up for a second," Patricia figuratively held the phone. "If you're eight months along, you can't fly to Rhode Island …" it seemed everybody but Mary knew the rules and regulations when it came to air travel. "Should I arrange for the Harmons to come here so you can see them?"

Oh, my. Mary wasn't so sure about that either. The potentials for a situation such as that could be catastrophic. What if Brooke and Chris met Jinx and Brandi? That alone was enough to have Mary confessing her plans for the following week in an attempt to ward Mrs. Anders off the idea of sounding the alarm.

"Next week…well, maybe sooner…" she was starting to scrabble, wanting to seem with it, but knowing she was failing miserably. "I have to head east for work – to Pennsylvania, specifically, but don't spread that around," she cautioned. "I'm going to drive with my partner. We could…I mean…" she couldn't even believe what she was saying. "We could go the extra couple hundred miles to Rhode Island."

Now the other woman raised her eyebrows, like she couldn't fathom Mary being so cooperative. Mary wasn't sure she could comprehend it herself.

"You'd be willing to do that?" Patricia tried to elucidate the circumstances. "So…the Templetons…?"

"Maybe we'll…" Mary had really come to no conclusions on her own and yet, somehow, was putting on an act like she had. "We'll…leave them aside…until I've met the others."

Why she was tossing Andre and Nicci to the curb all of a sudden, she couldn't know. This frontage she was presenting was coming out of nowhere; she hadn't planned on pretending she had things all figured out, and her mind had gone there anyway. Had she spent so many years refining the perfect poker face that she now assumed it without thinking?

"Who did you say was going with you?" Mrs. Anders queried. "To Pennsylvania?"

"My partner," Mary repeated. "At work…"

"Oh, from the Marshal Service?" the pregnant one suddenly remembered Patricia having been impressed when she'd learned of her career with law enforcement. "A man? A woman?"

"A man. His name is Marshall," Mary told her. "Not that it matters."

"This is a pretty big get together," Patricia acknowledged, as if Mary did not know that. "You're okay…having an escort?"

The blonde just shrugged, "I could always leave him in the car with the window cracked."

A grim smile followed these words and, although Mary and Mrs. Anders had not known each other that long, the latter had figured out quite a bit about her charge in the hours they had spent together. The primary trait was that, while Mary might appear to waffle, she usually meant what she said. So, if she indicated Marshall would be along for the ride and that she would deal when she arrived, then that was what was going to happen.

"Well, if you're ready…" Mary watched as Patricia took the Templeton's folder and removed it from the equation, placing it in her lap. "I can place a call to our sister agency back east and set up a visit. I obviously won't be there to supervise; you'll deal with the Harmon's placement counselor until you can get back here and we can tie up all the loose ends."

This instruction was foggy to Mary, because she was suddenly bothered by seeing Andre and Nicci taken off the table. True, her baby could only go to one family, and someone was going to get the shaft, but even Mary, who didn't often find herself feeling much compassion for strangers, suddenly experienced a twinge of regret.

Mrs. Anders seemed to notice the shift on her face, "Is that arrangement not going to work?" she thought Mary had gone slack because of what might go down in Rhode Island.

The other shook her head, "Oh…no…" she didn't like feeling so outside herself; it had happened way too much as of late. "Just…I was curious…"

"About?"

She tried to sound like she didn't especially care, "What…I mean…" now she was clearing her throat unnecessarily. "What'll…happen to the Templetons?"

Patricia didn't seem bothered by the question, "They'll be returned to the system as an option for other biological mothers."

'Returned to the system' sounded so stark. Two people, who, from the sound of their papers, desperately wanted a baby, would become a number once more. They'd be a pair among thousands, their yearning reduced to a pound sign and six digits until another individual cared to pull them out for a look – to determine if they were suitable people to raise a child.

Why would anyone set themselves up for that kind of rejection? Mary didn't understand it. Was it because she didn't understand the fierce craving brought on in women – even men – who desired being parents?

"Did they know I was considering them?" she asked softly, not sure why she sounded so docile all of a sudden.

Mrs. Anders seemed to read her investigation as guilt. In some ways, Mary supposed it was, but she didn't like thinking of it that way. It was just an interest – nothing more, nothing less. But, the slow shake of the head that the inspector received didn't alleviate any lingering shame.

"No…" Patricia confirmed. "We don't contact the adoptive parents until the biological mother requests a meeting, and even then we urge them to be cautious. You set yourself up for a lot of heartbreak in this business."

Mary supposed so. She just hoped the Templetons weren't one of those couples that were constantly portrayed on television – six rounds of in vitro, frozen eggs, commiserating and wallowing, seemingly empty homes with pictures of nieces and nephews, children that weren't their own. Who knew? Maybe Andre and Nicci had only been in the system for a few months; they couldn't know that their story had been pulled already. It didn't sound as though they were ever likely to.

"I mean, they seemed…legitimate…" Mary offered lamely. "Not insane. Surely someone will realize they're better prepared to raise kids than – say – my mother," a shaky joke.

"Mary, your job was to pick who was best for you, and you've done that," Mrs. Anders stated matter-of-factly. "A child isn't something you leave in the hands of another person unless you're certain you trust them."

This was going a bit far. Mary couldn't say, even now, why the Harmons had won out, especially when they lived so far away. And trust? That was absurd. She trusted Brooke and Christopher as much as she trusted any witness, which was barely or not at all.

"I just…I guess I'm glad that the Templetons…I mean…" she didn't want to say it; she wanted to wrap this up and get on to something more clerical, more concrete. "…I wouldn't want them to think I gave them the boot for any specific reason…"

"Don't worry, Mary," the counselor nearly cut her off. "Everything is kept confidential until you give us the green light."

It was hard to say if this really qualified as a 'green light.' Mary knew she was coming off more squirmy and hesitant than she wanted, but Mrs. Anders must've been taking her words at face value – as she should, being the professional she was.

That was why Mary said, "Good," in response to the woman's clearance and nodded, hoping she looked a little more forceful.

"All right then…" after depositing the Templeton's folder among a stack on top of her desk, Patricia then retrieved the one belonging to the Harmons and stood. Mary watched as she placed the Rhode Island couple's documents in a black file cabinet, possibly with her own paperwork. After closing the drawer, she turned around, "I will get those calls made and then I'll phone you with the details – figure out a date when you think you can arrive on the east coast."

This was vague, as Mary couldn't be certain when her Pennsylvania Prostitute, Savannah Doyle, would be called to the stand, but Stan was usually right when he predicted court dates. They could bank on it being sometime the following week, even if that meant Mary and Marshall had to leave over the weekend to be there in time.

"Just…let me know then…" the woman got out of her seat with some degree of difficulty, maneuvering around her gargantuan stomach to pick up her bag, using the desk for support. "If that's it, then…"

"Actually…" Patricia raised a pointed finger, stopping Mary in her tracks. "There is something else we'll need you to look into before we can finalize the adoption – further down the road, but the sooner you can make contact, the better…"

"What's that?"

"The biological father will need to waive his parental rights. We talked about that at your first appointment, didn't we?"

Mary froze where she stood, the phrase, 'Oh, shit,' playing on a loop in her brain. Yes, Mrs. Anders had followed protocol to the letter, had informed Mary from the get-go that she couldn't give up the baby without Mark's consent, but she'd quickly forgotten about it. She was so certain that Mark would want no part of being a father that she never figured it would be a problem to get him to say farewell to the baby before being given a proper hello.

Now though, she was suddenly uneasy. A big part of her still believed Mark wouldn't put up a fight, but what if she was wrong? He could really make a mess of things if he wanted to stake his claim on Mango.

Unfortunately, Mary must've been glowering – or something similar – because Patricia looked concerned.

"Mary…" she stepped back to her desk, and the mentioned knew that she had cracked the code long before she wiggled her way to the root of her grimace. "Does he know that you're pregnant?"

That 'he' was nobody to Mrs. Anders except a John Hancock on a piece of paper, but that didn't stop her from proving her intuition. Trying not to look too disappointed in herself, because it would make her look irresponsible, Mary shook her head, not without casting her gaze to the ground momentarily.

"Well, I'm afraid those are beans you're going to have to spill if you want the adoption to go through. I'm not trying to be pushy…"

"No…" Mary stopped her before she could go any further. "I understand. I'll…I'll figure it out…"

"If you have any reservations about how he might react…" Patricia seemed to be choosing her words carefully, but there were only so many ways to say what she was thinking. "Not to stereotype, but I so often deal with teenagers who think their boyfriends will become violent at the news…"

"Oh, no!" Mary suddenly burst, not wanting her to get the wrong impression, unsure why she was so emphatic. She hurried to tone it down, "No…it's nothing like that. We're actually…I mean…he's not my favorite person, but he would never…" she was getting all tongue-tied, wanting to be finished. "Trust me…he doesn't have a temper. That won't be the issue. Even if he did, I've got a gun, so…"

Patricia cast off a forbidding, only slightly amused smile at this gag, but being that she knew Mary was a Marshal, perhaps she thought it wasn't as threatening as it sounded. In any case, the idea that Mark could somehow pummel his ex-wife was laughable. Her training would flatten him in two seconds; plus, she was a good head taller and now, thanks to her pregnancy, far heavier too.

"I'll speak to him," she found herself concluding, but the promise didn't solidify; she couldn't even picture herself breaking the news. "I'll let you know when I've told him."

"Okay…" Mrs. Anders was agreeable. "And, expect to hear from me soon."

"Right…thanks."

And, with that, Mary could safely see herself out of the office, and it was a good thing too. She had been starting to feel trapped, like the counselor had been holding her there against her will. There was nothing overly menacing about Mrs. Anders – in fact, Mary found Doctor Reese far more off-putting – but, she forced Mary to face a whole host of complications that she had long since tried to leave behind her. Nine months was fading fast.

As she slipped out into the parking lot, only to be met by stifling August heat, her phone began to ring inside her tote. Deciding to wait until she had reached her car so she could fish it out more efficiently, she swung the bag on the roof of her vehicle and yanked it into the open when it was on its third buzz. Not surprisingly, it was Marshall. Mary also noticed that it was after ten o'clock already, which meant she'd been at the agency longer than she'd expected.

Annoyed about this, among other things, she knew she sounded irritable when she finally greeted her partner.

"Yeah. I'm just leaving," she figured that was what he wanted to know.

"Oh…" but Marshall appeared caught off guard by her abruptness. "There's no rush for you to get back to the office. Things are a little slow today…"

"There's a first," Mary remarked, hitching up her jeans, as they had begun to sag while she'd been sitting inside. "The witnesses must be taking after me," referring to the way she seemed to move on a delay as of late.

"But, you're done already?" Marshall recalled how she had answered her cell.

"Yep. Highest buyer won."

The analogy did not really work, but Marshall would know what she meant. As it was, Mary almost felt like she could hear him suck in his breath through the speaker, though it was very slight. She hoped he wasn't going to try and talk her out of operations now – not when he'd been so supportive thus far.

"You…chose a family?"

"Bet you didn't think I would," Mary taunted. "But, I am not one to back out of my commitments, skippy."

"The Templetons?" Marshall guessed.

"No, someone else."

"Oh?"

"Is this the third degree, Marshall?" the woman cut in, feeling restless by his super-speed questioning. "As soon as Mango is off with these yokels, it'll be water under the bridge. Does it matter who they are so long as they're not axe murderers or romantic comedy swooners or anything?"

The man chuckled hearing her compare killers to hopeless lovers, but that was Mary for you. The sound was a welcome one to his fellow inspector. She liked that he was being low key, that he wasn't making a production out of her having come to a decision, however rickety. Of course, the fact that she was behaving far more indifferently with him than she had in the appointment said a lot, but she had become an expert at hiding things from Marshall.

"As long as they suit you, I trust your judgment completely," he concluded kindly.

"There's a comfort."

"On a separate note, when you do find the time to return to the Sunshine Building, Stan wants to go over procedures on the Doyle case. It may be creeping up on us sooner than we think, especially if you and I are driving."

"Did you tell him that?" Mary groaned as she lowered herself into her car, wanting to get out of the boiling sun. "Because I could really do without Stan thinking I am some fragile flower who needs her back rubbed and the man to take the wheel…" she snarked. "That would be assuming you're a man, though, and that one has always been a tough call…"

"I am sure Shakespeare's actors who played women got a lot of flack too," Marshall was not offended. "But, thus began an era of timeless literature and invaluable theater…"

"Yeah, whatever doofus," Mary interrupted. "I'll be there in ten. You want me to pick you up a coffee on the way?"

"You're drinking coffee again?"

"I was trying to be nice!" Mary barked. "Way to ruin it by reminding me I can't even sniff the stuff without puking."

"In that case, I will consider your offer rescinded."

And, as Mary inserted her key into the ignition, she couldn't keep herself from grinning upon hearing she would not have to make an extra pit stop.

"You sure do know the way to a girl's heart."

XXX

**A/N: I liked Mrs. Anders on the show, but I don't remember them mentioning her first name, so I just gave her one. I actually paused the scene where Mary looks at the Templeton's file to see what their first names were, and it was indeed Andre and Nicci LOL! I wouldn't actually spell Nicci like that – I'd spell it Nikki, but I was trying to go with what the show said, nerdy as I am to go to those lengths to be accurate!**

**Many-many thanks for the reviews, once again!**


	7. Your Life in a Letter

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed that last chapter! You never know! ;) **

XXX

Back at the office, discussions on Savannah Doyle were deferred when Marshall was waylaid by a frantic witness that kept him in the conference room until further notice. It seemed the morning wasn't going to remain uneventful for long, but life in WITSEC rarely worked that way. It was a well-oiled machine, but ready to lose its wheels at any given time; you constantly had to be ready to roll with the punches.

Nonetheless, Mary's charges seemed to be letting her off the hook and, once she finished all the paperwork she had neglected to complete the day before, she was left with a little free time prior to lunch. She did her best not to remind herself that her light load was probably brought on by the fact that she had been banned from working in the field. It was demeaning for her to contemplate, especially since she knew Delia had been enlisted to take over her more fragile witnesses.

And so, because Stan was ensconced in his office, Marshall was talking a squirrely boy down from his ledge, and Delia was on the phone, Mary pulled her copy of the Harmon's file from inside her tote, hoping no one was going to catch her in the act. The originals lay with Mrs. Anders at the agency, but she'd been able to keep their introduction letter and the few photos they'd provided. She had faint hope that, by poring over and studying them more intensely, she might feel better about picking them over the Templetons.

Brooke and Christopher had written a fairly standard, traditionally sickly biography of themselves and their children. Mary surprised even herself by selecting a unit that was so different from her own family, but wasn't that the point? Mind-numbingly cutesy they might be, but they were the furthest thing from James and Jinx, not to mention Mary and Brandi in their youth. Mary hadn't wanted her child to experience the turmoil that she had, and being that she would morph into a single mother overnight, she wouldn't be starting off on the right foot.

She read the words and descriptions carefully, trying to glean more than she had the first few times she'd gone through the papers, trying not to see them as superficial or needy.

_Dear Birth Mother,_

Did every letter start out that way? Mary hadn't pored over that many files, but every single one had-had the same beginning line. Did the agency have stipulations about that sort of thing? Shaking her head and deciding it didn't matter, Mary pushed on.

_Dear Birth Mother,_

_Before you read any further, we want you to know how much we admire what you are doing. Placing your baby in the hands of strangers is an incredibly selfless and noble act. For you to put your trust and reliance in someone you have never met is taking an enormous leap of faith, and we want you to know that we do not diminish the choice you have made, whether we are your couple of choice or not._

Mary took pause to mull this over. Did these people expect her to believe that they would really find her to be so 'selfless' if they weren't chosen in her little miniature lottery? It was more likely they'd feel resentful and cheated. Trying to ignore this too, she continued, willing herself to get through the whole thing before making any more internal judgments.

_We are Christopher and Brooke Harmon of Providence, Rhode Island. We are both natives of "The Ocean State" and met at Brown University when we discovered we were both majoring in education. Chris, the oldest of five children…_

Five? Mary still couldn't get over this stat. It sounded like Mango's potential grandparents had been busy in Christopher's youth.

_Chris, the oldest of five children, had aspirations of becoming a sixth grade teacher, but later set his sights on administration. He is the principal at the elementary school located in our subdivision, and has been for the past five years. After receiving her degree in elementary education, Brooke – an only child - was also hired in the same building, and teaches second grade. We love living in such a close knit community where the local children know we live and breathe the same culture that they do. It makes for wonderful connections between school and home, which has already been so beneficial to our two young sons._

The wife must've written this, Mary couldn't help thinking, even as she attempted to solider on and translate the remainder of the letter. Only a second grade teacher could sound so sunny and positive, although it stood to reason that if Chris was a principal he had to adopt that persona as well.

There was another reason she had stalled, and that was at the mention of the sons. When Mary had first decided on adoption, she had never envisioned her baby having siblings, and yet here she was. A ready-made, cookie-cutter family straight out of a picture frame.

_Our oldest, Trevor, is eight years old. He loves sports, especially basketball, and to go fishing with his dad. He claims his favorite part of school is recess, but he also loves math and science. When he isn't outside practicing his dribbling, he's beating the next level on one of his many video games. _

_Our younger son, Hunter, is four. He will turn five in April, and therefore begin kindergarten next fall. He is less outgoing than his brother, and can be extremely shy, but has a love for animals and has already picked up an affinity for books._

This was starting to sound like a report card. Granted, Mary had thought the same thing when she had gone through the articles the first time, but it was beginning to stand out now. Still, she convinced herself that the twisting feeling in her belly was just Mango making its presence known, and not misgivings about who she had landed on to raise him. These were obviously nice people. So what if they were a little clichéd? They were up to the task, weren't they?

_Trevor and Hunter are the light of our lives and we would love to give them a third sibling to complete our family. After spending eight years feeling so fortunate to become parents so easily, we would like to provide a home to a child who needs us. We know there are so many babies out there looking to find a family, and we hope we can be that family for your child. We understand that you would always play a vital role in your baby's life, and we would never discount the sacrifice you have made for us. Please know that we are willing to enter into a closed or open adoption, depending upon your preference._

_Thank-you so much for giving us a chance and we hope to be in touch soon._

_Sincerely,_

"What are you looking at?"

Mary didn't realize how engrossed she had become in the final lines until Stan's voice interrupted her reverie. She jumped and grabbed the nearest mug full of pencils, which was only big enough to conceal the giant adoption seal on the top of the letterhead.

"Nothing."

But, she could've cursed herself for acting so shifty. She'd have been better off behaving like she was just skimming something from a witness, but because she'd been so caught off guard; she hadn't had time to think it through.

Unfortunately, Stan must not have noticed how uptight she'd suddenly become, and tried to tease her.

"Ah…that is not a 'nothing' look on your face, inspector," he joshed with a smile. "You poring over documents trying to figure out how to undo the restraints on your desk so you can escape into the field?"

This wasn't a bad guess on Stan's part, as he knew how much Mary hated tedious office work, but he was off the mark this time.

"Well, I am an eagle eye when it comes to bolting inspectors; you aren't getting out of here on my watch…" and, to Mary's horror, he managed to slip the letter out from under the cup. "Hand it over…"

Now she could only sigh, knowing if she tried to make a grab for the paper she would just look more suspicious. As it was, Stan saw fairly quickly what he had stumbled upon and immediately looked aghast with himself. He did a better job of covering it up than Mary, who simply sat and clicked her pencil on the side of the desk, waiting to see how he was going to talk his way out of his snooping.

When he finally looked up, he was gaping slightly, but trying to be low key.

"I guess that's what I get for being nosy, huh?"

Mary slowly took the letter as he held it out to return it to her, "Some comeuppance," she groused. "I don't care if you saw it so long as you keep your mouth shut."

"From who?" he wanted to know. "I mean, surely Marshall…"

"Marshall doesn't know who I picked," this was exactly what she'd told Jinx. "He knew who I was debating between, but he doesn't know anything about them. I'd like to keep it that way."

Now Stan furrowed his brow, "Why? I don't see him acting as some kind of peanut gallery. He'll respect your decision…"

"Will he?" Mary couldn't help scoffing, averting her eyes and expertly sliding the fated piece of paper out of sight, back into her bag. "I'm not so sure."

Stan's hands went inside his pockets – they often traveled there when he was thinking hard, or trying to explain something. It was funny how Mary could read his body language so abruptly; she'd watched him elicit this gesture for years now with no thought as to what it meant. All of a sudden, she could practically see his mind at work while his fingers rested in the crevices of his slacks.

"I don't really think of Marshall as being someone who is particularly disapproving," the chief declared. "Why would you doubt his support?"

"It really has nothing to do with him…" Mary fessed up; glad Marshall himself was well out of ear shot while they had this conversation. "I mean, yes, part of this I just want to keep to myself, because it's my issue and no one else's, you know?"

"Sure…"

"But…Marshall has…" she wondered how Stan would take this, if he would think she was trying to be delicate, or if she was rushing to judgment no matter how passive she came off. "…He has other people in his life now that he didn't have before, and I can't guarantee how much of what I tell him will get back to…" now she couldn't help herself from pursing her lips and shaking her head before ultimately returning to the items on her desk. "Others."

It was clear from his suddenly awkward-looking brown eyes – the way they shifted left to right – that Stan knew exactly who 'others' were, and it wasn't plural either.

"Chaffee?"

Mary liked Stan a little better for not using Abigail's first name. It made her seem more distant, and that was where Mary wished she would stay – at a distance.

"I don't even know what she thinks I'm doing with the baby. Marshall's known I planned to go with adoption since I got pregnant, but would he tell her that?"

"Even if he didn't, she'll find out anyway, Mary…"

"Yeah, but I don't like the idea of them having some cozy catch-up over an Ouija board at their little slumber parties," she snarked bitterly. "I can't even think about Abigail's 'high-ho, it's off to the agency we go' attitude about this whole thing without losing my lunch."

Stan actually chuckled upon hearing this, undoubtedly because he could envision the detective bouncing and jaunting her way through sunlit fields, perfectly sprightly about Mary handing her child over to a couple of bright and shiny teachers in Rhode Island. Mary still believed adoption was the best route to go, but that didn't mean it needed to be coated in caramel and chocolate sundaes, which was what Abigail was sure to do.

"Well, I don't know if he's told her or not," her boss admitted. "I really don't even know how serious they are. They've only been together a few months."

"More like eight," Mary surprised herself by correcting him. "At least since January."

"Yeah, but 'serious' is subjective," Stan decided. "And, I wouldn't worry about what the two of them discuss. Marshall may have gone a little more in depth with her as far as your plans go, but he's not going to go into painstaking detail, Mary. He cares too much about you to have a heart-to-heart about your personal life with someone else."

Mary wanted Stan to believe that she was leery of Abigail getting too much information because she was cautious of anyone prying too zealously into her private business, but that wasn't entirely the case. Truthfully, she hated to think of Marshall having a relationship so intimate with a woman that was not her, and she couldn't say why. Marshall had certainly had girlfriends over the years, but none had irked her more than Abigail. She was such a glaring contrast to the kind of woman she would imagine he could be with. Marshall was optimistic, but nowhere near as gallingly vivacious as his current girlfriend.

It would be too much to disclose to him, but the thought of he and Abigail huddled together dissecting her life really bothered her. She could only hope that Stan was right, that Marshall would use discretion when talking about Mary at home. She couldn't fathom what he might say.

"Why does he hold back, do you think?" Mary proposed after a long silence, and even though she wasn't one to go to someone like Stan for tidbits on her and Marshall's friendship, it seemed acceptable in this case. "I mean, what does he have to gain from keeping things from Abigail? She's not going to like him any better for it…"

"It's what I just said," the man reiterated. "He cares about you – your feelings. He knows you don't like people overanalyzing you, so he isn't going to do that with Abigail, even if she is his girlfriend. If there's a future, then maybe, but pushing his luck on that too soon is asking for trouble."

"Gee, Stan…" she hadn't expected such an in-depth answer, leaning back in her rolling chair and lifting her swollen feet onto the desktop. "Maybe you and Finkel could team up, huh? You could be her little assistant; getting coffee and sitting in with the nutters kind of like Charlie used to do with us."

"I try to be helpful and this is the thanks I get?" the shorter couldn't stop smirking though, even as he nudged Mary's booted feet to indicate it wasn't commonplace for her to lounge around in the office. "It is hardly expertise, what I am spit-balling here. But, when you've watched the pair of you as long as I have…" a shrug. "You pick up on a few things."

"Hands off the sausages…" his inspector swatted his fingers away from her toes, but she rested her dogs on the floor once more, regardless. "You don't know what kind of over-bloated hams you're pinching there."

"And, I think that would be my cue to exit…"

For, Stan definitely had his limits when it came to pregnancy, but he wasn't going to be able to retreat after all. Marshall emerged from the conference room, trailing his fidgeting witness on one arm. Stan hung back, waiting until he had seen him to the door and through the elevator. When Marshall was back in their midst once more, he looked weary, like the little buddy had really taken it out of him.

"What's with Tiny Tim?" Mary asked right off the bat, gesturing toward the closed glass doors.

Marshall blew out slowly, trying to regain his composure as he stopped at Stan's side.

"That was Simon Porter. You know he has his bouts with paranoia…"

"I gotta tell you, skinny, that most of your nerds fade into the woodwork…"

"Well, in any event, I managed to calm him down. He's been convinced for the past week that he's seeing somebody from his past in the grocery store, but security footage hasn't turned up anything…"

"It was nice of you to look into it," Stan complimented him as a good boss would. "Simon's hunches have never panned out."

"It makes him feel better if we humor him," Marshall concurred. "He's just a kid, after all."

Mary watched their byplay with a pen between her teeth, noticing not for the first time just how considerate Marshall really was, something that was probably sharpened due to Stan's insistence that her partner was so in tune to her own emotions. Fortunately for her, as she didn't like to dwell upon anything mushy for very long, Stan was apt to switch gears now that his male employee had returned.

"Since you're through, I thought we could cover a few more bases on the Doyle case…"

"Oh, that's right…" such a thing had obviously slipped Marshall's mind once he'd been whisked away.

"We can arrange the particulars later this afternoon if we have time, but it's looking like you two may be shipping out before week's end…"

Hearing this, the blonde removed the pen she was sucking on and sat up a little straighter, "What? How come? You said that Savannah probably wouldn't be called until…"

"Until next week, I know," Stan conceded with only half a glance to the woman. "But, Monday or Tuesday is looking the most likely; DOJ is really pushing to set a date. Savannah and Delia will be able to fly out over the weekend, but since you all are driving…"

"We'll have to be gone by Thursday," Marshall calculated at warp speed. "In order to stay off the beaten path and not attract attention, it'll take the better part of that long weekend to get all the way up there since we'll have to stop at night…"

Mary was irked by this, "It's only a solid twenty-four hours from Albuquerque to Philly," she interjected. "I say we just burn all the rubber we can, there and back, and save ourselves the crappy hotels and gas station bathrooms."

"Not the most favorable idea," and there was Marshall, practical as always. "And, it's more like thirty-two hours depending on traffic and construction. We'll want to stay under the radar…"

"Who the hell is going to be looking for us?" Mary was not convinced such a trip could really be dangerous. "Hicks? Hippies? Tourists at the Saint Louis Arch?"

"Marshall's right," Stan declared as though he hadn't even heard Mary. "You want to give yourselves plenty of time and with you being…" now he hedged. "Well, you know…" yes, Mary did know, and she didn't hesitate to roll her eyes at his discomfort. "…Over a day's worth of time in the car can't be good for you. I'm banking on three nights on the road before you make it to Pennsylvania, and then Sunday to set up camp."

"Looks good to me, chief," Marshall was agreeable, but Mary was not.

"Wussies," she accused spitefully.

But, little could deter Marshall's enthusiasm for a good, juicy case, even one that was so out of their way. Mary still felt that the Department of Justice was asking quite a lot for them to drive cross-country just to give an account of Savannah's life in WITSEC – and wasting their precious money to boot. But, it was their dime, and so she could hardly complain; she could even use it against them on the horizon if they continued to bitch about their lack of funding.

"It'll be an adventure," Marshall was sunny and smiling. "You, me, and Mango hitting the open road."

And given Mary's internal battle with Mango and its eventual parents, an adventurous open road sounded pretty good – even if she hadn't confided in her partner that they would be extending their journey to "The Ocean State" just to make nice with the revered principal and his bubbly wife.

XXX

**A/N: Ah, Stan…relationship extraordinaire LOL.**


	8. Salt and Sour Heat

**A/N: I love hearing in people's reviews how they read the chapters – from a computer, a phone, a tablet, etc. I don't know why; I think it just makes it more personal for me to picture real people on the other end enjoying my work. It is humbling. :)**

XXX

Marshall's difficult morning with Simon the Suspicious combined with Mary's less-than-lovely get-together with Mrs. Anders meant that both were angling for a break come lunchtime. Leaving Stan to munch on his usual boxed salad from the deli down the street, Marshall escorted Mary to their favorite Mexican restaurant where he, for once, forgot about being a gentleman and ordered himself a margarita. Mary glowered sullenly at him the whole time, watching him finger the salt on the ridge of the glass and sip almost daintily through his straw. The water she was being forced to gargle paled in comparison.

"You're shameful, you know that," Mary accused darkly through the already shadowed bistro, their table lit by an overhead lamp. "Drinking that right in front of me when you know I can't have any and am practically dying to…"

"While I commend your responsibility, I think I am entitled to a treat now and again," her partner proclaimed with another measured taste "With the way you're masticating those tortilla chips like garbage grinding at the county dump, there aren't going to be any of _those_ left for me."

"Nice visual," Mary was sarcastic as she continued crunching, noticing only now that he'd mentioned it that she had devoured over half the bowl. "And, why don't you put your pinky up and have done with it?" she was referring to his girlish way of drinking so skillfully. "Seriously, doofus, this isn't a tea party."

"I should hope not," Marshall made no note of her jab and downed a bigger gulp just to prove he could behave in a more manly fashion. "With your aversion to the beverage."

"Ugh," Mary choked out gutturally. "Don't remind me," she didn't want to think about the nasty, hot drink she had been ingesting as a substitute for coffee over the last eight months.

At the request, Marshall went silent and nabbed a few corn chips while he had the chance, digging the corners through his singular bowl of salsa, as Mary's was nearly empty. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant was comforting to the woman – loud enough to discourage any sort of meaningful discussion, but quiet enough that they could still hear one another speak without resorting to yelling over busy waiters and noisy little kids in their booths.

However, Mary should've known that no matter what the location or the level of the din, Marshall was not one to hold back when he had something he wanted to talk about. Now, apparently, was no exception.

"So…" he initiated, popping in another chip while they waited for their orders to arrive. He started out with something deceptively neutral, "I was a tad surprised you wanted to lunch here. After that monstrous burrito you consumed yesterday, I would've thought that Mexican food would be off your list."

Mary shrugged, not spotting the trap; as she was too busy eating, "Mango wants what it wants."

"Glad to see that's catching on," Marshall sounded pleased. "I didn't ask how things went with you and Mango this morning. I assumed the meeting was fine…"

"You make it sound like he pulled up a chair and had a say-so in where he gets flung once I pop him," the blonde didn't care for his phrasing, but mostly she was annoyed that he had brought to the forefront a theme she didn't want to hash out. "He stayed still and silent, just to dispel that idea."

Instead of meddling right away, Marshall latched onto something completely different, "He?"

Even in the hazy atmosphere, Mary could make out her friend raising his eyebrows, like he suddenly believed she knew something that she had not shared with him. Mary had never considered the word 'he' as some kind of clue; it was a throwaway pronoun to replace 'Mango' until she dragged it out again.

But, deep down, she had always had a gut feeling regarding the sex of her child. Well, the Harmon's child. He, should it be one, would fit right in with Trevor and Hunter.

"You dropping a hint here?" Marshall immediately became curious when Mary slumped her eyes to the food in front of her, although it was fast disappearing. "Not up to your usual subtlety, but…"

"Stand down, Poindexter," she shook her head, not knowing which bothered her more – that she thought she possessed any sort of intuition, or that Marshall had roped her into conferring about the adoption. "Mango is still just a Mango as far as I'm concerned. I don't know anything; it's just a word."

"Uh-huh…" coyly, the taller eyed his partner with stealth, like he knew she was avoiding admitting her instincts. "Right. So…this morning," back to that. "How did it go with – it's Patricia, isn't it?"

Odd, how he knew the counselor's name, but nothing about the individuals Mary was sending her child to in nothing short of a Fed-Ex package.

"Yes," Mary gave him kudos for recalling Mrs. Anders. "And…whatever. Status quo."

But, Marshall was too smart not to realize that Mary was being purposefully vague. Perhaps it was his role as her best friend, as he had always been able to read her better than anyone, but whatever the reason, he was definitely zeroing in on the way she refused to face him, scratched the back of her neck, and started crunching her appetizer louder than was necessary.

"Really? Status quo?" he pushed.

"Isn't that what I said?" she was growing sulky as she granted him the tiniest peek at her green eyes, dulled in the darkened light.

"I just can't help noticing…"

"There's nothing you can't help noticing," Mary did her best to make it sound like a bad thing, but it was hard to pretend in that way. "You're always creeping after me and sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," if only he'd known that Stan had spied too, and he could've defended himself.

"I'm just taking an interest," he promised, displaying the almost aggravating nobility he always did. "When we talked on the phone, you mentioned settling on a couple. Who are they?"

"Nobody," Mary rebutted childishly.

"Somehow, I doubt that…"

"They're the Harmons," she could reveal that much. "From Providence," now was as good a time as any if they were going to do this.

And Marshall, brain that he was, knew exactly what this was the state capital of.

"Providence?" he inquired, forgetting all about the margarita he'd cherished at the outset. "Providence, as in…Rhode Island?"

"Something tells me that you know another Providence in Zimbabwe or somewhere," Mary grumbled to avoid him connecting the dots. "Did you know it's 'The Ocean State'?"

Flummoxed by her apparent knowledge, Marshall simply nodded, "I…I did, actually. Also known as the 'Creative Capital' and 'Beehive of Industry…'"

"Oh, Jesus..." she readjusted herself in her chair, feigning annoyance with his fountain of information, when in reality she knew he was going to put the puzzle together any minute.

And, he didn't disappoint, "Aren't you supposed to meet this couple?"

"And if I am?"

"Well…I mean…" he stammered before coming to his question. "How are you going to get there?"

Mary swallowed hard, wishing their entrées would arrive so that she could have something else to do with her mouth and hands; she was feeling very twitchy. Sometimes – not often, very rarely – she found herself able to really be honest with Marshall, and he typically accepted her forthrightness for what it was without expecting more down the road. He thrived when she acted so humane, and never wanted to do anything to ward her off behaving as such again – as needling her about her feelings would.

Maybe this was one of those times. Mary could present her cockamamie notion to travel the extra five hours from Philadelphia to Providence so she could have a sit down with the Harmons, Marshall by her side.

Or, no. Maybe she could leave that part out, depending upon how he reacted. Knowing Marshall, he wouldn't expect being allowed to tag along until Mary gave him the go-ahead.

When she looked at him, he was waiting serenely, his hands folded under his chin, his elbows on the table. You would never know how thirsty he was for her to give him some kind of minimal insight into her very confidential world.

"I was thinking that…"

When Mary had to pause to gather herself, Marshall urged her onward, "That we're going to be back east anyway?"

"Right, and it would be more convenient if we could just…"

"Well, hey sugar bug!"

Mary almost fell out of her chair. Indeed, she had to throw out one of her newly-pudgy hands to steady herself on the table as she digested that Abigail was standing above them, a towering form above Mary's hunched one.

What in the hell was she doing here? Didn't she have a job to do – her own lunch plans? Had she been tracking Marshall like some crazy jealous girlfriend, or was it mere coincidence? Mary was willing to vote for the former, but knowing Abigail, it was wholly innocent, if as equally irritating and terrible timing on top of it.

At least Mary didn't feel entirely snowed when Marshall appeared surprised as well. He had the presence of mind to stand up and greet the detective with a light kiss, a sight that Mary did her best to block out. While they were busy smooching, she took care to right herself so she didn't look so skittish.

"I…I didn't know you were stopping by," Marshall remarked with a hasty glance to his partner. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I called the office and tracked you down," Abigail drawled, floaty and free as ever. "Stan said he thought ya'll had stopped in here for a bite, and just my luck – here you are!"

Mary didn't really consider herself anything resembling 'lucky' if Abigail was around, but because Marshall was present she refrained from too much sarcasm. But, she wouldn't be able to hold out forever, especially if Abigail insisted on joining them – which she did, dragging a chair over from the closest unoccupied table.

"Looks like you had a craving for a more stimulating beverage…" the brunette pointed out, noticing Marshall's margarita glass as she shimmied closer to him so she was practically on his lap. And then, as though Mary had only just appeared out of thin air, "Hey, Mary!"

The most she could manage was an incline of her head, "Abigail."

"It's been awhile!" she trumpeted, not even acknowledging Mary's frostiness, but Marshall suddenly looked distinctly uneasy. "How is pregnancy treating you?"

Mary would've loved not to dignify this with a response, unexpectedly put-out that her time with her friend was being cut short because his girlfriend was so unnaturally clingy. To the innocent bystander, it might look as though Mary were the needy one, given the way she turned icy at Abigail's appearance, but the inspector would never view it that way.

"This kid doesn't exactly take it easy on its housing," the blonde settled on. "It beats its feet like it's trying to drum its way out of my belly."

"Sounds like Mango is an active one!"

Marshall cringed before Abigail had even finished her sentence, knowing immediately that she had nowhere near the insight into Mary that he did. You couldn't expect it of her; the two women were far from close, but he knew the gap was going to have to be bridged in some way if he was ever to have a future with both of them. Nonetheless, he didn't take any pleasure in seeing the, first disbelief and then rage flit across Mary's features.

Why or how, rational or irrational, the man would bet his life that she was not happy he had passed on their little nickname to Abigail.

Mary covered her fury by trying to make the other woman feel dumb, "Who?"

"Marshall told me that's the moniker you've been throwing around!" Abigail was undeterred, either unaware of how Mary was boiling underneath or choosing to ignore it. "Personally, I would've gone with something more traditional, but I'm no stickler!"

She was joking, of course she was joking, but it was grating Mary's nerves, and she bored right into Marshall's rapidly frantic blue eyes, telling him without words in no uncertain terms that he was going to get it later.

"The moniker the big dork here has been throwing around," she corrected, taking a pointlessly large swallow of her water. "Not me."

Mary was beginning to feel hot and prickly all over, like she had hives or was coming down with the flu. Most days, she found Abigail to be insufferably cheerful, but nothing more – nothing that upset her. But now, she found herself wishing she could bolt from the premises as fast as possible. The fact that the detective was 'in the know' even the most minimal amount was distressing for some reason. If she knew about 'Mango' what else did she know?

And, loud and blindingly bright to a fault, Abigail was about to reveal just how dialed in she really was.

"Well, I think it's cute…" she crooned, sticking her nose inches from Marshall's, where he gave her a nervous smile in return. "That boy of mine – so clever."

"It was…just off the top of my head…" he insisted quietly. "'It' is so informal and bare sounding, I feel. 'Mango' is simply a placeholder."

"At least until we start having little ones of our own," Abigail submitted facets from the conversation they had shared the night before. "What'll it be then, Marshal Marshall? Kumquat? Kiwi?"

Mary detested the way she used his double-title, and was on the verge of making an excuse about going to the restroom when the real boom was lowered.

"In fact, Mary, if you weren't so dead-set on adoption, I think my beau here would just as soon take that bambino off your hands!"

From the expression on Marshall's face, he was bowled over that Abigail would say such a thing, but Mary was way past that. She took no solace in the fact that the woman was being overbearing and broadcasting their nightly discussions without a care in the world – that Marshall was probably embarrassed and wanted to fix it, because that was Marshall. No, none of that occurred to Mary, because all she took away from Abigail's throwaway line was one of several things, none of them flattering.

Abigail knew she was giving the baby up. Marshall had told her. So much for Stan's theory.

But, more to the point, what was that line about Marshall wanting the child? In the midst of revealing to Abigail that Mary was some heartless monster that was sending her spawn to sail in a basket up the Hudson, was Marshall regaling her with tales of some idealistic vision of uncle-hood? She'd thought he understood why she was settling on adoption, and now she had no idea.

Any world where Marshall didn't have her back was an alarmingly frightening one, and Mary's senses began to tingle with that ingrained gene to run once again.

She somehow uttered a few words first, "Really? He said that, did he?" but, she didn't look at the cheerleader, fixing her gaze on her partner, who looked nothing short of stricken.

"Well, he didn't say it, but you know that man is wild for the kiddies," Abigail waved an indifferent hand, too caught up in her storytelling to notice the tension that had filled their space. "He was sure excited when he found out you were pregnant, but he's a good friend…" rumpling the inspector's hair. "He never foists his opinions…"

But, Mary had absolutely no aspirations of letting her finish. She stood up without thinking, pushing her chair back. Now she got to be the one to loom over the others; Abigail looked bewildered, but was still wearing her usual cheeky grin. Marshall's mind was catching up with his shock – any minute how he would be patronizing her, and she didn't need that.

"You know what?" Mary snatched her cell phone off the table, interrupting the other woman. "You two look so cozy, that I'm gonna offer up my meal to you. I think my partner would have a better time with you anyway."

And, somewhat satisfied to see that Abigail was finally getting with the program, Mary turned on her heel and stomped out of the restaurant, fully expecting to hear Marshall calling her name in a matter of seconds.

XXX

**A/N: Oh, drama! It wouldn't be IPS without a little of that!**


	9. Studio on the Sidewalk

**A/N: Oh, that Abigail! Causing trouble as always! ;) **

XXX

Pissed Mary might be, but fast she was not. By the time she did, in fact, discern Marshall bellowing her name for practically the whole world to hear him, she was almost a block away from the restaurant. As if she needed anything else to worry about, she was puffing unattractively from trying to make a getaway at any kind of top speed. The extra poundage she had accumulated meant she moved at a much slower pace and Marshall, with his lean legs and no such weight, caught up in no time.

"Mary, hey!"

He was fortunate there weren't a lot of people walking the streets at twelve thirty on a Tuesday, because she would've whipped around then and there to tell him to shut up and keep his bullhorn qualities to himself.

The woman was bustling to nowhere, just anxious to get away, but realized with another block or two she would be in familiar territory and could bum off her partner if need be.

"Mary, come on!" now he was close enough to grab her, and his fingers closed around her elbow in a vise grip.

It was a mark of how serious he was about stopping her, because he knew how unwise it was to touch her, particularly in stressful moments like this one. She jerked away almost at once, but didn't try to make a break for it again. She was sweaty, with heavy ankles and a blazer she longed to take off due to the red-hot heat. But, she wouldn't give Marshall the satisfaction of knowing Abigail had driven her to physical ailments as well as emotional ones.

"What are you doing?" the man breathed once they had come to a halt, staring into Mary's blazing face. "We drove together; where are you going?"

He was her return ride to the Sunshine Building, but Mary didn't comment on that, "The studio's on fifth," she invented on the spot. "You go back to your _date_," now she was scathing.

"The studio?" Marshall questioned, somewhat winded himself where they stood poised in the middle of the sidewalk. "Jinx's studio? That's probably seven or eight blocks from here…"

"Well, I could use a workout," but, Mary's tone was so biting that he couldn't believe she was genuine; she was mocking and derisive in every word. "Obviously…" a pant escaped, and she just hoped she'd be able to hold off pitching onto her knees to grab a simple rhythm of inhales and exhales.

"You can't walk in this weather," she couldn't believe he was centering on this, of all things, not the fact that she'd just ditched he and Abigail like some tantrum-throwing two-year-old. "If you really want to go over there, come on back and I'll drive you…"

"Really, I'll spare you the trouble," Mary snapped. "I'm already sparing you the opportunity to be some glorified baby-sitter another month from now."

And there it is, Marshall couldn't help thinking. They had reached the root of what he had known was the catalyst for her blowing through the doors in the first place. In hindsight, he felt terribly that he had been so open with Abigail, but on the other hand it wasn't entirely his fault. He had assumed Abigail knew when to be more diplomatic with Mary, and she clearly did not.

Sighing and mopping his brow, thinking about removing his jacket as well, Marshall was very careful in how he proceeded. Riling the beast – the pregnant beast – would likely have Mary wanting to scalp him.

"Look…" he began quietly. "Ab…what she said…"

Mary was not interested in excuses and snarled right back in his face, "You said you supported me!" she reminded him, harking back to the adoption.

"I did – I do!" he maintained almost shrilly. "What part of what she said made you think that I don't?"

"What was that crap about you being willing to raise this kid if I'm not going to?" there was no getting around that remark. "Does she honestly think I'm going to hand frickin' Mango over to you in the delivery room so you can take him home for practice before you have your own little brood?"

"No…" Marshall insisted, understanding the reasoning behind her outburst a little better now. "I don't want to speak for Abigail – I can't say for sure what she meant by that. I think she just knows that I've always wanted children and that I'd love your baby just like I love you…"

Mary's roasting skin suddenly had goose bumps rising on the flesh. Marshall had said he'd loved her before, of course – many times, and usually fairly casually. There was no reason to believe he wasn't speaking in the platonic sense this time as well. Still though, his explanation was somewhat hurtful. Mary had thought he'd be tripping all over himself to apologize, and here he was actually offering up a pretext as to why they didn't see eye-to-eye on the adoption.

"Don't make more into this than it is," Marshall pleaded. "You have to know I am behind you – that I have complete confidence in whatever choice you make. But, I want you to know that you have my vote in the other direction too. But, it sounds like you're making a solid plug for adoption and I don't want you to ever have the impression that I think less of you for it…"

"Yeah, right," Mary scoffed irreverently, blowing her sticky bangs off her forehead. "You don't think Nancy Drew was putting in a plug of her own?" she suggested. "She can give you what I can't."

This was flat out untrue, at least on Marshall's end. Mary gave him plenty of things that Abigail never could, but he had to be quick in figuring out how to articulate this without insulting the detective in the process.

"Mary, you're my best friend," he reverted to this phrase a lot when he wanted to win her over, to not make her madder than she already was. "You always will be. My relationship with Abigail is different; it's not a competition…"

"Tell that to her."

"But, she _is_ important to me," he reiterated the third word to ensure that Mary would grasp the magnitude. "And, I want you to be able to coexist; I don't desire losing either one of you…"

While he was back to being his totally serene and practical self, Mary had never felt more incapable of completing a task. He didn't understand at all; he didn't get how slighted she'd felt knowing that he'd spent far too much time gabbing to Abigail about her. Logically, she knew she couldn't expect him not to, but she was having a very hard time reconciling it.

She wasn't going to delve into those depths right now, though. She'd just sound selfish and deprived, two things Mary absolutely loathed in other people. She had no defense if she brought this up; asking him to keep their camaraderie separate from his love life was unfeasible. Right now, her neck, feet, and flabby arms were burning up, and she wanted to get a move on.

"Marshall, I know how this works," Mary informed him almost snootily. "There's a divide coming here. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I'm not the only one who'll be making a decision. And when the girlfriend doesn't like the friend…"

"Abigail _does_ like you. She gets nervous; it's her way of trying…"

"_Trying?_" the blonde guffawed. "You think spelling out for me that I'm some egotistical ogre that puts her baby in a box on a UPS truck shows that she _likes_ me?"

"It's _me_ she's thinking about; it really has nothing to do with you…"

"Thinking about you doing what?" Mary spat.

"She wants me to be happy, and she knows your child would make me happy, but what she doesn't know is that I'm perfectly content without him," now he'd coined the gender as well. "Mary, we've lasted eight years, just the two of us. You not keeping the baby will not ruin anything."

It was his way of saying that she was golden either way, that he would still be there no matter what the result, trying to illuminate both pickings as being positive. Mary wasn't sure she could believe him, and she certainly didn't believe Abigail didn't have an ulterior motive.

"You ask Little Miss 'Go Mustangs,'" drawing pretentious air quotes around the team. "If she really thinks having me around isn't ruining anything, and see what she says."

"Mary…"

"I'm going to see Jinx," she declared before she could give in to his softer timbre. "If I were you, I'd get back to your girl, and work on figuring out how you're going to explain that you came after me instead of consoling her."

And, much as she had inside the restaurant, Mary plodded along on her merry way, but Marshall did not heed her advice. He followed her around like a lost puppy the entire seven blocks, either because he wanted to make things right or because he was concerned she might collapse, Mary wasn't sure, but she as much as left him in the dust.

While she clumped down the mostly hushed sidewalks and shop fronts, she wondered what he'd done with Abigail, if he had indeed left her sitting by her lonesome to eat the two entrees neither of them would've touched. Knowing Marshall, he had been more chivalrous than that, and had sent her back to her own office so she wouldn't be waiting. Mary couldn't decide which course she preferred he take.

By the time they made it to the dance studio, it was close to one o'clock and Mary was drenched in sweat, Marshall perspiring through his coat. She caught a quick glimpse of herself in the glass and saw that her cheeks were shiny, her hair matted. Predictably, Marshall stepped through the tinkling bell right behind her, at which point she had to tell him to buzz off, lest Jinx discover they had been arguing.

"Would you beat it?!" she almost exploded, grateful there were no students around because her voice echoed off the linoleum. "I don't want my mother to see you here! I don't need your coddling, Marshall! Get lost!"

"I want to talk to you about this," he turned a deaf ear, for once not backing away the minute Mary began to push him in the opposite direction. "I don't like that you suddenly think you've become second best in my life."

"When did I say that?" Mary was as acidic as ever, trying to ward him off the perception that she was hanging on to any kind of fairytale, however innocent, among them. "I didn't know we had rankings."

"You don't!" now his voice climbed and she hushed him at once, pounding her hands toward the ground to encourage him to lower his noise level. "That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

"You're delusional," she shook her head. "You haven't had a real girlfriend since I became your partner. You don't know what a bitch they've all thought I was?"

Now Marshall fluttered his eyelashes, looking somewhat stunned by Mary's view of herself. He knew she could be very self-aware when she wanted, especially internally, but to blurt it out like this was unprecedented. Inadvertently, the man was sure; she had just provided him some very real insight into her character. If she believed Marshall's dates thought her a tyrant, there was a chance Marshall might eventually think so too. And, it couldn't be clearer that this scared her.

To avoid touching on something so close to the bone, he went for facts instead, "Shelley didn't seem to think so."

"I'd hardly call her a date," Mary stuck a hand on her hip, trying to shift her weight so that she didn't feel like she had dumbbells in her ankles. "And, she's a shrink. It's her job not to pass judgment, though she did a damn good job with me…"

"Mary…" his voice was tired, but determined. "If you're worried about losing me…"

But, at that moment, Jinx finally made her presence known. Mary was surprised it had taken her this long, but she couldn't help but be grateful for her mother in this instance. The inspector had blushed furiously hearing Marshall try and mollify her; she didn't want to guess where his sentence was headed. More terrifying than their friendship being beaten into the ground was the suggestion that it might kick up a notch. This was far too much for Mary to contemplate on top of everything else.

"Mary!" Jinx exclaimed, parading out of her office, her brunette ringlet waves piled high on top of her head in a ballerina bun. She wore short leggings that clung to her calves and a large T-shirt, some musical's name spelled across the chest. "What are you doing here? And Marshall…!"

The delight was evident from the older woman until she came a little closer. Mary and Marshall had sprung apart at her appearance, Mary folding her arms over her chest as though to keep her mother at bay. The stoniness couldn't be missed, even for someone as dim as Jinx.

"I have some girls coming in at one fifteen, but it's so good to see both of you…" she twittered gaily. And then, sensing the steely air, her smile faltered, "Is…is everything all right?"

Marshall wouldn't be so presumptuous as to answer, to explain to Jinx what their little tiff had been about. No way in hell was it his place to do such a thing; Mary would have a fit. All he could do was wait for his partner to emit a few letters until he could pick up the thread.

"Fine," Mary's singular phrase was pinched and tight. "Marshall was just leaving."

He really should've expected that. It was the perfect out, as she knew he wasn't going to question her with Jinx around, already ashamed of his prior blunders. Jinx herself looked a little befuddled by him being asked to hit the road though. Come to think of it, Marshall couldn't be sure that she'd ever really seen the pair of them fight.

But, like any decent mother, her main concern was her daughter – the detached quality to her tone and the defensive pose added up to a distraught looking picture.

"Angel, you don't look well…" she remarked, stepping closer and examining her features. "Did…did something happen? You're all sweaty; did you walk over here?"

Marshall spontaneously decided to come to the rescue, "We were out and thought we were closer than we were, so we did take a little stroll, but perhaps not advisable next time."

"Oh…honey…" Jinx was immediately sympathetic and started stroking Mary's hair; she twitched at the contact, but didn't fidget away too dramatically, still with her arms across her chest. "It must be ninety-five degrees out there; you should come sit down…"

"I don't need to, mom," Mary insisted, though it was a bald-faced lie. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

"Well, you should at least have some water; there are three or four bottles in the fridge in the office…"

"Mom, stop," the younger tried to shut her down, closing herself in more by the moment. "I'm not a child."

Apparently, the reminder was all she aspired to get out, because she threw the man a hard, unyielding stare before unfolding and starting across the room.

"Marshall can see himself out."

Without waiting to see if he actually departed, she left Jinx to stand open-mouthed and Marshall to appear quite the fool, retreating into the tiny cubby at the back of the studio, separated from the main floor by a window with blinds and a door. It was through the half-closed shutters that Jinx could watch Mary turn her back on the both of them, which meant she seized the opportunity when she wasn't going to be impeded.

"What is going on?" the dancer hissed, just to guarantee that her daughter wouldn't overhear. "My poor Mary…" she fretted, not giving Marshall a chance to reply. "Something is the matter; did you two…?"

She trailed off, Marshall thinking vaguely that, given all his years with Mary, he had definitely started to believe her claims that her mother was a watt low. But here, she was proving differently. She had enough wisdom to know that something was off between them, never having glimpsed their disagreements notwithstanding.

"We um…" it wasn't often that Marshall found himself searching for words, but he wanted to be cautious, lest he get himself into any more trouble than he already was. "We had a bit of a spat, but it's really nothing…"

Marshall didn't see it that way, but he had faint hope that Mary would appreciate him defining it as such.

"Listen…" he scratched the back of his now-damp hair, wishing he could air out his shirt along the way, and decided that now was the time to put this to bed, at least temporarily. "It…it's my fault she trooped all the way down here. I…I blindsided her with something; she was just looking for a place to set up camp."

Jinx's cheeks formed an understanding, all-too-knowing sort of smile, "I don't think you can trick me into believing you acted maliciously here, Marshall."

"Not maliciously, no…" he would agree with that. "But, inconsiderately."

"Well, I doubt that too."

"Honestly Jinx…" he held up his hands in defeat, not wanting Mary to see that Jinx was letting him off the hook. "It was a gaffe on my part. We'll be able to smooth things over," they always had in the past, but that was before Abigail. "We're taking a trip together in a few days; there will be plenty of time to iron it out…"

"A trip?" Jinx repeated, like she couldn't believe her ears. "Where are you going? What for?"

"The… 'what for' is confidential, of course…" Marshall was forever polite as he turned her down. "But, it's for work. Mary's flying days are behind her, so we're taking a drive – nothing too strenuous, I assure you."

The brunette looked like she didn't approve of this, but didn't explicitly say so, "As long as you'll be with her, I'm not worried."

All Marshall could do upon hearing this was bow his head and grin softly to show his gratitude, and it made for a perfect segue so that he could respect Mary's wishes and back through the doors.

"I should be getting on my way…" though it was going to be a long walk back to the restaurant to get his car. "Just, if Mary asks, tell her I'll talk to her later."

Still puzzled, but willing to forfeit that he meant well, Jinx didn't try and stop him, "Of course, dear. We'll see you soon."

And, though he longed to stay and plead his case to his partner another dozen times, Marshall turned and pushed his way through the sunny glass, back onto the street once more.

Inside, Jinx wasted no time bustling her way to her office, where she found Mary slumped in her desk chair, positively chugging a bottle of water. A second lay on the surface before her, like she fully intended to drink more than her fair share. Jinx was not at all perturbed by this, but judging by her face, Mary could tell that she was annoyed about something. No doubt Marshall had let a few things slip, giving her even more reasons to mount her wrath and smack him one.

In order to sidestep what was sure to be an interrogation from her mother, Mary bounded after a completely random topic of discussion, even if she couldn't expect it to last.

"Nice crib, mom…" she gulped once she managed to swallow the ocean of liquid she was downing. "Although, the décor could use some sprucing up. I wouldn't think grey cinderblock and stained linoleum is really your style…"

Indeed, the walls were bare and only piles of folders and forms filled Jinx's desk; there were no pictures to frame the ancient-looking computer that sat with its black screen in front of Mary's eyes. You would think she had just moved in, and she'd been working at the studio for over a year. Maybe she had some weird superstition about cleaning and beautifying.

But, the decorations, or lack thereof, were not on Jinx's mind. Looking huffy, prim, and proper, she laid right into Mary the second she quit talking.

"What in the world is going on?" Mary felt she had been asked this far too many times in the last half hour alone. "You show up here looking like you've been to a sauna in your clothes…"

"Flattering."

"Telling Marshall that he can 'see himself out!' What did you fight about?"

Mary frowned, her lips poised over the ridge of her bottle, "Who says we fought?"

Jinx was prompt, "Marshall."

Mary huffed and made a mental note to hit him for this later, trying to squash the thoughts that said the ordeal wasn't Jinx's fault – she was just the messenger.

"Don't be ridiculous, mom. We fight all the time; it is hardly earth-shattering…"

"And since when do you come running to me when you do?"

"I did not come 'running' to you!" Mary corrected tetchily. "It was convenience! I won't be making that mistake twice!"

"Mary, you do not need to be making Marshall into an enemy," the way Jinx assumed that this was her doing was galling to the younger woman, but not all together surprising. "You shut yourself away too much already…"

"Thank-you for that bulletin, mom," she dripped with sarcasm in response. "Right out of a psychology book, that one. You been reading up with Brandi?"

"I am serious, Mary," Jinx was unrelenting. "You do not know how hard it is for a mother to see her child so withdrawn; I've watched you do it for almost forty years."

A snappy comeback to this analysis was what Mary would've usually given Jinx in an event like this one, but it was the first portion that really caught her ear. The shorter of the two had said, in a round-about way, that she didn't know what it was like to be a mother, or feel a mother's pain, or see what a mother saw. And, she was right; there was no denying that.

Why did it trouble her? Why did it strike her so?

The introspection must've altered Mary's features, maybe for the better, because Jinx took things down a peg and turned appeasing in a heartbeat.

"Sweetheart…" she stepped over and extended a hand, but when Mary jerked away she rethought her gesture. "Whatever is going on with you two, I hope you can fix it. Marshall's too good a friend for you to let him get away."

Didn't Jinx think she knew that? Wasn't she aware that Mary knew how fortunate she was to have Marshall? Just because she didn't say it didn't mean she didn't think it. But, she couldn't bear the idea that she might be turning into a Mary that Marshall didn't 'get,' or even a Mary he couldn't identify with. The introduction of the adoption, plus Abigail, had made for a lethal and uncertain combination.

"His girlfriend's a bitch," she stated out of nowhere. "Transparent as a ghost and so damned energetic I want to barf."

Jinx seemed glad she was being clued in and narrowed her eyebrows, "This is the girl who arrested Brandi?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

To Mary's surprise, her mother scoffed, "Please. You could take her any day, Mary."

And the blonde had to chuckle, though it made all the water she'd drunk slosh in her tightened stomach, and it felt slightly unnatural after the afternoon she'd been through. But, at least someone thought Abigail was no match for her – physically or otherwise.

"Thanks mom," she bestowed. "But, for Marshall's sake, I hope it doesn't come to that."

XXX

**A/N: Now Mary has Jinx in her ear! So many opinions, so little time! Thank-you ever so much for the reviews! I had a lot of people catch up last night, and it was so much fun to read so many at once!**


	10. Lucky Butter

**A/N: Dumb chapter title for this one…but, I guess you can't hit a homerun every time! ;)**

XXX

Mary was beginning to feel quite invaded by the time she made it home that evening. She had forever been scornful of intrusive, officious behaviors and her life had been full of them on what had become a very long Tuesday – Mrs. Anders, Abigail, Marshall, Jinx. And the supposed fun didn't stop there. While she was indulging in her clichéd dinner – because it had been borne purely out of a craving – Brandi stopped by just as the sun was starting to go down.

Much like Jinx, she waltzed right in as though she had been invited. She looked put-out and ill-tempered, even if she wasn't completely going off the deep end. Sitting at the island, Mary couldn't have been troubled even if her sister had been in a towering rage. She simply didn't have the energy.

"What's up, Squish?" the older drawled around bites of her supper, not bothering to stand, especially since Brandi hadn't even bothered to ring the doorbell.

With a disconcerted sigh, Brandi dumped an armload of what appeared to be bridal magazines on the counter right under Mary's nose. At the slam, the taller was forced to look up, but it was out of dreary, sleepy eyes. She hoped this look would encourage Brandi to rectify whatever she was about to say.

"Mom told me you're bailing on your 'MOH' jobs."

Mary ought to have known this was coming, but to Brandi's credit, she did not sound all that disturbed – disappointed, maybe, and probably frazzled at the change in plans, but otherwise it was the best she could hope for.

"It was her idea. Swear," Mary dug her spoon through her meal once more, which attracted Brandi's eye and distracted her momentarily.

"Jesus, what are you eating?" she almost laughed, leaning in to sniff the concoction.

Mary shrugged, not about to be ashamed for her choice in food. She was eating for two, after all; no one could begrudge her too thoroughly.

"It's just peanut butter. You can't tell?" she waggled her spoon at the bowl in front of her, into which she had scraped half the jar of her favorite sandwich spread.

"What's _in_ the peanut butter?" Brandi questioned further. "What are those little flecks?"

Unabashed, the older replied, "Lucky Charms."

"Oh my God, Mary…" now Brandi was definitely chuckling, shaking her head and looking highly amused. "That's gross…"

"It isn't any grosser than mom's stupid half-assed sandwiches," Mary defended herself. "Besides, with all the peanut butter, you can't even taste the marshmallows that much. I like it with the little grain bits."

"Uh-huh…" the baby sister just smirked. "Whatever. Maybe I should have that stuff on hand at the wedding as an appetizer."

"Wouldn't hear any complaints from me," the inspector claimed. "But, don't go giving it a kitschy name like Peanut Charms or Lucky Butter."

At this, Brandi's responses came to an end, and she flopped into the barstool opposite her big sister, which meant she was planning on sticking around. Mary couldn't say she was thrilled about this, but at least Brandi wasn't pitching a fit over the fact that she wasn't going to stand up for her in a few weeks' time. It was very mature of her – for the moment. There was no telling how she'd act once the big day finally arrived.

"So, did you come over here to rail on me because I won't post myself next to you all puffy and bloated in some emerald tent straight out of Oz…?"

Brandi wiggled her nose watching Mary continue to consume her makeshift dinner, but took care to answer the question.

"First of all, the dress would _never_ be green," as if Mary gave a damn about that. "And, second of all, mom's been doing most everything since I got engaged anyway. You were really right when you said you just didn't have the time, and that was even before the baby…"

"I don't plan to be this workaholic and leave you in the lurch all the time, Brandi…"

A scoff escaped, "Well, I don't believe that you aren't throwing yourself into your work, but I don't think it's because of me. You've been that way for as long as I can remember. I should've realized you'd be too busy to go dress shopping and stuff."

Mary quirked an eyebrow at her startling understanding, "Peter and his philosophical side must be rubbing off on you," she observed. "Kind of frightening, Squish." And, noting his absence, "Where is your better half anyway? It's usually the both of you flaunting your love all over the place with the high school public displays of affection that would've gotten your ass booted to the principal's office."

Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, Brandi replied somewhat absently, "He's in China working on some big business deal. He'll be back this weekend."

"Mmm, four days without him," Mary quipped. "Sure you can last that long?"

"Very funny, Mary," she remarked dryly. "He actually asked if I wanted to go with him, but I said no. I wouldn't have the first clue about his negotiations over there – at the Autoplex, I know what I'm doing."

"For a change," the darker blonde just wasn't through with the round-about jabs, even as she sucked excess peanut butter off her spoon. "But, I've gotta hand it to you, Squish. Letting your man leave the country, acting like you couldn't care less that I won't be your sidekick of honor – I'm starting to think the aliens of Roswell have eaten your brains."

"You _would_ think that instead of seeing how I'm changing," but Brandi didn't sound upset. "Since we all know you couldn't make a change if your life depended on it."

Now Mary deposited her utensil back in the bowl, willing to go toe-to-toe with her sister on this.

"Oh, really?" her voice pitched lower when she was shifting into argumentative. "The two-ton bowling ball I'm carrying around doesn't indicate change?"

"It might…" Brandi was sounding superior, her eyebrows inching upward. "Actually, it definitely would if you were going to keep the baby. Once the adoption goes through, it'll be back to life as usual, right?"

Mary had half a mind to tell the lovesick off for saying such a thing, but was cruelly reminded that she was the one who had tried to use her condition to indicate transformation. As it was, she was even more ticked off that Brandi had a point – how different could she end up being if Mango went to live with strangers for the rest of his life? Wasn't that part of the point of the adoption?

She liked her life the way it was, in spite of the obstacles provided by her job and her family. A baby just added to the turmoil, not to mention that she couldn't devote the time or the energy, or even certify she was 'mom' material.

It was what was best for everyone involved.

"Sure…right…" Mary ended up shrugging, no idea how to refute Brandi's conclusion. "Still, though. Mine or not, I've had to do a one-eighty since this kid came along. You have no idea how much time I waste on peeing alone."

Brandi laughed out loud at this, "Well, that's attractive. I don't care how hard it is, I still can't wait until Peter and I have kids. It'll be so fun."

Leave it to Brandi to describe parenthood as 'fun' as if being a mother was like running a soccer club or reading a story to a group of daycare rug rats for an hour. It was a game to her, Mary was sure of it.

"Please…" she couldn't resist voicing at least part of this. "Brandi, you're way too young to be thinking about that…"

"I'm thirty-three!" she all-but squawked. "Did you forget?"

Mary hadn't, not really, but she had always seen Brandi as the perpetual teenager. It was still hard to reconcile that she was getting married at all, let alone thinking about having babies. It was a task reserved for grown-ups, an image that the older sister still couldn't equate with the younger.

"I still think you should focus on getting through the wedding before you even go there," this was the best rationalization she could come up with for being remiss about Brandi's age.

This provided a neat transition, "Speaking of…" Brandi reached over Mary's arm to retrieve one of the magazines she had dropped on the island when she had first come in, the latter now grazing the plastic of her bowl to be sure she was getting every bite of cereal she could. "Since you're not actually going to be in the wedding party anymore, your dress isn't as big of a deal…"

"Hark, what was that?" Mary couldn't imagine this would be true come show time, but she was willing to take Brandi's word for it at this point. "Does that mean I can wear my jacket and drawstring pants?"

"You do, and I'll make sure mom has something velour or crushed velvet to go with it."

Not liking even the possibility of such a thing, Mary kept quiet this time and waited for the new rules that were sure to be imposed upon her as MOH-In-Chief.

"I earmarked pages in all of these magazines," Brandi explained, like she was talking to a six-year-old. "All the dresses are cheaper than the ones I had in mind when you were actually going to stand up front. Pick which one you like, and I can order a couple of sizes, that way you'll have a few to choose from depending on whether or not you've had the baby by then."

Mary had no desire to delve into her sister's little collection and frowned, her mouth feeling sticky and chewy from all the peanut butter.

"And, what if I don't like any of them?"

"Too bad," Brandi was short. "At least you won't be stuck up front anymore."

Given Brandi's staggering acceptance of Jinx being her new henchman, Mary decided that she wouldn't argue too comprehensively on this – at least not right now – and opted to accept her fate.

"Are you saying I should count my blessings?"

The shorter smirked deviously, "Maybe."

"Well, if you want me to have time to do _that_…" Mary snatched a magazine, feigning that she was actually going to give the contents the once over. "I think you should be hitting the road."

"Is that your version of being 'nice' about telling me I'm not wanted?"

"Ah, gee. You cracked the code," Mary was unapologetic, just glad that Brandi was standing up and preparing to leave as requested. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Brandi gave more of a cackling laugh than she had been all evening, retrieving her purse from one of the empty barstools and flouncing toward the porch in her usual carefree manner. Halfway there, she paused beside the sofa, as though second-guessing just how seriously Mary had taken her orders.

"You really will look in those, won't you?" referencing the new dress choices. "Because, if we're going to get more than one size, we'll need to order them by the end of the week."

"Who is this 'we' you speak of?" Mary wanted to know, deciding with some disappointment that she had probably gotten every bite of the 'Lucky Butter' she was going to. "I don't remember having much say."

"Mary…" Brandi sighed loudly, playing on her sister's sympathies – if she possessed any. "Please. Be serious about this, okay? It's important to me."

"Yeah-yeah; I'll take notes and everything," a lie, but Brandi had to be smart enough to know that. "Hard to get started if you won't leave, though."

"Right…" Brandi remained unconvinced, but knew for a fact that there was even less chance of Mary skimming the slick pages if she were in attendance. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh…"

With that, Brandi traveled the rest of the way to the front door, where she took her sweet time unlocking the deadbolt and fiddling with her car keys. Mary had not a clue what was taking her so long, as she had stopped watching her, instead flipping through several books without taking much in. She even heard Brandi's voice as she disappeared down the sidewalk. She must've gotten a phone call on her way out, but had she left the door open? The irresponsibility never ended.

Rising with the eventual goal of making sure that the front door had indeed been shut and locked, Mary busied herself depositing her dirty dishes in the sink and rinsing them out. She became absentminded in her movements and didn't glance up to determine if Albuquerque's late evening breeze was wafting through the living room. It was when she flicked off the faucet that she heard the voice.

"Hey there…"

Mary dropped her bowl with an almighty, earsplitting clatter, whirled around and found Marshall standing in her midst. There was no reason to give him the time of day, but since he'd nearly given her a heart attack, he deserved a few nasty words for coming by – and sneaking in – unannounced.

"Jesus, Marshall!" she all-but bellowed. "Christ. What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Well, I ran into Brandi on my way up; she said the door was unlocked…" jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "You didn't hear us?"

"I thought she was on her cell," Mary mumbled, immediately turning around and occupying herself in the sink once more. "I guess that gets you off the 'breaking and entering' charge."

"I appreciate your leniency," Marshall played along. "Do you…think we could talk for a minute?" it was brave of him to make no bones about his intentions. "I feel like we kind of left things hanging this afternoon…"

"For God's sake, Marshall," Mary huffed, knowing she wouldn't be able to hide forever, shuffling back to the island and hoping he would at least be quick. "Are we a couple now? We have to dissect every little boxing match that we have? Did you think I was gonna start giving you the silent treatment or something?"

"Maybe not that specifically, but…" he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking remarkably like Stan. "Well, you can be unpredictable sometimes. I don't like it when you're mad at me."

The woman scowled, "Aren't I always mad at you?"

She could see him stifle a grin, "For superficial things, I suppose. My index of what you would call 'useless' knowledge being the number one reason…"

"You better believe it."

"But, I kind of thought this was different," he rationalized. "I don't think what went down this afternoon is something that you or I want to leave in the open."

Mary was not in the mood for a lot of secret lingo, "I don't even know what that means."

If she wanted to strip down to nuts and bolts, then Marshall could do that. It was how Mary operated best, after all. And so, when she lowered herself into a seat, he followed suit and joined her without being invited. This alone might have her showing him the door, but all she did was glower and rake her fingers through her bangs.

"Look, I'm really sorry that Abigail – or I – upset you."

"I didn't say I was upset," Mary almost cut him off in her efforts not to be viewed as some hormonal whack job. "Is that what you thought I was? Upset? I was angry."

"I kind of thought you were both," Marshall admitted. "But, angry – fine. I'm sorry if we made you angry. Is it because you think I'm not on your side? That I would rather you didn't give the baby up?"

Marshall spoke very neutrally, never once raising his voice, never once giving Mary the indication that he was cosseting her or trying to pat her on the head, thus dismissing her problems. He didn't act like there had been anything between them but a minor disagreement that he wished to get to the bottom of. Because of this, Mary found it in her not to thrash him too violently for forcing her to discuss her feelings. Usually, she'd do anything to sidestep scrutinizing said feelings.

"You can't tell me you don't wish you were gonna be Uncle Marshall or something so horribly hokey…" Mary rolled her eyes. "Abigail pretty much 'outed' you where that's concerned."

He folded his elbows on the tabletop before continuing, "But, Mary…it's like I tried to tell you earlier…" she didn't remember what he'd said earlier, but was about to be reminded. "Just because I would care about your baby doesn't mean I don't understand why you're doing what you're doing."

"I don't think you do…" Mary whispered, averting her eyes, focusing on the granite pattern before her. "I don't think anybody does. But, I at least thought you might be better at pretending than Jinx and Brandi…"

The man couldn't help noting her skittish demeanor and, while risky, he couldn't hold back from asking something he had been wondering since the first, early days of Mary's pregnancy. Perhaps her flipping out on he and Abigail came from her own self-doubt – self-doubt she was then reflecting onto her partner and his girlfriend.

"Do you think there's something wrong with adoption?" he probed lightly. "That you have something to be ashamed of?"

Now the woman drew rings with her finger, trying not to appear quite so passive when she responded. Marshall knew her way too well; there was never any hiding from him. It was a trait she both loved and hated when it came to his personality.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with it if you don't have the money to raise the kid," she shrugged. "Or if you're in high school. Or if some douche bag came after you in a dark alley and the only memories you're gonna have of the little one is how he came to be in the first place…"

"You don't seem to fit any of those criteria," Marshall couldn't help noticing. "So, are you saying that unless you do…?"

"Marshall, I'm just tired of everyone acting like this isn't hard for me," the blonde gave it up, shaking her head and trying to articulate further. "Everyone thinks it's so easy – that because I didn't plan to have a kid and I had him with someone I can barely stand, it's so simple for me to just turn a blind eye and give him to somebody else," she fought to keep her tone from going up, because that would make her sound hysterical. "It's not easy. It's tough. But, that doesn't mean I won't do it – or that I don't think it's the right thing to do."

A brief silence fell after her speech, a silence that Mary didn't welcome because it gave her – and Marshall – too much time to think. She had always felt that Marshall overanalyzed everything, and this probably wouldn't be an exception. Just by looking at him, she could see his eyebrows inching inward, his blue eyes turning soft and sensitive.

She hadn't realized, until recently, how sweet and handsome such a face made him look.

"Enough with the mime routine," Mary butted in so she wouldn't have to dwell on Marshall's attractiveness. "What?"

"No, I just…" he wagged his head, bringing himself back from whatever thoughts he'd been having. "Honestly…" Mary doubted he knew how to be insincere. "I've thought since the beginning that this would be difficult for you. My concern was that _you_ didn't realize how difficult it would be for you."

Mary couldn't be sure what to make of this, and had very little interest in trying. Marshall was normally so expressive and coherent; she didn't have the compulsion to translate such speak.

Fortunately, he picked up the thread without waiting for her to answer, "Obviously, I was wrong. I'm glad you're so heads-up about it. It shows you've considered all the angles."

A guilty wrench erupted in Mary's gut at hearing him describe her so nobly. He wasn't as wrong as he'd thought. She'd basically run into the adoption headfirst, and had only recently solidified any part of it. She'd considered very few angles, and far from all of them. Instead of voicing this, she just decided to give him credit where it was due.

"I just…I know it isn't fair to expect you to keep things from Abigail…" she was going to have to bring it up sometime. "And, it's not like I can stop you. I think I'm just not used to you being so serious with a girl," she offered a small chuckle and half-smile to show that this wasn't as monumental as she truly felt it was.

"Well, it's new territory for me too," he confessed. "Abigail's kind of the guinea pig for us. If it makes you feel better, I'll try to keep things at a minimum – the things I share."

Mary sneered without thinking, "You really think she'll go for that?"

"I think it's merely you asking for your privacy to be respected, and there's nothing wrong with that," he declared without hesitation. "Abigail can understand that."

"It's not…_everything_, Marshall," his partner didn't want him to think she anticipated him closing her up in a little box that Abigail would never be able to open. "Mostly…the 'Mango' thing," she couldn't believe she was still using that name now that the detective knew about it. "And, that's not gonna last much longer, so…"

She tapered away, but luckily she could tell from the man's features that he got what she was saying. The baby was one of the biggest curveballs Mary had ever been thrown, and she wanted to hide even more than usual when she felt out of control. Marshall gossiping with Abigail about such a thing would drive her crazy, and he could see why. There were plenty of ways not to cut Mary out of their conversations; the baby would simply have to be left aside.

"We'll take the days as they come," Marshall was definitely easing up, probably because Mary was. "I think it'll be good for me and Abby to have a few days apart with our little road trip coming up…" he decided. "We can start fresh when you and I get back."

"If you say so," but, Mary smiled this time. "And, I know I didn't quite get through what I was trying to tell you at lunch, but…" she paused, and then knew she had to go on, especially when she'd been cut off that afternoon. "The Providence thing…"

Marshall nodded soberly, remembering, "You thinking about trekking some additional miles to break bread with Mango's budding mater and pater?"

She sighed at his terminology, but was secretly glad he was making light, "Don't say 'mater and pater.'"

"It's Latin."

"It's stupid," she informed him. "And…yeah, that's what I was hoping. Can't promise you'll get to be an usher or anything."

"Since when do you need an usher?" he grinned. "I'll be honored just being the chauffer. It looks like it's a good thing we'll be leaving a few days early."

Mary wasn't sure if she considered their departure time a good thing, but being back on steady ground with Marshall – that was as close to 'good' as her life got.

XXX

**A/N: Yay, they made up, LOL. And I made Brandi diplomatic. Feeling generous, I guess. ;)**


	11. Destination: Safety

**A/N: I love catch-up reviews! Thank-you to everyone who is still reading!**

XXX

The odd thing about Mary's and Marshall's most recent dispute was that it left them in a place they had never been before. Most of their bickering matches had to do with witnesses, or Marshall's choice to forever see the glass half full while Mary consistently saw it as half empty. Those were the types of fights they could easily brush under the rug, but one about something so intimate was harder to forget.

Still, both tried almost a little _too_ forcefully to mend the fences come Wednesday morning, to the point where Mary wished they could go back to being snarky – it would make her feel like her old self, at the very least. Nonetheless, the forced politeness started to wane once the two of them found themselves trapped with Stan in the conference room to go over the coordinates and particulars of their journey to Pennsylvania. It was coming up fast, after all. With Savannah's testimony being pushed to early the following week, they were set to hit the road the next day.

Delia was in attendance as well, seated with Stan on one side of the long table, Mary and Marshall on the other. As she was the one who would fly out with the witness at a later date, she needed to be privy to the original inspector's planned route.

"I don't know if you two have really looked at the various ways you can drive to the east coast…" Stan began, pulling an old fashioned road map from inside one of his file folders. "But, I outlined what I figured would be the best direction to take in case someone is on your tail…"

Mary spoke up while Marshall slid the folded paper closer to his eyes, "We won't even have the witness with us, Stan," she was still lobbying to get the trip over with as efficiently as possible, a method not shared by her boss. "No one is going to be following us."

"We don't take chances in this business, inspector," Stan was gung-ho with his intentions. "You know the drill."

"Yeah-yeah…" she groused, peering over Marshall's arm to see what she was in for. "What farmland are we gonna be trudging through? I swear, we are gonna get stuck on some Godforsaken rock and die out in the middle of nowhere."

But, Marshall was tracing Stan's suggested route and wasn't listening. Knowing Mary's luck, he was prepared to fully agree with their chief's method to watch their backs and take five days too long to complete an excursion they could finish in two.

"So…it looks like we'll make it into Oklahoma on day one…" Marshall pointed this out, as if Mary didn't understand which state he was referring to. "After we take the I-25 and I-40 through Texas…"

"Christ almighty, that's over five hundred miles…" Mary caught sight of the ticker on the bottom of the map.

"And close to a nine hour drive, give or take with traffic," Stan obviously thought this would sway Mary's opinion that trying to motor cross-country in forty-eight hours was expecting a lot. "That'll get you out of New Mexico tomorrow, and you can pitch in a hotel out in Oklahoma tomorrow night."

"Thrilling," Mary quipped, but the boys paid no attention.

"So then, on Friday we make it to Missouri or Illinois depending on how far we got the day before…" the younger man was obviously relishing all the different paths they could take; a nerd like him, he would be soaking up all the culture there was to be had. "Not quite as long of a drive though…"

"Not if you take this freeway…" Stan noted. "But, you'll have to pay the tolls."

"_He'll_ have to pay the tolls," Mary wanted it known that she didn't intend to contribute a cent, to booths or to gas, although Marshall would probably persuade her at some point. "This hike isn't on my dollar."

"Aren't you generous," Stan offered a grin. "I'll pitch in – see if I can get DOJ to cough up some funds since they're the ones making you go in the first place."

"I'll hop on the phone, ASAP," Delia asserted, showing that she could be more than just a frisky co-worker. "Somebody up there has to know the kind of bill they're making us foot."

"If they pay it in quarters for those damn tolls, I'll tell them where they can shove their change," Mary muttered under her breath, but her partner and boss were studying the map once more.

In the back of her mind, the woman knew she was fortunate that Marshall was taking such an interest, because they were both aware she was going to make him do most of the driving. Even on their old adventures, before Mary had gotten pregnant, he'd taken the wheel like the chivalrous knight he was. Under ordinary circumstances, Mary would've insisted she could do her part and clock a few miles, but she rarely said no to the opportunity for sleep – something she wouldn't get if she had to face the open road.

"The rest of this seems pretty straightforward…" Marshall's nail was traveling upward on the diagram, inching its way closer and closer to the east coast. "We can stop in Indiana or Ohio on Saturday after we've stayed overnight in Missouri or Illinois…"

"Give or take," Stan concurred.

"Then it looks like we'll pass through West Virginia on Sunday before we reach Pennsylvania, although it'll probably take the better part of the day to get to Philly. But, it looks like we'll make it by Sunday night and be ready to go if they call Savannah for Monday."

Even without the additional rack of mileage it would take to get to Rhode Island, this was going to be one long voyage, Mary reflected. Stan had broken up the tour fairly methodically, as any chief worth his salt would do if he wanted his employees to be safe, but four days just driving in the car? It looked like he had padded some time on certain portions of the trip so they'd be able to stop and eat, maybe even sightsee (see what?) But, just looking at it made the blonde tired. She had been looking forward to getting away, but from this vantage point it was starting to look like one, never-ending, dreary outing with no finale in sight.

"There are definitely a few days in there where you'll be able to take it a little slower," perhaps Stan sensed what Mary was already thinking. "But, I figure that's good. It'll be a nice way to break things up."

"Sure-sure…" Marshall bobbed his head. "This looks good; I see no reason why we can't follow this course," tapping all the squiggly lines for emphasis. "Four days – eight total with driving time," Mary noticed he expertly left out the Providence bit, probably for her benefit.

Something else she suddenly remembered was that he'd told Doctor Reese the drive would likely only be six days, up and back. Would Mary still be given clearance to go? Maybe since they were leaving earlier than anticipated, it wouldn't be a problem. This also alerted her to the fact that she was supposed to have returned to the doctor before they packed up, but it didn't look as though that was going to happen.

Well, Mary wasn't unaccustomed to breaking rules. Besides, she'd felt fine, other than her swelling feet and aching back, but that was par for the course, wasn't it? She wasn't due for another five weeks. Surely if Marshall thought it would be an issue, he would say something.

"It's a pretty hefty march," Stan acknowledged. "But, you two have braved the roads before, and who knows? Heading up there to talk all about how Savannah's been the model witness might put us in DC's good books for once. Maybe they'll stop breathing down our necks all the time when it comes to how much money we're spending."

"I wouldn't count on that," Mary spoke for the first time in several minutes. "Those paper pushers in DC always have a stick up their ass, and they always want to blame WITSEC."

Stan hunched his shoulders, "Then a little bowing down on our part couldn't hurt."

"If only all of us actually could 'bow down,'" Mary grumbled, referring to the fact that she couldn't arch over her mammoth belly at all anymore. "When you start getting a beer gut, you'll see what I mean, old man."

"Unfortunately for me…" Stan cast off a half-amused smirk as he folded his file up now that Marshall was busy craning his neck over the map. "I am halfway there," and, good-natured as he sometimes was, he patted his middle where his belt met his tucked-in shirt.

"I don't often see you chugging back the brewskies, chief," Delia chimed in once more. "I'd say we should all have a few rounds to wish Mary and Marshall here a safe trip, but I'm sure Mary's sworn off the liquor in Mango's favor…"

Mary frowned at her co-worker's forthrightness, mostly because she didn't like to be reminded that she was to be alcohol-free for another five weeks. In any case, she wasn't nearly as heated about Delia's knowledge on the subject as she was Abigail's.

"Have you been spreading that moniker around like a bad rash, doofus?" Mary gave Marshall a sharp jab with her elbow. "I don't need everybody talking about this spawn like it's as flimsy as fruit."

"I may have let a word or two slip…" Marshall's response was vague, as he was still preoccupied with the map. "Figured it couldn't hurt."

And it couldn't, not really, as long as those in the loop were not Abigail. Mary was well aware that her judgment on such a thing was vastly unmerited – if Stan and Delia could be privy to the minor aspects of the pregnancy, there was no reason the detective couldn't. But, Mary knew how she felt about it, and as Marshall had already agreed to keep things fairly locked up, she wasn't going to tell him to back off now.

"Well, from now on, you can keep your big mouth closed, you hear?" she decided she would give Marshall the idea she wanted to keep _everyone_ in the dark, not just a singular person. "You'd think, working in WITSEC, that you would learn to use a little more discretion."

"You would think…" Marshall mused.

"Well, I think it's cute," Delia twittered with a girlish flutter of her eyelashes. "Little Mango…" she paused, and the other woman was certain she'd been about to top it off with 'Shannon' and had then remembered the baby would not be a Shannon. She finished none-too-awkwardly, "Baby Mango. Wonderfully sweet, just like the food, right?"

"I guess…" Mary griped, but Delia's mention of taste was like a trigger for Marshall, who couldn't resist an opportunity to impart his wisdom.

"Traditionally, mangoes are very sweet – and originally cultivated in Asia, derived from the word, 'malayalam…'"

"Jesus…" Mary cut him off, putting a hand to her forehead, wagging it back and forth. "I'm in for ten days of these lessons with no one to head him off. Thursday will be kiwis, Friday cantaloupes…"

"Need some headphones?" Stan joshed, relishing the look of disgust on his female inspector's face. "You could block him out that way…"

"That monotone can penetrate anything," Mary assured him. "I speak from experience."

"Au contraire, fellow inspector," Marshall held up his index finger to prove he had been listening. "I look at any opportunity to school others in the deeper, more meaningful aspects of the seemingly humdrum to be few and far between. If I were you, I would cherish the chance…"

"Don't hold your breath," the blonde didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she would ever enjoy his sermons. "And don't be surprised if I ask you to tie me to the roof just to escape from your babble. Mark my words."

"I'll pencil it in," Marshall was game as Delia gave a good-natured laugh and Stan got out of his seat, content that his male employee was appropriately absorbed in the highways they would be trundling along the next morning.

"Oh, I'm almost sorry I am going to miss seeing you two attempt to survive a good ten days spent only in each other's company," the older gentleman quipped, stretching his arms over his head. "Almost," he added as an afterthought.

"Please," Mary tapped her pencil between her fingers and shot him a quizzical look. "You think I need _both_ of you along? Like one isn't torture enough?"

"You do know how to make a guy feel special," used to Mary's acidity, Stan refused to be offended. "And, lucky for you I suppose, your wish will be granted. Marshall will be the only one riding shotgun."

"I'm riding shotgun," Mary corrected him, jabbing a finger in the air. "Make no mistake."

"Of course," her boss was quick to agree. "On that note, I wanted to talk to you for just a second – in my office, if you don't mind."

The rapid swing in the discussion put Mary off her game momentarily. It was plausible to believe that Stan had tried to slip the order in casually on purpose, so Mary wouldn't feel the need to bolt or act suspicious, but he hadn't entirely received the intended result. She couldn't be certain why he would want to see her alone, not when things seemed as normal as they ever were. Marshall, for once, was busy marking up the map and didn't seem to notice the chief switch gears.

"What…now?" Mary questioned slowly.

"Just for a second," Stan assured her. "Come on…" beckoning with his hand, already halfway to the door. "Won't be a minute."

He had already said as much, and because he was practically back in the main office already, Mary had no choice but to stand and follow him, at least if she wanted to know what he needed. Delia stayed behind with Marshall, waiting for the rundown on her plane ride with Savannah, to take place over the weekend.

Put-out that a simple jaunt across the floor took a considerable amount of vigor given how much heavier she was, Mary caught up with Stan in due time, taking care to shut the door of his office once they made it inside. The slam made the blinds on the windows rattle, probably because Mary had swung it into the hinges a little harder than was necessary.

Stan, posted in front of his desk, could clearly tell that Mary was antsy about their impending discussion, because he launched into a prologue before the real conversation could begin.

"Mary, it isn't like I'm here to fire you or anything," he joked, but it was in a low voice. "I'm sending you on an important assignment. What are you so nervous about?"

Did he want credit for letting her spread her wings when she was supposed to be handcuffed to her desk? Because that wasn't even his doing. It was the crazy higher-ups – the ones who had made such restricting rules for pregnant women – that were responsible.

"I don't really remember the last time you asked to speak to me alone that included anything I wanted to hear," Mary couldn't help pointing out. "I mean the water cooler and the cartographer out there got out of whatever this is."

"It's just a few…well…" Stan shuffled, hands sliding in and out of his pockets per usual. "I don't know what I'd call it…a word of warning, I guess."

"A word of warning," Mary repeated, brow creasing almost of its own accord. "The hell?"

"I…I know this is going to sound stupid given that DOJ is the one who wants you packing up – and they're also the ones who have been telling me since they found out you were pregnant that you have to abide by the letter of the law…"

"Stan, spit it out," she sliced through his chatter, unable to believe that he'd read her mind, but squirmy about him taking so long to give up the ghost. "What do they want?"

He sighed, "It isn't them – it's me," he illuminated his point little-by-little. "I wanted to say, first of all, that I really appreciate you taking this drive. It can't be easy, especially in your…um…" he cleared his throat, mumbling over what came next. "Condition…"

Mary didn't take kindly to it being defined as such, "Holy mother of God…" and rolling her eyes for good measure.

"I wouldn't even let you go if Marshall wasn't going with you…"

"Gee, there's a comfort…"

"But, Mary, I think it's important that you realize how imperative it is that you two keep your noses clean out there on the road."

Now she was more confused than ever, and sneered to show it.

"Where the hell are you going with this?" she wanted to know. "Are we gonna get to it sometime this year?"

Fortunately, now that he'd gotten started, it was obvious he intended to continue – he had just beaten around the bush on his way to the center.

"I'm sorry, I just…" his hands seemed to be sweating; he kept rubbing them on his slacks, and his bald head was shiny too. "I'm not all that comfortable talking about…" waggling his fingers toward Mary's protruding belly. "…You know…"

"It's no picnic living through it either, Stan, but somehow I mange."

"What I'm trying to say is…" he looked her straight in the eye this time, perhaps to try and erase some of his cowardice. "Should anything happen with you and the baby – like, if you were to go into labor sometime while you're away…"

He had to stop here, because he'd practically choked on the word 'labor' which made Mary laugh out loud. He was as bad as she had been at her doctor's appointment when Raquel had tried to force her to compile a birth plan. For as much flack as she gave Stan for being so jittery about pregnancy, it was nice to know she wasn't the only one who found it intimidating.

"Stan, don't give yourself a stroke," she put a hand in his face to talk him down. "If you're asking me to be careful…"

"Well, it's a little more than being careful," he admitted. "Just, I know there'll be no stopping things if…well…" tripping up again. "…You know…"

"Yeah, I know."

"I just want you to know that if you end up in that situation and the baby ends up coming, then you have my permission to take care of it…"

Now Mary laughed so hard she ended up spitting and had to put a hand to her mouth to cover it. She'd known Stan had been trying to conceal himself from her gestation, but this was too much.

"Your permission?" she was incredulous, voice still shaking with suppressed mirth. "You've got to be kidding. You think I need _that_ to have this kid? Out of control doesn't even begin to describe it, Stan…"

"Well, that's not really what I meant," she saw his face go red at the way he had fumbled his phrasing. "It's more that I am telling you not to put yourself in a position where you end up on the side of the road or in a courtroom and Marshall's having to play midwife…"

"You know what a midwife is?" Mary asked out of the blue. "I'm impressed…"

The chief ignored her, "Here's the deal, okay?" and now he sounded more like his old self, like the no-nonsense boss Mary was familiar with. "If something like that happens, this case and WITSEC come _second_, understand?"

After all his rigmarole, Mary finally saw what he had been intending to tell her all along, and in its own way it was very sweet. He was telling her that he cared more about her health and her safety – and, subsequently, the safety of the baby she supposed – than he did about Savannah Doyle and DC. Maybe it was because it wasn't Marshall, maybe it was because she hadn't been bombarded with admonitions to 'slow down' and 'take it easy,' but Mary was fairly touched by his stipulations. Or the hormones – it could always be the hormones.

But, justifiably so, Stan took her silence as annoyance, and he wanted to make his point perfectly clear.

"Understand?"

Almost glad she could prove him wrong as far as her reaction was concerned; Mary nodded slowly to signify her comeback.

"Yeah. I copy," she kept it simple. "It's not like Marshall would ever let me get away with trying to travel or give testimony in that scenario anyway."

Apparently a little shocked by her reaction but willing to take it, Stan latched onto her claim rather than belabor his instructions.

"Why do you think I said I'd never let you go unless he was along?" and now he sounded more relaxed, though he'd probably sweated all the way through his dress shirt. "You're a stubborn one, inspector. We all have to keep an eye on you."

And yet, there were so many eyes on Mary these days, she had to think she wouldn't achieve solitude until after Mango was born. And maybe not even then.

XXX

**A/N: I know I warned you in one of the chapters that it takes awhile to actually get them on the road, but rest assured they will get there! With the story being so long, I promise the synopsis as advertised will be the bulk of the fic! **


	12. There's Secrecy in Numbers

**A/N: I neglected to mention in my last author's notes that my projected route from Albuquerque to Philadelphia is probably sketchy, at best! I did look it up, but I'm sure it's slightly wonky compared to how people might usually go. ;) **

XXX

With the strategy for the great migration to Pennsylvania underway, Mary assumed the rest of her day would be fairly low-key, especially given that she could no longer venture out into the field. She was in for a surprise when she heard Marshall's cell phone ring after lunch, already prepared to feel churlish that he was probably going to tend to a witness while she sat on her ass.

However, after glancing at the caller ID, Mary couldn't help noticing that he didn't answer like he was speaking to a witness.

"Hey…" his voice took a strange turn, sort of sympathetic but also slightly anxious. "What's up?"

Raising her eyes from her paperwork, Mary concealed her stare behind one of her stacks of folders, hoping Marshall wouldn't see her watching.

"…No, I already ate, actually. You said you were going to be out working a case this afternoon and wouldn't have time to grab lunch until after two…"

No guesses now who he was speaking to. Mary's skin suddenly began to tingle. Had Marshall talked to Abigail since his partner had gone harrumphing out of the restaurant the day before? She was sure they'd exchanged words, but about that? Hard to say.

"…Oh, right now?" Marshall went on, seemingly blind to Mary's stealthy methods of listening in. "…No, they're not going to let you up without a badge. I can come downstairs to the lobby – just let me check with Stan."

Downstairs? Abigail was downstairs? Was she so pissed at Marshall she had sought him out at his place of employment – why did she even know the building he worked in? Law enforcement officer or not, keeping WITSEC under wraps was always supposed to be the number one priority. Never mind that Mary had caused her own breach when she'd been engaged to Raph.

Maybe it wasn't Marshall that Abigail was teed off with. It was probably Mary. That made a lot more sense.

But, if she kept evaluating the circumstances, she was going to miss the remainder of the man's dialogue.

"Sure…just let me make sure it's okay with Stan," he reiterated. "I've got a few minutes to chat. Sit tight."

Jumping back into position and feigning that she was scribbling on her papers when Marshall hung up, Mary just barely caught her partner push his chair back and head for the chief's office. Peering beneath the slats in her folder cubby, she saw him lean in Stan's doorway to propose his question – and it was just as Mary had thought.

"Hey, Abigail dropped by for a few minutes on her break," he was startlingly offhand about informing Stan that his girlfriend knew where the WITSEC headquarters were. "Do you mind if I head down and see her?"

Stan's reply was muffled from far away, and Mary had to strain her ears.

"Did you finish all of Savannah's travel forms?" he inquired.

"Yeah, they just need your signature," just like Marshall to have his homework completed.

"Then, fine," Stan was as agreeable as ever, which was no big surprise; he probably liked Abigail. "You know she can't come up here though, right?"

The way he said it indicated that he didn't believe for a minute Marshall would blow their security that way, but the boss in him had to ask. For the first time in a long time, Mary wished someone would have that kind of faith in her discretion. Sure, she was great about concealing her job from everyone who came knocking, but Stan knew she was prone to bending and tweaking the rules to suit her witnesses as well as those at ABQ PD.

"No, I won't bring her up here," Marshall assured him. "She doesn't even know what floor I'm on, Stan," he went the extra mile. "I mean, she's known I was a Marshal from the beginning, but she doesn't know the details."

At this, Stan articulated something that sounded like, "That's my guy," before Marshall left his leisurely position and strode across the floor toward the glass double doors.

For a split second, he stopped at his desk and snatched his left-behind cell phone, slipping it into his pocket. Mary continued to gaze at him as he put a hand to his behind, probably to check for his wallet, and was then in danger of slipping out of her chair when Marshall caught her ogling.

Faking nonchalance, Mary straightened, realizing as she did so that Mango hadn't enjoyed her squashing herself over him in order to eavesdrop. Using her right hand to rub away the ache such a stance left behind, she just blinked and attempted to get back to her work for real.

But, Marshall – being Marshall – just smirked at her trying to conceal herself and shook his head.

"You want anything from the vending machine?" he asked slyly, the half-smile still playing around his lips. "Skittles? Pringles? Famous Amos?"

Never one to say no to free food, Mary decided to take him up on his offer, "Those Famous Amos things are so hard – they aren't cookies; they're rocks."

"So, then?"

"Get me those big ones – the soft ones that come two in a package."

"Grandma's Cookies."

"Whatever," she didn't care what they were called. "Oh, and I want a Pepsi too."

"At your service…" Marshall mimed tipping a hat and headed for the doors once more. "I better get used to it…"

Apprehensive about what sort of debate he was sure to have with Abigail, Mary kept her eye on him as he disappeared into the foyer and finally the elevator. Evidently, it was all a barrel of laughs for him, as he probably thought Mary had been eavesdropping just to be nosy, not because she thought it was about her. Why the blonde assumed Marshall hadn't already mended those fences with Abigail, she couldn't be sure, but why else would she stop by in the middle of the day? It spoke volumes.

Once she resigned herself to ending her peeping Tom routine, Mary turned around, only to find that Delia had been watching too. Only now, she was scrutinizing Mary, not Marshall.

Up until this point, Mary had never really had much use for Delia. She was sure she was a quality inspector, having graduated top of her class, but as a person she was just too much for Mary with her constant sunshine. But seeing her now, hungry for any little bit of gossip, Mary decided the only thing to do would be to use that trait to her advantage.

"Hey, you!" she called, loudly enough that Delia would hear her, but hoping that Stan wouldn't clue in. "Come here. I need to ask you something."

Excited to be addressed by Mary and consulted – even if it was about something as trivial as Abigail – Delia sprung out of her seat and tottered right over on her high heels. Between her thirst for scandal and the shoes, she was reminding Mary of Brandi and Jinx.

"Yes?" Delia's voice was vibrant with enthusiasm, even in just one word. "I am here to serve you, Mary! What can I do?"

The taller wasted no time, "What do you know about Nancy Drew? You ever run into her at the academy?"

Delia balked, "Who?"

Forgetting that only Marshall was aware of her less-than-flattering nickname for the detective, Mary sighed and started over.

"Abigail – Detective Chaffee," she clarified. "You have any dirt on her? Any reason Marshall shouldn't be seeing her?"

If Delia had any qualms or misgivings about why Mary was suddenly itching for rumors, she certainly didn't say so. In fact, her whole face lit up like she was about to share all her Christmas secrets with Santa Claus. Leaning in, as if she expected someone to hear them, she got underway like her life depended on it.

"Word on the street is that she's pretty clean…" she began enticingly. "But, I do know someone who worked with her back in Texas, and they tell me that before she moved to Albuquerque, she was something of a party girl…"

"What the hell is Marshall doing with her then?" Mary couldn't help wondering. "His idea of a party is eating trail mix and watching Star Trek on a Saturday night," until now, Mary had thought the same of Abigail.

"I guess she liked her men too, until she met Vincent Wells…"

"Who's Vincent? And why do I care?" though she'd asked, Mary didn't want this to take all day.

"From what I understand, he was a private investigator that she worked with and completely swept her off her feet…" Delia gave a faraway sigh at this, making Mary urge her onward so they wouldn't have to fixate on the romance.

"So, what happened to him?" she was arching forward now too, eager for more.

"Between you and me…" the shorter stole a glance toward Stan's office, obviously unsure how he would take the pair of them swapping stories about Marshall's girlfriend, true or not. "Before she left the great state of Texas and reformed, she was almost Detective Wells…"

Now Mary raised her eyebrows and backed up in her seat, careful not to roll backward and crash into the window.

"What…were they engaged?" she could only guess.

"More than that," Delia pressed on. "Made it to the church and everything – until she left Vincent at the altar." And finally, "But, you didn't hear that from me, inspector," she gave a roguish wink just the same.

Looking at Delia, all stimulation and intrigue, Mary could do nothing but settle down and take it all in. This description of Abigail wasn't one that Mary was having a lot of success computing. She'd assumed Marshall and Abigail were compatible because they were both a pair of nerds. Now what was she to think?

Abigail had almost married another man, and it couldn't have been that long ago because she'd only recently relocated to New Mexico. Did her runaway bride routine mean she had turned over a new leaf, resolved to be tamer, spending her nights playing chess instead of hitting up the night clubs? Did Marshall know all this? And if he did, did he care?

"I don't know, Delia…" Mary expressed when she was through pondering. "I think you must be hitting the sauce or something. This is Abigail _Chaffee_ you're talking about? Bouncy girl with the obnoxious southern twang?"

"I'm telling you, Mary, I know it sounds crazy, but I swear…" she was sticking to her guns. "She wanted to leave Texas to get away from the memories and start fresh…"

So, Delia was coming to the same conclusion that Mary had been, although the latter couldn't say she approved. Abigail sounded like she'd been irresponsible and flighty, and now she was snowing Marshall. She knew she ought to give her partner credit for being smarter than that, but that wasn't on her mind at the moment.

"If you say so…" she finally muttered. "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime, Mary!" Delia twittered, and recognizing when it was time to exit, she flounced back to her own desk, clearly glad to have bonded over something with her normally stand-offish co-worker.

In her absence, Mary didn't need much time to deliberate. After the spectacle Abigail had caused the day before, she was already feeling more ill-will toward her than usual, and now she had pulled Marshall away for some private chit-chat. The notion that the man could take care of himself never crossed her mind. Being around Delia was turning her into quite the busybody, because she suddenly couldn't wait for a glimpse of whatever was going on downstairs. Never before had she been so interested in Marshall's love life.

Leaving her desk and practically zooming around the front, she hurried across the floor and was, unfortunately, spotted by someone she had not even considered.

"Hey! Hey!"

Screeching to a halt with her hand on the knob, Mary exhaled and rolled her eyes before turning around to find Stan waiting for her. Much to her chagrin, he looked amused.

"Just where are you going?"

Mary did not know why he was asking, because he obviously knew – she could tell by the wily smirk on his face, which she wanted to slap off the minute she saw it. Nonetheless, his intelligence on the subject didn't mean she was going to go down without a fight.

"I left something in my car."

Stan wagged his head knowingly, "You are shameless…"

"And you need to mind your own business."

"I could say the same about you," he countered. "Come on, leave Marshall alone. Are you going down there just to embarrass him?"

Mary decided that this might be a good time for a joke, "Who, me?" she even held up her hands and glanced left to right, as though she couldn't grasp Stan's accusation. "Would I ever try to embarrass that doofus in front of his sprightly little cheerleader?"

Lucky for her, Stan was still grinning, but it was somewhat grim, like he knew he could try to convince the woman to stay put until he was blue in the face, and he really had no way to make her listen. Eight years as Mary's boss, and there were still times he couldn't keep her in line – particularly where more personal aspects were concerned.

Quelling just slightly under the chief's more penetrating look, Mary decided she could give a little, "Look, if you knew what she pulled on me yesterday, you'd be singing a different tune."

"What'd she do?" Stan sounded disbelieving already, sticking his hands on his hips. "Get close to Marshall?"

If possible, the woman would bet her life that her heart had just stalled inside her ribcage, making a sound and final thump before the beat died down entirely. She couldn't imagine the effect this had on her really stayed off her face. Indeed, she could ascertain that her mouth was hanging slack, green eyes probing over Stan's brown ones. He had some nerve, and the best solution for Mary to counteract his theory would be to act like she had not a clue what he was talking about.

"Where do you get off?" Mary was the one to place a hand on her hip this time, or at least where one of her hips used to be. "Do you think I'm _jealous?_ Are you serious?"

"I don't think you're jealous; I think you're easily threatened, Mary…"

"Isn't that the same thing?" she didn't like that combination of words and intended to make it known. "Stan, jealousy and envy are for the locker room. I wasn't a part of that in high school, and I'm not going to be a part of it now. But, thanks for your confidence, by the way," she sneered with a well-timed snort. "I tell you Abigail went after me yesterday, and right away you assume it's my fault."

In truth, Stan couldn't imagine very many scenarios where the younger woman was to blame for anything involving a more-testy-than-usual Mary, but he did suppose that his loyalties looked rather skewed.

"Well, then feel free to enlighten me, inspector," he nodded his bald head toward her to indicate she had the floor. "What went down yesterday?"

But, Mary suddenly had no desire to discuss it, not after she'd already filled her quota on awkward conversations with Stan for the day.

"Missed your chance, pal," she was great at turning people down. "Ask your sidekick if you want to know," referring to Marshall.

And, thoroughly annoyed now that she kept getting impeded, Mary swiped her badge in the key slot, yanked the door open, and headed for the elevators, leaving Stan to look like he wished he could warn Marshall she was coming in her wake.

Riding down, Mary knew it was entirely probable that Marshall and Abigail had gone off somewhere she wouldn't be able to discover what they were up to, but she'd gone this far so she might as well finish. She wasn't even completely sure what she was going to do if she found them smack in the middle of the lobby. Oh, well. She was savvy with excuses, and it was her turn to interrupt after Abigail had plopped herself in their middle of their lunch the day before.

In the few minutes she had before the doors slid open to admit her onto the ground floor, Mary deliberated on Stan's hypothesis, not necessarily because she wanted to, but because she couldn't forget it. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have given a damn what Marshall was engaged in with his arm candy, and all of a sudden it was like she couldn't get enough information. Perhaps Abigail's extensive knowledge of the pregnancy bothered her even more than she'd let on – or maybe the woman herself bothered her more than she realized. That could certainly be it.

Whatever the reason, it wasn't stopping her from descending the floors, wondering what she was missing with every number that passed.

The only person she saw when the elevator landed, however, was Frank – the afternoon lobby guard and desk attendant. Her partner and the detective were nowhere in sight.

"Miss Shannon…" Frank, polite and professional to a fault, seemed happy to see her – or else he covered well. "What brings you down here during this time of day?"

"Hey Frank…" she waddled her way up to the desk and, after a few conspicuous glances around, leaned her chin in her hand on the surface. "Oh…" she exhaled knowing her plan had been thwarted, feeling very much like a buzzing gossip queen. "Nothing." And then, deciding she could return some of the cordialness, "How are you?"

"Can't complain," Frank stated, flipping through the sign-in book before him and checking something on his computer. "How 'bout yourself?"

"Fat," she batted back, feeling especially negative.

"Well, you're not the only one," he was kind as he patted his only marginally rounded stomach, stuffed tight into his navy uniform. "At least you have a good reason, right?"

"I wouldn't call an oversight with my ex the _best_ reason."

He chuckled, "You wouldn't be the first one in that department either."

"Hmm…" she grumbled darkly in response.

Quiet settled around them then while Frank continued importing numbers into his computer and checking his security monitors. Mary was aware she was likely bugging him with her presence, but unlike the other attendants, he would never say so. The morning guard, Otis, was around seventy-five years old and couldn't ever remember Mary's name. The sentry on the graveyard shift, David, despised her attitude and her personality in general, and so Frank had always been her favorite.

"You sure I can't help you with anything?" he queried after a moment or two of Mary blankly staring at the street outside.

It was stupid to pretend she hadn't come down for a reason, "Marshall didn't come through here, did he?"

"Mr. Mann?" he never called them by their first names. "Yeah, there was a young lady looking for him; she buzzed in on the intercom. They went for a walk; I gather he'll be back soon."

Disappointed they were nowhere around but starting to get over it, Mary pretended she had been interested for superficial reasons, "He promised me cookies from the vending machine."

A genial smile escaped at this, "Doesn't that man know that you never make a pregnant lady wait for anything?"

"Give him lessons, why don't you?" the blonde held out her fist for Frank to pound, and he did so without hesitation, though his claim was bogus; Marshall was as gentlemanly as they came.

Frank had nothing to say to this, probably because he wouldn't want to talk down on Marshall, which fit right in with his courteous nature. Nonetheless, his comment about the pregnancy made Mary curious. She'd known Frank a long time, and yet really did not _know_ him at all. She might not be in for a life of motherhood, but it seemed her inquisitiveness about such a thing was heightened these days anyway.

"Do you have kids, Frank?"

He didn't seem startled by the question, "Not my own. Two step-kids though – boys."

"Yeah?" Mary nudged further. "How old are they?"

"The oldest is thirteen, and his brother's nine."

She let out a low whistle, "That's a bear, Frank. Thirteen year old boys?" now she made a face, wrinkling her nose and poking her tongue between her teeth. "I mean, you know he's only thinking about one thing, right…"

"Well, his mother and I try to broaden his interests," but, his features gave away that he knew exactly what 'one thing' Mary was referring to. "And I'd say you ought to be prepared for anything," drawing a ring around her tummy. "Unless you already know you won't have to deal with the male species?"

It was no use telling Frank that Mary wouldn't be handling a male or a female, whichever the baby turned out to be, though she still had that strange inkling that a boy was indeed what she was carrying. Regardless, she didn't have much need to unveil the intricacies of her uterus with Frank – or her plans for the child.

Instead, she went for a soft smile and patted the mound, "Just a Mango for now, Frank," a sheepish shrug. "But, uh…those step-kids of yours…I mean if they're anything like you, they can't be all bad. They're probably walking around with their shirts tucked in and their hands all washed and ready to shake."

"I don't know about that…" Frank was modest, bowing his head. "But, we do what we can. Their dad is kind of out of the picture, so I like to think I'm something of a role model for them. Or, I try to be."

"Yeah, I've been there…" Mary murmured under her breath without thinking about the repercussions.

Unfortunately, Frank was on top of it, "Have you?"

Realizing what she had just uttered, Mary internally scolded herself for letting anything involving James slip out into the open. Granted, she was able to talk about him fairly naturally these days, but nothing erased the odd sting she always felt somewhere around her midsection at the mere mention. She wondered if the day would ever arrive where she could both speak _and_ think about him without so much awareness.

Well, now was a good time to try it.

"Yeah, I mean…" she shook her head and inclined off her chin, stretching her back. "My dad left home when I was seven. Male role models were few and far between for me, so I'd say those boys are pretty lucky to have you."

Disregarding the pregnant one's little tidbit, Frank chose to cling to the other portion of Mary's remark, "Any kid is lucky to have someone at home that loves them. Blood doesn't matter a bit. It's what's in here…" he patted his chest for emphasis. "That's what matters."

Cliché and corniness aside, the declaration struck a chord in Mary. She'd been alleging since she'd settled on adoption that what a child needed was two parents – two parents to love, not only it, but each other. Frank's words fell right in line with this thinking in terms of adoption; the parents were there, the love was there – presumably – and DNA was never a factor.

And yet, for the first time, Mary wondered if it would really be so terrible for her baby to be brought up with someone she cared for, even if that someone wasn't the biological father. Because, she'd faced a long time ago that reuniting with Mark was out of the question, and single motherhood wasn't something she was looking for either.

But, what sort of thoughts were these anyway? What 'someone' that Mary cared for would she end up raising the baby with? No such person existed. She was dancing around a pointless fairytale.

And with fairytales on her mind, she saw Marshall and Abigail appear in the front window – hand in hand, Abigail giggling up into Marshall's long, angular face. The sight made Mary feel faintly ill.

"Looks like Mr. Mann has returned," Frank observed. "You want me to buzz him in for you?" his finger was already poised over the button.

But, looking at the two of them – a couple if ever there was one – Mary suddenly couldn't understand why she had ever tried to snoop her way into their isolated little moment. It had been a peculiar compulsion – there and now gone. The idea that she had taken it to this level was suddenly nauseating, and Mary wanted to leave before her partner saw her.

"Marshall has his badge," she informed Frank. "He can get them in."

The man saw her heading for the elevator, "Don't you want to wait for him?"

Mary shook her head, "I'll see him upstairs."

For, Mary couldn't help thinking that if she was waiting for anything where Marshall was concerned – even if she didn't know what it was – the picture of perfection in front of her said she was going to be waiting an awfully long time.

XXX

**A/N: Eavesdropping Mary…swapping secrets with Delia! ;)**


	13. Loosen the Divide

**A/N: Onward and upward, friends! **

XXX

"Mom, I don't need help packing."

"Darling, you will be gone almost two weeks; you need to make sure you have absolutely everything you need…"

"I've packed for myself a million times," Mary asserted as she stood in her bedroom and watched Jinx fling various shirts and assorted items into an open duffel bag. "And, I know what the essentials are, trust me."

Truthfully, yes, Mary was a master-packer when it came to last-minute trips, or court hearings that lasted about a day and a half. But, it had been a very long time since she'd traveled winding dirt roads for any extended period of time. Nonetheless, there was no need to let Jinx in on that – not that it mattered. She was going to town filling the bag anyway.

"I don't know sweetheart…" Jinx chirped as if she could not even hear her daughter, her head in the closet. "The more I think about you leaving home like this, the more I don't like the idea…"

"We've been through this," the other woman sighed, exasperated. "I went to the doctor, and I was given the all-clear…"

"But, you'll be almost thirty-seven weeks by the time you get back; you could have the baby while you're away and then Brandi and I would miss everything…"

"Wouldn't that be a tragedy?" Mary quipped with detectable sarcasm.

The brunette leered upon hearing her aside, "I don't see how it's going to work anyway. What about the adoptive family? You could be miles away from them when you give birth, and what will you do with the baby if they aren't around to take him?"

Mary tried not to show that she hadn't really thought about this – that Jinx's mention was the first time she had considered it. How exactly would she manage if she delivered in some Podunk hospital in Kansas? She supposed the Harmons would just have to come to her, if she ended up choosing them. It would be a little discombobulated, but it didn't have to be as manic as Jinx was making it sound.

"I'd work it out, okay?" she huffed eventually. And, catching her mother about to place a certain top into the makeshift suitcase, "And hey – don't put that in there; it's too small," she snatched the fabric and wadded it up, throwing it to the head of the bed to be put away later.

"I'm afraid most of these might quickly become too small while you're traveling," Jinx speculated. "I don't think you realize just how much more you're likely to grow in two weeks."

"Then I'll squeeze, all right?" Mary was getting testy with all of Jinx's mollycoddling. "Look, mom, it is not like I'm going to be flung from civilization. I can go to a store if I need to; I can call 911 if I need to…"

The dancer was not listening, "Are you taking anything for the drive?" now she was folding socks one-by-one, placing them in an inside pocket.

"What? Like keys?" the blonde didn't know what she meant.

"No, like a book or a crossword puzzle…"

"I hate puzzles."

"Well, _something_," Jinx pressed. "Or is your entertainment going to be hassling Marshall?"

Frankly, Mary found this to be a superior pastime, and it had served her well on road trips in the past. However, you could count on Marshall to bring his own forms of amusement – electronics and novels and God knew what else. She'd just be lucky if he didn't stash Abigail in the trunk to be brought out for rousing games of license plate bingo.

"Marshall and I know how to operate on a journey like this one," Mary promised her mother in hopes of shutting her up. "I have a book somewhere – and my IPod."

"That wouldn't tide me over…" the other shared, zipping up the bag and sticking her nose in some of the outer pouches to check for excess room.

"But, we're not talking about you, we're talking about me," it felt like Mary had reminded her of this for the umpteenth time already, but when Jinx got an idea in her head, she was a woman on a mission. "Really mom, I know that I am the size of an eighty story office building, but this is my job. I know what I'm doing, and I won't be by myself. Marshall's coming with me."

Marshall's name caused Jinx to finally halt her preparations, though she didn't seem thrilled about doing so, and blew her wispy bangs out of her face to look at Mary dead-on. One of her mother's more admirable attributes was that she usually accepted her daughter's concealed workload without too many questions – not counting the time she'd been shot. But, it seemed she was having more of a difficult time coming to terms with the secrecy of WITSEC on this occasion. Though Mary would've loved to think it was just a parent's ingrained worry, she knew it was because she was pregnant, and that made her feel like a gutless pansy.

And, proving Mary's intuition wasn't completely shot, Jinx fell right into the conjecture the younger had been warming up to.

"I just wish I knew where you were going, honey…" she sounded pacifying, her voice high-pitched and too sugar-sweet. "Two weeks is such a long time…"

"It probably won't even be a full two weeks," Mary cut in. "I told you that."

"Yes, but even so…" Jinx was practically cheeping like a spring chicken in her attempts to be syrupy. "I worry about you, angel – I want you to take care of yourself."

"I will," she insisted, trying to sound definite and not harassed by all this back-and-forth. "Really. And, with everything you're throwing into that bag, there's no way I'm going to leave anything behind. I'll even call at night, if you want me to."

Where had that come from? Why had Mary felt so suddenly generous? Of all the departures from Albuquerque she had taken in her years as an inspector, she had rarely given Jinx a second thought. Her work was her own, and her mother had no right to butt in no matter how concerned she might be. At least, that was how she had always felt in the past.

Why now did Mary want to calm her? In the back of her mind, was she glad someone was worried about her? Such an emotion certainly highlighted Jinx's more maternal qualities, however small. That was one thing Mary had focused on far more intensely than she preferred as of late.

Shoving that out of her brain, she tried to read Jinx's features to see what she thought of the offer to phone in the evenings.

"I'd really appreciate that, Mary," now she was breathy, but clearly relieved. "I know you're a busy girl, and I know you don't have time for your feeble old mother…"

"No, mom…" the blonde shook her head, not wanting to have to pity Jinx on top of everything else. "I…I mean, I understand that you're kind of in the dark here…" she stepped a little closer to the bed, the better to see the brunette's eyes. "You always are. But, I'm still me underneath, you know. Underneath all the blubber," a quick postscript.

Fortuitously, Jinx giggled at Mary's name for her extra bulk, "I know, dear," she was starting to sound like she meant it, at least for the moment. "And, I may act like I forget sometimes, but I do know how independent you are – that you can handle yourself."

"Well, I'm always happy to give you a reminder if you need it," Mary finished, half-joking and half-serious. "Now, I want to be done with this," she was always speedy in changing topics when they involved something that cut close to the core. "Is there anything else I need to take? Something you think I just cannot live without?"

"I'll have a look around…" and Jinx was off, bustling out into the living room in search of more supposed provisions.

In her absence, Mary trooped all the way to the bed just to see how full she had stuffed the duffel bag. In actuality, she should be grateful that her mother was taking care of everything, because otherwise she would've done it at the last minute and made Marshall late the next morning.

She was in the midst of digging through all the tops to ensure she actually had enough to last her almost fourteen days when her cell phone buzzed on the night table. Abandoning her search, she went to answer and found her partner's name staring back at her.

Mary didn't know why, but knowing Marshall was calling made her nervous. As far as she knew, he hadn't seen her lurking in the lobby while she spied on he and Abigail, but he also hadn't told her what they'd talked about. It could be nothing – just none of Mary's business – but Marshall usually told her everything. There had to be something off about why he wasn't confiding in her this time.

Well, maybe the moment had come. Hitting the green button and shaking her hair out of her face, Mary tried to sound as aloof as possible.

"What's up?" she didn't even say hello. "I should start calling you Amelia Earhart; all you need for this trip are aviator goggles."

"Amelia Earhart attempted to travel around the world, not the United States," he corrected at once, sounding more natural than she had. "Of course, if the five day jaunt isn't enough for you, we can always elongate the drive. You could end up giving birth in the ocean…"

"You sound like Jinx," Mary huffed. "She's convinced she's going to miss the 'miracle of life' while I'm on the road," she was careful to draw the air quotes in her voice so Marshall wouldn't miss her acidity.

"Possible, I suppose, but there are many doctors in this country. Should it come to that, we can put you up in a hospital on the way. One Mango, no waiting."

"Funny man," Mary granted him that. "But, it's not happening if I have anything to say about it."

"Uh-huh…" Marshall was clearly disbelieving. "Anyway, I was just checking in – making sure we're all squared away for tomorrow. I'll drop by the house around eight so we can get a jump on the traffic."

"You know we're taking your car, right?" the woman wanted to make sure. "Because, you better not spread this around, but getting in and out of mine is kind of a hat trick anymore; it's so damn low to the ground."

Marshall chortled, "Yes, we'll take the SUV. There's more room in the back anyway – for all our cargo."

"We're not going camping," Mary scoffed at his word choice. "Man, before you know it we'll be 'bunking up' together."

"No such luck," he retorted. "I have mapped out every hotel in which we will be staying, provided we keep to the schedule, and I have requested separate beds at each. No offense meant, but I don't particularly want a repeat of that Las Vegas incident where your doggy-paddle leg kicked out and hurled me to the floor."

His partner's eyes traveled skyward at the memory, "Like you and I would even fit in the same bed," she didn't even think about how intimate that notion sounded, especially since her and Marshall had slept in the same bed on many road trips; sometimes they had no choice. "I'm pretty sure I take up more than my fair share of space these days."

"Well, there is that," the man concurred. "And, I would be willing to bet you are a cover hog as well."

"You think I even want covers in this heat wave?" Mary wanted to know. "You can have mine – the sheets too. No charge."

"How uncharacteristically charitable of you," he sounded fairly benevolent himself, but that was Marshall through and through. "But, I wouldn't dream of thieving your blankets or other linens. I am a gentleman, after all."

"Yeah, listen 'gentleman…'" Mary seized the opportunity while she had it, her mind working at warp speed like that of the Marshal she claimed to be. "How's your little trophy girlfriend feel about you bailing on her so early in the relationship? Two weeks is a long time to be apart; are you going to have to write her nightly letters?"

Mary could just picture Marshall sitting at one of those plastic-looking hotel desks, a ballpoint pen in hand as he drafted something on stationary from inside one of the drawers. He might even whistle while he worked, humming a merry tune as he thought about Abigail all by herself in the greater southwest. As the former party girl Delia had described her as, perhaps Abigail wasn't the jealous type. Mary being along for the voyage probably wouldn't perturb her – she wouldn't feel at all susceptible to being shafted.

"Abigail understands that it comes with the territory," of course she did; she was probably as knightly as her boyfriend. "If I feel the need to engage in anything dreamy over the phone or otherwise while we are away, I will see to it that I notify you well in advance."

"What, so I can go hide in the bathroom?" the blonde guessed. "Because, I'm not sitting around to watch you make kissing faces over the webcam after a long day."

"That would be your call," Marshall would never ask for isolation unless it was truly important, and messaging with Abigail didn't qualify. "But, I don't believe we would discuss anything to which you could not be privy."

"You must've taken care of that this afternoon," when she started bombarding, there was no stopping her, although Mary surprised even herself by burrowing straight to the middle of what she wanted to know with no stops in-between. "When you went on your little summertime afternoon stroll," she mocked so Marshall wouldn't know how curious she really was.

A stillness fell once she ended her survey, a stillness that made Mary wonder if Marshall was more hip to her game than she'd originally realized. After all, he could practically read her mind when he was tuned in enough, a hard fact of her life that meant it was hard to conceal things from him. _Had_ he seen her loitering with Frank at the front desk? And if he had, what did he think?

Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. The smartest thing to do would be to wait it out.

"That was just tying up some loose ends," Marshall promised, although there was an odd hitch in his voice, like maybe _he_ was the one veiling his intentions. "I kind of left her hanging yesterday afternoon – wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

"Because of me, you mean," in spite of her desire to stay cool, Mary didn't manage it for a second. "Because you told her I don't want her sticking her nose in my business and now she's pissed…"

"Not really," he muttered. "I mean, she could tell at lunch that you were displeased and I took it upon myself to explain more clearly where your reaction came from. It is water under the bridge at this point."

"You can't make me believe she's fine and dandy with you having this whole separate part of your life that she isn't included in."

"Well, with WITSEC, that's already an issue," Marshall was unruffled. "And, as you are in my WITSEC life, it stands to reason that she can deal with you being on the other side of the divide as well. Abby is a very understanding woman…"

"Of course, she's a queen," Mary droned, for some reason annoyed that the detective seemed to have taken things so well. "I can kiss her feet the next time I see her, and we'll call it even."

"Mary, you don't have to be so mistrustful," the man advised, as though it were all so simple. "Not everyone has an ulterior motive. If Abigail says she doesn't have a problem, then she doesn't have a problem. End of story."

Mary wondered if he would say that if he knew what she knew – what Delia had passed on to her that very afternoon. Of course, Marshall had been telling her since she'd met him that she needed to lighten up and not always think the worst of people. She would just retort that he didn't have her unique experience with 'people' and the way they could be prone to letting you down. And, even as much as Mary loved being right, she didn't want Marshall's first experience with disappointment at another's hands to come in the form of learning that Abigail used to be a first-rate floozy.

"You are embarrassingly naïve," was all she said, however. "You call yourself a Marshal? You just believe whatever comes out of someone's mouth? Remind me to have Stan retrain you."

"This isn't a case," still, he remained rational as his tone floated through the speaker. "And, I think I know Abigail a little better than you."

That was what he thought.

"It is immaterial right now, anyway," he barreled on without giving Mary a chance to say anything else. "We can all start from a clean slate when you and I return – Ab agrees that a week or so apart to reboot is beneficial for all involved."

Mary recalled him saying something to that effect once before, but she still didn't see where the advantage was coming from. If anything, it gave Abigail time to brood over whether it was worth being jealous of Mary, even if she was supposedly above such things. On the other hand, it would also grant her the opportunity to go back to her flirting ways and leave Marshall in the dust.

And, Mary couldn't really pretend she wouldn't be upset about that. Of all the girls he'd ever dated since they'd been partners, she'd never had one that threw her off the mark quite like Abigail. Perhaps it was because of their polarizing personalities, but it might've been something else as well – like the fact that, with each week that passed, Abigail wanted to get nearer and nearer to Marshall. If not for the trip to Pennsylvania, Mary could be pretty certain they would be moving in together.

"And what does that mean for the pair of you when the 'reboot' takes place?" the blonde used his own phrasing to reflect on what she was already thinking. "You gonna be shacking up?"

There was a pause before the hesitant, "…Maybe," came through, which caused Mary undue excitement that she tried to bury; he didn't sound sure. "That one's kind of been put on the backburner. But, you seem awfully interested," he turned the tables rather quickly. "I wasn't aware my love life was such a hot topic."

"Don't get cocky," Mary was glad he couldn't see her face, which would've probably given her away. "And hey, you're always telling me to pay more attention. If this is the thanks I'm gonna get, then I wouldn't count on my doing it again."

"What was the reason I called again?" Marshall asked abruptly, clearly noting that they had definitely gotten off the beaten path. "Oh, yes," pretending to remember; Mary could picture him with his finger on his chin. "Will you be ready by eight tomorrow, or do you want me to give you a wake up call?"

"Yeah, because I won't be getting enough of that when we're ensnared in those hotels together," this was her less-than-affable way of telling him no. "I can get my own ass out of bed, Marshall."

"I'll hold you to that," he declared. "So, I'll see you bright and early, ready to go?"

And, whether or not Mary bought into his song and dance where Abigail was concerned, she could at least be positive that she was ready to face upwards of ten days with one person and one person only. What Marshall didn't understand – a first, for him – was that her curiosity came from just how much she'd missed being his only confidante the past few months. It didn't mean she couldn't learn to tolerate Abigail, but being knocked down a peg or two was something she had-had a tough time getting used to.

Well, not this time. Ten days, just the two of them. Ten days, side-by-side, back-to-back, rattling along the open road with no end in sight. She might pretend to be dreading it, but in reality the getaway couldn't come fast enough.

"I'll be there," she swore. "You can count on it."

XXX

**A/N: So, they're almost ready to go! Time to get this show on the road!**


	14. Show me your Stripes

**A/N: Finally time to hit the road! Thank-you so much to those who are sticking with me, especially since I advertised this story as Mary and Marshall going on a road trip, and it took me fourteen chapters to get them on it!**

XXX

In spite of Jinx's assistance in packing, Mary still managed to oversleep on Thursday morning, which would give Marshall one-up on her from the start. In fact, when he came knocking at exactly eight o'clock, she didn't answer the door because she was in the bathroom after rising from her bed.

Standing on the porch, a white paper sack in hand that was oozing grease and would later be used as a bribe; Marshall was already sweltering in the early morning sunshine. A few more knocks, and he would just invite himself in, but he wanted to give it an even five or so before he went barging through the door. After all, he had kept his timetable in tact to the last second, up to and including his scrambled eggs and toast following the morning shower while he read the paper. He even left his house the same time he left for the office, although Mary lived closer and he had extra time as a result.

"Mary!" the man called through the wood just in case she was up and around but was choosing to ignore him. "I have a tantalizing morning meal if you are so inclined!"

The door might be unlocked; Marshall wasn't sure. He did have a key for emergencies, but knowing Mary she would think he was a burglar and would blast him off his feet before he was over the threshold. Due to this, he waited a few more seconds.

"Mary, come on!" he coaxed. "If you're busy carrying things to the car, I can lend a hand!" although this probably would not endear her to opening up. "Let's go!"

Still nothing. And so, Marshall dug out his jangling ring of keys from the pocket of his jeans, located the correct one, and inserted it in the lock, trying to hold himself off from reaching for his gun at the same time. A cranky, early-AM Mary wasn't one he usually wanted to tamper with unarmed.

The house was stuffy when he stepped inside, and all the lights were still out, which said to the man that his partner had yet to venture out and make her own breakfast. That made his stop on the way all the more thoughtful. He might as well pat himself on the back, because Mary wasn't likely to do so no matter how grateful she really was.

Tiptoeing past the couch and television, Marshall saw himself up the hall and tentatively pushed open Mary's bedroom door. In truth, it made him a little apprehensive; he had been in Mary's bedroom very few times, and he still felt there should be some sort of barrier preventing him from entering. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and they really needed to get on the road.

But, though the woman's covers were rumpled and the room was dark with the shades drawn, Mary was nowhere in sight. Marshall couldn't help being a little perplexed – until he heard the toilet flush in the adjoining master bathroom. Sighing in relief, he waited for Mary to emerge so he could tell her to shake a leg.

When Mary did appear, she was absolutely surprised to see him – she even jumped, and then hastened to roll her eyes.

"Jesus…" the woman put a hand to her heart and then shuffled off to her closet, speaking over her shoulder. "We really need to get you a collar with bells or something, Marshall," as though he were a cat. "Would you quit sneaking up on me like this?"

It was the second time in just a few days that Marshall had skulked in somewhat unannounced, although this time Mary should've counted on his presence if she wasn't ready as promised. And, indeed, there was nothing 'ready' about Mary. Her hair was obviously uncombed, and she still wore the drawstring pants and tank-top she'd slept in. Although he found her just as attractive in work attire as he did in her loungewear, he couldn't imagine she had been planning on getting in the car like she was.

"You aren't even dressed," he observed, sounding more critical than he meant to. "It's eight o'clock already; I thought you said you'd be prepared to go…"

"Hey, I'm prepared," Mary was somewhat absentminded as she flicked through hangers. "I'm packed, aren't I?" she indicated a fat duffel bag sitting on the floor by the door.

"Okay, I'll give you that, but…"

"But, don't get your panties all twisted, doofus," she requested, not without the usual insult. "It takes me two minutes to throw on a pair of clothes, and then we'll be ready to burn rubber," using terminology she thought he would appreciate. "It's not like I need to look glamorous or anything."

"Well, I suppose not…"

"Hell, look at you," she whipped around and drew a hand up and down his frame, where he had donned jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. "You could be off for a few garage sales or something for all I know."

Before Marshall could add his two cents to this proclamation, Mary halted her examination of her oversized maternity outfits, her nose in the air. He watched as she sniffed the surrounding atmosphere like a dog hunting its prey.

"What is that?" she sounded like she was daring to hope, like her suspicions were too good to be true. "Do I smell donuts?" now her voice was hushed, nearly shaking with dampened glee.

Glad to have brought something that might motivate her to hurry up, Marshall held up the white paper sack for her to see, which would probably be dripping any moment.

"Jelly donuts, to be precise," he grinned seeing her eyes light up. "Grape and raspberry."

"Oh boy, do you know the way to a girl's heart…" and she began riffling through shirts at the confirmation, yanking out the first one she found suitable, and then snatching a pair of jeans off the floor. "You keep those warm, buster, and I will be back in a flash."

And, with Marshall still smirking at her erratic feedback, she disappeared back into the bathroom with her clothes, sure to be back any second and ready to devour her free breakfast. If there was anything Mary loved more than food at the ready, it was food she didn't have to pay for.

In her absence, Marshall settled himself on the edge of the bed, his own mouth beginning to water while he waited to dig in to the pastries. Although his toast and eggs could usually tide him over, he was a man who enjoyed a treat now and again, which was why he had ordered four donuts – one for him, and likely three for Mary. She'd always been a hearty eater, but lately she was a regular garbage disposal.

Within minutes, she was back and wearing the jeans she had retrieved from the carpet. On top, she had on a shirt he'd never seen before, and certainly not in such vibrant colors. 'Vibrant' might be a tad strong for most people, considering the top only boasted red and white stripes, but that was still going out on a limb for Mary. She had what looked like bobby pins in her teeth and was tying her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head.

"Stripes…" Marshall stated, unable to hold his tongue. "And in such lovely hues too…"

Mary glanced down at her chest and shrugged, "I wasn't even looking at what I grabbed," her voice was pinched while she tried to clamp the accessories in her mouth. "I think Jinx got this for me…"

"It's nice," even a mild compliment made Marshall blush as he stood, though he was lucky that Mary didn't seem to notice. "Although, stripes – particularly of the horizontal variety – are a brave choice…"

"Brave?" she questioned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, traditionally, horizontal stripes make one look rather…" the longer he spoke, the more he realized he never should've opened his mouth to begin with, but now it was too late because Mary was frowning in his direction. "…I mean, with you there isn't that much…" he wasn't used to fumbling so much and tried to get back on track. "…I'm not saying you look particularly…"

"For Christ sakes, Marshall," the blonde finally took pity on him and quieted his attempts to cover his ass. "Spit it out. What's wrong with the stupid stripes?"

Trying to sound laid-back, he knew he needed to finish what he'd started, "On occasion, stripes that go side-to-side cause a person to look somewhat…" clearing his throat loudly. "…Bigger than they already do."

All his unintentional abuse earned him was widened eyes and arched brows from Mary, her hair out of her face now that she had succeeded in tying it back. At his word, she gave another glimpse to her rotund form and hunched her shoulders.

"Like I could really look any bigger than I already do."

And with that, all thoughts of clothing forgotten, she stole across the room and grabbed the donut bag without asking, unfurling the top and inhaling the bakery goodness. Marshall smirked at the fact that she was more interested in the sustenance than she was in how she looked. How could he have forgotten that Mary wasn't like most women when it came to appearance?

"Mmm…" she hummed, savoring the scent before gobbling anything up. "I'm in heaven; I haven't even had breakfast yet…"

"I noticed as much," Marshall was all-too-happy to forget his blunder with the bands on her shirt. "Speaking of, why is it so hot in here? Aren't you running the air conditioning?"

"I turned it off last night since I'm not going to be here," she informed him practically, reaching into the sack and coming up with a raspberry-filled. "I figure it'll keep Jinx and Brandi away too – if they walk through the door and discover it feels like an oven."

"Clever," he had to admire her brains. "But, I can't imagine it made sleeping very easy. Might that be why you neglected to get up with your alarm this morning?"

The woman scowled around bites of donut, "It doesn't matter," she settled on an excuse. "I hardly sleep anymore anyway because I feel like my ribs are coming out my back."

"There's a pleasant image," Marshall remarked. "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you will have plenty of time for rest and relaxation over the next few days."

But, it couldn't have been clearer that Mary was no longer listening. Like a dog with a bone, she was demolishing the donut in no time flat; he was amazed she wasn't dripping jelly all over the shirt they had discussed so extensively. In seconds, the delicacy was gone and Mary was licking her fingers free of glaze, already eying the bag to see if she could get away with a second helping.

With her pinky still in her mouth, "How many did you buy?"

The man laughed and shook his head, "You aren't getting any more until we are in the car. We need to get going; I promised Stan we'd check in-in an hour and he'll be pissed if he finds out we haven't even started yet."

Fortunately, the shorter did not object this time, "Then let's get a move on!" as though she had been the one to suggest it. "I'm a growing woman; I need my nourishment."

This left Marshall struggling to keep up as she headed for the door, only stopping to hoist up her duffel bag on the way. Unable to squelch his more chivalrous side, but forgetting once again that this was Mary, he was hot on her heels while the dragged her luggage to the porch.

"You know, I can take that if you want," he offered, seeing her opt for scooting it along the floor rather than carrying it in her arms. "Conserve your energy and all."

"How much energy do you think I need to get this thing to the car?" she puffed, sounding out of breath already but unwilling to acknowledge it. "I mean, sure, Jinx packed me enough crap to last me until Halloween in two months, but that doesn't mean I'm a lightweight."

Marshall saw opportunity for playfulness here, "In any sense of the word."

But, if anything was going to stop Mary, it was this. Seeing the devious grin on his face, she dropped her gear just to glare at him, and didn't hesitate before giving his shoulder a hard whack. Pregnant or not, she could still pack a punch.

"I let you get away with that the first time!" referring to her garments. "I know I'm enormous; do you really think I need the reminder?"

"So, let me get this straight…" Marshall was developing a slipshod theory, even as he yanked his bag of donuts out from Mary's sticky fingers, for they were not in the car yet. "You _don't_ want to be looked upon as weak when it comes to lifting, running, traveling, doing your Marshal duties…?"

"What's your point?"

"But, it is okay if I use discretion when it comes to describing your…" he drew a hand up and down her body to indicate the sheer girth. "Heft. For want of a better term."

"I don't see what one has to do with the other," she snapped. "But, I would think you of all people could learn to use a little more tact when referring to Mango. I swear, it's like he's lodged in my pelvis these days and it isn't pretty."

"Strictly speaking, he probably _is_ in your pelvis," Marshall spouted as a reflex, causing Mary to swing her bag back over her shoulder and make for the door once more so she wouldn't have to listen to him. "I couldn't help noting that you seemed to be carrying lower…"

"Any lower than this and he'll be on the floor," the woman assumed. "But, the sooner, the better if you ask me. I'll be damn lucky if I manage to expel this kid far-far away from Jinx and Brandi…"

"Just not on the abandoned highway somewhere, right?"

"It's how they did it in the roaring twenties, partner. Works for me."

And with that somewhat horrifying memo, they were outdoors, Mary turning around only briefly to lock the front door in her wake. After jiggling the knob to ensure that it was indeed secure, she marched down the walk, dumping her bag on the hot concrete and locating her sunglasses inside her extra tote while Marshall unlocked the SUV.

"Now, there should be plenty of room for your stuff, although I admit that I might have over-packed just a tad…" he was rambling, Mary only half-listening as she indexed just how boiling it was, particularly on the cement. "But, God willing, neither one of us will really need to sit in the backseat…"

"I'm going to die of heat stroke if you don't hurry up…" why Marshall had to make such a to-do out of the simplest endeavors, she would never know.

"Just place your belongings wherever you see fit, although you might wish to keep some smaller items up front so you don't have to root around behind the seat…"

"Marshall, what are you, a stewardess?" she joshed, sticking a hand on her hip and squinting in the bright sunshine even behind her aviator shades. "Next you're going to be telling me to buckle up and how to use my oxygen mask. And, if we stay out here any longer, I'm going to be needing one…"

"I believe they call them 'flight attendants' now," bypassing most of her commentary.  
"Not to be a stickler…"

"I hadn't noticed…"

"And, there are very specific ways one can load a car to guarantee that they are making maximum use of the space…" it should've been obvious by this point that Marshall was not going to apologize for his quirky ways. "Observe…"

And, with a flourish, he flung open the back door, which only enhanced Mary's look of incredulity concerning just how seriously he took projects such as these. Mouth hanging half-open, ready to spew a sharp, snarky statement, she laid eyes on a jumble of crates, several bags, and – this was the real kicker – an array of suit jackets hanging in front of the window, pristine and unwrinkled.

"You _might_ have over-packed?" she repeated his words just to show how ludicrous he was being. "What is all this shit?"

"You scoff, but you'll thank me later…"

"Something tells me I won't."

"Snacks," he spoke right over her, pointing to one plastic bin that was bulging with sacks of potato chips, bags of cookies, and anything else that Mary would likely be able to destroy in minutes, never mind waiting the entire trip to make them last. "And beverages…"

The next box on the seat did hold what looked like two full boxes of soda, though from a distance Mary couldn't tell what kind. This surprised her, in some respects, as Marshall was so pro-water; he rarely drank pop. But, he must've been thinking of his partner when he'd gone shopping, because she had been known to down her share of Diet Coke when she was in the mood.

"And, don't forget the entertainment…"

This put Mary in mind of Jinx, but she didn't like what she saw in crate number three, which had long, skinny boxes spilling out of it.

"I purchased many a game for us to play should we have downtime in the hotel…"

"I don't play games, Marshall," Mary wasn't going to pretend for his benefit, either. "I think you're mixing me up with your chess bunny…"

"You might like chess if you ever gave it a chance!" he insisted, a conceited grin still lighting his features; all the potential merriment was making his blue eyes shine. "It requires expert skill, precision, and critical thinking…"

"Because I didn't get enough of that in school all those years," his fellow inspector wasn't sold. "You're fighting a losing battle, Copernicus."

A frown, "Copernicus?"

"He was a traveler, wasn't he?"

"He placed the sun at the center of the universe, rather than the earth…"

"You mean that isn't what this trip is for?" Mary did well covering up her error by mocking his inability to turn on the engine and set them Philly-bound. "With all your supplies, I thought maybe we were planning to take a detour to the moon."

"In which case, we'd better get going," stopping short of describing everything else crammed into the back seat of the SUV, Marshall held out a hand, telling her to place her duffel bag wherever she could find room, which was on the floor behind the passenger seat. "Items may shift during flight, you know."

Annoyed with his little routine, the blonde shoved the bag into its slot, but not before catching sight of what might as well be dry-cleaning suspended in front of the far window. Knowing that they couldn't get on the road before she managed to make fun of that, she straightened and peered at her friend out of the top of her sunglasses, which she knew gave her a sassy look.

"What's with the wardrobe?" she wanted to know, spanning a hand across the hanging suit jackets. "Last I checked, we weren't going to a wedding."

Marshall was unruffled, "I do not like my clothes to get wrinkled; this keeps them from creasing."

Mary chuckled and shook her head derisively, "You are such a nerd."

"Proud of it, ma'am."

Still chortling, Mary wrenched open her door and clambered into the seat, buckling her seatbelt before Marshall had even managed to get himself situated. She wondered if he would notice just how anxious she was to get a move on, even in spite of her oversleeping. She couldn't wait to leave behind the pressures of adoption, the uncertainty of Abigail, and the stifling quality of wedding preparations from Jinx and Brandi. It was a whole new open road ahead – a last blast before Mango made his appearance and, one way or another, changed her life forever.

"You set?" Marshall asked amidst her internal dialogue, suddenly appearing at her side and shoving his key into the ignition.

And Mary couldn't reply fast enough, giving her partner a second smack on his bicep, this one more teasing and less offended than the first.

"Let's ride!"

XXX

**A/N: Philadelphia, here they come! **


	15. Cookie-Cutter Mann

**A/N: Hope everyone is glad our two inspectors have made it onto the road! They're going to be there for awhile! ;)**

XXX

It turned out that Marshall had been right on the money when he had assumed Mary hadn't had a lot of rest the night before. After an hour or two on the road, fields and highway flicking past outside the window, she dozed off with her head against the glass, the air conditioning vents going full blast in her face. The sight was an amusing one to the driver, who enjoyed watching stray wisps of hair that hadn't made it into her ponytail flutter up and down on her forehead. It made the quiet drive more gratifying for Marshall, who didn't want to risk rousing the beast by playing the radio.

Mary didn't stir until early afternoon, and it was with something of a start, which gave the man insight into what she looked like when she was caught off guard. She was normally so in control of her emotions that he rarely got a glimpse of a Mary that was unaware.

Without so much as a grunt, she jerked back to reality with the tiniest of gasps, her right hand leaping to the side of her now-striped belly.

"Ooh…"

It was like Marshall was watching her in slow-motion, her green eyes skirting left to right, following the same pattern as her hand. Ordinarily, he would've given her a minute to gather herself – to save face – but his curiosity got the better of him. It was that age-old problem he had when it came to Mary; his mouth got a jump start on his head.

"What's up?" he queried, turning from the wheel momentarily to get a better look. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" she breathed slowly, still without total awareness. "Mango's just bruising me up…"

"Strong feet, huh?"

It was his way of asking if the little creature was merely beating its miniature toes, or if Mary had felt something different – something along the lines of contractions, something she either wouldn't recognize or would ignore until the last possible moment.

Fortunately, she seemed to come to the conclusion that it was the former and nodded.

"I'd say he was gonna be a soccer player or something if I didn't know all kids smacked their mother around when they…"

She stopped midsentence, and Marshall was pretty sure he knew why. She had referred to herself as a mother, something she had sworn off since becoming pregnant. His intention was not to bring it up this time around, but it seemed he had his work cut out for him with Mary putting on the breaks.

"I mean…all kids kick," she finished, skating over her improvised title without targeting it. "It's so stupid how parents think they're going to turn out to be some dancer just because they want to come out before it's time. Please."

Knowing it would be unwise to press the point, Marshall stayed quiet while Mary readjusted her shirt and shifted in her seat trying to get comfortable.

"What time is it anyway?" but, the blonde hated silences, and wasn't going to let this one hang in the air. "Have I been asleep all morning?"

"Not quite that long," Marshall declared. "But, it's a little after noon," he reported. "We could skive off lunch if you want, and just delve into those snacks."

Mary thought this over, knowing she didn't have much yearning to call a halt so early, especially since they'd gotten a late start and Stan would want them to make up for lost time. Judging by the number of boxes sitting in Marshall's backseat, they had plenty of food to last them. There also seemed to be something rustling beneath Mary's feet that she was pretty sure hadn't been there when she'd climbed into the car at the onset.

"What's this?" she kicked what appeared to be a grocery sack so Marshall could hear the crackling. "Did you make a stop while I was sleeping?"

"Just for a minute – at a gas station to use the restroom," he claimed casually. "You were down for the count; I didn't see the benefit to waking you."

"You at least cracked a window, I hope," Mary joked, now wishing she had stayed slumped down, the easier to reach the mysterious sack. "For all you know, people were gawking at my snoring, drooling form while they pumped their gas. That would've been a sight."

"I wasn't gone more than two minutes," her partner assured her. "Why don't you grab that so you can see what I picked up?" pointing toward the bag while the miles ticked on.

Although it took her a moment, Mary did manage to bend over fairly well without unbuckling her seatbelt, and close her fingers around the flimsy plastic handle, swinging it upward. Peeling the opening apart, she laid eyes on what would probably not be described as the meal of champions, but Marshall must've been feeling generous. There was a whole package of chocolate chip cookies, not unlike the ones residing right behind her with the potato chip bags. Accompanying the sweets was a carton of milk and Styrofoam cups.

The spread was a unique one and Mary threw Marshall a dubious look before diving in, hardly remembering the three donuts she had polished off before they'd hit the first stoplight out of Albuquerque.

"Were you planning on tucking me in with this?" waggling the purchase in front of his line of vision. "Seriously, what possessed you to buy this stuff?"

Marshall shrugged, eyes on the road, "It's vacation – or our version of vacation," he rectified. "Besides, when I was a kid, my dad used to stop at the Texaco on family vacations and buy us cookies and milk if we were going to be traveling in the dark. It helped us fall asleep."

"Us?"

"Me and my brothers."

"And yet, it is not nighttime," Mary pointed out. "Did you want to save this for later so you'll fall asleep at the wheel and I'll have to take over?"

Marshall gave a light laugh, "With you in the car, I didn't imagine it would last two minutes. So, have at it."

Not needing anymore encouragement than that, the woman took her nails to the parcel of cookies and ripped them open, smelling the processed chocolate chips almost at once. Taking a stack of four, she left the crumby plastic packaging on her lap after taking a bite of the first one, deciding it would do for lunch on this go around. After all, she and Marshall wouldn't be able to last on snacks forever; at some point during the journey, they were going to have to lose minutes hanging in a roadside restaurant. But, that day was not today.

"These are pretty good…" the pregnant one shared, smacking her lips and dusting her hands on her jeans. "You'd better get one now while you have the chance."

Unfortunately for Marshall, it took him a few minutes to decide whether he wanted to chow down or not, too busy with the cars tooling along around them on the freeway. This gave Mary time to unscrew the cap on the carton of milk and start chugging, not even bothering with the cups the man had picked up to go along. Uncouth she might be, but the cookies made her thirsty, and it seemed Marshall was very adept about his meal choices – something so sweet and delectable had definitely hit the spot.

Within seconds, however, he caught her downing the liquid they were supposed to have shared, and without even pouring it to boot.

"Hey, hey, come on…" Marshall protested, reaching out to take the cardboard box, which Mary yanked out of his reach. "Would you mind using a cup? I bought those for a reason…"

"Would I mind, or would you mind?" Mary asked after swallowing a particularly immense gulp. "Because, this way is suiting me just fine…" with another sip straight from the carton just to irritate him.

The male inspector wrinkled his nose, looking disgusted, "You don't have to be such a caveman. When I said it was vacation, I didn't mean we needed to lose all sense of decorum."

"Maybe _you_ don't," she retorted. "You snooze, you lose, Poindexter. You'd have been better served getting your own share of milk than reading all the hick bumper stickers around here."

A sigh proceeded these words, but Mary's cackling laugh and scheming smirk meant that he couldn't stay angry for long. In fact, he was probably the only person in her life that had a difficult time holding on to his rage toward his partner, no matter how impossible she was being. It was one of the reasons – if not the main reason – that Mary put so much trust in him. Unlike so many before Marshall, she could behave absolutely atrociously, and he never gave up on her. Swigging down his paid-for milk without extending the courtesy of utilizing a cup was the least of it.

"Fine…" he even conceded defeat, as he always did. "But, the next time we're at a gas station, you're buying."

"Yeah, that's gonna happen," Mary guffawed disbelievingly. "Where have you been all my life? You know I don't shell out the dough in this relationship."

"There's always a time for trying new things."

"Yes, because anything 'new' is truly my strong suit…" again with the cynicism. "Seriously, it's like we just met."

"Oh, I know; I really shouldn't bother…" Marshall turned resigned in a hurry. "Your aversion to change has been well-documented in our eight years together. You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"Is this your less-than-subtle attempt at reverse psychology?" the blonde took a gander, draining the last of the milk and realizing she had consumed almost seven cookies without even realizing just how speedily she'd been shoving them in. "Because it's more pathetic than when Jinx does it…" this time, she spoke around bites.

"Mmm hmm," was Marshall's unhelpful response, but Mary could tell he was trying to watch the yellow-lined street in front of him, for the pick-up ahead of them couldn't seem to pick a lane.

Not wanting to distract him and wind up in a ditch on the side of the road before they were even out of New Mexico, Mary concentrated on finishing as many cookies as she could get her hands on. She knew it would be polite to leave a few for Marshall, especially when he'd bought an entire pack, but she was hungrier than she'd realized. The donuts hadn't tided her over like she'd thought they would; apparently her nap had upped her appetite, especially if Marshall had been telling the truth and it was already after twelve o'clock.

After a minute or two, once the imminent threat of rear-ending the truck had passed, Marshall appeared to forget about being denied his nibbles and took a different tack.

"You know what I was thinking we could do on our way to Pennsylvania, as we're going to be passing through anyway…" he began somewhat stealthily, like he couldn't be exact on how Mary would react to his plan.

"Passing through where?" she didn't like when he was vague, or anyone for that matter.

"Well, my brother Ted lives in Indiana – in a beautiful house in an older neighborhood with his wife and their kids," he described in vivid detail, just the prospect exciting him. "It'd save us a night's fare on a hotel if we stayed with them, so long as we make it there by Saturday."

This was an interesting, if not unexpected concept to Mary, who hadn't anticipated her friend proposing anything of the kind. She'd never met either one of his brothers, as he barely mentioned them, and she'd only seen Seth on his one visit the year before. It was hard to imagine what Ted might be like – gruff, like the old man, or sensitive like Marshall. While having predetermined ideas wasn't very smart of Mary, she couldn't help thinking Ted might lean more toward Seth's disposition, especially given that the father had been so against his youngest son entering law enforcement.

And there was still more to wade through in what was presented as a harmless notion. There was a wife to go with Ted? And kids? That last one set off all sorts of alarms in Mary's brain.

"I wasn't…suggesting a stake-out or anything…" Marshall spoke up when the woman said nothing, seemingly intent on the remainder of the cookies. "What? You don't want to go?"

"No, it's just…" Mary didn't want him to think she was adverse. "I sort of…" this was embarrassing to admit, but it would explain her sudden muteness. "…I kind of forgot you had a brother."

"More than one," he initiated, but not as though he was insulted. "But, Eric – he's in the middle – is kind of a free spirit. Last I heard, he was heading up a police division in some remote village in Alaska."

"For real?" Mary was nonplussed. "With like…grizzly bears and stuff?"

"Believe me, my mom wasn't thrilled with it either," Marshall went on. "But, it suits him. He's single and has only himself to worry about. Ted's the oldest; he's been married over ten years now. He and his wife have three girls."

This was more information that Mary was expecting, "So, you have nieces. You're an uncle," she stated baldly. And then, unable to keep quiet, "Is there a reason you never mentioned this to me?"

"One's extended family doesn't always come up in WITSEC-related conversation," he excused, though Mary still found it strange that he would neglect to talk about three little girls, given how much he loved kids. "But, if you're game, we can stay the night with them when we go through the Midwest."

"How old are these darlings?" using one of Jinx's favorite words. "I'm not going to be spending the night wiping noses am I?"

Happy he could give what Mary would consider good news on this front; Marshall emitted a short laugh and wagged his head.

"I doubt it," he promised. "They're pretty self-sufficient – more than most girls their age, anyway. June is twelve, Avery is eight, and Brianna just turned five. Here…"

And without asking Mary if she wanted the unabridged version, he groped for his cell phone, which happened to be sitting upright in one of the unused cup holders. With a quick glance to the road in front of him, he scrolled with his thumb for a split second, coming up with a photo of the children he was describing and handing the phone over to Mary so she could have a look.

"I think that was taken last Christmas," he cited. "That's Ted and Leann – his wife – and the girls."

One part of this struck Mary before she even looked at the picture, "Leann Mann?"

A reluctant grin crept into Marshall's cheeks, "She goes by her maiden name – Bennett," although he obviously thought the rhyme was amusing too. "For more reasons than just the poetry, I think, but even so."

Leaving this bit of fact in the rearview, Mary finally looked down at the image her partner had been hankering to share. Staring back at her from the tiny lighted screen, she saw a man that looked like an older, buffer, sturdier version of Marshall, and whose eyes were more hazel than blue. Beside him was the aforementioned Leann, her posture impeccable, an emerald green sweater on her frame, with short, shoulder-length blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders.

But, the children lined up in front of them weren't quite what she was expecting. Although she knew it wasn't her place to judge, she noted that June, Avery, and Brianna didn't entirely match burly Ted and put-together Leann, although they were very put-together themselves. No, these girls had darker than olive skin, with sleek and shiny black hair, most of it long and cascading down their chests. Each one in the trio had her hands folded primly in front, and they were wearing identical red sweaters, presumably for the holiday.

But, though Mary typically shied away from such superficial aspects, she couldn't get her mind off the fact that Marshall's Caucasian brother and equally Caucasian wife had…

"Um, Marshall…" it would be most diplomatic to be politically correct. "I can't help noticing that…" she even squinted, just to make sure the sun wasn't casting a glare. "…These children don't exactly possess the pasty quality I've spotted on every other Mann I've met."

Another smile, "Yes. They're Asian."

"Chinese? Japanese? Korean?"

"Chinese," Marshall was more specific this time. "All three of them. They're adopted."

Now, just what was he playing at? Was this supposed to be a joke? Mary usually appreciated Marshall's sense of humor, in spite of how she might jeer at him, but not this. On the other hand, he wouldn't just have a random photo of strange little girls on his phone unless he knew them somehow, and it _was_ obvious that Ted was Marshall's brother. Still though, in all the years that they'd known each other, he'd never once brought up three nieces, let alone the fact that they were adopted. And given Mary's most current dilemma, shouldn't he have realized how relatable such a thing was?

"And, you never thought it was pertinent to mention that?"

Marshall was indifferent, "Why would it be?" he sounded as serene as ever. "Biology has never been a factor. Every single one of them came to Ted and Leann as newborns; they're my nieces as much their blood children would be."

"I don't mean that; I just mean…" Mary stammered, unsure how he could miss the point. "It's sort of…kind of…something we have in common…" at least, that was the way she saw it. "Kind of…" reiterating in a smaller voice that petered out.

He took his vision off the road temporarily to address this, "Well, I'm glad you think so," due to the brightened eminence in his voice, Mary began to wish she had not articulated the connection, because it would lead to more discussion about her own impending adoption. "It'll give you and Ted and Leann something to talk about – you'll get some perspective on what it's like being the adoptive parent."

"Who says I need perspective?" Mary shoved the phone back at him, where he gently guided it back into the holster for safekeeping. "I just noticed, that's all…"

"Noticed what?" Marshall shot back. "That there is a section of my existence to which you have not been privy?"

Was this a round-about way of getting her to open up to Abigail – by insinuating that she didn't enjoy being out of the loop, and so Abigail wouldn't either? But, Marshall probably wouldn't be so sneaky if that was his motive; he would come right out and say whatever he was thinking. At least, Mary hoped he would.

"Why is that?" she harked back to his original question, trying to flip the fault back to him. "Why not tell me every waking detail of these girls' lives, like you do everything else? Is it because they're kids? You think I might gobble them up or shove them in an oven?"

"We'll leave aside the Hansel and Gretel reference…"

"No, I want to know," Mary felt self-satisfied knowing she had steered him away from Brooke and Chris in Providence and was now putting him on the spot for keeping secrets. "Eight years as partners – you know way more about my family than I want _anybody_ to find out, but here there's a whole chapter of yours I couldn't even guess. How come?"

Marshall sighed, concentrating on maneuvering the steering wheel into the faster lane, Mary waiting expectantly for his grounds for staying mum for nearly a decade. This was a man who jabbered on until he was clean out of breath on various subjects that were of no interest to his partner. But now, when it came to his personal life, he had clammed up; she was sure he'd have plenty to say to her if she were the one keeping family secrets to herself. Now it was her turn.

"Come on, pal, out with it," Mary goaded obnoxiously. "Cat got your tongue?"

Another breathy exhale before he opened his mouth, "I wasn't doing it on purpose. It's just that Ted and Leann and I aren't really that close," now his eyes were fixed determinedly on the highway, avoiding Mary's unashamed stare. "I love the girls and I'm most comfortable with them, but there's always been a gap there…"

"So, why do you want to go and see him, then?" Mary pressed, knowing if she were on the outs with her mother or sister, she wouldn't think twice about staying away as long as possible.

"Because I _do_ miss the kids, and I don't want them to think I don't care about them; the opportunity has presented itself, and I should take the first step…"

"Why you?" Mary cut in with her trademark ability to hold onto a grudge. "Why should you have to be the bigger person? If Ted wants a relationship with you, he should grow a pair and make an effort. You ever think of that?"

This produced an aggravated glance from Marshall, who was not surprised this was Mary's tactic to use – but, it wasn't his, and it never had been.

"If I wait for him, we'll be at a stalemate," he claimed. "Nothing will ever happen. Ted can be very rigid – that's why the girls are so well-behaved. He's trained them like soldiers." And then, as though Mary couldn't hear him, "Just like my dad trained us."

There wasn't a very good reply for this admission. In typical Marshall fashion, his reasoning for concealing his brothers and their families was perfectly righteous. He was embarrassed that they didn't get along better, or that Ted and Eric had turned into miniature versions of Seth, the better to torment him as the years went by. Unlike Mary, who vented her frustrations about her own siblings – even the half ones – he preferred to keep his head down and stay quiet. He would never burden another person with his woes.

"Family…" Mary eventually snorted, deciding that contempt was the best emotion to land on; it was what Marshall would anticipate. "Can't live with them…" a shrug. "End of story."

Obviously coming to the conclusion that he had aired out his sob story enough, Marshall spoke up, "We don't have to see them if you don't want to. I mean, I just thought that hotel life can get kind of tiresome…"

"Why are you leaving it up to me?" the woman interrupted. "They're your flesh and blood; if you don't want to stop in, it's not like I'll care."

"I'll bear that in mind," a more natural grin came into play, which put Mary at ease. "They're really not as bad as I make them out to be, and it's always worth catching up with the kids."

"Think of it this way, Marshall…" wisdom-bearing, Mary was not, but she did have some expertise when it came to wayward relatives. "If Ted's not a convict, a drunk, or an accidental meth-dealer, he's already ahead of most of the people in my family."

Still smirking, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

And with the honesty that she never left home without, "It would make _me_ feel better."

XXX

**A/N: So, Marshall is making plans! Big brother is calling!**


	16. The Beauty in the Calamity

**A/N: Thank-you, thank-you to everyone reading and reviewing! I can't say it often enough! Even if the reviews come in a great big clump down the road, it still makes me happy!**

XXX

An interesting sight met Marshall's eyes sometime around two o'clock, when the six hours he'd been driving began to feel like six hours, if not longer. Usually, he did fairly well on road trips in terms of passing the time, especially if there was someone right next to him, but he was starting to wear thin. Knowing that they needed to keep spinning their wheels until at least seven or seven thirty to make it into Oklahoma didn't help his mindset.

Nonetheless, he was met with a lovely distraction that came in the form of Mary wiggling all over in her seat like she was sitting on something uncomfortable. Combine that with an odd puffing motion she was making, where her cheeks blew up like a chipmunk's, and he was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud. It was like a circus act – the shifting and tucking and panting. An innocent bystander might think she had roaches crawling all over her skin, the way she refused to sit still.

When Marshall could stand the suspense no longer, he threw caution to the winds and asked what the show was all about.

"Can I help you with something?" the wonder was evident in every letter. "What is with the production here?" gesturing up and down Mary's twisting frame.

"It's nothing…" although her words were pinched and tight, like it was taking all of her stamina to get them out. "Keep driving. We're behind…"

"We're not _that_ behind," Marshall corrected her. "And what does that have to do with the wiggle worm action you're sporting?"

"Nothing…" Mary insisted for a second time, but it was looking less and less like nothing with the more seconds that passed. "Hit the gas, Marshall. We don't have time to lose."

This was starting to get silly, "Mary, dispense with the, 'I'm fine' routine. What is going on?"

"Nothing!" and on this front, she practically snarled like an injured tiger caught in a trap. But, the minute the release of rage was out in the open, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, hands pushing into the upholstered seat, "Oh my God…" a tragic moan.

Now, Marshall went from bemused to worried in no time flat. The tension spreading from Mary's head to her feet did not inspire confidence, nor did the fact that she was migrating toward the window as though hoping she could escape the moving vehicle without him noticing. Forgetting to be responsible and scrupulously watch the road, he blinked closely at Mary, hoping for insight into what this strange behavior was all about.

"Well, are you all right?" his voice came out more demanding than he wanted it to, which also gave away a bit of the hysteria he was suddenly feeling. "Are you in pain? Do you need me to stop?"

The way he was going, he was about to slam on his breaks no matter what Mary said, but the idea that he thought she was about to give birth on the floor of the car was too much to bear. She didn't need her partner coddling her on the first day, as there was sure to be more of it to come, and in more warranted situations. Hating herself but knowing she couldn't wait any longer, Mary blew out so hard she very nearly created a breeze.

"I really have to pee, okay?" she confessed, strangely humiliated since Marshall had seen her rush off to the bathroom at the Sunshine Building plenty of times. "We're a ways out from the nearest rest stop; I saw a sign not that long ago…"

Unable to believe this was it, Marshall knew it was foolish to laugh, but the coercion took over before he could stop himself. The sound earned him a deathly glower from Mary, who apparently still had the energy to muster up such a dirty look even in her distress.

"Why didn't you say something?" he inquired, voice still trembling as he tried to clamp down on his chuckle. "Were you going to wait until you wet your pants?"

"Hey, I've developed an incredible threshold for these things…"

"Not incredible enough, obviously," Marshall pointed out. "Come on, the wilderness works very well in emergencies like this one…"

"This, from the man who said that 'vacation doesn't mean we're cavemen' or some such shit like that…" this was not a woman who went down without a fight, but Marshall was starting to get seriously alarmed about her ability to hold it in for much longer, and then she would really be mortified. "Jesus, it is like Niagara Falls bursting the Hoover Dam here…"

The taller shook his head at her display of up-and-down, "That's some geography you're citing," zeroing in on the two places. "You can forget calling me off though. I'm headed for the side of the road…"

"No, Marshall, I said…"

"Well, you're gonna ruin my seats if you implode over there," he predicted, turning his blinker on in order to change lanes and slide onto the shoulder. "And, since you don't ever want to pay for anything, this is an expense I am trying to help you avoid."

And, to many wordless but noisy protests from his partner, Marshall managed to circumvent most of the mid-afternoon traffic and find a spot curbside that Mary might find suitable for dropping her drawers and relieving herself.

However, even when the SUV had come to a complete stop, she still didn't get out. By now, she was seconds away from doing the potty dance a la an anxious five-year-old, and Marshall simply couldn't understand why a person who was normally so crude would say no to urinating amongst the virtually empty expanse of brown countryside before them.

Turning the engine off, Marshall faced his friend with what he hoped was a practical-looking distinction in his sky blue eyes.

"If you want to stay on schedule…" tapping his watch for emphasis. "The clock is ticking. Something tells me this won't take more than two minutes, so you'd better be on your way."

But, Mary was relentless, "I am not peeing in the grass."

"You think those women who had babies in fields and kept right on plowing after they were through worried about indoor plumbing?" Marshall harked back to her many claims that pregnancy didn't hinder a person from living a normal life. "Come on; show me your pioneer side. If you want, I can even school you in the history of such individuals when you return."

Still, she would not move, but bit on her lip and continued to writhe, "How far are we from the next gas station again?" though she was the one who had seen the sign.

Fortunately, Marshall had caught a glimpse as well, "Probably a half hour – maybe longer."

"Ohhhh…" Mary groaned upon hearing this, throwing longing glances out her window, clearly contemplating if respite was worth a little disgrace. "You don't by chance have to go too, do you? We could make this a group jaunt…"

"You don't really want me out there," the man wasn't fooled. "I swear, I will stay in here, plug my ears, and shut my eyes, if that is what you so desire."

She weakened quickly at such a bountiful offer, "Promise?"

"Cross my heart," he went the extra mile, drawing an x across his chest for good measure. "You won't even know I'm here."

"Yeah, if only that were true…"

But, easing the strain that Marshall himself was beginning to feel watching Mary fidget, she unbuckled her seatbelt with fumbling fingers, threw it aside, and pushed out on the door handle, nearly landing herself in the weeds because she was so eager to achieve sweet release.

"Be right back…" she called before slamming the door behind her, which meant Marshall would be able to hear very little even if he didn't remain true to his word.

But, honest to a fault, he used the opportunity while Mary was standing in the crunchy wheat to incline his head onto the seat back and close his lids, savoring his ability to rest, if only fleetingly. To pass up actually covering his ears with his fingers like a child blocking out the sound of a siren, he hummed a tune under his breath, hoping this would suffice when Mary got back and saw him. There would be no sounds of running water reaching his lobes.

And, within minutes, the blonde was clambering up into her seat once more, looking extremely reassured and far more comfortable, like someone had flipped a switch. She was still zipping her jeans even after she sat down, testing Marshall's ability not to stare. But, with a sigh and pulling her shirt back over the ridge of her pants, Mary looked ready to hit the road once more.

"Better?" Marshall proposed.

Mary shrugged, "I never should've drunk all that milk. That'll teach me to be greedy, huh?"

"Ah, something tells me it wouldn't have mattered," the other inspector speculated. "The bigger the baby, the greater the pressure on your bladder…"

"Spare me the images, Marshall," she requested. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to avoid this occurrence in the future."

"I wish you well in that undertaking, but cannot make any promises," his realistic side never quit churning. "When nature calls, there are no guarantees there will be a ready-made gas station at our convenience."

Recognizing the truth in his phrase, Mary could only huff and wait for him to start driving once more, especially if they were going to give Stan the impression that they were motoring along to his standards. But, it was hard for Marshall to ignore how put-out Mary looked about her current predicament; she was displaying all the classic signs of wanting to be left alone. Smashed against the window, eyes on the sedentary patches of grass outside, she was giving her partner quite the view of her backside. There was nothing in her body language that said she was interested in talking.

But, unfortunately for Marshall, this stance meant that he could hardly contain his need to ask what the crisis was. At least on this go-around, she had nowhere to run.

"Anything else you need before we take off?" he could start out with recommendations. "You hungry? I can hop in the back and find something for us to munch on; cookies really don't constitute lunch."

"I'm fine," Mary commented, predictably and shortly. "I don't want anything else to eat."

"Well, there's a first," teasing might help too. "Not to worry; I am sure your bottomless pit of a stomach will return by dinnertime."

"Mmm hmm…"

Knowing he was definitely pushing the envelope by keeping the car still, which showed he intended to badger her until she opened up, Marshall barreled onward with reckless abandon.

"Is something bothering you?"

"No."

"But, why are you all the way over there?" he specified her hunched posture with a wave of his fingers, even though she wasn't looking at him.

"I just am."

"Are you sure there's nothing…?"

"Marshall, leave it alone," a snappier tone erupted, something the man should've seen coming a mile away; Mary did not like to be pushed. "I'm just…I'm tired," this was a surprising admission, but Marshall certainly didn't blame her. "And, I've got no reason to be tired. I haven't done anything but sit here, stuff my face, and sleep it off."

Well, this certainly explained some of the attitude. It was a common mark of Mary's personality that she wanted to be on 'go' one hundred percent of the time, and now that she was being held back, she was more exhausted than ever. It had to be confusing as well as frustrating, and Marshall tried to think quickly, trying to determine the best way to placate her without it looking like that was what he was doing.

"Well…whether you always feel it or not, the extra weight you're carrying around makes you more fatigued…" hopefully, the scientific phrasing wouldn't cause Mary to bite his head off right away. "Even if you are not in motion…"

"Not in motion is right," she scoffed. "I'm a bump on a log if ever there was one."

"But, it isn't a crime to want to relax…"

"Ugh, relax," now she had gone guttural, and disgusted to boot. "I am sick to death of that word. The minute the whole world found out I was pregnant, I've been told to relax like it's the newest drug on the street."

"Well, I know this might be a foreign concept to you…" satisfied that she was at least speaking, Marshall started the SUV up once more and swerved successfully back into the traffic whizzing by. "But, a lot of pregnant women enjoy a little relaxation now and then…"

"But, I am not 'a lot' or 'most' or anything similar," this was important to Mary. "I thought you of all people would understand that."

"I can be understanding…"

But, she wasn't sold, "Please, look who I'm talking to," it was like she'd had an epiphany. "You are one of those clichéd saps who thinks lugging a kid around is beautiful and a miracle and doesn't stop for one second to think about what a nuisance it can be."

"Well, I like to think I've earned a little more credit than that," Marshall knew he possessed a peculiar pregnancy fetish, but that didn't mean he overlooked the harder aspects, like Mary obviously believed. "Being with child is not exactly a walk in the park."

"Now he tells me."

"No, really…" if anything, he wanted to do everything he could to convince Mary he was on her side, especially since she had been in doubt since the scuffle with Abigail. "Frankly, I just don't bring up that I think it's tough because I wouldn't want you to think I'm diminishing your ability to handle it."

Rather against her will, Mary was impressed, but then again she was impressed by Marshall a lot more often than she let on. Come to think of it, she rarely let anyone know when she found them remarkable, but right now she couldn't come up with a good reason for why that might be. Was there any rational explanation for denying people well-deserved accolades?

Marshall's comment meant that he was keeping quiet about her suffering because he wanted to build her up – because that was so often what Mary herself wanted. That was a good friend, whether the woman could admit to it or not.

"I guess I want people to realize that it sucks but not tell me all the time," Mary forfeited, finally rotating from the window to give Marshall her full attention. "Pretty stupid, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't," leave it to Marshall to be so kind. "I'd say that the change is really knocking you down, but you're determined at all costs to be the tough-as-nails girl you've always been. I would expect nothing less, inspector."

"Yeah, so you say," Mary made it sound like she was invalidating his claims. "If you really wanted to be useful, you would pass that outlook on to Jinx and Brandi. I swear, Jinx wants to put me in a straightjacket and strap me to my bed until this kid comes. It's like I'm an invalid."

"She's being a mother…" the man didn't intend to defend Jinx's honor, but it slipped without thinking. "It's ingrained in her blood."

"Yeah?" now she was really coming off like she thought he was touched in the head. "She didn't act that way when I was younger. It was every man for themselves, especially once my father bailed."

Marshall tried not to show how surprised he was that Mary had mentioned James in such a casual manner, and instead spotlighted his focus on the cars around them, but there weren't many. It was mid-afternoon on a weekday, and they were whooshing along a fairly empty highway. He could only pretend to be interested in the nonexistent traffic for so long.

"Perhaps she's trying to make up for lost time," he suggested, even if it was risky.

"Don't think that's not just how she puts it too," but this wasn't going to endear the woman to being fussed over in the least. "Anyway, Marshall…" an exhale, fingers pressing in on her swollen stomach. "I wasn't trying to make a big to-do by being sullen or anything…"

"I didn't surmise so."

"It just sneaks up on me sometimes, you know?" acting out of character, she went on even though she hadn't wanted to beat a dead horse in the first place. "And, I try not to look at being pregnant as an inconvenience; it's only nine months of my life, and since I'm dumping Mango…"

"Not _dumping_," this was a good opportunity for Marshall to make a show of his support. "Making a responsible choice for the place you are at in your life at present – the right choice for you and the baby."

"Whatever," Mary brushed him off, intent on continuing. "I'm just saying that it's really not fair of me to bitch about carrying the kid when he isn't even going to be mine at the end of the day. The hassle kind of ends after that, right?"

"Indeed."

But, she wasn't finished, her hand still rotating side-to-side on her belly like she was trying to feel something within, some sort of confirmation that the child inside was still rocking and rolling. Marshall was willing to bet it was simply a nervous habit, that she didn't even realize she was doing it.

"I just never thought it would be like this…" a whisper from Mary, almost like she had forgotten her partner was so near. "I didn't think it would be so hard."

There was no telling, in this case, if she was talking about the pregnancy or the adoption, although the latter hadn't been brought to the forefront again. Still, with Mary you could never be sure; she got lost in her own head on occasion, and then sought to blame whomever she had been spouting to, as though they had forced her to let her guard down. Marshall was too used to it to be offended anymore, but the more submissive quality in her voice urged him to spur her just a few more steps forward.

"What would you say has been the hardest part?"

Pure curiosity was making him ask, but he had to be careful to sound informal, like nothing particularly significant hinged on Mary's answer.

And, the reply was a quick one, "The unpredictability," a rueful laugh. "Bar none."

Marshall nodded somberly, "I can see that. It is one wacky roller coaster ride. Or, so I imagine," he added as an afterthought.

"I hate that it – Mango – has taken over my life like this," apparently, the admissions weren't over. "He's in the back of my mind twenty-four-seven, which is way too much for a person who isn't even going to raise him…"

"I suppose…"

"I'm never alone anymore, and yet I've never felt more unsure about anything." Recognizing that the distinction between gestation and adoption might've been misplaced, Mary hurried to explain, "I just mean…that…" she spoke faster when she was nervous. "Every twinge and every kick and weird or gross thing that comes up, I don't know what it is. I don't know what's coming every morning when I wake up," now she was going so quickly she was almost unintelligible. And then, "It's _horrible_."

Spectacular though the run-on might be, Marshall was practically salivating over the fact that he couldn't remember the last time Mary had been so plainspoken about something that troubled her so much. Granted, she wasn't losing her cool or acting frenzied – even her moroseness had vanished. But, he would venture a guess that this was the first time she had discussed her qualms with _anyone_, let alone him.

If he didn't want to spoil it, he was going to have to proceed with care.

"I think…in many respects…" his voice went slow and methodical when he was attempting to be vigilant. "…You're being too hard on yourself," compliments were always good. "Yes, there are many aspects of pregnancy that are unfamiliar, perhaps even scary…"

Bad choice of word. Marshall knew instantly he should've used a different one, because Mary threw up her walls almost at once, though she did allow him to go on, which meant he wasn't completely sunk.

"It isn't _scary_," the woman droned blandly. "I'm not afraid. This isn't the dark, Marshall."

"Uh-huh…" he opted to skate over her denial to get to the important points. "But, the unknown is daunting for many. It can also be nipped in the bud; I figure having a baby is one of those things you learn about as you go, whether you become a mother or not," he deduced. "And, near as I can tell, you're finding your way just fine."

"Then you've been duped…"

"You're here, aren't you?" Marshall pointed out. "A little jittery, sometimes out of control, but all in one piece. You'll make it out the other side in one piece too. I would take some amount of comfort in that."

And when Mary fluttered her eyelashes at him, raised her brows, and shook her head with a half-smirk on her face, Marshall knew he had provided her with the reassurance she was seeking – at least for the moment. He also knew that her comeback would be sarcastic to cover up that she was soothed, but he was used to that. It was what made Mary…Mary.

"Because no broad ever kicked the bucket just from handing over all their power to a rug rat, right?"

By power, she meant control; Marshall could be certain.

"Not to my knowledge," he confirmed. "But hey, it's not like I know _everything_."

"Sure, you don't…" her jade eyes traveled to the winding expanse out the passenger window, done with sharing as abruptly as she'd started.

But, she wasn't through with her partner.

"So, if you're allowed to ask me what's so hard about being the size of a boat, am I allowed to ask you something?"

Marshall was intrigued, "Always."

Altering her position in her seat, conceivably so she could hone in on Marshall and make him sweat, Mary prepared to fire away. She just had no way of knowing that her fellow and favorite inspector was organized for anything she might throw in his direction.

"Where's the fascination come from?"

He registered the disbelief, even in her grin, "Fascination with what?"

"With the Buddha bellies and the womb and the Braxton Hicks contractions," Mary rattled off. "You think I haven't noticed since the second you guessed I was eating for two that you've been enthralled with my water balloon boobs and everything that goes with them?"

Marshall knew the josh about her own chest was Mary's way of fooling around, but his cheeks flamed nonetheless. Fortunately, the sunshine streaming through the window obscured it for the most part. It was a good thing, because knowing her partner was turning red would just give Mary more leverage to poke fun at him.

And so, because he was never anything but sincere, and because he was banking on the blonde wanting a serious answer to her question, he gave it up without hesitation.

"Well…I can't say I've ever thought about it so intimately…"

The freeway in front of them was long and unending, like no matter how fast or far he drove that the finish line was still miles and miles away.

"But, historically-speaking, women have been seen as the lesser species…" if he spoke to that eternal road, he wouldn't have to look at Mary's face. "Of course, we have made great strides in equalizing males and females…" he was surprised she hadn't interrupted yet, but because she was silent, he kept right on talking. "But, since the beginning of time, women have been the ones to bear children…"

"I should think," there was the interlude, but Marshall ignored it.

"How could anyone, even in the dark ages, look at a woman as less significant when they can do something like that?" it was more like he was wondering aloud, rather than having a conversation. "I mean, men can't do it, even if you can't create life without them."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mary staring at him, which gave him all the more reason to keep chattering straight into the window.

"Women – they're a hub, a vessel, a cocoon, an oasis…" there weren't enough words in the English language. "They're fully responsible for another human life form; fostering and nurturing and everything in-between," the more he dictated, the more in awe he truly felt. "Without women as the carriers, the earth would've died out a long time ago…"

Marshall's voice, which he seemed to have been hearing only in his own head for the past few minutes, suddenly got louder. He was more aware of Mary gaping at him, and this told him he should stop being so open and cut to the chase.

"I'm just saying…" in an attempt to look more aloof, he cast off a shrug. "Women don't have a choice, and if they want to be mothers – hell, even if they don't – they still take on that dependability. They do it every single day."

When he swallowed, his throat felt dry.

"I'm just hard-pressed not to admire and ogle someone like that."

But right now, Mary was the one who was ogling without even realizing it. Only a single thought was going through her head, and it made about as much sense as everything Marshall had just doled out.

It was no wonder Abigail was crazy about him.

XXX

**A/N: Eh, I probably made Marshall far too sappy, but I guess that's what he's there for!**


	17. Shake It Off

**A/N: Not much to say for these author's notes, except thank-you to those who are reading!**

XXX

The sun was beginning to go down by the time Mary and Marshall pulled into the parking lot of a decent, if not extravagant, Oklahoma motel. Although the heat in the new state was similar to the boiling temperatures in New Mexico, the first thing Mary noticed was the absence of the mountains. She was so used to seeing the great, blinding, fiery mass disappear beneath the peaks outside her bedroom window, but Oklahoma was miles upon miles of bumpy tumbleweed and brittle brown grass. When she stepped out of the SUV, she ascertained that the air was dry and she immediately felt parched, like she hadn't taken a drink in days.

Mostly though, Mary was glad to be out of the car and able to stretch her legs as well as her back. Although she and Marshall had neglected to stop for dinner, she hadn't wanted to spend an inordinate amount of time in a restaurant anyway. They opted to have pizza delivered to their room in order to unpack, lounge, and get some rest before they began their journey all over again Friday morning.

Unfortunately, the woman's leisure time was cut short before the food even arrived, when she was starting to doze off on the crisp white comforter that adorned her bed. To her right, Marshall was flipping through TV channels while she pretended she wasn't falling asleep by leaning on her elbow, even though her eyes were fluttering shut. The sharp, abrupt buzzing of her cell phone shook her from her reverie, and her start caused Marshall to glance away from the television to see what the commotion was about.

"You expecting someone?" he put forward, remote falling slack in his hand, stalled on some cooking show. "I already talked to Stan and told him we were in for the night."

Mary thought she had a shrewd idea who might be on the other end of her spastic cell, though she was mostly concentrating on getting up even semi-gracefully.

"I forgot to call Jinx…" she shared with a groan. "I promised I'd ring her up every night. I didn't think she'd actually _expect_ me to…"

"Mmm…" Marshall replied absently, satisfied and going back to the television. "Tell her I say hi."

"Yeah, right."

But, when the blonde finally managed to palm her phone, she was met with an unfamiliar number lighting the screen. This told her it might be a witness, although she had almost every witness programmed into her contacts so that she wouldn't be caught off guard. But, the fact that she was tired and now baffled as to who would want to reach her out of the blue; she relayed the events to her partner.

"It's not Jinx."

"Hmm?" he nearly repeated. "Then who is it?"

"I don't know," she admitted. But, knowing there was only one way to find out, she hit the tiny talk button and put the cell to her ear, "This is Mary."

A brisk, businesslike, and almost overly friendly tone floated through the speaker – a voice that Mary immediately could not place, though that didn't mean she didn't wrack her brain trying. Talking to someone she didn't know never made her happy.

"Mary?" now the tone was high-pitched, because it was questioning. "Mary…Shannon?"

In spite of the uncertainty, whoever she was – for the pitch indicated female – she had a kind of confidence. How Mary knew that in just three words, two of them the same, she couldn't say. But, she had been reading people long enough to know what ran underneath, and this woman was projecting poise.

"Yes…" the inspector confirmed, vaguely aware of Marshall staring at her, losing interest in finding a program they could both agree on. "Can I help you?"

"This is Brooke Harmon."

Mary's first thought, one she wasn't very proud of, was: who? But, even though she was weary and had been seconds away from dreamland, she registered fairly quickly what this name told her.

Brooke. Brooke Harmon – Brooke of Brooke and Chris, of Providence, Rhode Island. The adoptive mother.

No, the potential adoptive mother, Mary reformed her original notion. She had made no decisions and no choices, and she didn't intend to do so on this night. What she wanted to do was stay calm and not come off as nervous as she was, especially since she didn't know why she was so apprehensive.

She must've been taking awhile to answer, however, because Brooke prompted her when no sound came out her mouth.

"Mountain States said it would be all right if I called you…" this was her alleged excuse. "In fact, they recommended that I go ahead; I don't know if they said the same to you or not…"

They might've, if Mary had stayed in town and conferred with Patricia Anders like she was supposed to have done before fleeing the state, but she'd skipped that step.

"I…I was told that you might be on your way to our neck of the woods, and I just thought it would be nice if we kind of got introductions out of the way before you arrived…" she had this all figured out, didn't she? "I hope it's not too late; I'm not sure when you started traveling or what time zone you're in right now," for the first time, she gave a shaky chuckle, probably because Mary hadn't said anything.

She needed to clear her mind. She needed to be composed and tranquil, as Marshall would be, but it was proving difficult. Speaking of Marshall, he was in full-on gawk mode now, a different show – this one about nature – blaring out of the speakers in the background. When Mary glanced at him, he looked befuddled, probably because of whatever panicky face she was making.

"Who is it?" he mouthed, barely moving his lips, speaking in a whisper.

All of a sudden, Mary did not really want him to eavesdrop, though there was no place for him to go and he had stumbled upon the impromptu conversation accidentally. To avoid his penetrating stare, she scrambled off the bed and went to the only place she could be by herself – the bathroom. The whole time she moved, she shook her head and waved her hand as if to indicate it was nothing, but her exiting the premises probably didn't encourage Marshall in the least.

"Hang on just a second…" the blonde requested, moving as fast as she was able.

Fortunately, Brooke was understanding, "Of course."

Disappearing into the restroom and snapping on the gaudy, fluorescent lights that always presented themselves in motel facilities, she shut the heavy door and, because she had nowhere else to sit, parked herself on the closed toilet seat. Running her fingers through her hair, she could suddenly feel her heart beating abnormally fast and resolved to pull together. It was Brooke who should be insecure, not her.

"Sorry about that…" Mary apologized up front. "I just didn't think you'd be calling…"

"Well, I know its a little last minute," Brooke figured. "But, there's no time like the present, I guess. I just wanted you to know how excited Chris and I are to meet you; the boys too…"

Boys? What boys?

"Trevor can't wait to have another sibling – Hunter's still a little confused, but he's coming around," she chuckled again, but her mention of the names brought Mary up to speed.

The 'boys' were the Harmons two firstborns. How could she have forgotten?

"I mean…not that we're banking on anything…" Brooke blabbered on, clearly not wanting to look too hopeful. "Just…we want the boys to be prepared, just in case. I don't want you to feel any pressure."

Mary was likely to feel pressure no matter who the family was, but she didn't say this to Brooke.

"No…its fine…" the pregnant one lied, glad she was sitting because her knees were beginning to feel weak. "I'm glad to hear from you…" that wasn't really true either, but if she could fib once, she could fib again. "I can kind of give you an ETA on when I might be able to get to Providence, but it'll be approximate…"

"Oh, that's okay," Brooke was clearly just glad she had started speaking. "Trevor and Hunter don't start school for another two weeks; Chris and I are already back and getting ready for the new year…" Mary had been absentminded about the fact that they were both in education too. "But, we can rearrange and make anything work for when you're able to get here."

Though she was probably attempting to be flexible, this charitable offer just annoyed Mary because it meant that no matter how thorny she tried to be, Brooke would reshuffle everything in her life just to accommodate her. It meant there was no way out, although Mary couldn't think of a reason why she was looking for a way out to begin with. This was what she wanted, right? She didn't want to be a mother; she wanted to give someone else that chance.

Well, this was her chance. So, why was she balking?

"I…I'm guessing that we can be in Rhode Island on maybe Tuesday or Wednesday next week – Thursday at the latest," she was estimating based on when Savannah was most likely called to give her testimony, because she and Marshall wouldn't be able to continue their trek until that was over and done with. "We have some business to take care of in Pennsylvania, but it's kind of up in the air as to when it'll all come together; we're hoping on Monday."

Unfortunately, in her quest not to look like she was isolating herself, she had used the term 'we' about fifty times, and Brooke picked up on it.

"We…" she repeated, making Mary want to hit herself in the head with her own fist. "There's someone coming with you?"

There was no definitive answer for that. Yes, Marshall would be her ride into Providence, but she still hadn't made the decision of whether or not to let him tag along to meet the Harmons. It would be shamefully rude not to, after he was likely to be doing all the driving cross-country, but Mary didn't know if politeness would prevail. She anticipated being very self-conscious with Marshall in attendance, and there would already be enough of that to go around.

"Well, what's going on in Philadelphia…it's for work," she settled on the most neutral reply she could come up with. "And, I'm sure you saw in my file that I'm a US Marshal. I have a partner, and he's with me."

"Oh, I see," now Brooke sounded intrigued. "Well, he's welcome to join you, of course…"

"I don't know whether he will or not," it was probably best just to be up front; the trick was going to be being up front with Marshall himself. "He's a busy guy and I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to use the opportunity to catch up on some rest by the time we get there."

In actuality, she'd be very surprised if Marshall chose that route, but it didn't matter as far as Brooke was concerned. It was clear that she was going to be game for just about anything – anything to get her hands on Mango. Mary wondered if the husband was as zealous as his wife. They'd been through the expectancy before, right? They already had two kids, adopted or otherwise.

"I'm glad to know when you might be getting in," Brooke powered on, not going to let her anxious charge get away anytime soon. "Like I said, Chris and I just can't wait to meet you. We're so thrilled to learn more about you since we haven't been in touch up until now."

"Well, I wouldn't expect too much," Mary remarked dryly. "I don't really consider myself all that interesting."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," the other woman assumed with a flighty, tittering chuckle that wasn't unlike Jinx's. "Being a Marshal is interesting enough on its own. I can't even imagine what you go through on a daily basis."

"It…it's nothing, really," Mary wasn't trying to be modest, but she had never seen what was so extraordinary about being in law enforcement; it had been her calling, the only thing she ever wanted to do, and that was that. "I wish I could tell you more about it, but I can't; it's against the rules."

"I bet you have to be careful about that," again, she sympathized. "We can go more in-depth once you're here – but, not about your job, obviously," yet another chuckle wiggled out.

"Sure…" Mary reciprocated, not because she was energized about the prospect, but because it was what Brooke was probably waiting for. "I mean, I guess."

Her words might say she was game, but her persona said otherwise, even over the phone. Mary wanted a concrete basis for why she was acting so ill at ease – she was supposed to be the one holding all the cards, making Brooke feel tense, and instead it seemed to be the other way around. She tried to content herself with the idea that _anybody_ might be fearful on either side of the coin. She had every right. It was a big decision.

Wasn't it?

"I…I didn't mean to catch you so late…" Brooke went back to that, needing something to fill the heavy silence. "You're probably tired if you've been in a car all day…"

"Yeah, that's what everybody assumes, but I still don't understand what's so grueling about watching the pastures fly by."

Her classic sarcasm was in full-force, something Mary took on without thinking twice. However, Brooke wasn't used to her, and it was apparent from the quiet now coming from her end that she didn't know what the right response would be.

Mary was really messing up here, her anxiety ratcheting up more by the minute as she ran her hands up and down her jeans. Where was the cutthroat guise she always displayed when dealing with everyone from Jinx to her latest witness? She couldn't go on waffling like this. If she did, Brooke might not even want Mango – she might think Mary would try to take him back if she behaved so timidly. They couldn't have that.

"I know trips tend to take their toll on me," the woman in Providence placed her assumption back on herself. "But, you're probably used to hitting the road with your job and everything; I don't know…"

"Sometimes," Mary claimed. "I'm really more partial to flying, but with…" they were going to reach this point eventually. "…Well, you know. Nobody likes the thought of me hopping on a plane."

And, of course, Brooke was right there to seize the moment the minute Mary broached the subject. She'd been holding back in favor of pleasantries and hopes of not seeming overbearing, but not anymore.

"How…how have you been feeling?" she pressed hungrily, not knowing just how much the blonde hated this question. "You're…you're due in…in five weeks, isn't it?"

"Around there," Mary agreed. "And, I feel fine," it was the stock-reply she often gave Marshall, her mother, and Brandi whether it was true or not. "Everything seems to be status quo."

"Oh…that's wonderful; that's great; really fantastic…" it was like a stimulant for her; confirmation that the pregnancy was progressing smoothly about her sent her into conniptions. "I'm so glad to hear that, and I'm sure it's easier for you too, hopefully not dealing with too many aches and pains…"

"Yeah, it hasn't been a big deal," the inspector wanted to leave it at that. "Like you said, I guess we can talk about it more once I show up."

The note in her voice was a final one, and she made it as such on purpose. She'd bestowed trickles of information, just enough to keep Brooke content, but she wanted to be done now. Despite what she said, she really was tired, and being thrown off the track like this hadn't helped. Five minutes before she'd been ready for a nap before devouring the pizza still scheduled to arrive, and now she was dealing with this. Well, no more.

"I hope you'll keep in touch and let Chris and I know when you're close to arriving," this was clearly a suggestion. "Do you need our number? I can give you Chris' cell if you'd rather…"

"No, I have yours," Mary insisted to shut her down, knowing the number would be logged in her answered calls on her phone. "That should be enough."

"Okay…" Brooke knew when to wrap it up, even if she didn't want to. "Well, it was good to chat, Mary. I hope we'll talk again soon."

"Right…"

And, before she could get in another word, Mary hung up, welcoming the hush but for the bright lights buzzing in their bulbs and the lull of the television in the other room. Even though she wished to return to the bed, even change into her drawstring pants and call it a day, she sat on the toilet for several minutes, waiting for her heart to stop pounding so she wouldn't look so agitated in front of Marshall. But, no matter how she tried, she still felt increasingly stirred up – even her palms were sweaty.

When things were as good as they were likely to get, she stood, pushed open the door, and wandered back into the main room, thinking now that if perhaps she didn't work so hard at it, she would be able to calm down more quickly.

Unfortunately, Marshall wasn't her nosy and overly compassionate partner for nothing. He noticed right away that her conduct was off, and that combined with her escape into the bathroom had him searching for clues immediately.

"Hey…" he'd had his face in a book when she'd appeared, but quickly cast it aside to give Mary his full attention. "What was that about? You're being awfully secretive…" though he attempted to joke, the shorter knew he was fishing.

Mary sat down on the edge of the bed – carefully, because her legs were still slightly rubbery – and swallowed before giving Marshall something to chew on.

"It was…nothing," as if he'd buy that. "Forget it."

But, the man's look of interest changed to one of concern, not so far from how he had appeared in the car when she'd had to pee so badly. He knew there was something deeper simmering underneath, but he was going to be practical before pushing into the intimate details.

Leaning up off the stacks of pillows against the headboard, legs dangling so that they were mirror images, Mary just barely caught his brow furrowing, and then he dove in.

"You don't look so good," a little blunt for Marshall, but it got the job done. "What's with all the perspiration? Are you shaking?"

"No."

"But, why are you sweating?"

"I'm hot."

"You've been blasting the air since the minute we walked through the door."

"Well, maybe I'm…"

"Mary, it's me," the interrogation turned soft so fast that she nearly got whiplash. "What's going on?"

Marshall always pulled out the tried-and-true, 'It's me' line when he really thought something might be wrong. He had to be careful not to overuse it, and in all their years as partners, he had done well keeping it to a minimum, because the more he towed it out, the less susceptible Mary was likely to become.

Considering her options, she blinked slowly and saw nothing but his periwinkle, shimmering blue eyes staring back at her. It was unfortunate that he could be so maddeningly patient; he'd hang with her until the bitter end if it got him answers. Maybe she could tell the truth without acting so frenzied; it was the best she could hope for right now.

Flattening her hair with her hand and then scratching the back of her neck – nervous habits if ever there were any – she topped it off with a shrug, wondering just how much Marshall was reading into her body language.

"It was Brooke," she disclosed.

A puckered brow accompanied the name, "Brooke who?"

"Brooke Harmon," delivering each segment little-by-little.

Still, Marshall wasn't enlightened, "Doesn't ring a bell."

Mary knew that. She knew she had kept just about every aspect of the adoption to herself under the guise that she would be able to make a more informed decision without dozens of parties telling her what to do. But, now she was going to have to give up a tiny portion or she was never going to get to bed – and Marshall would just corner her in the car the next day anyway.

"She's the woman…well, the person…" so far, not acting harried wasn't working out. "Part of the couple that I chose to…" inadvertently, her eyes landed on her belly, giving Marshall all the hints he needed. "You know…take care of Mango."

An oddly sensitive look appeared in Marshall's features then – his whole frame slumped, like he had reached a sudden understanding, and all the expectation he had been holding onto vanished. It was replaced by a quieter, more supple demeanor, like he was now in full awareness of why she had run off and didn't blame her for it.

Mary just couldn't say for certain whether she enjoyed the consideration or if she wished he would treat her more like he usually did. The tenderness was unnerving.

"I…we barely said two words to each other…" Mary suddenly blurted out, possibly to ward him off babying her. "I was just surprised, that's all. Nobody told me she had my number or that she was going to call," although that was mainly her fault for not checking in with Mrs. Anders.

"She say anything significant?" Marshall wanted to know.

"Just telling me about fifty times that she and her husband are excited I'm coming."

The man chuckled good-naturedly, "Is she a little gung-ho?"

"That's an understatement," Mary was only now fully appreciating just how suffocated she'd felt by Brooke's thirst for knowledge. "She was practically leeching onto me. The minute I mentioned this kid, she started salivating."

"I wouldn't read too much into that," the taller suggested, leaving aside what was definitely a gross exaggeration from his partner. "I think a lot of adoptive parents come off a little needy. For people who really want children and don't have any, the sense of loneliness and emptiness can manifest as desperation…"

But, Mary cut him off in this theory, "But, she has kids," and she said it without even contemplating what the man would think of that. "Two of them. This would be her third."

Marshall's eyes lightened upon hearing this, growing rounder and wider in their surprise. He even cocked his head to one side before addressing it.

"They already have kids?" he needed verification. "You picked a couple that already has a family?"

"Yeah, so?" Mary didn't see what the issue was, though Marshall clearly sensed something underlying that she did not. "They'll have had practice, right?"

"Well, I suppose…" he conceded. "It just didn't occur to me, but you know best; it's your decision," he was quick to point that out before Mary became argumentative. "How old are the kids?"

"They're both boys – eight and four, I think. I can't remember. It's in the letter that they sent to the agency."

Marshall nodded, but he still had that same look of inquisitiveness playing in his bright blue orbs, almost like he was harboring a secret. But, lucky for him, the woman didn't have the energy or the desire at the moment to provoke him about his superiority. He was likely drawing conclusions about the people she had settled on, but she wasn't up for sharing the room with a psychiatrist, and so she decided to let him think what he wanted.

"Can we leave this for tonight?" it wasn't often that Mary pleaded with Marshall, but a definite note of prayer snuck its way in. "I didn't mean to turn it into a production; I was just…"

"Unaware," Marshall supplied.

"And it's getting real now, and it'll take some getting used to, right?"

Marshall was predisposed to agree, "Of course. It's a lot to take in."

His concord and decision not to push her further than she was ready to go made Mary feed him a real, if sleepy, smile. Even in just a few words with him, she felt a little better, calmer than she had at any time while she'd been in the bathroom. How did he do that? The effect of his presence was always so calming. Only with him did she ever feel as in control as she forever longed to be.

"You didn't think I was keeping all this from you for some specific reason, did you?" she thought back to the tidbits about the Harmons having additional kids, and even the names, which she had never let Marshall in on.

"No," he murmured, still directly across from her, boring into her with his insightful gaze. "I think you're in your own head nine times out of ten. I think you have enough battles within yourself without needing to add my opinion to the pile."

And Mary thought of Jinx and Brandi, and even Abigail, who thought they were entitled to be intrusive and privy to every major and minor decision she made. Whether their intentions were good or not, it didn't make the barrage any easier to deal with. She grinned at Marshall and, for once, told him exactly what was rambling through her mind, bare boned and honest.

"I guess I'm lucky there's at least one person in my life who understands how badly I need that."

XXX

**A/N: Mary's getting in a bit over her head! Good thing she has Marshall. We should all be so lucky. ;) **


	18. Mother Wounds

**A/N: What dear and loyal reviewers I have! Of course, I already knew as much, but you all have gotten me over one hundred reviews – by a long shot! And we're only on chapter eighteen! Thank-you, thank-you, and thank-you again!**

XXX

Whatever Mary's reservations about Brooke and Chris Harmon, she woke up refreshed and raring to go on Friday morning, almost like she had caught a second wind. Marshall was a little startled by the abrupt change in her performance, but in the back of his mind he knew that he shouldn't be. The positivity that Mary possessed might be phony, as it was typically used to present the image that she was rugged and no-nonsense, without life's little speed bumps to bother her. In this instance, that was the adoptive parents. And Marshall, knowing he had been fortuitous to learn anything the night before, was inclined not to disrupt her happiness, a sham though it was.

Today, they were on their way through the Midwest, hoping to make it to either Missouri or Illinois, but Marshall had no defined perceptions. They would reach the destination when they reached it; he was confident they had plenty of time to get to Philly by Sunday night if they stuck to Stan's agenda.

With a brilliant sun rising in the east and classic rock blaring out of the radio, it was only a few minutes past eight when Mary's phone rang. It was lucky she was feeling so energized, otherwise the name that was greeting her would probably have produced an even worse mood than the one she had been experiencing on Thursday night.

"The bell is tolling…" Marshall remarked from his now permanent spot behind the wheel, Mary munching a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit from the Burger King drive thru. "Stan said he didn't need to hear from us until close to ten, but I suppose he could be checking up on us…"

"Someone else is checking up on us," Mary informed him with a groan. "Or rather, checking up on me."

"Ah, three guesses who!" if his partner was going to buoyant, than Marshall would take the reins and run with them. "_Someone_…" meaning Mary. "Forgot to phone last night, didn't she?"

"Doesn't my mother have anything better to do than treat me like a teenager that didn't come home at curfew?"

"Evidently not," Marshall declared. "Does she usually teach on Friday mornings?"

"How the hell should I know?" the woman was not so well-versed in Jinx's schedule. "I don't even know where she got the degree to instruct the little pants-wetters to be Madame Butterfly."

"Jinx has a degree?" this was unfamiliar, something Marshall felt certain he would've picked up on before now, but his fellow inspector took care of his assumption quickly while the phone jangled on. "In what?"

"She doesn't have one," Mary snapped. "Hence the, 'I don't know where she got one,'" repeating herself. "For all I know, she thieved somebody else's and forged the name."

"That really wouldn't be as easy as one might think," the other was as knowledgeable as ever. "And, you'd better answer that before your voicemail kicks in."

Not wanting to be entrusted with the responsibility of calling Jinx back or listening to a message that would consist of her shrill theatrics, Mary sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing already that she had thought to tie it back as she had the day before. At least on this occasion, she had managed to locate a shirt that wasn't so different from her usual style. Through with the stripes, she'd tracked down one in a deep plum color and thrown her favorite blazer over it. It was really too hot to wear the coat, but it was a fashion statement Mary had refused to let go of since being with child.

"Mom, I know; I forgot to call last night…" she started out with an apology right away so Jinx wouldn't think that she had been completely lax. "I really meant to, it's just that…"

"I was worried sick!" came the brunette's twittering cry, although Mary had a tough time believing she was as concerned as she said. "When you say you're going to call a person, you are supposed to call! I didn't know if you'd made it in for the night or where you were or how to find you if something bad had happened…"

"Would you take a breath?" the daughter interrupted, a headache coming on just from the piercing accusations. "I didn't do it on purpose. You can even ask Marshall; I mentioned I was going to, but then I got stuck on the phone with a…" it was the first time she had thought about that discussion with Brooke since the evening prior, and she hurriedly pushed it out of her mind. "…A work thing," the lie was effortless. "And by the time I got done, it was late and I just…"

But, Jinx couldn't take the excuses, "I am your _mother_, Mary!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" the younger could argue with the best of them when she wanted, and Jinx's indictment was riling her so early in the morning. "I'm not fourteen. I can go where I want and do what I want – I don't have to answer to you, or to anybody else."

"But, you _said_…"

"What does it matter what I said?" Mary shot back, losing her good mood in no time flat; out of the corner of her eye, she could see Marshall wilting as well; they had started out on such an excellent note. "When I actually _was_ fourteen, you didn't give a damn whether I even came home, let alone if I called and told you where I was. This is for work, mom. It's none of your business."

But, Jinx wasn't ready to get down from her high horse; "I didn't ask a single question about your big secret life!" now she sounded stung, childishly hurt that she wasn't a part of whatever Mary was doing. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay!"

"I _am_ okay…!"

"If I don't know that you're okay, then I don't know if that grandbaby is okay…"

And that did it. For once, it wasn't such a good thing that Marshall was a conscientious driver and was already doing his best not to pry in the conversation, because the way Mary blew her top had to have frightened him something awful. Jinx's slip of the tongue told her daughter so much – that she was holding out hope that she would become a grandmother, for one. On another level, she was sending her a not-so-subtle hint that she did not, in fact, support the blonde's choice of abandoning motherhood and allowing strangers to raise the baby.

Mary's doubts, however big or small, were her own – not something to be dwelled upon or taken seriously. It was like getting cold feet before a wedding. It happened to everyone, but few gave into the nerves in the end. The adoption was the same way. Jinx entertaining the notion that there was going to be a junior Shannon running around in five weeks was infuriating and Mary could practically feel her blood pressure go through the roof.

"Would you get it through your head?!" she barked so loudly that Marshall jerked out of his reverie and cast her an offhand look, one she barely noticed. "This isn't going to be your grandchild!" and then she heard the man sigh. "How could it be when it isn't even going to be my child? You're living in a fantasy if you think I am backing out of this! You can just hop on your unicorn and sprinkle your fairy dust and ride off into the sunset if that's the case, because I am not looking for people who don't have my back!"

"Mary, it's just a term!" Jinx's defense was weak, her voice growing small as she realized her error. "It's a label – what else am I supposed to call it?"

"Try, 'the baby!'" she advised. "Or, 'the kid,' that's the one I use!" she wasn't going to give her the supposed honor of using 'Mango.' "For all the years you have left me hanging out to dry, the _least_ you could do after all this time is be there, but I guess that's too much to ask…"

Mary was unable to believe that things had gone south so quickly. She'd started out feeling badly that she had, indeed, neglected her mother, because she was well aware that she had disquiet over her daughter and the welfare of the child. All that was fine, but this attitude of staking her claim on the baby was over the line.

"Don't get so upset…" now Jinx was begging. "I'm sorry, honey. I was just nervous because you hadn't called me and I made a mistake…"

"You got that right."

"I really do support you, but do you want me to pretend that I'm not missing out on something?" now, this was rich. "Your decision doesn't just affect you – even though it is _your_ decision."

"I hadn't noticed," Mary broke in snidely, thinking that Jinx had some nerve to be saying what she was. Although not untrue, now wasn't the moment to paint herself as the victim. "Near as I can tell, I have you and Brandi breathing down my neck and trying to change my mind twenty-four-seven."

"I really did just call to make sure you were okay," the dancer reiterated, stiffly and stoically, like she was holding back from unleashing a whole new barrage of things Mary was denying her. "That's it."

"Then you can hang up now."

"Fine," she was ready to get away as much as the inspector was. "Again, I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh."

It took a considerable amount of restraint for Mary not to chuck her phone at any one of the many available windows just to feel the satisfaction of seeing the panes shatter. Instead, she shoved it into the single empty cup holder, for Marshall's cell was occupying the one on his side. She made such a clatter that she was afraid she might've broken the screen, but didn't care enough to look. Folding her arms and breathing hard through her nose, she stared callously at the street in front of her, hearing Marshall without seeing his face.

"Things aren't exactly harmonious on the home front, I gather?"

Mary was not going to be forgiving, and even chose to be heartless.

"I really hate Jinx sometimes."

She intended for the statement to shock the man, and even though she wouldn't look at him because she feared she would start spitting in his face, she could tell by the way his tone dipped downward that he was saddened by her choice of words. Shocked, perhaps not.

And, it was funny how only her name was needed to make her see just how merciless she came off.

"Mary."

There was no trailing away, no piddling out, nothing to indicate he had anything more to offer than that – just a quiet, gentle yet firm use of her moniker.

And she bit at him anyway, "What?"

"Well…" still, she fought not to glance at him because her anger would transfer itself onto him, which wasn't something he deserved. "I think 'hate' is going a little overboard."

"That's what you think."

"I think what you hate are some of the things she says and does, not Jinx herself."

"What she says and does _make up_ Jinx," Mary informed him haughtily. "What else is there to her than that? And if I hate everything that comes out her mouth and every time she butts into my personal life then there's nothing left to do but…"

"Hang on," the man interjected, clearly keen not to have her repeat the gutsy phrase. "Let's break this down."

"Let's not."

"What did she say or do that bothered you so much?" he wanted to pull the facets out little-by-little. "I mean, judging by your end of that conversation, I wouldn't have a hard time guessing."

"Aren't you a Sherlock?" Mary groused, knowing there was no way he could've missed what had set her off so severely. "Give me the play-by-play, why don't you? I'm not up for going over it again."

And Marshall obliged, "She flubbed something about the baby – with the adoption," he presumed. "No?"

"_Yes_," she couldn't contain herself, retorting scathingly. "She doesn't listen. She _never_ listens. She hears whatever she wants to and makes these ridiculous assumptions and one of these days…"

"Now-now…" Marshall sliced in calmly, not wanting to know where she might be so violently headed with that comment. "Let us not load our glocks yet, all right?" if he thought this was a good time for joking, he was mistaken. "So, Jinx doesn't listen," this might be to prove that he had been. "And that must be…" he wanted to be sure and use the right word, the one that would get Mary to tell him even more about the way she was feeling. "…Frustrating?"

He'd hit the jackpot, "It's _more_ than frustrating!" a second explosion was on its way as the blonde threw up her hands, finally resigned to giving Marshall her full attention, wild-eyed though it was. "All she thinks about is herself! Can you believe she had the audacity to ask me if I cared about how she was dealing with all this?"

"This, meaning the adoption?"

Mary didn't clarify, but kept right on venting, "What sort of a person does that?" she didn't entirely expect Marshall to give her an answer, but put the thought out in the open anyway. "She acts like I'm doing this just for kicks – just to spite her!"

The taller had a hard time believing this was the whole truth, "She said that?"

For a moment, Mary seemed to become tongue-tied, sputtering almost mutely, shaking her head and looking agitated that she was being made to examine the particulars. Fortunately, it seemed her fury was still directed at her mother and not her partner.

"She doesn't have to say it!" she finally settled on, taking a mammoth bite out of the biscuit she had yet to finish, discovering it was growing cold already. "I can tell! She thinks I exist just to contradict her – just to make her life miserable."

This assertion took Mary back to a day many years before this one, a day she longed to forget and yet never seemed able to. It snuck up on her like a bad rash, like a pesky little sister jumping out of a closet, scaring her to death in a game gone wrong. It was the storm clouds when she looked over her shoulder, the noise of the floorboards creaking in the night. You could try and convince yourself all you wanted it was nothing, but it could materialize into the worst of demons in seconds.

Mary saw the basement and the handcuffs – smelled the sweet blood and saw it staining the chalky grey floor. And in her head, while the metal dug into her wrists and she battled to focus on a face, any face that would come to her rescue, she heard only Jinx.

"She even told me once," Mary muttered to her swollen feet, mostly so she wouldn't have to brood over the phrases in her mind.

But, Marshall was lost, "Told you what?"

And suddenly, the woman spit the words, like maybe if she got them out – fast and dirty – they wouldn't be so painful, especially four years into the future.

"Right before I was abducted, I saw Jinx at the theater auditioning for Sweet Charity…"

Mention of the kidnapping threw Marshall off-balance and he cut in without thinking, "I know that, but what does that have to do with…?"

"And she went _insane_ when she saw me there," now Mary spoke so quickly that her words ran together. "She thought I came just to watch her screw up – to make fun of her! She said that I take pleasure in her failures."

And this time, Marshall knew he didn't need to ask if his partner was embellishing. When recounting what had happened on the phone, she might have been stretching, but a blow to his gut told him there was no inflating the facts here. Mary so rarely talked about the abduction; Marshall hadn't even been with her when she'd been forced to recount the events to the police. He knew only the minimalist details, and this was not one of them.

In the back of his mind, he knew it was rude to stare, and also not very smart considering he should be watching the traffic. But, Mary's stance was one that it was hard to take his eyes off of. She'd altered from drilling a hole in the front window to evade his gaze, and was now thumbing through her hair, staring at the ground, almost like she was ashamed.

And the final clue, if nothing else, was what encouraged the man to speak up.

"I…I didn't know that," he whispered, still unable to believe that what had started out as such a nice day was now swathed in unhappy memories.

"It's not something I advertise," Mary muttered.

"It isn't fair," he told her, incapable of keeping his mouth shut any longer. "And I sincerely hope she doesn't still feel that way."

"She was a drunk back then; I can't hold it against her," the shorter decided begrudgingly, now twisting strands of locks around her index finger. "But, I obviously do if I've harbored it all this time."

"It wouldn't be something I'd forget easily," Marshall stated honestly. "It's a pretty serious accusation, especially coming from your mom. But, if it makes you feel any better, I'm inclined to believe that our own insecurities make us avert blame onto other people, warranted or unwarranted."

"Maybe…" Mary was indifferent. "But, it doesn't help me much as far as this kid is concerned. Jinx just thinks I'm wrong, even if she doesn't really think – you know, underneath – that I'm giving him away just so she can't get her hands on him."

"She would have to go out on a limb for that one," he saw his friend wedge her half-eaten breakfast between their phones, and he suddenly wondered if she was through with it. "You're done?" switching gears.

"I shouldn't have supersized it," she shrugged, wiping her mouth with her napkin and suddenly not very hungry. "You can have the rest if you want."

"Well, I will mark today on my calendar," this generosity was to be celebrated, and Marshall grabbed the pastry by the corner and nibbled off the end. "Thanks."

But, for once, food was not on Mary's mind. She didn't even seem to realize that she had allowed her partner to eat her meal, something she never did. Marshall decided he would just continue chewing until she fed him whatever else was percolating in her mind.

It didn't take long.

"Is it really so much to ask for her to be on my side?" she seemed to talking to herself more than she was Marshall. "Just this one time?"

"It's not," he would allow her that feeling of neediness, as she so seldom displayed it. "But…don't you think you're looking for that support because…" he didn't want to correct her, but it all went back to the beginning, the crux of what had made her so angry to begin with. "Because…you love Jinx? The views of those we love tend to be important to us."

All Mary allowed to escape was a contemptuous snort, but it was pretty much assent in her case. No, she didn't hate her mother, and yes, she needed her there to catch her if she fell because she cared about her. After all, she only had one parent on whom she could rely. Flighty and self-absorbed she could sometimes be, but when push came to shove, Jinx usually came through. It scared Mary that she might've made a choice that would drive the ultimate block between them.

"That said…" Marshall took the silence she was presenting and prattled on. "I'm sorry if she's not respecting what you want, love or no love. I'm sure it's hard."

Mary blinked, glad to have her rage validated, "Not as hard as it was when I thought you felt the same way."

A pang of guilt struck her partner in crime at that point. He might put up a good front, but it was difficult to refute, in his heart of hearts, that he was going to silently mourn the child coined Mango. His confidence in Mary's abilities as a mother were heads and tails above her own, as well as his beliefs that a child could be happy and well-adjusted even without two parents in brimming marital bliss.

But, he wasn't her best friend for nothing, and she had enough issues with other's misgivings. He wasn't going to turn on her too.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that," he fibbed through his teeth. "What do you say we squash all-things adoption for the rest of the day and enjoy ourselves?" a bold suggestion. "We don't have to drive as far to keep to the schedule; we'll be able to stop around lunch and relax – see where the wind blows us."

Mary wasn't much for his philosophical jargon, but tucking it all away sounded really good to her.

"But, don't nerds like you think that skirting my problems is unhealthy?"

Too bad Marshall had his reply all ready.

"Hey, you already polished off an entire pack of cookies and four slices of pizza yesterday," he reminded her. "I think we are looking 'unhealthy' straight in the eye, and _he_ blinked first."

XXX

**A/N: I know Jinx will annoy a few in this chapter – she's kind of supposed to. ;) I like Jinx, but I definitely concede she can be a bit much sometimes!**


	19. Mini and the Market

**A/N: A pretty silly chapter coming up – also a little bit longer; I never know if that's good or bad! **

XXX

Marshall didn't honestly believe that Mary would take his proposal to heart when he had advised that she buck up, forget about babies and adoption, and bask in the remainder of the day. Usually, when she was fuming, she hung on as long as possible; nobody fostered a grudge quite like Mary.

But, perhaps she was feeling some measure of grief over the loss of her originally decent disposition, because by lunchtime she was back to her old, snarky self, all thoughts of Jinx and pregnancy forgotten. Marshall would've loved to say that her ticking metronome of mood swings was caused by the overload of hormones in her system, but he didn't imagine he would get out of that conversation alive.

Pulling off the highway and into a sleepy, steamy saloon town that could've been in either Oklahoma or Missouri for all he knew, the pair of them set about squinting for someplace to stop and eat.

"Is this the old west?" Mary remarked as run-down, likely hometown restaurants passed outside the window. "I'm prepared to walk through accordion doors with my pistols drawn any minute now."

"All you need is the cowboy hat," Marshall concurred, also trying to locate a business that could serve them something they could identify. "What's your pleasure? Italian? Mexican?"

"I don't think I get a choice," even her pessimism had returned. "I don't know about you, but I'm not seeing a Pizza Hut or a Taco Bell anywhere near here."

Indeed, the settlement they were scaling seemed very rural, although there were gas stations aplenty. While the establishments were probably well owned and operated, it was no secret they were on the older side. Marshall didn't recognize one name painted on any of the buildings – no Wal-Mart, no Home Depot, no Applebee's. Instead, one-story strip malls lined the street with titles like, "Burt's Barbecue – Burgers in Ten Minutes, Guaranteed!" In fact, there were more hamburger joints than any other, which left the man hoping that Mary's sometimes unpredictable stomach could handle the processed cheese.

"I feel like we have stepped back in time…" she voiced, still narrowing her eyes against the sun to make sure she was reading all the awnings correctly. "I mean, really. When was the last time you saw a barber pole like that?"

Indeed, the hair-cutter's residence boasted the cylindrical contraption, spinning its red, white, and blue stripes like it was the Fourth of July. Smashed between a dilapidated nail salon and what looked like a pet store with raggedy kittens tumbling in a cardboard box in the window, it also had mechanical horse rides on the sidewalk.

"What is this, Mayberry?" Mary was truly unable to believe the sights in front of her. "Seriously, we are never going to be able to eat here. I'm not trying Ma Gertrude's home cookin'."

"Yeah, maybe we should've clocked another fifty miles or so to civilization…" the man was hard-pressed not to agree with her, but that was when he saw it.

At the four-way-stop ahead, a wooden sign had been hammered into the ground, and the jet black letters on the rectangular surface read, "Farmer's Market – Next 5 miles. Fresh corn, tomatoes, carrots, and more!"

"Ooh…" now Marshall was intrigued, an emotion he couldn't be sure that Mary would share. "We should go there!" all of a sudden, all his qualms vanished.

His partner hadn't seen the marker, "Go where?"

"There!"

And he slowed to a crawl at the stop sign, not that it was necessary because there wasn't another car in sight. Mary, predictably, made the face that Marshall knew so well, wrinkling her nose and scrunching up her eyes to signify that she was not on board and anybody who was could go flush themselves.

"If you think I'm spending my money on dirty, insect-ridden vegetables from a guy with a trucker's cap in a pair of overalls, then you have another thing coming."

But, Marshall was rapidly feeling adventurous, "In my experience, it is usually _my_ money that gets spent, rather than yours, so I'd say that I get to call the shots."

The woman continued to protest even after he made a left turn and followed the sign's directions, coming up with all sorts of meaningless reasons why she was not up for tasting corn that had yet to be husked. Marshall almost enjoyed listening to her griping, because the reasoning behind her resistance just got more and more outlandish the longer she spoke.

"Hey – hey!" she bellowed when he totally ignored her and kept right on driving. "I said no! Do you want to be responsible for my contracting salmonella?"

"Typically contracted from raw eggs, which I don't imagine we will encounter at this juncture."

Mary wasn't giving up, "So, botulism then!"

"Rare and possibly lethal – it was recently discovered in fermented fish which, again, I do not anticipate us running into at the Farmer's Market."

Running out of excuses, the blonde cast around for the last form of food poisoning she could come up with, but she was getting further and further from reality by the second. By the same token, Marshall's maddening recall of information as they passed an ancient-looking elementary school was just making her more determined to find a basis for why they couldn't stop and make nice with the local folks.

"E-coli!" she burst, waving her fingers so near to his face that it was obstructing his vision of the one-lane road, but he only laughed. "I know I could get e-coli from these people! You think they cook their meat first? I don't! They probably eat it right off the cow!"

Marshall was really howling now, finding it hard to believe that Mary would rather starve or wait another hour than engage in small talk with new arrivals. She'd never been a people person, it was true, but usually her desire for food overpowered everything else, especially with the baby on the way.

Unfortunately, Marshall could only give her minimal credit on her last assumption.

"Impressive," he stated between chuckles. "E-coli can present itself in raw meat, but I do like to think that most intelligent individuals take to the stove before ingesting any…"

"Yeah, don't bet on it…"

"Unpasteurized dairy can also be a hazard, so we'll be sure to stay away from the milk and cheeses," he went on. "Otherwise, it is my great hope that we are safe from 'death by produce.'"

Mary scowled, "Not funny. You know I don't like strangers," as if he needed to be reminded.

"Well, it's not like they're offering you candy," Marshall mused, painting her as an unsuspecting youth lured away by treats. "But, if they tell you to get in their car or ask if you can help find their puppy, you have my permission to interrogate."

Not at all swayed by his teasing, the woman continued to glower, but Marshall saw that she was definitely keeping her eyes peeled for the first glimpse of the fruit stand. Knowing her, she would slump down in her seat and stay in the hot car until he was through with his purchases, and then devour everything completely out of sight of whoever had sold it to them.

Seeing her all hunched over, Marshall was aware he was skating on thin ice by addressing it, but his exploratory streak was taking him to new – and possibly dangerous – places.

"You know, you kill me," he observed, chortling on no matter how murderous his partner appeared. "You'll stand with your toes curled over the edge of a cliff and jump every single time when it comes to work, but the minute you're up against the general public, you are nothing short of a…"

"A what?" now Mary leapt up, famished for whatever term he was going to use to describe her. "A what? What were you going to say?" the way he'd stopped himself midsentence hadn't gotten by her.

Truth be told, Marshall had been going to end with 'coward' even as unkind as it would've been. In fact, he surprised even himself that he'd pondered that word, let alone almost said it out loud. It was very unlike him, and not the way he typically saw Mary at all, and so he was glad he had managed to screech to a halt. He didn't need the woman thinking that he viewed her as some broken shell underneath.

"A…um…" he would have to think fast though; because Mary's jade eyes were hard and steely as they pierced into his temple. "Well…a bit gun-shy, frankly," there, that would work; Marshall could breathe easy. "You are much more well-versed in dealing with the human race than you give yourself credit for," he was thinking of the way she handled witnesses.

"The way you tried to sugarcoat that insult is inspiring," she drawled dryly. "But, being good at something doesn't mean I'm interested in it," refuting his hypothesis. And then, when he turned off the main road and onto a gravel path, "Where in the hell are you going? We'll never get back to the highway like this, and I am not taking the guff from Stan when we wind up in the middle of nowhere!"

"Cool your jets," Marshall advised, the SUV jouncing around on the stones, chalk flying in all directions to streak the black tires. "There was another sign back there; it would seem the Farmer's Market is a little off the beaten track…"

"We're going to be running into Dorothy and Toto any minute now," she joshed. "Is that where we are? Kansas?"

"I think we may still be in Oklahoma," the man informed her. "But, onto Missouri soon."

"I can hardly contain my excitement."

With that sarcastic aside, Mary finally went quiet for a few seconds as Marshall peered through the now-cloudy front window, owing to the rocks they were tumbling over. Skinny, yet leafy green trees were lining the road, concealing wherever they might be heading, which admittedly made Marshall a little nervous. He didn't relish receiving a lecture from Mary if he drove them clear into a duck pond or a farmhouse.

Fortunately, the shrubbery thinned within a few minutes, and the male inspector suddenly understood why they'd had to follow a more isolated trail. The gravel lane opened into a broad field of haphazardly parked cars, for there was no lot, and beyond they could see a baseball diamond where a crowd of little leaguers seemed to be engaging in an afternoon game. Balls cracked against bats, fans screamed, and little boys in royal blue caps raced around the bases heading for home.

And, it was auspicious – for Marshall, at least – that their destination was in sight as well. Underneath a cluster of larger, more prosperous trees opposite the field was obviously the Farmer's Market, sign and all. Tables upon tables of fruits and vegetables in vibrant, bursting summer shades with their own posts describing prices and sizes were heaped on the lawn.

"Ah-ha!" the more zealous of the two exclaimed upon his detection. "Sustenance at last! Hope you're hungry!"

And, before Mary could object, he motored into the first empty space he could find, next to a couple seated in the back of a pick-up truck on a checkered blanket. Once he put the SUV in park, he turned to his partner with a cheerful grin as though he was waiting for her to lead the way.

"So, here we are," he proclaimed, as if Mary couldn't tell. "Lunchtime."

She shook her head slowly, "Why are you torturing me?"

"Because this is what road trips are made of," he decided. "Seeing the world – discovering America!"

"We are not Columbus."

"It's time to live a little, my friend," he encouraged. "Look on the bright side. However bizarre you might find the Midwestern dwellers, I do not believe you will ever see them again. I would take some amount of solace in that."

And, once more, he followed through with his plan with nary a word of approval from Mary, unbuckling his seatbelt and all-but bounding out of the vehicle with a distinct spring in his step.

Wholly aggravated by Marshall's exuberance, but knowing she didn't want to stay stationed in the roasting car and suffer a heat stroke; Mary begrudgingly followed him, at least glad that she could relieve her belly of the pinching caused when the seatbelt was stretched too tightly.

In spite of her fast-becoming gargantuan size, she was able to catch up with him fairly quickly as he strode across the grass, unlatching his sunglasses from the open collar on his shirt and sliding them onto his nose. Because it was so bright, even in the shade under the trees, Mary did the same, hoping she could hide beneath the frames.

"I'm not really a baseball person…" she hissed at his back, doing everything she could to stay hot on his heels so his joy didn't get completely out of control. "And I'm not shelling out any dough to watch a bunch of ankle biters hit the ball off a tee."

"Yes, you've made that quite clear," Marshall harked back to her statements about being unwilling to pay for their lunch as well. "But, from the looks of it, the game would appear to be free of charge."

Indeed, the field was fenced around the edges and caged at the catcher's mound, but any old Joe could stand at the barbed wire and watch. The stands behind the backstop were miniscule, with very few benches and not a lot of room to see on the two-tier platforms. That didn't stop the spectators from screaming at the top of their lungs for their offspring in the match-up.

However, the noise began to die down the closer they got to the market, and the shadows provided by the greenery was a welcome relief from the hot sun. Marshall didn't imagine that the fruit and vegetable stands were typically set up in the middle of the woods, but due to the attraction of the game they had moved locations temporarily.

With Mary looking like she wanted to conceal herself behind his lanky form – and having no chance considering her girth – Marshall marched right up to the individuals meandering about the tables and got himself noticed at once. An older gentleman wearing, not overalls, but dusty jeans and a red plaid shirt seemed more than happy to have a customer, which couldn't have been more opposite of Mary's temperament.

She managed to get three words in before they were greeted, "I'm not here…"

"Well, hello folks!" the vender sighted them immediately, waving a large hand that was rough with calluses. "Nice to see you this afternoon! You come to watch our Flying Squirrels thump those Pirates from the north?"

There were far too many things in this question that Mary could not make sense of, and so she settled for frowning. Her goal was to look stand-offish so they wouldn't be asked to stick around.

"Flying Squirrels, you say?" Marshall was all over it. "I take it they're the hometown team," he jerked his thumb at the baseball game in the distance.

"You bet they are – only two losses this year!" the stranger continued. "You must not be from around here; everybody knows our Squirrels."

"And Flying Squirrels at that," the inspector declared, almost as though he found the title endearing. "Something tells me the players came up with that one," he must be referring to the little boys beating their way around the diamond, most of which couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old.

"We've got a clever bunch this year," their Midwestern companion concurred. "My grandson plays shortstop."

Marshall suddenly cast off a gaping smile, "That was my position!"

At this, Mary had to intervene, her disbelief squashing her isolation.

"You never played baseball," she assumed, stepping out from behind him and sticking a hand on her hip. "You played the oboe."

"I played both, I will have you know," her partner corrected. "And, I was a mean shortstop, let me tell you."

Red-plaid chuckled at their byplay and went on, "So, what brings you two down to our neck of the woods? Must've been that half-price sign…"

"You know it," Marshall was so friendly that it was unnerving, leaving Mary yearning to shut him up before he gave away every little detail about them. "We needed to stop for a bite to eat – doing a bit of cross-country driving – and I decided that homespun goods were the way to go."

With Mary rolling her eyes in spectacular fashion beside him, the farmer barreled on, "Well, where are you driving from?"

"New Mexico," Marshall revealed, but without specifics. "We haven't been on the road very long, but it has progressed swimmingly so far," now he hooked his thumbs in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet circa Stan. "I love that open terrain."

Deciding that the man had this part of their voyage covered all by himself, Mary slipped away and out of the fray to see if there was anything edible nearby as Marshall had claimed there might be. There was no one else around except for an older woman – probably Mr. Flying Squirrel's wife – and a little girl playing with a long-legged puppy in the grass. At least Mary could be fairly certain that she wouldn't be ambushed while Marshall was busy with the merchant.

Up close, the sheer volume of the food was kind of incredible, and the woman felt – and heard – her stomach growling just at the sight. Still, she vowed not to be fooled by anything that might make her ill, especially with how volatile her digestive system could be these days, and perused a little more closely, trying to determine what would be safe to try.

One table held a basket of what looked like cucumbers, another basket of carrots, and a third of squash, presuming that Mary knew what she was looking at. As she didn't want to have to waste the energy finding someplace to cut up the cucumber and squash, she bypassed that table and went on to another, Marshall chattering in the background.

The second wooden bench boasted tomatoes, corn on the cob, and potatoes. The potatoes were out because she would have to peel them but the corn, bright and sunshine-y in its tiny kernels, looked fairly appetizing. The tomatoes were fat and round, probably plump and juicy underneath, and although Mary usually only liked her tomatoes in salad, these were so big that she couldn't help being curious about how they tasted.

The last two tables housed most of the fruit, some of it on ice, although how these people expected the frozen water not to melt was beyond the woman. She became so engrossed in how she was going to get her hands on some of the food without Marshall seeing how interested she'd suddenly become when she was startled by a voice near her expanding midsection.

"Don't eat the apples."

Looking down, she saw the little girl that she'd spotted at the onset. She was maybe six, with straggly short blonde hair that just barely reached her chin. In the cliché that Mary had forecasted when they'd first driven into town, she did happen to be wearing overalls – short ones with a red T-shirt. The puppy she'd been playing with, which looked to be a chocolate lab, was trying to chew its leash at her feet.

Reflecting on her warning, Mary shook her head and eyed the fruit in its red, yellow, and green spheres – virtually harmless-looking.

"Why not?"

The child pointed toward the apples, "Because I got the ones that Grandma and Grandpa decided not to sell, and one of them was rotten on the inside."

Typical kindergarten logic – if one was bad, they were all bad, although Mary couldn't say that this didn't make her wary and vowed to avoid them as instructed.

"Didn't find any worms, did you?" the older inquired, wondering what else she might pick up around here.

"Ew…" the little one wrinkled her nose. "But, there _were_ bugs on the carrots."

"I'll bear that in mind," Mary told her. "So, that's your Grandpa over there?" she inclined her head at the man still yaaking it up with Marshall, although the pair of them were migrating their direction.

A nod, "Yeah. My brother's playing in the game, but I didn't want to watch this time. I have to watch _every_ week," she sounded annoyed.

"Yeah, well…" Mary could only elicit so much sympathy. "Is he older than you?"

"Yeah."

"Then you'll be getting the shaft a lot. The second always does."

Rather than be perturbed by Mary's calculations, she peered skeptically in her direction, giving the leash a yank to calm the mutt, which was now attacking her toes.

"So, you're the youngest too?"

It was true that the Marshal couldn't speak from experience, "No, I'm the oldest. I have a little sister."

The child opened her mouth as though to protest, probably to tell Mary that she didn't know anything and to leave her be, because she had some sass about her. But, instead of allowing herself to get sucked into an argument with a six-year-old, she turned back to the fruit stand and picked up something that resembled an orange, but was as big as a softball, lumpier than the aforementioned, and really more yellow than anything else.

"What's this?" she asked the dog-wrangler, but before she could respond Marshall reappeared as though from thin air, turning the little girl's attention onto him. He really was a spectacle when he wanted to be.

Popping the fruit out of his friend's hand and giving it the once-over, he smirked at what she had snatched up, obviously having heard her query.

"That would be a mango," he reported triumphantly, making Mary's heart lurch for some odd reason. And, pushing the envelope with every gesture, "See the likeness?"

He perched the ball in his palm, holding it up next to Mary's belly to compare the two. Although she was slightly embarrassed that he was causing such a scene, she couldn't help but grin herself at the coincidence. She'd had no idea what she'd selected when she'd turned around, but it certainly matched her stomach in many respects.

"You're lucky there are witnesses around," she joshed anyway. "And, I wasn't asking _you_," blinking significantly at the girl, who was now watching them with curiosity.

If there was ever a time when Marshall was at his goofiest, it was with children. And so, he tossed the mango back into the bin it had come from and fed the little girl a winning smile – one guaranteed to turn her frown upside-down. As it was, she actually shrunk backward with him being so towering – he _was_ tall, after all – but a shy smile formed at his twinkling blue eyes, nonetheless.

"Which of these did you grow?" Marshall extended himself even further, cutting right to the chase with a well-timed compliment. "You look like a girl who's had some experience out in the field."

She shrugged, "I sort of helped with the carrots – yanking them out of the ground," she described. "And then I got to wash them after."

"That's an important job," the man declared. "I will have to be sure and sample some of those."

His willingness to try brightened her features even more, but at that moment Grandpa returned, treading on the half-gnawed leash of the wiggly puppy, who seemed to be making a bid to escape. Patting the little girl on the head, the older man gave a proud grin and a semi-exasperated one to the dog.

"I see you've met my granddaughter," he observed. "This is Natalie."

Marshall was never one to sit out when introductions were being made, "Well, hello Natalie," he stooped like a hunchback so he was on her level and stuck out his hand. "My name is Marshall." While she was shaking quietly, "The crabby one over there is Mary."

No offense taken, Mary herself was not all that surprised to hear Natalie giggle. It was no wonder, really. She'd known for a long time how skillful her partner was with little ones; any young witnesses they'd had, not counting Leo Billups, he had been in charge of. It was his forte.

"I see you have a friend here," he remarked of the puppy. "What's he go by?"

Natalie scowled, undoubtedly because the dog was difficult to keep still, and because she had clearly been entrusted to train him up. By all accounts, it wasn't going well. A puppy wasn't nearly as fun when you had to do all the work.

"Her name's Scout," she revealed. "But she still pees in the house…"

Marshall teed up a joke, "So do I!"

Now she really laughed, and Mary found herself smirking at the camaraderie as well. He really was very witty when she took care to notice.

"I meant on the carpet!" Natalie squealed, unable to tell if Marshall was serious. "So, I have to keep her at Grandma and Grandpa's until she stops, and then I'll get to take her home."

"Sounds like a deal," Marshall declared. "Scout, huh? Hmm…" Mary watched as he tapped his chin with his finger in a scholarly way. "The only Scout I know is Scout Finch; I don't suppose this one has her name derived from the classic novel…"

Natalie shut him up; "My grandma read me, 'To Kill a Mockingbird!'" she shared excitedly, obviously keyed up by having been schooled in such a grown-up book. "I didn't get all the parts, but Scout was my favorite character! If the puppy was a boy, I was gonna name him Atticus."

The man gaped impressively at this news, "An academic!" he titled her. "Starting them young, are you?" appealing to the grandfather.

But, before the man in the red plaid could respond, Natalie had jumped in with both feet and noticed what was dangling from Marshall's belt loop. Mary had forgotten just how intriguing some little kids found the five-point-star – the way it shone, the fancy lettering, the way it was so professionally mounted on the black circle. All of it screamed 'important.'

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the emblem and then going the whole nine yards, fingering it with her nails. "Is it part of your belt?" Glancing at the woman, "She has one too."

Mary's was mostly concealed by her shirt, but Marshall unhooked his and passed it over to Natalie so that she could have a closer look.

"It's my badge," he disclosed while the little girl held it above her head so it caught the sun rays and sparkled brilliantly. "It means I'm a US Marshal. I work for the police."

"You're a policeman?"

"Not quite, but close," Marshall told her.

"And her too?" another glimpse at Mary. "I didn't know girls could be policemen."

Stepping up to address this, the blonde watched as Natalie returned the badge to the man, where he secured it in its rightful place once more. She didn't want to assume that the hometown folks had 'hometown' values that included what women could and couldn't do, but she intended to refute the conjecture as quickly as possible.

"I've been a Marshal for almost twenty years," not to prop herself, but to make a point. "Don't let any guy tell you that you can't just because you're a girl. Ask him…" indicating Marshall. "I could beat him up _any_ day of the week."

This produced another snicker, but Marshall was honest, "True story."

Apparently, mention of their professions caught the ear of the grandfather as well, who realized that they'd been in attendance for almost ten minutes and had yet to gather their lunch – the alleged reason they had gone out of their way to begin with. Any good dealer wanted to make a sale, and Marshall's gentleness with the little girl combined with a pair of 'policemen' in their midst had him devising the perfect way to make a killing on his fruits and vegetables.

"Well, officers, I think that law enforcement types have earned the right to a free sample around here…" anytime the word 'free' was used, Mary was all ears. "What's your pleasure? I promise you won't be disappointed."

Marshall grinned at the offer, knowing his friend wasn't going to say no when no money had to change hands.

"I think we'll let the lady take her pick on this one," he granted. "So, Mary. What are you and Mango in the mood for?"

Feeling provoked now that everyone was staring at her and expecting her to make a decision, she tried to choose quickly and bear in mind that she _was_ getting it on the house. Marshall was undeniably going to buy bushels of something so they could have a real meal, provided Mary didn't gag on whatever she tasted before the fact. She thought back to when she had first examined the buckets and trays and remembered the bursting sunshine shades that had seemed so appealing.

"Give me one of those cobs," she jutted her finger at Marshall, who was standing in front of the corn, and he immediately picked one out and handed it to her. "We'll see if this is all it's cracked up to be."

And, with everyone watching like she was putting on a show, she took an enormous bite, feeling the threads stick and cling in her bottom teeth as they always did when she ate corn on the cob. But, this discomfort passed quickly in favor the miraculous flavor spreading all over her tongue. It was like no other corn she'd ever tasted – the crunch, the slight sweetness; it was practically rupturing with so much tang, and it hadn't even been decorated in butter or salt. As a result, Mary took an even heartier bite, to many laughs from her cohorts.

"That gesture there – that's caveman-speak for 'good,'" Marshall voiced to Natalie. "I knew homegrown would be well worth the drive."

"That's delicious…" Mary managed with a considerable swallow, directing her accolades to the grandfather. "Pay up, doofus," snapping her fingers at Marshall. "I'm looking to demolish those tomatoes in five."

"At your service."

And, though Mary usually relished coming out on top, feeling superior, and like she had the upper hand, there was no denying in this case that Marshall had hit the nail on the head. They had a vista of savory lunchtime options in front of them now, and all because he'd been willing to take a risk and drag Mary out of her comfort zone. This was small to most, but big for her.

After handing over his cash to the farmer, he whirled around and blinked coyly at the woman, knowing he had gained the edge.

"I'll be ready for that apology anytime."

Mary guffawed in spite of her awe, "Apology? What apology? Aren't I just allowed to say that you were right? You know, for once."

Her eyes met his behind her sunglasses, a mask to obscure how satisfying it could feel to be pleasantly surprised.

And Marshall was accepting of her defeat, "Hearing I'm right always works too."

XXX

**A/N: There is honestly no offense meant here to Midwestern folks. I am a Midwestern girl myself, and while the landscape I described here definitely exists, a lot of people assume that if you live in the Midwest then you must live on a farm in the middle of nowhere! Totally not true, but I figured I would play into the cliché. ;) **


	20. Turn on the Light

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that last chapter! This one is a bit long too – and, for as silly as the last one was, this is quite a flip! Hopefully it will seem like it fits!**

XXX

Mary's carefree afternoon led Marshall to believe that they would have a peaceful, if not downright lighthearted sort of night – as lighthearted as Mary ever was. But, once they made it into Missouri and to motel number two, she crashed hard. Although she pretended she was perfectly lively, still ready to rock and roll, Marshall kept noticing the way she seemed to blink more often than was necessary, basking in the softness of the pillows on her bed. She was tired, no two ways about it, probably from having been on her feet instead of trapped in the car. They'd spent over an hour at the Farmer's Market, as Marshall had become invested in the little league game.

To his surprise, his partner dozed off around nine o'clock just after they'd been across the street to have dinner at a quaint little Chinese restaurant. Stirring just long enough to unearth her pajamas a half hour later, Mary was back in bed without the pretense, and asleep before Marshall had reached the end of the chapter in his latest novel.

Given the woman's ability to go out like a light, the male assumed they would have a quiet evening, ready to go as soon as the sun came up the next day. However, he was in for a jarring surprise when he got out of bed to use the restroom just before one in the morning.

Stumbling in the dark, trying to use the bed to guide him until he made it to the bathroom and could turn on the light, Marshall took care not to trip over where he pictured Mary's duffel bag might be lying. He knew it was on the floor somewhere, but chances were he wouldn't know where until he'd already sprawled on all fours onto the rug. Because he was going so slowly, he ascertained that a rustling sound seemed to be coming from Mary's mattress. Thinking that he might've woken her accidentally and she was just readjusting herself, he tiptoed on in an attempt not to make additional noise.

Once he was safely across the room, he stepped gingerly onto the linoleum and ran his fingers up and down the wall in search of the light switch. He just hadn't banked on the thump that met his ears the second he flicked upward.

Although pushing the switch into place made only the most miniscule flipping sound, a distinct gasping and thudding materialized out of the shadows at the presence of the glow. It was several seconds before Marshall registered that the sound – growing sicker by the minute – was Mary. It was like the light had acted as an alarm.

Truly befuddled, the man seemed to be frozen to the spot, no earthly idea how to address what was going on. Indeed, what _was_ going on? Why was Mary panting for breath – why had she sprung up the minute the brightness illuminated the room? He didn't want to embarrass her, as this was not a Mary that Marshall had a lot of experience with, but the movements were getting tough to ignore.

"Mary?" he tried to whisper, tried not to sound hysterical. "What's…" a swallow to regain his composure. "Is…is everything okay?"

There was no answer, even several seconds later while Marshall did his best to be patient. The quickness in the gasps died down with the passage of time, but he could still tell that there was something wrong. Should he move? Should he go to her, or would she appreciate it more if he just went into the bathroom and pretended all was well?

"Mary…"

And then he finally heard her voice – harried, close to distraught, but with a demand. At least she was telling him what to do.

"Turn the light off…" though her tone was frenzied, she wasn't yelling; it was more like begging. "Turn the light off. Please, turn it off…"

Immediately, Marshall smacked the switch downward, "Okay." With no other explanation, he jumped straight to an apology, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you…"

She seemed not to hear him, "Just leave it off. Please."

He might be perplexed by the request, but there was no denying its urgency, and Marshall had no intentions of turning her down. With only midnight's black hand filtering through the long white curtains swaying over the vent, he was going to have a time of it trying to use the restroom without any sort of clarity, and instead decided he would venture back to his bed. Something still seemed off. He hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of Mary in his disorientation, but she was still gulping down breaths and seemed to be sitting up as the covers continued to crackle.

She must've heard him coming, because her shape moved as Marshall stood above her. Still, the man tried to remember that whatever disassembled version of his partner he was viewing now was not his real partner. She had seen, heard, or imagined something that was causing her to behave like this. Underneath, she was as much of a bad ass as ever.

"Can I turn this light on?" he asked eventually, figuring that she would put the pieces together and know he was talking about the lamp mounted to the wall between their beds.

At first, she was as mute as she had been before, although the shifting continued. After a suitable number of seconds had gone by, Marshall thought it might be appropriate to goad her.

"Mary…"

"Okay," she interrupted, almost speaking over him, like she had opened her mouth the very instant she'd come to a decision.

"Okay?" he wanted to be sure.

A swallow that was almost audible, "Okay…yeah."

Two times was enough. Marshall flapped his fingers, located the knob connected to one of the bulbs and twisted to the right. In an instant, brightness flooded their disheveled room, giving Marshall quite a view of his friend where she was perched upright, her covers tangled near the end of the bed.

Though he didn't think Mary was crying – at least not intentionally – she was definitely sweaty, because her cheeks were shiny and pink. Her honey-golden hair was matted around her face, although that could've been just because she was sleeping on it. Her initial shock seemed to have abated, but her jade eyes were still rather manic, like whatever danger she perceived to be nearby hadn't entirely passed.

Settling himself slowly on the edge of his mattress, Marshall knew as he furrowed his brows and studied her that he could leave this alone no longer.

"What's the matter?" again, he kept his voice soft. "What happened…?"

Instinct and not rational thought made his hand reach out to touch her shoulder, but Mary had none of it. She jerked away from him immediately, but there was something different about the way she recoiled. Normally, she was merely prickly about contact with others, somewhat ill-at-ease, but right now she behaved as though Marshall was brandishing a knife.

"Don't touch me," she said in the same shaky tone she had when she'd asked him to kill the lights. "Just…please don't touch me."

The renewed use of 'please' was telling, but Marshall opted not to comment on that.

"Okay…" he would be agreeable to everything, pulling his fingers back. "Can you tell me what happened?" all-but repeating himself. "Did you have a nightmare or something?"

Surprisingly, she seemed ready to respond this time, although without locking eyes with Marshall and speaking more to thin air or the blankets than to him.

"I think…I think just…" there was a lot of stammering before she managed to get where she was headed. "I think…talking about the um…" fortunately, the longer she stuttered, the more lucid she seemed to become. "…The uh…kidnapping and Jinx and everything earlier…" she meant that morning, which seemed forever ago. "…It-it must've got to me, but I'm fine."

Of course, as Mary always did in the rare moments when she let her guard down, she was really more interested in convincing herself that she could behave normally, rather than the person she was speaking to. Still, Marshall was a vigilant listener and had no problem pretending that her fumbling was directed at him.

"You had a dream about the abduction," it was essential that they stay on the same plane, otherwise they would waste precious time going over the particulars again, when they could be working on getting Mary calm. "Is that right?"

Definitely more herself now, but still trembling profusely, Mary was clearly desperate to appear level-headed, unquestionably humiliated by her outburst.

"Yeah, but it…it's no big deal, Marshall. Really, it's fine – I'm fine," she was a big fan of that word when she wanted to be convincing, as if it would fix everything. "I…I let it get the best of me, but it's over now…"

But, Marshall wasn't going to play the fool, "Does this happen a lot?" he just couldn't picture the acidic Mary that he worked with turning into a puddle of mush during the night; a Jekyll-Hide kind of transformation.

"No…really, it doesn't," and this time, she took care to look at him once so he would take her more seriously. "Honestly. This is maybe the third time since I was…" Unable to define it, she skated on to the end, "…You know. That's it. It's just now and then, really."

'Really' seemed to have taken the place of 'fine' now, perhaps so Mary could sound more assertive. It was sad in its own way, because her demeanor was a dead giveaway to the fact that she was still struggling to get back in bounds, and the idea that she believed she could trick her partner was ludicrous. For his part, at least he knew better than to go any closer to her, as he was making more progress staying at his post on his own bed.

"I'm…sorry that we hashed it out earlier…" the man could think of nothing else to say, though he should've known that his apologies would not be accepted. "If I'd known it was going to upset you…"

"You didn't bring it up; it was my fault, I did…" Mary refuted him at once, her breaths slowing considerably, but her knuckles still white as they clutched at her sheets. "It's not your fault; it's mine. I know better than to talk about it and I let Jinx's hissy fit pull me back there."

"I'm sure that's easier to do than people realize," her friend sympathized. "I'd be worried if you didn't have episodes on occasion."

Mary knew she was becoming more grounded when her head shouted for Marshall not to call her behavior an 'episode' but she saw no benefit to vocalizing the point. He was doing everything she asked of him – dimming the lights, keeping his distance, posing questions before he acted. She couldn't snap at him when he was trying so hard to allow her to sail back to earth on her own terms.

"I just need…" reluctantly, she loosened her grip on the blankets in an effort to coast even further down the crest of the wave. "I just need a minute with it; I'll be fine. I just need to get back…" For lack of a better term, "Here."

'Here' meaning the six-story motel in Missouri with Marshall, not the dingy basement with her arms shackled above her head while lowlifes with guns paraded around and decided her fate. And, the taller of the two knew that she wasn't going to get there with him yammering away, and so he settled for a nod, waiting for her to pass through the gates whenever she saw fit.

And so, silence swallowed them up for a few minutes, Marshall folding his hands in his lap, nearly forgetting the reason he'd gotten out of bed in the first place, which was to use the bathroom. Now wasn't the time to bring this up though, especially when Mary was so obviously locked within herself, her eyes focused on something he couldn't see. But, he was boosted to see that their feral quality was disappearing, and she even shut them once, which indicated that more precision might be on the way.

He knew it to be so when his partner let out a deep, albeit slightly shuddering breath, and her hands found her rounded stomach beneath the covers, one on either side of the bulge like she was checking to make sure had not done the child any harm. With this gesture, she finally leaned backward once more – back on her pillows, back to solidarity, back to normal. The only thing Marshall found out of place was that her fingers were still resting on her belly, but it was minor in comparison.

He also thought it might be okay to speak, "You all right? Feeling better?"

"Yeah…" and, indeed, she did sound more balanced. "I'm good." With a guilty glance, "Sorry."

"Don't mention it," the man stated. "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head side-to-side on the pillow, "No thanks. You should go to the bathroom…" Marshall had to be grateful she'd remembered. "Don't go holding it in just for me. You can even turn the light on if you want," a nervous chuckle.

He stood at her instruction, but wanted to make sure his departure wouldn't have an adverse effect on her, "You sure?"

"Yeah," reiterating quickly. "Really – go. I'll still be here when you come out."

"All right," Marshall agreed. "I'd be happy to get you some water while I'm in there if you want some."

Knowing that he wouldn't stop asking until she allowed him to assist in some way, the woman gave in, aware that the drink probably would clear her head significantly.

"Sure, that'd be great," she allowed. "Thanks."

And without further ado, he was gone, although not without a few conspicuous looks over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't wigging out again.

As Mary lied on the bed, relishing the feel of her heartbeat returning to ordinary speed, she hoped the few seconds alone would help her gather herself even further. On the contrary, she just became frustrated and irked that she had flipped her lid, and with Marshall in the room, no less. It made her very self-conscious to know that he'd seen her so vulnerable, even through the shadows.

There had been very few times in their entire partnership where she'd let him come to her rescue, in a manner of speaking. Ironically, the moment that always popped into her mind was when she'd been so stressed because Brandi was in jail, and not when she had quite literally been the damsel in distress and he'd saved her from Spanky and his cronies. Her adrenaline had been racing through the roof then; she'd barely registered that Marshall and Stan had arrived, only that they meant she was free. It was odd, how she only reflected on the horrifying moments of the kidnapping and not the ones where her boss and partner came to aide.

Unfortunately, all this did was make Mary more put-out than she already was, and by the time Marshall had flushed the toilet and returned with her water, she must've looked it. Absently running her fingers over her belly, feeling the _thump-thump-thump_ that meant Mango was awake too, she had to be told that her beverage was ready even though Marshall was standing directly above her.

"It's just tap water, but it'll do the trick," jiggling the cup in front of her line of vision.

Fluttering her lids, Mary saw what he was offering and took it, inching up against the headboard partway to ensure that she wouldn't choke. The first sip was helpful, and so she took another; far from scared anymore, now she was just angry and with no one but herself.

With a sigh, Marshall regained his seat on the bed, rumpling his hair in the back and apparently unsure how he was supposed to proceed.

"Oh, that pesky subconscious," was all he could think of to say, maybe in hopes of making Mary laugh. "Makes us face those demons we'd rather pound into the ground."

"I'll say," the woman grumbled, hand still rambling inordinately along her tummy. "I thought I'd be over this by now."

Marshall wouldn't let her get away with that, "I don't think what you went through is really something you ever 'get over,'" drawing air quotes around the word. "It stays with you forever. But, the way you begin to move past it and cope with it – able to recall what happened without reliving it completely. That's how you heal."

Mary turned from her water and shot him an incredulous look, "Sounds like you learned a lot when you were dating Finkel," she observed. "Too bad I already got that speech from her when she forced me into sessions."

Disregarding the postulation about Shelley, the man decided now that his friend had simmered down and appeared more rational that he could fork around for a few more ins and outs.

"Can I ask you something?" he proposed. "Feel free to give me the brush off if you'd rather not answer."

"What?"

Viewing her reclined position, her lips closing around the ridge of the cup, her tangled hair falling in front of her face, Marshall wondered if his curiosity was worth the risk of infuriating Mary, or else causing her to feel any kind of fear she was trying to leave behind. But, if he knew Mary, she would want to appear to be in the driver's seat, and responding to his inquiry was one way to achieve that.

"What's the deal with the light?" he kept his voice even, not nearly as hungry as he really was. "It woke you up. Why did I have to turn it off?"

By the way the blonde's eyes averted straight to the bedspread and she stopped drinking almost immediately, Marshall could guess that she had sensed this inquisition coming. But, she must've figured that she had embarrassed herself enough already, and revealing all couldn't do any more damage.

When she opened her mouth, she spoke in a flat, decidedly neutral sort of voice that was undoubtedly used to masquerade whatever insecurities she took away from sharing.

"When I was chained to that post in the basement, Spanky and Jason or whatever the hell his name was would leave me in the dark when they went upstairs."

Now was not the time to interrupt. Marshall could only be her ear.

"Every time they came back down, they would unlock the door and turn on this light – it was one bulb; I think it must've hung on the stairs somewhere," she guessed. "Anyway, it made this clicking sort of sound when they pulled the string, and because I couldn't see them come down the stairs, if I heard that sound and saw the light go on I'd know they were coming back…"

This was making more and more sense by the minute, even though it dismayed Marshall to see the distraught way that Mary told such a heinous story.

"The first time…they were bringing Chuck with a bag over his head and they shot him probably five minutes later…" a hefty gulp accompanied this pronouncement. "The second time Spanky tried to make a deal with me, but before we could close it that other asshole – the one who tried to…"

Here, she stopped, and it was the first time she looked directly at Marshall. Ferocity brimmed somewhere deep in her green eyes, but it was cloaked by the flooding memories. He knew what she was thinking, but also knew what she couldn't say. He wasn't going to make her, and instead gave a slow nod to show he understood and that she could continue without ever uttering the word 'rape.'

"…He came down and blew my story all to hell because he saw on the news that they were looking for a Marshal…"

"Bastard O'Conner…" Marshall muttered, but Mary was too busy finishing to listen.

"And…I guess the rest is history. You and Stan showed up two minutes after I whacked that guy in the head and pried myself loose from the nail." Getting back to his question, "But, I guess…the light…I mean, it's kind of a trigger, you know?" Spurred by Marshall's second nod of understanding, "When it makes that sound and it's far away like that – not up close like this lamp…" gesturing to the one beside her. "…Takes me right back if my mind is anywhere near that day."

This seemed to be the end of the line, because Mary went quiet once more, settling for the way she so rhythmically caressed her belly, almost like it was cathartic. Marshall didn't know what this was about, but his mind was too full of everything he'd just heard to really analyze what acknowledging her unborn child meant.

Mary's own account of the kidnapping had always been taboo; she'd refused to discuss it after the initial police report and Marshall and Stan had never been interested in pushing her. While he had already been aware of most of the things she had just articulated, they were different coming from Mary herself. He'd never gone through anything remotely like what his partner had. Yes, he'd been frightened after being shot, but Mary had been with him and he had trusted her to figure things out, which she had. The feelings of helplessness she must've experienced – the feelings that were manifested on her rosy face right now – had to have been overwhelming. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt more pride in her, with equally as much pity.

But, instead of targeting the emotions – because he knew the woman wouldn't like it – he returned to what had sparked the conversation initially.

"How'd you figure out that the light sets you off?" he wondered aloud, careful not to raise his voice. "From a distance like that and everything."

A measured exhale, "Probably a month or so after it happened, I'd fallen asleep on the couch and Raph came through the front door – I think he'd been on the road for baseball or something." Deciding the specifics weren't necessary, "Anyway, instead of turning on the lamp right by the sofa, he went into the kitchen and hit the one over the sink."

Marshall bobbed his head invitingly, realizing the conundrum, and Mary opted to conclude speedily.

"It wasn't his fault; he didn't know. I didn't know either. In fact, he was probably trying _not_ to startle me by going that far into the house," she realized. "But, we both got to the bottom of it pretty quickly when I tried to beat him to death with my boot."

A shaky laugh followed these words, and Marshall decided he was safe to do the same, glad to see her smiling even if it was lacking a little something. He was even rather awed by the fact that she could identify the tiny little bombs going off that would throw her over the edge, especially for someone that looked down on therapy.

Biting her lip from where she was still leaning against the head of the bed, having drained the entire cup of water already, Mary seemed comforted by the release of tension, even if it came in the form of a fake chortle.

"You think…?" a softness seeped into her gaze; whatever she was about to say wasn't spawned from her usual abrasiveness. "I don't know…" and yet she obviously did. "…You think we could forget that this happened? You and me? I mean, if Jinx found out…"

Marshall would never go that far and held up a symbol of nobility, "Scout's honor. Doesn't leave this room."

Soothed by this as well, Mary shifted a little deeper into her blankets, trusting Marshall at his word; this wasn't a man who lied when it came to the essentials. Still though, she worried about how she was going to get back to sleep; her mind was spinning. Even if she wasn't frightened that the assailants were going to come around the corner any moment, it was hard to let go of the burst of trauma she'd experienced. The basement nightmares, in particular, were always so vivid.

Marshall seemed to realize what she was thinking when her face fell and adopted his usual dignified personality.

"If you want to leave the lamp on, I don't mind. I can sleep anywhere."

"No…" the woman shook her head, not a fan of lying with her back turned from Marshall all night so they wouldn't end up staring at each other in the brightness. Struck with inspiration, "Maybe the TV? I can turn the volume way down, but at least it'll be dark. The background noise…"

"A comfortable lull to putting one under," the man coincided with her view. "No problem."

"Are you sure?"

He even winked, which was a new color on Marshall, "Don't you worry about me."

With a steadier hand than she'd possessed earlier in the evening, Mary reached over her head and rotated the tiny knob to sink the room into silhouettes once more. Meanwhile, Marshall fumbled with the remote and managed to flip on the television, finding a boring nature show remarkably quickly, dialing the sound down so it was nearly inaudible – just a glowing little box between their beds.

"This work for you?" he asked.

A narrator was droning out of the screen, educating the viewer about fish, it would seem. Colorful little tails and gills flashed in and out of flowing water, blurry against Mary's tired eyes. Her brain was still chasing itself around her skull, but the pretty tints and humming monotone put her into just the trance she was looking for. She even forgot to tease Marshall about his choice of shows as she settled onto her pillows, hoping Mango would snuggle up as well.

"Yeah…" murmuring her approval to her partner. "Thanks."

Nothing else to go over, no more reassurances left to give; Marshall lounged onto his back as well, knowing that even the dazzling light wouldn't keep him up. He was exhausted from driving all day and his bones ached from sitting in the same position for so long, although he imagined that Mary was experiencing some physical discomfort of her own. That might explain why she continued to rub her belly, even after she closed her eyes, hoping to achieve the sweet release of sleep once more.

Figuring that they were done for the night, internally commending Mary for being as open as she was liable to be with him, Marshall was surprised for the second time that evening when he heard her voice.

"Thank-you for promising not to squeal on me."

It was little more than a whisper, and all-but bodiless because it was hard to see his friend through the dark. That made it more inviting, somehow.

"Ask and ye shall receive," Marshall muttered back.

But, she wasn't through with the brutal honesty, "If I tell you that I'm mortified you saw me come undone like that, you'll still keep this to yourself, right?"

Her feelings as far as this was concerned were not a secret to Marshall, and so he held no issue with being firm on his guarantee.

"Right."

"You don't think I'm different now, do you?" once Mary had started, she couldn't stop, likely urged onward by the darkness which meant she didn't have to look Marshall in the eye. "You're not going to want to hold my hand or pat me on the head after this."

He smirked, even though she couldn't see him, "You asked me to forget that it happened. So, why would I treat you differently?"

"I didn't say treat me differently, I said _think_ I'm different."

And he remedied his remark, "I don't think less of you, Mary. I think you're as strong and as hard-hitting as you ever were, okay?" Not wanting her to fret any further, "Try to go to sleep."

With the pause that followed, the only sound was the chronicler on the TV explaining how fish were able to breathe underwater. The lapse lasted so long, Marshall thought for sure Mary was following his directions, but if there was anybody who needed to have the last word, it was her.

"I didn't wake up because of the light."

The need to pry bubbled to the surface, "No?"

"I never wake up until the nightmare's over. I only wake up when I see you."

Nails digging into his pillowcase, "Me?"

"When I see your face – you coming down the stairs with Stan. I wake up because I need to get to you."

XXX

**A/N: I always liked how the show dealt with Mary's PTSD, but if season two had been able to run longer – it only had fifteen episodes, as oppose to, say, twenty-two that most dramas get – then I thought they might've been able to do even more! At any rate, I decided to take care of the 'more' myself. ;) **


	21. White Picket Fences

**A/N: Thank-you to everyone who is still reading/reviewing. I so appreciate it.**

XXX

In the spirit of 'forgetting it' Marshall felt safe assuming that Mary would be all fired up on Saturday morning, even overcompensating for just how 'fine' she was, but he was mistaken. She didn't get up when the alarm went off, which was par for the course given their powwow at one in the morning. But, even after Marshall nudged at her and repeated insistently that they were going to be too late to make it to Indiana that night, she wouldn't budge. No hostile comments met his ears either, just groans and grumbles.

By the time they did get on the road they decided to skip a formal breakfast because it would just suck up time, resigned to eating brunch for lunch once they had clocked enough miles. Even after they stopped in a roadside café around ten, Mary was still surly and was looking at Marshall's coffee cup with longing, knowing she could use the extra shot of energy.

Mixing the hot drink with his stir while they overlooked the quiet, cloudy freeway before them, Marshall tried to determine what had his friend in such an off mood. Ordinarily, he would've delighted in the fact that she didn't have her usual walls surrounding her, but given how desperately she'd wanted him to put the night before in the rearview, something didn't match up. There was very little effort on her part to put up a good front, something she was usually excellent at doing.

"This sausage platter with the bacon looks tasty…" Marshall made idle conversation behind his menu, still analyzing Mary inside his head. "What are you going to have?"

He folded his choices inward to see that the woman had already cast her own menu aside and was fiddling with the napkin designed to go underneath her water glass.

"Just an omelet, I think," she told him once she became aware that he was watching her. Rubbing one eye with her index finger, "Maybe it'll perk me up."

"You could've slept for the first few hours we were driving," the man reminded her. "Why didn't you?"

Mary shrugged, "Couldn't," she replied shortly. "The wind rocking the car while we were on the highway made me feel like I was going to barf up all those tomatoes from yesterday."

Trying to ignore the gruesome picture this produced, Marshall took a different tack, "Seems like there's something on your mind though," he wasn't even referring to the nightmare; for all her fluster in the wee hours of the morning, she did seem past that. Sipping his coffee in a leisurely manner, "Is there?"

"No head shrinking, Marshall."

"But, I am ever-so-good at it."

Mary flicked her lids upward to meet his, drawing rings around the rim of her tea mug, undoubtedly wishing it were any other hot beverage on the planet.

"Don't be a smart ass," she requested. "Nothing I might tell you would do me any good anyway. A bunch of questions with no answers is not my idea of a fun time."

Abandoning his coffee as well as his menu, Marshall pitched forward with his elbows on the table hoping to catch the woman's eye, because it was obvious she trying to avoid just that. Still, he never backed away from a fight if he could help it, and wheedling secrets out of Mary was a task if ever he'd seen it.

"Try me."

Surprised at his nerve, especially given the fact that Mary had been able to tell how giddy he'd been when she was such a mess the night before, she forced herself to face him. It wasn't so scary once she made herself commit. Though she never would've said it in a million years, his blue eyes were breathtaking – she'd always thought so. They reminded her of jewels, just the type of stones you would find in a diamond necklace. When he was worried, they took on the same eminence of the sky above – soft, cloudless, and endless like the deepest tunnel.

"I'm not looking forward to driving all day," Mary was unwilling to show her hand; she was going to make him work for it. "That's all."

"That is not all," Marshall refuted. "You said the challenge provides both a question and an answer, and what you just articulated contains neither. Strike one, inspector."

"Is this a game to you?" she shot back. "Because, I've got a glock I can pull out at anytime if you're feeling cheeky."

"Ah, evasiveness – my old friend," now he smirked in that superior way he so often did, like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Can't say I've missed you. Strike two."

Mary knew she didn't technically have to engage in his play; she could reach the third and magic number without revealing anything, and yet his countdown made her squirm nonetheless. If she didn't fess up, he was going to be a lot less understanding and start prodding her, which was sure to make her angry. Although she could spar with the best of them, she didn't have the vigor she normally did for going toe-to-toe with someone, even if the someone was only Marshall.

"I hadn't planned for an interrogation or an intervention here, Poindexter."

"Life's unpredictably is one of its many gifts," he bargained. "So, spill. You're not the only one who isn't thrilled about the landscape ahead, and I'd rather spend it with everything on the table. Guessing games can be a valuable pastime, but I'm not up for it today."

That made two of them. It was perhaps their commonalities that caused Mary to back down. Anymore, she concerned herself far too much with how different they might be becoming – between the baby and Abigail. This proved their minds could sometimes be as in-sync as they ever were.

"You know that kid we saw yesterday?"

"Natalie," Marshall supplied, proving his thoughtfulness by remembering her name. "What about her?"

"I don't know…" it was possible she needn't have made such a big deal out of this, because it was perfectly chaste; a general wondering. "She got me thinking about something."

Satisfied that they weren't beating around the bush anymore, Marshall went back to his coffee, suddenly hoping that the waitress did not return right away, thus giving Mary a reason to clam up again.

"And what's that?" he wanted to know, disconcerted to find that his drink was already growing cold and he would need a refill before long.

"Well, all the country bumpkin stuff aside…"

Marshall decided to joke with her to show that unveiling more of her innermost thoughts didn't have to be so painstaking.

"Your political correctness never ceases to amaze me."

Mary discounted this, "The grandparents," she pinpointed. "It just got me thinking. You know, I never knew mine. Jinx's dad died right after she was born and her mom when she was in her early twenties. And James…" a scoff. "Forget it. How could I expect to connect with his mom and pop when I forged next-to-nothing with him?"

"Mmm hmm…" the taller hummed, perfectly blasé.

"Anyway, seeing the two of them with Natalie yesterday, I started wondering whether…" though Marshall couldn't tell for sure, he was pretty sure her hand had returned to rest on her belly beneath the table. "You know…if that's something Mango will have – grandfather in particular."

An all-too-significant look followed this pondering; she probably wished she hadn't specified the male half of grandparents, but it was out now, and there was no taking it back. Before the mention of grandpa, it had sounded like a wholly natural contemplation. Now, Marshall knew the issue with grandparents – or lack thereof – ran much deeper.

"Well…" he set his coffee aside another time, deciding to wait until he could have a hot cup. "Did you feel deprived not growing up with grandparents?"

Mary decided to show him how dim he was being, "I felt deprived growing up without a father."

And he nodded, "Fair enough. But, do you feel like things would've been different – better – for you had you had someone besides your mother and yourself to rely on?"

She snorted into her tea, "And who says I could rely on my mother?"

"You're skirting the issue again," Marshall recognized. "The point is, with or without grandparents, their absence has obviously left you mulling. Is Mango having them something that's really important to you when it comes to the adoptive family?"

Before this moment, Mary wasn't sure that she would've known her response – it wasn't something she'd even considered until recently, at least in terms of the extended family of the adoptive parents. Truthfully, she'd deliberated from the beginning of the pregnancy whether it really mattered if the child had a grandfather or not, presuming she kept the baby. James was long gone and a non-factor in the life of Mango. She didn't remember Mark's father, but recalled receiving word many years back that he'd died of a heart attack. Life as a Shannon wouldn't have this baby rich in 'Poppy' and 'Gramps.'

"I'd kind of like to have that safety net there, you know?" Mary murmured, her stomach beginning to rumble with hunger. "I mean, I need to have my ducks in a row. So I pick the Harmons – so what? If they get blown up or something, what becomes of Mango? Do they just ship him back to me?"

"As far as the last subject, I really doubt it," the man swore. "Adoption doesn't typically work that way. But, all of these are good questions to ask when you meet Brooke and…?"

"Chris," she delivered so he could go on.

"Right, Brooke and Chris," backpedaling. "If they're intelligent people, they will have already made arrangements for their first two children in the event of a tragedy. Presumably, the same would be done for Mango."

"The grandparents probably don't get guardianship," the blonde grumbled, not liking the idea. "Chris has four siblings; they'll probably go to one of them."

"Well, in a family full of aunts and uncles there's a lot of love to go around," Marshall forecasted optimistically. "It comes from all corners, Mary. I know that grandparents may seem to be the more 'traditional' route, but sometimes tradition isn't all it's cracked up to be."

He said this on purpose for several reasons. He'd suspected for the past eight months that one of the main reasons Mary was giving up the baby was because she knew she couldn't give it a conventional upbringing – a single mom, a grandparent missing, a wayward sister, a father in another state, the parent at home working ten hour shifts, and no siblings in sight. What she had lacked as a little girl she didn't want her child to lack as well. But, Marshall was well aware that families were formed from all walks of life, and he hoped his subtlety in pointing this out would enable her to see that she was a suitable choice to mother her own child. And, if she was still against maternity, then there was no 'perfect' family and she shouldn't be looking for it in the Harmons.

"I just know he's not going to get with me what he could have with somebody else," she voiced after a few moments. "Why not choose the best of the best?"

"That's all subjective," Marshall informed her, unable to tell if she'd understood his meaning or not. "If a grandma and a grandpa are high on your list, then that's fine. Just don't go looking for flaws where there aren't any."

She let out a throaty sneer, "Please. I don't go _looking_ for flaws."

"You keep telling yourself that," Marshall teased lightly.

"I just mean…" he liked the way she was suddenly feistier, that he had been able to erase the glum look that had presided on her face all morning. "You don't really think I'm an idealist, do you? How long have you known me? If anything, I _prepare_ for flaws. Not the same as looking."

Leave it to Mary to be so specific, "There's a happy medium, though," Marshall encouraged. "It's okay to be cautious without having unrealistic expectations."

"Do you think I expect Brooke and Chris to be some new-age version of the Brady Bunch?" she proposed scathingly. "I don't."

"Well, that's good," this was probably a secure spot to leave things hanging; there was a Mary that was more herself and a Mary that was lethal when thrust into awkward discussions, and Marshall wasn't interested in the latter. "I'm glad to hear that you have an open mind. It will make the meeting far smoother."

Mary continued to shoot him cynical glances even after the waitress finally made her way to them and took their orders, Marshall taking care to request a second pot of coffee. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her skepticism or even whether to believe that she wasn't glorifying the Harmons. There was no denying Mary was very talented at thinking the worst of people, but he had a feeling that the adoption would pose a whole new set of challenges to go with that well-ingrained perception. She might be _afraid_ to believe the worst of Brooke and Chris; for fear that they would not be appropriate choices as Mango's parents. And where would that leave her?

A new adoptive family. Or motherhood. Both dicey this late in the game.

"Look…" Marshall muttered after a few minutes of silence while Mary downed far too much of her ice water and squeezed her twist of lemon into the drink a little too fanatically. "I think it's probably best to go into the situation with the Harmons being informed but not anticipatory. I would hate to see you disappointed or left holding the bag."

Narrowing her eyebrows, "What does that mean?"

"What's 'right' is not always the same as what's 'perfect.' They are not synonyms. But, 'right' is sometimes preferable to 'perfect.' You get me?"

"Maybe," lemon juice was dripping from her fingers now as she took pause to listen.

"What looks flawless from a distance can sometimes be ugly up close," this was a man of many metaphors. "Everybody _thinks_ they want to be the smartest kid in the class or the star football player, but those positions come with a whole host of issues you can't conjure up until you're in their shoes. With ordinary mortals, the faults are right on the surface and you can handle them."

"You're losing me, doofus."

"I'm just saying…" he leaned in to avoid any passerby listening in, hoping on top of it that his sudden vested interest in the adoption would convince Mary even further just how heartily he supported that decision. "White picket fence families always appear to be supreme to those on the outside. But, they come with a dad that's an executive and always on his phone, a soccer mom driving her kids from practice to practice, and kids that argue every chance they get. Normal families have those things too, but they work with what they have instead of trying to present the image they're straight out of Leave it to Beaver."

"I didn't come from the 'white picket fence family,'" the woman obviously appreciated his discretion, as she seemed to be warming to his point.

"Nobody does, Mary. Everybody has their skeletons."

"So, you're telling me that if I spot the bones in the closet once we make it to Rhode Island, that shouldn't necessarily be a deal breaker?"

Glad she understood, but needing to laugh at her own, far more morbid analogy, Marshall nodded, shrugged, and cast off a chuckle.

"Something like that, yes."

And before they could officially close the conversation, Marshall's cell phone began buzzing near his now steaming mug of coffee. Picking it up, just glad they had managed to get to the root of his theory; he relayed the caller to his partner before answering.

"Stan," he reported. "Checking in."

"You'd think he and Delia would have something better to do."

Rather than dignify this and keep Stan waiting, Marshall palmed his phone and put it to his ear, hoping their chief wouldn't be too upset that they were slightly behind schedule. The younger man had every confidence they could make it up on the road; a Saturday on a lone and back freeway wouldn't exactly be fraught with traffic jams.

"Hey Stan; what's up?" he greeted him.

"Just looking for the rundown," the older replied, as expected. "Where are you guys?"

"On our way to Indiana," Marshall proclaimed. "Stopped for a late breakfast right now, though – back on the road soon."

"Where are you two staying tonight?" Stan wanted to know, as he often needed to be aware of the exact location of their motel in case something went wrong with their cell phones. It was unlikely with two people on the case, but not impossible. "You going for the Drury Inn again? I know Mary practically turns into a lion at the sight of their all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet."

"No," Marshall laughed, glad his partner couldn't hear. "No, we're staying with my brother tonight, provided we can pull in before it's too late. I don't want to make a big production out of it, since he's pretty strict with his girls and will want them in bed at a certain time."

Oh, shit, Mary thought from across the table, wondering if the fact that she'd completely forgotten about Marshall's brother was showing on her face. His relatives would mean new people – a brother, a sister-in-law, and three marching marines masquerading as little girls. From what Marshall had said, his nieces were a cut above and she wouldn't have to worry about tantrums and excess noise, but dealing with children while she was still picking apart the adoption wasn't her idea of a party.

"Which brother?" Stan said on the other end of the phone. "Ted or Eric?"

"Ted," he supplied. "And Leann, my sister-in-law. I talked to him yesterday and they are getting all organized for our arrival. It's never smart to spring things on Ted."

"He's the stodgy one, isn't he?"

"In a manner of speaking," Marshall agreed. "More so than Eric, anyway," any brother that camped out in Alaska in frigid temperatures year round had to be considered more of a free spirit.

"Well, you all have fun with that," Stan suggested, sounding like he doubted the likelihood of this happening. "Mary is a barrel of laughs with fresh meat."

Marshall had known this to be true since the day he had met the woman. He just couldn't help speculating on whether that mentality would hold up by the time they rolled into Providence and sat down with the most life-changing individuals they were likely to meet in a long time.

XXX

**A/N: Finally going to get around to seeing Ted! Sooner, rather than later! **


	22. Rules of Rudeness

**A/N: You all spoil me with reviews and then when they taper off (which I totally understand,) I feel greedy for wanting more! Thank-you so much to everyone who is hanging on!**

XXX

"It looks like it might rain," Marshall observed once he and Mary were Indiana-bound once more, cruising toward heavy grey clouds hanging low in the sky.

"Great. That's all we need," Mary grumped moodily. "To get struck by lightning here on this Godforsaken rock."

"I didn't say _storm_, I said _rain_," her partner resolved. "And, if you would like to know the odds on getting struck by lightning, I would be happy to enlighten you."

"It would only depress me," she declared, flipping idly through one of the bridal magazines Brandi had left her with before they'd departed New Mexico. "The way this dress shopping is going, getting burned to a crisp would be a blessing."

"This sense of humor of yours has turned very dark," Marshall pointed out. "Think how Jinx and Brandi would feel if they learned you were electrocuted _before_ you were able to give your opinion on bridesmaid attire."

At this, Mary had to laugh, amused that the man had taken a line about improving her outlook and turned it into something funny – something along the lines of her own sarcasm. It seemed she was having quite the effect on him, whether positive or negative.

"Didn't I tell you I was relieved of my MOH responsibilities?" she asked, wetting her finger in order to turn a page that was sticking. "Jinx was having a benevolent moment and decided to waste it on this."

"Something tells me Jinx doesn't feel that way," Marshall speculated. "Hasn't she wanted to be in the maid of honor role from the beginning?"

"Yeah, I guess," now Mary made a face upon discovering a truly ghastly dress with a taffeta skirt; it reminded her of her mother's many ballet outfits. "You don't think Brandi would really suggest I wear something like that, do you?" turning the catalogue so Marshall could have a peek.

"Um…" he squinted over his shoulder, trying to make sure he was a safe distance from the truck in front of them. "Let's hope not," he decided once he had been able to assess the garment in all its poofy, Pepto-Bismol-pink glory.

"Yeah, but Brandi wants me in something pink or purple, and none of the ones I'm seeing are really to my taste…" Mary was aware she being picky, but she was not a glamorous person; she would just as soon wear a suit, complete with button-up, to the wedding. "I don't know why she even cares what I'm wearing when I'm just going to be sitting in the audience anyway."

"You were part of the original bridal party," the man informed her. "A distinction that likely would've gotten you a dancing invitation as well," raising his eyebrows. "Something tells me you'll have escaped that duty as well, Mango in or out."

"If only Jinx had offered to be on standby sooner."

What she should really do is have Marshall pick the outfit for her. She wasn't making any progress trying to choose on her own and, horrifying as it was, he probably had more expertise in the area of sequins and sashes. When she'd spoken to Jinx the evening prior – in a far calmer conversation than the one in the early morning – she had harped on and on about how Brandi had needed her dress of preference days before. Truthfully, Mary did remember her sister saying that the end of the week was what she should be aiming for if she was going to get everything ordered on time, but she'd forgotten since she wasn't at home where her relatives could barge in whenever they wanted.

Thinking about relatives put the blonde in mind of something else she had neglected to recall, and the quiet that had blanketed her and Marshall for a few minutes gave her the perfect opportunity to leave wedding preparations for another time.

"Hey, so…" folding up the magazine, Mary tossed it to the floor by her feet, secretly hoping she would manage to 'accidentally' step on it in the future. "Are you going to brief me before we meet this brother of yours? You could've reminded me that we were going to be imposing on him and your sister-in-law tonight."

Marshall shook his head good-naturedly, "Nice of you to call it 'imposing' because that's probably just how Ted looks at it too."

"He sounds like he has a real stick up his ass," she remarked, reaching blindly behind her seat in hopes of snagging a bag of potato chips from one of the many crates, as they weren't going to make time to stop for lunch.

Reflecting on this phrase, Marshall knew that any regulations he was about to lie out would not thrill Mary. He would probably be trying to haggle with her by discussion's end, for she would find a hotel preferable to edgy long-lost brothers.

"Well, that would be rule number one for life with Ted," he began. "Don't swear."

Pausing in her quest for a snack, Mary gaped at Marshall almost theatrically, like she could scarcely believe her ears.

"You're kidding me."

"And you have so fluently glided right into the second rule. An evening with my brother will be far more enjoyable if you don't question everything he does." Before Mary could object to this, "And it will be tricky. Ted is set in his ways. He has his own ideas about what's right for himself, for other people, and for his kids. Arguing with him will not solve anything."

Now the pregnant one was squinting, as though she was examining Marshall's account of his elder sibling from all angles, and still she could not make sense of any of it. She was still suspended with her hand wiggling in the backseat, and did manage to come up with a sack of barbecue chips, which she immediately ripped open and began to crunch.

"Remind me again why you think it'll be fun to stay with this person," she stated around bites. "It'll be like boarding school, only without the matching uniforms. Unless he parades your nieces around in color-coordinated dresses."

"I wouldn't advise giving him a chance to consider that," Marshall told her with a grim chuckle. "It's not that he's not a good person. He is. But, he's the first born and my dad was really hard on him. Just like my dad, Ted thinks there is only one direct route to the best resolution, and anyone who disagrees…"

"Marshall, dispense with the 'poor little misunderstood Teddy' routine. Am I supposed to picture him sobbing and hugging his knees in the corner?" unsympathetic as she was, Mary suddenly wished she hadn't depicted such an image on the off chance it were true. "You grew up with the same dad he did, and I saw firsthand how Seth treated you."

"Yes, but…"

"But, nothing," she interrupted. "I'm not gonna pretend that your dad wasn't an uptight curmudgeon, but Ted turning into some version of him is Ted's doing. _You're_ not some obsessive-compulsive killjoy."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I'm just saying, do you think that because I'm the first born I was more affected by my parents and their issues than Brandi?"

The second the question was out of her mouth, Mary regretted it. In fact, she was embarrassed that she could lack so much self-awareness. She stood by her convictions when it came to Marshall's family, but using the same criteria with her own was a mistake of epic proportions. Everyone in Mary's inner circle knew that she had taken her father's abandonment the hardest because she was older, because she could remember more, and because she had been entrusted with more accountability.

"By the stricken look that has flitted across your face, I think it is safe to assume that I can leave that one alone," Marshall quipped with a small smile.

Mary was not going to allow him to get away with this, "I still think giving Ted an excuse for why he's so damn rigid is a piss poor way of explaining his demeanor."

"That may be so," he agreed. "But, that attitude won't get you anywhere come tonight. So, you'll have to cope. Can you do that? Share a roof with someone who does not share your downbeat, dismal view of the world?"

"Hell, I do it all the time with our crap witnesses," she tried to ring a bell with him, dusting her seasoned hands on her jeans. "Why should Big Brother Mann be any different?"

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," although Marshall had severe doubts about whether she would follow through once they reached Indiana. "Because you'd be wasting your breath. Ted's listening skills are not exactly honed."

"So, wait a minute…" another thought had just occurred to Mary, one she couldn't be sure wasn't a deal-breaker when it came to where they would be bunking that evening. "If he's so uptight, what are the kids like? What about his wife?"

The taller bobbed his head at this, as though he considered it a perfectly reasonable question. Knowing Marshall, he probably did. It would seem that, unlike his brother, he was far more open minded in considering the potholes in the proverbial road.

"Well, Leann is a little less severe," this was something, at least. "When it comes to the general public, that is. She does her best to reel Ted in; you've heard of how opposites attract, I trust."

"I wouldn't know," Mary muttered absently, now licking her fingers to rid them of the barbecue dust she hadn't managed to sweep off on her pants.

Marshall feigned that she hadn't interjected, "With the girls though, they're pretty much two peas in a pod. They're pretty stringent with them."

"I heard you say that to Stan," the blonde replicated. "So, are these three a trio of prodigies, or what?"

As he continued to work the wheel, his eyes fixed on the grey, dreary street that stretched before them; Marshall found it rather interesting – if not telling – that Mary was posing so many inquiries about his nieces. It could be nothing at all; she was a woman who liked to go into a situation with her eyes wide open. It was even plausible to believe that she found children as daunting as the average witness, even more so. On the other hand, with the pregnancy there was no telling what her intentions were. It would be just like Mary to ferret around for the intricacies of little kids and be casual doing it.

"'Prodigies' is going a bit far," Marshall admitted, knowing better than to voice his conjecture and ruin what was becoming a rather therapeutic conversation. He might love Ted, but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying unloading about his less than flattering traits. "But, Mann genes or not, they do have some amazing brain cells."

"Spoken like a true uncle – you only appreciate them when you don't have to take them home and see what monsters they turn into after-hours."

Maybe this wasn't a hunt for maternal hints after all.

"Not these three," Marshall felt confident in giving his nieces the benefit of the doubt, even for as little as he saw them. "June is the oldest; she's twelve. She plays the cello."

This was far too golden to leave alone, especially since Mary knew about her partner's adolescent dealings with the oboe. Stuffing the half-empty chip bag onto the floor along with the bridal books, choosing not to be vigilant and see if crumbs were going to dust the cover, Mary prepared to mock as only she knew how to do.

"Will you two be serenading me in nightly duets?" she teased. "Should I have packed a pair of Jinx's ballet slippers? We can have a little talent show…"

"Oh, aren't you clever," Mary was pleased to see that he was smirking though. "Your knowledge of instrumentation is a little off. You won't often find a cello and an oboe in the same ensemble, at least not at June's age. She just made the all-state orchestra though, so she strums a mean bow…"

"Delightful," another gripe, just to make sure her friend wasn't going to wax poetic for another five minutes. "Sounds like she fits the mold. What about the other two?"

"Well, Avery is eight," Marshall continued. "She's a little bit shyer than June, who is not what I would call outgoing, but she knows how to chat. Avery is more conservative."

"And what's her claim to fame?" the chips had made Mary thirsty, but as she retrieved her water bottle from the cup holder, she made sure not to drink too much so they wouldn't have to stop for her overloaded bladder.

"I know she likes to draw," the man informed her. "Houses, if I remember correctly – towns, farms, shopping malls, buildings of any kind."

"Budding architect, huh?"

"Perhaps," a wink was sent her direction; he was clearly amused by the idea of a third grader constructing skyscrapers. "But, it's early."

"Mmm hmm…" Mary was unable to reply properly with her lips closed around the bottle and nodded so he would finish up. "So, what about the little one? Does she possess wildly advanced aptitude too?"

She fully expected Marshall to tell her what tickled the funny bone of his youngest niece, but he halted his explanations instead, and a distinct look of hesitation appeared in his features. Near as Mary could tell, whatever he was holding back was a cross between humorous and delicate. What a twisted web they were walking into in the seemingly sleepy Indiana.

"What?" not known for her patience, the shorter prodded him into giving up the ghost sooner rather than later. "Does she not regularly score one hundred percent on every test, thus making her the scourge of the family? What's her name, anyway?"

"Her name is Brianna," Marshall divulged, knowing it was unwise to irritate a pregnant woman. "But, she prefers Bri because it drives her crazy when people can't pronounce her name the right way."

Mary frowned, "How many ways are there to pronounce it?"

"Well, there's Bri-anna and then there's Bri-on-uh," he exaggerated the inner sounds to make sure Mary could spot the difference. "A common mistake, but she's five and doesn't have a lot of tolerance for that sort of thing."

"So, which is it?" Mary didn't want a child throwing a fit on her hands.

"It's Bri-on-uh, but I'd stick with Bri," he advised. "And she's, well…" now he cocked his head, as though trying to come up with the most gratifying way to describe the youngest girl, who wasn't being portrayed as a very easygoing gal. "She's Ted's…" For this, he turned to his partner to indicate the seriousness, "She's his challenge."

"In what way?"

"She's a bit of a spitfire," finally, they were getting down to the nitty gritty. "Infinitely more defiant than the other two, and totally proves that upbringing only counts for so much. She came wired differently."

Somehow, Mary didn't think he was even referencing adoption when he said this – he believed it could happen with any child, blood-related or not.

"And what does 'defiant' mean to someone like Ted? She has to be told a grand total of two times before she picks up her toys, or what?" Mary wisecracked.

"Not quite," he refuted. "For example, Ted likes the girls to have long hair; he thinks it makes them look more feminine…"

"What a trip…"

"Bri wanted to cut her hair short. When he said no, she smuggled her school scissors home and chopped it off herself so Ted and Leann had no choice but to get it trimmed – to her chin, so I hear."

Mary could not physically stop herself from laughing, which was a mistake because it made her have to pee when she was trying to avoid it, but the depiction Marshall had illustrated was too much.

"Bri sounds like my kind of lady," she told him, arching devious eyebrows. "Doesn't take any crap from anybody…"

"Please, whatever you do, don't encourage her antics," Marshall pleaded, halfway between wary and curious as to how Mary would take to the littlest niece. "She's a sweet kid and believe me, I too wish Ted and Leann would loosen the reigns a little, but it's not our place to impart that kind of wisdom…"

"Please," the partner scoffed. "Old Teddy boy doesn't scare me."

"Mary, come on," and now Marshall sounded serious. "Unsolicited advice about the girls will not be taken well in this house."

"Would you listen to yourself?" Mary shot back. "Kowtowing to big brother like this. The kid wanted a haircut! Unless they're orthodox Pentecostals, I don't understand the issue behind this. You mark my words; Ted is bringing this on himself."

"You think so, do you?"

"Hey, you won't see my kid having to beg me for a trim."

For the second time in just a few minutes, Mary had misspoken, but she was willing to overlook this one. Change her phrase to 'this kid' and eliminate 'me' and it meant nothing at all. Fortunately for her, Marshall chose to leave the telling statement aside as well.

"Just…I don't see my brother that often," the man finished, looking suddenly gloomy about all the havoc Mary might be able to wreak if he let her loose on his family. "He has his eccentricities, but it would be nice if this visit were devoid of drama. You can try not to add to it, can't you?"

Seeing his close to crestfallen face, Mary knew the jig was up and decided to appease him.

"Yeah-yeah; I'll be good," she swore. "What does Ted do anyway? Surely he's in the Marshal business like dear old dad."

"Sort of," Marshall explained, glad to have landed on a more neutral topic. "He's a detective."

"Like your main squeeze, you mean?"

Mary hadn't thought about Abigail once since they'd left Albuquerque. She supposed Marshall was talking to her on the phone or e-mailing or something, although they were together so frequently it was hard to imagine one moment where he would've stolen away to do something like that. This reminded Mary of the gossip Delia had fed her before they'd left. Might Abigail not even care that her boyfriend was toiling the open road, and had found a new one already?

It was selfish to hope for that, wasn't it?

But, Marshall just grinned and shrugged, "More or less," he replied in response to Mary's assumption. "But, Abigail has never met my parents or my brothers. You get the first crack."

And Mary suddenly realized why she found Marshall's obsession with her behavior around his family to be slightly odd. She was not his girlfriend, his fiancée, or his wife, and yet he was acting like she was when it came to handshakes with Ted the Terrible. Even his mindset, it was firmly planted on the first impression, something you would hope for in the early stages of a relationship.

And, girlfriend or not, Marshall's wishes were clearly of the same build. He wanted Ted, Leann, and the girls to accept Mary. He wanted them to like her.

XXX

**A/N: What will Ted be like? You'll find out soon!**


	23. Tearing down the Tyrant

**A/N: Ted and the gang are about to emerge!**

XXX

Marshall had been right that morning when he'd predicted that they might not make it to Indiana before the sun went down. Once he and Mary rolled into town, darkness was spreading fast; it had gone grey hours before when a light drizzle had begun to fall from the sky, dotting the windshield and causing Mary to drift off against her window. It was close to eight when Marshall announced that they were nearly there, pulling into an old-fashioned yet picturesque neighborhood nestled a good distance from the freeway exit.

Stepping out onto the pavement in the dusk, Mary glanced up at an impressive three-story house that looked like it had been built over fifty years earlier. Although it was hard to tell in the shadows, the woman calculated fairly quickly that there looked to be at least four or five bedrooms, judging by the number of windows. A wrap-around porch concealed the front door, complete with an overhang which would shield them from the rain. The tip of the roof seemed to scrape the sky, and on the eastern wing there jutted out a single turret, giving the entire place a medieval feel.

"It's really not as big as it looks from the outside," Marshall commented while Mary continued to stare, hoisting their bags out of the backseat. "The rooms are really open on the ground floor, but they're really crammed together upstairs since there are so many."

"Did it serve as a castle back in the eighteen hundreds?" she inquired, jerking her head at the steeple she had just noticed, snatching her duffel out of his hands and swinging it onto her shoulder. "Do they have a maid and a servant's entrance?"

Marshall chuckled, "Well, I'd get used to sleeping in confined quarters," he advised. "Because that tower is where you'll be staying."

"Huh?" Mary was dumbfounded, following her partner up the walk and hoping he wouldn't spot how much she was struggling to lug her bag and tote by herself. "I have to sleep in that broom cupboard?" it looked small even from the ground. "There is no way the two of us will fit in there."

"I didn't say me, I said you," he corrected. "I'll stay on the couch downstairs."

"What?" Mary was quick to protest. "No! I want the couch!"

"Forget it," Marshall cut her off immediately. "Unyielding Ted might be, but he enjoys being a decent host, and there is no way he is going to let the pregnant woman about to pop set up camp on the sofa. He'll insist you sleep in the guest room."

"_That_ qualifies as a guest room?" she sputtered, now pointing for emphasis. "I'm going to be flung from civilization all the way up there. Why doesn't one of the girls have that room?"

"Because it _is_ small," the man agreed. "And, in order for the guest room to be one of the larger ones, two of the girls would have to share and I don't think Ted trusts Bri to go halfsies with anybody."

Mary was about to say that June and Avery could be the ones dividing up one of the spaces and Brianna could have her own room when Marshall came to a halt on the porch, cloaking them in almost pitch black darkness under the awning. A set of heavy double doors stood before them, just waiting to be knocked upon and announce their presence. Mary was looking forward to it less and less with each passing minute.

"Now…you mind your manners, you hear?" Marshall teased, and even in the darkness Mary thought she could see him smirking, playing coy and expecting her to play along. "I think it will be fairly painless. We can say we're beat and I'm sure Ted will want to get the girls in bed if they're not already there."

The woman allowed her eyebrows to creep together in the middle, perhaps more pronounced than usual when she frowned, but she wanted to be sure Marshall could see her.

"If this goes south, there will be hell to pay for you."

"I could've guessed that coming in," Marshall was good-natured. "Shall we?"

And without waiting for any more barbs from Mary, he opened the screen door, raised his fist, and knocked three times. The rapping sounded loud in the otherwise quiet night, but for the drip-drop of the rain still falling in the gutter and the cicadas coming out to make their racket.

Mary reminded herself, even as she heard footsteps on the other side of the hatch, that this didn't have to be such an ordeal. True, she did not do well with new people because they always found her to be overbearing, cynical, and stand-offish, but underneath this was still Marshall's family. Ted surely possessed some inkling of sensitivity as did his younger brother, even if it ran far deeper in his veins. She wasn't nervous about confronting someone who could be blunt or inflexible; rather, worried that she wouldn't be able to hold up her end of the bargain when it came to Marshall. Typically, when she encountered someone who got smart with her, she went toe-to-toe and never looked back. But, she'd made her partner think she was going to hold her tongue in this instance and she wanted to prove she could be refined, whether it was worth it or not.

Within minutes, the two of them heard the locks click and the door on the right eased open. From behind it stepped, not Ted, but Leann – or what Mary assumed was Leann. Light from the inside flooded the porch with a glowing yellow hue and the woman before them smiled a welcoming grin before stepping aside to usher them through.

"We were starting to wonder about you!" Leann proclaimed, Marshall thumping over the threshold and taking care to stomp his wet shoes on a convenient rug just inside the door. "Did the rain slow you down?"

"Not really…" Marshall declared brightly, dumping his bag on a hardwood floor which left Mary doing the same. "We just got a late start this morning – traveling for so many days in a row, it's hard to get up and get going one after the other."

"Well, we're glad to have you," Leann assured them. And, now that everyone's hands were free, hugs were exchanged, "It's great to see you, Marshall. Ted should be out in a minute."

"No problem, no problem…" the taller was as breezy as ever, Mary standing awkwardly by and wondering if she should just jump into introductions with both feet. "It's wonderful to see you too; it's been too long," he reciprocated the hug with a brief one of his own, patting his sister-in-law on the back before stepping away.

In the seconds she had to spare before she was thrown into the conversation, Mary sized up her surroundings. The living room before her was tiled in rich mahogany wood, the planks running the length of the floor and concealed by a rug here and there. The entire expanse was open with no doors, much like her own home, but it was vaster than hers. To the left were two couches facing each other, an armchair, and the television. To the right there seemed to be some kind of office; Mary could see a desk and a computer tucked into a nook in the wall. Straight ahead there was an eating area with a rectangular table, exactly five chairs pushed into its sides. Beyond, Mary assumed, was the kitchen, although she couldn't see from a distance.

And then there was Leann. With her hair blonde – probably dyed, because Mary could see the highlights – and swinging about her shoulders, she wore jeans and a striped T-shirt. She was taller than Mary, but not quite as tall as Marshall, and in spite of the polite hellos, she didn't strike the inspector as the warm and fuzzy type.

But, her analyzing was about to come to an end.

"Leann, I've told you about my partner…" Marshall held out his hand as if there were a serving platter upon it, gesturing in the woman's direction. "This is Mary."

"Wonderful to meet you, Mary," Leann bestowed automatically, seizing the other's hand and wringing it up and down in a very firm grip; she had the feeling there would be no hug for her, but she couldn't say she was disappointed about that. "Ted and I sometimes feel like we've already met you, the way Marshall talks about you."

"I'd hope it was only good things, but I know how rare that possibility is," Mary joked, proud of herself for coming up with one that was tame and that made the hostess laugh. "Thanks for putting us up. It was the lanky one – his idea to intrude."

"Not at all," Leann insisted. "Really, I think Ted should be making an appearance any second…" glancing over her shoulder. "He'll say the same thing; we don't mind in the least."

At that moment, Mary spotted an addition she hadn't before when scrutinizing the room. On the far end of the couch was a girl. Judging by her size it was probably June, the oldest, her long, shiny dark hair tied in a ponytail on the top of her head. She was reading a book, and seemed to be engrossed – until her mother called her to attention.

"June," the tone in her voice was odd; without yelling, she still sounded sharp and the child hadn't even done anything yet. Waiting for when her daughter glanced up, "Come and say hello."

Without protesting, June slid a bookmark into her novel and plopped it onto the end table, untucking her legs and walking over to do as Leann had asked.

But, once she was close enough, she showed them a beautiful smile and the 'best behavior' that had clearly been ingrained into her from day one surged forth.

"Hi, Uncle Marshall," stilted or not, she did seem happy to see him. "I missed you. I wish you'd been able to come for Christmas last year."

"Me too," he reciprocated, slinging his arm around her shoulders and placing a quick kiss on her head. "Goodness, you've gotten tall. You don't notice that sort of thing on Skype."

She gave an obligatory chuckle and got on with her opening, "Hi…" she even offered her fingers, turning to Mary. "I'm June Mann. It's nice to meet you."

For as lovely and as charming as Mary was sure this kid was underneath, she had to fight not to laugh at just how rehearsed she sounded. Was Ted looking for an army of robots? If so, he was making great strides with his oldest.

Biting back and turning her chortle into a smile, the blonde grasped hands with the twelve-year-old and remembered Marshall was counting on her to do her part.

"Good to see you, June," but she was far more casual. "My name's Mary."

A polite nod followed this, "My mom said you work with my Uncle Marshall."

"Yep," she confirmed. "Hard to believe he's been able to stand me all these years."

June did laugh, but not in a way that indicated she thought Mary's jibe was particularly funny. The awkwardness that settled was distinctive, and Mary's insecurities when it came to children only increased. Granted, from what Marshall had said these were no ordinary children, but even so. She seemed to be failing spectacularly already.

"Mary has my back, twenty-four-seven," Marshall decided to chime in, speaking more to June than to Leann, perhaps to explain the concept of a partner. "Whenever there's danger to be had, she is right there ready to take the bullets."

Initially, Mary felt that this was going a bit far, not solely because she'd been without Marshall when she'd been gunned down, and he had certainly stepped into the line of fire over her when they'd been transporting Horst. But, she was surprised that with such an uptight brother that Marshall would bring up something as grisly as guns in front of a twelve-year-old. June probably was not oblivious, what with Ted being a detective, but even so.

But, Marshall had at least been right when he'd told her that the girl knew how to carry on a conversation, because she barely blinked at the mention of warfare and continued the discussion.

"You're not scared of being a Marshal, then?"

Again, the timbre in her voice was less curious and more obligatory, like she had been taught how to engage in byplay and was doing her part because her parents expected it.

"I don't think if I was that I could do it," Mary replied honestly, no better answer to give. "You have to kind of leave the fear behind when you're in that line of work – Marshall here knows that."

"I think I'd be scared," June went on. "But, I don't have to worry about it. I'm not going to work with the police."

She was so serious and explicit upon announcing this that Mary had to fight not to burst into laughter again. Something told her most middle schoolers weren't apt to choosing a career.

"Something else on the horizon line, is there?" Marshall played along with his niece's stone face as if there was nothing strange about it at all. "Well, with a brain like yours, you will be especially proficient at whatever you choose. I am sure of it."

Leann smiled at this compliment, but there was no nudge from her elbow for June to acknowledge it. The child was already there.

"Thank-you."

Following this oddly adult exchange in the first two minutes, Mary was rescued by the arrival of more people, although she couldn't say at the onset whether this was a good thing or not. She was beginning to feel like she was in a badly-staged play and she was saying the wrong lines, or else her fellow actors hadn't rehearsed theirs. June was so wooden. Was this the result of an overbearing father, or would this have been her temperament one way or another?

Clues were about to pop up all over the place, because Ted himself came striding into the room, a younger girl at his elbow and pointing at a page in a book, that from a distance looked like a catalogue. She was chattering away, although in an undertone, but Ted was paying her very little attention. The man was slightly taller than Marshall and not nearly as lean, although certainly not large by any means. Even far away, Mary could tell that his eyes were a greyer, more dulled shade of blue, and he didn't sport the stubble on his chin that Marshall sometimes did. He was clean-cut from his cheeks to the base of his mouth.

The little girl, who was likely the middle daughter, Avery, could be heard lobbying for something out of the magazine until they were feet from the congregating crew on the threshold.

"Daddy, I saved twenty dollars, and I can keep doing the dishes and making my bed, and if you give me an extra chore I could make even more," she was saying. "Please, I really want one…"

Obviously, the latest-greatest something was in that catalogue, but Ted was firm.

"I am not going to invent something for you to do around the house so you can get a bigger allowance. You get a big enough allowance already, and you won't be taking your sister's chores. You'll just have to wait…"

"But, daddy…"

"That's enough. We're not talking about it anymore."

And then, as if everyone hadn't been able to hear them before now, Ted completely flipped a switch and raised his eyes to Mary and Marshall, throwing a big-toothed smile at the pair of them, but this was perhaps the most noticeable difference between him and Marshall. The grin was phony; it held none of Marshall's warmth and sincerity. Nonetheless, he flung out a hand and whacked his little brother on the back as if he saw him every day.

"Marshall!" he boomed, maybe to quiet Avery, who looked pouty but wasn't going to press her luck. "You finagled with our bedtime schedule showing up at this hour," again, that pasted-on-smirk persisted. "But, here you are."

It was apparent Ted was trying not to sound like he was scolding him, but Mary felt certain from everything her partner had divulged that internally he was annoyed that the usual timetable had not been kept. You'd think, being a detective, that he would be used to a little unpredictability.

"Well, the road is long, Ted," Marshall claimed, trying to keep things light. "At least we got in before the weather picks up – there seems to be a storm brewing."

"I should think not," he asserted, as if the clouds depended on his authority. "June has a concert tomorrow afternoon at the outdoor theater. Rain or shine, the show must go on. Right, Junie?"

Mary supposed the look he gave his oldest daughter was supposed to be fatherly, but June didn't take to it. A half-smile appeared, nowhere near as wide as Ted's overstretched one, but she jumped right on board like a little show pony.

"Right," she articulated. "I can't get water in my cello. It would damage it, and it's really expensive to fix."

Were these people for real? Mary continually thought this, even as she became acquainted with the infamous Ted and was introduced to Avery, who instantly became shy and had to be coaxed by both parents to step out and practice proper etiquette. They were all so stilted. Leann had just been standing there since the minute they'd come in and June had come onto the scene. The girls were all-but emotionless, manners notwithstanding. Marshall might as well have been a stranger to them, and the way Ted was grinning – more like leering – at his baby brother was getting creepy. How could Mary be expected to participate in this charade? Was this how it had been for Marshall growing up? Seth lining his sons up one-by-one while they were presented like dogs looking for ribbons to win at the Kennel Club?

Marshall himself didn't seem to find the scenario all that bizarre, although he had warned her. Because of this, Mary tried her hardest not to give in to the discomfort she was feeling and get the ball rolling a little more smoothly.

Unfortunately, her good-intentioned stab at cordialness was taken the wrong way before she'd barely begun.

"You know, I met Seth last year," she told the oldest Mann, harking back to the visit the mentioned had made to Albuquerque to round out his Operation Falcon career. "I see the resemblance between you two. I guess you were like Marshall here – couldn't stay away from law enforcement and had to follow in the footsteps of your old man."

And Ted's smile finally faltered, like someone pulling strings on a puppet. Marshall shot her a significant glance, but it was more merciful than cautionary. She knew instantly she had committed some sort of faux pas, but was too busy watching Ted draw himself up to his full and proud height. He reminded Mary of the pricey dolls she had seen in department stores as a little girl with metal rods up their backs so they would stand up straight.

"My father was a Marshal."

Okay, but why was he splitting hairs like this?

"I am a detective. I solve crimes."

What was he? Six?

"My father took all the evidence compiled by hard-working people and used it to interrogate criminals. There's a big difference."

The unresolved issues here were glaring. Mary had certainly felt that Seth was a little much, particularly with his opinion of Marshall and his talents, but nothing like Ted – and not even like Ted was describing him. She wasn't exactly the poster child for repairing a relationship with an estranged father, but at least she wasn't this obvious.

But, she wasn't Mary Shannon for nothing, and she wasn't going to let her bewilderment show on her face.

"I always thought law enforcement was more of a well-oiled machine," she stated while looking Ted directly in the eye. "One of the cogs comes loose and the whole thing falls apart. Marshals, detectives, ballistic experts, sheriffs…even those clowns at the FBI," an insult just to prove she couldn't be intimidated. "You're never gonna put anyone away without all of them."

She hoped Marshall was proud that she could be so charitable, but she was afraid to look at him. As it was, Ted was already prepared for his rebuttal.

"My brother's told me you like to bump elbows," he recited, and although he pretended to find it endearing with that same stiff smile, Mary wasn't fooled. "Frankly, I'm impressed he can work with a woman who is so aggressive."

"A woman?"

"A person, excuse me," he corrected himself far too quickly to have genuinely tripped up in the first place. "A person. And, by aggressive, of course I mean robust – even tenacious."

Mary narrowed her brows, trying to figure out _exactly_ what he meant, knowing that it was nothing as flattering as 'tenacious,' when a delighted yelp echoed from around the corner. It chased any appropriate comeback straight out of Mary's head when she saw a third little girl come tearing through the dining room, nearly stumbling over a piano bench against the wall on her way.

Unlike June and Avery, who were already coming off very withdrawn or else molded in dad's own image, this kid was all color, light, sound, and above all, energy. There was no starkness in her, nothing plain or bland in the least. For one, she did not share the long, flowing hair of her sisters, but a cropped cut swinging above her shoulders. She was tiny and wore a giant T-shirt that reached her knees and a pair of sweatpants. June and Avery had on denim Capri pants and polos, one in pale pink and one in mint green.

Everyone in the vicinity seemed to go more on edge with the whirling dervish that was flying toward them. Everyone, that is, except Marshall.

"UNCLE MARSHALL!"

The T-shirt-flapping blur careened into their midst, where the man in question laughed and scooped her up, high in the air and complete with loud, smacking kisses. The tension, for Mary at least, evaporated because the greeting that Brianna was giving her uncle was exactly what Mary had expected upon coming here – from everyone, not just the fiery five-year-old.

"Hi Bri!" Marshall's voice was laced with exhilaration, forgetting his brother instantly. "What a nice hug!" the immediate praise spoke volumes to Mary. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"Me too!" she shrieked, her face inches from his. Flashing the woman a look, "Is that your friend? The one that will stay here with us? Mary?"

"Yep, that's Mary…" he confirmed. "She…"

But, before he could finish, Ted butted right in. Obviously, five seconds of holding his tongue was five too long.

"Brianna, I have told you not to run in the house," his voice was so stern and his face so severe that she might've burglarized the next door neighbor. "Do you want to try again, or do you want to go straight to bed?"

What a choice, Mary thought. She was glad to hear Marshall speak up.

"Ted, she was just excited," he excused. "If she hadn't come racing in here, I would've run through the whole house myself trying to find her."

"Marshall, we have rules here for a reason…"

"We can talk about it later, honey," Leann stepped in too, whispering and laying a hand on her husband's forearm while June and Avery just stood there, although Mary thought Avery looked like she wanted to hug Marshall too. "The girls will be in bed soon anyway."

But, Marshall had quit listening to both of them and was getting on with his opening, bouncing Brianna on his hips, which was making her giggle.

"I'm so glad you remembered I was bringing a friend," he said to his niece, who was now ogling the female inspector with an inquisitive look. "You can give her a tour of the house before we leave again tomorrow."

"My room first!" Brianna declared, which made the uncle laugh as well.

And, probably trying to please his brother so there would be no fights tonight, Marshall persuaded her into a smidgen of politeness along the way.

"Say hi to her – tell her your name," he murmured gently in her ear. "She doesn't bite. Most of the time."

Brianna seemed to understand the joke and did as asked.

"Hi!" she piped cheerfully, like a radiating ray of sunshine amidst the rest of the bareness. "My name is Bri-_on_-uh," she emphasized dramatically. "But, could you please-please call me Bri?" Marshall had been right about that. "I like it a lot better and I don't like when people say my name wrong!"

Mary was more than happy to oblige, but Ted jumped in yet again, "Brianna," she noticed _he_ didn't use her preferred moniker. "You never tell people what to do. Mary can call you whatever she wants, and you won't correct her."

The girl drooped only slightly at being admonished, but her spirit couldn't be broken so easily. Furthermore, neither could Mary's. Hoping Marshall would understand her motivation, she thrust out her hand and offered it to the child, who placed her palm next to Mary's, but didn't shake.

"I like Bri better too," she declared. "But, if I forget to use it, I don't care if you remind me. So, if I mess up, you can let me know."

Mary took great pleasure in seeing the scandalized look on Ted's face and the smirk on Marshall's. Bri, too, looked rather flabbergasted.

"_Really?_" she breathed, as if she'd never heard of anything so otherworldly. "I can tell you if it's wrong and you won't get mad?"

"Well, you tell her nicely though, okay?" Marshall, ever the compromiser, toned down his partner's offer. "How would you do that?"

And, Brianna was clearly not stupid or one to miss an opportunity, "Can you call me Bri instead, please?"

A proud smile formed on the inspector's face and he laid a kiss on her temple.

"Perfect."

No, Mary thought. Brianna was the only one in this family who was trying _not_ to be perfect. But, it was funny how much more charming she was not in spite of it, but because of it.

XXX

**A/N: I would love to hear what you think if you have time! Thank-you to those of you who are always ready with a kind comment, and even those who are just reading! I appreciate any and all support!**


	24. Bedbugs

**A/N: I am so glad that so many people liked Bri! She was much-needed for me amongst the rest of the Stepfords (I am amused because I had several reviewers call them as such!) There is more of all of them to come!**

XXX

Later that evening, after a hurried dinner with Ted and Leann, and pajamas for the girls, Mary was escorted upstairs to the guest room which was, just as Marshall had said, inside the turret protruding from one wing of the house.

The upper floor was almost claustrophobic compared to the downstairs. A door between the dining room and kitchen, which Mary had mistaken for a closet, led to a rickety, spiraling staircase. The steps were all hardwood just like the rest of the house, but they didn't have the benefit of the rugs and so they made a horrible racket when anyone tramped up and down them. Once at the top, there was a single hall and to the left were two rooms on one side of the wall, two on the other, and a bathroom at the back. Behind the landing was a set of five additional steps leading to another door, which opened into the tower.

The whole house was very oddly laid-out and, in spite of his initial bluntness, Ted apologized several times for making Mary sleep so out of the way and in such a small space. But, regardless of the many insinuations she made that she would be perfectly happy staying on the couch while Marshall became confined to the supposed guest room, Ted wouldn't hear a word of it. She was stuck – in a room that was so circular she felt like she was trapped inside a bucket turned on its end.

"What am I, the princess waiting for the dragon's kiss?" the woman quipped to Marshall while she sat on the bed and removed her boots. "This is humiliating…"

"It's just for one night," Marshall reminded her, standing above her with his arms crossed and gazing around the new digs. "You have to admit; it is cozy."

"Yeah, and if I were any more pregnant my belly would take up every inch of space in this film canister."

"Well, there's a throwback," he remarked in her reference to the cylindrical shape of the room. "Who knew people even remembered film canisters? Or remembered film, for that matter."

"I'd have a better comparison up my sleeve, but I'm tired."

Truthfully, Mary wasn't entirely put-out about where she was being made to reside so long as she got some sleep, although the area was like nothing she'd ever seen. The walls were curved and there was only room for a queen bed, which was shoved underneath a petite window, a prehistoric television at the foot that probably had nothing close to HD, and a night table that doubled as a dresser with only two drawers. The only homey aspect was the quilt on the mattress; it was soft with a dark green and pale blue patchwork – worn and well-loved.

"Where'd the blanket come from?" she asked Marshall in an attempt to sound somewhat positive and not so cranky; she wanted to make up for not completely keeping her word where Ted and his mouth was concerned. "Seems comfortable…"

"My mom made it," Marshall reported with fondness. "She is a skilled seamstress – knows how to flash her knitting needles too. All our quilts were homemade as kids."

The subject of his mother put the woman in mind of Ted's reaction to the mention of Seth. There had been no ignoring that, nor the significant glimpse Marshall had thrown her direction when she'd brought up Ted's likeness to him – or lack thereof.

Deciding now was as good a time as any, especially what with the older brother due to return in minutes with a towel Mary could use in the morning, she took the risk and broached the topic.

"Speaking of your mom…" Mary segued, leaning over and rubbing her swollen feet, which proved difficult with her massive stomach in the way. "If I try to talk to Ted about her, is he going to spazz out like he did when I brought up Seth?"

Marshall sighed and shifted awkwardly, but he didn't look all that surprised, knowing Mary wasn't one to leave things alone when she spotted an anomaly.

"Yeah…I should've given you a heads up about that," he admitted. "Dad's a sore topic with Ted. You know how it is – they're two peas in a pod, but you aren't going to get Ted to own up to that. We see the faults in our parents and somehow we still embody them – some more than others."

"Well, if I ever start twirling around on my toes and twittering on about prom dresses like Jinx, you can feel free to tell me to can it."

Marshall laughed at this, obviously remembering the chance she had given Brianna earlier, and his smirk was sincere without any lingering resentment for her jabbing Ted and his regulations.

"That was some trick you pulled with Bri," he told her, his beautiful blue eyes shimmering more than they had since they'd set foot in the house. "Guaranteed to drive my brother up the wall."

"You don't think that's why I did it?"

"I think that's _exactly_ why you did it," he agreed. "But, thanks anyway. I think it was good for Brianna to gain a little freedom – to know that speaking up for what you want isn't always going to be met with a reprimand."

"She's not even a brat," Mary shared, her form of a compliment. "She's just not a robot. Ted's expecting too much of her."

"Well, that's Ted," chalking it up to something so simple. "Trying to live up to dad's measurements and trying not to turn into him all at the same time." Raising his eyebrows, "That's a full time job."

Even with her toes aching, not to mention her back; Mary was glad that she could talk about Marshall's family with him and not have him be offended by her reaction. Ted hadn't made the best first impression, nor had June or Avery in spite of their efforts, although Mary didn't fault them. She'd been afraid that she wouldn't be able to share her true feelings with her partner, though he'd clearly been aware of Ted's flaws from the beginning. It was nice to know he wasn't blinded by blood relation, even if he wouldn't go to bat with him like Mary would.

"Anyway…" the man shook his head, obviously drowsy himself and not wanting to go to bed with visions of Ted in his head. "Can you think of anything else you need before I head down?" jerking his thumb at the door. "I figured the towel for your shower in the AM would be enough."

"It should be," Mary contributed. "So, get your ass out of here so I can change."

She decided she would choose not to detect the red flush that rose in Marshall's cheeks at the thought of her taking her clothes off. He was such a silly schoolboy sometimes – so juvenile when it came to something so ordinary. It wasn't as if he was picturing her in such a state. He had Abigail for that sort of thing.

"Well, holler if you change your mind," he said at the door, his hand on the knob. "On second thought, don't. Send me a text, assuming you can get a signal up here. Ted frowns on bellowing from floor-to-floor."

"Why am I not surprised?" she grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bright and early," the taller stressed. "I hope you sleep well."

Mary definitely doubted this, thinking that the creaky old bed would likely be murder on her strained vertebrae, but no sooner had Marshall turned the handle to exit onto the miniscule staircase, when a bloodcurdling shriek sounded from below. It was particularly strident due to the wooden floors, echoing in the tight hallway, but it didn't strike a very agitated chord in Mary. It was just a scream – not one of fright or terror, but a simple scream. Loud. No more, no less.

"What the hell is that?" she proposed to Marshall, forgetting about Ted and his aversion to swearing.

He opened his mouth to respond, to at least take a guess, when a cacophony of noise ricocheted off the walls, giving the two partners insight as well as amusement.

"Bri, please be quiet!" that was one of the older girls, but there was no way of telling if it was June or Avery.

"We're going to bed too! I'll tuck you in if you want!"and that was the other niece.

The generous offer of help was immediately derailed by big, bad dad, who would not allow any kind of reward in the midst of a meltdown.

"You will not tuck her in, June," Ted contradicted, and now Marshall was rubbernecking down the stairs to see if he could catch a glimpse of the show. "She made the choice not to listen and now she's going to have to go to bed without a story."

"Daddy, maybe if you just read her a really short one she might…" Avery was going to attempt to get her two cents in, but to no avail.

"No. Brianna knows the rules," Ted insisted. "If you don't go to bed when you're told, mommy and daddy do not read you a story, and you don't get a cookie to snack on."

Mary began to wonder if Marshall was as incredulous as she was at the amount of punishment going on. She was no parent – and wasn't planning to be – but she was pretty sure you might at least _try_ to reason with or empathize with your child before bringing in the big guns. The fact that Ted did not seem the least bit embarrassed they were having this out with guests in the house was almost funny considering how pro-manners he was and was displaying none at the moment.

"I don't even _want_ a cookie!" Bri called from down the steps. "I want to stay up! I don't _want_ to go to bed!"

"Brianna Christine; you will get in bed when you are told or…"

"NO!"

And with a great deal of clatter, a thud, and a thump, the din was coming closer and closer, until Mary found herself almost bowled over by the disobedient little girl as she clambered up the stairs past Marshall. Shocked, but assuming she had entered because she hadn't known where else to go, she sat while Bri pushed herself under the bed, as if Ted wouldn't think of looking for her there.

The father was not far behind, with no Leann in sight, bearing witness to Mary and Marshall exchanging dubious glances.

"I'm so sorry," he stated at once. "Brianna, come out this instant! You know you are not allowed in the guest room!"

Why the hell not? Mary speculated. There was nothing in it she would even have an interest in, and certainly nothing breakable.

"I want to sleep in here!" Bri suddenly shouted, muffled under the mattress, sounding as though the idea had only just occurred to her. "I want to sleep in here – I won't go back in my room!"

"This is not your room," Ted dropped to his knees and peered beneath the quilt hanging over the end of the frame. "Tonight, it is Mary's room, and Mary does not want a roommate. You are being very rude," he even pointed his finger, which was so comical to Mary herself that she bit her lip to keep from chuckling.

"I am _not_ rude!" Brianna continued to argue. "I just don't want to go to bed! You can't make me!"

"Yes, I can!"

But, before Ted could reach under the bed and yank his daughter out by her ankles, Marshall opted to jump into the fray, although hardly with both feet. Mary stayed where she was, her legs dangling, knowing that in this situation she had absolutely no expertise. It was best to let her friend take care of this one.

"Ted, why don't you get June and Avery tucked in?" he suggested evenly, with none of the anxiety on the face of his elder brother. "Mary or I can bring Bri down in a second. No sense wasting time."

The line about the minutes was very clever. If there was anything Mary had already learned about Ted in the short time she'd known him, it was that agendas were a must. Any more time spent upstairs arguing with Brianna would cut into whatever the rest of his routine was supposed to be. And, although he clearly had no interest in letting the little girl off the hook, he stood up and dusted off his jeans, leaving Marshall with an ultimatum before departure.

"You tell her she goes straight to her room. No story, no snack."

Mary couldn't help noticing that, even though Marshall nodded his approval, he didn't verbally agree, which meant he would not be repeating the other man's demands to his niece. She'd known him too long not to recognize the look of assent that meant he was going to finagle his own way out of a tricky spot. But, the important thing was that Ted left, huffing and puffing the whole way.

And, even if she didn't approve of Ted's fathering style, she couldn't pretend she wasn't a little irritated that her own rest was going to be delayed, and she shot Marshall a wide-eyed look complete with a shrug to indicate she didn't know what she was supposed to do next. The inspector stepped further back into the room and eased the door shut, but that was when Mary felt a distinct scratching against her socked feet. Wiggling away and giggling against her will because she was ticklish there, she looked down to see that Bri was already sticking her head out to see what was going on.

"Did my daddy leave?" she wondered innocently, her large brown eyes blinking around the floor.

"For now," Marshall answered before Mary could. "Sounds like my friend here is gonna have to share her room with a bedbug."

Between her knees, the woman saw the child smile at his teasing, her top teeth poking over her bottom lip.

"Yeah-yeah, I'm a bedbug!" she was clearly delighted by the thought. "What sound do they make?"

"That's a tough one," Marshall tapped his chin, pretending to think hard, which Mary thought made him look like a professor. "Click your pincers."

Now he placed his index and middle fingers on both his hands against his thumbs, moving them up and down like they were two talking heads. To accompany the gesture, he made a clopping sound with his tongue, like horse's hooves but higher. Immediately, Brianna began to imitate him, sliding around all over the floor, clicking and wiggling her fingers. Mary had to admit that it was quite a sight, if not a little bit strange.

"I'm gonna get you, Uncle Marshall!" Bri announced, slithering right out from under the bed without a second thought. "The bedbug's gonna bite your head off! RAWR!"

Clamping her arms and teeth around his legs, but not really biting, she mimed ripping his flesh apart with her teeth. Ever the actor around little ones, Marshall threw his head back and moaned as though he had been mortally wounded.

"Poisonous bedbug bites!" he hollered. "I'll never survive! There is only one antidote!" opening one eye, he winked at his niece on the ground. "Do you know the secret antidote?" a stealthy whisper.

She shook her head eagerly, all thoughts of her tyrannical father forgotten.

"A goodnight kiss!"

The cheesiness of this statement was bypassed by Mary before she even had time to roll her eyes, because Brianna was not going to be tricked into going to bed. With a gleeful smile, she turned to the only woman in their midst.

"Mary can kiss you! _I'm_ the bedbug!"

Now the female was the one to blush, much as her partner had done minutes before, but she didn't just blush, she felt herself become hot and prickly all over. It was amazing how fast sweat began to ooze from her pores, like the temperature had suddenly gone up twenty degrees. Marshall managed a laugh, but Mary couldn't even force one.

The idea was so absurd – unearthly, even. She had kissed Marshall one time and one time only – when he'd been shot, and even that had just been on his cheek. She didn't even count the time she had planted lipstick all over his face in the horse stalls, because she hadn't _really_ been kissing him, although she suddenly remembered the man thinking that was her goal and smooching her back. It was an image – and a feeling – that was proving difficult to remove from her brain.

But, Marshall covered far better than she did, swept Brianna off the ground in an enormous bear hug and kissed her about sixty times which produced an enchanted shriek in no time flat.

"AH!" he breathed when he was finally through, all-but turning her upside-down when he dumped her on the foot of the bed. "Cured! One hundred percent! Never been better! The bedbug was vanquished!"

If she didn't know what 'vanquished' meant than she didn't show it, panting from her jaunt and crawling more near to Mary while Marshall stayed where he was, watching.

"Do I _have_ to go to bed?" the child whined as soon as she had the chance.

The uncle bargained, "Why don't you tell me why you don't want to?"

And Bri actually seemed to know, "Because I'll miss something! Mommy and daddy stay up late and do things without me and I miss it all if I'm asleep!"

"I don't think you're missing much, Bri-Bri," Marshall assured her. "Boring grown-up talk. Mary and I are going to bed ourselves."

"But then you won't know if I'm missing anything either!" she persisted. "How come you're going to bed anyway? _You're_ grown-ups. You should stay up."

"We're pretty tired," the man said. "Aren't we, Mare?"

She had been silent since the little girl had entered, and she suddenly jerked back to attention, trying to brush aside her mortification from the 'kiss Mary' comment. She tried to remember that Brianna had seemed to take to her, at least marginally, when she'd allowed her that liberty of what she was called.

"Right, yeah," she finally concurred. "There is more of me to be tired these days, after all."

In an instinct she hadn't known she'd possessed, Mary actually caressed her stomach, doing something so startling as to call attention to her condition. Even Marshall looked perplexed, but pleased too. Bri, however, was nonplussed, if not a little curious.

"You're having a baby?"

Mary nodded, "I am."

"When?"

"In a few weeks."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know," she was honest. "But, I'm guessing a boy. Your Uncle Marshall and I call him 'Mango.'"

Brianna smiled, "Mango! That's a fruit!"

"Hey, it was the uncle's idea," Mary ratted him out, waving toward the humble individual. "He came up with it."

"That's really weird," Brianna decided, truthful to a fault. "Did you know that when I was a baby I had another mommy and I lived in China? That's really-_really_ far away. You have to go over the ocean!"

It was almost cute – and Mary hated that word – how the five-year-old thought the woman was inept when it came to geography and had to explain the location of Asia. Nonetheless, she was surprised that she talked about her heritage so openly. With a father like Ted, she assumed the topic would be taboo. Maybe it was, but it was obvious already that Brianna said what she wanted regardless of how Ted felt.

"I did know that," Mary chimed in, responding to the question. "Your Uncle Marshall told me. He said you and June and Avery all came from China."

"Yeah, but June and Avery came from different mommies. But, we have the same mommy now!"

"You're very lucky," Marshall affirmed in case there was any lasting confusion about who the 'real' mother and father were here. "Your mommy here is really the only mommy you have. But, the woman in China knew that you could have a wonderful, much better life here than you could have with her. Sending you here was the most generous thing she could ever do."

Bri ignored this, just as any kindergartener would.

"I wish I'd gotten to see China for real, but I was only a baby so I don't remember. Daddy says a _ton_ of people live there."

"Well, he's right about that," Mary told her. "It's a pretty full place."

But, Mary's mind was too full to the brim with everything Brianna had articulated to really listen to her own words. She obviously bore no ill-will toward the 'mommy' who had given her up, although she was five so that had to be taken into account. Would her child be so lucky? Would he not resent the perfectly capable mother who had tossed him aside so long as he was with people who loved him, who became his family overnight? Where his 'real' mommy became Brooke Harmon and Mary was a mere afterthought in a faraway place called Albuquerque, never seen of or heard?

More importantly, did she want him to forget that way? Did she want to be little more than a speck in Mango's life?

Trying not to dwell on this so they could tackle the task at hand of getting Bri to bed before Ted blew another gasket, Mary was glad to defer to Marshall to wrap things up.

"I think it is a little late to be thinking about digging to China tonight," he leaned over and lifted the girl off the bed almost as quickly as he'd placed her on it, which was met with only the slightest squirm. "You'll see me and Mary before we leave in the morning. But, you have to go to sleep before morning will come."

Brianna sighed, "You promise you won't do anything fun without me?"

"Oh, I promise," Marshall swore. "Cross my heart."

"Can we thumb wrestle before I go? Please-please?"

Mary was momentarily lost, but her partner was quick on the uptake and she soon learned that this was a running game between the two – a brief burst of entertainment to satisfy the child before being sent away. It was apparent to the blonde, at least, that all Bri really wanted was a little attention that was not of the negative variety, and Marshall was a pro at giving it to her.

"I'm surprised you remember thumb wrestling," Marshall remarked, but he was smirking, which showed he wasn't really surprised at all. "It's been such a long time since we had a match."

"I didn't forget!" Bri declared. "One game?"

"All right…" he relented. "Thumbs up. We can show Mary how it's done."

And, right there on Marshall's hips, the little girl thrust out her thumb and her uncle did the same. Locking their remaining fingers, they rested their thumbs side-by-side, rattling off a string of lines that Mary found incredibly corny, but fitting to Marshall in every way.

"One, two, three, four – I declare a thumb war!"

Mary watched in something less than awe, but something more than affection as Marshall battled his little niece, thumb against thumb, one nail trying to pin down the other. Bri was very zealous, nearly unhooking her entire hand in order to come out on top. Marshall, however, was easygoing and after a few seconds, Mary distinctly saw him loosen his grip and allow her to fasten her thumb over his.

"I win! I got you! I got you, Uncle Marshall!" she crowed excitedly.

"You sure did," he praised. "Rematch tomorrow?"

"Okay," Brianna exhaled, knowing her covers awaited and she'd been beaten in another fashion, but she was far more agreeable on this front. "Will you tuck me in?"

"I would be honored," bowing his head modestly. Turning to glance over his shoulder, "You're turning in, aren't you Mary?"

"Yeah…" she confirmed. "Seven tomorrow?"

"Sounds good. Goodnight."

"Night…"

Just as she stood up in order to pull the covers back, at least until Marshall and Brianna headed down the stairs and she could shut the door and change her clothes, she learned that the farewells were not quite over.

"Night-night Mary!" an enthusiastic little tone called. "See you tomorrow!"

And as the woman straightened, she saw Marshall grinning at the connection that had been formed, small though it was, and she found it in her to smile back. For, the face of the five-year-old who had only wanted someone to give her the time of day without giving her the third degree in the process was shining too brightly to ignore. She couldn't help recalling another little girl who had only been recognized for her faults and not her talents, and her smirk only grew.

"Goodnight Bri. I'll see you in the morning."

XXX

**A/N: Sometimes our inspectors need an innocent nudge, right? ;)**


	25. Where We Come From

**A/N: Hugs and love to you all!**

XXX

Mary woke up the next morning to the sound of rain still pattering on the wooden roof over her head, and a dull ache in her lower belly. The tower room to which she had been sequestered was tinted with a grey hue, as the cloud cover prevented the sun from shining through. She had no idea what time it was, but she felt like she had spent the night watching the sky turn from inky black to somber smoke.

Rest had not come easy. Exhausted though Mary was from so much mundane traveling, she hadn't been able to get comfortable the night before, her mind turning with everything that had happened since she and Marshall had approached Ted's door. Things that had not troubled her in the moment suddenly seemed worse when she was trying to achieve a good night's sleep.

Mary knew she should not take offense to Ted's attitude toward her, as Marshall had warned her many times that he was nothing but an uptight sourpuss who let nothing interfere with his meticulous plans. Insulted was not even what she felt – it was more the sense of what might happen if they didn't learn to get along. Granted, she didn't anticipate seeing Ted very often, but for some reason the idea that Marshall's brother didn't like her seemed more daunting under the cover of the night.

And even more pronounced than thoughts of Ted were thoughts of Brianna and her overseas adoption story. The little girl had no way of knowing what Mary's plans were for Mango, but her telling her tale so freely was enough to make her ponder far more thoroughly than she wanted to. She knew she was going to have to call Brooke and Chris again soon, as she and Marshall would be nearing Rhode Island as soon as they were finished in Pennsylvania. It was sneaking up on her faster than she realized, and thinking about it while she was attempting to catch a few z's made her all the more anxious.

With a foggy head and itchy, tired eyes, not to mention the mysterious pain in her stomach, Mary didn't greet dawn very cheerfully. To top it all, there was an odd, sorrowful sort of noise bellowing up through the floorboards – almost like a sick cow, but that could just be because the sound was muffled.

Knowing she was probably behind and that Marshall would be on the hunt for her sooner rather than later if she didn't get up, Mary pushed through whatever misgivings and twinges she might be feeling, located the towel Ted had left for her, and headed for the shower. The warm running water proved soothing not only for her churning tummy, but for her sore back as well, and she knew she was being too leisurely with her time, but it was hard to get out when it made her feel so much better.

Upon getting dressed, the woman decided that there was no point in drying her hair because of the weather outdoors, and resolved to let it air out on its own. Usually, when selecting her clothes she simply wore whatever she wore to the office, not including day one of the trip and the red striped shirt. But today, it made her uncomfortable to think about being strapped under her seatbelt in her blazer and boots. Wondering if Marshall would question her choice of attire, she pulled on a pair of jeans and unearthed a practically prehistoric T-shirt in the bottom of her duffel bag that she sometimes wore to bed. It was faded white, leftover from college with her school's mascot on the front, and it had always been too big, which meant it fit over her expanding belly quite nicely.

Certain she was going to catch it from her partner if he caught her trundling her own luggage down the stairs, Mary powered on anyway, coming to a stop at the bottom in the dining room. Lamps and overhead bulbs in the ceiling fan lit the room, only accenting just how drab it was outdoors. Ted, Leann, Avery, Brianna, and Marshall were gathered around the rectangular table eating breakfast, their forks clanging and clacking. The presence of June meant Mary was able to figure out what that solemn groaning had been about – she was practicing her cello over in the corner, although it sounded more pleasant in person.

Not surprisingly, Marshall was the first to notice her entrance, although Mary instantly felt she looked rather sloppy in the presence of the Manns, all of whom were already dressed. With her hair still dripping and her eyes bloodshot, she must be a real sight.

"Hey, Mare," Marshall raised a quick hand in greeting. "I was just going to come up and check on you as soon as I finished," gesturing at a plate of pancakes.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the blonde felt a flare of anger rise in the gallows of her belly that she hoped would not show on her face. Maybe her manners weren't always up to par, but she was supposed to be a guest in the house and she'd slept the morning away while the rest of them prepared for the events of the day. What had Marshall been thinking, letting her slumber on like that?

"I…I'm sorry for missing breakfast," she blurted out, which earned her a look of incredulity from Marshall alone, as the rest of the family did not know how poorly she typically articulated apologies.

"We understand," Leann stated at once, although Ted remained silent as he chewed. "You have a long day ahead; you will want to get as much sleep as you can. Marshall explained."

Mary didn't really know what there was to 'explain' but she was just glad one half of the couple remained blasé about her snoozing past a reasonable hour. In actuality, it was only a little after seven thirty, but as the two inspectors had planned to be on the road around seven, they were definitely behind. The fact that three girls under thirteen were already dressed before eight o'clock on a Sunday spoke volumes about the kind of morning behavior expected in this house.

"Would you care for a bite to eat, Mary?" the sister-in-law wanted to know when the woman said nothing in response to her understanding. "We have pancakes and waffles; there's juice in the fridge. I am sure Ted would be happy to pour you a glass."

It was unclear and highly doubtful that Ted would be anywhere close to happy about catering to a guest that didn't join the family for the first meal of the day. However, Brianna took care of responses when she all-but spoke over her mother in her liveliness.

"You can have the rest of my waffle, Mary!" she offered, whipping around in her chair and holding the plate up for her to see, which quickly became in danger of tipping right over onto the floor. "I'm full!"

This shook Ted right out of his reverie, "Absolutely not," he intoned, taking care to swallow first. "You finish what's on your plate; you know that."

"Can Bri and I share the waffle, daddy?" Avery broke in meekly, her eyes barely leaving her own serving to meet her father's in something resembling fear. "She already had a whole pancake, and her tummy might start hurting if she…"

"Avery, I said no," the man shut her down immediately, Leann suddenly almost absent from proceedings, making quite a show of gulping down a mug of coffee. "You worry about your breakfast, and Brianna will worry about hers."

"Daddy?" the youngest daughter piped up, tilting her head to one side and sounding weary but determined. Taking a deep breath, "Can you call me Bri instead, please?"

The quiet that settled amidst the seven of them was so palpable and heavy, a pin could've dropped and gotten lost in it. The only sound was June turning pages on her music stand, for she was between tunes at the moment, and the sprinkling of rain outside. Otherwise, all had paused at Brianna's perfectly reasonable request, but something told Mary that the line Marshall had rehearsed with her right in front of her parents would not be well-received.

Staring his daughter down with a look of pure coldness, Ted's answer was just as frosty as the glare in his eyes.

"Those games might work with Uncle Marshall, but they do not work with me," he claimed matter-of-factly. "I wouldn't use your full name so much if you could learn to pay attention and listen when I used your nickname. Finish your breakfast."

Mary had no earthly idea what to do, even as the eating resumed in a stony silence. She couldn't seem to move from where she was at the bottom of the stairs, although June's practicing helped her to gather her thoughts. The sound of the cello was mournful, a deep and resonating hum that warbled through the eves and seemed to flow right into the woman's increasingly mystified soul. It was Mary's fault that Brianna had attempted to defy her father in such a manner, and although Marshall had encouraged it, there was no denying she had set the dominoes in motion. And Ted clearly did not appreciate it.

When the stillness had persisted long enough that Marshall was obviously beginning to rush his meal in hopes of speaking to his shell-shocked partner, Leann finally broke it with her original bid.

"How about that drink, Mary?" a nervous smile appeared on her lips, complete with a cagey glance to her husband. "Waffles? Pancakes?"

The addressed said what she said not so she could get out of the house faster – although that was certainly motivation – but because she didn't trust her stomach not to send her breakfast in reverse in a half hour's time.

"I would love some juice, but I'll pass on the waffles and pancakes," turning down the latter. "Thank-you, though. I can get the juice myself, so don't worry about it…"

"Oh, don't be silly," Leann insisted, standing up and throwing her napkin on her plate. "It's no trouble."

"I'll come along anyway," if for no other reason than to get away from the tension created by Ted. "I want to make sure I've left the guest room the way you want it."

This was a stupid excuse for tagging along behind Leann, but at least it was plausible in this house. She could regale the other woman with tales of having made her bed and emptied the dresser drawers of all personal belongings, much like she would at a real hotel. That ought to please the anal Ted, if anything could.

Once in the kitchen, which was situated behind the dining room and down a curved hall at the back of the house, Mary immediately felt herself relax a little. She hadn't gotten to know Leann very well the night before, and although she didn't agree with how stern she was with her daughters, at least she was more pleasant and personable than Ted. Or, in Mary's mind, more normal.

"I hope that you and Marshall enjoyed your stay here," she began, reaching in the fridge for a carton of orange juice once Mary indicated which kind she would like. "If you're passing back through on your way to New Mexico, we'd love to have you again."

Mary couldn't truthfully say the same and was wondering how she could talk Marshall out of dropping in on his relatives again when Leann had already gone on.

"You really…" her voice dropped significantly, which meant it was partially drowned out by June's cello playing in the other room, but this might've been the point. "I really hope that…" now she glanced around, as though they were being watched. "I mean…I know that Ted can sometimes be a little…" clearing her throat. "Difficult. But, he means well…"

This was stretching it, but Mary was willing to overlook the exaggeration in favor of Leann recognizing and acknowledging just how prickly the man could be.

"I know that Marshall wishes the two of them got along better, and it was wonderful of him to make the effort like this," she continued. "I just wish I could get Ted to be more receptive."

Mary couldn't help noting as she chugged from her juice glass that Leann acted like she was afraid of her husband, which didn't bode well for anyone. As a seasoned inspector, she didn't suspect any abuse from the few interactions she'd observed, but a marriage where one spouse was only willing to bow down to the other wasn't healthy. Mary was hardly an expert, but her own parent's dysfunction had helped her to spot many inadequacies in other people's unions.

"Marshall missed the girls," the taller teed up for something to contribute, perhaps to give a theory as to why an attempt was being made at all. "And, he realizes that things have been touch and go with Ted – at least that's what he told me. Mind you, I'm not his messenger. I'm just a friend."

A distinct, knowing sort of grin suddenly replaced Leann's look of mild terror and her whisper turned far more secretive.

"I think you're more than that," she assumed, startling Mary so profusely that she almost dropped her drink. "Marshall talks about you more than he's talked about any girlfriend he's ever had. I'm not implying anything in the least – in some ways, I don't really know that much about Marshall. But, he cares very deeply for you. If there's anyone who can encourage some sort of relationship between him and Ted, I would think your influence would be the best shot."

Utterly bewildered, Mary couldn't immediately discern if she was being asked to bridge the gap, because if she was that was just ridiculous. Leann had seen the way Ted had reacted to her; he wasn't likely to value her opinion in any way, even if Marshall did. Plus, if she had any insight into Mary's personal life – which she obviously didn't – she would know that familial bonds were not something she was an authority on. She'd be running for the hills the first chance Jinx and Brandi gave her.

With nothing else to say, Mary found herself focusing on probably the most innocent portion of Leann's proposal.

"What…what do you mean Marshall talks about me?" she wondered aloud, and nearly incoherently. "He made it sound like you all…" what was the best way to put this? "That you weren't…overly social; that you didn't speak a lot."

"Oh, well, not with me and Ted, no," she clarified. "But, he Skypes with the girls," this rang a bell from the night before. "Unfortunately, he misses getting to speak to Bri because she loses her computer privileges so often."

Mary's heart sank upon hearing this, and she had half a mind to ask Leann what the hell she was thinking laying down the law so frequently on that kid, but decided those were waters better left unchartered for the moment. She could deal with how to foster some sort of connection between Marshall and Ted for a later date, instead zeroing in on Brianna to ask something that had been festering in her mind since the evening prior.

"I was glad I got to spend some time with Bri last night," she said, which caused Leann to produce a smile with a hint of pride. "She was telling me about how…" upon stalling, Mary reminded herself that if she was going to ask, it was better to do it with Leann rather than Ted, and she might not get another opportunity. "Well…I mean, Marshall shared with me before we got here that all three of the girls are adopted."

Fortunately, Leann gave her the verification she had been searching for before continuing.

"Yes, they are."

"Right…well, Bri was talking to me about it, and she seemed really comfortable with it…" it was important to make this whole thing sound very casual. "She's obviously well-adjusted," compliments always helped. "Are June and Avery the same way? I just think it's great that Bri doesn't seem to feel any bitterness or anything like that."

For all her cowering when it came to Ted, apparently Leann wasn't so docile when she was out of his presence, because the look on her face told Mary she knew where this type of prodding was coming from. Way back on Thursday when Marshall had suggested that they stay with his brother and sister-in-law, he had told her that adoption was something Mary would be able to discuss with his relatives. This indicated he had let them in on her plans, probably to spare her unnecessary embarrassment about nursery preparations and booties that would not exist.

Whatever Leann knew, though, she wasn't going to reveal it too soon, and got on with replying to Mary's inquiry.

"Well…Bri always asked the most questions about the adoption, so she got more answers," she rationalized. "Ted and I never had any intention of hiding it from the girls, although he did want to gauge how he thought they would react to being adopted as they grew up and their personalities formed…"

"Like I said, Bri doesn't seem like she's that affected by it…"

"She really isn't," Leann agreed, leaning against the counter to survey Mary. "Curious as they come, but nothing more than that. Avery is pretty close-mouthed about hers; she wanted the basics and we gave them, but not much else."

Judging by Avery's more timid temperament, this made sense to Mary. It would follow that she might feel more apart from her peers being adopted, especially when she didn't resemble her parents, although in this day in age the fact that anyone could goggle at adoption seemed silly.

"And June…" Leann was about to conclude her little story, but the mention of her eldest daughter obviously took her back to a memory that was less than lovely; her eyes were cast downward and she stumbled around in finishing. "June was our guinea pig," a would-be-confident smile. "She was our first; we were running in blind on how to approach that kind of a discussion…"

"Of course…" Mary was growing more intent by the second, hankering for more.

"And actually, when she was very young, she was a lot like Bri in terms of how she handled it…" this seemed to be a happier recollection, but it didn't last. "She didn't ask as many questions, but she seemed content with the information. But, as she got older…" and the skittish look in her features suddenly returned. "She wanted to know more and she's…struggled with reconciling that she was…"

The inspector could almost read the words forming on Leann's lips, but knew that she wasn't going to say something so stark, something so bald. And so, she finished the phrase for her.

"Given away?"

Fortuitously, Leann seemed glad for the nudge and nodded somewhat solemnly.

"Yes," she murmured. "I have done what I can to help her work through it, but Ted has really made it worse. He doesn't like that she wants to dig deeper and so he tries to shut her away from that part of her life. He doesn't understand that where she came from _is_ a part of her life, whether we can give her any knowledge of it or not."

Mary frowned, uncertain, "What do you mean, no knowledge?"

"Well, we know what we went through in order to obtain June and bring her to the United States – all the court proceedings and paperwork – but adoptions vary widely in China," she explained. "We met Bri's biological mother and Avery's – several times – but not June's. We know almost nothing about her, and it's doubtful that we ever will."

A sudden, brutal pang of sympathy suddenly swept over Mary; it fit neatly, though rather painfully, next to the knot that was already forming in her gut. To be so needy and hungry about your past and hit a brick wall had to be frustrating, especially for a twelve-year-old. Stoic, polite, well-mannered June clearly had a few demons she was battling, if not as intensely as Leann made it out to be.

"Anyway…" Leann was clearly keen to wrap this up before they talked about anything too intimate. "We have always been very open with the girls about the adoptions, even Ted, but he balks on sharing too much with other people. Deep down, I think it bothers him that his children know so little about their heritage and that's why he lashes out when it comes to June."

Mary could've guessed all this, and hurried to the reason why she had begun this awkward conversation in the first place.

"And, what do you think?" she pressed. "I mean, when it comes to how much or how little to share?"

A sigh accompanied this question, undoubtedly because Leann was careful about speaking up or speaking out against her husband. But, he wasn't around at the moment, and she was smart enough to seize the chance to broadcast her own opinion.

"Marshall's told us both what your arrangements are regarding your baby," she began with a brief bob of her head toward Mary's stomach. "Whether I agree or disagree is immaterial, because it's not my life," Ted probably didn't feel so hospitable. "But, I think that if you're comfortable with it, you need to give the adoptive family as much as they can hang onto as humanly possible – not for them, but for your child. One day, he or she will want to know where they came from, and I have seen the heartache up close from those who don't have a clue how they got where they are today. It may seem small to you, but it will aide so much down the road, even if you aren't there to see it."

It was the 'aren't there to see it' part that sent shivers down Mary's spine for some peculiar reason, but she had no reason not to take Leann's words to heart. She'd been there; she had lived it. And, although they were on opposite sides of the coin in the adoption ballgame, that didn't mean the advice wasn't sound. The more Mary thought about it, the more she wanted Mango to know anything and everything about her, whether she saw him beyond those first fateful minutes or not. She couldn't explain, even to herself, why she longed to hang on to that connection, but Leann had just confirmed she was entitled.

"I'll…definitely bear that in mind," was all she could manage to say, however, suddenly feeling self-conscious that they were talking about something so serious. "I had planned on leaving things unlocked anyway, but…" her voice tapered out, but she was sure Leann knew what she was getting at.

"I appreciate that it is not an easy decision, Mary," Leann acknowledged. "Whether I ever laid eyes on them or not, my gratitude toward my girls' biological parents is endless. I am sure the people that you have chosen will feel the same way."

"I'm pretty sure they do," Mary remembered the phone call with Brooke, who hadn't been able to stop stammering her thanks that she was driving to Providence. "But, we'll see in another day or so. Marshall and I are going to meet them after we're through in Pennsylvania."

Nothing else to throw into the conversation, Leann settled for another nod before shrugging her shoulders and glancing toward the hall they had just come down, indicating that she would be exiting soon.

"I'd better head back in…" she declared. "Avery and Bri will be asking to be excused and Ted won't let them until I've taken their plates away from the table."

Knowing she shouldn't be appalled by this rule, Mary cast out her palm as a way of saying she approved and Leann went on her way, probably assuming that the taller was going to follow her back to the dining room. Staying behind in the peace and quiet to process everything she had just heard was looking better to Mary, however, and she allowed the footsteps to disappear without vocalizing to Marshall's sister-in-law that she was coming.

Adoption came with so many twists and turns; so many uncertainties. Mary had known this going in, of course, but all she'd ever really thought about was moving Mango to a family that could care for him in a more traditional manner than she could. She'd never really considered how he would feel in the future, let alone how much she would want him to know. It didn't make her upcoming choice any more welcoming, a thought that frightened her to her very core.

She was giving the baby to the Harmons. She had to. It was what she had always planned. Keeping the child just so he could 'know' her made no sense at all. Love had to be involved; love and tenderness, togetherness, and maternal hormones coming out her ears. None of that was happening, and so none of that was a good reason to become a mother. Simple as that.

Unfortunately, nothing was simple about this morning, and just as Mary was about to join the others in the dining room once more, she heard voices in the tiny hallway just beyond. Forced to hang back and eavesdrop because the tones were undeniably argumentative, Mary just hoped she could appear nonchalant when the speakers finally appeared.

"You are not going to tell me how to act in my home."

"It has nothing to do with it being in your home, Ted. It has to do with behaving like a decent human being, both here and in the real world."

"There is nothing wrong with how I behave, and I certainly am not looking at you for guidance, baby brother."

The first voice was obviously Ted's, the second one Marshall's. Mary listened further.

"For someone who lives and dies by the golden rules, you aren't the master at following them," Marshall accused, something his partner could be certain would not go over well. "The next time you're so boorish to someone I bring by to visit for one night, it'll be the last time I show up in Indiana, and you can be the one to explain why to the girls."

Oh no, the woman thought with a mental groan. He was talking about her – defending her. Her unparalleled confidence that made her say whatever popped into her head, her not joining the family for breakfast, her putting ideas in Brianna's brain.

Ted started to hiss, "Boorish? You're going to throw around your Webster words and call me _boorish?_"

"When you make a pregnant woman feel guilty for sleeping until seven thirty and giving her the silent treatment, I would call that boorish," Marshall stuck to his guns. "And don't tell me you expected me to let that line about being a woman _and_ an inspector slide. If you want to head back to the academy, Mary would kick your ass every time."

Somewhere between touched and annoyed, the blonde hoped that they would pick up the pace on their little spat, because her feet were beginning to hurt from standing and her belly was really cramped up. She wanted to sit down. She wanted to get in the car and get out of this house.

"Well, perfect Marshall has a potty mouth," Ted taunted. "You don't want to make a pit stop in Indiana, fine," he allowed. "Why don't you go join Eric and his office in an igloo?"

"At least Eric knows when to loosen up now and then," Marshall countered, far more spiteful than Mary had ever heard him. "And he doesn't treat everyone in the human race like the enemy just because they scuff up his floors."

"Spare me the boy scout routine, Marshall," Ted requested. "Take your girlfriend and get on the road, would you?"

"She's not my girlfriend, Ted."

"You're kidding yourself, buddy," he scoffed. "June told me all about that bimbo detective you're supposed to be dating. Evidently, she was so insignificant in your last conversation that June couldn't even remember her name, but she sure remembered Mary's."

This bit of insight finally rendered Marshall speechless, and it would've done the same to Mary had she been speaking. The insinuations were flying left, right, and center about what she and Marshall meant to each other, and she didn't like it one bit. These people did not know anything. They did not understand Marshall the way she did, nor did they understand their unique connection. If they did, they would never be dropping hints the way they were.

"We have to get Avery started on the breakfast dishes; it's her turn to do them this week," Ted finished, sounding pompous about one-upping his little brother. "Get your things and say your goodbyes."

And, lucky for Mary, Ted must've gone back into the dining room, because he didn't enter the kitchen. After a second or two, Marshall materialized, however, which left his friend trying to make it look like she had been busying herself rearranging the juice cartons in the fridge. He was putting on an act as well, pretending he hadn't just sparred with Ted, she feigning that she hadn't been able to hear.

"Hey," his hello was short before he moved on. "You um…are you ready to go?"

"We're going now?" Mary asked, playing her part.

"Yeah, I thought we should pack it in; the rain will slow us down," he invented. "Delia and Savannah are scheduled to arrive in Philly tonight, so we'll want to make sure we're there to meet them."

"Okay."

Her one-word answer obviously struck a chord in Marshall, and he didn't take long in analyzing her vacant stare, her shifting frame, and her unusually casual outfit.

"You all good? Packed and everything?" he prodded, though Mary could tell by his eyes that he was worried she had overheard, but the hall was long and it was possible she hadn't been able to pick anything up. "I really thought I was doing you a favor by letting you sleep in, but I didn't mean for it to be awkward for you…"

"No-no…" Mary cut him off, not wanting him to feel badly when he had already defended her honor minutes before. "No, don't worry about it. I just, um…I'm not feeling very well, but it's nothing serious."

"Wait, are you sure?" this was unexpected.

"Of course I'm sure," she promised. "My stomach hurts, but it's nothing I haven't had before. It'll go away once I'm up and around, which is another reason we need to get going."

Marshall, though still scowling, opted to take this at face value, mostly because it was so rare that Mary would confide any sort of health-related troubles in him. She was always so concerned with her physical ailments making her look weak or lesser that she always kept them to herself. But, given everything on her mind this morning, she was going to have to disclose something, and the cramps were the most neutral choice – the one she couldn't control, the one that didn't involve her feelings.

"Okay...I'll go load up the car and we can be on our way," the man announced. "Is your stuff still in the dining room?"

"Yeah, but…" Mary couldn't let him escape that way. "I'll take care of all that. You stay and say goodbye to your family."

Marshall, to his credit, looked less than thrilled about playing make-believe in some weepy farewell, but it wasn't going to be because of her that they became even more distanced from each other than they already were. She was pulling Marshall from his relatives, just like she was racing away from Mango.

How many more relationships could Mary spoil before she ended up far more alone than even she wished to be?

XXX

**A/N: I had to turn it into this eventually – first comes the disdain from Mary and Marshall toward Ted, but then the frustration and the guilt. They can joke about it, but we all know Marshall won't let anybody stand by and insult Mary! ;)**

**I will be taking a little weekend trip and I leave tomorrow, but with any luck I will still be able to post, it just may be later than normal. But, if for some reason I am not able to pop on in the next few days, know that I haven't abandoned you and will be back soon! Hope to still be around, though!**


	26. A Closeted Agenda

**A/N: I made it to my vacation destination, and here I am! A little late, granted, but here nonetheless! I hope you enjoy!**

XXX

Mary's sullenness persisted long after she and Marshall began zooming along the slick, slimy highway toward Philadelphia, although for the first hour he didn't push her for details. That was probably because he seemed to have something on his mind as well, but once he got over his own troubles, he transitioned to his partner and her obvious woes. It was the first time in a long time that Mary's anguish was just that – obvious – although anguished was a tad dramatic. She was already getting tired of having to answer to Marshall on every morning that she wasn't jolly; they'd gone through this same song and dance on Saturday in the diner.

On this occasion, however, Mary had more to worry about than her failed meeting with Ted and her indecision regarding the adoption. Lack of sleep and stress, or so she hoped, was making the throbbing in her stomach quite painful. Not so bad that she was crying out, but bad enough that she could scarcely sit still, it was undoubtedly this that caused Marshall to finally speak up. There was no ignoring the way she kept cringing, breathing pathetically through her nose as if she knew anything about the action.

"You really do not look well," the man was also more blunt than usual, but perhaps that was the result of life with Ted. "Why don't you tell me what's going on? I promise I won't call the ambulance until you collapse and lose consciousness," a joke.

If he could counted on to be serious regarding the bit about the ambulance, because Mary had no intentions of getting checked out, she would spill.

"I just…" she had to pause to take a more measured exhale, which did help for a second or two. "I hurt, all right?" short and sweet.

Marshall was on it, "Where?"

"My lower belly – and down across my back."

"Has it been constant or does it stop now and again and then come back?"

She wasn't going to waste time repeating his phrasing, "The second one."

"Okay…" whatever suspicions he was cooking up, they seemed to have been confirmed, although he didn't appear alarmed which put Mary at ease. "I'm sure you're having Braxton Hicks contractions; your little moan and wiggle routine over there has absolutely no pattern from what I've observed…"

"You _observe_ my _patterns?_" the blonde reiterated, unable to believe Marshall would do such a thing. "You really need to get a life…"

"The point is, they're contractions but they're irregular and so you're in the clear," he finished. "Your best chance at relief is trying to relax – oh, and drink," lifting her bottle of water out of the cup holder, she yanked it out of his hand while still glowering at his diagnosis. "You are probably dehydrated if all you had this morning was that orange juice."

Not interested in the specifics, but willing to believe him if it meant she could dispense with being so uncomfortable, Mary unscrewed the cap and began to down the beverage. If it was a choice between having to pee every thirty minutes and dealing with such gut-wrenching pain, she would take the former every time. She was going to be a real treat by the time she went into labor for real.

Marshall concentrated on the road for a few minutes while Mary drank like she was in the middle of the desert, not realizing just how thirsty she was until she had the liquid in her mouth. Her stomach continued to cramp up, although it wasn't nearly as wrenching if she inhaled and exhaled around it and leaned a little to the left, which meant she got a good view of Marshall and his driving.

Such a position meant that she saw just how woebegone he appeared underneath. It might be hard to spot for most people, but for his trusted partner it was a piece of cake. His gorgeous periwinkle eyes didn't have the same spark, and that alone was enough of a clue to the fact that something was bothering him. Remembering how he had stood up for her with Ted and knowing he had wanted the trip to yield more favorable results, Mary suddenly felt the coercion to show a little gratitude. It wasn't often that such a feeling struck her, but when it did she ran with it.

"Hey, Marshall?"

"Hmm?"

"Look, I'm…" blinking and shaking her head, reminding herself that anything heartfelt didn't have to be a big deal. "I'm sorry that I botched things with your brother; we got off on the wrong foot with my playing into Bri's demands and he's obviously not crazy about me now…"

"Ah, don't you beat yourself up," Marshall was casual, willing to forgive her at once because she was being so self-aware about her gaffe, if that was even what it was. "You shouldn't expend any energy on whether or not Ted likes you. Ted doesn't like anybody."

Oddly, this didn't soothe Mary, "Is that what you tell people about me when I can't get along with anyone who crosses my path?"

What had made her say such a thing? Here she'd been trying to give Marshall a little credit, to show that she hadn't intended to ruin his reunion, and she'd thrown it all down the drain by assuming he would be so crass. Hadn't she heard the way he'd put her up on a pedestal when he'd been talking to Ted? That wasn't proof enough he believed the best of her, even when her behavior didn't merit it?

As it was, Marshall did seem a little ruffled by his partner's question, if not entirely insulted.

"Well…no…" he muttered, sounding sad and confused, which made Mary feel even worse. "I…I admit I hoped for better with Ted, but none of what went down is your fault. I don't look at you the same way I look at him; for one, you don't judge people under a microscope like he does…"

Mary interrupted – anything to get that lost puppy look off his face.

"Marshall, I'm an idiot," she insisted, wanting to sit up a little higher so she could seem more alert, but not willing to risk the discomfort in her belly returning. "You always stick by me – you even stick by Ted whether he deserves it or not. Forget what I said. All I meant to say was that I was sorry."

"But, you have nothing to be sorry about," the taller sounded adamant. "Ted is the way he is with everybody; you can't take it personally."

"Well, I do," Mary snapped, acting out of character by revealing so many emotions all at once, but she was achy and irritable. "I am sick of everybody assuming that I don't care what people think about me. I do care. So, sue me."

Marshall was rightfully thrown off the mark by the woman leaping from contrite to snippy in a matter of seconds, but trying to 'man-up' and admit to her errors was paramount for her. You couldn't expect her not to be a little touchy. Instead of commenting on this, it was probably better to focus on what she had just told him, rather than where her helter-skelter hormones came from.

"I am guilty of believing that you are less than fretful about how the general public views you," this was not a lie; he had thought for many years that Mary could brush off another's opinions with the slightest breeze. "But, it's not fair. Of course you care what people think of you, good or bad. I just hope you're not using my brother as a yardstick for everyone's attitude toward you, because it would be inaccurate."

"You are a filthy, rotten liar," she barked in spite of his own admission. "You name one person who hasn't had reservations about me from the start. Even you did."

"Yes, I did," Marshall conceded. "You're a tough one to figure out, but unless someone is interfering with your work – as you imagined I was back in the dark ages – you can be perfectly pleasant if you make the effort. I know that you were with Ted, and it's his own damn fault that he was too worried about bedtimes to see how wonderful you are."

"Oh…" tetchiness abruptly erased by the accolade, Mary felt her cheeks burn at the praise, fully intending to tell him it wasn't necessary, but that wasn't what came out her mouth. "I…I don't think 'wonderful' is being very truthful, Marshall. You know how I am. Hell, _I_ know how I am. I can't just expect everyone to overlook that I'm a real bitch nine times out of ten."

"Mary," there was no mistaking how flabbergasted he was at her describing herself in such a manner; in fact, he was in danger of driving right off the road just so he could look her in her heavy eyes. "What sort of assessment is that?"

"The honest one…"

"No, it isn't," it was like he was reprimanding her. "I don't like you talking about yourself that way. Too many people make the mistake of trying to defame themselves in hopes of appearing more humble or humane in the eyes of others. You shouldn't fall into that trap. It is beneath you."

It was bizarre to have Marshall be so forthright with her; normally, Stan took over that role because, although the inspector certainly knew how to handle his partner, he very rarely took her to task on any of their cases. Their chief was forever enlisted to break up any power struggles, which meant that Marshall didn't have to get bossy with her. But, the notion that he was so worked up about her displaying any smidgen of low self-esteem was unprecedented. Perhaps because she always projected the utmost poise, it was hard to believe she could ever feel insecure.

"I think you're overselling me, Marshall," she couldn't let go of her attempted modesty completely. And then, deciding it was foolish to continue pretending, "I'm not the only one you've tried to oversell me to this morning."

The taller did not need to crack this code; she could tell by the sigh that made his shoulders slump and the way he set his vision on the streets before him, rain-washed and icky though they were. Mary began to feel a little badly that she'd blown his cover, just as another spasm graced her midsection. But Marshall, with his eyes forward, didn't see her wince.

"So, you heard, did you?" he guessed. "It was pretty dumb of both of us to think that you couldn't," referring to he and Ted.

"It's not like he said anything to you that I couldn't guess from the way he was acting. He didn't take pot shots at me or anything."

"Yeah, but…" Marshall shook his head. "My conversation with him just confirmed that he thinks his demeanor toward you is perfectly acceptable, and that's not something I'd enjoy listening in on. You tried. He didn't."

"Did you tell him to?" the pregnant one suddenly wondered. "You know, like you told me to buck up and be civil?"

Marshall considered, but not for very long, "No," he eventually stated. "I didn't think it would get me anywhere. Are you trying to excuse him?" there was definite distrust in his voice. "Trying to give him an out just because I didn't remind him to 'be good?'"

"Me?" Mary's eyebrows flew up in response to her friend thinking she would cut anybody any slack, let alone someone like Ted. "No. I just think that…you know…" it was hard to articulate what she meant when she couldn't even be sure of why she felt the way she did. "I _wanted_ to get along with him. For you. I just don't think he saw the need for creating any kind of a connection between us. And, why would he? Unless he really does think I'm your girlfriend."

The tips of Marshall's ears turned an interesting shade of red, for he had obviously forgotten the 'girlfriend' part of his quarrel with Ted. Mary brought it up very casually; she even smirked on the tail end, but something told her that the younger brother didn't find it so funny. It was lucky for her, really, that he was so humiliated, because it kept him from noticing that she'd mentioned her intentions to make nice with Ted were to help him out. She didn't need him reading too much into that, making her out to be a sentimental sap who sought to mend fences between brothers.

"I…I think it's the girls who are a little bit…unsure about our relationship…" this came with a lot of throat-clearing from Marshall, which indicated he might be making things up as he went along, although Mary wasn't convinced. "I mean, June is old enough to understand that we're just close friends, but you know how little girls are…" waving it all away as a princess and the frog story. "They romanticize things…"

"_These_ little girls?" the blonde wouldn't buy this. "Do you mean to tell me that Ted and Leann have been reciting fairytales to them since the day they came over from China?" making light of Bri's story. "Doesn't really seem their type."

"But, even without the exposure…" Marshall wouldn't give up on his little scenario, although his lobes were turning more crimson by the minute. "They just…you know, they don't see me often enough to know anything about my love life. The first woman they see, they just assume. That's all. Trust me; I've talked to them on Skype about it plenty of times. They know we're friends. Ted was just being a jerk, trying to catch me off guard."

The 'jerk' part was certainly believable, and if the Manns knew as little as Marshall claimed about anything involving his personal life, the rest of the puzzle slid into place as well. Still, Mary wasn't sure she liked being envisioned as some significant other when she was the furthest thing from – especially when Marshall already had one.

"Do you plan on setting the record straight?" finally, she felt like she could move out of her slumped position, for her stomach had quit constricting so brutally.

"I…what?" Marshall had the feeling he was missing something, and any sort of back-and-forth with Mary about feelings was hazardous territory. "I've told them plenty of times that you and I…"

"Calm down, doofus," he really was getting edgy with the way she was interrogating him, and so she decided to back off in order to make good on her promise of going out of her way just for him. "I just mean, do you ever see yourself introducing Abigail to them? That would show them I'm nothing more than your snarky old partner."

Mary's proposition being wholly innocent made the man loosen up just slightly, but the idea of Abigail coming face-to-face with his family produced a more dissimilar reaction. These past few days on the road he had felt very distant from his actual girlfriend, although had touched base with her every chance he got, which wasn't often between the driving and being so fatigued at night. They'd communicated mainly by e-mail, but he'd never once pictured her in the same situation that Mary had been thrown into – handshakes with June and Avery, pleasantries with Leann, walking on eggshells with Ted, and bargaining with Brianna.

Although she was far more cheerful and infinitely more optimistic than Mary, more willing to make the best of a bad situation, Marshall still couldn't see Abigail in that big old house. It was hard to see anyone there, especially when the result of newcomers was Ted in a frenzy. But, Mary had dealt – she had dealt exactly as Marshall had hoped, with grace under pressure and a hint of her usual sarcasm. Abigail would've been putting on the ritz, pulling out all the stops, killing them with kindness and everything in-between. Usually, Marshall enjoyed her enthusiasm, but it might've been a total flop with his relatives.

Or, he thought guiltily, Ted might actually get along with Abigail because they were both detectives, and she would praise his fondness for proper protocol, something Mary would never do. The thought of them bonding was actually more frightening than them being at odds. Why was that?

"I mean…Abigail hasn't really had the opportunity to meet them," he eventually stuttered, trying to collect his thoughts so Mary wouldn't see how lost in them he had become. "But, you know, if we keep rolling along the way we have been, I see no reason why she wouldn't in the future."

Hard to say what 'rolling along' really meant when one half of the courtship was driving further and further away from the other. There was only one way to find out how Marshall was categorizing that.

"Things are going good with you guys, then?" Mary prodded evenly. "Even though you've been away for four days and are working on fourteen?"

"You know it won't be that long," he reminded her. "And, I suppose so – as well as can be expected, given the distance. I look forward to her daily e-mails; she keeps me updated on all the happenings at home."

"Lovely…" the woman mused half-heartedly.

"In her last, she was particularly buoyant; it seems she ran into an old friend. Vincent something-or-other; I don't recall his last name."

Something clicked so fast in Mary's supposedly mushy brain that she completely forgot her temperamental insides and even more temperamental visit with Ted. Her partner might not be familiar with 'Vincent something-or-other' but her Marshal-mind had just kicked into overdrive. It was like she had a little calendar in the very furthest alcove of her brain, one that spun like a rolodex when important facets needed to be pulled to the apex. Like an old roll of film jittering in black and white, she saw a Wednesday, a desk heaped with papers, and a passionate-as-ever Delia at her elbow.

"_What…were they engaged?" _

"_More than that. Made it to the church and everything – until she left Vincent at the altar. But, you didn't hear that from me, inspector." _

Vincent. Vincent. Wells, maybe? That sounded right. Abigail's one-time fiancée, the one she had hung out to dry – the last boyfriend she'd had before turning up in Albuquerque. Wasn't he supposed to be in Texas? What was she doing running into him? But, more to the point, it was clear that Marshall had absolutely no idea who this guy was, and his obliviousness was both shattering and fury-inducing.

Abigail was lying – by omission, maybe, but lying nonetheless. Mary felt like punching her.

But instead, she played it as cool as possible, knowing that if she was going to reveal anything, she wasn't going to be able to look vindictive and have Marshall believe her.

"Who's Vincent?" she inquired harmlessly. "Did she say?"

"Not explicitly, no," Marshall shrugged. "Just a friend – from her Texas days, I gather, but no more than that."

There might have been 'no more' that Abigail had told him, but there was certainly more to the story if Delia was to be trusted. Did Mary dare risk admitting that she had behaved like some gossipy high school girl just to get the dirt on the prom queen? Worse still, would she put her friendship with Marshall in peril by hinting that she believed Delia's claims to be true? Her stomach began to feel funny again.

"You, um…has Abigail mentioned bumping into old friends frequently?" this was a very poor way of ferreting to the core, but it was the best Mary could come up with on the fly, remembering that the detective also used to have a reputation as a party girl. "Does she seem…well-connected or anything?"

"Not especially…" Marshall's eyes did a definite shift sideways, which meant that he saw right through Mary's less-than-cunning approach. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," she was starting to sound defensive, which was always a giveaway. "I mean this Vincent-somebody obviously lit a fire under her; I just wondered who he was, if he was somebody special – special enough to mention him to you," the whole sad, sorry tale was going to come spewing out any second if she did not learn to shut up. "But, how could I have forgotten that _everybody_ is special to Abigail? The next door neighbor is her gal pal; the highway patrol is her best buddy. She's a philanthropist that way."

"That may be, but I don't think that's why you're so interested all of a sudden," Marshall declared shrewdly. "What's going on? I saw your face when I said that guy's name. Do you know him?"

Cursing her downtrodden physical state for making her so vulnerable, Mary knew that telling the truth didn't have to be telling the whole truth. She could omit certain parts – like the fact that she had gone to Delia practically begging for a scoop on Nancy Drew. Also, faking that she doubted the authenticity of the gossip was a must, though she absolutely believed Abigail had been through her share of men.

Shifting so that her back was against the seat once more, Mary gave a nonchalant hunch of her shoulder blades and the most abbreviated version of her knowledge that she possessed.

"No, I don't know him…" still, she kept right on shrugging, as if this would aide in helping the words escape. "It was…Delia who mentioned him in passing…" not really in passing, but specifics were unnecessary. "Because of Abigail, you know; she was aware that they knew each other…"

"How? Why?" so far, Marshall seemed to think this was a bee sting.

"He's a private investigator; I guess Abigail worked with him back in Texas, so you were right about that."

"But, is there something I wasn't right about?" his spidey-senses were still tingling. "Was he seeing her or something?"

Close, but no cigar. And, try as she might to stay mum, Mary just couldn't help herself.

"More like…engaged to her."

The whole bit about her leaving Vincent at the altar could be left out, because the look of bafflement and disorientation in Marshall's features was enough to make Mary believe that this had not been a game at all. No, Abigail wasn't her favorite person and she didn't think she was right for Marshall, but he had obviously been holding a good thought for the future, and this put a definite damper on it. He couldn't hide that he had been totally ignorant of this facet in his girlfriend's past, and now he was embarrassed as well as in denial.

"Delia told you this?" his normally smooth voice came out in a croak.

"Yeah…"

"When?"

"Last week before we left."

"And you didn't feel the need to say anything to me until now?"

Marshall wasn't mad, but a definite sharpness had crept into his voice, though it was probably by accident. Very-very rarely was he ever truly angry with Mary, and it didn't look like he had guessed that she had been the one rooting around for the information. Had he known that, she might've given him very good reason to blow his top.

"I…I mean, I wasn't sure if you knew," nothing false about that. "And, I didn't want to tell you like I was – well, like I knew something you didn't, like I was throwing it in your face," she rationalized. "Is it really my business anyway?" there was the lie; she'd made it her business.

"You weren't keeping it from me on purpose?"

"No," she told him quickly. "I kind of forgot about it once Delia said something."

"Right…" he murmured dully. "Last I heard, you weren't much for swapping stories under the bleachers with the other cheerleaders."

This was meant to tease her, and Mary took it as such when Marshall emitted a nervous, shaky laugh as if to prove he was not at all hurt by Abigail's deception. The real question was: why was he so hung up on the fact that Mary had stayed silent, and not the girlfriend he claimed to love?

XXX

**A/N: I couldn't forget about Abigail, although I am sure some of you wanted me to! ;)**


	27. Stinging Sister Secrets

**A/N: I am in an affectionate mood this evening! I love you all, I love that you read, and I love your reviews!**

XXX

As the eastern coast loomed closer, the stormy weather began to subside, although the SUV was beginning to feel like a pressure cooker, and Mary longed to get out and find refuge in the motel, even if it did mean seeing Delia. It had been one of their longest drives ever, rounding out ten hours before the day was done, and pulling into a cloudy but humid Philadelphia after dark.

Though she cautioned herself against saying it, because she had already complained about her pains enough for one day, Mary felt nothing short of awful. While what Marshall had labeled as 'contractions' had tapered away for the most part, she was queasy and achy and felt like she hadn't showered in weeks. It was hard to believe she'd been in one that very morning, which seemed ages ago. She wanted nothing more than to crash hard, to sleep for as long as possible, but her internal clock was all out of whack thanks to the slow-growing time changes. In the back of her mind, she wondered if Marshall felt the same way, although he didn't have to contend with a belly the size of the Sandia Mountains they'd left behind.

Marshall himself had gone rather quiet since getting the news about Vincent, which made the already long trek even longer. For once, Mary had to try and engage him in conversation when the silence became too much, but he nibbled only to be polite, and then went back to staring at the road.

Delia's glaring cheerfulness was almost welcome by the time the two partners dragged themselves up to their room, which was an adjoining suite with the third inspector and Savannah. It was impossible for Mary to be more grateful that she didn't have to bunk with the witness; thank goodness for perky Parmalee.

"Long time, no see!" she chirruped blithely, all-but crashing through the door separating their rooms to find Marshall scanning e-mails on his phone and Mary lying back on her bed with her hand over her eyes. "You survived the journey! Not that I had any doubt."

"Makes one of us…" the other woman mumbled beneath her fingers, trying to block out some of the light, which was giving her a headache. "You can credit Jack and the Beanstalk over there for getting us here alive," the nickname was inspired on a whim, for she was suddenly remembering his fascination with the Farmer's Market of the Midwest. "We foraged for nuts and berries and baseball."

"Sounds splendid!" Delia completely missed the sarcasm, or chose to ignore it. "Well, the flight Savannah and I took was right on time – even arrived a few minutes early, if you can imagine that!" a broad chuckle escaped at the sheer good fortune she envisioned herself to have experienced. "She's back in our room getting settled; I'm going to prep her for tomorrow in a little while…"

Though her body fought rising with every inch, Mary's torso still eased upward at a particular line in Delia's run-on, and Marshall glanced up from his phone as well. Pocketing it, he stood while Mary decided she could listen attentively and not leave the bed.

"Tomorrow?" he questioned, stuffing his hands in his coat, as if to make sure the cell had landed where he'd wanted it to. "They did schedule the hearing for tomorrow? I know Stan was hoping that was the plan, but we were still looking for confirmation the last time I talked to him…"

"It's all ironed out," Delia assured him. "You and Mary have a private appointment with the judge and DOJ at nine, and then Savannah is set to take the stand at ten. Looks like it'll be signed, sealed, and delivered by lunchtime!"

"If it goes smoothly," the blonde would forever place conditions. "I'm not getting my hopes up. Knowing my luck, we'll be stuck here for another week, which means Mango's first view of the world will be of a cow pasture somewhere between Kansas and Oklahoma."

Marshall paid her no mind because he, like Delia, seemed encouraged by the fact that a schedule had been set in stone. That was the difference between the more cynical of the partners and the more optimistic – one would always believe there was danger behind every corner, while the other saw adventure, even hope.

"Do you need help with the prep?" he almost bombarded Delia with the offer, sounding oddly eager to Mary, especially for as tired as he must be. "I can sit in with you two before we hit the sack."

"Oh, that'd be super, Marshall – just super," Delia accepted, waving a flamboyant hand at his generosity and showing all of her teeth in her usual smile. "I don't think it'll take long; Savannah and I had some time to go over specifics on the plane."

"Good…" the tallest bobbed his head, although Mary distinctly saw him squeeze his eyes shut and reopen them like he was clearing his brain, willing himself to stay awake. "Good. She should be ready, then. No hitches tomorrow."

"I think a few last minute questions should do the trick," Delia proclaimed.

"Well, I'm happy to lend a hand," Marshall babbled on. "I had something I wanted to over with you anyway."

In her stupor on the bed, Mary didn't immediately register what Marshall's second phrase might mean, but once the statement floated fully into her mind and ruminated for a few moments, she realized what that 'something' might be. His tight-lipped attitude for the majority of the day's trip was conspicuous, and when you considered whom Mary had given up as the source of Abigail's treachery, it was no coincidence he was hankering to go with Delia.

At the moment, she didn't give a damn what his motivation was. She was so exhausted that even her bones were beginning to throb; perhaps it would be possible for her to sneak away for a quick second shower before bed. She was suddenly remembering how much the hot water had alleviated her discomfort that morning. However, standing under the stream would mean getting up, and that seemed a rather daunting task at present.

"If you want to get started, we can knock this thing out," Delia was suggesting as Mary considered her options. "We can just give Savannah a run-down of what to expect tomorrow, correct any problems, and wish her well."

"Yeah…yeah, sounds great," the man stated, for he was pro at preparing witnesses for testimony; he was skilled with even the most jittery of charges, which Savannah was not likely to be. "I'll be there in a second."

With a hearty farewell wave that was totally unnecessary but so very Delia, the woman departed for her own room, Marshall staying behind only to finish scanning whatever he had been poring over on his phone. Knowing she didn't have to go anywhere or do anything for at least a few minutes, Mary flopped back onto her pillows, wondering if he would care if she snapped off the light to get rid of her pounding head.

"You gonna be all right in here?" Marshall queried absently through the slats created by his partner's fingers. "You are giving off a rather bedraggled appearance."

Mary was not offended, "Bedraggled is right," she backed him up. "I think even my fingers and toes are tired."

"Well, I'll try to be quick," a promise.

"What do I care?" the other shot back. "It's you who will be burning the midnight oil, not me. Bri would be proud."

This time, he chuckled, "That she would. She'd think you were whiling the evening away."

"She can think what she wants."

"We should covet the fact that she has a mind of her own, I would say," Marshall concluded, and the sound of springs meant that he had gotten off the bed once more in order to keep Delia and Savannah company, as promised. "Such a thing is not likely to come about naturally when Theodore Mann is your father."

Not wanting to press the issue of Ted, because it was just one more thing on her plate that she couldn't sort out, Mary lifted her hand a fraction of an inch to see Marshall striding across the room. He was almost at the half-open door when her mouth babbled onward onto yet another minimally prohibited topic, proving her mind had truly gone to mush.

"You wouldn't have jumped at the chance to play judge and jury with Savannah and Delia to get your mind off that bomb I dropped about Abigail earlier, are you?" she questioned. "I am an expert at avoiding my problems, so I can spot your scheme a mile away."

Marshall's smile was devoid of any real humor, which caused a morsel of shame to wash over Mary, because she had been the one to deliver the news about the one-time-fiancée. Throwing himself into work was the way he was avoiding the idea, avoiding what he would say to Abigail, or even how he felt about his partner knowing before he did.

"Pushing things to the rear of one's mind for one evening never hurt anybody," he proclaimed, noble and rational as ever. "No sense getting worked up when there is nothing I can do from half a continent away. We have more important things to worry about – like getting Savannah through tomorrow efficiently."

"I guess I can't argue with that logic…" the woman muttered. "Really, you should keep it brief. I know I'm the one dragging a Mango that is becoming a Watermelon around, but you can't tell me you aren't spent too."

"I'll set a timer," he joshed, this time with a real smirk. "See you in a bit."

"Mmm hmm…"

The absence of Marshall meant that Mary could let out what was a very dramatic and heaving sigh, something she rarely did in front of others because it screamed helplessness. She was exposed enough as it was, massive stomach, lank hair, sunken cheeks, droopy eyelids and all. She didn't need to add emotion to the ghastly physical appearance. Unfortunately, her blissful solitude didn't last long. The man hadn't been out of the room more than two minutes when her phone erupted in a fit of buzzing on the nightstand.

The sigh was quickly replaced with a groan, because if it was Jinx on the other end of the line, she was in for a tongue-lashing reminiscent of the one that had taken place a few days before. While she and Mary had made up since then, now was not a good night to test those waters.

Once she groped and managed to close her fingers around the device, holding it up over her head to see the name blinking back at her, she discovered that the caller was someone almost as unwelcome as her mother. The moniker scrolling itself across the screen read, 'Brandi.' Was this really the lesser of two evils?

Not in this case, because her little sister – with the boundless energy and zest – was far more persistent than Jinx and would not give up until she'd spoken to Mary. And so, more bummed out than she had been to begin with at the prospect of speaking to the younger Shannon, she answered against her will.

"What?" she grunted in a deep voice, rolling over onto her side so that her face was almost submerged in the pillow. "Jesus, it's after one in the morning there. What the hell are you even doing up?" by 'there' she meant Albuquerque, but Brandi often lived the high life as a night owl, snoozing her mornings away, hung over and sloshed.

"Peter and I had a car expo and there was a reception afterwards," Brandi reported. "But, I think your time zones are a little backwards. It's only nine here. It's nice to talk to you too, by the way."

"I'm not even going to pretend to fake small talk," Mary let her know right off the bat, ignoring the aside about the time change. "I am seriously exhausted, Squish. I've been up since seven for the past three days and doing nothing but driving…"

"That _does_ sound taxing," the littler teased, but it was light and playful. "I won't be long; I just wanted to catch you before you went to bed."

"Then talk fast."

Brandi chuckled her hoarse, sandpapery laugh, but at least she followed the instruction without hesitation, without her usual gossip and blather that Mary would never be interested in.

"Well, first of all, do you know that your air conditioning is broken?"

Initially, Mary was ready to throw something even though she doubted she could even lift her hand to do it, because heating and cooling repairs were a bitch to schedule and even more obnoxious to pay for. But, then she remembered the little plan she had concocted before she'd left New Mexico in order to keep Brandi and Jinx out of the house, and her brain went back to sleep.

"It isn't broken," her head shutting down meant that her mouth suddenly had a mind of its own. "I had it turned off before I left. Save a few bucks."

"It feels like a sauna in there. Mom and I haven't been by in days."

Mission accomplished.

"And, the dress thing…" Brandi went on, inspiring yet another moan from her big sister, purposely agonized as though the discussion were costing her a great deal. "I know, I know, but Mary…" the younger pretended to be understanding only for a minute. "The wedding is only eight days away!"

Christ, that soon?

"I have _got_ to order your dress," she insisted. "Did you pick one?"

Truthfully, no, Mary hadn't, but they were getting down to the wire. At this rate, who knew if she would even make it to the wedding depending upon when she and Marshall could hit the road back to New Mexico? Wouldn't that just drive Brandi up the wall?

"I narrowed it down, but…"

"Well, then e-mail me those and I'll pick it."

Ordinarily, Mary never would've allowed this, but she was sick of skimming through those awful magazines, and had no desire to devote any more time to the task. Fate in the form of Brandi could take care of the rest.

"Okay…" she exhaled, giving up the ghost. "I'll get an e-mail to you in the morning. Promise," whatever Mary's 'promises' meant at this point.

"You better," if this was Brandi's version of being 'tough,' than she was going to have to work on it, because she sounded merely relieved. "Because, I'll have to find shoes to match too."

"Whatever you say," Mary groused, rubbing her temples between her thumb and forefinger, knowing she should kill the lights in order to fight the headache that was mounting. "Is that all?"

"One more thing, then I swear I'll get out of your hair."

Mary didn't even consider the believably of this statement, "What?"

"When I stopped by your house on Friday – before it could double for the steam room at the gym – there was a message on your answering machine."

"And you checked my answering machine?" Mary tried to sound upset about the invasion of her privacy.

"It could've been important!" Brandi's defense was weak. "And, you'll be glad I did."

"Why?"

"Because it was Mark."

'Glad' was the furthest thing from Mary's mind as those four little words pieced together at lightning speed, fighting her sluggish mind, forcing it to speed up, to kick into gear, to comprehend and understand exactly what was going on. The realization was jarring, shocking to the point where she felt dizzy, where the return to consciousness made her so lightheaded she might pass out right there on the bed even though she was already lying down.

Her first thought was why in the hell Mark was calling her to begin with, but the second was that she was in deep-deep shit now that he was. Here she was, poised to sit down for tea with an adoptive family in a few days' time, and Mark was oblivious not only to her plans for the baby, but to the baby itself. How could she have been so stupid? The adoption couldn't even go through without Mark's consent, short of a very poor forgery. Did she really think she could get around the law like that?

And on another level, what was Mark going to think? For the first time, she wondered if he might battle with her on the adoption, if he would want to stake a claim to his child. What would she do then? Nine months of being in the dark would surely make him angry. How could she justify that? How could she justify any of it?

Her thought process must've taken awhile, even though she was now leaning halfway against her pillows, her ears ringing from coming back from her coma so quickly. Brandi seemed to wonder where she had gone.

"Mare? Are you still there?"

If she answered speedily, then maybe Brandi wouldn't deduce anything.

"Yeah. I'm here." An abrupt and horrifying thought suddenly came to mind, "You did not say anything to him. Brandi, tell me you did not call him back and butt your big nose into…"

"No, I didn't," she interjected snootily, working to sound affronted. "I just thought you should know."

"What does he even want?"

"It's nothing suspect," Brandi said offhandedly. "He just wondered how you were doing since he saw you last – _all_ of you," she just couldn't resist getting a sexual innuendo into the mix. "Wants you to call him. That's it."

Probably to try and rekindle lost love, Mary thought nauseatingly, but at least his intentions did seem innocent enough. That wouldn't last long once she told him about the pregnancy, but he would start out in good spirits whether he stayed that way or not. Mark was a pretty easygoing guy, but it would be hard to blame him for being pissed in this instance. But, would he be so pissed that he would try to derail her strategy for Mango? Why would he? Responsibility was not exactly his middle name. Surely he would welcome being given an out.

But, what if he didn't?

"I only thought you'd be glad because I thought if I didn't tell you that he'd call your cell or something and catch you off guard," Brandi hypothesized, cutting into Mary's internal dialogue. "I don't think he has that number –that's why he was calling the house – but I'd touch base with him soon, or he's going to start asking me for it."

"For what?"

"Your cell," the smaller clarified. "Was I right in thinking he doesn't have it?"

"I'm not that stupid," Mary snapped. "And if he's going to crimp my style, than he can go suck an egg, because I have this figured out. He doesn't need to show up and wreck the whole thing."

Her façade of confidence would only be able to fool someone like Brandi and, in typical Brandi fashion; she paid no attention to whether or not Mary's comment was credible, and instead latched onto the supposed feeling behind it.

"You don't have to be so mean to him," she accused, sounding like she was the one who had been insulted. "What did he do?"

"He got me knocked up; that's what he did!" Mary's voice rose the more agitated she got, and she was even more annoyed that she was beginning to sit up in order to make her case. "Because he couldn't keep it in his pants and use a Goddamn condom!"

"Geez, you don't have to get mad at me too," Brandi's hurt suddenly turned to petulance. "I'm just the messenger."

But, the dog-tired woman was already working at a ten on the Richter scale, unable to turn back now that she had been shoved in headfirst by her addle-minded sister. Her heartbeat was quickening, her palms growing damp, and one thing on top of another on top of another was going to drive her straight to tears for the first time in who knew how long. She hated crying; she absolutely hated it. But, it was a very real possibility in this instance, although trying to hold everything in was making the tension about ten times worse.

Mark. Adoption. Harmons. Testimonies. Wedding dresses. Dancing shoes. Ted. Brianna. Late to bed and too early to rise, and miles and miles of driving. It was a wonder she had not exploded before now.

"You better keep your mouth _shut_ where Mark is concerned!" this wasn't even Brandi's fault, but Mary was hankering for someone to blame in a big way. "If you hadn't brought his lazy ass to town in the first place, I never would've had to deal with him ever again! You're so eager to play matchmaker that you don't even think about how your stupid games affect the rest of us!"

Now Brandi was the one who was upset, "All I did was bring him to the house! You didn't have to sleep with him!" she shot back. "You think he got you pregnant all by himself?"

Common sense wasn't going to factor in-in this conversation, "Do not pretend to know what happened," Mary asserted boldly. "This wasn't some renewed love coming to light; it was a mistake, and if Mark had a brain he would know that and would leave me the hell alone."

Such a 'mistake' had come about purely because Mary had been forced to endure Marshall's and Abigail's incessant giggling on their horrendous double date before she and Mark had hit the sheets. Their revolting romance had been the catalyst for that entire night; seeing Marshall yuk it up with that cheerleader had been almost physically painful, and there was always a surefire way to make something so excruciating go away. Dive into another relationship – hard, fast, and furious.

Meanwhile, Brandi was obviously through trying to make sense of her big sister's hormonal outburst, placing the blame right back where it belonged.

"You are going to be in _big_ trouble if you have that baby, send it somewhere, and don't even tell Mark," pointing the finger of morality. "He could make things miserable for the adoptive family if he ever found out and try to take the baby from them, and he'd be totally within his rights. You want to put everybody through that? You go ahead."

Holy cow. Mary hadn't even considered that. Fortunately, it wasn't entirely possible because no signature from Mark meant no adoption, but if for some reason she _was_ able to push it under the wire, what then? The Harmons claim to Mango would only be temporary; Mark could snatch the baby and win him back. Was that true?

The fact that she was taking Brandi's so-called legal expertise as the gospel was pathetic as well as infuriating. She could be making the whole thing up.

"You can stuff it," was the best Mary could come up with, wanting to chuck the phone clear across the room in order to get out of the grilling the bride-to-be was giving her. "You and your best buddy _Mark_ can think whatever the hell you want. This baby is mine and I'll be damned if anyone is going to tell me what to do with him."

And, fulfilling her wishes as best she could, she soundly hung up, throwing her cell onto the bed stand with a deafening clatter that made the screen go black at once.

"Shit!" Mary cursed, knowing Stan would have her head if he knew she'd shattered her phone for something so useless. "Damn it!"

But, picking up the device and attempting to fix it was simply cause for her tantrum to continue. When it wouldn't flicker to life, no matter how many times she tried to turn it off and turn it back on, Mary's anger and confusion gave way to the tears already welling in her dreary green eyes. She was melting down in the saddest of ways, wholly because she was not coming apart at the seams, but streaming tears as she wrestled with her phone. No noises, no bawling, no sobbing, just tears; wet, sticky tears.

Unfortunately, it was foolish to think that her episode wasn't going to attract attention in the next room. The racket she had caused, first with her banging the cell around and then with the unfiltered profanity caused Marshall to return, sticking his head through the doorframe as though he was afraid to enter.

"Is that you?" he wanted to know, like perhaps he had misheard and his partner wasn't tossing everything in sight around the room. "I thought I heard a noise in here."

"It's nothing."

But, her voice was muddled, its tone murky and clouded, like she had wads of cotton crammed down her throat. Two words were going to give her away in an instant. That, and she was still jamming buttons on her phone like her life depended on it.

Of course, Marshall came all the way inside upon hearing her response, taking care to shut the door behind him. Approaching the bed, he spotted her blotchy cheeks and her watery eyes and, in a move that was very un-Marshall-like, he forgot about respecting boundaries and allowed the power of being a best friend to take over.

"Mare, what's wrong?"

There was a gentleness, a kind of softened shock that coincided with his eyebrows inclining, his blue orbs turning melancholy and subdued. He plunked himself right down on the bed beside her, perhaps not thinking about how she might push him away because he, too, was running on empty.

"Is it your phone? What happened to your phone?"

He tried to take it from her, to see what the problem was; as if under ordinary circumstances she would be weeping about lost service. But, her vise grip on it was so tight that she didn't even seem to notice his attempt to pry it away. After a moment or two, his efforts were used only to help her get a hold of herself, and not so he could attempt to fix the battered remnants of the cell, which had been his original intent.

"Let go…" he coaxed, jostling her fingers. "Give it to me; come on…"

"I _broke_ it…" she moaned, which was accompanied by a guttural groan at how pitiful she sounded. "We cannot go anywhere tomorrow with it broken; Stan will kill me…"

"It's not important right now; give it to me," Marshall reiterated. "It's a phone…" this was to promote some sort of rational thought in her preoccupied mind. "It's just a phone…"

Because she was going to detonate over him talking to her like she was a toddler, Mary did finally surrender her hold, but she did not hand it over to Marshall, but placed it on the table where it belonged. Then, with a sigh, she swiped furiously at her eyes, wanting to look like she was livid and not a misshapen mess.

But, it was apparent after only a few seconds that clarity was not going to come. The release, wet though it was, had ended up being therapeutic in its own humiliating way. After traveling for days, bottled up in a car as well as inside her own head, there was nothing left to do but spread it all out for the whole world to see. The whole world, in this case, being Marshall.

His hand was floating in front of her blurry line of vision, because she refused to look him in the eye. Staring at her knees, his beside hers, his fingers hovered in midair – unnaturally so. Why weren't his hands in his lap? At his sides? Clasped together as he plotted his next move?

That was when Mary realized what his next move was – or would be if she tolerated it. He wanted to put his hand on her leg. To squeeze, to hold, maybe just to touch. But, he wasn't going to do it without permission; there was no sense in making things worse by broaching a gap that Mary wanted crossed on very few occasions.

Because she was a child, because she would rather send clues than be so explicit, Mary invented an itch so fast she barely thought about it, which caused her to scoot closer to Marshall, which in turn gave him wordless clearance to place his long-fingered palm smack on her knee.

"Why is your phone broken?"

"I whacked it on the table," Mary replied roughly, suddenly finding it strangely easy to speak with the surge running through her veins, beginning at the joints in her leg.

Marshall was moderate, "Why?"

"Brandi called." And then, "Mark's looking for me."

True to form, Marshall held no judgments – no unsolicited advice, no best case scenario. All he held was her knee.

"This is a lot all at once," he observed. "Tomorrow is a new day. It's late and you're tired…"

"I'm _stressed_," Mary knew if he didn't shut up that she was going to start crying for real; she would no longer be this furious hot-under-the-collar beast, but a true pansy blubbering her woes like a soppy high school girl. "It's _stress_. A person can only take so much…"

"I agree," Marshall stated. "But, there will be time to sort it out…"

"I'm running out of time!"

This came in a shout, one that caused her to finally face Marshall instead of the carpet, her eyes blazing and spilling over. Now, his concern turned to haranguing worry; there were really very few times he'd ever seen Mary cry, controlled or not.

"I don't have that much time left! We could be in Rhode Island as early as Tuesday – that's the day after tomorrow! And that's if I don't pop this kid at the courthouse tomorrow! And if I don't call Mark back, Brandi is going to give everything away and I don't even have a damn dress to wear to that ridiculous wedding – which means I'll have to deal with my sister's conniptions when I don't even show up if we can't get home in time…!"

Marshall cut off the tirade as quickly as possible, compressing that coveted knee to bring her wild-eyed gaze back to earth.

"You're upset…" he whispered, knowing if he was calm she would eventually achieve that too. "You're upset; I shouldn't have diminished that…"

"I need sleep…" Mary suddenly switched gears; wanting to take her rant back the minute she was able to stop venting. "I want to go to bed; if I rest I might…"

"You might feel better," Marshall finished. "Yes. I think rest is the best thing for you right now."

"I can't believe he's cropping up like this…" back on Mark, going from zero to one hundred in no time flat. "I can't believe I let it get this far; I am so unbelievably stupid sometimes, even stupider than Brandi and I didn't know that was possible…"

When she buried her face in her hands, shutting out the light, the excess of demons, and even Marshall's soothing manner, the final target was still right there. She wanted to feel and think nothing at all, to wipe the slate blank, to go back in time where the worst thing in her life was still her father's abandonment. It was hard to believe anything could top that.

Awareness only returned when Marshall's hand moved from her knee to her shoulder. This was new. It was nearer to her face, and nearer still to her heart. Something like an ocean breeze, brief and cool, seemed to cleanse her rebounding psyche and she opened up to the harshness of the real world once more.

"You really shouldn't bother yourself with this tonight," the man advised tenderly. "One more day – even two – will not make a difference in the grand scheme of things. You should go wash your face and change your clothes. Crash out. Sleeping until eight thirty tomorrow morning will feel like a gift; the courthouse is only two blocks from here."

Jittery though she still was, Mary longed to get away from this shaky, cluttered version of herself that she barely recognized, and Marshall's advice was likely the only way to get there.

"Okay…" wiping her lids one more time. "Right. Yeah. You should go back to Savannah."

"I don't have to…"

"No, you should," Mary persisted. "I'm going to bed anyway, right?"

"I hope so."

"I am. I listen. I listen when it comes from you."

There was no obliterating the slipshod discussion they'd just had, nor Marshall seeing her freaking out yet another time, and with tears no less. But, there was a round-about compliment imbedded in her hysteria – the insistence that she took note when the counsel was delivered from her partner. She trusted him. She trusted him to see her laid bare and not tell a soul. She trusted him to take her seriously and to try and give her exactly what she needed.

She trusted him to place his hand upon her knee and nothing more. She trusted that most of all.

XXX

**A/N: I've got Mary's traveling-tired-syndrome myself, but at least I am happier than she is tonight!**


	28. Out of the Woodwork and into the Fire

**A/N: Thank-you for the reviews that you have left today! I am so sorry I have been updating so late – time changes mess that up!**

XXX

The following morning, Mary was spurred out of bed only by the knowledge that the reason for this whole cross-country expedition was finally going to come to a head. It was hard to believe that just a week earlier she had been excited about the prospect of sight-seeing around America, and now she was more than ready to be at home. What she was going to do once she got there was a mystery, but she was doing her best not to think about that.

She and Marshall were only needed for the initial portion of Savannah's trial, which was not really a trial at all, but a sit down with those who wanted to determine how WITSEC funding was being distributed. The prospect was not appealing to Mary in the least, because she was certain that DOJ and the higher-ups were just looking for a reason to discredit their program. It was because of their pressuring that she had been forced to endure the endless days on the road, peeing in the grass, and surviving on cookies, uncooked omelets in run-down diners, and buggy tomatoes. So, even if the whole meeting was a sham designed for their superiors to look down their nose at WITSEC, Mary was determined to make the trip a worthwhile one. Painting Savannah as Albuquerque's most reliable witness was number one on the agenda.

Fortunately for the female inspector, she had a partner in crime that had the exact same idea she did. He was brilliant in their conference, listing everything from Savannah's exceptional performance at work to her not once setting foot on a street corner in all her time since relocation. He even managed to get in a few shots directed at the stuff-shirts who had forced a nine-month-pregnant Mary to brave the open road five weeks from delivery for a single convention. They squirmed appropriately and the woman was pleased.

"You think we convinced them to keep sending the greenbacks our way?" Marshall asked once their part was over, he and Mary side-by-side in chairs posted outside the courtroom. "Because, I would like to think that this journey was for the greater good of ABQ WITSEC. If we can sell these guys on the fact that we are running a successful, hardworking program, we won't have people like Allison Pearson breathing down our necks in the future…"

"Thank God for that," Mary intoned, tapping her booted foot on the ground, wondering what was going on behind closed doors, although she did trust Delia to handle Savannah. "And, you and I both know that the money is what this whole thing was really about. It had nothing to do with Savannah's reliability; they just wanted to pin some shmo in the program as being irresponsible so they could pull our funding."

"Well, that's what I'm saying," he all-but repeated. "Do you think we made it look like we…?" there was a hesitation, and when Marshall continued Mary understood that he was trying to be diplomatic. "…Well, that we effectively rehabilitated a former call girl who hasn't gone near a man since she arrived and started a life of retail?"

"I think they call them prostitutes now," Mary snorted at him using such an old-fashioned term. "And, if we're lucky and if Savannah isn't blowing her testimony even as we speak, then there's no reason they should yank our finances. They do, and I'm jumping a plane to wring their necks in September, baby or no baby."

The mention of Mango clearly put Marshall in mind of something else, and he dropped the subject of Savannah, lowering his voice as though someone circumspect might be listening in. They were virtually alone in the cavernous entryway except for a receptionist that was typing away at an enormous wooden desk. Everyone who was involved in Savannah's trial was already in court; Mary and Marshall had decided that she didn't need a parade of inspectors escorting her, and Delia had taken over the job.

"Are you feeling any better this morning?" he poked delicately. "I didn't get a chance to ask in the rush to get here."

That was no surprise, as the pair of them had overslept and Delia had-had to wake them so they wouldn't be late. Mary supposed that, since she was walking and talking like a fully-functioning human being, Marshall had assumed everything was status quo, which it was for the most part.

"You mean when it comes to my severed insides or the father of the fruit I am carrying around?"

Marshall was blunt, "Both, I guess."

It was a good thing that Mary was getting used to such a question coming from him, when once upon a time any inquiry about her physical or mental state was cause for a slap on the back of his head. However, they'd been together so much since they'd left last Thursday that it was impossible to expect him not to want an update now and again, especially with her nearing her due date.

"I'm fine," he had to be getting as familiar with this answer as Mary was with the question that prompted it. "I mean…I'm a little twitchy, especially for someone who isn't drinking coffee, but I'm fine…"

"Twitchy how?"

She rubbed one of her eyes right on cue, as if to authenticate her reasoning, "The…lack of sleep and the time difference is making me a little loopy…" she shared. "It's like I'm running on nothing but heartbeats, because it sure as hell isn't energy…"

Marshall could sympathize with this. It was the condition he often transitioned into himself when he had been on assignment for days on end, where true rest was atypical and anxiety was at an all time high. The yearning for a full eight hour nap would consistently be pushed back in favor of the task at hand, and although you should solidify into a walking zombie, it just made you hyper-alert, hyper-aware, and hyper-sensitive until the strain evaporated and you could succumb to the slumber so desperately craved.

Personally, Marshall had managed to curtail some of his 'twitchiness' because he'd slept so well the night before, but he was guessing Mary had not had the same good fortune. The bigger her belly grew, the harder relaxation became. And it was growing – by the day, from his perspective. Although he wouldn't dare say it, he had observed that the baby seemed to have dropped since they'd begun traveling. She was carrying much lower than she had been the week before.

"I'm…if we can make it through this…" Mary prattled on, likely trying to convince herself more than Marshall. "Just…get through the trial today, then I might be okay," this was considered optimistic for her. "We don't have to start driving again until tomorrow, right?"

"No, yeah…" Marshall concurred. "Home or…elsewhere."

It was no secret where 'elsewhere' was. They were going to be bound for Rhode Island before they reversed direction and headed for New Mexico. There was no reason not to go now that they were so close by, and Mary had never actually considered bailing – it was simply becoming more intimidating now that they were zeroing in on the occasion. It was only five hours from Philadelphia to Providence, which meant that they could, feasibly, leave tomorrow morning and be at the Harmons in time for dinner.

Yikes. Major yikes.

"I…I still need to pin something down on… 'elsewhere,'" the blonde reciprocated cagily, fiddling with a stray thread on her slacks. "I'll probably call Brooke tonight and see what works…" judging from their initial exchange, just about anything would be game for the potentially adoptive mother. "I mean, if she and Chris can't arrange something in the next few days, we'll just have to forgo the meeting because you and I can't be away from work for that long…"

She was bundling together excuses by the minute, half-hoping that Brooke would, in fact, be inflexible, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. For a split second, she questioned why she was putting herself through this at all. Why _not_ go home? Who needed adoptive parents?

Oh, right. She did. Because she wasn't a mother and hadn't planned to be from the get-go. Mango was Mango Harmon, not Mango Shannon.

"I'm sure they'll oblige you accordingly," Marshall had the same view she did, and it was just as bleak coming from him. Noting her skittishness, "It's really quite normal to be nervous. I wouldn't read too much into the nominal angst you're experiencing…"

There was nothing 'nominal' about her angst, but at least Marshall was kind enough to put it that way. And, she supposed there was some degree of truth to his theory. Plenty of birth mothers got a little paranoid; she was sure of it. Why should Mary be any different?

"I'm not nervous," she said anyway, covering her tracks when it wasn't even necessary. "Well, I mean…" shrugging. "Not _that_ nervous."

Bypassing this, "I meant to tell you that calling Brooke will be a lot easier now that I've repaired your phone…"

"What?" all thoughts of the adoption flew right out of Mary's head, and she watched Marshall pull her cell from his breast pocket. With one swipe of the screen with his index finger, she saw the time staring back at her; good as new. "Why didn't you tell me you'd fixed it?"

While the memory that she'd almost totaled it had crossed her mind that morning, she hadn't even bothered to check its status, resigned to leaving it at the motel since it would be of no use to her when it wasn't working. But now, here it was – restored to life, like she hadn't pitched it onto solid wood in her hissy fit.

"I meant to mention it, but it was yet another thing that slipped my mind when we were leaving…" Marshall admitted. "I fiddled around with it last night after you'd gone to bed. I just had to dig into the back and set the SIM card back in place. Luckily, you didn't damage that, but it had been knocked loose, which is why it wouldn't turn on."

"Wow…" Mary reached out and took the phone from him, holding it in her palm because her slacks had no pockets and she wasn't getting up to place it inside her blazer. "Thanks. Tech genius on top of everything else. Is there anything you can't do?"

She meant for this to come out sarcastically, like she was irked by his constant gallantry, but it escaped as the tribute it actually was. A busted cell phone would have been an absolute nightmare, aside from the fact that Jinx and Brandi would think she had fallen off the face of the planet. She owed Marshall big, although she was beginning to feel like she owed him so much already that it was pointless to keep track.

"There are a few things," the man mumbled with a smirk. "Let's save my superhero cape for another day. It was really nothing."

"Well, I did say 'computer nerd' not, you know, 'Batman' or something," Mary joshed playfully. "Don't get carried away."

He was the first to laugh, "Look – up in the sky! It's Marshal Marshall!"

To her utter astonishment, Mary actually giggled – an honest-to-goodness _giggle _that came completely without warning; it was as spontaneous as sneezing or blinking. She realized with a jolt that she hadn't been able to give consent because she'd thought Marshall was genuinely…

Funny? Dorky? Cute?

_Cute?_

With her heart suddenly thudding uncomfortably and the smile still on her face, Mary shoved his shoulder flippantly, because he was now grinning broadly himself that he'd managed to eke a true chuckle out of his partner.

"Aren't you clever enough to come up with a better superhero name than your job distinction?" she taunted. "How about…doofzilla?"

"I'm not a city-chewing myth, Mare."

"You have something to add?"

"You don't like Marshal Marshall, then how does Inspector Brave Star grab you?"

It was lucky Mary wasn't eating or drinking anything, because she almost choked on her own saliva in trying not to laugh and cause a raucous echo in the lobby. This kind of impenetrable joy she was feeling was almost foreign; it had been such a long time since she found something honestly witty, although Marshall was always her best shot.

"You're not serious," she gawked once she got a hold of herself. "You came up with that _way_ too fast. Is this how you see yourself? Inspector Brave Star? That's right out of Saturday morning cartoons, Marshall…"

"You don't think Brave Star needs a sidekick?"

"Oh, please…"

"Inspectors Brave Star and Fearless Crystal, ridding the world of evil to Albuquerque and beyond!"

This created a very deep and dramatic growl, "Uggggghhh, Marshall!" letting this go by was impossible. "Fearless Crystal? Not only is that not shrewd _at all_, it makes me sound like a porn star."

"Would you prefer Courageous Crystal?" his eyebrows were so high they were going to vanish right into his hair. "Courageous Crystal and her Magic Mango!"

"Shut up!" Mary hissed, but she was spared having to quiet him further by the sound of footsteps in the distance.

They had been alone since their arrival, which had struck Mary as odd on a Monday morning, but perhaps things were slow in Philadelphia, or else they handled their bigger cases at a more central courthouse. She couldn't be sure, but there was definitely someone among them now besides the receptionist, and she wasn't going to get caught with her cheeks flaming red and slapping Marshall around like some little girl on the bench outside the principal's office. The innocent bystander would think they had been thrown out of the hearing.

"Would you hush up; someone's coming!" Mary demanded, straightening her top and trying to appear businesslike.

Marshall followed suit, although with less grace for once, as he was not as concerned about how they appeared to someone strolling through, someone who probably wouldn't even notice them. Anybody in a courthouse had important matters to attend to, and they didn't include a duo of snickering inspectors.

"We should do this for everyone…" he whispered in Mary's ear, his breath so warm it made her jump and didn't do wonders for her professional appearance. "Like Stan, for example. The Stubbed Sergeant - The Stubbed Sheriff!" now this was getting inventive, not to mention ridiculous. "Deceptively small, but highly mighty…"

"_Stop it_," Mary tried to sound firm, because the footfalls were coming closer, and whomever they belonged to sounded like they were wearing high heels. "If you think a cape wouldn't swallow Stan alive then you have another thing coming…"

"Ah, that could be his secret weapon…"

"You colossal nerd! Button up!" When the woman came into view, "Quiet-quiet!"

"But, it's fun embarrassing you…"

"It is not; you are going to catch it once we get out of here…"

"I can't even imagine what that might entail…"

"I don't think you want to find out!"

"Give me a hint then…"

"Marshall?"

In the midst of their juvenile squabble, the stranger had actually approached them, and although Mary's primary thought was that she had been busted on the first and only occasion she acted like an idiot, she quickly realized that an outsider wouldn't know Marshall's name. If possible, she froze as abruptly as he did, and even though she was sure she appeared flummoxed after being addressed by a virtual unknown, it was nothing compared to Marshall's shock.

His shock wasn't perplexity, however. The way his mouth opened halfway, his eyebrows snuck together in the center, and even the most miniscule of gasps that escaped his throat told Mary he knew exactly who he was looking at. He simply hadn't expected to see her.

The woman was older, probably Jinx's age, although Jinx's age could often pose something like anonymity to some because she still dressed like a teenager. This individual was most certainly not dressed like a teenager, but like the maternal figure she clearly was. Her hair was brunette with streaks of grey lining the temples, shaped around her face in a 'do between a bob and a swingy shoulder cut. Scholarly glasses sat on her nose, fitting perfectly with the tan pencil skirt and matching jacket she wore to complete the look of a hawk-eyed, but surprisingly gentle looking ensemble.

With no response from the man she had sought out, the woman smiled, although Mary immediately noticed that there was something missing from the gesture. It didn't reach her eyes, although that didn't necessarily reflect on Marshall.

"It is you…" apparently, she was not mistaken, because she seemed to recognize the man still further once she got a good look. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I heard you across the room and then when I saw…"

Marshall himself finally got with the program, probably so their new companion didn't have to feel ill at ease for any longer.

"No-no…" and he bounced right off the bench. "No, I'm glad you interrupted; I never would have seen otherwise. Mrs. Walters…" he threw out his hand to shake like it was on fire and hers was the water he so badly needed. "I…I wouldn't have thought to look for you here, but I suppose…"

"I wouldn't have expected you to recognize me – getting on in years changes the appearance of a lady…"

"Oh, no," Marshall was as polite as ever, stopping Mrs. Walters from insulting her own looks. "You don't look a day over thirty – just like the last time I ran into you."

This was a horrible lie, Mary thought, because this woman did look her age, but it was nice of Marshall to pretend.

She obviously thought so too, "Oh, you always were a sweet boy," she claimed lovingly. "And, it's been awhile since we 'ran into' each other. I barely managed to tell you that Paul and I were moving east for a change of scenery before we packed up and left twenty years ago…"

"How is Mr. Walters?" Marshall crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly appearing vastly intrigued.

"I don't think he'd mind you calling him Paul now, Marshall," she was clearly endeared by his manners. "And that goes for me too. Camille is fine."

Mary had the feeling that no matter what she said, Marshall wasn't going to drop the more formal titles, although she would've liked a little bit of insight into who this person was and why Marshall knew the family so intimately. None of the names told her anything, and Marshall seemed to have forgotten she was even there, as he was completely engrossed in his reunion.

"So…he's doing well, then?" he referenced the mystery man, Paul.

Camille bowed her head momentarily, but her soft smile remained, "Last I heard, he was, although it's been several months since I saw him. We're divorced. It's been over ten years now."

Still on the bench, Mary ogled Marshall's features as they changed from earnest to somber. It made him look startlingly like Ted, who always had that dark, brooding look about him. Or, at least he had during the short visit Mary had seen him. She realized she didn't like such a face presenting itself on Marshall; it aged him about ten years, for starters, and the graveness was chilling, especially for a man usually so full of life.

"I…I'm sorry to hear that," he donated at the news of the separation. "…And that the change of scenery didn't help like you had hoped it would…"

"Oh, you mustn't be sorry," Camille assured him quietly. "We fell in line with statistics," a sad chuckle. "It happens, and to those far more fortunate than the two of us. It was good to move on, and I think we're closer for it."

"I hope it stays that way," Marshall hurried to articulate his support of her decision. "You and Mr. Walters, you deserve to be happy."

Again, the brunette cajoled a melancholy laugh from within, one that Marshall didn't share. It was hard to believe that minutes before he and Mary had been teasing one another with something as childish as superhero nicknames, and now the winds had so vastly changed. Something odd was going on; something was happening to Marshall. And, near as Mary could tell, something had happened to this woman – years ago, it would seem – and Marshall knew all about it. Maybe too much.

"Well, I would certainly say the same thing about you, dear," Mrs. Walters finally reciprocated his well wishes. "What brings you to Philly? I wouldn't think an Indiana country boy would have much use for the big city."

Mary might've guffawed inappropriately at the image of Marshall mucking through the mud with a field of cows if she weren't so curious for the details about these people, not to mention her partner's past.

"Oh, I'm just here on business…" a gesture toward the double doors that led to the courtroom. "But, I left Indiana about a year or so after…" there was a deliberate swallow where Mary could see a lump go down his throat. "After…everything with Lucas."

Lucas? Who was Lucas? Mary's impatience was starting to show. She hated being kept in the dark.

"I moved to New Mexico…"

"Oh, you went to school down there, didn't you?" Camille recalled. "You really enjoyed the southwest, if I remember…"

"Yes, yes I did," Marshall bobbed his head almost mechanically. "You weren't the only one who needed a change, I suppose. I've been based in Albuquerque ever since."

"You're still in law enforcement?" she inquired with mild surprise. "I'm so glad…"

"Yes," he restated plainly. "I'm a US Marshal, if you like that for irony," referencing his dual-moniker, although with much less fondness than he had minutes earlier.

But, Mrs. Walters was obviously tickled by the connection and laid a hand on his forearm, blinking benignly and serenely into his suddenly careworn face.

"I am so pleased that you stuck with the program, Marshall," and she sounded like she meant it. "I was so worried after we…after we lost Lucas that you would shy away…"

"Well, I admit I thought about it…"

"I would think you foolish if you didn't," now she wanted to ensure he had-had mixed emotions, which read as strange to Mary. "But, it's everything I could have asked for to see you thriving. It was what you were meant to do, no matter what your father always said. Luke would feel the same way."

Marshall looked doubtful, like he didn't buy into the path he was supposed to have chosen or the fact that the mysterious Luke would have approved, but he stayed polite nonetheless, never once breaking character.

"That's lovely to hear, coming from you," a humble whisper. "It means a lot."

A hush came to circle in their corner at that moment, which gave both Camille and Marshall the opportunity to notice the mute, eavesdropping Mary in all her bloated glory on the bench below. Marshall seemed startled to find her there, almost like he had stepped into an alternate universe and her presence was what had jarred him back to the present. Camille, however, shook her head and smiled again, trying to collect her bearings and follow proper decorum with the third wheel among them.

"I'm terribly sorry…" she spoke directly to Mary this time, forcing the latter to stand up, which was not a pretty sight, although her ballooned stomach would at least give Camille a clue as to why it was difficult. "Here we are, chatting like old friends and I haven't even introduced myself…"

"No, I mean…don't stop on my account…" Mary tried to absolve her guilt, but she was shaking hands before she could finish her sentence.

"Camille Walters," she declared. "My ex-husband, Paul, was a member of Operation Falcon with Marshall's father when they were stationed in Indiana…"

"Oh…" the blonde was glad to at least make some sort of a connection, but she was being given more information by the minute and knew she should keep her mouth shut.

"Marshall and my son, Lucas, were partners when they first started out at the academy once they finished school – they were together five years."

So pleased to finally be able to put a few pieces together, Mary did not immediately notice how uncomfortable her friend was becoming. His hands were jammed in his pockets and he kept glancing at the ground like an ashamed little boy. This didn't match up, as Camille couldn't have been lovelier and seemed to hold him in highest esteem. Why was he behaving like this, and especially with someone so far back in his past?

"I didn't know Marshall had ever had another partner," Mary revealed, and she would've given him one of her little 'love taps' on the shoulder for withholding the information if not for him looking so serious. "I've got that role now. I'm Mary Shannon; we were paired together in New Mexico once I left the Service in New Jersey."

"Oh, how wonderful…" Mrs. Walters' gaze flickered to the man who had suddenly become silent. "He's an excellent partner. Lucas always thought so."

"Yeah, he is."

Mary was trying to be kind, perhaps so Marshall would loosen up a little, so he could see how benevolent she could be with total strangers when she wanted to, but something about Mrs. Walters' phrasing began to click in her brain.

Lucas had 'thought' he was a good partner? Past tense? And she'd said Luke 'would have' felt the same way about Marshall pursuing a career in the Service. The further back her mind traveled, like it was on rewind, the more the segments began to flood, and it was a good thing she had been listening so attentively, because otherwise she would have missed the most crucial component.

"_I was so worried after we lost Lucas that you would shy away."_

Uh, oh.

Marshall's hunched demeanor – his evasiveness, his disgrace, his overload of courtesy even for him. The arrows pointed in the same direction. Luke had been his partner years before, but Luke was not his partner anymore.

And something, something sickening deep inside Mary's gut knew that even _Luke_, perhaps, was no more.

"Luke…Lucas is your son, then?" the pregnant one stammered once she drudged up the courage to speak. "You're his mother?"

"Always," Camille's answer was forthright and gave away quite a bit before she decided to expose the rest without preamble. "He was…very sadly…" that same stilted smile persisted, and it was agonizing. "…He was killed in the line of duty about…twenty-three years ago," such a number was oddly specific, but then the real kicker was delivered. "Marshall was on the case with him."

Oh, God.

XXX

**A/N: Bit of a twist in this chapter! It will pick right up in the next one, so I hope you are curious to hear more about Lucas! ;)**


	29. To Fight or Fly

**A/N: Hope you enjoy the back story that I have created for Marshall here!**

XXX

All the color might have drained right out of Mary's face. An icy, bone-chilling cold seeped in the most unforgiving manner possible right into her intestines, spreading to her chest and lungs in no time flat. It wasn't just the story that was causing her such horror but the fact that, in eight years of knowing him, Marshall had never once mentioned that he'd lost a partner – a partner just like her.

Knowing that she needed to leave the way he had slighted her for later and offer condolences, Mary shook her head and relied on the respect for others she did have ingrained somewhere deep within.

"I'm…so sorry," she croaked feebly at Mrs. Walters, like death was embarrassing. "You…you think about those things, being in the law enforcement game and all, but it always seems to come as a shock when that nightmare comes true."

She didn't mean to be so frank, but there was nothing false about her conjecture. It was exactly how Mary had felt when Marshall had been shot; the knowledge that either one or both of them might one day lose their lives to their profession had always loomed, but they'd never actually believed it would happen. When Marshall had lay bleeding in the dirt, sweat dripping from his forehead, her white shirt stained crimson against his chest, she had originally forced herself to think it wasn't happening. Marshall was invincible. Nothing could harm him.

And, apparently, he had-had more close shaves than Mary had ever realized.

"Lucas was very proud to be in that line of work – he was very young when it happened," Mrs. Walters continued. "It could've been any of our boys at the academy…"

Like Marshall?

"But, everything happens for a reason," she claimed, suddenly philosophical, although Mary couldn't think for a minute what the reasoning behind gunning down an officer in training would be. "Luke always wanted to work for the police – wanted to be like his daddy. It wasn't up to me to take that away from him."

Wasn't that a heartbreakingly generous way to look at it? Badges and bullets had killed this woman's son, and still she was able to stand here over two decades after the fact and say that she was unwilling to pull that child from his life's dream, the desire he'd had as a little boy. Mary didn't know if she could be so liberal if someone she cared about was in the line of fire, Marshall notwithstanding.

"I'm sure you understand that rush you get from being in the field," Camille aimed this presumption at Mary. "Luke loved it. You must too, or you wouldn't be standing side-by-side with this guy," indicating Marshall.

"I…I do…" Mary was honest. "Although, my duck-and-cover days are pretty limited at the moment," she was hoping to lighten the mood by referring to Mango, and Camille did acknowledge the bulge, but only with her eyes; there wasn't much you could say to a stranger that was expecting.

"Well, I'm…I'm glad to hear that you're doing so well, Marshall," Mrs. Walters was clearly picking up on the sort of memories their run-in was invoking, and decided to wrap things up. "You were always so bright and energetic; that's obviously being put to good use."

The man knew a response was anticipated this time, "I do what I can," and he was unpretentious too. "Thanks to Lucas, I know what it means to have your partner's back. I'd say he taught me a lesson I'll never forget."

This was cryptic, and Camille must've thought so too, because she replaced her fingers to Marshall's forearm a second time in a way that said she was placating him.

"It was such a long time ago, dear. I hope you're not still carrying any of that guilt around," though by her eyes, she clearly thought he might be. "I'm certainly not. There was no one to blame, and least of all you."

Marshall could only nod at this, but he neither contradicted nor agreed with the woman's assessment of things, Mary standing idly by, unsure if she should split or sit down or let them finish their goodbyes in peace. Fortunately for her, she didn't have to make that decision because the farewells came into play just seconds later, as Marshall seemed keen to escape this very painful part of his past.

"If you see Mr. Walters sometime soon, please tell him I say hello," the inspector requested. "And, take care."

"You too, Marshall." She stepped back, fluttering her eyelashes in a quizzical sort of way, and disappeared with nothing heartfelt or poignant, "It was nice to meet you, Mary."

"You too…"

But, the bereaved had turned her back and walked away before the blonde could be certain that she had heard her reciprocate. She headed straight for the exit and early morning sunshine, out into the street without ever once looking over her shoulder; Mary frozen to the spot as her speck vanished in the distance. Eventually, the blinding sun rays captured her form, carrying her into oblivion, into the sunrise, into the future – away from Marshall, haunting memories of her son, and the not-so-new partner that had taken the place of Luke.

Once she was gone, Mary wasted no time turning to the man at her left; positively dumbfounded at all she had learned in just ten minutes. What were the odds of even running into Mrs. Walters if they had known each other back in Indiana? Although, Marshall had seemed to know that Camille and Paul had relocated somewhere back east after Luke's death, so it stood to reason one of them would crop up in a courthouse with their background in law enforcement. Still, the ironies were coming fast and furious, and this was still the least of Mary's worries.

She wasn't even mad; she was confused, and maybe slightly hurt, although the final emotion was dulled beneath her disorientation. Marshall had been an open book for as long as she'd known him, but first the secrecy about his relationship with Ted, and now this? They were supposed to be best friends. Did he not trust her with something as tragic as this, or was he simply so torn up about it that it was easier to leave it behind?

There was only one way to find out.

"Marshall…" his name came out in a single breath, but all he did was sigh and drop back down on the bench, though his face told her that he knew what was coming. "Why on earth wouldn't you tell me about this?"

"Mary, please…" he was begging, but she paid him no mind.

"You _lost_ a partner? Were you there? Were you with him?"

"I do _not_ talk about this," his voice was stern, if a little shaky. "I don't. It's private. There are some aspects of my existence that I prefer to keep to myself and this is one of them. It's how I cope."

"By hiding?" settling herself beside him, sitting down once more. "You're always telling me not to run away, but look at what you're doing…"

"I was twenty-one years old!" the reference came out in something resembling a snarl, which was such a harsh feature on Marshall that it made Mary want to back away. "I was nothing but a kid, and Lucas was just a few years older than me. I wasn't always in complete control of my sense of right and wrong. I packed up. I left. Yes, I ran."

"Marshall, I'm not trying to make you feel badly, but this was a huge chunk of your life; you might not have come to Albuquerque if it hadn't happened, and you sure as hell wouldn't have met me…"

"Well, I will tell you that it took me a long time to see any benefit to everything I went through, but I suppose you just fed it to me," he conceded dismally. "When I learned to rebuild my life, I figured out how to help other people rebuild too."

WITSEC. That was why he was in WITSEC. Of course, Mary had known as much all along; he had told her the first time they'd met that he savored watching the change that could come about in people who started over. It was exactly what he had done; it was how he had become such an expert at guiding other people through the process. His own, brutal brush with catastrophe meant he could mold witnesses into the best of themselves like nobody else could.

The faster this realization came to Mary, the more she recognized that there were so many other facets running below the surface in Marshall's veins that began to connect as well. There was his frosty relationship with Ted, for starters. If Marshall had fled Indiana after losing his partner, then his bond with his brothers had to have suffered, which explained why he was so adamant in the here and now to patch things up whether Ted was receptive or not. And then there was Seth. Mary had only met him the one time, but his contempt for Marshall's approach toward a tough case spoke volumes.

And, if Seth and Paul had known each other and driven their sons into the Service, then there was still something missing here.

"Marshall, I…" the woman tried to be gentle; she tried to sound understanding, sympathetic even. "I…would you please…?" softness was hard when she was usually so gung-ho, but she was getting there. "I mean…I really wish you would tell me what happened. I get that it's not something you want to think about, but…"

"But, what? Why do you need to know?" he was so woebegone, his long-fingered hand running up and down his cheek in agitation.

The truthful answer here was one that was far kinder than Mary usually gave, but kindness was in order right now.

"Well…because you're my friend," she reminded him, quietly and evenly. "I…I care about you. Something bad happened to you, and it's obviously still really hard to deal with, and if I can help then…" a shrug. "I mean…don't I kind of owe you for all the times you've helped me?"

"Friends aren't supposed to owe each other," maybe he hadn't always been so profound, but he certainly was now. "It is give and take, yes, but you don't do things to settle the score…"

"But, that's what I'm saying," Mary cut in. "I _want_ to help. I do. That may be hard to believe, but I do. I shouldn't have called it 'owing…'"

Her voice petered out and Marshall exhaled slowly, his hand still roaming up and down his face and feeling the stubble that presided there. He was usually a very careful shaver, from what Mary had noticed in all their time together, but after four days of living out of hotels and missing their alarm that morning, he hadn't been so precise. A beard was starting to sneak onto his smooth flesh, combing the bare space between his ears and chin. This, combined with the depression he had been sporting since Mrs. Walters' arrival, made him look more aged than ever.

He might need a little bit of a nudge but, unlike Mary; he wouldn't turn tail and bolt if she tried to coax him to open up. The push was used for good in this case, rather than evil.

"Marshall?" she peered low, dipping her chin to catch his vacant eyes. "Please?"

His likening toward sharing the whole messy affair didn't increase, but Mary's unquestionable desperation to have the truth – to help or to feed her curiosity, he wasn't entirely sure – could not be denied. While some might think it would be perplexing to see her in such a different light, Marshall felt otherwise. It was like a sweeter, more feminine Mary had come out to play, her hard-edged persona docking in the background until she was through getting to the bottom of his issues.

"Can I give you the abbreviated version?"

A slow nod, "Sure."

The leeway to begin seemed to act as a stimulant. Wary though Marshall might be of drudging up so many unresolved emotions, there had to be some degree of relief involved at finally telling the story to his best friend.

"Luke and I were partners for around five years, like his mom just told you, but we were still working through basic training for the entire duration," he explained gradually, deliberately. "Kind of like a doctor's internship – you get to practice under the more experienced eye, but you are still right in the fire."

"Right," Mary knew this from her own occurrence in New Jersey.

"Well, Luke and I actually grew up together, but we weren't that close. He was a few years older than I was, and we didn't hang around with the same crowd. Ted…" bringing his big brother into the mix stalled him momentarily, but Mary remained patient. "Ted…he was actually closer to him than I was, for a time, anyway."

And the enlightening of Ted's attitude toward Marshall only grew.

"While we went through training and whatnot, we were based under my dad and Luke's dad – Paul," he barreled on, seemingly unable to quit now that he had gotten started. "It was a mistake; it was a massive-massive mistake to combine family with business like that, but at the time we thought it was a good idea. My mom and Camille used to joke all the time that the two of us had been switched at birth because Paul was so soft-spoken and easygoing…"

"Like you," Mary whispered.

"And of course, my dad is…" words weren't even needed. "Well, you saw how he is. And Luke was a tough guy too, although certainly not to the extent that my dad was. It seemed to work, though. The two of us had a mentor other than our own father to keep things on an even plane. For awhile."

Raking his fingers through his hair, shifting in his seat, Marshall took a breath before going on, and Mary knew that the incident in question was about to be regurgitated – a poisonous parasite, the deadliest, creepiest skeleton in the closet.

"Anyway, um…" a second inhale and exhale topped this off. "Five years into the stint, Luke and I were progressing through the ranks and were getting to go out on our own more often. My dad was on standard duty filling in for someone on a Saturday night, not his usual Operation Falcon gig…"

The whole thing was eerie – picturing the scene of a young Marshall and the currently faceless Luke sitting around the police station, getting a call, being excited to bust up some bad guys with no idea what fate had in store.

"And…someone phoned in a robbery at a convenience store, so off we went…" he wasn't looking at Mary anymore, but staring straight ahead, probably reliving the entire ordeal piece-by-piece. "Me, my dad, and Luke."

Mary was pretty sure she could've guessed what happened next, but the man threw her with a twist she never could've seen coming.

"We pulled up out front and…I can see the guy with the gun standing in front of the counter, and the cashier with money spread out all over from the register…a few customers are on the ground with their hands over their head…" this was coming in a disjointed mumble, so unlike Marshall's normal speaking voice. "And…I'm just glad because it doesn't look like he's shot anybody; nobody's hurt…"

Logical, yes. But, clearly not so simple.

"I was riding in the back of the car. My dad and Luke were up front," he detailed. "They got out first, but I was so eager to help that I elbowed past Luke on the passenger side to get onto the curb…" if Mary's eyesight could be counted on, she almost thought she could see Marshall's elbow twitching in the here and now. "I was supposed to be in front of him anyway; that was how we always flanked one another, and so I didn't think it would be that big of a deal. Only…I tripped."

A sprawling, equally as long and lanky Marshall as the one sitting next to her right now, flashed through Mary's brain – all arms and legs heading for the cold concrete.

"Luke didn't stop. He wasn't supposed to. You never stop – and it isn't like I was hurt," he defended his friend. "But, because I'd thrown him off balance, he didn't have time to pull his gun out, and when he and my dad crashed through the doors he was unarmed. The robber got spooked, I guess, and he didn't have any way of knowing that we were the police. He turned and shot Luke at point blank range."

Now cannon blasts and spurts of blood exploded amidst the picture of Marshall lying helpless on the ground. No sirens, no flashes of red and blue – just screams. Ugly, mangled, anguished screams.

"But, what did I do?" his shoulders were beginning to tremble, and Mary wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he could stop and she'd heard enough, but the words wouldn't come. "Do I apprehend the punk who did it? This was my chance to be in charge; dad was supposed to be back-up…" lost in the memory, he finally wended his way to the end. "No. I sit there with the body, hollering and sobbing while my dad takes care of everything until the _real_ back-up shows up. He watched me abandon my post, saw that I couldn't handle the pressure, and wasted no time telling me once all was said and done. He didn't blame me but…he didn't have to," bitterness prevailed. "Twenty-three years of being told, 'it's a rough world, you're not a rough guy' is blame enough."

There were so many things Mary could've said once he was finished, so many words of wisdom or comfort that she could've offered, but they all seemed so barren – empty and unforgiving. Nothing she could say would take away what had happened, nor would it erase the fallout that had occurred from one blunder-ridden night. Too many things had suddenly been clarified, too many particulars of Marshall's personality as well as his bonds, or lack thereof, with his family. It all made sense in the saddest of ways.

"_My best friend caught the shooter, yours didn't."_

When Mary had been gunned down and Marshall had not been present, and his manic obsession in the aftermath to find and punish the shooter; everything about his behavior in those days was suddenly explained. Of course, it was an easy oversight to make, as Marshall's natural chivalry might've been causing it, but now it was clear as day. He was not going to have another 'Luke' on his hands.

And Seth. At the time, Mary had-had a conversation that she had considered to be quite bizarre. For Marshall's father to think he didn't have the right temperament or wasn't thick-skinned enough to be a Marshal had seemed insane. Did he not know him at all? How could he not see what Mary did? She hadn't understood, and now she did. Seth placed all stock in that one instance, when Marshall had put the priority of friendship over that of the law – to sit with his dying friend and not cuff the man who had caused him to bleed out in the first place.

And, finally, there was Ted. Hard-wired rigid he might've already been, especially with someone as controlling as Seth at the helm, but to lose a childhood friend and then have his brother bolt from the premises as though he'd had a hand in it? It was a sad state of affairs indeed.

But, all of this was too much to articulate, and Mary wasn't going to overload Marshall's brain with every realization she was coming to. The weepy, haggard look on his face was enough to cleave her heart straight in two. She had said she wanted to help. That was what she needed to do.

"I think your dad is wrong," Mary was never shy about designating people with traits she deemed less than flattering. "I think if someone busted a cap in my ass and you strolled right over to read them the Miranda while my heartbeat tapered into nothingness, I'd have dumped you as a partner ages ago."

Marshall was not as touched as she had hoped he might be, "You're lying," and he was stark too. "You know the job comes first. You knew it when I got shot and you sure didn't waste time worrying about me; you got rid of the perpetrators and _then_ you took care of me."

"Actually, I did take care of you first," she replied coolly. "I thought you would've noticed by now."

"What do you mean?"

"I swerved the car around to cover your body."

"But, that was taking charge…"

"Marshall, every circumstance is different," she didn't like hearing him talk so poorly about himself. "Your instinct takes over. You falling apart with Luke doesn't mean anything – it means that you were terrified, and rightfully so. You had someone there to handle the rest, and that was your dad. Deep down, your body knows that. It's the whole 'fight or flight' thing…"

"Yeah, and I went for flight…"

"No, you didn't," Mary insisted. "If it had been just the two of you, I have every confidence you would've kicked that lowlife on his ass no matter how scared you were. You did it for me when we were in the desert. I was about to take a bullet in the head and you stood up and blasted that guy. You don't think that counts for anything?"

"Maybe it does," he admitted begrudgingly. "It doesn't change that I was a wuss twenty years ago and that my father never let me forget it."

Seeing that this wasn't going to be resolved today, and there was no reason to argue with him over a problem he had been struggling with for so long, Mary harked back to how he had craved that point of contact the night before. Being close to her had always meant so much to him, and all she did was give him as little freedom as possible.

His hand was resting on his knee and Mary, wondering what was happening to her brain now that she was with child, flung out her own fingers and rested them on top of his.

"Well, you may not be your dad's wuss," she concluded, knowing he would appreciate her dark sense of humor even in spite of being down in the dumps. "But, you'll always be mine."

XXX

**A/N: Outside of kids, I am always wary of crafting too many new characters, even if they are characters you don't see, because they aren't the ones we fell in love with on the show. But, hopefully Luke's story intrigued you!**


	30. The Hope and the History

**A/N: I am glad I had some folks who enjoyed the tidbits about Marshall's past! Mary is going to make a big step in this chapter – hope you're proud of her. ;)**

XXX

Mary opted to take her cue from Marshall after their enigmatic conversation at the courthouse. Fortunately, they had Savannah to contend with, which kept both of them busy in the aftermath of her hearing. According to Delia, she had done spectacularly on the stand, which meant that her position in WITSEC as well as their funding appeared to be safe. Stan would be satisfied, and Delia would able to return to New Mexico by plane that evening. Although Mary and Marshall weren't so lucky to be traveling as quickly, at least everything had gone as it was supposed to.

As for the newfound awareness about Luke, Mary could tell even as the day progressed that Marshall had no interest in discussing it further. In many ways, there wasn't a lot left to say, and Mary respected that. She hated when people assumed there was more of a story to tell then there was; she'd gone through the same thing when her father had left. While teachers and neighbors and classmates fished for information, they all seemed to think Mary knew more than she was saying, and that was never the case. It was really her feelings they were chomping at the bit for, and she had always found it ridiculous that people could presume she felt anything other than betrayal, guilt, and sorrow. Surely Marshall's emotions were pretty clear on the subject of Luke – shame, loss, unexplainable trauma. Mary didn't need to interrogate him to learn that.

In any event, she had other things on her mind. The two inspectors were poised to spend the remainder of the day in Philadelphia, at least until Delia and Savannah hit the open skies, but also because they were likely headed in a direction other than home the following day. Back at the motel late that afternoon, when Marshall was in the adjoining suite with Delia and their witness, Mary made herself place a series of calls that she knew she had been avoiding, but could dodge no longer.

For awhile, she had debated with who to call first – Mark or Brooke. Mark, in some ways, was the evident choice because she should've called him months before. But, she ultimately decided that Brooke was going to get her good news first because she couldn't effectively inform Mark of her plans if she wasn't going to get to meet the adoptive family. It was shaky logic, but it would have to do.

Perched on the bed, phone in hand, Mary knew that she should do everything in her power to remain calm. There was nothing scary about this. She didn't need to come off suspicious or shifty, even if she was both of those things. Being elusive would only make her seem superior and, though she hated herself for it, she wanted Brooke and Chris to like her. They had to be wondering why a perfectly healthy, perfectly capable, perfectly financially stable woman was giving her baby away, just as Patricia Anders had been. She didn't want them envisioning her as some kind of an ogre.

It took only two rings before Brooke picked up, which shouldn't have surprised Mary in the least.

"Hello?"

Even in two single syllables, Mary could tell right off the bat that Brooke knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. Caller ID didn't do wonders for a person's anonymity.

"Brooke?" she didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but the way the other woman had posed her greeting inspired the rise in her voice. "It's Mary Shannon."

The briefest of pauses, "…Of course!" it was plausible that the hitch before the exclamation said Brooke was trying not to sound too over-eager, but she was fairly unsuccessful. "Of course, it's so good to hear from you again. How are you?"

"I'm…I'm doing all right," this was candid without sounding too positive or too negative. Figuring that who Brooke really cared about was the baby, not Mary, "I've been…getting a little tired, but I don't imagine I really need to issue a press release for that."

She chuckled, "Oh, I understand completely. I've been there. When I was pregnant with my youngest, Hunter, I was put on bed rest for the last few weeks. It gets so difficult toward the end."

So, she had been pregnant, which meant that at least one of her children was not adopted, as Mango was going to be. This probably meant that Trevor, the oldest Harmon, was her biological child as well. Mary had to admit that she'd been curious. Although the letter from the adoption agency hadn't specifically said, something about the phrasing, "After spending eight years feeling so fortunate to become parents so easily, we would like to provide a home to a child who needs us," indicated they weren't adopting because they were infertile. Mary's uncertainties had just been confirmed.

"Well…I can't imagine bed rest is in my future," the blonde proclaimed, as if she had any credence to delegate such a thing. "I'd get cabin fever the first five minutes. Being stuck in the car for the past four days has shown me just how badly I'd handle it."

"The trip is going well, then?" Brooke wanted to know; obviously encouraged by the fact that Mary was being less sarcastic than she'd been on their first call. "No bumps or anything?"

"Not really," Mary said. "I…I know it's been awhile since our last conversation; I hope you didn't think I was leaving you hanging. Our timetable was just…kind of…up in the air," she wasn't usually one for making excuses, but in this instance she felt like letting Brooke know that she wasn't trying to fly the coop.

"Oh…no…" there was a definite level of respite in the other woman's voice though, which told Mary she had, in fact, been worried that the inspector was never coming. "I'm just…I'm glad to know that things are moving along." Since Mary had brought it up, she recklessly decided to dive right in, "Do you have a better idea when you might be able to get into town?"

Her inquiry was hesitant; she was trying not to push too hard or appear overbearing, and Mary appreciated that to an extent, but she wasn't a very good actress. The need to know trickled into every word she spoke so that even her casual intentions sounded frantic. Perhaps Mary's radar was heightened due to her years of working with witnesses, but she could tell that Brooke wanted an answer, and she wanted it now.

Fortunately, the whole point of this phone call had been to man up and get on with the show. Whatever time she'd had to dither around was lost, and the days of reconsidering had passed. Fish or cut bait. Put up or shut up. Sever the strings and be done with it.

"Does tomorrow work for you?"

The proposition came so swiftly that it likely startled Brooke quite profusely. Indeed, Mary could hear the gasp that came through the speaker, in spite of how the other woman tried to cover it up. She supposed she could've been more delicate, but when she made a choice she ran with it.

"Tomorrow?" Brooke eventually stammered, like there was a vibration in her vocal chords. "I…I had no idea you were so close by already…"

"My partner and I arrived in Philadelphia a little before midnight last night, so I think we'd be able to have dinner with you and Chris tomorrow if you're available."

"Oh, we're definitely available!" she didn't want there to be any doubt, any need to rearrange. "Absolutely! We could eat here at the house, that way you can meet the boys and get a feel for our home; you could even see the room we're starting for the baby if things work out…"

Now she was definitely getting carried away, all promises to appear composed forgotten. The excitement in her tone was flagrant, although Mary suddenly felt a little uncomfortable about the idea that she was already planning a living space for her potential child. Granted, the inspector couldn't imagine that these people wouldn't be suitable parents – she had every intention of choosing them – but weren't they jumping the gun? Maybe not. After all, if for some reason things with Mary fell through, they could always be handpicked by another birth mother.

They were just preparing. They had to be ready overnight. Nothing wrong with that.

Attempting to empathize with Brooke's thought process meant that it became easier not to freak out. She felt clammy and a little anxious, but otherwise she was fine. It was certainly an improvement from when Brooke had sprung that phone call on her a few days before. She was making great strides.

"I…yeah, that sounds great," Mary articulated her approval of the plan. "Obviously, my placement counselor isn't around to kind of oversee things, so…"

"Oh, Chris and I can contact our social worker here; I'm sure she'll be happy to come out to the house," Mary certainly hoped so; otherwise this whole thing was going to be shot to hell. "This is wonderful; I'm so glad we'll finally be able to meet you."

"Yeah, um…me too," it was the appropriate thing to say, and Mary tried to mean it. "Do…do you and Chris mind if my partner tags along? I'm still not sure if he'll be with me, but…"

"Of course not," she blathered on. "Of course you can bring him; whatever you need," now she was being catered to. "I guess we'll be seeing you soon then, huh?"

The conversation had come to an extremely abrupt end, although Mary couldn't say she was very sorry about it. Brooke was probably dying to reach her husband and tell him the good news, and if that was what she wanted, Mary wasn't going to keep her.

"Right," the inspector confirmed. "Is…is six okay tomorrow night?"

"Perfect! We'll be here!"

That much was obvious, Mary thought with a mental roll of her eyes, but she managed not to have her disdain come out her mouth.

"Then…I'll see you then," was all she got out, polite as could be; Marshall would be proud.

"Bye, Mary!"

"Yeah…talk to you later."

Slightly reassured that the back-and-forth had not been as tricky or as lengthy as she had thought it was going to be, Mary hung up. Five hours away, in Providence, she pictured Brooke racing around her house, contacting Chris, planning what to cook for dinner, and going on a cleaning-binge, dusting and vacuuming top to bottom. Maybe she wasn't that type of person, but Mary had a hunch. She half-wished she had something so tangible to keep her busy, because making a decision as she had seemed to signify activity.

But no, she was the useless bump on a log she'd been for the past three months at least, stalling because she knew there was definitely something she needed to do. It was more important than Brooke's sprucing up her house, too, and still the minutes ticked on, whiling away as she rotated her cell in her fingers.

She really needed a script for this. But, there were no prescribed phrases in telling your ex-husband that you were pregnant after a one night stand. Add in the, "Oh, and by the way, I'm due in four weeks," and she might as well plug her ears for the rant Mark was going to give her right now. She'd never even seen him angry, as he was always so maddeningly aloof about everything under the sun. She could hope for that this time, but she had serious doubts about how conceivable that was.

When Mary began to get jumpy about Marshall returning to the room and walking in on her dropping the bomb, she finally flipped her phone around, punched in Mark's number, and put it to her ear. No willy nilly. No beating around the bush. Hadn't she just been through this with herself? Apparently, reminders were in order.

Unlike Brooke, it took Mark several rings before he picked up, to the point where Mary thought he might not answer at all and then she would've gotten herself worked up for nothing. But, after five or six drones in her ear, there was a click and finally, his voice.

"Yeah, this is Mark!"

He sounded out of breath, winded even, although he was his usual cheerful self. He also sounded like he might be outside, because Mary could hear the breeze blowing through the speaker and the din of men yelling in the distance.

The original thought she had, one she had to force herself to swallow down, was that he was busy, she shouldn't disturb him, and it would be kinder to hang up. Mastering her nerves, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, reiterating to herself that she needed to stay on the line.

"Hi, Mark. It's Mary."

Did her voice appear normal? It wasn't shivering as badly as her hands were, was it? She wasn't going to be able to do this the way she wanted if she came off so gutless.

But, if she did sound off, then Mark either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Mary!" his initial good cheer turned immediately to delight. "Wow! Just what I needed to hear today! It's hotter than hell here; I'm installing solar panels on an office building – I spent the whole morning putting in skylights and I'm about to collapse."

"Well, is it a bad time?" damnit; she had promised she wouldn't do that. "I can give you a minute…" there, she'd fixed it.

"No way; I was just about to take a break anyway," this was probably a lie, but Mark was known for bending the rules, and he was probably his own boss so it didn't matter anyway. "What's up? You must've got that message I left on your machine…"

"Well, I didn't actually; Brandi picked it up," Mary clarified. "I'm out of town for work, but my sister has no problem snooping in my mail and listening to recordings from long lost boyfriends…"

Mark chuckled, "Ah, Brandi," he breathed fondly. "Doesn't ever want to be left out; she used to ride in the back of my pick-up when she was a kid just so she didn't have to stay home with your mom."

Burying the ill-will that this less than warm memory produced, Mary shook her head as though she was warding off a fly, knowing that small talk wouldn't last forever. Mark had obviously been expecting her to call, and now she was going to find out what he had wanted in the first place – not that she couldn't guess.

"Yeah, I remember," the woman babbled just to placate her ex before moving on. "But, she didn't say why you were calling the house. Did you want something?"

"Ah, no…"

Then why the hell had he bothered and given her a stroke?

"I just thought it had been awhile since we…well, you know…"

Yes, Mary knew. If you considered nine months 'awhile.'

"…I was thinking I might make another trip out there. Isn't Brandi getting married next week?"

Mary almost threw up at his suggestion; her stomach ascended into a horrible upward spiral, and her solution to keep from retching was to shut him up and shut him up fast.

"No, you can't," it was all she could do to keep from shouting and engaging in a full-fledged argument. "I mean, she is. But, you can't."

"Mare, don't dismiss this so quickly…" totally blasé and not the least bit offended, he soldiered on. "If things take a raunchy turn, I'm not going to say no, but it's not like I'm opposed to being friends. You're fun even out of the sack."

Now she was definitely going to puke, "Mark, Jesus," she sighed, putting a hand to her head and pushing her bangs off her face, feeling the beads of sweat that were moistening there. "Do you have to be so sophomoric? We're adults now, we're not kids anymore."

And, if he wasn't a grown up before this conversation, he was about to become one.

"Come on, you know I'm just teasing," he insisted buoyantly. "I'll keep my hands to myself. I promise. Brandi said she needed more guests for her side of the aisle anyway…"

"Look, Mark, please just forget about the wedding," the blonde requested. "I didn't call to talk about the wedding. I have something I need to tell you."

"Is it that I'm the sexiest doe-eyed dreamboat you've ever been with?"

"Mark, stop it!" staying calm shot straight to hell when he refused to take her seriously; she knew that he could have no inkling of what she was about to say, but he was making this so much harder with his constant jokes. "I'm not kidding! I need to talk to you, so shut up and listen!"

Because Mary could often be frightening when she was truly pissed, and because she could probably beat him to death even through the phone, Mark did go silent at her outburst. She was put at ease very briefly when his next words were more neutral and didn't have that trademark high spirit that Mark typically displayed.

"Okay…" he murmured, resigned to paying attention. "All right, I'm sorry," though she knew he'd be right back on the juvenile bandwagon in seconds if not for what she was about to tell him. "What's going on? What do you need to tell me?"

But suddenly, even though she had spent the last few minutes longing to free the beast, to have the secret out in the open so it could be dealt with, she clammed up. Terror and dread rocked her in a nanosecond, like she had received an electric shock, especially when she couldn't stop trembling. What was he going to say? What might he do? Mary thought back to Brandi's claims that he could take the baby and impose his rights. Would he really do that?

Should she recall him to the night they had spent together? Should she scold him for not being careful? But, that was as much her fault as his, despite how she denied it. Or, she could just say it – bare-boned, no frills or thrills.

Her swift silence alerted Mark to something, however, because he spoke again before Mary could get anything out.

"Mare?" checking to see if she was still there. "I'm listening; really, I am. Swear. You can tell me." And then some more blithe humor, "I don't need to be sitting down or anything, do I?"

His question was as innocent as they came, but his obliviousness was what broke Mary. She had promised herself she wouldn't become emotional, that she would approach the situation like the adult she yearned for him to be. But, it didn't matter how old Mark was. He was just a kid. He'd always been a kid – playing the field, getting hitched at seventeen, forgoing college, painting houses with his dad, hammering nails, and getting wasted on beer at the end of every day. She might as well be delivering this news to a teenager poised to enter his senior year of high school with a full ride to the Ivy League, only to discover that the action he'd been giving all the girls was finally going to catch up with him.

When she started crying, no matter how much she detested it, Mark heard and became rightfully concerned. The snuffles and sniffs through the speaker gave her away immediately.

"What…what's wrong?" now he sounded sweet, but just as young, if not younger than he had when he'd answered the phone. "Now you're freaking me out a little bit. Are you sick? Is Brandi sick? Did something happen…?"

"I'm not sick…" Mary blubbered, the tears wetting her phone, slicking the buttons and running down her face. And then, "I'm pregnant."

Though the clichéd dramatic pause should've followed, once the words were out Mary couldn't hold on. Every mysterious facet she'd been harboring for nine months suddenly burst out into the open, damaging her reputation and her credibility by the second.

"The baby's yours…" in case there was any doubt. "It's yours, from when we were together in December. I'm four weeks from my due date and it may be even sooner than that because I can feel this kid heading south by the day and I'm in Philadelphia for work but tomorrow I'm driving to Rhode Island to meet a family that I am hoping will be able to adopt him or her. I have no idea if it's a boy or a girl but I know that I can't be a mother and I am up to my ears at work and even though I won't be raising this kid I thought that it was about time I let you know…" a hefty gulp, because she was running out of air. "And, I'm…sorry. I'm sorry; I should've told you but I can't keep the baby and I was scared you might want to, and…I just…" she'd said enough; she needed to stop. "I can't."

Finally, the quiet returned, although all Mary heard was the ridiculous run-on of justifications she had thrown at Mark milliseconds after turning his world upside-down. She had uttered just about everything she'd intended to say, except it had come out all wrong. She'd wanted to sound forceful and direct; matter-of fact, because nobody could tell her what to do with Mango, not even Mark. Instead, she had come off like a hectic, discombobulated bundle of chaos. The unexpected overflow of tears even made her sound regretful, especially with the apologies. In some ways, there was a lot of regret that went with this conversation, but Mary was having a hard time identifying what, exactly, she was so remorseful about.

Nothing could be heard except for her disjointed sniffling – zero from Mark's end. Mary suddenly wondered if he'd hung up; if she'd scared him so shitless that he'd run from the entire ordeal. But, a minute or two later, his voice floated though. He didn't sound happy anymore.

"Are…are you okay?"

It was meek, but gentle, and Mary automatically assumed he was talking about her tantrum.

"I'm fine; I was just nervous…"

"No-no…" he corrected her, cutting her off. "I mean…are _you_ okay? You're healthy? The baby's healthy?"

This was so unforeseen that Mary didn't know what to say, even though the response was simple. She'd expected a variety of emotions from her ex-husband – indifference, fury, animation as if the whole thing was a barrel of laughs, but not concern. Never concern.

Foreign though it was, Mary knew immediately that she had to take it.

"I'm…yes…" she stuttered, her timbre foggy. "We're both…" this was weird too; she never spoke about herself and the baby as one. "We're both…good."

And yet, the distress on her behalf didn't last, "You aren't keeping him?"

And this was what Mary had feared so heartily, but now that it was here, she was going to have to buckle down and make her case. One way or another, she would rise above.

Meanwhile, in the next room, Marshall had been about to rejoin Mary after Delia had taken Savannah for dinner before the flight, only to hear a peculiar whimpering sound through the heavy hotel door. From his vantage point, he was ready to put the day behind him; seeing Mrs. Walters had been taxing, and he knew Mary was anxious to catch up on some more rest.

But, right now, Mary couldn't possibly be resting – not when she was so obviously talking to someone, and Marshall had a shrewd idea of who that someone might be. There were only one of two options, but he had the feeling she would be able to remain poised with Brooke. She appeared to have come unraveled while talking to Mark, which was just as upsetting for Marshall as he was sure it must be for Mary.

Not wanting to interrupt and mortify her, he stayed where he was, although he could hear quite a bit from his side of the door. The longer Mary spoke, the worse she sounded.

"It's just the best thing for everybody; I-I-I, it's not that I don't think that you wouldn't…"

Wouldn't what? Marshall thought when her voice became too muffled to comprehend. That 'best thing' had to be the adoption, which meant that by now Mark not only knew that Mary was pregnant, but that the baby wasn't going to factor in to her day-to-day existence.

It was a few minutes before Marshall was able to catch anything else, and it didn't aide his understanding of what they might be discussing this far into the call.

"No…" it was likely he could only hear this portion because it made Mary cry harder, but it wasn't like she was fighting with Mark, merely disagreeing with him. "No…Mark, I can't ask you to do that…" Rather than analyze this, Marshall strained his ears. "…Well, I know I didn't ask, but it's not an option…" And several seconds later, "Yes, I appreciate it, but it…I just don't want to do that. I know this is about what you want too, but…"

And, no matter how far the inspector flattened himself against the hatch, he was unable to glean what came next. The first fraction was baffling enough. Mark seemed to have offered to do something, which Mary had immediately turned down. Something to do with the baby? Pay for something? Accompany her to Rhode Island? There was no telling.

The rest of the dialogue was too stifled for Marshall to make out, and even though he felt like a nosy eavesdropper, he couldn't help wanting to know more. Listening to Mary so distraught, even if it wasn't true sorrow that was causing it, was excruciating with a wall between them. His soul was fed by being there for her in her time of need, much as she had attempted to do that morning at the courthouse. She might not have any interest in a shoulder to cry on, but it was his job as her partner and as her friend to be readily available no matter what.

But, to protect her dignity, he stayed put until he was sure the phone call was wrapping up, at which point Mary seemed to be assuring Mark that nothing he had said or did was causing her meltdown. That was something, at least.

"No…Mark, really…it's just a lot all at once…" she murmured. "I promise. Thank-you for understanding." This was a good sign, and Marshall hankered for more. "…Yeah, I'll call you again soon. I'll let you know if anything happens." Finishing it out, "Sure. Bye."

She might've hung up, but Marshall was smart enough not to go in right away even though he was dying to. For one thing, if he burst through the door the minute she let Mark go, she would know he had been listening in. For another, she was probably still shaken up, and would want to save face. It was textbook Mary; any sort of emotion other than cynicism was to be avoided in front of other people. However, on this journey alone she had shown him a few parts of herself he never would've expected to see. It was essential he not get used to it though. She could flip on a dime without hesitation.

After a suitable amount of time had gone by, the man ventured cautiously forth, but it seemed his entrance was not to be revered. Mary was still visibly troubled, even going so far as to take a tissue to her eyes, dabbing them for excess residue. Last night, he had taken to abandoning pretense and asking her flat-out what the problem was. He'd played that card already, and so this time he simply crossed the room and flopped onto his bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring serenely at the ceiling.

Mary, even beneath the mist she was trapped in, recognized that Marshall was not ignoring her. He would never do that. He was giving her a chance to become more level-headed, not adding to her hysteria by questioning her about it. She loved him for it. Whatever her version of 'love' consisted of these days.

It was hard to say how long he waited, but when Mary let out a sigh and tossed her used Kleenex onto the night table, he turned his head ever so slightly to face her, still reclining on his forearms.

"You doing okay?"

This alone proved he had known exactly who she was talking to, but Mary wasn't so worried about that now. Her little show had prevented her from hiding, and so she threw him a watery, shaky smile combined with a nod to demonstrate that she was just fine, however unstable.

"How's Mark?"

It was almost funny how he could pretend to ask like she had called to shoot the breeze. Though Mary didn't actually find it amusing, she laughed anyway, even if it came out sounding more like a hiccup.

"Worse than he was, I'm sure."

Marshall rolled over, encouraged by her speaking, leaning on one elbow with his cheek in his palm.

"Was he upset with you?"

There wasn't a very good word to describe what Mark's reaction had seemed to be, and because Mary didn't have the stamina to scrutinize, this was exactly what she told her partner.

"I don't even know…" a puff of air, which fluttered her bangs around her forehead. "I don't think so. Not really."

"That's good, right?"

"It would be except he was so sad that I could just picture him in some cage at the pound blinking his brown-doe-eyes," Marshall wouldn't get the joke, not having heard Mark describe himself in such a way.

"Sad about what?" apparently, he didn't care about the allusion.

"Probably the fact that I didn't trust him enough to tell him I was pregnant nine months ago."

"Ah," the man replied shortly. "There is that."

"Can I really blame him?" the pseudo-ordinary nature of this discussion seemed to be helping Mary overcome her tremors, even though her eyes were still bloodshot. "He's the father for Christ sakes. He's obnoxious as hell, but if the roles were reversed I can't say I wouldn't be pissed."

"What were his feelings about the adoption?" Marshall kept going, not wanting to stay on one subject too long, lest Mary start dwelling. "How did that go over?"

The woman shrugged, "He said he'd sign off if it was what I wanted."

Surprised but impressed, the other nodded, "Well, you certainly pegged that one," she'd been saying since the beginning that Mark would write the child out of his life the first chance he got, but it seemed his intuition as well as Mary's was a little shot where such a thing was concerned.

"I'm not so sure I did…" rarely did Mary admit to being wrong, but with everything else on her sleeve, one more didn't appear to make a difference. "Can you believe what he said to me after I told him that was my plan?"

"I won't believe it until you tell me."

So wide-eyed that Marshall could still see the leftover tears shining in the whites of her orbs, Mary seemed wholly flabbergasted by what she was about to reveal, like it was still tough to wrap her brain around it. As whatever he'd said had only occurred minutes before, it wasn't likely to have sunk in yet. Marshall had a suspicion he was about to find out what that offer had been about.

"He said if I didn't want the baby then he could take him," how stunned she was-was evident in every syllable of her speech. "How in the hell that would happen, I have no idea, but he was trying to work out logistics already before I shut him down. He was talking about taking him to New Jersey – I mean, not _taking_ him, but raising him. He said he could do that, and that way I'd still be able to see him."

Her friend raised his eyebrows, careful not to let more than that tiny flicker of his feelings show on his face.

"What'd you say?"

But, he didn't really have to ask, "Marshall, I can't let him do that," although even now she wasn't sure why she was so opposed. "I just can't. It was never in the cards, and we're too late in the game. I just…" she wagged her head side-to-side, trying to get rid of the notion. "No. This is all or nothing. He's either mine or he isn't. And, he isn't. I made sure of that before I even called Mark."

Now Marshall frowned, "How's that?"

Mary was ready to be done with this, and so all she could do was spit it out.

"You up for a tour of The Ocean State tomorrow?"

Prepared to be nothing but proud of Mary for following through with her commitments, Marshall grinned in what he hoped was a reassuring sort of way, knowing that her statement meant she had spoken to Brooke. He really did have to hand it to her. When she put her mind to something, there was no stopping her. Misguided, irresolute, and befuddled – she was all of them, and her tearful demeanor proved it, but if she'd solidified her choice, then he wasn't going to tell her to back down.

"I am if you are," was his cordial reply. "What time do we roll into Providence?"

"Six."

She was biting her thumbnail, which Marshall recognized as a mark of her anxiety about the occasion. He ignored it. He had to ignore it. If he questioned Mary's sincerity about the adoption, she would kick him ten feet in the other direction, as she had Jinx and as she had planned to do with Mark if he'd sparred with her. They had grown so unusually close in the last four days, and he was not interested in ruining it.

"Well, if you need an escort ma'am, then I am available for service."

Mary chuckled softly, "I might have to take you up on that."

"Don't worry," Marshall threw in a dash of extra confidence just to seal deal. "You are Mary Shannon, after all. She who fears nothing and no one."

If only that were true. But, deep down, Mary could still be grateful that Marshall saw her that way. Her image was everything. And her image was exactly what she was going to need to keep in place come Tuesday night.

XXX

**A/N: Off to Rhode Island they go! Thank-you all so much for the reviews! I am back from vacation and missing it already – it is so nice to have the kind words to come back to!**


	31. The Power of We

**A/N: So close to 200 reviews! You guys are the best!**

XXX

Even with a more reasonable amount of sleep over the course of Monday evening and leading into Tuesday, Mary still felt fatigued, and her tension had reached an all-time high. Each time the mileage on Marshall's SUV rolled over another beat, it reminded her that they were getting closer and closer to Providence. She could practically feel the threat of the Harmons looming over her, imposing and intimidating, no matter how lovely they might actually be. In her heart, Mary didn't really believe she should be this nervous, that there was something wrong with it, but Marshall kept insisting it was normal and so she tried to tell herself it was.

"You know, you may not really consider this a compliment, but I feel it is pertinent to mention that you look quite nice today," Marshall bestowed with a smile, turning from his ever-present position at the wheel. "Like the perfect lady," he added, cheesy as always.

"I don't feel like the perfect lady," Mary grumbled under her breath. "I feel like my boobs are going to spill clear out of this thing. I never should've worn it – never. Brooke and Chris are going to get more than they bargained for when I lean over the dinner table to pass the salt and the girls here flop right over."

'It' referred to the dress she'd put on in an attempt to look, as Marshall had put it, 'nice.' But, she could see in hindsight that it was an enormous mistake. It was so long it reached the floor, shaded in a deep midnight blue with minimal flowered embroidery in an all over print. But, the straps were as thin as her bra straps used to be before she'd been pregnant, and her breasts had expanded so alarmingly in size that it was highly doubtful she could manage to keep them inside the elastic. She'd worn a sweater to try and cover them up, but it was to no avail. She was huge from every angle indeed.

"I think you'll manage," Marshall mostly bypassed her comments about her boobs, probably because it embarrassed him. "You can always button up if you get too self-conscious," recalling her to the sweater.

"I would've been self-conscious anyway, dress or no dress," she insisted. "These people want someone else's kid – my kid. Am I supposed to pretend there is anything run-of-the-mill about that?"

"I think you're missing the point of adoption," Marshall surmised. "You can love a child that is not biologically connected to you in any way…"

"I know that, doofus," the woman assured him. "But, what's their motivation? They have two kids already…"

"So, this is their third adoption. So what? They've had a good experience, obviously…"

"Except the first two aren't adopted," she slipped in stealthily.

Although not overly startled by this bit of information, Marshall did shoot her a more quizzical look. It was hard to say why – learning that Trevor and Hunter were blood Harmons might've done it, but the fact that Mary suddenly had reservations on this specific subject was another possibility.

"How do you know?" he asked evenly. "Was it in their letter?"

"No," Mary told him. "I mean, I could've guessed from the way it was written even though it didn't actually say that. But, Brooke mentioned last night that she'd been pregnant – so, at least of the kids isn't adopted."

"Interesting," the man mused with a calculated nod, which was a perfectly predictable response from him. "Well, not all people who adopt can't have children themselves, although that seems to be one of the more common reasons. Some simply have that ingrained desire to help, to do good in the world – to provide a home for a child in need."

"Yeah, but this isn't some starving baby in a third world country," Mary rationalized, wondering in the back of her mind why this was rubbing her the wrong way all of a sudden, but it was probably the nerves talking. "If they were so keen to be good Samaritans, they could've adopted from China or Africa or…"

"There's the expense to consider," Marshall pointed out. "Not to mention the time constraints – having to travel to another country and take time off work."

"Do you have to be so reasonable?" she accused, crossing her arms over her chest and staring stonily out the front window. "It's annoying."

He grinned, secretly glad she didn't have a proper argument for him, "People adopt for all kinds of different reasons, Mary," he stated philosophically. "Just like people _choose_ adoption for all kinds of different reasons," now he was talking about her. "Look at you. You don't exactly fit the bill of the typical birth mom – you're not in high school, you're not homeless, you weren't taken advantage of by any number of males in your life," all true. "And yet, here you are. Can't judge a book by its cover, right?"

"Yeah-yeah…" he already knew he was right; it made no difference to tell him so.

Well aware that she was suddenly finding fault with the Harmons because they were so close to meeting them, Mary took a minute to ponder her next move, to come up with another reason they might not be suitable parents. She knew she was trying to downplay their attributes because she wanted to be prepared in case they were not all she'd envisioned them to be. There was no telling how she might react to them not being the family she wanted or needed, because time was of the essence, and she was very nearly out of it.

"So…you don't think it's strange…?" she began again, not wanting Marshall to think she was brooding. "That they're pursuing adoption when they can obviously pop out kids of their own?"

Marshall shrugged, "Not especially. If you thought it was odd then why did you decide on them versus, say, the Templetons?"

Mary hadn't thought about the Templetons since she'd tossed them out with all the other adoptive families that Patricia Anders had thrown on her desk. Maybe if she'd given them the once over another time, she wouldn't be wasting Marshall's gas zooming toward Rhode Island. The Templetons had lived in New Mexico, which seemed halfway around the world right now.

"I didn't say I thought it was odd," was Mary's feeble comeback.

"Then why are you asking me if I think it is?"

"Maybe I was just curious."

"And your curiosity didn't stem from your own misgivings?"

"No!" she'd gotten herself into the third degree without even meaning to. "I don't know why I picked them!"

Well, that was a little scary. All of a sudden, Mary actually couldn't recall why Brooke and Chris had won out over every other couple in the book. Had she really chosen them on a whim? Perhaps her subconscious running wild had landed on them, but what were the innermost workings of her mind thinking? She wasn't even in tune with her own opinions. Not wanting Marshall to discover this – although expecting him to miss it was asking a lot – Mary began to fumble in order to make him think she was perfectly in control.

"I mean…I-I-I know why…" she stammered almost incoherently. "But, I don't, you know? It's one of those things you just _know_ – a gut feeling, intuition, that sort of thing," although truthfully Mary couldn't reminisce about any supposed instinct. "Intuition gets me through work on a daily basis, and it'll get me through this."

"Well, there's a splendid attitude," Marshall perked up at once, seizing her brief bout with optimism. "Let's focus on their superior features – the ones that obviously got them into the system in the first place. Placement counselors are sticklers; they don't let anybody off the street adopt a baby…"

"They _say_."

"You haven't even informed me of what was in their letter to you," he pointed out, pretending she had not interrupted. "If there was ever a time for it, I would say it is now."

Marshall knew as well as she did that she had purposely avoided giving him insider statistics because she feared it would influence her decision, and she was having enough trouble coming to a conclusion on her own. But, since she had narrowed it down to the Harmons a week ago, she supposed that her mind was made up. And, as her partner was going to meet these people, it wasn't really fair to have him run in blind.

Never mind that Mary felt like that was exactly what she was doing, even though she had penned in adoption nine months earlier.

She started out with an offhanded shrug, "I don't really know that much. There were only a few pictures, and I left them at home. I was supposed to get some more before we left town, but I never got around to meeting with Mrs. Anders again."

"Photographs do not necessarily paint the portrait that a well-worded snapshot could provide," this flowery language must mean the letter. "What did they feel it was relevant to share? Surely you remember."

"Yeah, I remember; I'm not senile…"

"Well, then?"

Sighing, Mary shifted in her seat, feeling like her legs were trapped when they were concealed beneath the skirt on her dress. For most people, pants would feel more confining, but not for her. She hoped she could manage walking to the front door without tripping and embarrassing herself in spectacular fashion.

The letter in question was stashed in a file folder inside her tote, not her duffel bag because it was likely to get wrinkled there. It had been a few days since she'd glanced over it again, but it was short enough that she practically had it memorized. In some ways, it was hard to believe she'd made it this long without feeding Marshall at least some of the details.

"They're teachers," that was typically the first thing that came to mind. "Well, Brooke is a teacher – second grade. I guess Chris taught sixth grade for awhile, but now he's a principal. They work in the same building."

Marshall nodded sedately, drumming his fingers on the wheel, "Interesting. Educational types."

"Well, I figured anyone who hangs around with ankle-biters all day can handle a trio of kids at home, right?" for some reason, she felt she had to defend her choice.

"Sounds valid to me," the man agreed. "Do continue."

"Well, like I already told you; they have two boys. Trevor is eight and Hunter's four."

"Nice spread," he contributed. "That'll give them about four years between each," he was assuming that they were going to snag Mary's baby, and if not hers, some other child in the near future. "Do the parents come from big families?"

"Chris does," Mary told him. "He's one of five, but Brooke's an only child. They met at Brown, I guess."

"That's an ivy league school," Marshall piped up, and it shouldn't have surprised Mary in the least that this was something he would focus on. "They've obviously stayed local; Brown is in Providence. There aren't any dummies getting in there…"

"Don't be too sure," irritated that she had managed to construct a fairly ideal version of the Harmons; she sought to make them sound a little more mortal. "Brooke said something about the oldest boy being really into sports, which probably means Chris is a jock."

"Maybe," her partner met her halfway. "But, Brown doesn't give scholarships for sports, so it wasn't athletic talent that got him a ride."

"Why do you even know that?" Mary wrinkled her nose, which was a nice sense of familiarity for Marshall; it made her look like the same old snarky Mary, the one he saw every day from across the roof of the Sunshine Building. "You spend way too much time on Wikipedia, Poindexter…"

"Never mind," Marshall chuckled. "So, that's a pretty concrete synopsis," although it had been basic at best. "Now I know what we're in for."

"Yeah, there's that 'we' thing again," she noted, pretending that she was irritated when in reality the fact that he defined them in terms of a twosome gave her a strange fizzy feeling in her stomach that she couldn't quite place.

He was remiss about the memory, "Again?"

"Yeah. When I first found out I was pregnant you gave me that whole, 'We're having a baby, Mary,' speech."

"Ah, yes," now he got with the program. "So I did. Well, that was before the adoption plan, but no matter. We can still be 'we.' Can't we?"

"If you say so."

Gripped with the sudden desire to hash out something entirely different just to pass the time, because she was going to have quite enough of discussing the adoption by day's end, Mary spontaneously decided to throw Marshall for a loop. It was unwise, but he was making her talk about something uncomfortable, and so there was no reason she couldn't do the same to him. Their journey to Rhode Island as well as her phone reunion with Mark had meant that he was, as always, on the supportive end of their friendship. It was high time the roles were reversed, if only temporarily.

"You know, though…" Mary tried to make it sound like a perfectly natural segue. "If we were as much a 'we' as you say, wouldn't you have told me about Luke about eight years ago?"

It was possible that very little good could come from her pushing Marshall's buttons like this, especially when the mere presence of Camille Walters had obviously brought up too many bad memories for him. That was why she attempted to sound both casual and curious, dropping the needling that usually existed in her tone when she wanted a good tidbit of information.

As it was, Marshall seemed a little taken aback by his partner's forthrightness, but settled for sighing. At least he wasn't withholding every segment of his soul right from the get-go.

"You want the truth?" he finally asked.

Mary made no bones about it, "Don't I always?"

"Since that is what you personally dish out more often than not, then I suppose so."

"Well then?"

Admittedly, the blonde was a little bit surprised that Marshall knew, consciously, why he'd been keeping such a big part of himself all bottled up inside. There was a reason for everything, but not always on the surface. Judging by the fact that the man was so quick in his deliberation of whether or not to spill, he obviously knew exactly why he'd left Mary in the dark where Luke was concerned.

"My justifications are twofold," he declared, just like the nerdy professor type he was. "One being the obvious. I don't like talking about it. It's painful. It took me many-many years to deal with the grief and the guilt, and while I function far better than I used to, cleansing old wounds is less than beneficial. I prefer to leave it behind me."

This made sense, especially to Mary, who practically considered yesterday too far in the past to bother herself with, let alone over twenty years ago. Water under the bridge, right? If only she could take on that philosophy when it came to her father, and she'd probably be as healed as Marshall.

"I do hope you're not so keen to erase all the ghastly stuff that you're forgetting all good times you might've shared with him," Mary dug for a little more. "He was good friend, wasn't he?"

This earned her a sober nod, "He was," and a murmur. "The best. Well, until you."

Mary scoffed to ease him up, "Sounds like I would've had competition."

"No…" he was very quick in refuting that theory. "No. I mean, Luke was a pal, but…" caught between not wanting to defame his old friend and not say anything too intimate about his current one, he mouthed soundlessly for a moment before coming to the words he wished for. "Well, there's no need for competition. People get along for different reasons. You would've liked him though."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," he sounded certain. "Well, actually you probably would've hated him at first because he was a confident guy and liked to do things his way, but underneath he was a softie. You could've broken him, easy, and once you did, you'd have worked really well together."

"Not as well as you and me," Mary corrected. "He wouldn't give me nearly as many chances as you do."

"Well, I do have a gift in that department."

She smirked, glad that he wasn't immediately delving into the melancholy he had sported at the courthouse.

"Show off," and she even smacked his arm to show that she hadn't intended to bring him down. "But, are you going to tell me what the other reason was? Why you decided I didn't need to be cognizant of your sordid past?"

Although he seemed to have been buoyed by their light repartee, Mary's push slipped him seamlessly back into evasive-mode. No doubt glad that she had taken his first explanation so well, now he was going to have to divulge the rest, and something told his partner that his basis was going to be less general on this round. Deep down, because she knew Marshall so well, Mary had a strong hunch that whatever it was had specifically to do with her, and he didn't want to tell her because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Ironic, how she bashed him left, right, and center and yet he was always shy about doing the same to her.

"It's really just that I don't like discussing it…" for a WITSEC inspector, he was not a very good liar, and Mary called him on it at once.

"No, it's not," she countered. "I heard you upfront. Two reasons are two reasons. I'm not going to be offended…"

"You say that now, but just the other day you confided in me that you care a lot more about how people perceive you than you let on, and I'm just going to be feeding into that…"

"Well, you're allowed," Mary would give him a gold star for earning it. "You know me much better than anyone else, so if you 'perceived' anything, than it's probably right on the money."

"That's where you're wrong," he whispered illicitly, and if he didn't have to keep his vision on the stretch of highway, he would've averted his eyes straight to the ground. "If anything, your reaction when you found out about Luke yesterday showed me that I spent eight years being wrong…"

"This is getting off the beaten track, Marshall," the woman informed him, ignoring his sudden hangdog. "I'm not following. Just have out with it. It's not like if I am upset that I won't forgive you."

And while it was true that forgiveness didn't come easy to Mary, at least in the case of their partnership, she had always come around and so had he, no matter how angry or misunderstood each claimed to feel. If they'd made it through Marshall's feeling of utter betrayal when Mary had spilled the secrets of WITSEC to Raph, then they could come out the other side of this one without a problem.

The final urge, "Come on, what?"

If it were up to him, he would've hemmed and hawed for another ten minutes, tripping over himself so Mary wouldn't feel any shame or sting, but with a best friend like her, you didn't waffle for too long and live to tell about it.

"I was…worried you wouldn't understand," Marshall finally revealed, not without the pause to collect himself in the middle. "I thought you might possibly make light of the situation – mock me for being a baby, for grieving twenty years after the fact."

Defense mechanisms reared to the skin right below the surface of Mary's psyche, where her head ejected reason after reason why she would not have acted in any such thoughtless way. What sort of person did that? And yet, when she forced herself to keep her mouth shut and let Marshall finish, she realized that he was absolutely right. Sad, tragic scenarios always brought out the worst side in Mary, because raw emotion made her so uncomfortable. Her solution was always to make a joke and laugh it off, no matter how insensitive it might be.

And Marshall had seen it coming a mile away.

"You're my friend, Mary, you know that you are…" it was apparent that he wanted to make this clear. "My best friend. And, it hurt _me_ not to tell you. But, I was very close with Luke in the time that we worked together and I was just afraid that you would write it off. Obviously, that isn't fair because you were the most compassionate I've probably ever seen you when you got the news yesterday…"

Anything to avoid being portrayed as a sentimental sap, Mary rushed to stop him, and also to validate that he had very good reason to be wary of her acidic sarcasm.

"Hold on," she interjected. "Just, take a breath, all right?" even though his jabbering wasn't nearly as long as the string of information she had given Mark on the phone. "You're not crazy, you know."

"How so?"

"Well, Marshall, I'm not exactly Doctor Finkel," it was the first reference she could come up with. "I say and do things I shouldn't; we both know that. There's probably a ninety percent chance I would've been completely tactless and ruined everything. It's just your dumb luck that yesterday I landed on the ten percent of empathy I actually possess."

This was not entirely true, because anytime Marshall looked as anguished as he had in that courthouse; it was guarantee that Mary was not going to fall back on her cynicism. Seeing such a defeated, dismal shell of her partner made her feel like she was looking at an entirely different person. In the here and now, she couldn't feel worse for Marshall because he'd lost someone so near and dear to his heart, and been right in the thick of it to boot.

But, years before? Had the circumstances been different and he'd just blurted it out one day in passing, no one could predict how Mary might react in order not to show that she harbored kindness within. She was supposed to tough and tough didn't always include wallowing, even if the reason for it was perfectly sound.

"Mary, I don't say this to make myself feel better about doubting you for so many years…" Marshall spliced into her thought processes, cajoling her to listen. "But, it's something I don't say often enough. You're a _great_ friend. 'Best' is not just a label in my book."

Pink-cheeked because he was being so unabashed in his approach, but also mortified that he could think he was in any way lax about showing her how he felt, Mary swallowed and tried to act on the truth rather than blind emotion.

"_You_ don't say it enough?" something of a gentle scoff was pulled forth. "What does that make my count then?"

"Well, actions speak louder than words…"

"And what do my actions tell you?" that he could think he was the one being negligent was really a laugh. "That I think you're a skinny, nerdy, boring boy scout?"

"I don't care," he butted in, and he sounded like he meant it. "I don't care that you tease me. I never have."

Curiosity got the better of Mary, "Why?" secretly, she'd always wondered.

"Because when you're as detached like you are with so many people in your life, but you've chosen me to poke fun of…" a shrug. "Well, it's like the little boy pulling pigtails on the playground. _That's_ the action. You like me. You just don't want me to know it," and then he winked.

Startled, but somewhat comforted by Marshall having zero qualms about Mary's affection for him, she still couldn't help scrutinizing his analogy. Weren't pigtail-pulling days of yore reserved for those children that didn't just like each other but…_liked_ each other? Mary understood the difference, even if the term was the same. Marshall wasn't saying what she suspected he might be, was he? She thought back to his niece's confusion over his love life, and his brother's blunt assumptions that Abigail was nothing more than a placeholder until Mary finally showed herself.

No. He was her friend. Her best friend. He always had been, and he always would be.

But, willing to take the verbal abuse she shelled out for him simply because she was giving him attention? Better some than not at all? What did _that_ say?

Rather than ask, because the possibilities were just too daunting when she already had so many other things to be concerned with, Mary knew that it was up to her to show him that he didn't need to cherish the snark when she was perfectly capable of giving him so much more.

"Well, I don't just like you," she said it roughly, so as not to appear schmaltzy. "And, I don't know a lot about love these days considering I can't even make up my mind on what it is I feel for this kid, but rest assured…" throwing him a significant look. "I don't _just_ like you."

What Marshall was experiencing after this loaded, yet light declaration was anybody's guess, because his face didn't really give him away. He knew as well as Mary did that any sort of adoration she was referring to was spoken in friendship only. That was how it had always been with them. He gave, and she took, but he couldn't deny that it felt nice to be on the receiving end for once.

"Do you _like_ me enough to let me tag along for your meet and greet, rather than hanging out at the local dive while you pass potatoes with Mango's Ivy League family?"

Unspoken though it was, Mary had never truly entertained the idea of making Marshall stay in the car while she became acquainted with Brooke and Chris Harmon. He was intelligent enough to know she was simply sitting on her decision for as long as possible, claiming right up until the moment they pulled into the Providence driveway that she could handle the meeting all by herself. He wondered if, in her heart of hearts, she really enjoyed braving the gusty winds alone as she always tried to do.

His question was answered for him five hours later when he trundled the SUV up in front of a gorgeous two-story house in a sprawling subdivision full of winding streets and spacious backyards. A stop sign up ahead as well as a 'school speed limit' marker showed them that the local elementary school was just around the corner, no doubt the elementary school where both Harmons were employed, where the oldest went to school, followed by the younger, and eventually Mango, should Mary follow through with her plans.

Although their heavier discussion had long since petered out, the blonde was looking more edgy now than she had even at all the implicit assertions of love, and that was saying something. It was questionable as to whether she'd even realized they had arrived, but Marshall distinctly saw her eyes flicker up toward the home they were sitting in front of as he turned the engine off. All thoughts of their prior conversation forgotten, as now was the moment to focus on the task at hand, Marshall tried to take in their surroundings so Mary could have a moment to assemble a little composure.

The neighborhood was beautiful, and the house itself was probably around the same size as Ted's, although not nearly as old. The whole area looked like it had only been built within the last fifteen years or so, perfectly modern and well-kept. The Harmon's home was painted light tan, with a two car garage on the lower half and steps leading to a landing and then the front door. Upstairs windows indicated there were at least three bedrooms, and if Marshall had to guess, he thought the upper half of the house might've been added onto in recent years, as the adjoining homes were not as large. A nice, not overly obtrusive flower patch was growing in front of the railing that snaked around the front steps. The grass was green, the hedges were trimmed, and the sun was just beginning to go down by the rooftop, signaling that six o'clock was not far away.

Unfortunately, it appeared he had not spent enough time gawking, because Mary had taken to lifting the top portion of her dress up and down in order to air out what seemed to be sweaty skin. This wasn't as simple as it looked, as the edging on the dress was elastic and so she had to peel it free every time she wanted to expose herself to the breeze. Marshall wanted to suggest she take off her sweater, but he knew she wouldn't.

"Jesus…" the mutterings were to be expected, but they seemed to come from stress rather than contempt, and Marshall saw his opportunity to step in.

"Hey…" hastily, his hand found her forearm and rested there; the touch called a halt to her busy fingers and she blinked at him, frenzied and hating it. "It's gonna be okay; it really is…"

"I don't know what I was thinking…"

"Yes, you do," he would be supportive until the bitter end. "It's hard to reconcile right now because you're nervous, but you've been on board the adoption train from the start. Once things get moving and the initial awkwardness is out of the way, you'll be just fine…"

He was so good at reassuring her that he almost believed the lines himself, able to squash those feelings of loss he experienced at never getting to know Mary's baby or be the 'Uncle Marshall' he had idealized himself to be.

"Don't just give them a chance. Give yourself a chance too," this was important, because she was likely feeling very insecure, which was a new shade on the woman. "You're interesting. You're smart and successful and all you need to be is yourself…"

Mary feared who she really was underneath, and wasted no time broadcasting it to Marshall.

"But, I put up the armor when I don't know what else to do; I'm insensitive and uncouth even if I don't really want to be…"

"Nerves will do that to a person," chalking it up to that, once again. "Self-awareness goes a long way. If you slip up now and again, it's not the end of the world. If it's any consolation, I'm sure they're anxious too."

It was hard for her to see what Brooke and Chris really had to be anxious about, but she was willing to take Marshall's word for it, sighing and nodding her head a few times to show that she understood. The flow of oxygen into her brain from the exhale was clarifying, and although she still couldn't seem to slow her heartbeat or stop perspiring to save her life, with Marshall by her side on this endeavor surely she couldn't go wrong. That he thought so many brilliant things about her was consoling enough.

"I'm trying, Marshall…" she whispered, leaning her temple against the headrest and looking at him out of her glowing jade eyes. "This is what I want – what I _need_…" it was the latter that worried him. "And…I'm trying."

"I know you are," he insisted, silencing his own doubts. "Are you ready?"

His phrasing was unique, and it was only until he said it that Mary realized wanting and needing were two entirely different things. And whether she was 'ready' to have someone else stake their claim on the child she'd been fostering for nine months was another issue all together.

XXX

**A/N: So, they have arrived! I love that I have at least some of you still guessing about what Mary is going to do with the baby, mostly because I don't consider any of my stories to be very mysterious – I always think they're obvious!**


	32. Sweat It Out

**A/N: I am astonished I have managed to keep people guessing on what Mary is considering as far as the baby goes! That has nothing to do with you all, rather with my thinking that my own writing is so transparent! I am flattered by the notion that it has some degree of mystery.**

XXX

It isn't so bad.

Mary's mantra for the entire night consisted of those four words. If she repeated it to herself over and over whenever she had the urge to say something rash, or whenever she scented something that might be a deal breaker, than she was able to talk herself off the ledge. Marshall's insistence that 'white picket fence families' weren't all they were cracked up to be ran on a loop through her entire head. Just because she spotted imperfection somewhere in the Harmons didn't mean they weren't appropriate parents for Mango. She couldn't nitpick every little thing, or else she would go crazy.

And, if she was being fair, the first part of the night really wasn't bad at all. None of the topics covered had anything to do with the adoption or even with Mary as a person. Marshall was unfailingly charming, taking the lead right out of the box – introducing himself, shaking hands, humoring the little boys, finding something new to talk about any time he sensed conversation dying down. It gave Mary time to put herself at ease, at least as much as she was ever going to, and she was dually impressed by his efforts.

Staying silent meant that she was able to give Brooke and Chris the once over while her partner chattered, but no red alerts went off. Brooke was a little over eager to begin with, talking too fast and too much, but the longer they were together the more she calmed down. She was remarkably petite, almost a head and a half shorter than Mary with chin-length brunette hair and wide, round hazel eyes. Everything about her was tiny; the white Capri pants she wore, the jingling bracelets on her wrists, and the silver necklace scooped around her shirt. She was nothing if not miniature, and Mary felt big, heavy, and loud in her presence.

Chris appeared to be far more laid back than his wife, wearing slacks and a polo like they were going to have a cookout and ushering his sons here and there, quietly reminding them of their manners. Brooke spent quite a bit of time telling him what to do, but he seemed to enjoy it. Chances were, she ran the household and he was happy to oblige so things stayed neat and orderly. This was a glaring contrast to Mary's own parents, but she supposed there was a lid for every pot.

Both Trevor and Hunter were pleasant enough; Trevor, as the older sibling, was more apt to mixing with the adults, and he took to Marshall at once. Hunter was shy and spent a lot of time hiding behind his mother's legs, which didn't bode well for her because she was still trying to fix dinner when Mary and Marshall arrived. With the help of his brother, he eventually came out of his shell, but still refused to say much. Both had brown hair, like their mother, and light grey eyes. Mary didn't know why she was so fixated on their looks when ordinarily she would not obsess about something so superficial. Maybe it was because she was trying to figure out if Mango could pass for their biological child given her and Mark's DNA.

And so, with the, 'it isn't so bad' tagline as the best defense she had in her arsenal, Mary made it through most of dinner without a problem, glad that the social worker was keeping to herself, staying in the background, and even skipping out on supper to take calls from her office. She didn't like her hovering and found she could relax more freely when she wasn't there. Inevitably though, the byplay was going to shift to more delicate details, and they were halfway through their meal when it took that exact turn.

"I feel like I've spent all night talking about myself…" Brooke announced, as though this were any big secret. "We didn't get that much information on you when we decided to go through Mountain States," she continued, with 'you' meaning Mary. "Chris and I would both love to hear about your background – some things we can tell the baby if, you know, everything works out…"

She had been speaking that way all night; Mary reflected as she sawed her chicken and took a bite, Marshall chewing sedately at her elbow. Every mention of 'the baby' had come with that ultimatum tacked on the end, as if Brooke needed to show she wasn't counting on anything, but was making plans in case everything came together. Mary couldn't be sure how she felt about it, which meant 'it isn't so bad' flew through her brain quite a bit more.

And, her proposition was not an inviting one. Sure, Mary had plenty of familial and personal specifics she could dole out, but they weren't the sort of things she typically shared, least of all with strangers. But, she remembered Leann's imploring and June being kept in the dark in regards to her own adoption, and she knew she wanted Mango to be able to hoard as much as he could.

Still though, her throat felt cottony when she tried to speak, and she ended up choking on her chicken before she could get out an intelligible thought.

"I…I'm not the most fascinating person," something resembling a sneer snuck its way in. "Really, Marshall's the one with the history when it comes to the two of us."

Aside from the Luke debacle, this was completely false, but Marshall didn't say so. Instead, he chuckled lightly and took a sip of wine.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he mused pleasantly. "Although, I am an open book if you all are so inclined, but I don't think it's necessary."

Knowing she couldn't rely on him for this, Mary managed a swallow, trying to savor the taste of her dinner which included chicken, steamed green beans, mashed potatoes, and an overflowing basket of bread which made her feel like she was in a restaurant. It was delicious, but it wasn't enough to loosen her up.

Marshall, perceptive as he was, must've noticed her tense, as did the happy couple from across the dining room table. Trevor sat on one end, Hunter on the other, so that they each had a parent to help with their dinner; Mary didn't have to see their penetrating stares. It was doubtful they were even paying attention, which she wished the Harmons would do.

Embarrassing her, but knowing he was just trying to help, the man spoke in an undertone near her ear to encourage her onward.

"Go on, it's okay…" it was foolish to think no one else at the table could hear, but Marshall was fairly stealthy. "They're not prying; they're interested…"

Turning with a half smile toward Brooke and Chris, "I don't think you're prying," Mary didn't want them to believe she envisioned them as rude. "I guess I'm just not used to people being interested."

"Well, we certainly are!" Brooke declared. "Anything you can tell us would be so appreciated, right Chris?" Mary saw her nudge him with her elbow.

He cleared his throat, but kept it simple, "Whatever you're comfortable with. No pressure."

As Mary's job was off limits, the only thing she could really reveal to them was her childhood and her family, both of which were sticky subjects. That shot the 'no pressure' line all to hell, but there was nothing left to do but grin and bear it at this point. Brooke, perhaps thinking she was aiding their dinner companion, tried to get the ball rolling.

"Are…do you have any brothers or sisters? You know Chris and I are so different that way; he has two brothers and two sisters, but I'm an only child so my perspective is pretty skewed."

Mary knew this already and decided now was as good a time as any to air her dirty laundry. Mango would thank her for it one day, right?

"I have a little sister," she began, noticing that Marshall was returning to his meal now that she was speaking. "Brandi."

Including Lauren and Scott in her description really wasn't important, was it? She'd only met Lauren one time, and she hadn't even known they were sisters. She could do without Scott completely, and was glad he was back in Miami where he belonged instead of bunking on her couch. If she didn't consider them a part of her life, then Mango didn't need to either.

"She's about six years younger than I am – lives a mile or so away from me," why she threw that in, she didn't know, just that she considered Brandi's intrusiveness a trait of her personality. "She's getting married in less than a week."

"Oh, how exciting!" Brooke contributed while Chris gave a dignified nod. "I guess you won't be in the wedding though, what with…"

"We're hoping to make it back in time, but I was cut from the bridal party thanks to…you know who," she had yet to tell them the title she had coined the baby with. "Her fiancée's name is Peter; he manages a car dealership and Brandi is one of his salespeople."

"Sounds like Chris and me," the other woman decided, rubbing her husband's elbow fondly. "We just weren't getting enough of each other at home."

Mary knew she was making the connection between Brandi and Peter working together and she and Chris being employed in the same school, but it was hardly the same. If she knew all there was to know about Brandi and Peter, she never would've tried to draw a parallel. Something told the expectant mother that she and Chris didn't have a past that included meth and alcoholics anonymous.

"You two must see quite a bit of each other…" Chris finally chimed in casually. "Being in the same town and everything. Are you much alike?"

At this, Marshall decided to join, "They're more of the north and south variety," his correlation was putting it mildly. "When one goes up, the other goes down."

"Oh, really?" Brooke giggled. "You're not exactly two peas in a pod then?"

"No," Mary clarified; gulping down some water and almost immediately feeling it leak into her pores because she couldn't stop sweating. "But, I do see a lot of her. We're just pretty different. She's the eternal optimist and I'm kind of…" she shouldn't put herself down; Marshall had said so. "Well…I guess I'm more of a realist."

That was almost diplomatic, she thought with a mental pat on the back. There was no telling how the Harmons would react to the true, living and breathing Brandi, with her limitless vigor, her being so demonstrative, and her proclivity for gossip. But, knowing the sort of life she had led prior to meeting Peter would probably send them reeling. They'd be glad for the opportunity to get Mango away from the strife that was the Shannons.

"An excellent comparison," Marshall obviously wasn't reading her thoughts this time, trying to keep the dialogue flowing. "Brandi is really quite lovely though, and we're so thrilled she's tying the knot. Weddings are always cause for celebration."

'Lovely' was a bit of a stretch, but Mary was willing to let it go; especially since Brooke seemed to feel the same way Marshall did.

"Oh, of course; I'm sure it will be wonderful," she forecasted. "God willing, you will make it home to see her walk down the aisle. I know if I had a sister, I wouldn't want to miss something like that."

Keeping her true feelings to herself, Mary verbally agreed, "Well, I'd be up the creek if I didn't attend anyway, so. My mother would kill me."

Chris chortled good naturedly, because he obviously got the joke, and once he started in Brooke decided it was safe to do so as well. Little did they know that Mary wasn't looking forward to the nuptials at all. Seeing her baby sister getting hitched before she did seemed to go against the laws of nature.

Additionally, Mary's accidental mention of Jinx meant that it gave Brooke the perfect transition in order to interrogate further.

"What's your mom like?" she pressed, taking a dainty bite of chicken and not commenting on how Mary was almost finished with her meal because stuffing herself was how she managed her nerves. "Does she live nearby too?"

"Yeah," the blonde reported, attempting not to sound too begrudging. "Not far, anyway. She's had a number of different careers…" again, that was phrasing it kindly. "She was a waitress and a bartender. The last two years she's been teaching dance in a little studio in the city – grade school girls; mostly ballet, I think."

"That is precious…" Brooke gushed, a word that made Mary want to vomit but she buried that compulsion as quickly as possible. "She must have a background in dance then."

"Well, she performed when she was younger; I think mostly when she was in high school because she didn't go to college," she rattled off, strangely ill at ease when it came to just how little she knew about the woman's studies. "Her name is Jinx."

Chris, somewhat to Mary's delight, actually let out a placid laugh at hearing her name; there was nothing crass about it, but Brooke seemed to think he was being impolite and gave him a sharper jab with her elbow. Mary almost liked him better because he could think for himself. Jinx was an odd name. She had no idea where her mother had gotten it.

"I'm sure she's very talented," this was a big assumption on Brooke's part, but Mary knew she was trying to make up for her husband's scoffing. "Does she enjoy teaching?"

"Yeah, I think so…" certainly more than she had any other job. "I mean, she's been a thespian for as long as I've known her, so I would guess she fits right in."

This was a knock on Jinx's ability to be melodramatic and, again, Chris seemed to take it in stride. Though he said very little, it was apparent that he was not nearly as eager to make a good impression as his wife was, and he enjoyed Mary's light sarcasm. When you considered her usual disdain-spewing, what she was dishing out at the moment was soft, at best.

"Well, that's great that she is fulfilled with what she does…" more positivity was shining through; Brook wasn't going to give up now, but she was about to traipse right into a minefield without even realizing it. "What about your dad? Is he retired or…?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question. Rationally, Mary knew that. Since she'd been talking about her mother, it should only follow that Brooke would want to know about the other half of her parents. Indeed, she seemed to be waiting for Mary to finish her thought for her, judging by the thousand-watt, pasted-on smile she had been displaying all night.

But, even though Mary longed to report the whole truth and nothing but, as though it was no big deal whatsoever, when she opened her mouth the words wouldn't come out. No matter how normal or cured she pretended to be this far gone from her father's abandonment, the hole that had ripped itself through her heart as a seven year old still had air soaring in the empty space. Bandages and gauze – in other words, Marshall and a life of WITSEC – had repaired the gaping wound over time, and yet the minute someone ripped the band aid free it gushed as heartily as it had thirty years before.

She could lie, of course. But, Marshall would know and eventually he would want to know why she'd done it. In any case, her face was probably giving the two individuals sitting across from them something of a clue, because Brooke's face finally faltered a little. When she didn't retract her inquiry, Chris opted to take care of that for her.

"Honey, we might want to slow down a little…" his request was completely easygoing, and yet Brooke jumped as though he had slapped her. "There will be plenty of time to find out more when she's ready…"

"Oh…of…of course…" Brooke eventually fumbled, but now that they were this far in, Mary had no intention of backing away. "You must think I'm being so intrusive…"

Marshall added his two cents, "No; it's natural to be curious," as suave as ever. "I'm sure Mary understands that."

This tactic was used to goad Mary herself into saying just that, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, she pushed a few more morsels of food around on her plate, the only sound other than her clanking that of Trevor and Hunter chomping their green beans with gusto. They had no idea what was going on around them – blissfully innocent but for the idea that a new sibling might soon be arriving from a far away land called Albuquerque. Mary wished she could say the same for herself because, all of sudden, her ditching Mango was ringing remarkably true. Isn't that what James had done? Ditched her?

"I'm…we can…" Brooke wanted to cover up her unintentional blunder. "I don't need to know everything, certainly…"

"No," Mary suddenly found her voice, possibly jarred forward by the painful notion that she was turning into James right before her very eyes. "It's fine."

Putting her fork down for the first time since she'd come to the table and drinking down a particularly large gulp of water, Mary did everything she could not to look at Marshall. His sympathy or compassion would be too much for this moment, and she needed to get through as level-headedly as she possibly could.

"My dad's name is James. He didn't work when I was a kid," since she'd detailed every other family member's occupation, she might as well mention his too. "He gambled to make money and later moved on to more organized crime," she was a Marshal; she could make it sound as plain as it really was underneath. "He left me and my mother and my sister when I was seven and I haven't seen him since. I know that he was arrested once, but either escaped or made a deal with someone to get out. He and my mother never officially divorced, and he was declared legally dead in 2008."

The stunned silence that followed her flat, non-emotive speech was not unexpected, and yet Mary wished profusely that they would not gape at her. Even Chris, who seemed nonplussed by just about everything, looked taken aback by what he had just heard, and Brooke appeared horrified. There was no way she could've known about the can of worms she'd opened, but this was why Mary kept herself closed off. The waters ran deep; too deep to plumb this far into the future.

But, it wasn't Brooke or Chris that got the first word in. Apparently, Trevor and Hunter were better listeners than they might appear to the naked eye.

"Your dad was a criminal?" Trevor, eight years old and more insightful, leaned around Marshall's lanky form to address Mary. "That means he's like a bad guy, right? He shoots people or robs banks or something?"

Bowled over that he'd guessed, but prepared to tackle it head on, Mary was just on the verge of telling him he was right when Brooke butted in.

"Trevor," she hissed, sounding like an angry goose. "You don't ask questions like that, sweetie…"

She was one to talk, and evidently her son thought so too.

"You did – and she brought it up," he reminded her. "I just wanted to know…"

"It's not a problem," Mary insisted before Brooke could lay into him again. "Yes, he was," speaking directly to Trevor, whose eyebrows raised, no doubt in recognition that he thought a life on the lam was 'cool.' "He didn't shoot anybody as far as I know, but banks were his specialty."

"For real?" he was definitely awed, as any budding third grade boy would be at the prospect of an existence right out of a video game. "So, he's a bad guy, and you're a cop?"

"Something like that, yes," at least he was straightforward; Mary could appreciate that even if Brooke didn't. "That's me in a nutshell."

"How come you don't arrest him?"

"Trevor!" now Brooke was working on livid, but Mary scarcely heard her.

"I don't know where he is," the blonde had said this already, but it was plausible that the elder Harmon had missed it. "He's on the Most Wanted list though, so if anybody in law enforcement ever sees him, he'll be in jail for the long haul."

Trevor all-but grinned, "I've seen that show – America's Most Wanted!" he revealed, which probably humiliated Brooke, because she wouldn't have wanted the public knowing her son had ever viewed such a grisly program. "Your dad is one of those guys?"

"Afraid so."

"Wow…" he breathed, but his mother had-had quite enough.

"Trevor, please!" she admonished him firmly, throwing him a steely glare while Hunter looked on suspiciously from his space at the other end of the table, twirling a half-eaten bread biscuit in his fingers. "Some things are private, honey; you can't poke your nose into somebody's business that way."

Mary was willing to bet the smaller woman was mortified that she had set this conversation in motion, however unknowingly, and caused her child to believe that probing someone for their life story was perfectly acceptable behavior. Granted, she was an adult and she knew when to call it quits, but she hadn't been able to reign herself in due to the prospect of adding a third child to their brood. A lack of self awareness was crushing once it set in.

Sweeping a hand across her brow and looking slightly relieved that she had quieted Trevor, Brooke straightened her top while Mary tried to find solid ground once more. Pitching as many answers at the little boy as humanly possible had seemed cathartic in the moment because it had been her way of laying herself bare – this was who she was, no one could change it, and she'd be damned if she was going to act ashamed. And yet, now that the episode was over, she felt clammy and sticky with sweat, wondering what she'd been thinking to blurt everything out the way she had. Her voice seemed to echo in her brain and when she glanced at Marshall, she saw that he was looking worried. About her, no doubt.

"I'm…I'm so sorry, Mary…" Brooke eventually bestowed, Trevor looking annoyed that he had been hushed. "I feel terrible. I had no idea…"

"Whatever," this was a bit of a throwaway response, and didn't go a long way toward evaporating Brooke's culpability but Mary's efforts were beginning to simmer down. "It is what it is. I can't change it."

"But, I'm sure it isn't something you enjoy talking about, and for us to bombard you that way…"

"Well, like you said; you didn't know…"

"Yes, but I…"

"Brooke," Chris cut in sharply, and all of a sudden he sounded more in charge than he had since the evening had begun. "She said it was fine. Let's move on."

It seemed this was the only remedy for her endless jabbering, because his strong word was what caused her to do as he was suggesting, end the apologies, and solider forward. It was just as well, because an overly contrite pansy wasn't someone Mary was interested in conversing with. There were some things that really were as dreadful as they seemed, no matter how many times Mary reiterated to herself that things 'weren't so bad.'

"If you want to ask me anything else…" her voice sounded meek, but she was still recalling Leann's theory that more was always better in the field of adoption; it was what was getting her through. "Then, I don't mind. Really," a shaky laugh escaped.

"I don't want to overstep…"

"Well, honestly," Mary really wasn't in the mood to rehash any more of her life, but she needed to be cordial if this was going to work. "As long as it's not about my dad or my job, then I'm good."

In the presence of clearance, Brooke's eyes wavered and found her husband's. This gesture showed Mary that they both had something they wanted to find out, but that the wife felt she had already gone too far and needed her more even-tempered mate to do the honors this time. The inspector didn't care who bridged the gap as long as they did it soon.

Folding his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles, Chris took the bait and advanced.

"Would it be all right if we asked about the father of the baby?" gratingly specific and not nearly as jittery as Brooke, he cut right to the fat. "You were the only one mentioned in the papers we received from Mountain States and we just wondered if there was anything else you could share. If you'd rather not, we understand."

Speaking for his spouse probably wasn't customary, but likely to spare herself any further embarrassment, Brooke let him get away with it and ogled Mary almost greedily. It was clear that she admired her husband's ability to be so calm, much like Mary revered Marshall's cool head in times of crisis. Vaguely, she speculated on whether these two believed Marshall was the father.

"Sure…" there wasn't much to tell here, and the blonde didn't see any reason to hold back. "The father is my ex-husband. He lives in New Jersey – that's where we met; that's where I grew up," maybe giving them additional information they hadn't asked for would curb their appetite for more. "I say 'ex-husband' but really he was just a boyfriend. He's several years older than I am and I married him when I was seventeen, but it only lasted for two days."

"I see…" Chris skillfully sliced in, promoting the rest of the story.

"The marriage was annulled and I went off to school and that was that. I saw him from time to time, but it was nothing serious. And then, nine months ago he was in New Mexico for work and my sister brought him in for a visit…" inadvertently, her eyes traveled to her rotund belly, which barely fit under the table anymore. "One thing led to another. I trust you can figure out the rest."

"Yeah," Chris chuckled, for the first time sounding just slightly uneasy, but he got back on the horse quickly. "Has he been supportive of you and of the adoption? Brooke and I wouldn't want for it to cause issues or anything like that…"

Surely picturing some sort of custody battle down the road and wanting to be prepared before the fact, Mary was at least glad she could tell them they had nothing to worry about there.

"Yes, he has," a bob of her head. "He's a nice guy," it was probably the only time she'd ever said that about Mark. "We just don't work together and are at polar opposite places in our lives. That's all."

This was getting dangerously close to an inquiry Mary absolutely did not want to respond to, and that was why she was even going with adoption to begin with. Surely the Harmons wouldn't go there. They didn't need to know. As long as they acquired a baby, why would they even care how he came about so long as he became theirs? There was no reason to tunnel that deep, and if they did, Mary could always rebuff the advances. She was good at refusing to say and do just about anything, and she had Marshall by her side if by some chance she couldn't call upon her previously sardonic nature.

"That's fantastic that he is on board," Chris eventually stated with an almost manic nod from Brooke right beside him. "I'm sure it makes things a lot easier for you."

It would. It should. But, there was nothing easy about any of this. In fact, it was becoming harder and harder by the minute. It didn't make sense. Mary's mind was whirring a hundred miles a minute; a jumbled mess of musings and speculations and outright, downright confusion.

She'd spent her whole life looking to be the family in the picture frame, and the Harmons were as near to it as she was going to get for her child. They had the expansive yard, the daisies by the porch, the three bedrooms and adjoining baths, knick knacks on every table, and toy trucks littering the floor. Right out of a magazine was exactly what they were, even with their slip-ups in decorum on occasion. Here was the neighborhood where Mango could learn to ride his bike, the school playground he could walk to, and the big brothers to beat him up as well as protect him from the bullies on the corner. He could have everything Mary had ever wanted for him, as well as for herself.

So why, as she sat in the insulated bubble that was Providence, Rhode Island, did she yearn for her little one not to be the son among boys and basketballs, but to become the only male running around a Victorian tower with three soldiering little girls? Why could she picture him as the bright spot among a rigid detective, a cello playing introvert, and a thumb-wrestling spitfire? She'd felt as uncomfortable in the turret as she did here with the ocean breeze wafting through the open window, and still the image she saw was that of hardwood floors and mornings that began at seven A.M. Idealism was here, and still Mango was not.

It made no sense at all.

XXX

**A/N: Ah, Mary-Mary-Mary…whatever will she do? ;) Thank-you times a million for continuing to read and review! It means so much!**


	33. Single Stitches

**A/N: Over 200 reviews! You all get many gold stars! Thank-you so much!**

XXX

In spite of the fiasco where she had been made to discuss James, Mary was willing to note the evening as having gone reasonably well. She never actually calmed down, feeling as though she was walking on eggshells the entire time, but she was making it through and that was all anybody could ask of her. Even so, that strange, troubled sensation lingered somewhere in her lower belly – the sensation that was taking her child out of Providence and plunking him smack in Albuquerque with occasional visits to Indiana and Ted the Terrible. The notion was ridiculous. She was not keeping the baby, and if by some twist of fate she had to, it wasn't as if Ted and the girls would ever meet him. Why she had allowed such a thing to enter her head, she didn't know, and she refused to dwell on it. Pushing it to the back of her mind in favor of seeking out all the good in the Harmons was how she squashed it once and for all.

Once dinner had concluded and the dishes had been cleared, Mary was taken on a tour of the house with Marshall somewhat separate from her, as Trevor wanted to show off his own bedroom. Knowing he would enjoy himself more if he was entertaining the child, Mary let him do what he wanted, but being alone with the Harmons ratcheted her nerves up another five notches. Of all the ways to display her anxiety, her body had to go whole hog and make her drown in a puddle of her own perspiration. She'd been sweating since she'd arrived, and was sure stains were starting to show through her meager sweater at this point.

The home was not overly extravagant, although it was certainly good-sized. The front door opened straight to a set of stairs, which meant you had to go up in order to visit the living room and kitchen. Mary had seen that much when she'd first come in, and was then guided into the more spacious back hallway where all the bedrooms were. Unlike the crammed together, claustrophobic feeling at Ted's house, this area was open, with Trevor's and Hunter's bedrooms on the left as you walked through, connected by a bathroom in-between. The master bedroom was at the back of the hall, which explained the three windows posted on the front of the house from the outside.

As Marshall had speculated, an addition had been put onto the rear end; according to Chris, the construction had only been finished about six months earlier. And, with lead in her gut, Mary realized why they had spent thousands of dollars remodeling their home. It was so they could have a nursery, and when she walked inside, the sense of overwhelming increased tenfold.

"We obviously don't have everything yet…" Brooke made a sweeping motion as she flitted about the space, her voice echoing due to the lack of furniture. "But, we have a few things from when the boys were babies that we were able to bring up from storage – like the crib."

But, Mary was speechless. Brooke had said something on the phone about wanting to show her the nook they were creating for the baby, and yet seeing it in person was so much to take in. The walls were painted a soft shade of yellow, no doubt because no one knew what gender to expect and wanted it to be unisex. A border of teddy bears ran around the ceiling and the crib, as Brooke had pointed out, was situated under a window in the far left corner, a blue blanket thrown hastily over the side. There was also a dresser and a changing table as well as a rocking chair which, to Mary, was more than enough, but the room was so large she supposed it made sense that Brooke felt it was lacking something.

A collection of tattered, well-loved stuffed animals occupied the crib at the moment, likely passed down from Trevor and Hunter, but the rest of the space was taken up with packing boxes – some of them empty, some of them containing sleepers, bottles, and towels.

It was as if they expected the baby to arrive by tomorrow. How could they get their hopes up like this? How did they know for sure that Mary was going to choose them? Would they be angry if she didn't? Would they leave the room as it was until some other birth mother came along and offered them her offspring? But, Mary didn't need to concern herself with that, right? She _was_ picking the Harmons. They were suitable – loving, financially stable, energetic; the whole ball of wax. There was no earthly justification for _not_ picking them and making their dreams come true.

"A lot of it is hand-me-downs, but we'll definitely purchase some new items once we get closer…" Brooke was still babbling, not noticing for one minute that Mary seemed lost in her nursery; that it was all crashing down very heavily. "Poor Hunter – I had to have this whole discussion with him about how he's a big boy and doesn't need his crib anymore, because he didn't want the baby to have it," a reminiscent giggle that Mary heard as though from far away.

"He's been the youngest for so long; it's a tough adjustment," Chris contributed, still talking about Hunter. "But, I know he'll be a great help; he's his mama's boy so he'll want to do everything he can."

This produced a new picture, with each one more frightening than the last. That timid, mute little boy was going to be cradling Mango? _Her_ Mango? How was that going to work? Hunter had barely been able to speak to her – to anyone – and she was expected to believe he could be big brother extraordinaire. He was jealous already. How would he be once the baby arrived? Did she want Mango's first year to be riddled with envy and arguments over who the golden child was?

Blindly, Mary wandered over to the crib they had been discussing and fingered the blanket hanging over the side. It was knitted, not without a few holes here and there, but it had obviously been used for its softness. Brooke noticed her examination and seized the moment as she had been doing all night.

"We had to pry that away from Hunter too…" she joked. "My mother made it for Trevor when he was a baby, who had no problem giving it up once Hunter came along, but he's still working on sharing."

It was handmade? This was no surprise; it certainly felt like it beneath Mary's trembling fingers. Each row was individually stitched, much like the blanket she had resided beneath in her tower room at Ted's house; that quilt had been made by Marshall's mom. Suddenly, the one she was touching at the moment didn't seem as supple or as alive with color as Mrs. Mann's creation. Was Brooke's mom a seamstress or a beginning knitter? Why did she care?

This was stupid. She was comparing blankets for Christ sakes. What was wrong with her? Hadn't grandparents been important to her once upon a time? Well, here was proof Mango would have at least one. Mary had counted on that, hadn't she?

But, she didn't know Brooke's mom. What was she like? Where did she live? Would Mango ever see her? She could finally take her turn at asking questions, and yet when she tried all she did was gape soundlessly, which Brooke obviously took to mean that she was free to keep right on yammering.

"Actually, my mother spends a lot of her time sewing and knitting now that she's retired…" it was implausible to think she was reading Mary's mind, and yet the inspector suddenly felt like she must be. "She finished these just a few weeks ago; let me show you…"

Without her consent, Mary was abruptly dragged across the room to the dresser where a heap of freshly washed sleepers resided, most of them also of the unisex variety. But, Brooke pushed those aside and came up with two of the most miniscule hats Mary had ever laid eyes on. Surely even a baby was too big to wear something that tiny. They would fit in the palm of her hand. Perhaps she was underestimating the size of a newborn. How big could they be? Five pounds? Eight? Eleven? Why didn't she know?

But, all thoughts of stature were quickly forgotten once she noticed what was embroidered on the hats. One was palest pink, the other sky blue, which meant that Brooke's mother had made them for either gender, wanting to be prepared. While this didn't bother Mary – at least not as much as everything else that seemed to be landing so heavily on her head – the letters woven into the fabric almost made her collapse on the spot, and she had to grab the dresser in order to stay upright.

White stitches across the pink hat read, "Bernadette." Equally as eggshell darning on the blue one boasted the name, "Arthur."

Mary's mind was rapidly turning to mush, and she wasn't able to put two and two together. She didn't understand. Who was Bernadette? Who was Arthur? Why were these here and why was Brooke showing them to her?

"Bernadette has been my favorite name ever since I was a little girl…" the woman was practically mooning, tracing the letters on the hat. "But, since I had two boys I haven't been able to use it. If we're blessed with a daughter, that'll be her name. But, of course, we would welcome another boy and Chris and I have decided on Arthur – that was his dad's name; he passed away just after Hunter was born."

So, that was one grandparent gone, and it was a grandfather to boot, and yet Mary could care less about that now. Bernadette? Arthur? Mango, her little ball of a Mango that had been resting in her belly for nine long months was destined to become a Bernadette or an Arthur? How could she reconcile something like that? She hated both those names; Bernadette was so flowery she wanted to puke and Arthur made him sound like he was a hundred. How could she stake her claim for something better?

And then she realized that she couldn't. When Mango became a Harmon, he became theirs to do with whatever they pleased, and that included his name. But, she didn't know if she could live with this, if she could come to terms with the being inside carrying a title she felt so disconnected from. Something like a name was so important, and it was quickly becoming that deal breaker Mary had tried to avoid from the very beginning.

Realizing that she hadn't spoken since they'd entered the nursery, Mary knew it was up to her to respond, to act like she was interested and not losing her shit by the second. Unfortunately, playing a part had never seemed like a more unattainable task. She had soared through with flying colors for almost three hours, only to have her aspirations upended by resentful little brothers, baby blankets, and names. How old was she? She couldn't back away for something as simple as this; she kept her commitments, and this was the biggest one she would ever make.

"I, um…" her voice sounded hoarse because all the saliva seemed to have gone from her mouth, probably so it could trickle out as more sweat. "…Bernadette?" her attempt at sounding engrossed and not disgusted probably didn't work, but Brooke took it as the former.

"I know it's old fashioned…" she admitted gaily. "But then, so is Arthur I suppose. He'd probably go by Art. I've just always thought that Bernadette was so feminine, and I adore my boys of course, but a little girl to dress up and have tea parties with…"

Mary thought she might seriously vomit upon hearing this description, not because it was so far from anything she would ever do with a daughter if she were to have one, but because she _wasn't_ having one. She'd never known for sure if the baby was a boy, but she'd never doubted her intuition on the matter; since he'd become a Mango he had become a 'he' and she had not once thought of the child as female. What if she was wrong?

Worse still, what if she wasn't? Brooke was obviously hankering for a girl, no matter what she said about being grateful either way. Mary couldn't give her that, and she wasn't going to toss her child with people who were overly preoccupied with gender.

Deep down, she was well aware she was fully exaggerating what Brooke was saying, but she couldn't seem to help herself. This wasn't working out at all like she had expected or hoped. She'd been on pins and needles all night for a very good reason, regardless of what Marshall had said about it being normal. She was only kidding herself. This wasn't right. It hadn't been from the start. This wasn't going to work.

There were other fish in the sea. She would have to find someone else.

Trying not to look as insane as she felt, Mary cleared her throat and tried to smile at Brooke's reasoning for picking such a dated name for her imagined daughter.

"I…right…" was the best she could come up with. And then, "Would…would you mind if I maybe looked around by myself for a minute?" she hoped this didn't sound odd. "Just…kind of got a feel for the place?"

If the Harmons found this at all peculiar, neither one of them said so. In fact, Brooke seemed thrilled that she wanted to get the lay of the land, or was at least articulating her wishes rather than standing taciturn as she had been since they'd entered.

"Of course; no problem…" she threw the hats back on the dresser, where the letters began to blur against Mary's lids. "Chris and I will round up the boys; it's getting to be their bed time anyway."

The blonde knew that gratitude was appropriate, "Thank-you."

Without another word, the couple departed, and Mary could hear their footsteps disappear down the hall; she even thought she could make out Brooke calling to Trevor in his bedroom that it was time to put away his toys. It was likely he was playing with Marshall, but that seemed to be occurring in a world entirely separate from the one Mary had entered – one where her plan of action had just been shattered to pieces.

Four weeks. All she had now were four weeks. If that. And she was starting all over.

The decision to bolt was not conscious, and neither was her rationale for giving the Harmons the old heave-ho. If asked, she probably wouldn't have been able to describe what had set her off or made her change her mind, especially when things had progressed so nicely. But, she was a woman who had operated under the letter of the law her entire adult life, and she had learned when instincts were to be trusted. This child was not something that could be taken lightly, and if she wasn't sure about where she was sending him than she simply couldn't do it. She'd never be able to live with herself if she shipped Mango off into a universe where she frowned on his existence.

It was just hard to say when the 'white picket fence family' had suddenly become something to pass up, when up until this moment it had been what Mary had been chasing her whole life.

She was unsure how long she stood in the nursery, or when she meandered back to the crib so she could look out at the velvety night sky beyond the window. But, she was leaning with her hand on the railing when she was joined by someone that was not a Harmon, and yet that someone was her ticket out of here.

"My, isn't this warm…" Marshall remarked, strolling in and making quite a bit of noise with his boots. "Once it gains a little personality it will be stunning," he was working so hard at being supportive. "I'm afraid to ask how much it set them back to build it on a teacher's salary."

His idle jabber was white noise to Mary, who had her back to him and so he was unable to view that she was melting down, both literally and figuratively. She was starting to get genuinely concerned that she might pass out if she let go of the support of the crib, and once Marshall came closer she knew she wasn't going to be able to hide for much longer.

"What do you think?" he proposed genially. "It's quite spacious; very homey. I'd love to see the size of the backyard, but now that dusk has fallen I imagine that would prove difficult."

And now he was right behind her; Mary could feel his presence and see his shadow looming in the overhead light. Because she hadn't replied, he placed a hand on her back to recall her to him, and she instantly wished he hadn't because she knew what he must be feeling and how it would alert him at once that something was wrong.

"You're drenched…" and his voice immediately changed from happy-go-lucky to concern. "Seriously, you sweated right through this dress…" she knew it was damp and it was going to pull her apart at the seams. "Are you all right?"

She knew he was referring to her health, not her mental state, but it was the latter that was suspect. Whirling around, Mary saw her partner standing there with his eyebrows hunched together in the middle and his beautiful baby blues hard as steel; he knew that the tide had turned; he just didn't know why.

With a great shuddering breath that was used to keep tears at bay, Mary knew this was her only opportunity to flee the scene and never look back.

"I want to go. I need to go. I want to leave…"

Marshall was nothing if not obliging, but he was still worried about their manners and being polite, which was something Mary had bypassed long ago.

"Okay…" his tone was very gentle, and he seemed to consider touching her again, but decided against it. "We'll let them get the kids ready for bed and then wrap things up."

He didn't understand, "I want to go _now! _I cannot stay here anymore! Not for two hours, not for two minutes! Make something up and get me out of here!"

"What's going on?"

His questionnaire infuriated her to the point where she flung out a hand and slapped him hard in the chest, which was so vastly inappropriate for where they were standing that Mary almost automatically wished she could talk it back, but she was getting desperate. Usually, he was so accommodating and the fact that he was wasting time and making her talk was upsetting her even more. If she stayed, she was going to blow the whole operation to hell; the Harmons were going to know she was bailing on, not just the night, but everything else, and there were more tactful ways to handle such a thing.

As it was, Marshall staggered at being hit, but had no time to deliver a comeback.

"I'm done – I don't want to stay anymore; I've had it!" Mary was ranting as quietly as possible, but with as much fire as if she was screaming at him. "It's too much – it's just too much! I did everything I could but I'm finished; I can't do it anymore – I can't! I won't; I just won't…"

Between her rosy cheeks and her shiny eyes, not to mention the run-on sentence, Marshall gladly conceded defeat and cut her off before she got any further.

"Okay-okay…" still, he spoke in a whisper. "Okay. It's fine. I'll tell them you're sick."

The excuse was poor, but anybody who had really been looking at Mary in the last ten minutes wouldn't be able to deny its accuracy. She seemed to be having some sort of nervous breakdown, but she wasn't going to have it here. Any minute now she could blow, and that was why Marshall was on the move, taking her as seriously as if they were on a case with Stan.

"I'll take care of it," he promised once he was at the door. "You pull yourself together and come along in a minute."

XXX

**A/N: That ingrained need to run will always be in Mary. ;)**


	34. Swinging Stars

**A/N: This chapter is one I had mapped out in my head almost from the minute I started writing this story. Hard to say why the brain sees certain things, but this was something I definitely saw! I just hope it is not too over-the-top, as I likely ran with the dramatics. ;)**

XXX

In the nursery, Mary knew Marshall had told her to 'pull it together' not so she could continue making a decent impression, but because he was aware she wouldn't want to appear such a basket case in front of their hospitable hosts. And he was gone before she could order him to do anything else, unable to believe that her hysteria was mounting so speedily. This wasn't like her at all, and still she couldn't brace herself for the fall; it was like she was plummeting again and again, and each time she was about to hit the floor it bottomed out once more and sent her careening another ten feet. There was no rock bottom to smash into; it was a ten story tumble with absolutely no end in sight.

But Marshall, who was lucid even if he was also befuddled, managed to steer both Brooke and Chris back into the living room to deliver the news that they were cutting the evening short. By the time Mary's legs began working and she was able to listen from up the hall, she caught phrases like, 'a lot of traveling' and 'feeling under the weather.' It was all so demeaning, and if she were in the right frame of mind she never would've allowed her partner to paint her as so weak. But, desperate times called for desperate measures, and if it got her out then she was willing to look as feeble as possible.

Unfortunately, it appeared that even the debonair and well-versed Marshall could not fool these intelligent people. As the pair of inspectors were escorted to the front door, Mary could see the doubt that was creeping into the Harmon's eyes; she could tell that they knew they were missing something, and that they had no idea how to fix it. She hated herself for stealing away like she was, but if she didn't the repercussions would be far worse. Ten minutes ago she had been just fine, and now she was falling apart. Brooke and Chris were innocent pawns; no one, not even Mary, could expect them to understand.

She made a mad and unwise dash for the car once she reached fresh air, which she gulped heartily into her lungs, stumbling through the grass to reach the SUV. Marshall, coming up behind her, obviously saw her lumbering form tearing along and tried to call out a warning.

"Mary, slow down…" he cautioned in a soft voice that still carried through the star-scattered sky. "Be careful; they'll see you running and you might fall…"

Both were logical reasons why she should not be pumping her legs. If the Harmons spotted her quite literally streaking away from their house, the jig would be up, although it was dark and they had already shut their front door. The expectant mother tripping and sprawling toward the ground wasn't out of the question either, but still she pelted through the shadows – the more distance she got from this nightmare, the better.

"Mary…" it seemed remarkable that Marshall hadn't actually caught up with her, but he was probably heeding his own advice and playing it safe. "Calm down; you're almost there…"

Too right she was; throwing her hand out; she flung open the car door and flew inside like she was being chased by a burglar with a gun. Marshall joined her in due time, buckling his seatbelt while the woman panted so loudly that the sound filled the whole of the car, wrapping them in thick, heavy clouds. Such deep inhaling and exhaling made her feel alive, like she had done the right thing, although it made her lightheaded and dizzy at the same time. It wasn't even the jaunt that was putting her out of breath, but the stress in trying to make a getaway. She'd been trapped in that house; trapped in their world of speckled countertops and straight A's and two parents that had never been drunk or spent the night in jail.

"Mary, you need to take it easy…" Marshall was still imploring her, his face growing dimmer and dimmer once the dome light in the SUV began to fade. "It's okay; we're out here, it's over…"

"Drive," she stammered out of nowhere, knowing she didn't want to risk anyone peeking out a window and seeing them sitting there. "Drive…please…"

Jamming the key in the ignition, "Where am I going?"

"I don't care; just drive."

This was easy enough, and if it would help Mary to regain any sense of serenity than Marshall was all for it. And, at first, it seemed to be working, except that the hurtle back into reality was a devastating blow. What had she done? Had she really just made such a scene like some petulant, hormonal teenager? The answer was yes, she had, and this realization obliterated the adrenaline, replacing it with noisy, frustrated, devastated sobs.

Marshall heard at once and almost pelted the car headlong through a stop sign in order to give her his full attention.

"We need to get somewhere where we can sit down and talk; just give me a few minutes and I'll find a place; try to hang on…"

His everlasting sweetness with not a hint of annoyance for how badly she'd behaved just made Mary cry harder. Along with everything else that was rushing back, she indexed just how unequivocally repulsive she felt having perspired so profusely through every inch of fabric she was wearing. The dumb dress, much like the picture-perfect house, was suffocating; it was strangling her, clinging to her skin, making her feel so constricted that she could barely breathe.

"I need to get this dress off…!"

"Just hold on; your clothes are in the back; it'll take me two minutes…"

"I want it off – I need to take it off!"

Seeing her yank at the elastic around her bodice, Marshall realized she was not kidding and yet still knew that if she started flashing him in her tizzy that things would never be the same later.

"I'm stopping – I'm pulling over…"

They'd only made it two blocks. Marshall had intended to shoot a U-turn through the neighborhood to get back to the main street, but his quest had taken him straight to the grade school that had been visible from the Harmon's front lawn. It was deserted, of course, as it was nine o'clock at night in the middle of summer, and the playground structures loomed in half-shadow, illuminated only by the streetlamps throwing their beams onto the blazing red brick.

Marshall parked the car almost in a bush at the very edge of the playground, slides and swings visible just beyond. With astonishing speed given her girth, Mary jumped out, yanked the back door open and began ripping through her duffel bag like she expected to find buried treasure at the bottom. The man had never in his life seen her so panicked and was at a bit of a loss for how to handle it, but he raced around to be beside her anyway, knowing he couldn't assist if she was on her own.

"Let me help you…" he tried to sound as calm as he wanted her to be, but she might've been deaf for all the attention she paid him. "I'll find a flashlight and we'll be able to see…"

Too late. Tears still in full flow, Mary retrieved a pair of jeans from their hiding place and, shocking Marshall to his very core as he observed her balance, managed to unzip and wiggle into them by bunching the dress up around her middle. Not a sliver of skin was exposed, and she wasn't done yet. The raggedy T-shirt she'd worn the day they had left Ted's in Indiana was lying nearby; she slipped both straps on the dress down so it looked like it had none, threw the shirt over her head and shoved the long, flowing fabric down to the cement. She picked it up, hurled it at Marshall where it almost hit him in the face, and released the most trembling, saddened sigh of relief the man had yet to hear.

It had been an impressive display to say the least, as Mary was over twice her usual size and he'd had no idea that she could move so quickly still. But, it appeared shedding her formalwear wasn't going to have the effect on her that she had obviously hoped it might. Marshall stood before her, dress in hand, ascertaining that the entire top half was soaked, and witnessed the crash that had been revving up since she'd set foot in the nursery.

Without a single distinguishable word, Mary allowed the sobs to overcome her, shivering and wailing as though she were Marshall on the night that Luke had died, as if she had just watched her best friend succumb to black. The sound was painful and gut-wrenching and even though Mary would never typically allow herself to be comforted, Marshall knew that this being before him wasn't Mary anymore. Sighing and depositing the dress on the floor of the car, he gathered her into his arms where she gratefully pressed her face against his shoulder and cried to her heart's content.

It was an almost foreign feeling, Marshall reflected as he held her, fully aware that she was hugging him back, her hands gripping his shoulders. They had embraced very few times in the history of their entire partnership, and in only one instance had it remotely resembled this. Mary didn't shed tears, although in the last few days alone she had certainly broken that barrier, but Marshall had chalked that up to exhaustion and an overload of hormones. This was entirely different, but he wasn't going to call a halt until she was ready. Judging by how tightly she was holding him, she needed the closeness whether she knew it or not – something concrete and solid to cling to.

After the bawling had gone on for several minutes, Marshall couldn't hold his tongue.

"What happened?"

He knew he sounded mystified as well as unhappy, because the Mary who had been making such an effort throughout dinner and this mess didn't equate. But, she wasn't prepared to answer and so Marshall knew he was going to have to coax her along.

"You did really-really well…" up until the end. "I was so proud of you – I still am," past tense wouldn't encourage anything. "Something must've happened."

Something had happened, but Mary pinpointing it wouldn't give Marshall any insight. He would see it as trivial and a way to run from her demons, which would make her more perplexed than she already was. The entire state of affairs was making her head swim, like she didn't know up from down. All her options seemed to be going down the drain. If the Harmons weren't the couple she wanted, who was? She'd only looked at two, way back in the early days in Mrs. Anders' office. Could she revert to the Templetons? And, if she couldn't, what happened then? The baby had to go somewhere; what other choice did she have?

Thinking about all this only reinforced her outburst, and Marshall seemed to feel that it had gone on long enough. While he didn't condemn her for losing her cool in the least, he knew that she would be better able to talk and better able to think if she was composed. Reaching that goal at this point was a long way away, but now was the time to start scaling the mountain.

"Breathe…" no job was more essential than that one. "Take a deep breath…let me hear you…"

On a whim, he exhaled slowly, and Mary felt his chest rise against hers; afloat like his oxygen was flowing through her veins, and it was _his_ air that came out her nose and mouth, not her own. Marshall was just glad it was present, one way or another.

"Atta girl…" he praised casually, rubbing her back as he spoke. "That's it. It's all right…"

Only to refute him, Mary summoned the courage to answer, "No, it's not. Nothing about this is all right. I'm back at square one…"

Taking one last moment to revel in just how soft her old T-shirt was against his cheek, because it stood to reason she would be moving soon, Marshall knew he couldn't let such a statement go by without questioning it.

"What do you mean?"

She gulped and resurfaced, mopping her eyes so the wetness wouldn't pour down her face, and shook her head as her initial reaction.

"They're not the ones…" though it was completely nonspecific and vague, Mary could think of no other way to put it when she was in such a frenzy. "I thought they were, but they're not. They're just too…"

Too good? Too perfect? Too much of everything Mary had been looking for and that was what scared her?

"…I-I don't know, but they're just not who I want him with…" breaking down briefly again, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd know if I did, and I just know that this isn't right…"

"All right…" Marshall wasn't going to push her; wasn't going to ask for how she'd come to such a sudden conclusion. "Okay. Well, that is discouraging," he admitted. "But, I'm sure there are other couples you can look at; I'm sorry you're so disappointed…"

"But, what am I doing?" she moaned, her tears glistening on her cheeks in the dulled light from the streetlamps. "How can I say no to them? There's nothing wrong with them; there's no reason to keep them waiting for someone who isn't as judgmental as me…"

"Mary, they're a nice family," the man leaned a little closer, wanting her to take in his point. "They're capable, certainly, and I'm sure they would be excellent parents for this baby, but that doesn't mean they have to be the family for you…" his internal feelings about why he truly believed Mary was balking were going to have to stay private. "This is an enormous decision, and it is something to take seriously. If you're not sure then there's every reason to keep looking. You need to choose someone who works for you."

But, with her green eyes as round as saucers, highlighted in half moons from the lamp poles in the distance, Marshall could see as clear as if they'd been standing in the bright sun that she was at a total loss. There was nowhere she felt she could turn, and this horror was soon expelled as a thin mist of disbelief.

"What if there's no one out there?"

The emptiness in her sockets was fearsome in the sense that Marshall felt like she must've fallen down a hole; the real Mary was cornered somewhere beneath the earth where he couldn't reach her.

But, instead of showing how off-kilter he viewed her, he clapped her shoulder firmly, squeezing the blade to make a strong show of solidarity.

"There is," there just had to be, even when it came to erratic Mary. "You will find them. I am sure you expected to find them here and I understand that it seems hopeless after you came all this way, but the world is full of individuals just waiting for a child just like yours. He fits somewhere, even if it isn't here."

Mary sniffled dispiritedly, running her index finger underneath her left eyelid, taking her partner's words to heart and continuing to breathe in a more regimented manner. It was clearing her head, even with the whirlwind of decisions that wouldn't quit spinning.

"How can I do this to them?" she asked gutturally, thinking of Brooke and Chris just two blocks away. "It'll kill them…"

"People are more resilient than you think," Marshall insisted. "And, I am not going to say anything as trite as, 'you might change your mind' or 'why don't you sleep on it' but there is something to be said for giving it time to digest. Don't rule out the possibility that your perspective will have changed come morning."

Mary didn't honestly believe that this would happen, because when she made up her mind there was usually no changing it. But, she was willing to humor Marshall given how tired she was, sighing and keeping up a steady stream of tears regardless of how she tried to stem them.

"Maybe I should just take Abigail's advice…" she muttered, causing Marshall's mind to kick into warp speed in order to figure out what she was talking about, but then she let him in on it. "This would be so much easier if you could just take him."

And, in a gesture that the man found outrageous to say the least, she fell forward and rested her head against his chest for a second time, letting out a sad little laugh as she did so, perhaps to prove that her suggestion wasn't meant to be taken seriously. It was then, however, that Marshall realized why she was cuddling him so closely, why she had leaned in for another hug two minutes after the first. She _liked_ being next to him. There was a first time for everything.

Giving her hair a gentle pat, he tried to chuckle as well; glad she was able to make such a sound of happiness, fleeting though it might be. Mary could hear his heart beating in his chest when she was nuzzled so near to his ribcage, and it was a noise of hope – the beat of a drum, the thud of footsteps pushing forward even with the scrapes along the way.

It was unclear how Marshall might be expected to respond to the woman's very out-of-character remark, because when she had originally found out that Abigail was toying with the idea of him playing daddy to Mango, she had been furious. Still, that was then and this was now, and he could be vigilant without buying into her words like they were the gospel.

"Well, I would love him; you know I would…" this seemed safe, even as he took another leap by threading his fingers through Mary's blonde tresses. "But, I think we both know that realistically it's not what you're really looking for, right?"

Heart sinking just a little lower, Mary nodded anyway, not wanting to move from where she could still listen to her partner's stable heart. If she was so against the idea of him raising her baby, then why had she cooked up some story of him running through Ted's house? What other reason could she have for doing that?

"Yeah…I know…" a whisper came out nonetheless. "I'm just saying. It'd be a lot easier," reiterating.

"I know that too," Marshall reciprocated. "But, you still have some time. Not as much as you did, granted, but there are a number of weeks to go. If you get on this like I've seen you get on a tough case, you won't have any problem finding a couple that suits you. You have my word on that."

Pulling free another time and noticing that she had dampened Marshall's nice, stark white dress shirt with her tears, she patted the space in hopes of dissolving the droplets, but the taller pushed her hand away and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," as even-tempered as ever. "Come on. Walk with me – get some air, and then we'll figure out where we're going."

And so, because she truly had no place to be and home was thousands of miles away, Mary fell into step beside her friend and they trudged onward to the playground – the only viable place to set up camp when they hadn't even booked a hotel for the night. Even though she had already put the kibosh on Mango's future being anywhere near such a place, still her mind generated a few fuzzy images of him screaming down a slide and running through gravel with rocks in his shoes. The pictures were jittery and out of focus, at best, like she was watching them on an old black and white film.

With her feet growing sore because they were still pinched into the fancy shoes she'd worn to dinner, Mary stopped when they reached the seesaw halfway between the swings and a red complex boasting a slide and monkey bars. Without waiting for Marshall's approval, she sunk down onto one of the swings, wondering dimly in the back of her mind if it would even hold her. It did not collapse beneath her immense weight, which was a good sign, and this gave her a chance to kick off her shoes, rocking barefoot with only her toes brushing the gravel below.

Marshall, with nary a word about her choice of residence to rest, sat himself down in the swing right next to her, staring up at the sky and trying to pick the moment in a comfortable silence to needle her into opening up a little more. At present, he was just glad she had been able to stop crying, although had to concede he was already missing getting to hold her in his arms.

"I'm sorry."

Mary was the one to make the leap, dejected and worn, her voice like the sweet summer breeze swaying the swings like pendulums in clocks.

Rather than tell her not to be, because it was likely she was going to feel however she felt no matter what Marshall said, he went after a different retort.

"For what?"

"That I don't know what I'm doing…" even though he kept his gaze fixed resolutely on the endless night above, he could tell she was starting to choke up again. "That I was irresponsible enough to get pregnant and then not have a clue what to do with this kid."

Funnily enough, Marshall had thought she might be apologetic for practically leaping out the Harmon's nursery window, but he supposed they had already covered that. Her real remorse came from something much sadder, and this was where he could play savior.

"I don't…think you need to be sorry to me for that…" what did he even have to do with it? "I don't think you need to be sorry to anyone for that. Life throws us a lot of curveballs and we learn how to cope with them the best way that we can. That's what you're doing. It isn't your fault you didn't mesh with Brooke and Chris. Sometimes matches aren't made even when both parties are decent."

"You mean like how I tried to sell me and Mark to them?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," this comparison was as good as any other. "You roll with the punches. Keep your chin up."

Full of platitudes as usual, Marshall let his advice stand where it was, mostly because he knew Mary wasn't in the mood to mock him. Resting her cheek on the cool chain links woven together to tie the swings to the post, she swayed backward and forward, the rhythm lulling as well as a little nauseating, but she didn't stop. Something about the queasiness made her feel more alert, and she distinctly saw Marshall follow her movements out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you a constellation buff?" she found herself asking at random, brought on by the eternal channel of sky expanding into the covered clouds above. "Do you understand all the patterns and networks that are crisscrossing up there?"

"Once upon a time, I might've been able to spot the big dipper – maybe the North Star," Marshall surmised. "But, my knowledge these days is sketchy at best."

"Mmm…" she hummed. "For some reason I thought you'd be an expert. Aren't you on everything?"

He chuckled at the compliment, but disagreed, "No. Not everything."

She enlightened him further, "I guess I just thought that if you understood something as complex as the solar system, then you might be able to help me figure out my life."

Marshall couldn't help being endeared that she had connected the dots on something that really wasn't meant to be correlated, but it was her way of articulating that she needed fixing, or else her current dilemma needed fixing. This was the most vulnerable he had seen Mary in years, and while it was sometimes disheartening because it was so unfamiliar, it was also a welcome relief. Everyone, even someone as rugged as his partner, needed to shed their skin once in awhile.

"Well, it's all in how you look at things…" both of them knew perfectly well that Marshall couldn't patch up Mary's indecision, but maybe he could provide the map to the finish line. "An astronomer might see Hercules and Orion in that square there…" tracing his fingers over his head. "But, that's only if you're straining – if you _need_ to make out something so defined; if that's where your brain wants to go…"

Before today, that was exactly how Mary's head had molded the Harmons. Just right, faultless, unblemished, and whether they actually were that way remained to be seen, but she was hurriedly realizing that perfection came with its own sense of disorder, because when the puzzle broke apart, it was so much harder to put it back together.

"…But, if you just look at the shapes – the forms and the outlines – then you just end up with a scattered mess. You might not be able to fix it, but it'll always be there. Unlike the uniforms of Achilles and Ursa Major, which are so much harder to hold, the mess is what it is," this wasn't Marshall's most poetic soliloquy, but Mary understood where he was headed. "And, don't you think it's sometimes more beautiful than anything that can be set in stone? All laid bare…"

Mary's whole existence could be categorized as one 'mess' after another, and here was her best friend telling her that it was ideal over anything so structured. How could she believe that after so many years thinking just the opposite? It was hard to know, and far too much to absorb for one night.

The little pinpricks sprinkled overhead reminded her of cat's eyes glittering and blinking through the darkness, almost winking at her from half a world away. A sea of amber, pupil-less orbs were watching she and Marshall, watching them swing and sway as contentedly as if they were two ten year olds that had snuck out for a midnight kiss. The pseudo-felines were the most captivated and serene audience Mary could ask for, washing her with peace and security as they guarded the gate to the heavens.

"I wish we could just stay here, Marshall…" she whispered, and somehow, her hand lingered between swings and swept his, which he pulled to hang between their lifts like it was the anchor holding them to the ground.

Here, two blocks from heaven but almost closer to hell, Marshall's fingers yanking her kicking and screaming toward the light every step of the way.

XXX

**A/N: Mary and Marshall hugs are my favorite! It is a crime that they only had three in the entire course of the show!**


	35. A Guilty Burden

**A/N: All my love to you readers and reviewers! **

XXX

"Mare?"

Silence but for the rush of traffic speeding along the freeway.

"Hey, Mare?"

Maybe if Marshall sounded offhand, altered his pitch a little, she would take notice, but still he received no answer.

"Mary?"

This time, he spoke loudly and jostled her arm, which didn't move her an inch from where she was leaning, slumped against the window and staring blankly at the cars rushing past outside.

"Hmm?" a hum was all he received, but it was enough to make him continue with his survey.

"Are you okay? You've been quiet all morning."

The calm that seemed to have settled into her bones the evening before on the star-strewn playground was now manifesting as unbridled gloom. His partner's face was ashen, like she might be ill, but Marshall was willing to bet it actually came from lack of sleep. Even though she had made several changes in her wardrobe since they'd been traveling, when they'd risen that morning she had donned her strangest outfit yet. Marshall was not a man who was going to judge a pregnant woman four weeks from delivery for dressing for comfort, but this was Mary. Mary wore blazers and boots and sleek jeans; she had before she'd been with child as well as during – until now. The jeans and the ancient T-shirt had been a new look, but this one took the cake.

Marshall wasn't even entirely sure she'd gotten dressed at all outside of throwing a jacket over the tank top she'd slept in. The drawstring pants she typically wore to bed were still on her frame, the hooded material zipped up the middle and covering anything she might still have on underneath. The pants were black and the jacket was grey, which only reinforced her drab mood.

Ignoring all this because he knew in the grand scheme it wasn't really important; Marshall noted that he still hadn't gotten a reply for his question.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

The words came from her backside and not her face, "Like what?"

"Well…" there were any number of topics to choose from, but Marshall needed to be subtle. "I must say that your swiftness last night during your costume change was to be admired," the image of the woman almost going nude in the parking lot, but managing to avoid revealing anything was something he valued. "I am fairly certain that only you could move so promptly when you've put on the pounds as of late. That's a talent, that is."

It was a mark of how depressed Mary might actually be when she offered no quick quips in response to her friend mentioning her weight. Instead, she spent a few seconds reliving the scene, but reliving it in an entirely different way than Marshall must be. She'd been at a grade school for Christ sakes, and she'd stripped down without thinking twice. What if she hadn't been so fast or possessed such impressive dexterity? She'd have flashed the whole neighborhood, and if someone had seen she'd have been arrested. The whole thing was humiliating, and for more reasons than just her showing a little skin.

"So, I guess you aren't going to pretend that last night didn't happen, huh?" Marshall's nudge toward everything that had gone down after the visit with the Harmons hadn't gotten by her, but she had been surprised that he'd chosen not to bring it up until now. "What took you so long?"

She could hear him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel over her shoulder.

"Well, I wanted to give you your time with it," this was not untrue. "I'm sure you are conflicted enough without my butting in."

"You can butt in if you want," Mary was done with games; she was too dejected to fight him off anymore. "I don't care."

"I appreciate the clearance, but goading you about your feelings is not what I had in mind…"

"I said I don't care."

"You have a lot to take on and there is no reason to lessen that type of an obstacle…"

"I _said_ I don't care."

But, Marshall wasn't fooled. He knew she did care. She cared very much, which was why she was telling him something so contradictory. Near as he could tell, she was scared because the future was so hazy, and an out-of-control Mary was a treacherous one. Boxing herself in was not the solution, and everything from her body language to her curt answers said that was exactly what she was trying to do if Marshall couldn't head her off.

"Mary, look at me."

From behind, the blonde catalogued that he sounded mild, completely devoid of urgency, and yet there was something in his tone that suggested this went beyond a request, even if it wasn't quite a demand. He didn't _want_ her to turn around and face him as well as the world. He needed her to. And that made all the difference.

With minimal rustling, Mary abided his proposition, slowly rotating to lay her cheek against the headrest. Ironically, Marshall wasn't even staring at the space where she resided, but motoring along the highway like they were on their way to a picnic. She wished, in this moment as well as many others, that she could embody even half of his inner peace.

"What?" a whisper.

"I don't want to see you shutting yourself away like this. I'm here; I want to help," there was no denying that. "Do you feel like you've done something wrong?"

"I'm guessing you're here to tell me that I haven't."

"Well, let me find out if that's how you feel first."

Hem-and-haw wouldn't get them anywhere, "You don't think it's wrong to drag a perfectly lovely couple along by a string, making them think they're going to be parents, and then snatch the carrot as soon as they're about to take a big bite?"

Full of analogies as well as perceptions, Marshall knew now that he had something to work with.

"If adoptive families are smart, they know better than to count their chickens before they hatch," he speculated evenly. "Some of that is unavoidable – the heart wants what it wants. It's unfortunate; it's too bad. But, it's nobody's fault. Not yours and not theirs."

"Something tells me they aren't going to see it that way," Mary brooded darkly. "God knows what they're already thinking."

"Is there a story on that?" the man needed a few more facets in order to piece everything else together. "Have you contacted anyone since last night?"

She scratched her ear absently, her eyes on her feet resting under the seat, "I called Patricia Anders this morning while you were in the shower and left a message asking if she could talk to Brooke and Chris and tell them I just needed a few days to process everything."

"Well, that's reasonable," Marshall wasn't lying either. "Does that mean you're going to give it some thought?"

"Not really," she claimed bluntly, still evading his piercing stare. "I just didn't know what else to say, and it's not like Brooke and Chris can't see the writing on the wall at this point. You saw their faces when we high-tailed it out of there."

Marshall had seen, all right, but he had tried not to read too much into it at the time, mostly because he'd been so focused on aiding Mary's escape before she imploded right there in the spotless living room. The guesswork on how the Harmons had reacted to their speedy getaway had come after the dust had settled, and he knew as well as Mary obviously did that they hadn't left anything favorable behind in Providence.

"This will give you some time, at any rate," remaining confident. "At least until we get home, and then you can reevaluate when you cross that bridge."

Mary began rubbing her temples between her thumb and index finger, "I wish you wouldn't talk about it like it's that simple. What am I going to do if this kid decides it can't wait another four weeks? I can't just leave him in the hospital while I return to life with WITSEC."

The taller wouldn't deny this was a conundrum, "Well, we are slaves to the ticking clocks, but that's why it's important you keep things moving. All I see is you doing just that."

While his accolades were designed to make her feel better, they just made Mary more perturbed because she felt she had to argue with him. No matter how he tried to spread out such an elaborate, embellished version of her, she wouldn't believe for a second that it held any merit. She was kicking her own child to the curb as well as his potential parents with no other prospects on the horizon. She couldn't be more negligent or scatterbrained, and yet Marshall behaved like this was a mistake anyone could make.

"Marshall, I screwed up," Mary informed him with a hint of her old snappiness. "I didn't stay on top of things. I ran – more like plunged – into this thing with Brooke and Chris without ever once really considering who they were or if I would take to them. I picked them because they were somebody to pick, not because they were particularly suited to me. And I paid the price."

"Be that as it may…"

"Do you ever shut up?" now she was definitely riled, all sullenness gone, and Marshall flinched like she had given him a good, hard pinch. "I _suck_. Just say it. I suck. I suck for abandoning a kid that I was stupid enough to name Mango, and I suck even more for acting like names like Bernadette and Arthur are that much worse _and_ reasons not to hand a newborn over to two people who have already successfully raised two kids."

Even as she spoke, Mary knew she wasn't making much sense, and her partner's flummoxed face certainly indicated just that. He hadn't been present for the sequence of events from that wretched Tuesday night; hadn't known what had really caused her freak out. While she was attempting to give him a few hints, it was still perverse to think he could figure it out on his own just from her chattering.

"Bernadette?" he eventually repeated, much as Mary had when she'd first been introduced to the moniker. "Arthur? Were these possible choices to replace 'Mango' down the road?"

"There was nothing 'possible' about it," Mary grumped, shifting in her seat and readjusting the tightened seatbelt around her middle. "Brooke had already had them stitched on hats. It was a done deal."

"And this was what ended it for you, huh?"

"Pretty much."

In typical Marshall fashion, he didn't act like he was scornful of this in the least, even though underneath he had to know that names were a feeble excuse for writing off Brooke and Chris without even giving herself an opportunity to consider the situation from wider angles. But, the more he thought about it, the more he recognized just how essential and how personal something like a title could be. If Mary didn't feel connected to the baby tumbling within because of what he or she was called, then perhaps they had bigger fish to fry. The inspector just didn't know if he dared risk asking if the Harmons weren't the couple for her because _no_ couple was the couple for her.

Which meant that the only person she might approve of raising Mango was herself. They hadn't gone there in a long time, and Marshall didn't think this was the moment to make sure she hadn't changed her mind so drastically. How could she be contemplating keeping the baby now? When she'd be so upset about having to turn down the Harmons? No, it couldn't be. She was just overwhelmed because she had to find another family so quickly.

Right?

"Who names a kid Arthur?" she blurted out sourly, putting a stop to Marshall's deliberation. "And Bernadette? This isn't a fairytale; it makes her sound like some Rapunzel or something. Brooke was already going on about having tea parties; you can gag me with a spoon on that one…"

And here was where Marshall slipped up, "You don't envision yourself having tea parties with your child?"

When he'd been working so hard at not sizzling his speculations to the surface, he'd gone and done it anyway without even meaning to. Apparently his internal theories were incapable of staying locked up when he was so curious, but he had wished to be a bit more careful. And evidently, it was too much to hope for that Mary would bypass his question as meaningless and not take it to heart.

"What?" she spat, squinching her eyes together, which was always cause for alarm for the person on the receiving end of the look. "I don't _envision_ myself doing anything with _this_ child. Not 'my' child if you cared to notice the difference."

"I-I misspoke…" Marshall spluttered, but his partner didn't think so.

"No, you didn't," there was a cutting edge to her voice now that had often proved dangerous in the past. "I know exactly where you're going with this. You think that because I gave the Harmons the axe that-that means I'm going to turn into a housewife overnight – changing diapers and breastfeeding like a girl right out of your sick, twisted fantasies!"

"Fantasies?" a little taken aback at hearing himself described this way, he couldn't immediately settle on whether he thought she meant he had some sort of general desire about women who stayed home, or if he specifically desired her in that role. The latter was a little frightening, and Marshall couldn't let that go by, "When have I ever said that I would prefer you stay at home? Who would be my partner if that happened…?"

"Not _me_, doofus!" she cut him off, squeezing her eyes shut and reopening them like it was costing her a great deal to go over the particulars. "This is about you and every other man on the planet! If a woman doesn't want to be a mother, then she's the devil, and you trying to turn me into one just so society can feel like it's still tilting on its axis isn't going to work!"

"I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself…"

"I am _not_ going to play mommy. Do you understand?" her sharp defensiveness was definitely telling, but Marshall wasn't going to make reference, as he wanted to keep all his limbs. "You can get that out of your head right now. I am pissed off because I have to go through this entire ordeal all over again – I just have to find someone who isn't idiotic enough to name a kid before they have one!"

Rich was one word to define Mary at the moment, because the man knew plenty of people who titled their children before they were born, adopted or not. He wasn't about to say that it was an adoptive parent's right to pick a name of their choosing because once the papers were signed the baby belonged to them and not the birth mother. Still though, he could understand Mary's resistance to the idea, although he still found it interesting that this was the one thing she was truly hung up on. If he was being honest, he didn't really believe she had ruled out becoming a mother, especially with everything that had gone on at the Harmons, but clearly she wasn't going to admit to it. He would bide his time until she was willing to talk about it, even if it didn't result in Mango entering life as a Shannon.

"Well, that's the task then, isn't it?" Marshall eased right back into supportive mode the minute he was allowed to get a word in edgewise. "Probable couples to choose from once again. The hunt begins."

"I don't know why you're so keen to morph me into Carol Brady all of a sudden," she accused haughtily, proving she was not listening and was set on finishing her tirade. "Don't you have Abigail for that?"

This was another issue all together, and although Marshall had mostly been keeping his thoughts about his girlfriend under wraps since learning she was fraternizing with her ex-fiancée, he decided that now might be a good time to discuss them. Mary would enjoy the opportunity to take pot shots on the woman, and while he knew he shouldn't approve of such actions if he were any kind of boyfriend, he wanted her to have something else to focus on. In any case, Abigail wasn't his favorite person at the moment, and so it would be easier to hear jabs on her character.

"I'm not sure I will," the man conceded, laid-back as ever. "I don't know that I see having kids with someone who can't stay away from her ex. Kind of puts a damper on the whole 'relationship' part of things."

This caught Mary's attention at once, and a flicker of guilt ran through her veins when she recalled Marshall's significant other. Her mania over how to approach Brooke and Chris as well as her dalliance – or lack thereof – with Mark had meant he had been acting as her rescuer since the whole situation with Abigail had come to light. She suddenly remembered feeling ashamed that she had stuck her nose in the other woman's business by way of Delia, and been glad to have dirt on her that might lead to an eventual breakup of the world's perkiest couple. Now, she felt badly she hadn't followed up once Marshall had become aware because she'd been too consumed in her own problems.

"Can't stay away from him?" wanting to make sure she'd heard right. "I mean, how do you know? Is she giving you a play-by-play in every e-mail she sends you about every meal they have together?"

"I wouldn't say that, but it's not too far off," Marshall's face was suddenly looking a little overcast. "She insists in every message she sends that they're just old friends catching up, but they do seem to be seeing rather a lot of each other. While the cat is away, the mice will play."

"You don't think she's fooling around, do you?"

Mary didn't want them together, but she didn't want Marshall to get hurt. Although, if he did, it would give her a good excuse to pummel Abigail once they got back to New Mexico.

He shrugged, "I don't know, do I? I'm not there," which was true enough. "But, it would appear she is having a lot more fun with him than she ever seemed to have with me."

"Please," Mary scoffed unintentionally. "You mean Abigail doesn't have fun with _everyone?_ She's a social butterfly."

"Yes. That's what worries me."

Did he know something? Mary thought with her panic escalating. She couldn't be sure how the man might act in response to her having pumped Delia for information if he ever found out. He might just chalk it up to Mary being Mary – wanting the details whether she was entitled or not. He might also be offended that she was looking for a way to oust his girlfriend, and she didn't need Marshall angry at her when she had so many other setbacks to deal with. Had he figured out that Abigail was not only charming her ex left and right, but that she was likely to charm other men as well? According to Delia, she had been quite the party girl.

"You're making that face again," he declared, startling Mary out of her reverie.

"What face?"

"You keep giving me this look every time I mention Abigail and Vincent – you did it the other day too."

"I do not," deflecting his claims was a reflex, one that the woman found it hard to stop, but she couldn't say for certain if her features were arranging themselves into something resembling alarm. "I just have a hard time picturing Abigail being a floozy."

"Do you know something?" her friend paid no attention to her claims, and he sounded both intrigued and dubious.

"What would I know?" Mary tried to make the idea sound preposterous. "If you think I'm digging through the Abigail files at work, then you've got another thing coming."

"I don't think you need to go digging when we have our very own water cooler right next door."

Crap. He'd remembered that she'd known about Vincent from Delia. Mary herself suddenly recalled that he had been considering speaking to Delia when they'd met up with her in Philadelphia. Had he already done so and forgotten to tell her?

"Delia and I haven't been having pajama parties," the blonde attempted to work out a guffaw. "You don't think I have better things to do?"

"You knew about Vincent before I did," he pointed out smartly. "What else do you know? Your use of the term 'floozy' caught my ear. Is there more than one Vincent?"

"Have you even spoken to Abigail or told her that this bothers you?" Mary tried to place the blame and responsibility back on him. "Or are you just letting her blather on about her daily meals with the guy she was supposed to walk down the aisle with? Because, if that's the case, I would work on growing a pair…"

Marshall didn't take this remark kindly, "You don't think it upsets me that she can so easily take our relationship for granted?" his voice even inched up a few octaves, which was so unusual for him that Mary knew she was going to have to quit teasing and darting away from his interrogation. "That I don't feel like a complete moron for having missed that she was so involved with someone else – possibly several someone else's?"

Now Mary's remorse only intensified. Of course he felt dumb. She would too, although the difference between them was that she would only use her last breath to admit it. Whatever stories she told about why she had chosen to ferret around in Abigail's past and why she'd been keeping it to herself, the truth was that she hadn't wanted to wound her best friend. She might not like Abigail, but she wasn't going to risk spoiling things in their partnership just so she could point the finger and say, "I told you so." She cared about him too much to do that, no matter how she denied it.

But, her silence evidently convinced Marshall that he had been too harsh, for he exhaled slowly and wagged his head, internally kicking himself for having berated her.

"I…I'm sorry…" it was just like him to think he was at fault. "This…really…" he was trying to find the correct phrasing. "I mean, if you do know anything, you would just be the messenger anyway. It wouldn't change that Abigail and I need to work out our problems ourselves. That is, if I'm inclined to make the effort…"

Mary felt her heart skip a few beats. This sounded like he didn't even want to try; that the ship had sailed and he was going to cut his losses. She really shouldn't be happy about it and yet, as he had said just minutes before, the heart wanted what it wanted.

"Well, I'm the one who should be sorry," now that he had come clean, it was easier for her to do the same. "I did know. I knew about Vincent and I didn't say anything. I also knew about a parade of other boyfriends – nobody specific. Before we left town, I asked Delia if she had any dirt on Abigail, and she said that she was kind of a hussy back in Texas, complete with leaving Vincent at the altar," once the shame was out in the open, it scared Mary a little, but she made herself finish. "But, Delia seemed to think she had reformed since coming to Albuquerque – turned over a new leaf."

His eyes, normally so vibrant and full of life, were what gave Marshall away; sapphire jewels turning to cold, grey stones. But, because he was a man of honor, because he had been almost recklessly loyal to Mary for eight long years, nothing bordering on accusations spilled out his mouth.

"I guess it remains to be seen if she's changed her ways," he murmured in a small voice. "With Vincent visiting and her clearly enjoying it. But, how come you went to Delia in the first place?" she'd known this was coming. "Why the excavation?"

A sudden inspiration had Mary realizing she could make the whole thing sound innocent.

"Because I don't trust anybody. You know that. It's not specific to Abigail."

It was unclear whether he bought it, but he offered a grim smile, "I don't suppose there's anything false about that. But, why not throw it in my face once you found out? You do so enjoy being right."

"Well, because…I mean…" she fumbled, not wanting to sound too mushy. "I didn't want to assume she was still frequenting the local bars – or that you didn't know about her past. We didn't need that bad blood between us for no reason."

"It isn't because you were worried about my feelings?"

This was fishing if ever Mary had heard it, but it was best to get her admission out of the way as quickly as possible before she began to blush.

"Sure. That too."

And Marshall was left to ponder, and very heartily at that, why he was more concerned about Mary and her opinion, versus Abigail and her legion of men waiting in the wings for when he unavoidably watched her run away.

XXX

**A/N: Together, ever closer together, they loom… ;)**


	36. Choose Your Coach

**A/N: Onward and upward we go!**

XXX

When Mary and Marshall stopped for dinner that night, both seemed to have come to a silent agreement not to discuss Abigail, or even the impending adoption. While Mary couldn't help feeling mutely gleeful that Abigail might soon be out of their lives, she knew that Marshall was a man who would work until the bitter end to mend a shaky relationship, even if he claimed that he didn't want to make the effort. Therefore, she worked at not operating under the assumption that Nancy Drew was about to be exiled. Her endeavors earned her nary a word about the Harmons, the Templetons, or Mrs. Anders, but that didn't mean that pregnancy was off-limits.

"You know, I've been turning something over in my brain for about a week now; I was wondering if I could have a word with you about it," Marshall informed Mary from behind his menu where they sat across from each other in an upholstered booth. Peering out over the top, "It is not designed to spike your blood pressure, I promise."

"Something tells me that you saying that is pretty much a guarantee that-that is exactly what will happen," conversations that started out with conditions were always cause for mistrust. "And don't think I won't report you to Stan when you give me hypertension. You'd be benched for that and then Delia and I would have to run the show."

"A frightening thought, since one of you is banned from the field," he reminded her carelessly. "Therefore, I will proceed delicately. Do bear in mind that my intent is not to annoy you."

"It never is, and yet, somehow…"

"All right, all right," Marshall nodded in an amused sort of way, still browsing through his menu while Mary had hers spread out on the table, using her finger to choose between entrees. "Can I just finish? You can beat me around the head later if it proves necessary."

"Count on that."

"Okay…" he seemed to be bracing himself; his eyes even strayed from his meal options so he could zone in directly on his partner. "Before we left on our little expedition, I was wicked enough to accompany you to the OBGYN's office without telling you…"

"Don't think I've forgotten about that," she pointed an unyielding finger. "Wicked is not a strong enough word. You were being a sneaky little eavesdrop; taking a leaf right out of Jinx's and Brandi's books…"

"Well, if you thought that on that occasion then you're really going to love what's coming next…" although his sarcasm was quite evident, indicating that Mary was absolutely going to hate whatever he had up his sleeve. "I couldn't help noticing that Doctor Reese was really pushing for you to have someone with you when you go into labor…"

That trip to the doctor's seemed ages ago to Mary – practically from a different lifetime in which her biggest problem had been exactly what Marshall had just articulated. Being taken back to that era wasn't something Mary relished, especially on this side of the appointment, because labor and delivery seemed a lot closer now that their trip was heading downhill. Frankly, she'd been fine with her decision to brave the experience alone, but it was apparent that Marshall felt differently.

"And, I got myself kicked out before I could really hear who you chose, but…"

"But, what?" the woman barked irritably, narrowing her eyes and folding her hands somewhat menacingly on the tabletop. "Don't tell me that you're lobbying to…"

"I just want you to know that I wouldn't mind," he rattled off in a rush, and Mary could've sworn she saw him flinch, like he expected his partner to reach across the booth and slap him then and there. "I don't see you welcoming Jinx and Brandi when the time comes, and we could practice together before the big event…"

"Practice?" Mary was incredulous. "Practice what?"

"Well…" something seemed to have gone wrong with his voice; it was constricted, no doubt because he was nervous about the thumping Mary was going to give him any minute. "Breathing techniques…there's the Bradley method, better known as Lamaze…" The murderous look he was getting didn't encourage him to go on, but he persevered. "Or if you want pain meds; epidurals work wonders if you're not really…"

But, she'd heard enough, "Ugh, for God's sake, Marshall," she scrunched her nose and shook her head, even sticking her tongue out for good measure, spluttering dramatically. "You want to talk about this when we're about to _eat?"_

And so they were. Before Marshall could offer any justifications for his out-of-the-blue compulsion to be her labor partner, their waitress arrived ready to take their orders. What with the taller inspector's beating around the bush, Mary hadn't thought to look at her menu very closely and signaled to Marshall that he should go first.

"What can I get you guys?" the waitress was chewing gum and tapped her pen on her pad quite a bit, but she had gotten their drinks quickly, which meant she would get their food quickly, and that was all Mary cared about. "Do you need a few more minutes?"

"No, I think we're all set…" even though they weren't, Marshall said so anyway because he knew the woman was hungry. "I think I'll try the oysters; it has been awhile since I dipped my toe in the deep sea."

He folded his menu and smiled almost smugly. The waitress shot him an offhand look, for which Mary didn't blame her, but wrote down his request without saying anything. She then turned to the dinner companion, waiting for her pleasure.

Purely because she didn't want to waste anymore time looking and because it had been awhile since she, too, had sampled any seafood, Mary went with what was easiest.

"Just give me the same," she declared, casting her menu aside without a second thought. "If you could bring me another Diet Coke on your way back through too, that would be great."

With a nod, the waitress had already finished penning their orders and was collecting their menus under her arm when Marshall suddenly threw out a hand, Mary sipping from her nearly-empty beverage.

"No, wait – hold on," he'd obviously had a realization, clamping his fingers around one of the menus so the waitress couldn't take it away. "You're getting oysters?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You can't have oysters; you're pregnant."

Flummoxed, Mary raised her eyebrows, "What? Are you kidding? Is this on the off chance they might still be alive and could eat their way through my digestive system to the baby? Because in that case, I guess chicken and turkey and ground beef are a no-go too…"

Without a word to their server, he slipped a menu out of her grip and slid it back across the table.

"It has to do with the algae-related infections that are brought on by the red tides," he spouted off, and all of a sudden their waitress looked impressed and a little daunted against her will. "Oysters are shellfish; you're really supposed to avoid them when you're pregnant…"

"You worry too much…" Mary shoved the menu back at him, not going to go over it again, but he wouldn't let it die.

"Get something else," he almost ordered, looking oddly serious. "Honestly, it's safer. You don't want to take the risk."

There were very few areas in life in which Mary did not embrace a little bit of danger, but she didn't want to continue haggling with Marshall, nor did she want the waitress to hear any more of their conversation. So, she resentfully ordered a plate of fettuccini instead, accidentally shooting the waitress dark looks the entire time, as though she had something to do with her not being able to eat fish.

And, if she thought their dispute over her dinner was going to make Marshall forget anything connected to labor and delivery, she was wrong. He could be very persistent when he wanted to be, always up for the possibility of antagonizing Mary if he deemed his points important enough.

"So, how about that delivery room cohort then?" he shook a packet of sugar into the ice tea he'd ordered and began stirring it around absently. "You want to stage a vote? I guarantee if Jinx, Brandi, and I are the only choices on the ballot and you're the only one selecting the appointment, I would win by a landslide every time…"

"Why do you want to do this anyway?" Mary wondered aloud; she knew that she and Marshall were close, but this was a new level of intimacy, one she wasn't sure she wanted to cross. "There are some things that I don't have open for the general public to view that are inevitably going to be on display when this kid comes shooting out, and I don't fancy…"

"I wouldn't have to _look_," her partner interrupted deftly. "That isn't what I was getting at in the least. My craving has nothing to do with the scientific nature of childbirth."

"Really?" she would remain cynical until he gave her a better reason for why he felt the sudden need to accompany her during such raw moments. "Because, I figure with your pregnancy fetish that you'd be into that sort of thing. If that's your deal, then you can find another broad down the hall from me to do your research on."

"That's not the point," Marshall chuckled this time, probably at Mary's suggestion that he barge in on a stranger just so he could play doctor. "Cross my heart; I don't want in just to get a peek at the action."

"Yeah, 'cause that wouldn't be weird at all…"

"Look, we're friends, aren't we?"

"Last time I checked," she groused, chewing on the straw that was protruding out of her glass.

"Friends do things for each other, don't they?" it was like he was speaking to a five-year-old, laying the groundwork for what might be a complex discussion down the pike that Mary would have trouble grasping. "Wouldn't you say?"

"I would, but I didn't ask you to do anything for me," she reminded him almost snootily. "I didn't ask anyone to bear witness to something I know I sure as hell wouldn't want to watch. And, I don't need anyone holding my hand and teaching me how to pant like a dog through the whole ordeal. For all you know, I could plan on having them cut me open right off the top and that would save me a whole lot of trouble…"

Marshall frowned, "I wouldn't count on a C-section," he advised in his usual intelligent way. "I'm not saying it couldn't happen, but banking on it beforehand is asking to be blindsided."

"Listen, Marshall…" the woman could see that she was going to have to be more direct if she wanted him to get off her back. Sliding her drink to the side until the waitress returned with a refill, she peered directly forward, locking Marshall's intent stare with hers. "I appreciate the offer. I do," this wasn't really true, but if she wanted to get rid of him then she needed to be nice. "But, I'm not scared. Really, I'm not. Figuring out where Mango is going to end up scares me a hell of a lot more than contractions. That's a promise."

Leaking any sort of fear out into the open was a big step for Mary, one that Marshall knew he couldn't acknowledge at this moment because then she might not ever be so forthcoming with him again. Plus, he knew she didn't want to talk about the adoption right now even though she'd inadvertently broached the subject herself. Fortunately, she wasn't yelling at him yet when it came to the birth, and so he assumed it was okay to keep prodding her about it – at least for another minute or two.

"If you're saying no because you're self-conscious, then that's one thing," Marshall would give her a little bit of flexibility there. "I respect that, and I am not going to pressure you if it makes you uncomfortable."

At this point, the blonde knew it was unlikely that she could tell her partner that she was mortified at the possibility of him seeing her in such a state and have him believe her. That was why she swilled the last of her Diet Coke with her crunched up straw, the ice melting and crackling in the bottom of the glass.

"But, if you're warding me off because you want to look tough and like you don't need anybody by your side, then I would strongly urge you to reconsider," the phrasing was so professional sounding, like he had been reading Doctor Reese's notes by night. "You don't have to play that game with me, and I want you to know you can rely on me when the situation arises."

A sigh that was impossible to quench eked out of Mary's mouth and her grip on her straw tightened. She wished their server would hurry up and bring her that refill, because her mouth seemed to be growing dryer by the minute. In another five, she was going to be dangerously close to wetting her pants, which wouldn't bode well if she was trying to have a serious discussion.

"It's one day out of my life…" she tried to rationalize, but she knew she sounded pleading, like she simply didn't want to think about it. "One day. It's not like we won't be friends anymore if you aren't there for the crowning moment…"

The taller saw his advantage and seized it, "Well, maybe one day."

Immediately, Mary halted her swirling with her straw, "What?"

"When you factor in early labor contractions – often disguised as Braxton Hicks – and combine that with active labor and then the pushing stage, it can sometimes take over twenty-four hours for a baby to born," Marshall recited casually, now squeezing a lemon into his tea. "Every delivery is different though. First babies do tend to take longer."

The blasé nature of his voice was too much for Mary. What in the world was he playing at? _Twenty-four hours?_ Or more? Was he _trying_ to frighten her, to bully her into thinking that she would be lost without a partner during such a turbulent time? Fooling with her emotions wasn't really Marshall's style, and so Mary tried to believe he was just being straight with her, but it wasn't easy. What else didn't she know about this whole birthing process? She was going to be thrown for one big loop when the hour was upon her.

But, it was imperative that she not show her hand too early, although it was likely that she hadn't been able to keep her shock off her face.

"Twenty-four hours seems a little on the dramatic side," at least, that was what she hoped. "I was thinking something along the lines of seven or eight, and then call it a day."

"One of the many magical facets of birth is its wondrous unpredictability," Marshall proclaimed with a small smirk. "But, I would say you'd be lucky to get out in eight hours."

"You don't think I'll be the exception to the rule?"

"One never knows," he shrugged. "But, I do suppose I was being a little theatrical with that estimate. Hospitals usually won't even admit a woman in labor until her contractions are five minutes apart, in which case you would spend a lot of time at home during the bearable portions. That's good news, huh?"

Mary could feel herself growing sweaty, the way she had when she'd been at the Harmon's house and vowed instantly that she was not going to come undone like that again. Once had been more than enough.

"And if I do let you anywhere near me when I'm howling in pain, am I supposed to call you at four in the morning if that's when the miniature spasms start?"

"Night or day," Marshall was really grinning now, obviously slightly jovial that he'd been able to get Mary to entertain the idea of having a coach. "You know my number. Although, my guess is that you won't even recognize it as labor at first. Early labor lasts quite awhile; you'll probably just be uncomfortable before the real show begins."

If there was any time to panic, then it was now. Could something as brutal as contractions really sneak up on you like that? What if one minute Mary felt perfectly fine and the next the baby was about to drop onto the floor? She didn't even know what she was supposed to be looking for. She'd felt contractions before, of course, but they'd be a nuisance and nothing more. How was she to tell the difference between those that were merely pesky and those that were the real deal?

It clearly wasn't going to happen unless she had Marshall in her corner.

But, before she could break down, concede defeat, and allow him along for the ride, he obviously caught sight of her weary face. While he wasn't able to stop smiling at the fact that he knew he was getting what he wanted, he did appear repentant, especially since he spotted the pregnant one fanning her shirt open at the neck in agitation.

"Okay, look; I'm sorry, this isn't funny…" there was no way to tell it by looking at him, but she knew he was sincere. "I shouldn't have gone about it this way; freaking you out wasn't my goal. I just want you to be prepared."

"And you can prepare me?" Mary inquired just for something to say, to appear to be on her mark. "Is that it?"

"We'd work together," this man was nothing if not cooperative. "Figuratively speaking, of course, because the arm of support can hardly compare to the exertion that labor provides; they call it as such for a reason, after all…"

"So, what are you saying?" she mused, now fiddling with her napkin because she had done all she could with her cup. "When I kill myself trying to push out something that is definitely _not_ a mango but more like a watermelon, you want to be there snapping pictures? You're into that sort of thing?"

"I thought, and correct me if I'm wrong, that I just went through that," Marshall reiterated patiently. "This isn't a voyage calculated to hone my technical expertise."

"Then what is it?"

Leave it to Marshall to have a perfectly honest, chaste, sweetened and genuine response. The glittering that seemed to beam out of his temperate, oceanic eyes always told Mary that he was everything that was authentic and nothing that was suspect. Try as she might to paint him as having ulterior motives like she believed everyone else on the planet to have, it never equated with Marshall. Corny as it was, he was as pure as the driven snow.

"I don't like to think of you going through something as life-changing as this by yourself," he said softly beneath the lamp dangling between their heads. "I don't say that to sound philosophical, but this _will_ change you – for better or worse, with motherhood on the horizon or not. I think you're underestimating the experience. I care about you, and I want to do everything I can to help you through it. Is that really so bad?"

Knowing that she would look like the world's most heartless bitch if she didn't at least throw him a bone, Mary forced a would-be-kind smile that seemed to get across fairly well.

"Well, I still think you're being pretty melodramatic when it comes to what this all will mean to me," she wasn't going to go down without feeling that she was partially right. "But, I'll give it some thought, okay?"

"You're serious? You're not just saying that?"

"No, really," Mary tried to mean it, tried to figure out if she would indeed be able to carve out some time to consider the possibility. "I will. You're not completely insane, because I absolutely can't fathom having my mother _or_ my sister anywhere near me when I'm ready to strangle the nurses for not shooting me up with morphine fast enough."

"That might put you in a coma…" her partner surmised, satisfied that she had at least told him she would mull over his offer. "Not likely you'd be able to feel a mango descending, let alone that watermelon you talked about," at this, he raised his now-stirred-to-perfection iced tea in a toast and drank. "If you get much bigger, you could enter this supposed melon into a contest."

"What, like at the county fair?" Mary quipped, remembering the Farmer's Market they'd visited when they'd traveled through the Midwest. "I can see the National Enquirer headline now, 'Knocked Up Marshal Gives Birth to Cantaloupe – Stuns Doctors Across Albuquerque.'"

Marshall chuckled, which made his already bright blue eyes still bluer, like the cloudless sky on a perfect summer day.

"You could win a blue ribbon," he was still chortling when he managed a few words. "And a cash prize. I hear those in the pumpkin business are the ones who really make a killing on that stuff though."

"Aren't pumpkins vegetables?"

"Who's being picky?" a hunch of his shoulders. "And, with the way you're growing, I'm not so sure little 'Mango' isn't working on his stem by now."

"This is getting gross," Mary commented, but soon found that she was laughing too just trying to picture it. "Instead of an umbilical cord, I've got a kid with a stem? That'd get me into the Guinness Book of World records."

"That's if your prize-winning pumpkin didn't already land you there," always quick with a retort, Marshall was right there to bat it back, glad they were talking about something a little lighter than everything else they'd beaten to death as of late. "Be sure to take a good, hard look when Mango is born to see that he doesn't have an orange tint to him."

"Ew…" she couldn't stop herself from wrinkling her nose, but the grin was as evident as ever, glad as he was that they could giggle about something so silly. "That's no guarantee he'd be a pumpkin or a mango – maybe a carrot, huh?"

And Marshall lifted his glass another time, "Too skinny for whatever's residing in there," inclining the cup toward his partner's belly beneath the table.

"Hey, a girl can dream about _not_ popping out a fourteen pound kid, right?"

Because his beverage was still held aloft, Mary snatched hers without thinking even though it was empty, and knocked it together with his, giving him the final word in finishing their toast.

"I will drink to that, my friend."

XXX

**A/N: Admittedly, I have never felt that I write humor especially well, but I do what I can!**


	37. The Sugar in the Poison

**A/N: I wish I had a more original way to say thank-you, but as it is, thank-you!**

XXX

Going to bed in a cheerful mood was a rarity for Mary, but she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy it, even if her version of 'cheerful' would only pass for 'slightly less morose' on the rest of the population. Her fettuccini, which she'd wolfed down the second it had arrived at the table, had been very tasty, and she'd eaten almost her entire weight in biscuits, which meant that Marshall didn't get hardly any. He was used to not receiving his fair share, however, and let her devour the complimentary bread without complaint.

The female inspector was beginning to feel like she might finally have gotten caught up on sleep, as she and Marshall hadn't had as far to travel the past few days. Nonetheless, she crashed out once they were back at the hotel, the only topic on her mind that of how to weasel Marshall into not visiting his brother on their way through Indiana the next day. This bothered her a little, especially since she'd pictured the faceless Mango running around with Marshall's nieces, but she didn't want to create any more bitterness between her and the elder Mann if she didn't have to. The best way to accomplish that was to stay away.

Excess of rest aside, Mary still woke up in the middle of the night, as she was more apt to doing these days since her bladder overloaded so quickly. Cursing herself for drinking three glasses of Diet Coke at dinner, she rolled over to squint at the clock through the darkness and saw that it was just after three. However, when she leaned on her side she faced the other bed in the room, and even amidst the shadows she could tell that Marshall wasn't in it.

Groaning, because she didn't want to get up, but knowing she would have to if she didn't want to pee the bed, Mary rearranged her sheets while she waited for her partner to emerge from the bathroom. She assumed that was where he must be; she could even see the light sneaking under the space where the door didn't meet the floor. After several minutes, though, when Marshall didn't come out, she began to get frantic trying to 'hold it' and knew she would have to lumber to her feet and tell him to hurry the hell up.

But, the closer she got to the restroom, the more her ears discerned that there was a funny noise coming from behind the door. It was an irregular sort of choking sound, almost like a hacking cough, but it was muffled so it was hard to say if it was anything close to that. Tentatively, she approached and pressed her lobe against the heavy hatch, trying to figure out if it was safe to enter. What was Marshall doing? Was he talking to somebody – having some sort of private conversation with Abigail out of her earshot?

A few seconds of this told her that wasn't the case. Whatever was coming out of Marshall's mouth, it wasn't words, but there was definitely something weird about the noises he was making. Tired and desperate to empty her bladder before it exploded, Mary rapped her knuckles on the door to find out what was up.

"Marshall?" she called from the other side. "Can you finish up in there? I really need to pee."

Trying to be tolerant, but with only thoughts of rivers and streams and brooks to occupy her, Mary couldn't hold on for very long when she didn't get a response.

"Come on, open up…" a second knock, and with more force this time. "I won't be long."

Probably noting her necessity, but obviously unable to quell whatever was keeping him, Marshall finally managed a few words, but they were barely distinguishable through the door.

"You…can come in…"

He was breathy and his speech was staggered, like it was taking a great deal of effort for him to utter anything at all. There was a hesitancy in his invitation to let her inside as well, but now that she'd been asked, Mary wasn't going to say no. Something bizarre was going on anyway, and she wasn't going to find out what it was just standing around.

Turning the handle, she gazed cautiously around the frame, her bare feet slapping onto the cold linoleum below. Scrunching her eyes against the harsh lighting that illuminated the room, she stumbled upon a disquieting image, one that didn't inspire confidence in the least.

Marshall was slumped on the floor, his arms around the lower half of the toilet like it was the only thing keeping him upright. This was concerning enough on its own, as he was already sitting down, and it was a little forbidding to think he felt badly enough that he couldn't even handle being off his feet. All that aside, he looked nothing short of terrible – a ghost of who he had been at dinner just hours before. His skin was waxen and pale, sweat running down his cheeks around eyes that were only half open. The way he kept hugging the porcelain throne worried his partner and she was swift to question his sudden ailing health.

"What's going on?" she murmured, for some reason keeping her voice down. Leaning on the counter and squinting down at him, "You look awful," she was brash even in unflattering moments.

With a gulp, "I don't feel so good…" Marshall drawled.

If Mary hadn't known better, she would've thought he was drunk with the way his words were slurring together and his head kept drooping. As it was, her mind immediately jumped to the fact that he must be ill, which would make getting home an even longer process. Feeling guilty for immediately considering the inconvenience to herself, Mary got on with her cross-examination, wanting to make sure she hadn't overlooked anything.

"Are you sick?" she tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, the better to see him. "Maybe you have the flu…"

"I don't think…"

It wasn't so far-fetched to think he was going to correct her somehow, but the nitty gritty details were going to have to wait. With an untimely burp that made his whole face look green under the garish fluorescent lighting, Marshall arched onto his haunches and before Mary could plug her ears he'd thrown up quite spectacularly. The revolting splatter it made inside the toilet bowl almost made Mary puke too, just from the sound alone, but she swallowed her queasiness, not going to let her stomach sensitivity allow her to join Marshall in his misery.

Instead, she knelt down beside him without pondering the later repercussions, thinking it was quite a trick that she was able to get so low to the ground in her condition at all. The floor was hard against her knees, and her back certainly didn't take kindly to it either, but she ignored the twinges and waited for Marshall to pull his head out so she could talk to him.

When he did, he was more pallid than before, gasping for air and rubbing his ribcage, which told her that throwing up had given his chest a work out. But his first concern, apparently, was not for himself, but for the pregnant woman stooping at his elbow.

"Oh no…" he moaned gutturally. "No, get up…" he waved shaking fingers over his head. "You don't need to be down here; it'll give you such bad back pain…"

"It already is," Mary informed him, her heart twanging rhythmically at the idea that he could be fretting about her during a time like this. "But, I don't care. I'm used to it. What's wrong with you? You look sick to me…"

"Alas, no…" he breathed huskily, shutting his eyes once more. "No fever…"

"Let me see…"

Solely because she didn't believe him and not because she was looking to be affectionate, Mary slipped her palm onto his forehead, his damp bangs fluttering down on top of her knuckles. After turning her hand back-to-front she realized he was right – his skin wasn't hot at all, but pleasantly lukewarm and very moist thanks to his perspiring. There was definitely no fever raging within, but if that wasn't the problem, then what was?

"Told you so…" Marshall still managed a grim sense of humor, ascertaining that the blonde was discouraged not to have found a concrete reason for his sudden barfing spell. "I am not unwell, at least not in the influenza-like sense…"

"But, you look like death…"

Undoubtedly because it was tiring him to be witty while he could barely hold his own head up, Marshall cut to the chase.

"It's food poisoning."

"What? From what?" Mary inquired, her mind racing on rewind over the last few days, trying to find a spot where Marshall might've eaten something she'd deem suspicious.

It took the man a few seconds before he was able to reply this time, and several more swallows, which made his partner squeamish all over again because she knew the taste in his mouth had to be horrible.

"I told you to stay away from the oysters…" he murmured, eyes slipping closed again. "Who knew listening to me could pay off?"

"But, I thought they were only hazardous to me and my spawn," she pointed out.

"They're hazardous to everyone if they're undercooked…" now he seemed to slipping further down, like he might lie down right there on the floor, which made Mary fling out her hands, easing him upward with a gentle push. "Guess I got a bad batch…"

"Are you sure?" she didn't see how he possibly could be, but this was Marshall they were talking about. Even in his stupor, he was as intelligent as they came. "Maybe you just…I don't know, caught a twenty-four-hour thing…"

But, it didn't really matter where the origin of the sluggishness was coming from; because Marshall's digestive system was spinning into reverse either way. Trying to work on getting him to lean against her so he wouldn't have to slump onto the toilet so much, Mary was just guiding his head against her chest when he wiggled free. That same belching sound she'd heard before hiccupped out of his throat, and she knew he was preparing for round two of losing his dinner.

"Can I get you anything?"

Asking at this juncture was really quite stupid of Mary, because it became clear within seconds that Marshall was in no shape to answer. He heaved over the bowl for a second time, in which his partner felt all the color drain from her face as she clamped down hard on her own compulsion to do the same. The pregnancy had made her more susceptible to unpleasant noises and smells, and she was receiving an onslaught of both at the moment. The last thing they needed was for the pair of them to become a duet of hurling.

Marshall was still coughing even once he was finished, looking weaker and more bedraggled by the minute. Glad he couldn't see her attempt to rise; Mary managed to push herself off the floor a lot less quickly than she'd lowered herself onto it. The act of getting to her feet made the blood rush to her head and she felt momentarily dizzy before it passed, happy that the man missed that as well.

Trudging to the sink while Marshall mopped his brow with his sleeve, she located a paper cup, which she practically had to force out of the plastic hotel wrapping, and filled it with water. It was her faint hope that the sickly one would be able to get the drink down without immediately puking again.

"Here, take a sip…" Mary arched her back and passed the cup into his fingers, which appeared to be shaking. "Don't go too fast," her tone was as neutral as it had been in a long time. "Believe you me, I'd want to rinse my mouth as fast as possible, but you're asking for trouble if you chug that thing."

Following her directions without comment, he nipped delicately around the rim, taking in tiny droplets of liquid without once pushing his luck. When he'd had all he could take, he blinked drearily up at his friend out of hooded eyes. All the sparkle they normally had was gone, which made Mary uncharacteristically sad.

"You do know this is a coffee cup, right?" he schooled hoarsely. "Not a drinking glass…"

Why he cared about this was a mystery, but the mind did funny things to you when you didn't feel well. Mary could only bank on him not becoming delirious, and she took a closer look at what he was drinking from. Indeed, it did appear to be a sort of Styrofoam contraption, and a quick glance to the counter showed another stack of little Dixie cups, thus proving his theory.

"Well, a shot of caffeine would do you some good, huh?" she joked. "I could brew you a mug if you're in the mood."

"I don't think so…" for the fifth or sixth time, his lids fluttered and shut, probably because the lighting was so dreadful; it highlighted the stubble on his chin, making him look more worn than he already did. "You really don't have to stay in here…" he muttered nobly, now shielding his eyes with his hand. "You don't want to watch me vomit; it's disgusting…"

"Not as disgusting as if I were the one doing it," Mary claimed spiritedly. "And, you think I'm going to be able to sleep with you choking up the remnants of oysters in here? Please."

"Charming…"

"I'm here to make sure you don't pass out," and at the moment that was looking like a very real possibility. "Someone will have to call the medics, right?"

"So charitable of you…"

"Drink some more water," Mary ordered, seeing the cup go slack in his hand. "You're supposed to keep hydrated when you're sick."

He did as told, grumbling, "Very insightful of you."

"Yeah, you know our world has turned upside-down when I'm the insightful one."

Try as he might to keep up with her banter, to appear he wasn't as weak as he looked, Marshall just didn't have the stamina to manage. His skin looked like it was hanging off his bones, and if the pasty quality didn't give him away then nothing would. To Mary, he was embodying a strange kind of innocence that she'd never seen on him before. He always maintained a steadfast grip of control on his life, and without even trying. This was a far cry from the woman herself, who battled every day not to lose her power and only considered her hours accomplished if she'd managed to come out on top.

But, here was Marshall, not wanting to throw in the towel, but sinking fast with every ragged breath he allowed to escape.

"Oh, this is just excellent timing on my part…" he stated lethargically in order to fill the silence, Mary still towering above him, shadowing his hunched form. "We aren't going to make it to Indiana tomorrow if I'm still flopped over this way…"

This reminded Mary that she hadn't wanted to stop in the Hoosier state anyway, but she couldn't very well tell him that now, not when he was obviously planning on it.

"I can drive," was what she said instead. "They haven't started banning pregnant gals from getting behind the wheel yet."

"You shouldn't have to do that…"

"Come on, why not?" Mary tried to sound logical and not exasperated that he didn't believe she was capable of motoring around in the car. "You've clocked every single mile on this trip. It's high time I did my part, don't you think?"

"Well, I never thought I'd live to see the day…"

He was in for a few more surprises if that was his current attitude, because apparently he wasn't done regurgitating what sounded like everything that had been in his stomach for the past three days, even if the oysters were the real culprit. This time, however, he cut painfully right into Mary's ribs because she watched him sigh in exhaustion before he hoisted himself up to ensure he would hit the toilet when the time came. For someone who spent his whole life watching out for her, it was only right that she could do the same for him once in awhile.

Ignoring the splashing sounds that were ensuing once more, she arched over halfway and patted his back. For all she knew, it wasn't helping at all; she might even be making him expel more than he had to with her heavy-handed movements. Unsure, she switched to rubbing, pinching his muscles tightly between her fingers, careful not to press too hard. It was impossible to tell if Marshall even registered that she was touching him – and voluntarily at that – and she felt so awkward and out of place initiating any kind of contact that she was sure it must feel prickly to him, not comforting.

Gasping for air when his face met the ball lights shining above once more, Mary saw that he was drenched in sweat, not unlike she had been when they'd had dinner in Providence. He looked wretched, strung out beyond endurance, and she felt a pang of pity as well as admiration for him because he wasn't coming unglued. If it were her, she'd have been cursing a blue streak if anyone dared watch, and probably crying pathetically if she were alone.

"You okay?" she ventured, working to keep her speech low and not give him a headache to contend with.

"…Will be…" each word ran together as he didn't even complete his sentence. "…No picnic…"

"I've been there, pal," she didn't mean to make it all about herself, but she could definitely relate these days. "This fits right in with that pregnancy fetish I was talking about earlier. If you want to know how it feels to be with child, I guess you're getting your chance."

Though she was teasing as she usually did, there was a noticeable softness in Mary's speech that didn't usually reside there. That was why Marshall smiled wanly, barely visible beneath his sunken cheeks. The sight was such a heartbreaking one that the woman's mouth got way ahead of her mind, shooting off without considering how she would look or how Marshall would perceive her. If she'd been thinking anything at all, she would've realized that her ramshackle processing was really the least of his worries.

"Here…hang on…"

Obviously not going anywhere without a hand, Marshall stayed stationed on the linoleum, his own back probably beginning to feel the effects by now, and waited while the blonde ran the water in the sink a second time. Within seconds, she had returned with a damp washcloth she'd snatched off the hook on the wall. Through slitted eyes, he saw that the fabric was sopping wet, which meant Mary probably hadn't even bothered to wring it out. The fact that it was dripping was soon set aside, because he saw it zooming in toward his face like an oncoming train, a vision that was likely distorted due to his fragility.

"How does that feel? Is it too wet?"

Marshall must be dreaming. Something weird was going on. Mary seemed to be pressing the washcloth to his forehead, dabbing from side-to-side to catch the beads of perspiration that had settled there. It was official. He had fainted from becoming so dehydrated and he was imagining that she was playing nursemaid. That had to be what was going on.

And yet, as he sat there, the shapes and colors and sounds blurry and unfocused so that he couldn't tell the mirror from the shiny floor below, he began to think he might not be hallucinating at all. Mary, above all else, was very solid – the only object that was in his otherwise hazy trance. After all, if he was losing his marbles then pseudo-Mary probably wouldn't be in pajamas, and they wouldn't be in the bathroom. They'd be elsewhere. 'Dreaming' about a sleepy, ballooned, worrisome Mary didn't really constitute 'dreaming' did it?

But really, the reality was so much sweeter even though he was miserable. Mary's hands were light, her fingers long as they brushed his bangs aside and she applied the backside of the washcloth to soak in more of his sweat.

"Give it here…" he found himself saying in a voice that didn't really belong to him, like it was on an echo. His hand traveled skyward to grab the fabric, even if he didn't really want to, but his friend held firm.

"I've got it," she insisted. "I don't mind. Do you want to try going back to bed?"

Bed. Covers. Blankets and cool pillows. It sounded nice, but it also sounded very far away, and while Marshall thought he might be finished purging his seafood, he also couldn't be sure he would make it to salvation alone. Would otherworldly Mary be able to accompany him? Would her compassion stretch that far?

His immediate reaction was, 'yes.' Of course she would. Mary might bristle on the surface, but her fierce loyalty and need to protect others always won out. It was the obligation and most dazzling feature of a little girl abandoned by her father. It was all so clear now, in a moment when it should've been smokier than ever.

"Marshall?" it must have been taking him awhile to get out what he was thinking. "Are you good, or do you want to stay for another few minutes?"

Anything to get off the ground. Marshall would do anything, but just calculating the amount of energy it would take to get up made him tired. He had to have nodded though, because Mary wadded up the towel she'd been using and thrust out a hand, which couldn't have been a clearer signal that she was going to help him.

"Lift with your legs…" he hummed, knowing he was going to have to pull as much of his own weight as possible. "Honest…careful…"

"I know the drill," she'd been told to watch her step often enough. "It'll be a joint effort, all right? On three…"

The counts pounded steadily into Marshall's brain, although he couldn't really remember saying the beats himself because he was concentrating his efforts on standing. His head swam once it was nearer to the lights, but he was up and that was a step in the right direction. He also felt himself being guided by his elbow back into the darkened hotel room, which was a glaring contrast from the bathroom, but he was glad for the dimness. Mary's voice seemed to be pushing him along more than her hands were; it acted as a stimulant, a tiny breeze blowing him gently forward.

"Take it slow…I'm not going to let you fall…although I'd probably flatten you if I did…"

Even now, she kept her sense of humor. Marshall appreciated that. Unfortunately, he seemed to become too caught up in appreciating it, because he swayed in step and Mary had to throw out an arm to anchor him.

"Whoa…" her hand tightened on the small of his back and he found his bearings, squeezing her shoulder. "You got me? You're like rubber, I swear…"

It was an apt description, especially since his legs were wobbling so badly it was hard for him to walk even with assistance. But, in due time, they made it to his bed like they were entrants in some bizarre three-legged race. Marshall eased himself down; only vaguely aware of doing so, Mary nudging his knees so he'd swing them along in the wake of his body. Thankfully, because he wasn't actually sick, the comforter was simply a welcome cover and neither too hot or too cold. His partner helped him to settle in, arranging the blankets around his chest, and then he assumed she would be on her way to sleep as well.

But, a moment later and with the sound of running water trickling in the background once more, she was back and detouring around his bed to the empty side, climbing up next to him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered groggily, barely able to see now that the bathroom light had been put out. "I…I can't…"

She was more a voice than a figure, but then she became a pair of hands as the washcloth was pushed onto his forehead even as he reclined. The texture was nubby, causing the sweat to cling inside the stitching without effort. But, it didn't just stay there; slight side-to-side movements indicated Mary was splotching lightly, just as she'd done in the bathroom.

Wonderful and soothing though it was, Marshall's chivalry didn't take a vacation.

"Thank-you…" gratitude was important to express first. "But, really…" it made his temples throb when he spoke. "You need to sleep…"

"Hush," Mary admonished tenderly, as tenderly as she ever said anything. "Be quiet and try to rest."

Though her words were the same as they ever were – frank and to the point – there was no denying they were uttered with a completely different inflection. Her tone acted as a warm breath, a tiny flicker that shone bright in the darkness like the glow of a candle; cozy, it wrapped him in a cocoon.

"…Wish you…didn't have to see that…"

Replaying the scenes in his mind made them look fuzzy and jittery, but still he didn't want anyone to have to view him in such a disheveled condition, least of all Mary.

"Too late now," she reminded him with a little chuckle. "Don't worry about it. If you're lucky, it's over now and neither one of us will have to see or feel anything else."

Indeed, Marshall could make that his goal, as his insides didn't seem to be churning so furiously anymore, although he still felt nauseated. He just hoped that he would be well enough by the morning to travel, even if he wasn't able to be behind the wheel. Whatever she said, he knew Mary was anxious to get home, tired of spending every day locked up in the SUV, missing her duties at WITSEC and her normal routine.

"Shouldn't have eaten the oysters…should've taken my own advice…" he slurred, uncertain why he was bothering because he needed to conk out so the woman could do the same. "…Not immortal…"

"Well, there goes my whole belief system," Mary joked in response to the 'immortal' comment. "Here I thought if I sliced a sword straight through your gut it wouldn't even leave a scratch."

"Mmm…"

"Do you want me to stop?" not able to tell if the hum was one of content or discomfort, she stalled with the washcloth. "You're soaked, but I thought it might keep the sweat out of your eyes…"

"No, it's nice…"

This was code for 'don't stop now' but sounding over eager would only get him into trouble, ill or not. But, his sequence of thoughts was obviously shot, because if he thought that demanding Mary keep going would send up a red flag, then he didn't know what he thought his next words would do. Apparently, the fogginess from having thrown up so many times made him a little reckless and braver as well.

"You're good at this…"

"Hmm? What?" the 'hmm' indicated she was getting drowsy, and so Marshall tried to rush to his point.

"…Very nurturing…"

Oh yes, nurturing was exactly what it was, and it was high time Mary knew, he suddenly decided. Why pretend she wasn't talented when she was? So silly.

"Well, you thinking I'm some kind of fostering, nesting mama lion is clearly delirium," no doubt she would defame herself. "And, any skill I do have comes from years of practice."

Marshall wasn't following, "…Practice?"

"I learned how to clean up, cover up, and nurse back to health an ailing Jinx by the time I was five," there was a dash of pride to go with hidden melancholy in this announcement. "Two aspirin, a tall glass of water – no ice – and a room with shades on it. Add in the washcloth to make it look like the shine is coming from some sort of internal flush…" a scoff. "And you have the perfect cure for a hangover, or anything resembling a hangover."

This all fit, certainly, and as Marshall found himself beginning to drift away, shadows and supple fingers tempting him to let it go, he created a likeness of that young Mary in his mind. She wasn't so dissimilar from the one sitting next to him at this very moment – businesslike, yet efficient. Direct in her expression, but soft. Consoling without turning everything into a production. Flawless. Flawless when it came to hangovers, a friend in need, witnesses run amok, and little ones like Brianna who just needed that extra shot of encouragement mixed with honesty.

"…Works on people besides drunks you know…" was his way of articulating his conjecture, not ready to succumb quite yet.

"I guess so," Mary agreed, and Marshall felt her give his skin one last dab before removing the washcloth and folding it in two, for he opened his eyes when her touch vanished. "I'm kind of working without a net, you know. But, you make it easier than Jinx did; you don't scream at me to stop talking so loudly or to close the curtains."

"…A baby wouldn't do that either…"

What made him say it; he would never be fully aware, because his mind had so clearly turned to mush. And, if he wasn't unwell, rambling an unintelligible series of phrases, then he knew Mary would be whacking him into next Tuesday. But, perhaps it wasn't entirely his condition that was helping her to hold off. Even though the blackness obscured her face, he could see her green eyes standing out as she pondered his statement, blinking benignly and shaking her head – not because she was refuting him, but because she was refuting herself.

"I don't have a baby, Marshall. I have a Mango. Someone else is going to have a baby."

"They don't have to…"

"Please don't do this now," she knew she was cornered and the high pitch of her voice indicated it. "I just want you to feel better; I don't like seeing you in pain; I'm just doing what any decent friend would do; it doesn't mean anything…"

'Methinks thou doth protest too much' was what jumbled through the man's brain, but he didn't say that.

"Not everyone has the gift of being maternal…" this sounded more like English, broken though it was. "You had it at five years old…"

"I had it because I was made to," now she was pleading. "Maybe I want to do this for you, but I didn't want to do it for Jinx, just like I don't want to do it for this kid…"

"…You need him; you want to protect him in the way only you know how…"

"But, he doesn't need me," Mary whispered. "He needs a family that can give him better than ten hours shifts at the office and evenings that go away every time the phone rings and it's some wayward witness. He needs a father that doesn't live thousands of miles away…"

"Subjective…" a single term seemed sufficient; Marshall was beginning to feel loopy, and still it was like he wasn't even sick anymore; the blonde was actually listening to him, even if she didn't agree, and not shooting him down at every turn. "All subjective…a child needs love…you can give him love…"

"Even if I could, I don't want to."

"Why?"

Successfully stumped, Marshall thought as his veins mingled with satisfaction and listlessness. The outline of his friend's face told him she had opened her mouth to respond, and yet could think of nothing to say. There was something to be said for knowing right from wrong even if you couldn't back it up, and with instincts like Mary's, he wouldn't be the first one to doubt that. But, something about this had definitely caught her off guard. She'd been claiming for nine months that she didn't want to or couldn't become a mother. And why? She'd never asked herself why.

"…Don't do it for me…" Marshall wanted to make one thing clear, cloudy as he spoke through Mary's silence. "…Not because I told you to…" as if she ever would. "Do it for you…for him…"

"No…" but it was nothing like the 'no's' of days past; it was reluctant, and that was growth. "No…not with my mother…my sloshed mother…" even though that wasn't the case anymore. "Not with my sister and her inclination for running…" this, too, had gone by the wayside; the excuses were feebler by the minute. "…And not with Mark in New Jersey; he won't live like that. He will not be subjected to the hell that I was growing up; I won't let him…"

Marshall's hand hovered on top of the comforter and crept onto Mary's lap, her fingers still holding the now-cold washcloth. She started when she felt his fingers creeping along like that of a many-legged spider, and while she resisted and pulled away initially, she didn't go far, and allowed his hand to rest beside hers, if not within it.

"You can make it better for him than all that…"

It was taking all of his strength just to keep talking, to keep breathing, but Mary's touch against his beaten body had surged new life into him, even if it was just for a few minutes.

"…This is his story, not yours…"

"Marshall, not with my family…it's a disaster waiting to happen…"

"Then with me."

It seemed like the next logical thing to say; Marshall hadn't thought twice about it, or what it meant to either one of them. He could tell by Mary's furrowed brows that he had confused her, but for some reason it didn't make him nervous, nor did it cause a flush to rise in his cheeks. His intentions had been innocent in this chapter, even if they weren't underneath.

"What…I don't…I don't know what you mean…" she stammered, suddenly looking hungrily at her own bed as a method of escape.

"I would help you…" that should prove he wasn't talking about anything so intimate, not tonight. "We could mold him together…"

"I'm…Marshall you have a life…" as if he didn't know. "You can't give it up – Abigail, work – to be my live-in nanny."

Pleased she was taking his offer as a gesture of friendship, but also disappointed she had seen it as nothing more than that, Marshall slid down beneath the covers, sensing when it was time to call it quits.

"Too bad…" he could crack a little sarcasm even now. "A boy with a rip-roaring mom and her loveable sidekick…" just the image alone was enough to send him off to fantasyland. "That's a kid I'd sure like to know."

That, or a pampered prince with the Harmons? Which would Mary prefer?

She didn't even have to think, and yet that was all she did for the remainder of the night as Marshall slipped off to sleep.

XXX

**A/N: Ah, a sickly Marshall…perfect to bring them closer together! ;)**


	38. Nature Versus Nurture

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed food-poison-riddled Marshall! I make him well remarkably quickly. ;)**

XXX

It was unclear exactly how much seemed to resonate or get through to Marshall on Thursday morning, but as he kept insisting that he was okay to ride in the bouncing car, Mary took him at his word. Privately, she felt that he could've done with another day of lounging around, but she also thought the worst of his spell was probably over, and if he said he was all right then she wasn't going to treat him like a pansy. In any case, they were able to sleep in since they didn't have a particularly long drive to Indiana, which meant they wouldn't be in the SUV for as long anyway.

Marshall must've thought it was essential they brave the roads because he said very little about letting Mary drive, even though he had tried to dissuade her from the idea in the dead of night. It would've surprised the woman if he really remembered getting in the car at all. He pooled all the vigor he had into washing up and getting dressed; she helped him into the passenger side, and he was asleep again before they'd reached the first stoplight out of the hotel.

Nothing about this bothered her in the least, because it gave her some quiet with which to chew over everything he'd said when they'd been nestled together on the bed. In hindsight, she really couldn't believe she'd sat with him for that long without bolting, but he'd seemed so pacified by her touch that she couldn't leave. It wasn't the cuddling that was nagging at her though, it was the words of her partner – oddly philosophical and ethereal for someone who hadn't even been able to keep his dinner down.

Mary protected people for a living. She was 'good at it' because it was her job. Marshall had to be misjudging her, twisting the way she was with her witnesses into the way she could be with a child. The two were not the same thing; it didn't equate. It wasn't like she could grab her kid by his collar and yell into his face to straighten up and fly right like she did some of her more negligent charges. Child Protective Services would be called faster than you could blink, and that would be the end of motherhood as well as the end of her career. How could she be sure that she wouldn't be a volcano ready to explode with a baby if she got frustrated, the way she did at work? There was no guarantee, and when it came to Mango, she operated only under guarantees.

And still, as Indiana loomed even closer and Marshall continued to snore against the windowpane beside her, flashes and visions began to appear in her mind even when she tried her damndest to make them go away. Before she'd met Brooke and Chris, she'd pictured a mysterious little boy with no distinct features running around by the ocean with his rough-and-tumble brothers. His well-to-do, perfectly responsible, upstanding parents had watched the trio fondly, maybe with the dad running in to toss his youngest through the waves for good measure. It was as clichéd and as corny as the day was long, but that was what Mary had always seen.

Now, though, that snapshot made her faintly ill, especially now that the Harmons had been given faces, names, and personalities. There was nothing to fear from them, and yet Mary had a harder time watching them foster a young boy into their fold. Theoretically, it should've been easier now that they were more defined, but Mary had to strain to picture it – to even _want_ to picture it. Instead, she was creating some bizarre illustration of life with Mango among the uptight Manns. If she was going to harbor some secret fantasy for anything, shouldn't it be her child with her own family – a reformed Jinx, a doting Brandi, a fun Uncle Peter? Mark in the picture, and Mary learning the ropes overnight? Maybe it was because she knew how impossible that print was, but all she could come up with was June, Avery, and Brianna.

Why? She barely knew them, and she certainly didn't know Ted. Ted didn't even _like_ her. And Marshall wasn't even her family. On the off chance he was, it didn't mean Ted and his proclivity for timetables and rule-following was going to be put to rest. She didn't want Mango ensconced in all that.

Or, did she? Agendas meant structure even if they didn't mean kindness, and that was something Mary had definitely lacked as a child. They stood for stability and order, both of which she often threw to the winds if she was feeling free, but something she still craved when she felt herself beginning to spin. She might not want to be a taskmaster like Ted, but she wanted security – for herself and for Mango.

Luckily, Mary didn't have to spend all day ruminating about all her mix-ups, because Marshall finally awoke around lunchtime. He'd stirred on a few occasions, grunting and groaning and changing positions, but this was the first time he had come around for real – like he intended to stay up. Rubbing his eyes like a little boy and shaking his hair out of his eyes, he squinted out at the blazing sunshine streaming onto the dash, and then at the clock to see how long he'd been under.

"Gracious…" he finally remarked in a thick voice. "I don't remember the last time I slept for that long…" he rumpled his hair in the back in an absurd attempt to flatten it.

"Did it do you any good?" Mary asked, feeling strangely significant because she was the one driving when she'd been at his mercy for the whole of the voyage. "Are you feeling better?"

"Hard to say at this juncture…" he mused, still fooling with his locks. "But…maybe a little…" there was some color coming back into his cheeks. "I have a bit of a headache…"

"Your body wants food even if you don't want it," Mary speculated, sounding a lot like her partner. "We can eat a late lunch later if you're up to it."

"Yes…something light…" he was inclined to agree. "But, I can assure you that I will be staying far-far away from anything that comes out of the sea for a long time yet."

"I could've figured that," Mary was blasé. "Do you want a drink? I think there are still a few Cokes in the backseat…" unwisely, she tried to reach around her seat while driving, saw that it wasn't going to work, and gave up. "Well, we can pull over for a minute if you decide you want one."

"No need…" he retrieved a half-full water bottle from one of the cup holders and jiggled it. "Although, I could do with a fresh one down the road, but I'm good for now. I neglected to ask in my daze earlier, but you do know where you're going, right?" his eyes skated up and down over her form. "We're not going to end up in Albany, New York or anything, are we?" referring to the Indiana town with the same name.

Mary snorted, "I do know how to read a map, believe it or not. _And_ look up directions on the Internet, so don't go making me out to be an imbecile yet."

"Will avoid," he stretched his arms over his head, interlocking his fingers in a bridge, which produced something between a groan and a sigh. "We probably won't even get in as late this time. That should make Ted happy."

"We should all be glad something does," a wisecrack that she couldn't resist. "You mean he can actually get enjoyment from something that doesn't include a schedule or a shelf full of alphabetized books? You aren't so different in that way, you know…"

"Oh, getting the digs in now that I'm feeling up to par, are we?" but Marshall was grinning nonetheless. "Order and precision are not always to be frowned upon – it is the inability to be flexible that I like to think I do not exemplify."

"Was Ted always the way he is now?" Mary spit out, probably feeding her vision of Mango the honorary Mann. "Precocious as they come even as a kid?"

Marshall appeared to think for moment, likely glad to have something to focus on that didn't include the blur from Wednesday night. Mary was a little taken aback at the idea that he had to consider at all – surely he had a distinct version of Ted formed in his brain from childhood. But, the more she deliberated, however, the more she realized this might not be the case. He was the youngest, after all; Ted and Eric were both older than he was, and so he hadn't even known them their entire lives. His first memories probably only just began when he was three or four years old.

And, when he came to his conclusion, he seemed a little surprised himself at the resolution.

"Well…no, actually…" it was like he was thinking out loud as he went along, only putting the puzzle together as he explained each detail. "He was timid, if you can imagine that, but absolutely about appearances. There was a performing side to him – when the red light went on, he was the perfect gentleman. The minute the director called 'cut' then he was in the back corner, looking over his shoulder, trying to prepare his next lines."

"The director being your father?" Mary guessed.

"None other," Marshall proclaimed with an errant wave of his hand, as though he were introducing Seth out of thin air. "Seth Mann – the Francis Ford Coppola of the Mann household."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"You get the gist, though," he surmised. "Dad was undoubtedly what put Ted on edge. But, the difference between the two of them was that dad just _was_ that way; it was woven into him to be tough. I'm not actually sure if Ted had that trait to start with or if he honed it growing up with the head of Operation Falcon as his father."

"Did you guys get along?" Mary pressed, mostly because they had already been through Marshall's speculation about Ted's rigidness. "I mean, I know you say you aren't close now, but when you were younger?"

"Well…sort of…" he was spraining his brain another time, like it was so far back that he didn't even know he'd retained any kind of reminiscence. "In some ways, yes. I certainly was on better terms with him than with Eric…"

"How come?"

"Probably just the age difference," he stated simply. "Ted and I are further apart – oldest and youngest. Eric's in the middle; we butted heads all the time over stupid stuff. Sibling rivalry, I'm sure, since Eric's only two years ahead of me; he didn't get much 'alone time' with my parents before I arrived…"

"If he ever had it," Mary reminded him. "With Ted around."

"But, Ted kind of took me under his wing, so to speak. I'm not entirely sure it was because he wanted to…" able to grope for sustenance in the backseat, it seemed he was hungrier than he'd realized, because he came up with a furled bag of pretzels. "No doubt my dad had a hand in that too. 'You look after Marshall' he would say. 'Watch your brother.'"

"Because you really needed watching."

"No, but Ted did what he was told," Marshall rationalized, nibbling off the corner of a pretzel, careful not to ingest too much at once and set his stomach off. "It was either that or face the wrath of Seth, and he'd pick the former every time."

"You really think your dad was that bad?" his partner couldn't help being curious, not when the man chalked every intricacy of Ted's behavior up to what daddy dearest had instilled in him. "I met him, Marshall. He was domineering, he was gruff; I get it. But, he wasn't a monster."

"I love my father," he didn't want there to be any confusion. "I wouldn't be where I am today without him. But, if you take what you saw between me and him and multiply it several times over, that's how it was with him and Ted. Ted's the oldest; dad expected a lot out of him, to set an example for me and Eric."

"But, do you think he's better off for it?" Mary did not know why she was getting so deep into this, but family dynamics were starting to intrigue her. "He's a carbon copy. What about the girls? What if they grow up to be little machines?"

"I think you're reading a little too much into this," now that they were reaching the root of things, Marshall left his own dysfunction behind, crunching his pretzels. "Yes, Ted is eerily similar to my dad. But, it's that whole nature versus nurture thing. Parents only impart so much into their kids. Some of them come hard-wired differently, and nature never factors into it. Look at Brianna."

"But, how can you promise that? How can you be _sure?" _that snack was starting to look good, as the blonde hadn't eaten any breakfast, but she was too intent on her questions to bother stealing any. "Who's to say if the environment won't make a difference? What if because my youth was horribly screwed up that Mango's ends the same way? That no matter how hard I work at bringing him up completely opposite of how I was, that the need to drink and dump others and snort meth and make deals with druggies and be a hard-nosed work-obsessed freak is still in there somewhere?"

Her little speech earned her quite a look from her friend; he even paused mid-chew, looking like a six-year-old who had been caught munching when he wasn't supposed to be. There was still a cowlick in the back of his head, and he wasn't wearing his usual button-up on account of throwing on the nearest outfit he could find that morning. Slowly, he finished whatever was in his mouth, glancing down to see how many pretzels he had left, blinking just as gradually as he was chomping.

There was really no good way to go about this, Marshall thought. Everything Mary had just rattled off told him so much, and it all spoke volumes. Never before had he seen her regard potential motherhood so closely and deliberately. By the same token, she'd always been so adamant about the adoption that he'd never truly found out why she believed she was incapable of becoming a parent herself. Now he had a whole plethora of reasons to draw upon. She was worried Mango would suffer the hardships that she had. She thought her family might be a bad influence. She thought securing a witness was a world apart from securing a child. And on and on – the most bewildering of which was her sudden interest in _his_ relations.

Swallowing, watching Mary run her fingers up and down the steering wheel, Marshall knew it was do or die. She might bite his head off or completely change the subject, but he'd never know unless he tried.

"Parenthood isn't really imbedded with a lot of warranties," he eventually affirmed, deciding this might be safe and even helpful. "Plenty of pledges, sure. But, certainties are hard to come by. The only thing you can really control is yourself. That is a lot to reconcile, but it is also a lot of power – both frightening as well as invigorating."

Prophetic to a fault, Marshall never let the woman down when he had something poetic to say. But, his words were as fearsome as he had indicated they would be. Not being in charge killed Mary and she found nothing 'invigorating' about it. But, he'd also said, in a roundabout way, that she could wield her hand and her wisdom and cast this kid – should he become hers – in her own image. It might only get her so far, but effort counted for a lot.

"That doesn't mean my putting my blood, sweat, and tears into my child would really work out for the best," pessimism was Mary's specialty, and it was showing. "Don't I kind of have a warped sense of what's right and wrong for those under eighteen?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Marshall deliberated, but he was coming off as though he had all the knowledge in the world. "You put up a front that you find kids to be infuriating and obnoxious – nothing short of detestable, really, like they're the dirt beneath your shoes…"

"This is _really_ making me sound maternal…"

"But," he continued like he hadn't even heard her. "Does Leo Billups ring a bell? Iris McBride? Her sister Lily? Tasha, our visitor from Russia? Not to mention the Sullivan clan, Sabrina Jordan…"

His incessant babble was getting to her, "Where is this going?"

"All under eighteen," he pointed out. "Some of them even under ten…"

"Just Gretel Sullivan," Mary mumbled, just so she could feel like she was one-up on him, even for a moment.

"But, I don't use the term 'kid gloves' loosely. You save it for the ankle biters and the ankle biters alone," his eyes were beginning to revive, the glimmer they had lost in his bout with food poisoning returning as he laid out his concrete case. "When Leo told you about how much he missed his father, you were right there with a shoulder for him to cry on."

Literally, Mary recalled, even though she knew Marshall was only speaking metaphorically.

"When Warren McBride couldn't forgive that his daughter had disobeyed him, you were mama bear, ready to fight him tooth and nail," those had been proud instances in the man's career. "Tasha needed acclimating to the United States, and I never doubted for a second that she was safe in your hands…"

"I forgot her groceries."

"Yes, and moms forget to pick up an extra packet of formula at the supermarket," he intoned, prepared for her finding fault with her abilities. "There will be mistakes – I'm not saying there won't be. But, mistakes are how you learn; mistakes help you to grow, to think twice when the fork in the road divides you again…"

"I don't like making mistakes," Mary snapped like a grouchy two-year-old. "I like to be _sure."_

"I know that," he acknowledged politely. "And, I understand it. But, it is a sacrifice you make when it comes to motherhood. I think until now it has been a menace you grappled with too fiercely to let it go. Relinquishing control wasn't a risk you were willing to take…"

"I never said I'm going to take it now," the blonde wanted to be certain he knew that. "Never."

"Too true," Marshall slid in neatly, offering a pretzel in hopes of appeasing her, which she bit with some brutality. "But, I'm just saying. If your worries or your obstacles consist solely of the capability or the management aspect, those are things that can be remedied; they are things that can be worked on…"

"And what if I can't be fixed?" she demanded ruthlessly, spoiling to stump him. "What if there's no repairing me, huh?"

A long exhale wafted into the open air, and at first Mary thought that Marshall was irritated with her, but it seemed he was actually disheartened by her view of herself. More and more she was realizing just how much it upset him when she tried to make herself sound much worse than she really was. But, Mary was used to people thinking she was nothing but a no-nonsense bitch that she just assumed that was all she could be. Sometimes it bothered her, and sometimes it didn't. Right now, it was troubling; because it was the first time in many years she had wanted to be someone different.

"You don't need _fixing_," he emphasized quietly. "You are not broken. A kid is entirely new territory – ground unbroken. It's shedding your skin and growing a different – not better – one. If you need a hand to guide you along the way, then…"

His voice trailed off, but it couldn't have been clearer that he wished to be that hand – blessed with sight and leading the blind. The offer took Mary back to their positions on the bed the night before, when she'd mopped up his forehead and nursed him back to health. He had said that she'd been a pro, and she had waved it away as going through the motions on account of a younger Jinx. But, a funny, delightful sort of flutter had taken place in her stomach at him thinking she was able to tend to people in their time of need – not just witnesses, but others too.

And, he'd claimed then that he would help her with Mango. As a voluntary uncle? A partner? A simple friend? Who knew for sure?

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Mary suddenly asked him, probably catching him off guard with the change of subject. "Do you remember…I don't know…" she didn't want to be too explicit if his mind was dim. "Anything you said…anything we did?"

"Some…" evidently, he didn't need to think about it for too long. "Mostly that you were there with me to see to it that I didn't fall and hit my head on the counter. I seem to recall talking to you once I was back in bed, but little specifics." Shooting her an offhand glance and holding up another pretzel, "Why?"

While she'd intended to shield him from their deep discussion, especially when it could easily be forgotten if he didn't remember, Mary knew he was going to weasel her objectives out of her anyway. It was best to get it out of the way now; they were already in the heart of the fire. All this 'motherhood' talk was burning and blistering her flesh from all sides.

"Because we talked about this," she informed him, sucking the salt off her pretzel as she spoke, even though it was making her thirsty. "You were half-baked as hell, but you were pretty set on convincing me that Mango is nothing but a Shannon."

Marshall wondered if he could make a joke about this, if he could shove the whole thing under the rug, because now that Mary had refreshed his memory, he was able to summon up something about Mango's future. Between yesterday and today, he'd gone out on a limb and exhausted the subject, which made it even more shocking that his partner hadn't given him a sound thumping yet.

This could mean a variety of things, most of them exciting. Was she not so offended by the idea of being a mom because she was seriously pondering becoming one? Could that be? Well, it wouldn't be solely because of Marshall that she made such a decision, but if he hassled her anymore, she might run precariously far in the opposite direction. Now was the time to steer things away if he ever wanted her to be able to come to the conclusion by herself.

"Bit of overkill by this point, no?" halfway between teasing and serious, it seemed to do just the trick.

"Yeah, kind of," she even laughed lightly. "It's a lot to take on."

Who, what, where, and when 'it' was referring to would have to be determined at a later date, but Marshall could feel fireworks exploding in his belly already – for a reason that had nothing to do with oysters. But, he played it cool and bobbed his head, knowing that agreeing was the fastest way to get on Mary's good side.

"Yes…" he concurred, scraping the bottom of the pretzel bag one last time. "It sure is."

XXX

**A/N: If anyone can convince her, it would be Marshall!**


	39. Go Fish

**A/N: The nieces return!**

XXX

"Go fish!"

"Again? Are you sure you're not cheating?"

"You don't get to play at all if you cheat. Daddy says so."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Competitive to a fault but willing to forego winning so she wouldn't have any kind of a tantrum on her hands, Mary reached for the stack of cards in the middle of the bed and drew one. She had been playing cards with June, Avery, and Brianna for what felt like an hour at least, but was finally starting to relax and enjoy herself. She wished she could say the same for the girls. June looked bored and Avery kept glancing over her shoulder, checking the doorway out of the tower room, no doubt waiting for Ted to come in and crash the party. Brianna, on the other hand, wanted to start a new game every time they finished, keen to try her hand at shuffling and counting out the cards.

Marshall was nowhere to be found, but Mary had the strong suspicion he was downstairs keeping Ted and Leann occupied so that the girls could stay up a little longer before going to bed. Taking pity on his partner, he had played a few rounds of Go Fish before sidling away, leaving Mary to her own devices. It had taken awhile for her to become comfortable on her own with the kids, but now, almost sixty minutes in, she was getting there.

"Avie, it's your turn," Bri informed her sister, using an endearing nickname Mary had yet to hear. "Ooh, you only have three cards left!"

"Say, maybe she's the one who's peeking, huh?" the inspector nudged the youngest with her elbow, and Brianna grinned, but Avery didn't crack anything resembling a smile.

Instead, she blinked slowly, almost like she didn't understand the joke, "I would never look at your cards."

She was so serious and withdrawn that Mary didn't know how to respond, but fortunately at least one of these three seemed to understand that she was only teasing.

"Avery, she's kidding," June intoned in a dull voice.

"I know…" now the middle child was embarrassed, casting Mary a blank look. "I just didn't want her to think…"

"It's nothing," the woman cut her off, seeing this was not a group with which you could bat back a few, unless it was solely Brianna. "You're close to winning," she pointed out. "Better choose wisely."

Avery's dark brown eyes scanned the faces before her in the circle on the bed, and with one last look at the open doorway to check for her father, she landed on the visitor.

"Mary, do you have any threes?"

She put on a face of mock-surprise, handing over the card that had been requested, slapping it into Avery's palm, which earned her a rare smile.

"You're gonna clean me out!" she praised. "Good thing we're not playing for money or I'd be broke."

June frowned, "Isn't playing for money illegal?"

Mary fought not to roll her eyes. This was a twelve-year-old in a thirty-five-year-old's body.

"You're right," there was no denying it. "Being a Marshal, you'd think I would remember that, huh? It doesn't stop people from doing it though…"

"Daddy works with all sorts of people who do things they're not supposed to do!" Bri piped up, bouncing up and down on her knees and making the mattress wiggle. "Bad-bad guys that break the law…!"

"She knows that, moron," June stated snidely, and while it wasn't very nice, Mary couldn't help being pleased that she'd acted like a real adolescent for once, taking pot shots at her little sister. "Uncle Marshall is her best friend; she knows everybody in the family works with people who break the law."

"Did you ever meet Grandpa?" Bri didn't seem offended by June's slight and kept right on babbling. "He sees the baddest, worst, most evil people ever," this was quite a description. "More even than daddy and Uncle Marshall, and he shouts at them until they tell him what they did wrong – he's _really_ mean to them, and that's why daddy doesn't like him…"

Avery looked stricken by this being broadcast and June, as the oldest, obviously knew that it was not something that needed to be out in the open. She shot Mary a dark, almost defiant sort of look, and was quick to cover up the blunder.

"That's not true," she claimed quickly. "Bri, quit telling lies. Dad and Grandpa like each other. You're making that up."

"Daddy doesn't _act_ like he likes him," unabashed, the littlest just went right on. "But, I do! I think Grandpa is funny, even if he is mean to the bad guys."

"Yeah, he can be pretty funny sometimes…" Mary agreed, taking her turn briefly and asking June if she had any sixes. "I did meet him, just a few years ago. But, just because he and your dad aren't best buddies doesn't mean they don't like each other. I mean, me and my mom fight all the time and I still love her."

"Daddy and Grandpa never stop fighting either," Bri chattered, completely oblivious to the 'shut up' looks that June was casting her. "Is your mommy mean to you and that's why you fight?"

At this, June couldn't hold her tongue; there was obviously so much of Ted already inside her that she could not let this go by without comment.

"Bri, stop!" she hissed, as if lowering her voice enough would really prevent Mary from hearing. "It's rude to ask questions like that."

Mary was put in mind of the way Brooke had been with Trevor when he had become curious about her father's history just from a little bit of insight. Why was it that kids felt they couldn't show their inquisitiveness the same way that adults could? If you were a grown up, chances were your nosiness would simply be looked upon as interested, forthright at the most. But, if you were under eighteen then you were uncouth, plain and simple. It was clear that June had already figured this out just from life with Ted.

Well, Mary didn't waste a second trying to turn that attitude right around.

"I did bring it up, you know," she told June, not as though she were reprimanding her, simply stating a fact. "It's a lot less rude when the person being asked is already talking about it," she even winked to show there were no hard feelings, which was an innovative gesture on Mary.

"See, June; I can ask whatever I want," Brianna crowed, thriving when she was out from under Ted's thumb. "So, is your mommy nasty?"

"I wouldn't say that," Mary chuckled and told the girl to 'go fish' since she didn't have the card appealed for. "We're really different, my mom and me. That's kind of why we fight."

"But, is she nice?" Bri prodded.

"Well…" her instinct was to say 'no' but before it could get out her mouth, she wondered why that was. Jinx was kind and considerate when the wanted to be; her issues had never stemmed from her lack of compassion, not counting the instances she'd been too drunk to shut herself up. "Yeah…she is," changing her mind. "She's a really good dancer, but of course you wouldn't catch me on my tiptoes…" waving an indistinct hand toward her belly.

Avery suddenly chimed in unexpectedly, in a quiet, hesitant voice, "I always wanted to dance."

As it was one of the few times the middle niece had spoken up without being prompted, Mary was a little surprised – not just because she'd heard her speak, but because of what she'd said. She suddenly remembered that Avery had been pointing at something in a catalogue on the night that she and Marshall had first arrived in Indiana. Ted had almost vehemently shut her down, nixing whatever she had been seeking in seconds. Was she getting a clue as to what that 'something' might be?

"How come you don't?" Mary barely registered just how invested she was becoming in these girls, even if it only lasted for one night. "June has cello lessons, right?"

"Yeah…" Avery murmured, shifting uncomfortably and nearly dropping the few cards she had left in her hand.

"So, what about you?"

A sigh, "My dad said I could if I could pay for my own costume, because the ones they have at the studio are too expensive. But, I haven't saved up enough money yet."

"What kind of costume?" Mary asked wearily.

"It's a pink tutu," Brianna interrupted, looking sneaky. "It has a big skirt and looks like cotton candy," she giggled.

Avery wilted, "Dad doesn't like it either. He doesn't think I'll keep dancing for long, that I'll want to do something else later, and then it would be a waste of money."

Mary tried to consider this angle objectively, although when she saw the little girl's woebegone face in front of her own, she couldn't help wanting to throttle Ted for denying her something so simple. The dollars included were a factor, of course, and with three kids she didn't imagine Ted and Leann had a ton of cash to spare, but still. Ted made a decent living, although she didn't know what Leann did. They couldn't dish out a month's check here and there so Avery could try dancing?

Instead of badmouthing their father, Mary just shrugged while June took her turn in the game.

"Well, maybe you'll meet my goofy mother one day, and she can teach you a step or two."

Avery attempted a laugh, perhaps to prove that she could, in fact, take a joke, but Brianna latched on to the idea at once.

"Yeah!" she squealed exuberantly, nearly rocketing off the bed in her excitement. "I want to meet your mom – and your sister; Uncle Marshall said you have a sister…"

Mary tried to head her off, "Well yeah, but…"

"If we can't meet them, can we _at least_ meet the baby someday?" she queried earnestly, her hands almost clasped in prayer in front of her chest, if not for the fact that she was trying to conceal her cards. "Please-please? There aren't any boys in our family…" as if Mary didn't know that. "And you said you're having one, right?"

"Well, not for sure…"

"But, I bet it is!" Bri decided effortlessly. "And then you can bring him here to visit. That would be fun!"

A plunging, sinking feeling in the region of her mid-section made Mary forget that it was her turn to find a pair in their little card game. Ted and Leann knew that she was pursuing adoption, but it was evident that the girls did not. In some ways, Mary was glad for this secret, because she wasn't sure if children of this age could really understand her motivation for doing so. Then again, these were no ordinary children; Marshall had warned her of that from the very beginning. Dare she try to explain? Even if she had been weighing her options as of late, she'd never officially said that adoption was out the window. To put up a front more than anything else, it was important she act like she hadn't changed her mind at all.

"What makes you want to see the baby?" the woman ventured before getting in too deep.

"Babies are fun!" Bri chirruped, which seemed to be her all-purpose answer for everything.

Mary chortled, "You think so?"

The girl shouted, "Yeah!" but June cut in before she could get any further.

"They're only fun if you don't have to change them or feed them or anything," it satisfied Mary to hear the oldest daughter display herself as someone less than perfect without the presence of Ted, even if she was a bit of a smart ass.

"That kind of comes with the territory, doesn't it?" Mary shot back, keeping her on her toes.

"You mean you don't have any other babies at home?" Avery whispered so quietly Mary almost didn't hear, sparing June the need to respond again.

"Nope," the blonde shrugged. And then, figuring now was as good a time as any, "I'm not sure I'll have this one at home either."

The reaction she received from each child was different. June raised her thin little eyebrows and her chin jutted inward, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing, but didn't really believe she was mistaken. Avery looked sad and a little lost, whereas Brianna appeared downright confused, shaking her head and intending to get to the bottom of things at once.

"But he's _your_ baby," she accented the middle world as though Mary were a watt-low. "I see him in your belly," now she pointed. "Where will he go?"

Avery wasn't putting two-and-two together, and Bri obviously wasn't either, but a sudden look of comprehension had dawned on June's face, but there was nothing heartening about it. If anything, she appeared more suspicious then before, and Mary had a hunch about why this was. Leann had said that June had struggled the most with reconciling her adoption when she had so few details. It seemed she was judging Mary in the way that adolescents were known to do.

The adult in the room waited her out, lips pursed and pausing their game completely so as not to district her mission. June obviously spent a lot of time with her mouth closed since Ted pounced on her every word. If she wanted to speak up, Mary was going to give her that chance.

"Are you giving him to somebody else?" she finally inquired flatly, no way to tell if she approved or disapproved of the decision.

"I was thinking about it," Mary was honest. "Still thinking, sometimes."

"So, someone's going to adopt him," June concluded with a slow nod of her head. "Like with me and Avery and Bri. Right?"

Before the inspector could confirm what she'd just said, Brianna swept in with more questions, indisputably a little befuddled by this turn of events.

"But, why?" her voice turned high and sweet in her puzzlement. "Mommy says that people give their babies to new families when they can't take care of them," she recited primly. "Why can't _you_ take care of your baby?"

"It's not that I _can't…"_ Mary corrected, realizing it for the first time as she said it. "I could. I definitely could. But, I wasn't planning to have a baby and I have a job that keeps me really busy…"

This excuse sounded pretty flimsy, and June obviously thought so too, because she impeded her littlest sister's next demand.

"You're a Marshal, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my dad is a detective. He probably works as much as you do…"

"Yeah, probably," Mary conceded.

"Well, he has _three_ kids," there was a hint of defiance there, like June was daring her to battle back, but Mary still thought it was good she was expressing herself and had no intention of going to war. "You don't think you could have one?" her tone turned slightly softer as she said this, almost like she feared for the woman's sanity.

Setting her cards facedown to give them her full attention, Mary became dimly aware that this was the first time she had really discussed this whole scenario calmly and rationally, not counting her helter-skelter version of it with Marshall from that afternoon. The more times she articulated her fears about motherhood, the smaller they seemed to become. It was still overwhelming, yes, but not an insurmountable task.

"It's a little more complicated than that…" she began, but Brianna, who obviously flourished under attention, saw fit to get in on the action.

"Grown-ups always say things are complicated, and…"

"Shh," Avery shoved her lightly with her palm, perhaps enraptured by the details. "Be quiet and listen," there was no malice there, but she was straightforward.

Brianna pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, but she said no more, and Mary cleared her throat to start over.

"Like I said, it's complicated," she repeated. "Maybe not to you guys, but to me. Sometimes it takes good parents for you to _become_ a good parent…"

"But, you just said your mommy was nice…!"

"Bri!" June snapped, copying Avery, who looked glad she didn't have to be the one to admonish her again. "Hush, would you?"

Mary smirked at their byplay, probably something that didn't come to fruition very often when Ted was around, and picked up her thread once more.

"I mean, not always…" now she was contradicting herself. "Sometimes people can have awful parents and still do a good job on their kids, but I still think it's harder. And, my mom was a nice person, but she had a lot of problems…"

It was clear Brianna was going to ask, 'like what?' but June shot her a dirty look and she refrained.

"And, I didn't know my dad very well. He had bigger problems than my mom, and after I turned seven he wasn't around at all anymore," it was slightly cathartic to talk about James like he was just a part of her past and not nearly as influential as he could sometimes be. "And, my baby…" inadvertently, her eyes swiveled to her stomach, as if she could actually see him within if she stared hard enough. "He has a dad, but he's far away. I want him to have a dad, and I'm not sure I can give him that."

Seeing the empty, almost open-mouthed stares on the faces of the three girls, Mary suddenly felt she had said too much, and it all sounded so stark. She wasn't even sure she believed what she was saying; she had a lot more faith in Marshall's words that a child benefitted from nature, nurture, sometimes both, or none at all.

"Complicated, right?" she finished with a lame, short laugh.

Whatever their replies were going to be to this twisted tale, Mary didn't get to find out. With a knock on the door even though it was already open, Marshall appeared, his head sticking around the frame. Mary was surprised she hadn't heard him clunking up and down the wooden stairs, but perhaps she had been as immersed in her stories as the kids were. Fortunately, all three seemed to leave her in the rearview with his appearance, saving Mary from additional embarrassment.

"Hey, troops…" Marshall called to the room at large. "I was just on dad-patrol and he tells me it's about time you got some shut-eye."

His corny wording was met with a half-hearted slump of Avery's shoulders and seemed to act as a stimulant for June, who immediately began shoving the cards back in the deck. Brianna, however, was not to be deterred, and was going to haggle as long as she could.

"But, we didn't finish our game!" she bleated, but Mary was there to tell the truth this time.

"We already played half a dozen," she assured Marshall.

"Then it sounds like it's time to pack it in," he observed. "We might have time for another round in the morning."

"Can we thumb wrestle before I go to bed?" Bri requested earnestly. "Please?"

"Tell you what," Marshall was a man with a bargain, even as June and Avery climbed off the mattress, knowing that an assault of arguing was usually a lost cause in their house. "If you scurry downstairs, get your pajamas on, brush your teeth, and hop into bed _right now…" _emphasizing. "I'll even read you a story to go with that thumb wrestling."

"Not _read_ me one!" Bri clearly already knew what she wanted. "Tell me one! I like those better!"

"All right, it's a deal…" the uncle gave in. "But, you better shake a leg, you hear? Otherwise, all bets are off…"

"Okay-okay," she agreed. "I just want to say goodnight to Mary."

"You say goodnight," he nodded, already halfway down the stairs once more, following June and Avery to tuck them in. "And then come right down."

Not aware that the children had any interest in wishing her sweet dreams, the woman suddenly bellowed down the stairs, forgetting about Ted's aversion to shouting while indoors.

"Night girls!"

All she heard in reply was Marshall chuckling as he disappeared and the distant voices of the two older girls calling, "goodnight" themselves. That left Mary and Brianna alone, and she had the distinct impression that the youngest Mann was going to wiggle as much time out of her stay as possible, because it was obvious to everyone in the vicinity that Uncle Marshall had quite a soft spot for his nieces.

Fiddling with the playing cards, attempting to straighten them into their box, Brianna was content to be busy, happy to have been the center of attention a few times. She even had a nighttime storytelling with Marshall to look forward to, something she had missed out on the last time they'd visited due to Ted's tyrannical bedtime procedures. But, with a sudden glance to the doorway and then another one to Mary, she burst out without warning, nearly spraying cards all over the room.

"I know what you could do!"

Mary was so startled she actually jumped, and she had no idea what the little girl was talking about, but her eyes were alight with dynamism, as if she'd had an epiphany.

"What do you mean; about what?" the blonde asked.

Brianna was not shy, "You said your baby doesn't have a daddy, and that's why you can't keep him yourself…"

"Well, that's only one reason that I…"

But, Bri wasn't listening, "But, I know what you could do so you could keep him!"

It was like she'd been turning the problem over in her mind since Mary had brought it up, and yet her outburst had come out of nowhere. Taking the bait because she was getting curious, Mary decided to see how a five-year-old intended to fix her life.

"What could I do?"

And then, "You could marry Uncle Marshall!"

She was lucky not to fall off the bed. Kids and their cockamamie notions, she thought. Where on earth had this come from? Did having Ted for a father mean that Brianna had no idea how couplings, marriages, and parentage worked? Had he shielded her from all that?

On the other hand, there had been that conversation between Marshall and Ted that Mary had overhead that day in the kitchen. Ted had insisted that the girls believed Mary to be his girlfriend. She'd brushed it off at the time, chalking it up to Ted exaggerating. It was possible he still was, but now she couldn't be sure.

In any case, it was important not to look as flabbergasted as she felt, and so she managed a weak chuckle, humoring the child as best she could.

"This doesn't really work like that…" she began, but Brianna was ready with the rebuttal.

"Why not?" she wanted to know. "Uncle Marshall likes kids, and he _loves_ you!" she even gathered her hands near her chest, batting her eyelashes like she was playing matchmaker, then and there.

Mary frowned without thinking, "What makes you say that?"

"Because he talks about you every time he comes here and every time he's on Skype with June and Avery! You're his best-best friend!"

"I know, but that's not the same as…"

"I bet he'd marry you because he's so nice. He'd want to be the baby's dad. You should ask him."

And Mary couldn't help but laugh for real, even though her cheeks were burning, but Brianna's version of events was so warped and yet so simple sounding. If only it were really that easy – pick a good boy, select him to raise your child, get hitched, and call it a day. Love never even had to factor into it by her logic. And with all the uncertainty she'd had swirling in her brain over the last week, Mary almost wished she could go that route and have it seem perfectly normal.

"You should get to bed or your dad's going to come looking for you," she gestured toward the door without responding to Brianna's plan. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay…" with a sigh, she hopped down, pattering to the door on bare feet. But, then she stopped and whirled around in the frame, pointing a serious finger as she grinned, "You should think about what I said."

No doubt she had heard this expression from others in her life, but Mary just shook her head, "Goodnight, Bri."

"Goodnight!"

XXX

**A/N: I thank-you all again – profusely! – for your continued interest in this story! I feel like it must be going slowly because it is so long. It's only been about a week in Mary/Marshall land, but it's been over a month of posting! Thank-you so much for hanging with me!**


	40. The Legacy

**A/N: I sincerely hope this chapter is worth the wait – it's a big one! Hopefully it doesn't seem too out-of-the-blue either!**

XXX

That night, Marshall had trouble falling asleep. He'd needed the excess of rest the day before due to the bad bundle of oysters he'd been foolish enough to order, but now it appeared his system was all out of sorts, and the constantly changing time difference didn't help. He tossed and turned in the blankets covering him where he resided on the couch for what felt like at least a half an hour. From his position in the living room, he could see out onto the wraparound porch in the front yard, lit up by a shining silver moon, throwing the planks on the steps into relief. The sliver of the lunar half-sphere reminded Marshall of a fingernail, caught among the fragments that were the stars.

It was a little too warm in Ted's house, as his brother didn't like running the air conditioning while everyone was sleeping, and a single fan was whirring idly next to the armchair across the room. The sounds were soothing, the solar system twinkling above provided just enough light; there was no reason he shouldn't be able to drift off.

Yet, it became much harder to do so when he heard a distinct thud sound from upstairs. It could be anything, of course, because the floors in the older house creaked so precariously when anyone set foot on the hardwood. But, it was invitation for Marshall to abandon his frustrations and investigate. After all, if it was Brianna out of bed, he would want to catch her and put her back before Ted found out.

Casting his blanket aside, he tiptoed across the living room and through the dining room, easing open the door that showed him the steps ascending to the floor above. He ended up sidling stealthily along the wall in the narrow space like a cat burglar, hoping not to wake anyone who wasn't already up. Upon reaching the upstairs hall, he noticed that it was pitch dark – except for a shaft of light sneaking under the door at the top of the landing that led to the guest room.

Just to make sure, Marshall glanced quickly over his shoulder to see to it that none of the girls had escaped their bedrooms to bother Mary, but their doors were all shut. This meant that the thump he had heard had to have come from his partner. Too intrusive to just walk away, he crept toward the glowing door, halting before climbing the five steps that would grant him admittance to see if he could catch anything from his side.

Mary seemed to be talking, which told him she must be on the phone, but there was no pause between any of her sentences where someone might be able to answer. His watch told him it was after two in the morning in Albuquerque. Whoever was on the other end of the call, they were getting quite the early AM surprise.

After a few minutes, the woman's voice died away, but other voices seemed to still be present, which was baffling to say the least. When a suitable amount of time had passed and he could stand it no longer, Marshall shuffled up the steps, knocked lightly so as not to startle his partner, and peeked inside.

"Hey…"

"Oh…"

Several things happened at once. Whatever Marshall's efforts not to frighten the woman, she bobbled whatever she was holding at his appearance and managed to throw it onto the night table before she dropped it. Before she'd noticed him standing there, she'd been slumped down in her pillows, her eyes cast dully on the expanse of wall in front of the bed. The second she saw him, she shimmied upward and swiped furiously at her eyes, which made his heart leap up into his throat because it told him she'd been crying.

Marshall knew he should duck out at this point, but his feet remained rooted to the spot – until they carried him further inside.

"I…I'm sorry; I should've waited until you told me to come in…"

"No-no…" Mary clearly wanted to save face and shook her head wildly, sitting up still further. "Forget it. What's up?" still mopping her eyes. "Can't you sleep?"

"Ah, my internal clock seems to be a little off kilter," he claimed, stepping onto the threshold and shutting the door quietly behind him. "It's after midnight; were you talking to somebody?" he pointed to her cell, which was lying on the end table.

"Oh…no…" shaking her head again, lying through her teeth. "It was the TV…"

It was her turn to point, and Marshall at least figured out where the additional voices had been coming from, although she had the sound turned almost all the way down. In any case, he was positive he'd heard her timbre, not some stranger's coming out of a little box.

"Did you need something?" she suddenly wanted to know, but her speech ran together like she couldn't wait for him to tell her so he would leave. "You don't feel sick again, do you?"

Given that she'd seen him eat a hearty dinner just hours earlier, it wasn't plausible to think that Mary really believed the food poisoning was still affecting him. He shot down her theory at once.

"No, I'm fine," he promised, and he was unable to help himself from migrating the rest of the way into the room, settling himself on the edge of the bed near the woman's knees. Watching her fidget around inside her covers and refuse to meet his eyes, "Are you fine?"

The hard swallow wasn't cheering, "Mmm hmm. Yeah."

"Are you sure?" he pushed. "I'd hate to think your eyes were bloodshot from having a few too many beers or something."

Mary didn't laugh, but jerked her head at the television, "No, it was just a…a sad episode; that's all."

Now this was getting pitiful. Even if she'd been telling the truth about the program playing, no way in hell could Marshall be expected to buy that Mary would shed tears over such a thing. She was about as prone to weeping over sappy television as he was to keeping his endless wealth of useless knowledge to himself.

Glancing nonchalantly at the noise behind him, Marshall had to hide a smirk as he realized that Mary's story was crumbling more by the minute.

"It was sad," she insisted, obviously catching his jaunty face.

"Really," it wasn't a question. "A sad scene. On 'Seinfeld.' You don't say."

No one fought to the bitter end more than Mary, "Yeah. That puffy shirt he's wearing makes him look like a pirate. I think that's pretty sad."

Marshall chuckled, "Well, be that as it may, I don't think attire generally makes you tear up." To prove he wasn't messing around, he reached around her form and took the remote control off the table, pointing it at the TV and flipping it off. "Now," he said once the blare of talking heads had faded away. "This is me you're dealing with. What's going on?"

Mary sighed at him forcing her to come clean, but she didn't look angry. She looked tired, which wasn't so unbelievable. As if all her duties at work, with Brandi's wedding, and the adoption weren't enough, she was growing rounder and thicker by the day. Closing in on the final weeks of pregnancy meant she was likely to get slower and more fatigued no matter how much she tried to fight it.

"You know, I really hate that you've seen me lose my shit so many times in the past few days."

Indeed, Mary had succumbed to tears more often than usual as of late, but Marshall wasn't fussed.

"Your secret's safe with me," he swore. "So, then?"

It wasn't honestly practical to expect Mary to bear her soul right away; it wasn't who she was. Until recently, she'd almost have to have a gun to her head in order to admit to feeling emotional at all. In spite of the barriers they'd broken on this trip, Marshall still thought he'd have to work a little harder to get all the details, but he was mistaken.

"I was just leaving someone a message," this fit with Marshall only having heard one half of her conversation from the stairwell. "Something I wanted them to get in the morning."

"Who?"

Eyes straying to the black television, "Mountain States – Patricia Anders."

Those same fireworks that had erupted in the pit of Marshall's stomach suddenly found their spark once more, only this time they might have been joined by Roman candles and pop rocks – a whole display worthy of the Fourth of July could be taking place within his very soul. It took all of his strength not to let this show, to hold the match steady until he was prepared to light the tip and watch the bursts of pink and green and blue fill the night sky. The splendor and the majesty would only be worth it when the awe was at its very peak – not to be ruined by blinking too soon.

"Oh?" the most noncommittal, neutral answer he had to her confession.

"Marshall, I can't do it…"

The match wavered, the tip touching the edge of the box.

"Can't do what?"

"I just…I can't give him…"

Mary's lip quivered unsteadily, her whole face seeming to wobble as the tears dribbled down her cheeks once more. Marshall didn't quite understand it, but the match had struck, scraping its plate, the flame blaring and wavering to the angle of the sparkler. Closer…and closer…

"I can't give him away…I can't do it…"

The fire snaked ever so delicately against the edge, tasting the glimmer that was so near, "Him – Mango?"

A shaky nod, "He…he's mine. I can't let someone else take him; there's no one out there and I'm done looking. I want him; he's mine. I want him with me."

Blast off. The detonation might well have been deafening except Marshall knew he was the only one to hear it. The illustration was as stunning as he'd known it was going to be – showers of shimmering blue waterfalls, starbursts of orange suns, pink pinwheels spinning themselves toward Jupiter, never to be seen again. The moment he had secretly pined for-for nine months had finally arrived and, metaphorical or not, the possibilities were just as beautiful, if not more so than the Technicolor show in his brain.

Relief cleanly washed away the explosion that had gone off, and two single words floated in through the smoke.

At last.

Mango was a Shannon. At last.

And as Marshall sailed back to earth, he knew that his enthusiasm was not entirely matched by Mary's, who still looked very dazed, like she had no idea what she'd just done and was maybe even regretting it. He shouldn't appear too gung-ho or he would spoil the whole thing. Careful, cautious, that was what she needed; all those were things he was known for.

"Wow…" he eventually whispered, hoping his mouth wasn't hanging open. "It…I mean, I would think it must feel good to come to a decision, even if…"

But, Mary had an implosion of her own before he could finish.

"What if I can't figure it out? What if I'm not smart enough or nice enough? What if I want to shove him off after the first week?" her babble was never-ending. "What if I can't do it?"

Marshall extended an arm to quiet her, aware of when his even demeanor was essential.

"Hey, come on; of course you can…" his confidence was not a façade, and he rubbed her knee as she gave another shuddering breath. "You're selling yourself short here; you're more than competent and you'll be an expert after day one…"

"But, it's just me," all the doubts were spilling out now. "He's going to depend on me for everything. He has no father…"

"You don't know that," Marshall reminded her gently, droplets running down her cheeks. "You talk to Mark; I'm sure you can work something out. And, he isn't the only one; what about your mom?"

"Jinx doesn't know anything!"

He gulped down some exasperation, "Well, she got you and Brandi to adulthood okay."

"But, I can't rely on Jinx…"

"You have me," he'd been trying to say this from the start, but she hadn't given him a chance. "I'll be there; I'll help you – whatever you need."

"And, I _want_ your help…"

Astonishment came over Marshall quicker than he could blink, and he was sure he looked the part. Mary voicing that she was willing to accept and even desired any sort of assistance was quite uncommon; she'd spent years claiming she needed no one but herself. This was progress of the highest degree, but it appeared the balloon Marshall seemed to floating in was going to suffer a small puncture.

"I do; I want your help; God knows you know more about kids than I do…" if this was a compliment, Marshall would take it. "But, Marshall, I am going to have enough trouble managing him and my job; you can't take on that responsibility too. Stan would have to fire both our assess…"

"We can work something out; we really can…" the prospects were endless and exciting to him, but sinister and threatening to the woman. "We have Delia now; don't you forget. If Stan has to hire a few additional hands, then he has to hire a few additional hands…"

This, unfortunately, only upset her further, "But, I don't want to lose my job!"

"You're not going to lose your job," every argument she had, Marshall was ready with a valid counterargument. "You will have to take some time off, maybe shuffle some things, but that's further down the road; it will come together when it needs to."

"This is a nightmare…" a moan as Mary buried her face in her hands, though her tears seemed to be drying fairly quickly as she wrangled with Marshall. "I'm never going to be able to pull myself together enough to do this; I'll drive you away with my insanity just trying, you'll see…"

"Mare, come on…"

Though he was repeating himself, Marshall adopted a firmer approach now that he'd tested the waters with serenity. Reaching over, he pried her fingers off her face where she was breathing hard and dramatically underneath. It had been true for as long as he'd known her that Mary went into a tailspin when she lost control, and this was the biggest leap of faith she'd probably ever took. Nonetheless, he was prepared to convince her, in no uncertain terms, that her mission was an attainable one.

"Now, listen to me…"

He could be straight with her and still whisper, still elude a sense of tranquility. His command for her to be alert caused the third sigh of the evening, but she said no more, which he took as an invitation to go on.

"I am very proud of you for coming to terms with what you want," he was careful not to specify that he had secretly suspected she'd wanted Mango all along. "But, it's scary – I know that it's scary, and I'm sure it won't stop being scary even if I promise to be at your beck-and-call twenty-four hours a day…"

Mary gave a slight roll of her eyes with this statement, but stayed silent.

"But, on some level it has to be thrilling – like a roller coaster, you know? The trepidation is palpable when you're climbing the hill, but the drop is exhilarating even if you're on the edge with every foot you fly. You shoot the turns, you even out, and you find your way to the finish line in one piece…"

"Yeah, and sometimes all you do is puke…" Mary was less lyrical as she refuted him, running a hand over her belly agitatedly. "Which is what I feel like doing…"

"That too," he lamented with a light laugh. "There are going to be bumps – there always are; you know that better than anyone."

This was followed up with a quiet puff of air from his friend as she balanced everything he had doled out. Regardless of her fears, he knew that she trusted him implicitly, and if he could be logical, lay down the tracks in a path she would consider walking along, then the journey could truly begin. He knew he was ready, but it might take awhile for Mary to feel the same way.

With her green orbs fluttering girlishly in his direction, "What about the Harmons?"

"Well…" a jab of pity struck the taller of the two, but it did no good to dwell. "What happened to the Templetons when you decided to go in another direction?"

"Mrs. Anders said they'd be returned to the system," she'd hated that expression at the onset, and she hated it now. "Made available for some other birth mother, but they didn't even know I was considering them; it's not the same this time…"

"The Harmons will rise above," Marshall decided while she was speaking. "They seemed like very resilient people, and I hope someone else decides that they are a fit for their baby because they're deserving…"

"They're going to want to kill me," she mumbled in a low voice. "They must hate me. I went all the way there and gave them every reason to think they were going to gain another child, only to pull the rug out from under them."

Honesty might actually help to move this along, "Maybe you didn't think things through like you should have, and that's a lesson learned. But, you needed to figure things out in your own way, and your acidic nature aside, you and I both know you didn't intend to hurt anybody."

Here, he hesitated for a moment, debating whether he should share something that he had suspected since he'd first learned about the Harmons and their history. It seemed there was little he could do wrong tonight in the eyes of Mary, and that was an opportunity he shouldn't waste.

"I may be going out on a limb here, but I couldn't help wondering if – subconsciously – you chose the Harmons because they already had two children," he'd always found this a strange preference on Mary's part. "Not that the loss of a third won't sting, but it's not as if they've never known the joy of being a parent. Underneath, I think you were trying to spare an infertile family the heartache of being dragged along by a string, only to have it yanked away at the last minute."

Marshall's guess was as good as hers when it came to everything that encompassed the adoption. The whole thing read as very gray now, like Mary could no longer discern why she'd done anything leading up tonight when she'd concluded adoption wasn't for her. There was every reason to believe she'd just been going through the motions, too afraid to face the truth, operating on slanted instincts and running from the inevitable.

"My reasons for wanting to keep him now don't really seem like enough to deny these people another kid," she found herself muttering in ignominy. "Their Bernadette – their Arthur."

Marshall shifted atop the bed, rustling the covers and accidentally brushing against Mary's legs. Intuition told him she would squirm away, but she didn't. If anything, she nudged herself closer, which he barely would've noticed except for the fact that her fingers came out from beneath the blankets and found his knee. She cupped it, barely handling him, but touching him nonetheless.

"Well, what reasons are we talking about?" he made no note of her sudden initiation; it would've been stupid if he wanted her fingers to stay where they were. "I don't imagine there's just one…"

"It's ridiculous…" dead set on believing she was wrong. "I want him because I don't want anyone else to have him! Who is that selfish? Chances are he would be a hundred times better off with somebody else, but no, because I'm just so charmingly possessive…"

Marshall sliced right through her sarcasm, "Mary, every mother feels that way…"

"They do not!"

"Yes, they do," he had to be mindful not to laugh. "Every mother who loves their child wants him all to herself – or, for herself and his father, I suppose. I know there are extenuating circumstances, but the majority of healthy, proficient, expectant mothers don't want anyone raising their baby but themselves. The difference is that they don't think of it that way; it's a given," he explained. "You know that you're a bit of a rarity when it comes to the field of adoption, which has forced you to recognize that pull within yourself. Most mothers have it; they just don't identify it."

"If you think your academic psychobabble is going to show me I'm not as egocentric as they come, then you're crazy…"

"Fine, then," his hypothesis cut in two, Marshall didn't brood and moved on. "If you want to believe you're a monster, then that's on you, but you'll never hear me say it. There aren't any other reasons you want to keep Mango close to home?"

He was certain there had to be more to it than protectiveness, which had been ingrained in her from the age of seven. And, by the way she bit on her lip, her fingers tickling absently against his knee, whatever the motive was, it wasn't something she thought Marshall would expect. Mary was well aware, as were most people, that her partner could read her mind like an open book, and surprising him with something private would be new ground for both of them. He wouldn't know what to say or do beforehand, and that was probably unfathomably intimidating for her. Deep down, he knew she enjoyed that he knew her better than she knew herself.

But, in a low, unexpectedly meek sort of voice, she gave up the ghost.

"I just…I saw Brooke and Chris and those boys, and I thought I wanted that for my kid because it's not what I had – I always wanted better for myself," Marshall could've guessed as much. "But, you're the one who said excellence isn't all it's cracked up to be, and I'd rather have him living a discombobulated life with me where he _knows_ it isn't always perfect, but he can still appreciate the few times it is," if that were ever to happen. "I just know I could picture him with someone like your fanatical brother, making a solid climb, and I could never see him with some soccer mom."

This was enlightening to say the least, but Marshall had to think she wasn't done. And, what came next made her previous account about flawlessness look like small potatoes when it came to personal growth.

"I just feel like my life has been what it is for such a long time…" removing her hand from Marshall's knee, she raked it through her hair distractedly. "And, nobody hates change more than I do, but I guess I just got to thinking about who's going to be here when I'm not anymore…"

There was nothing shallow about this, and Marshall nodded, trying not to look too over eager for her to prattle on.

"Do I like to think about this kid having a life apart from me? No…" understandable, given her plight with James. "But, I don't want it to be just…_me_ anymore. I need it to be…_more_ than me…" even though she struggled to get the words out, she found the right ones nonetheless. "Everyone around me is moving up. Jinx is teaching and Brandi's getting married – before I know it you and Abigail will probably be walking down the aisle too." Seeing his mouth open in order to contradict this, "No, I mean, I know you guys hit the skids, but if it's not her you'll find somebody else…"

In its own way, this was generous, even sweet of Mary, and Marshall smiled at the tribute.

"And what do I have?" admittedly, it frightened the man quite a bit that she looked at him as moving past her, but there was another time for that. "I have myself, but I know I have the opportunity for it not to be that way anymore. I guess he, Mango, I guess he's kind of my legacy…" this wasn't said without a slight wrinkle of her nose. "I mean, you'll never hear me call it that again, but…" a shrug. "Don't we all need something to keep us going?"

Here, she had to pause to take a breath, but the man scarcely noticed, too captivated by her declaration.

Muddled and murky though the whole thing was, he wasn't sure he had ever heard a more truthful answer out of Mary in the entire history of their partnership. He'd watched her close herself off for eight years, pushing him and everyone else away, and now she was divulging that even she needed company – something she had passionately opposed for herself for as long as he'd known her.

But, if he harangued her to expand upon anything she had just revealed, it would be asking for her to scram, and he wasn't going to hazard that. Indeed, she already looked jittery and nervous at having confided in him; she kept twirling blonde strands around her fingers and breathing in and out, like the release of air was the only thing keeping her from losing her cool.

"It's funny…" Marshall murmured, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the same moon he'd marveled at downstairs shining out of the window behind Mary's head. "That's the way I felt after Luke died."

"What do you mean?" she was obviously hankering to talk about him, not herself.

"Well, like you said – leave a legacy," he pounded the concept. "Use of terminology aside, when I lost him I lost myself for awhile. I realized that I needed there to be someone other than myself – someone to share all of life's little triumphs and adversities with. And, beyond that, I needed to live that way for him…" it had taken years of revitalization on Marshall's part to figure this out, but now he was glad he had. "He didn't die for nothing, you know. He was looking out for me – being a partner. That's the biggest thing he taught me; how to be a good partner."

Mary smiled softly, "He must have been a hell of a teacher."

He couldn't help himself from copying her, "Well, I hope so, at any rate," it was an effort not to blush, something he seemed to be doing a lot in Mary's presence these days. "But, I know it's different. I know that my finding WITSEC and New Mexico is not the same as you taking on motherhood. But, we all leave our mark somewhere – we all find our calling, even if the wolf howls when you least expect it."

"You are a man of many metaphors…" she stretched her arms over her head, shaking her head and smirking, but looking like she was feeling better by the minute. "But, thanks for the input. I'm glad I'm not totally nuts when it comes to needing more."

"Not nuts," he wagged his head as well. "Luke or Mango, it would appear the goal isn't so far-fetched."

A softened, curious look suddenly came over Mary's face. Squinting at him and tilting her head, her overtly rounded face cast in a hushed glow from the bedside lamp, she seemed content for the first time since he'd snuck into the room.

"Do you miss Luke?"

To some, it would seem a foolish question, but since it was a secret Marshall had harbored from her for so long, she couldn't help wondering.

This time, he emitted his own sigh, "You know, I do," it was like he was telling himself as much as her. "I tried to pretend for a long time that I'd gotten over it. Yes, it was still upsetting – even haunting – but I think I got so caught up in how he died that I didn't spend enough time remembering what he was like when he was here. He was a great friend, to me and to Ted, come to think of it. I do miss him."

In a strangely innocent voice, Mary countered, "I still miss my dad sometimes."

"We're all full of our own skeletons, aren't we?" he mused. "I hope some part of you is relieved about finally landing on a decision," back to the beginning. "Some of the weight has to be lifted."

The blonde hunched her shoulders indifferently, eyes skittering all over in her face, darting away from his, because that penetrating blue stare was key to making her spill her guts.

"I don't know what to feel right now," honest to a fault. "But, you might've thought you were hiding it when I told you ten minutes ago, but you weren't."

"I don't…"

"You're happy, aren't you?" she demanded, and while she was antagonizing him, she also seemed amused by what she perceived to have seen. "Overjoyed, right? A munchkin to practice all your goofy faces and stories and impart your wisdom into? You're on cloud nine."

Stalling for time, Marshall's eyes strayed once again to the scene outside the window, the splinter of moon now partially obscured by cloud cover, but the stars shone as bright as ever. It was a magnificent sight; a world away, things were still as beautiful and yet as unorganized as ever, just as he had forecasted the night he had sat with Mary on the swings.

And, she wasn't going to let him forget her interrogation.

"Aren't you?"

Pulling himself back to the present, all thoughts of staying supportive and indifferent forgotten, all he had to do was look at her shrewd features and know he could finally allow his initial yearning to be known.

"Yes…" he exposed, the scene Mary had described running rampant in his mind. "I'm elated. I really am."

XXX

**A/N: Mango is a Shannon! Rejoice LOL!**


	41. Positive Pain

**A/N: So glad that so many people were happy with the last chapter!**

XXX

Whatever peace Mary had narrowly achieved in the wee hours of the morning with Marshall had vanished by the time she was supposed to get up. For one, the weather was just as it had been the last time she'd woken in Indiana – grey, cloudy, and humid. Low, distant rumbles of thunder bellowed on the far off horizon, signaling that a summer storm might not be far away.

The climate outdoors wasn't the only thing that had Mary experiencing déjà vu either. As it had been on her last morning at Ted's, her stomach ached from the minute she opened her eyes. There was no telling if it was his tension-filled presence that was balling her up, the hard mattress, or coincidence, but she didn't enjoy it. This time, the pain was sharp and stabbing when it struck, forcing her to tread lightly as she dressed, forgoing a shower so she could appear presentable.

Stability and consistency was definitely a feature in Ted's house, because when Mary made it down the stairs and into the dining room, everyone was eating their breakfast at the rectangular table. The only difference was that June was not playing her cello, but enjoying a plate of bacon, and Ted himself was nowhere to be found. Slightly diffused and hazy-feeling, the weight of last night's decision starting to fall heavily in the clear light of day, Mary's insides gave an unpleasant lurch at the sight of all the food. She absolutely was not hungry. It would be far safer to wait until lunch before eating.

Leann saw her first, peering up briefly as she chewed scrambled eggs, "Good morning, Mary."

"Good morning, Mary…" June and Avery chorused like a choir, and Marshall gave a cavalier jerk of his head, throwing her a smile because his mouth was full.

Brianna abandoned her meal and perched onto her knees at once, shifting around so that she was staring at the guest over the back of her chair.

"Hi, Mary!" she cheeped like a little sparrow. "Uncle Marshall said we could play a game before you leave again!" it was as if it had been pressing on her mind all night, remembering the man's promise and holding on tight with both hands. "I want you to play with us! You can even pick what game if you want!"

This was all so trivial given everything that Mary was dealing with, and she could only mouth soundlessly in response. She could tell by Marshall's face that he was going to rescue her from the merriment but Leann, who couldn't even see Mary, took care of that for both of them.

"Bri, you _ask_ if Mary would like to play; you don't tell her…" this advice was actually good, and was said more gently than if Ted had done the honors. "You sit on your bottom and finish your toast."

Sighing, swinging her cropped hair around her shoulders, the little girl slumped in her seat once more, wheels turning feverishly about how she could bully anyone who was willing into doing her bidding. Glad she'd been given an out, Mary prepared to get on with greetings, as she had said nothing since entering the room, but Leann was on top of that as well.

"Would you like some breakfast, Mary?" she wanted to know, repeating her lines from Saturday to a T. "Ted is in the kitchen frying up some more bacon."

"Sure, I'll…I'll go and see…" she lied about wanting to eat, knowing it would be simpler with one person rather than a group. "Thanks."

Scraping of forks on plates met her words, but Marshall's eyes didn't leave hers as she traveled across the room to the back of the house. In moments, she could expect to have her partner hot on her tail, ready to ask how she was doing after the night before, but she wasn't ready to rehash it all at the moment. Her belly was cramping worse than ever, making her slow and sensitive to touch. The pain was fairly constant, and dulled, which meant she probably didn't have anything to worry about, but the stress was tiring and she was already sleepy from having been up half the night with Marshall.

In the kitchen, Ted was standing at the stove as promised, turning the bacon with a dishtowel tucked in his belt. He glanced in the open doorway upon hearing Mary's footsteps, but was quick to return to his cooking, probably full of disapproval that she'd missed breakfast yet again.

"Morning…" he sniffed curtly. "How did you sleep?"

This was politeness and nothing more; Mary didn't believe for a second Ted gave a damn about her rest, but it was for Marshall that she gathered the courage to respond cordially.

"Well, thanks," this was her second lie of the morning, but it wasn't hurting anyone. "Having a break from hotels is welcome," she leaned against the fridge as she faced him, hoping it would ease her twinges. "I appreciate you putting me up – me and Marshall. I know he's grateful too."

Ted seemed surprised she could be so genial, or at least so normal-sounding and without her trademark sarcasm. A little pleased she'd thrown him off the mark; she put a hand to her lower back and rubbed a sore spot, knowing Ted thought he was going to have to make more of an effort now that she'd behaved so unpredictably affably.

"I enjoy seeing Marshall," the obligation to this statement was glaring, but Mary let it go. "It doesn't happen often enough. I was glad to finally meet you as well."

"Well, back at you," this was mostly true. "Marshall isn't exactly private, but he doesn't like to bring his personal issues to the office, so I didn't know that much about his family before this trip."

"You said you met my dad though, right?" it was like he was catching her in a trap.

Mary remembered his prickliness about Seth and was guarded, "A few years back, I did."

"I'm a little curious as to what you thought of him," he flipped the bacon onto a plate waiting next to the stove and took the pan off the burner, turning it down. "He can be a little hard to read."

Even though she had a million other things to think about, Mary saw a delightful prospect in the man's inquiry and she ran after it like she was pining for water in the desert. If she wanted to get into Ted's good graces, now was her chance.

"He was a bit of a puzzle," this would make Ted's opinions seem valid. "But, a go-getter for sure. Then again, I spent most of his first day in town hassling him for embarrassing stories about Marshall, so you can take my perspective with a grain of salt."

Ted might be tied to rules like Snidely Whiplash, his victims, and the train tracks, but her little jab about Marshall and Seth earned her points. The idea of his glock-wielding father poking fun at his baby brother was a humorous sight to him, and Mary was astonished to see a reluctant smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. Apparently, this didn't come just from her punches toward Marshall.

"So, it was tricky for you to figure him out," he wanted confirmation.

"Sure, in a lot of ways," this would show him that he wasn't the only one that troubled himself over his father's personality. "Mostly when it came to Marshall and his talent in his career. I was totally confused as to why he would think he wasn't cut out for the job."

A dreary, steeling look suddenly spread over Ted's face, and the woman didn't immediately realize where she'd gone wrong; they'd been making remarkable strides in just a few short minutes. But, when he opened his mouth, speaking to the bacon and not to her, she realized her error and cursed herself for not being more vigilant about what she'd said.

"Dad thought Marshall wasn't the right build for law enforcement because of what happened with…"

In an instant, Mary knew he was going to say 'Luke' and she felt terrible, because Marshall had said that Ted had been his friend as well. But, her incompetence wasn't the only thing that was making her feel terrible. A sudden pierce to her abdomen nearly doubled her over right onto the kitchen floor; she actually did bend over, clutching the refrigerator for support. While she managed to avoid crying out, the stab was startling to say the least, but it got Ted's mind off Luke, and that was something.

"What's the matter?" he asked at once, sounding marginally concerned as well as businesslike.

"I'm…I'm okay…" but Mary had to fight to get the words out, gasping the entire way.

"You need to sit down," Ted decided at once. "Get off your feet, and have a drink of water," he was like Marshall in his efficiency, but held none of his gentleness. "There's a chair over here…"

And, as though from thin air, he swept up an old brown seat for her to drop into, which she did mostly because she had no choice. She felt like telling him that the change in altitude was no help at all, that her belly still hurt something awful, but that didn't fit in with her plan to kill the older Mann with kindness. Instead, she settled for a scowl that could pass off as a grimace of pain, and managed some haphazard breathing to cope with the intensity.

Still, Mary wasn't entirely jumpy about where the contractions were coming from, not when they were so inconsistent and changed with the drop of a hat. They were an inconvenience at best. Across the room in the lone chair, she steadied her breaths as the fist clenching her insides loosened its grip and Ted reappeared with the fanciest looking water bottle she'd ever seen. Fresh out of the fridge, shining with condensation, the container was a bizarre square shape, some pretentious logo plastered to one of the sides.

Without comment, she unscrewed the cap and began to drink, panting for air a few more times as she did so.

"You're supposed to take deep, cleansing breaths," Ted instructed as he eyed her from his position at the stove. "It's a quick, brief inhale and then a slow, steady exhale."

Lips pursed over the rim of her bottle, Mary forgot her mission and shot him a frown that could not be mistaken for anything else. For someone who had never had a pregnant wife, he sure thought he knew a lot about the species.

"I didn't know you doubled as a doctor. Physician _and_ detective. Impressive."

Ted narrowed his brows, "It's textbook," he informed her pompously. "You haven't read up on this? You're only a few weeks away from delivery, right?"

"I do better when I wing it," Mary fabricated just to quiet him. "And anyway, this is child's play compared to some of the blows I've taken," another sip of her water. "Don't make it into a production or Marshall will flip his gourd."

This seemed to spark his interest elsewhere, which was good for her, "Marshall always did have an affinity for fostering those he deems in need. When we were kids, he brought home so many stray dogs that my mother started saving useless scraps of meat just so there would be something for them to eat if Marshall refused to turn them loose."

This was endearing, even to Mary, who didn't particularly have a taste for such sap. Nonetheless, it only reinforced her notions that he would be the perfect candidate to guide her as she ushered Mango into the world.

"From what he's told me, though…" apparently, Ted wasn't done, even as he took a bite of bacon. "You don't have much of a predilection toward allowing people to lend a hand."

She snorted through her beverage, "You're more like him than you think," she observed. "You both sound like you've swallowed a dictionary," targeting his use of the word 'predilection.'

"But, am I right?"

Forgetting that being accurate was important to Ted, Mary was okay with him ignoring her comparison and shrugged her shoulders, glad the pain had gone so she didn't have to be so embarrassed.

"I humor him sometimes," referring to Marshall's bouts with affection. "But, when he gets too touchy-feely I don't waste time telling him to back off."

It was clear that Ted was biting his tongue on this, probably battling an inner urge to tell her off for operating under such rude behavior so much of the time. She almost enjoyed watching the struggle – at least it meant he was trying. But, in order to avoid a beating and turning him down when he offered her a strip of bacon, she remembered how she had come to be in a sitting position with him towering above her.

"Why is this chair in here, anyway?" it was a dumb question, but it put them on impartial ground again. "Seems kind of out of place, and I know discord in furniture arrangement must drive you up the wall."

She smirked unwisely, thoroughly enjoying getting Ted's goat now that she'd at least attempted to be nice, but his poker face didn't move one iota. He blinked slowly, not unlike Avery had done when Mary had teased her about cheating.

"It's the time out chair," he informed her stodgily. "When the girls were younger – June and Avery, that is – it's where they sat when they got in trouble. Brianna still spends quite a bit of time in it, frankly."

Mary knew, then and there, that there would be no such punishment spot in her household. As her first decision of motherhood, it was an odd one, but it was a start. For someone of Mary's disposition, it might seem unusual that she would be against stuffing her kids in the corner with the dunce cap on, but it seemed awfully counterproductive to her. How would they learn if they were simply shoved out of sight?

But, rather than ridicule Ted's parenting – because she really wasn't one to talk – she decided to give him a bit of a clue as to how he came off as a father, and how he could easily remedy such a thing.

"You know, I think your girls are fantastic," it was a flowery word for Mary, but she used it anyway. "And this is coming from someone who can only take other people's kids in small doses," a joke. "Beats me how they could ever end up in time out."

Ted shook his head in a superior way as he nibbled his bacon, as if the woman didn't have the faintest idea what she was talking about.

"June and Avery are learning," this was such a laugh, because June was a mini-adult already, but Mary held fast. "But, Brianna has a long way to go."

She inclined her eyebrows, trying not to smirk too knowingly, "You know, Ted, what I said was a compliment," since he obviously didn't recognize one when he heard it. "Kids have their bad patches, but your group is pretty exceptional," if wooden and sheltered. "That's a testament to you, don't you think?"

"I do," this was far from modest, but she really should've expected nothing less from him. "But, parenting is about teaching – it's about disciplining, about making sure your kids grow up to be…"

Mary interrupted without thinking about it; "You don't think it's about enjoying the ride?" she even let out a sardonic laugh that she hadn't meant to release. "About praising them when they have a victory? You don't want them to think they can't do anything right, do you?"

This well-phrased question could easily go either way. Ted might want to defend himself, to say that of course his children did things well and that he recognized it. Or, he might go on more of a rampage than ever and say that being a mother or father was about rules and regulations, plain and simple. This was a guy molded from Seth Mann, after all.

But, whatever the blonde's candor and whatever she anticipated; it seemed Ted was going to throw her for a loop.

"Why would they think that?"

So flabbergasted she actually craned her neck backwards, she eyed him curiously, taking in his hushed tone and his dumbfounded face. This was Marshall's brother. Marshall, who was more perceptive, more intuitive, and more intelligent than anyone Mary knew, and here was the example Seth had tried to sculpt for him. He didn't get it. He wasn't self aware enough. He actually didn't get it.

Because of this, Mary opted to take it easy on him; it wasn't entirely his fault he was dim.

"Well, do you remember the last time you said something to one of the girls that wasn't reminding them to follow the letter of the law – that wasn't a reprimand or something close to it?"

She kept her voice fixed so he couldn't say she was being accusatory, dipping her chin to peer upward at him. He appeared to be thinking, and she realized for the first time that his more natural features actually made him resemble Marshall quite a bit. They both had that same look of a little boy working through a difficult math problem.

"Well, but I…but, that doesn't mean…"

"Ted, I'm not here to give you advice. You've got three _great_ girls and that doesn't happen by accident," targeting the accolade. "They're just…you know, they're more than future productive members of society," it was the best way she could put it. "I know it was how you grew up – it's hard to break out of that shell. I grew up with a father that thought I was nothing but a caretaker."

"The fugitive," he pinpointed, proving he wasn't going to be beaten and that Marshall did tell him a thing or two.

"Yeah, that's the one," Mary grumbled.

But, Ted didn't stay on that subject for long, "I love my girls," he insisted, both to himself and to the woman. "I just want them to be respectful and responsible…"

"And they are," she reminded him. "But, you should see the way Bri completely loses it when I tell her she's good at something, and I know kids can be attention hogs and whatnot, but she'll take anything you give her like its candy."

Crossing his arms over his chest and still looking bewildered, "I wouldn't really have considered you to be a poster child for positive reinforcement."

"A gold star for that one," Mary even saluted him with her hand that wasn't supporting the water bottle. "I wouldn't have considered myself the type either, and if I were the one doing the parenting I'm sure I'd fail miserably at the very thing I'm trying to advocate." A half-hearted slump of her shoulders, "Go figure, huh?"

"I think that's called being a hypocrite."

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes to show she recognized this and that she wasn't offended.

"We've already established that you know big words," she told him. "Marshall will tell you I'm pretty talented in the hypocrisy department, but I can tell you that this is different. I _like_ your girls, and if you knew me at all you would know how rare that is when it comes to ankle-biters…"

"I think I could've guessed," Ted stated, luckily not mentioning her adoption sketch, because he would've been making a gaffe in assuming that was still her chosen path.

She blew right past his remark and got on with her intentions, "These are a good crop of munchkins you have," she used all the semi-degrading terms for kids on purpose in hopes that he would loosen up. "And, I know you love them, but in my world, it's Marshall I'm thinking about. He loves them too; he wants for them to be happy…"

"Aren't they?" now they were getting close to insults, so Mary hurried to turn things around.

"Near as I can tell, but I don't think a more encouraging word in their direction now and again is really going to hurt anybody. They aren't going to forget how to clean up their rooms or dust the mantle or shine your shoes…" this was meant as a tease, and Ted almost grinned. "Or even that they're supposed to. You don't really believe they'd turn into little heathens if you relax just a little, do you?"

"I…I mean…" he stammered disjointedly. "It was never something I really wanted to find out…"

On this front, Mary managed to stand up, her stomach having settled, and was pleased to see that Ted didn't offer her a hand. He might be a gentleman in his own weird way, but he obviously recognized that the woman could take care of herself. Standing eye to eye with him, Mary realized she could almost look him straight in his hazel orbs, for he was shorter than Marshall. In the swirling mass of clouds staring back at her, she saw more than she ever expected to. She saw a man that had thought he'd been traveling the straight-and-narrow his whole life, and was now worried over the fact that he might've been wrong to take that course. She saw uncertainty, insecurity, and even a little bit of melancholy that came from not being close with his brothers, his father, and for losing a friend like Luke.

She suddenly hoped the girls didn't have a hard time being happy because Ted had an equally as difficult time achieving solitude.

"Look, the unsolicited advice really isn't like me…" and given everything Mary had been through the night before, it was tough to work out why she was focusing on this; probably because it kept her busy. "So, it won't hurt my feelings if you take it with a grain of salt. I'm saying what I'm saying because of Marshall."

Until that moment, Mary hadn't known such a thing herself, but it made perfect sense and, more importantly, Ted seemed to understand it as incentive.

"I really rake the guy over the coals; I do. But, he's my best friend and he's done a hell of a lot more for me than I've done for him…" he flinched when she swore, but it was easy to bypass. "I really think that he misses you, and I know he misses the girls. And, you know…" she took another chug of water as she wrapped things up. "A little relaxation all around might be good for everybody."

Whether it meant anything or not was up for debate, but big brother Mann did nod at the close of her dialogue – whether it was a nod of approval was anybody's guess. But, he wasn't planting himself in his agenda or telling Mary off for daring to go toe-to-toe with him. It seemed even the most rigid could recognize what the promise of a tight-knit family could mean.

"I'm just…you know…saying," Mary tacked on, perhaps so they didn't end on such a dramatic note.

"Well, I…" it was clear he wanted to answer quickly so he could appear to be in tune to her suggestions, but he fumbled before finding the right words. "You're like no other woman I have ever known, Mary. That's for sure."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," she mused roughly, trying to smile.

"But, for what it's worth, you can tell Marshall I miss him too. I'm not the best at saying it."

"That makes two of us," Mary was familiar with her own inability to express her feelings. "You should probably get back in the dining room, though…" signaling he was free to leave without facing dreaded impoliteness. "I know if I were capable of eating like a normal person, I'd be looking for that bacon right about now."

For the first time since she'd set foot in Indiana, Ted actually laughed. It was a little stilted, almost creepy because it was so foreign on him, but it was an effort and that was really what counted.

"I'll do that, then," he informed her, turning his back on his guest. "If you want anything else to drink, help yourself."

"Thanks."

And without another word, he was gone. The minute he disappeared down the constricted hallway, she flopped back down in the stray chair, not realizing just how much her feet throbbed these days when she was on them for too long. The water, despite its swanky labeling, was blissfully cold and Mary continued to gulp it down, but she wasn't by herself for long. Marshall appeared in what felt like seconds, a jaunty spring in his step as he practically skipped onto the linoleum and saw Mary sitting there.

"There you are!" he announced as if he'd made a magnificent discovery. "I thought you'd come back with Ted. How are you this morning?"

There was no estimating what he meant by this. In fact, Mary was a little surprised herself at how well she was dealing with such an enormous decision. Her lecture with Ted had succeeded in taking her mind off it, but when thoughts of Mango crept in, they were as overwhelming as they had been as she lay under the moon with Marshall.

"Just…you know…" no reply here was going to be all that satisfying. "Trying to wrap my head around things. How are the girls?"

"They're great. I imagine we will be roped into playing something with Bri before we hit the road, but it'll have to be soon," Marshall declared. "Leann says there's a storm brewing in the direction we're going; we'll need to get a move on."

This explained the remote growling thunder Mary had woken up with, and she hoped it wouldn't cause too much of a ruckus. Now more than ever she needed to get home and start preparing for life with a newborn.

"You think we can get out of here in a half hour or so?" she approximated, scratching behind her left ear vaguely.

"Sounds about right," Marshall concurred. And then, as if suddenly noticing where she was perched, "Have you been bad?"

His little joke earned him an astute scowl, but he obviously knew what the chair was for, which had been more than Mary could say for herself minutes earlier.

"No," a short response. "I had some sort of…spasm, I don't know…" she was offhand on purpose so he wouldn't freak out. "It was nothing, but Ted obviously didn't want a liability on his hands, so he made me sit down."

"You're all right, though?" Marshall's ingrained instinct to ask reared its head. "Nothing out of the ordinary?"

"It's nothing," his partner decided. "Not enough sleep, not enough stomach, not enough room to sit comfortably…" the list went on and on. "I can only feel so good at this point, right?"

"Yes, I suppose," Marshall chuckled. "Sounds like Ted was exemplifying his alter ego, Ted the Tenderhearted, rather than Ted the Tyrant."

This took Mary back to their juvenile discussion on the courthouse bench where he'd come up with their own superhero names – Inspector Brave Star and Courageous Crystal or something so horrifying. He was kind, he was watchful, he was smart, and he was even silly when the moment called for it. Until now, Mary hadn't really registered just how much of 'everything' he truly possessed.

Rising once more because she knew she was going have to proceed back to the dining room soon, she smiled and strove for one last minute of charity on behalf of Ted, terrible or otherwise.

"Yeah, Ted the Tender isn't such a bad guy, really…" despite his issues with his brother, Mary knew Marshall would appreciate the memo on his behalf. "I tried to give him a few hints about how you're really not either."

"Who, me?" the man put on a face of mock surprise and showed just how similarly their minds were truly wired underneath. "Inspector Brave Star? I am as noble as they come, ma'am. If ever you should need saving from the tyrant, I'm your man."

"Thanks…" Mary bestowed with a shake of her head. "But, I think I'm good."

XXX

**A/N: So, Ted may still be no fun at all, but at least he and Mary are parting on better terms!**


	42. Bleeding Out

**A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters! I can't say for sure why, just that it is probably the only chapter in the history of any of my stories that I wrote in one sitting. Usually I write a little, leave it for awhile and come back later (be it hours or days,) and go through the cycle until I'm finished. This one I sat down, wrote, and got it done all at once! It must've been flowing out of me!**

XXX

It seemed Leann's forecast about the budding storm was right on the money, and the further Mary and Marshall traveled, the worse it got. What started out as an excess of wind turned into fat, heavy droplets of rain, progressing to a summer shower, and finally a full-fledged downpour as they neared the six o'clock hour that evening. Ordinarily, the sun would just be starting to sink in the distance, casting long, warbling shadows across pavements and tree trunks. But on this Friday, it was nearly as dark as night, the rain smattering the windowpanes as Marshall attempted to see through the gloom. Beside him, Mary was fiddling with her phone, trying to figure out how much further they might be able to go before settling in for the night.

"Mare, this isn't a good idea; I really think I should pull off and stop somewhere…"

Marshall wasn't a traditionally fearful man, but he was starting to feel nervous about the prospects of making it out of the storm alive. His windshield wipers were swiping furiously on the maximum setting, but it was to no avail. The rain was falling too fast for them to keep up. He could just barely see the blazing red taillights of the car in front of him, and he was constantly braking just in case he was closer than he thought.

But, as Mary wasn't the one driving, she had a more conquering attitude, relying on the information on the phone to guide them through.

"No, keep going…" she insisted, her fingers working a mile a minute. "If we can make it another twenty minutes or so, it's supposed to let up, and then we might have a chance of making it to Missouri on schedule…"

"Do you have any idea how long twenty minutes actually is in weather like this?" Marshall was now peering low, trying to see out the patch of windshield below the wipers that was clearer. "It'll probably be more like forty-five, and I shudder to think where we might end up in that time. I can't even see the highway signs…"

"You know the way," it was obvious Mary was too anxious to get home in the next few days to allow anything to set them back. "Put the pedal to the metal, grandma…"

"Unadvisable," he informed her, ignoring the slight on his cautious driving. "We'll start hydroplaning if I go any faster."

"Please, this is no flood," at least, she didn't think it was. "It's a thunderstorm; they're not new. It could be worse; it could be twenty below and snowing or something…"

"We should've just stayed where we had lunch…" Marshall suddenly decided, proving he wasn't listening at all, but Mary wasn't either. She had now set her phone aside and was digging in her brown tote, which was sitting on her lap. "If we'd gotten up early tomorrow morning we could've made up time…"

"Would you stop worrying?" the woman sniped, tired of his whining. "If I can gun it through a salt mine speeding away from a sextet of car thieves, then you can handle this drizzle…"

But, as she glanced out the front window, she saw that 'drizzling' was definitely underselling what was going on outside. The speed of the windshield wipers was dizzying, but through the gaps in the splotches of rain on the glass, she could see that cars seemed to be floating along the street rather than driving. It was hard for her to determine how fast Marshall was really going, but the tires were making an unpleasant noise, like they were trying to squelch through waves.

"Drizzle, huh?" he mocked, seeing the look on her face.

Mary could drop her casualness when it was warranted, "Well, all right. I guess it's not so much a drizzle as it as a monsoon, but hey, we're explorers or something, right?" she needed to appeal to Marshall's sense of adventure if she was going to persuade him to continue on the road. "What might you call it? Conquistadors?"

"Impressive verbiage…" she noticed his knuckles were whitening around the steering wheel, and he was more hunched over than ever. "Unfortunately, a conquistador specifically refers to…"

But, his history lesson was cut off by a high-pitched, shrilling squeal somewhere close by. Instinct made Marshall slam on the brakes, as it was impossible to tell through his side windows if they were anywhere near whoever was trying to burn rubber. Unintentionally, Mary was sure, he stopped so abruptly that she flung forward, caught by her seatbelt, her hands slapping against the dash.

"Sorry…" the taller took his eyes off the road for a split second to check on her. "I just didn't know what happened; I think it's up ahead…" jerking his head at a blurry scene in the distance that Mary would have to take his word for because she couldn't make it out. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine…" his partner assured him, settling back in her seat and reverting to her phone for updates once more. "According to the local folks around here, we're right in the thick of it, but it's supposed to be a pop-up shower – not supposed to last long. If you can keep moving, we'll be out of it soon…"

"I don't know; I think there's an exit nearby…" he said this as he tooled the car back into traffic, for he'd veered onto the shoulder when he'd braked so unexpectedly. "If it's supposed to let up in the next hour, we can just hang out until then…"

"But, it's not supposed to let up _here_," she emphasized, jiggling her cell as if that would help with her patchy Internet connection. "We'll have to get out of town to escape it. Don't ask me how it can be pouring on one side of the state line and be perfectly sunny on the other, but that's global warming for you…"

"Even so…"

"Stopping here would suck," Mary didn't give him a chance to finish. "Half the businesses around here have lost power," gesturing at her phone, showing him where she'd gotten the information.

"Listen, Mary…" by the tone of his voice, the blonde could tell she was about to be reasoned with. "I may admire your courage, but it's a little imprudent in this instance…"

If there was anything to 'admire' in this scenario, it was the way Marshall continued to bargain with her when he could've easily done whatever he wanted because he was the one at the wheel. But, a testy, temperamental Mary on top of the weather probably wasn't something he wanted to mess with, even if she was already distracting his focus from getting through the shower smoothly.

But, however Marshall was going to try and convince her of the 'better safe than sorry' method, she wasn't going to find out. A panicky, bemused sort of look had spread over his features and he tried to pound the gas to remedy whatever he had determined was off, which shot them onward through the road, water spraying helter-skelter in every direction as the tires tore through the heavy puddles.

"What's going on?" Mary had to yell to make herself heard over the splashing, for the SUV was now being drenched in the gutter water that they'd hovered through. "What are you doing? I thought you said going too fast…"

"I was still stuck on the shoulder when I hit my brakes and didn't realize it – I couldn't get back on the main street…"

Cupping her hands around her eyes, Mary tried to see out her passenger window, but she could no more tell if they were trundling along on the edge of the highway or straddling the center line, in danger of being bowled off the road all together. But, Marshall seemed to be keeping it together fairly well; he didn't look as apprehensive as he had a minute ago, at least.

"Are you good?" she asked slowly, now feeling a little badly she had roped him into continuing on their dangerous trek. "You know where you are?"

"I…I think so…" but, he didn't sound very sure, and judging by the noise coming from the floorboards, he was testing the gas pedal lightly and wasn't getting the desired results. "I just need to get my tires facing the right direction…"

Thinking of her own well-being, Mary stayed quiet for a minute while he tooled around; they seemed to be moving forward, so that was a positive. But, something was definitely off about the way they were migrating through the overflow of water that didn't have anywhere to drain. A spinning noise was coming from the ground, like the tires couldn't find any traction to cling to.

"We're back on the road now, at least…" the male inspector tried to sound heartened that they were no longer stuck on the side, and since there was a car in front of them, it seemed he was right. "I'm just not in the divots like I want to be; I keep hitting the current…"

"Well, if you can spot an exit and you want to pull off, I guess that wouldn't be such a bad idea…" Mary was willing to give up her assignment for him, even if it meant being behind on arriving home, which was supposed to occur in two days on Sunday. "But, how you're going to see it is a mystery to me…"

"I'm actually afraid trying to change lines to hit the ramp might be more hazardous at this point," he speculated. "Twenty minutes you said?"

"If we're lucky…"

"Between the two of us and Mango, let's hope our good fortune…"

But, he was about to fall right into a trap of dramatic irony, because before he could finish his sentence, the car in front of them came to an abrupt stop, it's rear lights blazing in red pinpricks among the rain. Marshall noticed just in time, following suit and braking hard again, but the tires seemed to have given up on seeking the dry pavement below the flood. A great cascade of water spurted from all sides, hydroplaning them forward just as Marshall had predicted.

"Crap!" he shouted, his foot working furiously against the brake as if this would do any good. "Oh, man…"

Mary was sure they were going to hit the car in their line of vision, and braced herself for the impact, eyes wide, but somehow they managed not to. The split second of relief was short lived, because when the other car motored onward, the SUV continued to slide precariously through the fleet of water. At worst, they were going to careen sideways back onto the shoulder, which at this point didn't seem so bad.

"Pull off – just pull off!" Mary demanded, which she knew was not helping, but she wanted Marshall to know she'd changed her mind. "Get off the road!"

"I'm trying!"

"Don't pummel the gas or the brake, just ease off – it'll be fine…"

"The standing water's too high; I can't…!"

For all Mary knew, they were floating free in the middle of a busy freeway, but at that moment, a startling honk blared into their midst, and a passing motorist tried to blow into their lane – or wherever they were stationed. Marshall tried to brake again as the newcomer couldn't hold his own and waded his way to an ungraceful stop, but the inspector wasn't fast enough. The tires were whirring out of control through what might as well be ocean tides, and Mary had the distinct and terrifying sensation that they weren't going to be able to stop no matter how hard they tried.

"Shit – shit-shit-shit!" her hand flung out and gripped Marshall's shoulder.

"I know…!"

And, when it was obvious they were going to crash hard into the back bumper, Marshall made a split second decision, jerking the wheel to the right. It was good in theory, but Mary felt an immediate slope downward with the change in direction and the SUV began to slide with no guidance, no way to call a halt to the plummet they were about to embark upon.

"Look out!" Marshall bellowed.

"Brake again!"

"I can't!"

"We're going to hit something…!"

And again, "Look out, look out!"

Mary saw it just in time. Down the incline they careened, right in the direction of a metal speed limit sign. Acting on instinct, barely thinking, her hands closed around the tote that was still in her lap and flung it over her head just as the car slammed into the silver post, the metal clang of the rectangular sign crashing through the passenger window, shattering it to pieces, which trickled down like glitter all over the right side of the car.

Mary screamed and Marshall let out a yell. Foolish though it was, one of the hands holding her bag to her skull came loose and grappled for her partner's on her left even though she had her eyes shut. His palm closed in on hers in seconds and Mary felt him lean his weight to the opposite side, trying to shield her, but he was impeded by his seatbelt and couldn't get any further than an ungraceful splay across the cup holders.

The whole thing felt like it lasted for ten minutes, even though in reality Mary knew it had taken milliseconds. And, though they'd had to plow into a sign to manage it, at least they were stopped, the back end of the SUV trembling, the tires finding their footing in a patch of mud congealing on the shoulder of the road.

Mary was panting before she realized that they were no longer in motion. Marshall's breaths were loud as well and, no doubt because her eyes were still shut, he got over his terror quickly, turned off the engine and bombarded her at once.

"Mary? …Mary?!"

"I'm okay…" she almost shouted back at him, but she'd been trying to respond quickly so he'd know she wasn't hurt. "I'm fine."

And, at first, she thought she was. True, her heart was pounding so furiously she thought it might crack right through her ribcage at any moment, and she couldn't seem to stop gasping for air, but otherwise she was sure there was nothing serious going on. Blustery wind and buckets of water were seeping into the car from where the window had broken, soaking her in seconds, but she didn't care about that at the moment.

"You're okay; are you sure?" came Marshall's voice again.

"I…I think so…" she managed slowly, finally daring to open her lids, her single hand rigid from supporting the tote over her head. "What about you?"

"I didn't get hit…" he reminded her, as he'd been on the other side of the car. "Let go of that; let me look at you…"

Slowly, Mary pulled the bag down to rest in her lap once more, but she had to be cautious because fragments of glass were sprinkling every inch of the fabric, all of which dribbled onto the floor when she made the slightest movement. Eventually, she was forced to pull her left hand out of Marshall's to help with the process, and that was when she felt the searing, stinging pain in her palms that had seemed virtually absent until now.

"Ow…!" the outburst exploded before she could stop herself, and instinct made her clap one hand over the other to stop the air rushing through the cuts, but this was a mistake. "Ow – Christ!"

"Wait-wait, stop-stop-stop…" Marshall was efficient, realizing that she wasn't as tip-top as she had indicated. "Easy…let me see…"

Wincing, chewing on her lip and trying not to leak any tears out of pure surprise at the sudden, piercing sting on her open flesh, Mary allowed Marshall to peel her slick hands apart. With a nauseating pitch of her stomach, she saw that both palms were drenched in blood, slashed haphazardly on every inch of surface from where she'd flung them over her head to protect her skull. The glass might not have reached a more precious of her body parts, but her hands were ruined. She could even see shards of glass wedged in some of the more gouged cuts and she fought not to vomit at the sight.

"Oh geez…" Marshall remarked upon laying eyes on the same spectacle. "You're gonna need stitches; some of those are nasty…"

"No, I don't; I don't need stitches…" Mary insisted as a reflex, even as the sting transitioned into a throb. "Give me something to wrap up the cuts and they'll be fine; I can get the glass out myself once I clean them up…"

What made her say this, she didn't have a clue, because the prospect of removing those slivers from her own skin made her queasy. She didn't know why the image of all the blood was suddenly making her feel funny, but it probably had something to do with Mango.

As it was, Marshall did not agree with her assessment.

"I don't think so…" and he sounded very serious even as he continued to examine her wounds. "I'm gonna get out and find something in the back to cover the window. Here…" placing a hand inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out two handkerchiefs. "These aren't going to stop the bleeding, but at least it'll help with the pain. Hang tight…"

Folding the cloth in a specific, deliberate sort of way – a way that only Marshall could do it – he set to work first on Mary's left hand, carefully laying the fabric against the reddest portions. It was only when he pressed the handkerchief into her palm to tie it that she hollered, riled by the terrible pulsating of the pressure against her flesh.

"I know, I'm so sorry…" Marshall murmured sweetly. "One more, and then we'll leave the rest to the folks at the hospital…"

"I told you, I don't need to go to the hospital!" Mary barked, even as all her veins seemed to tingle with the charge of pain she'd just felt. "We don't even know where one is, and we'll end up killing ourselves trying to get there!"

"I'll look it up on my phone; if it's more than ten or fifteen minutes I'll call an ambulance."

"You will not!" just the idea was enough to send Mary into conniptions. "Quit babying me; I'm fine! I'm just…" but, he'd just knotted the second scarf and her next phrase was chased away in an instant. "Jesus!"

She cringed as he patted her shoulder as praise for soldiering through, and in spite of her protests, Mary was rapidly realizing as the adrenaline wore off that she felt a lot worse than she'd initially thought. The sight of all the blood and broken glass was making her squeamish, something she'd never had a problem with before. All her fingers were shaking, as they too were dotted with blood, and even though Marshall's makeshift tourniquets helped with the sting, she felt like her palms were severely bruised rather than sliced open.

But, more than the squirmy feeling in her gut and her mangled limbs, her belly was beginning to cramp up, much as it had done that morning at Ted's. Had she hit more than just her hands? Had she flown forward, into the dashboard, perhaps, and dislodged Mango? She hadn't felt like she'd crashed into anything minus the road sign, but how could she be sure? It had all happened so quickly.

One thing was for sure, the cramps were beginning to elevate into a cruel constricting sensation, like all her insides were being squeezed to death until they choked, but the choking never came. They pulsed and panted for air, the hand compressing tighter and tighter until Mary was sure she might really be sick. And, when Marshall returned from having covered the broken window with a blanket he'd had in his backseat, there was no hiding that something was wrong.

"What?" he demanded at once, sliding into his seat, his hair now as sopping wet as hers was. "What's wrong?"

She must look a real sight. One soiled hand was gripping the lower half of her tummy, staining her shirt, trying to squash the mounting ache she felt. Her eyes were closed again and, because she couldn't lean on the window, the back of her head was tipped against her seat while she inhaled and exhaled through the mangling commotion going on in her uterus.

"Mary," Marshall's voice went sharper when she didn't answer. "What?"

"I…I don't know…" her tone had a tremor to it that she tried to get under control. "I…I don't know. My…my stomach just…all of a sudden…"

"What about it?" he barreled on, manic for information. "Do you hurt?"

She could only nod, topping it off with another grimace, trying to shift in her seat to alleviate the constraints, like her intestines were wrapped in chains.

"I…I don't remember getting hit…" she finally managed, perhaps to show Marshall she wasn't purposely withholding anything. "But, it's gotten worse since you went outside…"

"Okay, well, try to breathe…" this was predictable advice, but it was also classic Marshall. "Nice, slow breaths; in and out…"

She did as he said and nodded again, "Right…"

"Stay calm, okay?" out of her half-open eyes, she saw that he was about to pat her dripping hair, but there was glass in it and so he refrained. "I'm sure it's nothing they can't fix at the hospital."

But, even though she'd resigned herself to heading to the emergency room now, ambulance or no ambulance, petrifying thoughts were suddenly flinging themselves at random into Mary's brain. She knew it was the situation, the accident, that was making her more prone to assuming the worst, but it was hard not to when so many things seemed to be shutting down or forming an uprising so quickly.

Making herself open her eyes all the way, she looked into Marshall's frenzied, frantic blue eyes, her green ones not so serene themselves.

"He can't come now…" her words warbled, like she was about to cry, but she battled hard not to come undone. "I'm not ready for him to come now; I haven't had nine months with this, I haven't even had twenty-four hours…" just hearing it out loud was terrifying. "I'm not ready yet; I'm not…"

Fortunately, the man's eyes softened as he saw her beginning to fall apart, and all the anxiety was gone. Sky blue and cloudless once more, he was in his element, back to his old, affectionate self. Instead of stroking her blonde tresses, he settled for patting her arm in recognition of her very plausible fears.

"I don't think you need to be ready now," he whispered over the splattering of the rain, which was rapidly soaking through the blanket over the open window. "You just got bumped around; Mango is probably trying to find his cozy spot again. Once he settles in, I'm sure you'll feel better."

He tried to believe his words as much as he wanted Mary to, and she did bob her head in acceptance, which gave him permission to get them back on the road.

"Don't worry. We're going to find out what's going on."

And, with that, Mary budging around in discomfort beside him, he whipped out his phone to locate the quickest route back to shelter and security.

XXX

**A/N: I was on the road today in a storm not unlike this one, so it is ironic that I should post this tonight – no accident for me, though, thankfully! My utmost appreciation for the reviews – I mean that from the bottom of my heart!**


	43. Boys That Move

**A/N: Much love to you all for continuing to read and review! This one got a little bit lengthy, so hopefully that's not a bad thing!**

XXX

Mary had forgotten just what a different world the emergency room really was. Much like her beloved WITSEC, it operated under its own rhythm, its own heartbeat that was oftentimes misunderstood by the general public. At the moment, she was feeling fairly out of the loop, as did her charges on many occasions, but with Marshall by her side she did pretty well developing a trust and letting the professionals do their work.

That didn't mean Mary wasn't prone to complaining. They made it to the hospital in one piece, although she could've sworn they spent hours in the waiting room before they were finally called back and she was stuffed behind a curtain. With only Raisinettes from the vending machine to appease her, she grew irritable in a hurry. Her hands were extremely sore and the blood had soaked right through Marshall's once-spotless handkerchiefs. One of the only bright sides was that whatever contractions she'd been experiencing immediately after the accident seemed to have subsided. There were twinges here and there, but nothing nearly as intense as she had fretted about.

After being jammed with an IV that the woman found totally unnecessary given her symptoms, a nurse cleaned out her wounds, taking her sweet time, and then an intern came by to numb her up so they could put in her stitches. In agony from having long needles poked into her already stinging hands and all out of candy to boot, Mary wasn't apt to keep her mouth shut.

"How am I supposed to fire my gun?" she groused at Marshall. "With my hands all bandaged up like this?"

The intern, a male who looked to be in his late twenties, raised his eyebrows as he sewed through the gaping flesh. Marshall shot him a kind, amused smile.

"She's a US Marshal," he stated so the other man wouldn't get suspicious. "I am too."

Fortunately for both of them, the doctor went back to his sutures upon hearing this, apparently thinking he wasn't going to be blasted off his ass at any moment if he stitched his patient up incorrectly. If he thought being in law enforcement would have her holding back, he was wrong, but her glock was still in the car, in any case.

"I don't imagine you are going to be showing your training anytime soon…" Marshall predicted, standing over Mary where she was glued to the half-reclined cot inside the cubicle. "Attractive as it might be, unlatching your gun and chasing a perpetrator is heady stuff when one is nine months pregnant."

"Attractive, my ass," Mary snorted contemptuously, feeling the intern pull lightly on her left hand, undoubtedly because she kept wiggling away every time he threaded his needle through her skin. "And, you never know when you might need me to load my artillery. Brandi's wedding on Monday? Woof…"

"Oh, yes…" it was apparent he'd forgotten about the impending nuptials, which was funny since it was the whole reason they'd tried to speed toward home through a downpour. "Rings, gowns, rented shoes, flowers, and sparkling jewelry…"

His eyes were alight with vigor at the prospect, but Mary made a retching noise, trying to mime sticking a finger down her throat, but the man on her left pulled fast on her hand so she couldn't get away.

"Stay still for me, if you would please, ma'am."

Frowning, she shoved her palm back in his direction, hoping he would hurry up so he could fix her other hand and discharge her. She was starting to get punchy with how tired she was; her sleep had been limited the night before what with claiming Mango as her own. The stress of the wreck and the tension as she'd hung around in the waiting room had only increased her fatigue. Not to mention, her shirt was so drenched from the rain you could almost see her bra underneath, but she'd tried using her blazer to cover it. Hair matted and tangled, drying in knots and ringlets around her face, she was going to resemble a battle victim when this day was done given her wrapped up hands.

Marshall must've noticed that she was starting to wear thin, especially when she offered him no verbal response for his little tease about all the feminine aspects that went along with a wedding. From his vantage point, her eyes were starting to dull, and although she was hanging in there, he knew she wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible.

"He's about finished over there, or so it would appear…" he reported in an undertone so the 'he' in question wouldn't hear and correct him. "Once one is done, the second will be a snap, especially now that you're already numb. Then we'll just have to wait for that ultrasound and hopefully we can be on our way…"

The woman sighed, her head flopping backward on the cot, "I told you, I don't need an ultrasound…" getting one just meant more time she wasn't interested in wasting away. "You were right before; once Mango simmered down, the pain was practically nonexistent."

This was really a stretch, as Mary's lower belly was still rather sore, although it was true that it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. In the back of her mind, though, she knew Marshall would never accept her feeble protests. They weren't going anywhere until somebody got a look at the baby.

"It never hurts to take precautions," he spouted in his usual sanctimonious way. "It's probably an extra fifteen minutes, tops, and then you'll know."

"I don't want to know…" his partner sniped tetchily. "I want to leave. I want to go home."

The hint of anguish in her voice at the thought of not sleeping in her own bed for so long definitely reached Marshall. They'd been gone for over a week now, and while they were certainly going to make it through under two, it was a lot of time spent in hotels and still more in the car. In any event, now that Mary was going to become a mother to Mango, she had a lot to do, and Marshall knew she was beginning to feel scrambled about the whole thing.

"Two more days," he reminded her in what he hoped was a buoyant, sunny sort of way. "And we will back in the Albuquerque desert once more. Home, being where the heart is. As in, there's no place like…"

"All right, thank-you, Dorothy," Mary cut him off, wishing she hadn't said anything. "It's not like I'm walking back into anything peaceful, mind you. Do you have any idea how berserk Brandi and Jinx are going to be when we show up on Sunday – wedding-eve?"

"Well, it is a momentous occasion…"

"Not on my watch," proving she was not like most girls. "They better be getting their shit together away from me, because my house isn't going to turn into a dumping ground for all their accessories…"

"Not likely, given that it will undoubtedly feel like a furnace at this point," Marshall remembered how she had avoided paying her air conditioning bill. "Not to tempt them, but you might want to ask one of them to go over there and turn it back on before we get back, because I don't think you're going to fancy…"

"Forget it," the woman didn't even give him a chance to finish. "I give them permission once, and they'll think it's for life. Besides, I don't think Brandi's even intelligent enough to know how to work a thermostat."

Mean though this was, Marshall chuckled anyway just as the intern secured his final stitch on Mary's left hand and padded it with cloth and gauze so the weaving wouldn't be exposed.

"There's one down…" the stranger announced, patting the place where he'd taped her up. "Just leave that bandage on for a few days – and same goes for the other," as he jerked his head at the open wounds still exposed on her right hand, he rolled his handy stool around the other side of the bed, forcing he and Marshall to switch places. "I should just be a few more minutes."

Mary swiveled her head around in the opposite direction so she could continue looking at Marshall, and he immediately bent down to examine her palm, although there was nothing to see with it covered. The sight didn't please Mary at all. Concealing all that blood was one thing, but the tape and bandage was so bulky that she almost felt like she was wearing a pair of heavy mittens. Her fingers had escaped relatively unscathed except for a few minor cuts, but the whole center portion of her hand was virtually useless.

"Nice wrapping…" the taller of the two praised, turning her hand back-to-front to see that no injured inches were exposed. "Got all the glass out and everything."

"Yeah, you want to switch places with me the next time I'm forced to endure something like that?" she let out a moan at the thought, her hand still throbbing even cushioned. "Because having long, sharp, pointy splinters ripped from your flesh isn't exactly a picnic."

While in reality her skin had been completely deadened for the procedure, the injection itself to ensure she wouldn't feel anything had been torturous. It had been a long time since Mary had-had stitches, and she'd forgotten just how nerve-wracking the experience was. Her threshold for pain already a little bit low, she'd nearly bit clean through her lip trying not to yell. She would've gladly accepted holding Marshall's hand through the ordeal, no matter how much of a wuss it made her, but such a thing was impossible given that she couldn't squeeze and not suffer still more discomfort from compressing the cuts. She'd had to settle for him fingering her hair and patting her shoulder, which didn't give her near the satisfaction that choking the life out of his hand would've done.

"Well, you're on the downhill side, you know?" the man was still trying to remain bright and energetic, but Mary's features were shifting from aggravated to miserable quite quickly. "But, I've already said that, and it doesn't seem to have been much help…"

She sighed, "Whatever," and allowed the doctor to get to work on her remaining hand.

Glancing around stealthily, as if anyone would be able to hear him given the hustle and bustle on the other side of the curtain, he bent low just in case, dropping his previous persona.

"Look, I haven't said it yet…" he murmured, probably so Mary wouldn't think he was aiming for a deep moment in the middle of the emergency room. "And, I'm not sure how I missed saying it, but I guess in the rush to get here…" ending his excuses, he got on with his speech. "But, anyway…I'm really sorry," she should've known. "It's really all my fault that we're in this predicament at all and it should be me; I'm the one that crashed the car…"

"Marshall, stop…" the blonde's bad attitude had nothing to do with who was to blame. "You wanted to do the right thing, and I pressured you…"

"Yes, but I was the one behind the wheel," he argued. "I was in control; I could've put an end to things at any time."

"I'm not the easiest person to say 'no' to," Mary admitted, glad that the intern seemed to be minding his own business and concentrating on her sutures. "And, it's not that big of a deal – it's an inconvenience, but I'm okay. It really could've been a lot worse."

"I suppose so, but…"

To put an end to his guilt, or so she hoped, she interrupted him another time, throwing in her own personal towel.

"I'll get the ultrasound, okay?" this ought to please him. "I won't even fight it. And then you'll see it's nothing to beat yourself up about. I'm good; Mango's good; end of story."

"Well, that's very big of you," at least he was acknowledging it. "But, I can't help thinking there's something else that is troubling you, and if it's not this, then…?"

He trailed away, waiting for her to fill in the blank, but she didn't have a concrete response. In all actuality, it was 'this' that was bothering her. Being in an accident and almost getting decapitated by a speed limit sign wasn't anybody's idea of a fun time. The nuisance provided by coming to the hospital and being a slave to the schedule of the doctors upped the ante as well. Add in the aches and pains and she'd be ready to call this a day anytime.

But, in many respects, it was more than just the wreck, as Marshall had indicated. Yes, she wanted to be at home more than anything. She was sick of traveling, of eating boxed snacks and sandwiches with processed cheese, trying to decide between the cheaper restaurants and the nicer ones. She was tired of living out of a suitcase, of debating whether to wash any clothes in the hotel facilities, or to try and recycle something she'd already worn the next day if it was still clean enough. Counting her change for tolls, losing five dollars every day so she could tip a waiter, the way her lower back constantly pounded from sitting in the same position for so long, and the sudden realization that her seatbelt would soon no longer fit over her enormous stomach – all of it was getting old, and quickly.

In spite of that, arriving back at home carried its own set of horrors. She was four weeks or less from becoming a parent and had no supplies, no practice; she hadn't read any books or thought of any names. She knew absolutely nothing and had absolutely nothing. What was going to happen when her decision to keep Mango became a reality that was too daunting to master?

But, saying any of this would prompt an endless discussion with her partner that she didn't wish to have in the ER, and so she kept it simple.

"I just…" she ran the already bandaged hand through her hair, which was dry, but crunchy from where the rain had drenched it. "I'm torn, and it's frustrating. I want to be home, but I don't want to be home."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…" she loved him dearly for not pushing her. "And…much as it pains me; I really should call Jinx and tell her what's going on. It'll be worse for me if I show up at the house on Sunday and she thinks I slit my wrists or something."

This was something Marshall could take care of, "I'll do it," he offered at once. "It's no problem."

"At ease, solider," Mary joked, one hand already on his pocket to reach for his phone. "I've got it – really."

And as their silent physician closed the last of the holes and strung more tape and padding around her second hand like a mummy, Mary took the opportunity while she was by herself – not including Marshall – to give her mother a buzz. The intern off to fetch the ultrasound technician, it was the only chance she was going to get at privacy, because she wasn't sticking around after she was discharged to give Jinx the bad news.

In an effort not to intrude, Marshall meandered over to examine one of the many machines plugged into the wall, trying to decipher its knobs and buttons, but it was no good. He heard everything, and while to the untrained eye the conversation might look perfectly innocent, he could tell from Mary's tone that whatever Jinx was saying was making her think a lot harder than she wanted to.

"Hi, mom; it's me…"

There was a predictable pause here while Marshall pulled out his own phone and started fiddling with it, one ear still with his partner.

"No, I know it's late…" Jinx must've remarked about the time; it was almost nine where they were, but even Marshall didn't care enough to calculate the time difference at the moment. "I don't have long to talk anyway; I just wanted to let you know that…"

The mother must've cut her daughter off, because Mary stopped midsentence.

"What?"

Marshall chanced a glance at the woman, who had to hold her phone rather awkwardly due to her puffy hand. She rolled her eyes straight up toward the ceiling, saw Marshall watching, and shot the look at him.

"Oh, Brandi ordered my dress for the wedding and it came…" this was so he could stay in the loop, and he grinned at her reaction to the news about attire. "Yeah-yeah, I'm sure it's lovely…" this was undoubtedly Jinx's word, not Mary's. "She picked the blue one?" she scratched behind her ear at this, probably straining her brain to remember which choices she'd given her sister. "No, I don't care…I'm sure I'll look like Humpty Dumpty in it, but that's true of any dress." After a miniscule pause, "Yes, I will."

Marshall smirked again, this time because it was apparent the blonde had-had to convince her mother just how terrible she would appear. In truth, he was on Jinx's side, and had every confidence Mary would clean up beautifully, but it was no good telling her that. At the moment, she was just trying to get a word in edgewise to tell her mother why she'd even phoned in the first place.

"No, I don't care what flowers; you can choose… No, I really don't, but mom listen; I really…"

A sigh that likely came from being spoken over again.

"Mom, that's fine, but could I…?" her free hand was curling around the sheets on the cot, gripping them in frustration. "Mom!" yelling was obviously the only way to accomplish anything. "Could I talk for two seconds? I called for a reason, you know."

The thundering tone must've done the trick, because the inspector nodded, mostly to herself, which told Marshall she had been given sanction to proceed. He'd learned a lot by watching all of Mary's many gestures over the years, and while she was agitated right now, there was also a sense of wanting to spread the word, a need to get information on to the home front. It was the Marshal in her.

"Yeah, I just wanted to tell you that Marshall and I should still be back on Sunday like we planned; it just might be a little later than I told you, so it's hard to say if I'll make the rehearsal dinner."

Marshall couldn't imagine she was really upset about this, but the more pressing matter was that Jinx had obviously asked why they were going to be late.

"Well, we're going to be behind after tonight. We're going through the Midwest and there was a bitch of a storm – Marshall and I were in an accident, but…"

It was to no avail. No matter how casual she tried to make the ordeal sound, the motion of Mary placing her hand over her eyes told him that Jinx had gone off the deep end. His friend's endeavor not to rile her had failed, and it had failed spectacularly.

From behind her fingers, creating a muffled noise, "Yes, I'm fine…" this was the first order of business. "Of course I'm sure," while at first she's sounded sympathetic, now there was a clue to her impatience. "Marshall's fine too; he doesn't have a scratch on him…"

The next logical question was, 'what happened? 'and it appeared that Jinx didn't disappoint.

"…It was nothing; we slid off the road and into a speed sign; it broke the passenger window. …Well, the window's shot, but it was just my hands that got smacked; I'm in the ER getting stitches, but that's it…"

Even though the groan that came out of her mouth next was guttural, Marshall didn't imagine that Jinx had noticed, probably dithering around all over the place worrying herself about Mary all bruised up.

"Mom, it's a bee sting; I swear…" the man reflected that it was still sort of strange to him to hear a child play caretaker to their parent, talking them off the ledge. "What?" another pause as she listened further, Marshall still watching out of the corner of his eye. "…I don't know, but I feel fine, so I'm sure the baby's fine too; I'll call you back if I'm wrong. They're going to discharge me as soon as they do the ultrasound," presuming it showed nothing.

The lapse in her speaking was much longer following all this reassurance, and the taller quit pretending to be so interested in all the medical equipment, shoving his phone out of sight once more. Knowing that Jinx was probably being either shrill or dramatic, he saw the patient rubbing her temples slowly, which was no easy feat with such bulky hands. To prove he was on her side, that he could do _something_ even if he couldn't escape to give her some solitude, he stepped up and took over the job. At first, she flinched at the contact, her eyes swiveling upward to meet his, but he fluttered her fingers away and caressed both sides of her head between his thumb and index finger.

It took a moment for the woman to relax, to allow herself this kind of comfort, but Marshall could tell by the way her voice began to soften that she was pacifying Jinx.

"We were careful, mom, it was just bad weather…" she didn't sound mad anymore, just worn out. "It's let up; we're going to drive another hour as soon as we get out of here and set up camp where we were supposed to so we don't get too far behind."

Marshall took his chance in the brief silence, "Too hard? Should I stop?" referring to his massage.

She shook her head slowly to tell him he could keep going, an invitation he certainly wasn't going to turn down.

"Send me a signal if you want me to quit," he murmured quietly.

Nodding to show she'd heard, she got back to Jinx, "I'm all right; you don't need to worry…" the gentleness that was presiding over her now was music to Marshall's ears. "…Yeah, if you want me to call when we get to the hotel, I will, but it's barely sprinkling now. I might have Marshall do it, but one of us will," she was probably banking on getting to sleep on the sixty minute drive remaining.

There was an inflection in her next phrase that told him she was close to wrapping up, which was a good sign for everyone involved.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with the baby; I had some pain at first, but barely any since…" he was glad she was being honest. "My stitches are done; the ultrasound's going to be here any minute, and then we'll be leaving." Seconds later, "Well yeah, if there's something screwy with the baby then I call you back, but I doubt there is. But, um…"

Uncharacteristic tentativeness snuck into their chat and she ran her tongue along her lower lip, debating.

"…Um, you think I could carve out some time to talk to you about the baby when I get home?"

Ah, yes, Marshall thought with a sudden realization. The eventual appearance of Mango in Mary's household meant others were going to have to be let in on the news.

"…No, nothing you need to know right now; we'll talk when I get home. Would that be okay?" while it was most unusual for Mary to ask authorization, he had to admire that she was making plans to let her mother in on the scenario. "Yeah, I just have a couple questions…" it seemed Jinx was about to accept that she would have to wait. "Right. I'll talk to you later, mom, all right?" And with the final pause of the evening, "…Yeah, me too. Bye."

With a huff, she hung up, tossing her cell phone onto her lap. But, it seemed that even in Jinx's absence she didn't feel much of a reprieve. Pursed lips and downcast eyes weren't often present in the face of someone who felt at peace with herself.

After a few seconds, however, she blinked a few times, regaining her clarity, and those foresty jade orbs traveled back to the heavens, more specifically to Marshall.

"Thank-you…" she whispered, referring to the way he continued to pinch her swelling skull between his nails. "Jinx is a surefire recipe for a migraine."

"Not to give her credit where it may or may not be due, but I don't imagine being rammed into that speed limit sign does wonders for it either," he remarked. "Is this helping?"

"It's great, thanks…" two separate shows of gratitude in such a short time frame was a record for Mary. "I was able to get her off my back for the time being. I just…" she turned suddenly pensive; perhaps Marshall's movements were stimulating her brain cells. "There are times – hard as it is to believe – that I wish I understood her better."

This was new, "How so?"

"Well, like the way she immediately turns into this distressed jumble of nerves every time something bad happens to me or Brandi," she cast him a look of confusion. "I'm an adult. I was sitting here talking to her. How could I not be okay? Why is she so concerned?"

In a rarity for Marshall, he did not think his answer through before it came out his mouth. The missing piece of the puzzle was so obvious to him that it spilled forth without warning.

"She's a mom."

And he might not have been on his game seconds before, but it was apparent he had said the wrong thing. Whatever baffled look he had been receiving from his partner vanished to make way for one that almost resembled dishonor – shame. Gaze back on the bedspread, Mary shifted where she sat, disturbing the sheets, her cheeks showing the faintest hint of pink.

"Yeah. I guess that is it."

For a man whose intuition was often revered by others, he was missing the connection in this case. Halting his kneading of her head, he frowned deeply, unsure what his three words inspired in his friend.

"Wait, what?" one thing was for sure; upsetting her was not his intent. "What just happened? What did I say?"

"You didn't say anything…"

"I did," he was too smart to allow the body language to pass by. "About Jinx being a mom? Moms always worry about their kids; it's in their blood, it's what they do; no matter how old, no matter how inconsequential the danger may seem…"

"_All_ of them?"

"Well, yeah, all good ones, but…"

And then it hit him. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure his neurological system hadn't been damaged in the wreck. He was usually far quicker than this when it came to reading Mary's thoughts. The solution to her abrupt mystery had just been handed to him on a silver platter. According to him, _all_ mothers were prone to wringing their hands over their children – all _good_ mothers.

Something told him Mary wasn't wringing her hands – mother in the making. To his utter shock and mortification, a single tear slid down her cheek that she furiously wiped away the second it escaped, knocking Marshall's rubbing hands out of the way. Heart pounding that he might've caused her to feel inept when she'd just come to her parenting decision twenty-four hours earlier, he scrambled trying to clean up his mess.

"Oh, Mare…" any second now, a whole string of babble was going to burst forth. "I didn't mean – you can't think…"

"I'm not worried!" her face blazed with aggravation, the solitary tear evaporated and was restored with self loathing. "I'm not! I haven't been from the very beginning. And tonight, when I feasibly could've lost him, I barely bat an eye. All I could think about was whether he was going to put me out by coming too soon. I never think anything is really wrong with him, and I never even entertain the idea that there might be…"

"Mary, this is new to you…" the man reminded her tenderly. "You were in a different mind-set until recently; you can't believe that because you aren't thinking he's in harm's way twenty-four-seven that-that will make you a bad mother…"

"But, all the _good_ mothers worry about their kids night and day…"

"I shouldn't have said that," he rectified at once, hating himself for it. "It was an exaggeration; I was trying to make you feel better about Jinx – make you feel like she wasn't fretting just to annoy you, that it's just part of who she is…"

"But, it's not part of who I am," Mary moaned. "This kid isn't going to stand a chance with me if I'm not even worried he'll bump his head or skin his knee or get hit by a car…"

"You're looking for loopholes," shaking his head, he placed a hand on her hair, pulling a few of the knots out as he spoke. "Ways to doubt yourself. Don't do that. It won't get you anywhere."

"Says you…"

"Give it time," he insisted, pretending not to hear her aside. "You may need that visual to stir up those protective instincts, but I know better than _anyone_ that you have them. The minute he is in your arms, you'll never want to let him out of your sight."

Whatever argument she was going to call upon to counteract this was going to have to wait, because the promised ultrasound technician arrived, ready to confirm the expectant mother's suspicions that Mango was all well and good. Inching away from Marshall so she wouldn't look so emotional and clingy, Mary hoisted herself into a more upright position on the cot, fiddling with her hair now that he wasn't touching it anymore, trying to appear perfectly nonchalant.

The technician was a female, contrary to the male counterpart that had taken care of Mary's stitches, and she was efficient in hooking everything up, rolling her machine right to Mary's feet.

"Hello…" she greeted them vaguely, unwinding her wand and locating the gel that would make the sonogram possible. "Sorry if we kept you waiting; it's a busy night…"

"With the storm, I would imagine so," Marshall made small talk so his partner wouldn't have to, standing in the background and out of the way. "It hasn't been long."

"I'm glad to hear that." Then, she turned to Mary; "Have you been experiencing any discomfort, Miss Shannon?" someone must've told her-her name beforehand. "Contractions – regular or irregular? Any bleeding, anything like that?"

"Right after we slammed into the sign, I had some pain, but it's gone away…"

The technician nodded encouragingly at this, flicking the mechanism on as she went through an entire battery of questions, finally ending by saying that they would 'just take a look' and 'see what they were dealing with.' After that, Mary was gratingly familiar with the routine. She hitched up her shirt, revealing her sensationally globular stomach, now with some ghastly stretch marks, and waited for the doctor to administer the cool gel.

Marshall, obviously still feeling guilty for his verbal mistake, opted to chime in at this point, glancing past Mary rather than at her.

"Do you want me to look away?"

This was a throwback to the appointment he'd tagged along to almost two weeks earlier, which seemed a lifetime ago. As she no longer had the energy or even the want to bicker, she just wagged her head gradually, resigned to letting him get a peek. After all, there was little he hadn't been able to witness since they'd begun their trip – mostly her incessant crying.

"No, its fine," she said eventually. "I don't mind."

Knowing better than to say anything else, he simply waited for the verdict, Mary doing the same on the bed. Seconds later, the sound of a steady, stable, twanging heart filled their curtained cubicle, accompanied by a tiny white light flashing on the otherwise black screen in front of them. This had to be a good sign, and Mary squinted at the picture to see a defined mass of white in the center swishing back and forth so fast it was disorienting.

With a sudden and unexpected gulp before she spoke, Mary faced the technician for verification.

"Is he okay?"

The reply was instantaneous and without a hint of vacillation, "He looks absolutely fine. Your initial tests showed that your vitals are good, and the other doctor took his heart rate with the monitor when you first came in, which came back wonderful…"

"So, he's okay?" Mary pressed, not one for wading through a lot of technical lingo.

The woman laughed, "Yes, he seems fine. Running out of room, though," another chuckle. "When are you due?"

"Four weeks," Mary provided. "Is…?" she couldn't take her eyes off the constant swaying motion going on in the middle of the screen. "Is that…him? Doing all that moving around?"

"It is," the professional informed her. "For a thirty-six-weeker with not a lot of space he certainly is an active little guy."

It was funny how it was just the last word that suddenly registered with Mary even though the terms 'him' and 'he' had been thrown around since the doctor had arrived. She and Marshall had become so accustomed to referring to Mango as a 'he' that she hadn't even taken notice of the fact that the technician was doing the same thing. A sadistic bound that seemed to come from somewhere in the depths of her gut told her this wasn't just a stranger taking their cue from the patient. Doctors were trained to be neutral, but if Mary was going to sit around talking about her son, then it would only follow that the physician would assume she knew the baby was…

"He…he is…" the blonde suddenly found herself repeating the woman, and in a movement that startled her, Marshall nudged suddenly closer so he was standing right above her. "He…_he's_ rocking and rolling, apparently…" eyes still on the image. "He. This…this _guy_. This…_boy_. Right?"

The technician looked suddenly horrified, as if she'd committed an unspeakable crime, clapping her hands over her mouth. If she had hoped to fool the pair before her, it wasn't going to work anymore, but the gaffe truly wasn't her fault. She'd known what she was looking at, and by Mary's language, she'd assumed Mary must know too.

Tripping over apologies, "Miss Shannon, I'm so sorry. I just…when I heard you call him…I just thought that you must…" her skin burst in patches of red as she tried to explain herself. "I am truly sorry; I didn't mean to…"

"It is a boy, though?" she demanded. "It is. It's a boy."

And, meekly, the other conceded defeat, "Yes. It is."

But, in spite of the humiliated girl in front of her, an emotion quite unlike one Mary had ever experienced suddenly overtook her. She'd trusted in her instincts for a long time now, but she had always had reservations in the back of her mind if she was really to be believed when it came to the gender of her baby. And now, here was the proof – in literal black and white, here was the confirmation, the _first_ confirmation, that some small part of her was in sync with her child inside the womb or out. With this awareness came a genuine, broad, widened smile, followed by a laugh that escaped out of pure, unbridled spontaneity. Of bliss – of joy.

"He is – he is a boy…" for whatever reason, she couldn't seem to _stop_ chuckling; the picture before her now had a whole new meaning. "He's a boy…"

And then she saw Marshall, a grin to rival hers, but if she was seeing correctly, she thought it came more from her reaction than anything else.

"How about that?" he contributed genially. "And, look at him go…" pointing to the display.

Obviously relieved that her charges were not upset she'd spilled the beans, the technician began a rundown of safety measures Mary could take in the days to come to ensure nothing went wrong in the meantime. But, the patient scarcely heard her, eyes only for Marshall and her son.

Her son. It was unknown, still foreign, but Marshall had been correct. The visual was getting her halfway there. It made Mango real in a way he had never been before.

Jostling her shoulder, blue eyes twinkling as brilliantly as ever, the man basked in their discovery, grinning more softly and sweetly than Mary had yet to see.

"I was right," she whispered. "I knew."

"You definitely did," he agreed. "Good call, inspector."

Here, he held out his fist, probably because he felt he had run his limit on touching her on this chaotic evening, offering her a pound of his knuckles. Happy to oblige, she bumped her own fist, bandaged though the interior was, a silent show of solidarity and support.

XXX

**A/N: Mango IS a boy! Not that there was any doubt! ;)**


	44. The Noise of a Kick

**A/N: When I first conceived this story, this was the chapter that stood out in my head above all others. It is a throwback to a scene we saw on the show. In spite of this, I almost considered not writing it when I finally reached it because I worried that the story was too long already and to add this – which has very little plot – would just seem excessive. Hopefully it wasn't a bad decision to go ahead and pen it!**

XXX

"You better not be lying to me."

"I'm not – I'm not lying. I've had to persuade everyone of that all night…"

"Well, you've built a reputation for yourself, inspector."

"Obviously not a very good one. But, we're riding into Missouri as we speak and we are both alive and well. Well, not 'both.' All three of us."

"You and that kid, huh?"

"Yes, me and 'that kid.'"

As Marshall's patched up SUV trundled down the lonely, silent highway, the inky sky a virtual black hole above them, Mary was updating Stan on the accident. At first, he had been nearly as alarmed as Jinx upon hearing exactly what had happened and what they'd whacked into. But, now Mary knew he was simply covering his ass, operating under a mixture of concern and responsibility. Had either one of his inspectors been seriously hurt, DOJ was going to have to be let in on the mess, but luckily for everyone, Stan didn't have to fool with such a thing. A distorted pair of hands would be a mere annoyance to the higher-ups; it would be riskier to tell them and make them do paperwork than it would be to let it slide.

And, as the conversation went on as well as wound down, Stan was clearly realizing this and could breathe a sigh of relief.

"All right…well, I'm glad you're not all banged up," the boss bestowed kindly. "How's Marshall's car?" this had quickly eased into idle chatter, which meant Mary could let him go soon.

"Not bad," she reported sleepily, her head lolling against her seat back since she couldn't use the window. "The front bumper is pretty bent up, and the window is shattered, but Marshall managed to get someone at the hospital to help him break away whatever stray glass was left," she was pleased about that, as she was the one who would be sitting on the bad side. "He's got a blanket tacked up on the inside to keep it closed, but there wasn't much he could do otherwise. He said he'd go to a shop in the morning and see if he could get someone to fix it before we have to start driving again."

"Good-good; sounds like you've covered all your bases…" Stan approved. "You're still trying to pull in by Sunday, right?"

"Yep, Brandi's getting hitched on Monday," the woman confirmed. "You gonna be there? She keeps telling me she needs more guests on her side of the aisle."

"I'm certainly going to try," this was as much as he could commit to. "But, if I'm going to make it, I'm going to have to get back to work."

"Now?" Mary was incredulous, as she could hardly keep her eyes open. "You and Delia haven't become chums while Marshall and I have been out, have you? Busting back the whisky in the wee hours?"

"Hardly," he chuckled. "She and Savannah got back early Tuesday and it has been back to life as usual for her. Delia's really coming into her own too; she's been picking up the slack with us short a pair."

Pretending to be irritated by this, "I suppose I'll have to take orders from her next."

"Ah, don't trouble yourself," Mary could picture him waving a hand to indicate her conjecture was nonsense. "We miss you around here – both of you. You promise me you'll be back after the baby's born; we can't afford to lose you."

A lump formed so fast in the woman's throat upon hearing this that she thought she might choke. An excess of hormones and an extremely stressful day was probably the culprit for her being unexpectedly touched, but she'd been so fearful about losing her position to motherhood. Stan had just confirmed, without even meaning to, that her role was not only safe, but counted upon, even if he didn't know about her most recent conquest.

Dare she tell him and get it over with?

"Of course I'll be back…" she murmured. And then, completely guided by heart and not her head, "You think we could box out a place for a playpen near my desk?"

Even though the darkness, Mary could see Marshall throw her a glance. As she had decided to keep things under wraps when it came to Jinx, it was understandable he would be confused about her divulging it to Stan. But, her mind was clouded and the weight of carrying so many encumbrances was far too taxing. Ticking one person off the list of those who needed to be in the know would be one step toward making her life easier.

"I'm…what?" Stan clearly wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "What'd you say?"

"I'm gonna be a mom, Stan," it was the easiest, quickest way to lay all the cards on the table. "Me. I'm gonna be a mom – Inspector Mom. To a boy, by the way."

She suddenly heard Marshall hiss something in her ear, "Courageous Crystal…" he slipped in, falling back on their superhero names. "Not Inspector Mom; Courageous Crystal…"

"Hush…" she waved him away, trying to listen for Stan's reaction, which was surprised, but maybe even pleased underneath.

"Well, isn't that something…" he remarked, lightness seeping into his tone as he digested the latest gossip. "Am I allowed to congratulate you?"

"No," but, she made sure to sound like she was fooling around. "But only because I'm tired and I don't want to drag this out any further. So, even though things are different now, are you still just dying to have me back in the action once I'm skinny again?"

She anticipated a calculated pause, distinct scuffling while Stan attempted to be delicate, to let her down gently, or else to say they would cross that bridge when they came to it. But, no. He seemed as confident and as certain of her capabilities in the world of WITSEC as Marshall had on the night she'd confessed her change of mind to him.

"We'd be lost without you, Mary. You gotta come back."

She grinned through her drooping eyes, "I will. I'll be there."

Undeniably hearing the delight in her voice, Stan confirmed their whereabouts one more time before saying his goodbyes, which left Mary free to hang up, placing her cell into the empty cup holder as she'd been doing the entire trip. Then, with a thespian sigh, she knocked her temple onto the headrest, facing Marshall and seeing his lanky shadow through the quiet, Midwestern wheat.

In another forty-five minutes, they'd be in their hotel, ready to put this Friday in the rearview, but Mary wouldn't be being entirely truthful if she said she didn't enjoy the darkness encompassing them. The tempo of the tires on the wet pavement, the wind whistling through the gap where the window had been knocked out, and the silhouette of her partner leading them home was the perfect remedy to putting her to sleep.

But, all he noticed was her exhale and her slumped stance, and he could guess where the fatigue came from.

"Running out of gas, are we?"

"Marshall, I'm exhausted…" admitting it was a first, but it didn't seem important to hide from this. "I'm so tired; I don't know how I'm still awake."

"Well, take a snooze," he advised. "Forty minutes is better than nothing."

"Mmm…" she hummed at his suggestion, sliding her eyes closed. "I might."

Weariness aside, however, she was feeling alight with joy at her discovery concerning Mango, not to mention Stan's steadfast belief that WITSEC would crumble without her. Bushed, bruised, sliced up, stitched through, and bandaged, but content – deep down, she was still content, maybe even happy.

And, even though he had urged her to relax, Marshall clearly couldn't let go of the half-smile that presided on her face through her half-open eyes.

"You seem almost loopy," he remarked with fondness. "In a good way, of course."

"I don't know what I'd call it," she slurred, speaking like she did when she was drunk. "Glad to be alive…glad to be WITSEC's secret weapon…glad about Mango…"

"Mango the Male," Marshall reaffirmed, adjusting his headlights to the brightened setting, which illuminated the still-slick patches on the rain-washed road, though the storm had long since moved out. "Strapping young gent, I am sure. Survived a crash – can survive anything." Mary was about to think of something to combat this, but he was too quick for her, "Like his mom."

And there it was. Like the notion of having a son hadn't been staggering, there was that word 'mom' again. It was what she was going to turn into, no two ways about it, and yet it didn't seem to matter how many times she'd heard it. It was still baffling, still a piece of herself she hadn't been able to reconcile. She'd been a lot of things in life – a daughter, a sister, an inspector, a friend – if a fair-weather one – but never a mother. She'd taught herself to be a daughter and a sister, had been trained to become an inspector, and the man sitting beside her had schooled her in friendship. How she would learn her newest role was anybody's guess.

"Any kid who isn't a fighter can't be mine, right?" she slipped in groggily. "I can only assume he got that gene from me and not his father."

"Have you spoken to Mark yet?" if Mary was going to bring it up, Marshall didn't see the harm in going there.

This earned him a shake of the head, "No. Once I get home. He and Jinx and Brandi can be tri-recipients."

"Sounds like they won an award."

She chuckled, eyes still shut so all she could hear were the tires bumping along the street and the engine growling quietly through the night. They were sounds that had comforted her for a long time, and regardless of how worn out she was, part of her could stay here forever. The road to nowhere meant she might never get home, but it also meant she'd never lose her way, and with Marshall at the helm, she didn't fear for her sense of direction anyway.

"I'm sorry I keep chattering," the man declared when Mary had no response to his last comment. "I really should let you sleep; it was my idea, after all."

"It's okay…" she whispered; his voice was scented with familiarly in the murkiness; she could barely make him out, and yet his even timbre alone made her feel safe. "I'll be up again soon anyway. You hear what I told Stan?"

"That I did," there was no mistaking that he was impressed. "That's a bold move for you, but it sounds like he was pleased by the development. No WITSEC team is complete without its very own mama bear."

"Is that what you would've called Jinx and all her agonizing tonight when she heard I ripped up my hands?" reflecting on that. "Mama bear? I guess if that's the only example I have, then I'll have to take it…"

Surprised by this view, Marshall let his eyes roam over his friend's floppy form. Though she was facing his direction, her lids were just barely cracked, one mummy-wrapped hand on the side of her belly, the other in her lap. Upon leaving the hospital, she'd changed her shirt since the old one had been bloodstained and, as all of her clothes were dirty, she'd borrowed one of his. It was so long it reached her knees, printed with the logo from the police department he'd operated out of in Indiana. This put him in mind of several things – the first that, even shrunken and droopy with tangled hair, Mary was still gorgeous.

But, as he couldn't say this, he went with his other option.

"I won't deny some of us learn by example…" falling back on her assumption about Jinx. "But, it doesn't have to be from our parents. You won't hear me insult my father, but I guarantee that if the day ever comes for me, my parenting approach will be worlds apart from his…" In a sudden realization, "And, actually, as a kid I think I learned more from Ted about looking after others than I did from old Operation Falcon himself."

Mary smirked beneath her daze, "Does that mean you'll implement a time out chair too?"

His laugh rang in the tiny space, mixing musically with the swishing of the tires and the road running smoothly beside her; it was a rhythm like none other.

"Hard to say," he wouldn't commit. "But, I doubt it," just as Mary had when it came to Mango and his future punishments. "I just meant that Ted, for being so finicky, really was quite a caretaker when we were young."

A snatch of pride and self-respect suddenly stole over Mary, and she echoed the sentiment that the older Mann had shared with her that morning. It had been an awkward conversation, yes, but it had appeared to give Ted a good deal of insight. She could pat herself on the back for that.

"He mentioned that to me…" the blonde shared. "Well, more that you took after him – did you really bring home mangy mutts as a youngin'?"

"Oh, my, yes," he didn't even try to hide it. "I'm lucky I never got rabies."

"Hmm…" Mary's will to listen was beginning to fade the longer he spoke, as did her stamina to continue the conversation, but he didn't seem to mind in the least and kept right on talking.

"But, you know, Ted took after dad – I took after Ted, just not the current version," his need to protect others had obviously been honed by a shielding older brother, even if that urge to shield had tapered in Ted's world over time. "You might take after Jinx. And you might not take after anyone. You will be your own best adaptation of a mother. I, for one, cannot wait."

But, hearing him ramble on about taking others under your wing, pulling them in from the storm, put Mary in mind of one person and one person only. It wasn't Jinx who, until her recent sober days, hadn't really discovered her ability to guard her children from destruction. It certainly wasn't her father who, for some reason, kept invading her brain on this darkened stretch of highway like some ethereal ghost.

It was the man who had tried to yank her from her seat, drag her from her constraints as glass rained down. The man who had understood her hysteria about not knowing where to place her child, and had waited patiently until she came to a conclusion all on her own. He who never came too close, but just close enough. He who never literally held her hand, but was forever there in spirit because that was exactly how Mary liked it. Her every thought, her every want, her every need; there was no stopping him from standing there and basking in every little victory and hardship.

If it was so glorious to have in a friend, couldn't be equally so in a parent?

"You'd be a good dad, you know," a murmur leaked into the open, and she blinked at him and his long profile, which seemed to have tensed slightly with her phrase. "Really good. Better than mine. The best he could do was take me out for ice cream once in a blue moon just to get away from my mom."

She said this purely so Marshall wouldn't think she was drooling over him, but it had a different meaning for him – and probably a subconscious one for her as well.

"You've told me that before."

"Hmm – what?"

"About your dad taking you for ice cream," he repeated. "You told me about it the very first time we met."

Like she'd been hit over the head with a two-by-four, Mary suddenly realized why driving under the cover of darkness was so nostalgic for her. She hadn't thought about it in a long time, but it was precisely what she had just blurted out to Marshall. As a child, when James had wanted to spare himself that drama that was Jinx, he had invited Mary along for a midnight snack because he had-had such a sweet tooth. For memories that she used to hold so close to her heart, she'd certainly repressed them in recent times.

It might be because she was finally starting to let go of her father. But, more likely was that she had embarked on many road trips since, road trips with a man far more noble and much better company than James Wily Shannon.

"I…I guess I did…" she reciprocated, taking herself back to that first case with her partner, who hadn't been her partner at the time. "You remember that?"

"I do," he proclaimed. "Henry and Claudia all cuddled together in the backseat…"

"Well, I could've done without _that_ reminder. Hello Kitty or Happy Kitty or whatever the hell they called that gumball machine ring…"

"But, that evening was the first time I realized we had something in common – no easy feat in those days," Marshall expertly slipped past her mention of their sappy, original witnesses. "You weren't eager to shake hands and play nice. But, when I said how much I liked driving at night, there you were. Full of agreement…"

"Nothing but the sound of the road in the dark…" she chanted his own lines back to him, for they were suddenly right there on the surface of her mind; his recollection was all she'd needed to bring them back. "Right?"

Wobbling and indistinct in the dark, Marshall still smiled in the presence of such warm reminiscence. Whatever was going on in Mary's head this evening, it was definitely something unique, but he would take it. The news that her Mango was the son she had forever thought he was going to be seemed to have sparked something inside her, something that snuffed out previous qualms like breath on a candle. It could all vanish in the clear light of day, when she was plagued by sore hands, overtired, and ready to be back in Albuquerque. But, for now, a new leaf was being turned over – in colors of bursting red, orange, and yellow, like the September fall they had already inched into without even realizing it.

"Right," he reiterated, leaving his metaphors in a drawer this time. "Did you ever think we'd make it eight years beyond that first journey?"

"No," Mary chortled at once. "Never. But, if it hadn't been for you convincing Stan to let me on the payroll, I'd still be in New Jersey."

"It's funny how things work out, isn't it?"

Funny. Funny was definitely one word for it.

With a sluggish nod and a bit of a lopsided grin, Mary resigned herself to fluttering her eyes closed another time, committed to catching a few z's. Judging by Marshall's silence, he was prepared to let her rest, accompanied by the nature and the noises of the earth, not to mention the faint whistle singing through Mary's nose as she tried to drop off.

Even though he was partnered with a woman that claimed to hate extended periods of quiet, there was something miraculous about sitting here with her. It was just the two of them, their beating hearts mingling with the fireflies flashing in the waving wheat swaying outside the window. His love of the simplest of things, from the bounce of the tires to the rush of breeze snaking its way through the eves in the airy window made him feel like those two hearts were the only two in the entire world.

As time ticked on, several minutes later, when Marshall felt for sure that Mary must've achieved her desired goal of rest, her voice trilled softly into his midst another time.

"My hands really hurt."

While this couldn't possibly be fictitious on her part, it was most unusual for her to say it so baldly, and after she'd been mum for so long as well. But, Marshall played along, curious more than anything else where her mind was leading her.

"I know, I'm sorry. I think ordinarily they would've given you pain killers, but with the baby they have to be careful with that sort of thing…"

"Pressure helps with the pain."

"Oh?" this was a little odd, but he wasn't a critic. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"It's the weight against the stitches; I don't feel the throb as much if there's something squeezing it. Like this…"

And, like a feather floating free in the stratosphere, Mary's fingers felt into nothingness and towed one of Marshall's hands off the steering wheel, clutching against her palm. Hindered by the hulking mass of gauze, he could only hang on so well, but he was struck with the astute idea that alleviating the pulsating cuts wasn't the woman's only ambition. He knew he was on the mark when she didn't stop there. Rather than allow their arms to suspend between their seats, she drew his own fingers right up to her torso. In an act that Marshall felt sure he must be hallucinating, she allowed them to rest splayed against her belly, hers directly beside.

As if the whole thing weren't mysterious enough, she capped off the gesture with a moan of obvious satisfaction.

"Mmm…" eyes flickering open only briefly before shutting once more. "You feel that?"

Not a hand that wished to grasp his own, but a foot – a tiny, nearly fully-formed, five-toed foot, thumping its heel straight against his palm. A cadenced, metrical _thud-thud-thud _that could be coming from one person and one person only – Mango, saying hello.

Chest and throat feeling tight with emotion, not to mention the astonishing credence he had received from Mary, Marshall threw caution to the winds and allowed his hand to relax – the better to feel, the better to allow it to creep toward Mary's.

"Your hand okay?" he eventually croaked, showing that he could fool around until the very end. "Better?"

Mary's pinky twitched, just barely steering the remainder of her limb directly on top of his, still relaxing freely above the hub concealing this little boy.

"Yeah…" a whisper. "Thanks."

And, recognizing just how rare the form of his best friend was right now, sanctioning him permission to feel her unborn child kicking in her belly, he couldn't let her get away with thinking he wasn't grateful as well.

"Same to you."

XXX

**A/N: I always loved the scene between Mary and Marshall in the car in, "When Mary met Marshall." Thank-you so very much for all of your continued support!**


	45. Everest and Anthills

**A/N: Thanks to bookworm0485 for giving me a head's up on my gaffe about Mango's toes – you get to writing sometimes and manage to miss things like that! Rest assured, he now only has five on each foot. ;)**

**And, to kdgteacher7, I do have the entire story written, so that is how I am able to post a chapter per night! I always write the whole story before I start posting, because I don't think I could take the pressure of posting as I write! Or, I assume I couldn't, because I've never tried it! I like to have it signed, sealed, and ready to go!**

**Thank-you so much to all my other reviewers as well! I wouldn't be here without you!**

XXX

The smell of gasoline was never a pleasant odor, but on this particular Saturday morning, it seemed especially foul as Mary waited in the SUV, Marshall filling the tank outside. Wilting against the newly repaired window, the pane of glass restored and smooth once more, she tried to recapture at least a portion of her lightheartedness from the night before, but it was proving very difficult.

For one thing, she was stiff all over, from her shoulders to her back, down to her ankles, and around her neck. Unable to pop any pills, her sewn hands were seconds away from vibrating they were so tender. Against medical advice, she had undone the dressings on her left to take a peek and was alarmed at how discolored the area around the stitches appeared. The sutures themselves were unsightly enough, but she was bruised all across her palms in shades of deep purple and black. A matching one was blossoming on her wrist when she'd been affixed with the pointless IV line in the emergency room.

So, with one thing and another, Mary was beginning to wish she were still in bed. But, instead, she was waiting for her partner to fill up on gas so they could journey on to Oklahoma, their final stop before pulling into Albuquerque on Sunday night. The thunderstorms were gone, but not forgotten; as the overhang at the service station was dripping rainwater, and the scent of ozone mixed with diesel fumes was making Mary feel nauseous. Whatever dilapidated little town they'd bunked in last night, it wasn't very picturesque in the aftermath of a virtual flood.

Marshall returned in due time, still shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, prattling away about how lucky they'd been to find someone who was able to fix their window on such short notice. Mary suspected it was because the man had offered the mechanic such a handsome tip, but it was his dime, and so she couldn't be bothered about the expense. It had put them only an hour behind schedule, and that was paramount.

"They had jelly donuts inside; I picked one up for you…" he presented once he got over his good fortune about the car renovation. "It's strawberry; do you want it?"

Marshall was remembering how the woman had gobbled down three of these treats in one sitting when they'd first left on their little escapade, but at the moment she didn't seem in the mood. He was sure of it when she shook her head vaguely, wafting the smell away with her hand.

"I'm not hungry."

Marshall was calm, "You can save it for later; it's wrapped," haphazardly, he tossed it into the backseat, Mary hoping fervently he would actually be able to find it if there came a time when she wished to dig in. "Shall we head out, then? We have a full tank, a glossy windowpane…" gesturing at the handiwork yet again. "I would say we're set."

"Whenever."

Mary sounded docile, yet still surly, even to herself, and that was probably what was upsetting her most. She was out-of-sorts, and for no real reason at all. The longer her pregnancy progressed, the more days she seemed to have like this. One minute she was perfectly fine, ready to joke around and act like one of the guys she'd always been. The next, she was inundated with dread, too many discomforts to tally, and misgivings to last her a lifetime. The way she changed her frame of mind at the drop of a hat couldn't be more maddening, and it seemed that she'd been doing it for every second of the journey. It was a wonder Marshall was still putting up with her.

"I got some lemonade too; if you're thirsty…" the mentioned declared, passing a Styrofoam cup into her hands while he pulled out of the lot. "I thought it might be a nice change after all that water you've been drinking at breakfast-time."

The way he was reaching for positives was really glaring. How much could lemonade really improve things? Evidently not much, because when Mary took a tentative sip she nearly gagged it was so sour; she'd have been surprised if there was even a drop of sugar in the beverage. Peeling the lid off and peering within, she saw a pale yellow, watery liquid that was already converging with the ice cubes. Snapping the top back on, she tried to hide her look of disgust, but Marshall noticed anyway.

"Is it bad?"

"It's a little bitter…" she choked feebly, stuffing it into the cup holder at once. "I can grab a water bottle from the back later; it's no big deal."

But, Marshall clearly felt badly about his blunder, which made the blonde feel even worse. He'd been trying so hard to be thoughtful, and would've been better off just choosing something normal.

"No, you don't have to," ever the gentleman, he relinquished his grip on his own drink and held it out for her. "Have mine – its chocolate milk; I got out of the cooler."

So he had; his was in a pre-packaged bottle with a logo on the side, which meant it was probably far more unspoiled than the crappy fountain brew he'd saddled her with. But, with no intentions of stealing his drink, Mary wagged her head, closing her eyes as she did so because the movement made her dizzy.

"I'm not going to take it from you. I don't even want it. Keep it."

"Well, but you haven't had anything all morning. Let me pull off really quick and find something in the back before we get going…"

"It's okay; I'll get something later."

Rather than battle with her, Marshall seemed to grow meditative in a hurry, slowing to a stop at a red light – the only light they would have to pass through before they reached the freeway. Studying her closely, drumming his fingers on the wheel, he saw her deadened eyes and wan features, knowing at once that his undertaking to nourish her was a lost cause.

"You're not feeling very well, are you?"

Mary shook her head for the third time that morning, "No."

"How are your hands?"

"They hurt."

"How's Mango?"

"Heavy."

All crude, cut the crap responses – the way Mary always operated. Just to make sure, and not because he was really worried, he slipped his free-of-scratches palm onto her forehead to feel if there was any heat radiating from within. To his relief, she was lukewarm, which likely meant her under-the-weather attitude came from low energy – forever the offender these days.

"If there's anything I can get you, then let me know."

"I would if I knew what that would be," this was accompanied by a grim laugh. "Aren't you getting tired of this shtick? Every other day it's the same thing – I'm too tired, I'm too sore, and on and on. I'm starting to feel like an invalid."

"Well, if I _were_ tired of it…" this implied he wasn't wearing out on her in the least, and was being hypothetical. "I don't think for a minute it would compare to how sick of it you are. You're thirty-six weeks pregnant, Mare. I'd be more suspicious if you weren't starting to slow down."

"It's just getting really old," she griped, eyes on the stretch of road in front of them as Marshall swept under the traffic signal when it turned green. "The monotony…"

"Well, that's the driving too," he concluded smartly. "Nine days of this is getting rough on me too. But, home's on the distant horizon. We'll be there tomorrow night. In some ways, we've never been closer."

There was that optimism of his, shining through like a beacon. Even if Mary couldn't share in it, she could respect it to some degree. Vaguely, she wondered if her perpetual negativity would begin to rub off on Mango in the future. She'd always told herself she was sour about her existence because of the way she'd grown up – unable to trust anyone, unable to rely on anyone, and with no one but herself to depend upon. Mango wouldn't have that problem, but his mother wasn't the best at making changes. Marshall's influence could only help.

"Yeah, and what's going to happen when we get home?" the blonde's dismal nature slipped through even though she'd just chastised herself to lighten up. "Once I'm dragged through the torture of Brandi's wedding, what's next? Cribs, changing tables, rocking chairs? God, Jinx is going to be going wild; at least I can tell her that frilly dresses with bows are going to be off limits."

"I would never discourage the act of preparation," Marshall began knowingly. "But, if you start to feel overwhelmed, take it one step at a time. Get through the birth first – get him here. Then work on the rest."

Indeed, there could be no plans for a nursery, including or excluding something as cutesy as stuffed animals, if there was no baby to put in said nursery. That certainly wouldn't stop Jinx, even if Brandi was going to be busy honeymooning during that time. But, Marshall's inference made her think of something else, something she had been steadfastly avoiding since the day she'd learned she was pregnant. Even before she'd made the decision to turn into the single mother of the year, there had been no escape from the process of delivering the child into the world in one piece or close to it. As the parched desert of New Mexico loomed closer, so did impending labor and delivery.

"Yeah, about that birth…" she targeted, Marshall turning his blinkers on so he could ease up onto the highway ramp. "I've kind of been deluding myself into thinking it's not going to happen."

"It is one of those 'ready or not' kind of things," he hypothesized. "It always comes – usually at the most inopportune moment – and it's never predictable as one would like. Even the most equipped run into the unexpected snags. But, at the end of the day, every woman gets to the finish line. No baby stays in the womb forever."

Small comfort though this was, it was hard not to give Marshall credit for breaking it down to nuts and bolts like he was. In fact, because he'd been so polished, she threw him a bone, pushing all the twinges she was feeling from her mind. Centering on something else was always the best way to brush aside her demons, which at the moment included hopeless hands and nostrils still filled with the smell of petrol.

"You think you could give me a rundown of…" Mary gestured indistinctly, attempting to nudge her insecurities into the open. "Well, everything you just said?"

The man's eyebrows rose so high that Mary actually misplaced them for a moment, making his blue orbs pop in his milky face, like pale sapphires against the white. His friend had presented him with so many unexpected turns in the past few days that he was starting to lose his footing, but if meant she was finally starting to open up after all these years, you would never once hear him complain.

"A…a scientific rundown, you mean?" Marshall wanted to be thorough, to not overstep his bounds if she wasn't ready. "Is that advisable when you're already feeling queasy?"

"Well, there are few moments that I don't feel queasy these days, so I don't imagine that excuse is going to fly," already, she was transitioning back into her old self, even if she was nervous at the same time. "Come on, I need to know, right? I need to know what I'm up against."

He nodded hungrily, blatantly trying not to grin, the acceptance on her part like the sound of a trumpet's fanfare. She was ready; now was the time to make their footprints in the sand.

"Yes…yes, of course…" he echoed her beliefs. "The days of running in blind are past, yes. Well, I can give you the abbreviated but precise version if that is what you would prefer."

"Whatever you think," Mary shrugged, leaving it down to him. "You know best."

As he had waited years for Mary to say that when referencing any subject, Marshall, with his pregnancy obsession guiding him, dove into the details headfirst, only dimly berating himself to keep it 'abbreviated.' It was what he had promised, after all.

"Labor is actually divided into three separate phases – early, active, and transition," he began, and even if it encompassed a topic Mary typically wanted to avoid, his intellectual tone was a familiar comfort. "The second stage of the birthing process begins with pushing, and from its title I gather an intelligent woman such as yourself can figure out what it entails."

"Let's not put the cart before the horse, Marshall," she quipped, trying to sound moderate and not anxious, but there was noticeable hitch in her speech. "Start at the beginning. Remember, I'm a novice here."

"I've never known you to be much a novice in anything," he complimented, definitely playing to the fact that she wasn't holding herself in the highest esteem she usually did; a big step for Mary.

But, she grinned and blinked soulfully at him, "Pretend, then."

So, still bearing in mind that he had sworn a shortened program devoted to childbirth, he continued on, reverting back to the initial stages. Mary would probably remain the calmest about this if he took each portion piece by piece without making any section sound too dramatic or overwhelming – make it an event, not a tribulation. Talk to her like all she could do was learn, not like she was stupid.

"All right, well…the early phase, then…" in the distance, a weak sunlight that was almost white against the pearly sky was sneaking out from behind the rain clouds from the evening prior. "Angst-inducing, but nothing to lose one's head over. The contractions will tend to be between six and twelve minutes apart, but not necessarily at regular intervals, and hopefully not overly intense – that's the general consensus anyway."

"Define 'intense.'"

"Will do," he obliged, feeling as though he had the journal of childbearing right in front of him; his knowledge was so vast in this area. "Those Braxton Hicks you've been having – like the ones you experienced both times we were at Ted's?"

"Yeah…"

"Intense like that, possibly even less so."

"Ted must bring them out in me," the woman teased just to prove she was still trying to stay on the easygoing side of this dissection.

To humor her, Marshall chuckled, and it wasn't entirely forced. Ted could certainly brew up a hefty amount of stress, which was a precursor to Braxton Hicks. He was glad, however, that Mary had-had some understanding of those 'warm up contractions' because it made it easier for her to comprehend where she was headed when the big day finally arrived.

"As I say, they can be between six and twelve minutes apart, and will sometimes last between thirty and ninety seconds, but that is hardly set in stone," he continued briskly. "In fact, I believe I mentioned to you on another occasion that most women don't even go to the hospital for this portion unless there are complications."

This was true. The night of the botched oysters, he had indeed cited that the hospital was a nonentity until later in the process. Mary was proud of having retained the information, and even more thrilled that she wouldn't be shoved into enduring upwards of three days chained to a bed while other moms birthed their babies in the surrounding rooms.

"So…this doesn't sound so bad," she voiced what she was already thinking, reaching down to pull her bag off the floor of the car to root around for her sunglasses, as the glare was getting forceful. "I kick back during this part – don't even break a sweat. Sounds good. What comes next?"

Feeding off her abnormally positive outlook, Marshall was more than happy to go on. He was sure there would come a day in the not-so-distant future that she would make fun of him for being so excited about women popping babies, but right now she was being perfectly humane. She needed the finer elements more than she needed to mock him, and that was a first.

"Next would be active labor – this is where things will start to rev up," unluckily, there was a discrete flex of Mary's shoulder blades when her partner said this, which was a clue to her hidden jitters. "The contractions will have shifted to five minutes apart, gradually moving into three and two minutes apart the longer you continue to dilate. This is where you'll have to head to the hospital."

To signify that he realized labor was far from fun and games, even if he did enjoy researching it, he shot Mary a look of sympathy. He knew how she hated strangers, especially ones that were going to be poking and prodding her in places she would rather remain concealed.

A deep-throated groan was her reply to this report, but nothing more.

"The contractions will definitely get more…"

He was going to try and be cautious, but Mary cut him off, "Just say 'painful.'"

There was no putting one over on his best friend, and so he nodded soberly, as there was really no way around what she had just said.

"Yes, painful," the man agreed. "And longer – and closer together. They'll last for probably forty-five to sixty seconds."

"At three to five minutes apart, that's not much of a break in-between," she observed, highlighting her math skills. "What a party that's going to be," dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, you'll be in the hospital for that, though, and it might not be your favorite place, but once you reach four centimeters in dilation they'll let you get an epidural if you want."

"That's the spine thing?" Mary guessed, slipping her aviator glasses onto her nose, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "They'd give you a local anesthetic in your back to numb where they're going to put the epidural needle, and then it goes into an area around your spinal cord. They eventually take out the needle and replace it with a catheter. It makes you numb from your waist down if it's done right."

"Sweet," Mary interjected, clearly warming to the idea of flying high and eliminating all that pesky pain. "Sign me up for one of those."

"Good to know," Marshall could tell from her voice that she hadn't known much about the medication other than that it involved her spine, and was pleased to have been of assistance. "Well, epidural or not, active labor can last quite awhile – sometimes as long as eight hours." Reading the horrified look in the blonde's features correctly, "I told you that; don't you remember? And anyway, it's nothing compared to the early phase – that can go on for days."

"But, you said the contractions don't even hurt then, so who cares? _Eight hours_ of endless torture?"

"Not including transition, which brings us to the third piece of the puzzle," Marshall decided he would just solider on, not giving her time to brood or be scared, because what was coming up probably wasn't going to help. "Contractions are one on top of the other – it's pretty extreme. Women have been known to shake and throw up."

At this, Mary's mouth dropped open, "I'm going to _throw up?_ _While_ my uterus is exploding and has me on all fours begging for the sweet release of death? In a room full of people already seeing my every nook and cranny? Come on; where does it end?"

"You may not," Marshall tried to sound reassuring when it came to puking. "But, it's possible. Anything is when it comes to this undertaking. But, you may take some small comfort in knowing that if you have the epidural, you're a lot less likely to take transition so hard – unless of course it wears off."

She sent him a deep, dark scowl, "It can wear off?"

"Sometimes," Marshall divulged, now beginning to regret being so rash with the rest of the information; Mary wasn't composed anymore, but starting to look something between murderous and hysterical. "You might want it to, actually. It can be hard to push when you're all numb and that'll just slow things down…"

"Because seventy-two-hours of this shit isn't enough?!"

"Maybe we should stop," he offered quickly, for she looked like she was going to hit him now, even if the effect would be minimal due to her mangled hands. "You've got the basics. We can talk about the rest another time, or take it as it comes in the moment…"

"You're going to quit now?" she raged, but it was obvious from her suddenly tipping off her rocker that she was not in a fit state to hear more. "Right when I'm in the belly of the beast? Is this how it works with you? You give me all the tools – all the swords, the guns, and bombs – to tackle the monster, and conveniently leave out the move I'm supposed to use to finish him off. Just when I've got him gasping for breath, you tell me to drop my weapons and surrender?"

It was hard to believe, even for Marshall, who knew that Mary's moods changed with the slightest shift in the wind, that this woman had been perfectly compliant with fresh information ten minutes earlier. Looking at her now, you would never know it. The onslaught of components involved with labor and delivery was clearly sending her clear off a cliff. He hadn't known his friend to be the fearful type, but this was a more vulnerable side she was showing, even if she thought she was masking it in anger.

"There's nothing else you need to know," Marshall said anyway, making her think the essentials were all there. "After transition comes pushing. And, as I declared before we even began, that one is easy enough to figure out on your own."

All he received in return to this blow was a measured shudder; he couldn't tell for sure if she forced herself to quiver just to be dramatic, or if it had come about naturally. Mary liked to think she wasn't anything like her Sweet-Charity-singing mother, but there was a hint of the theater in her as well when she wanted to get a point across.

"That's it," he ended, as if it all could be tidied up and wrapped in a nice, neat bow. "For the most part. So, we can move onto something else now, if you'd like."

This was obviously not going to happen, not with the way Mary ran a slow, faltering hand over her ever-expanding stomach, as if trying to determine if Mango could really cause the ruckus described. Marshall allowed her several moments of quiet introspection, but it was like she was running on a loop. Over and over she caressed the half sphere where her son resided, for a period boring a hole in her lap with her stare, and then more distractedly as she gazed out her window. Maybe she thought cuddling him close would settle him down, encourage him to stay inside, or at least not to create such an uproar when his arrival became unavoidable.

It wasn't really the movements that concerned Marshall, but the brazen panic written all over her face. Granted, it was definitely veiled in its own way, especially to the innocent bystander. But, Marshall saw it like it was whacking him on the head – the sudden silence, the way she would no longer meet his glance, even the way she stopped fighting him. She'd been more than ready to take him to task minutes earlier, and now she had folded up, distancing herself from him and all the childbirth awfulness he brought with him.

Hoping that their gentle moments as they'd ridden side-by-side, winding through the dark, Midwestern streets on Friday night were still somewhere in the recesses of her memory, Marshall reached out and placed a kind had on Mary's shoulder. When she didn't resist or flinch away, he squeezed lightly, and this action caused her to close her eyes – to soak it in.

"I scared you."

Her retort was biting, "I don't _get_ scared."

"I scared you, and I'm sorry," articulating that he didn't buy a word of her façade.

"I made you," she reminded him. "Invited you. Practically showed you straight into the bedroom. It's not your fault I didn't like what I saw once you got there."

Such an analogy was really somewhat off-putting, but Marshall made a conscious decision not to see it that way, mostly because they had bigger fish to fry.

"It's a scary thing. The unknown and the excruciating always is," of that much, he could be one hundred percent certain. "But, there are options. There is an Everest to climb, but also anthills to scurry right over. When your mind is sharp and your body is ready, there isn't anything you can't conquer. Billions of women have made it through, and you're going to join them. I promise."

Perhaps because his last phrase was such a cliché, and often empty, Mary finally took her stare off the speeding highway, flicking to see his fingers still perched on her shoulder. There was no request for him to move it, but a contradiction nonetheless.

"There is no such thing as a promise, Marshall."

Bleak, but also practical. He could live with that.

"Then, how's this?" he pitched, like he was about to strike a deal, even as he drove one-handed. "I can certify that when the trial is complete, there will be a baby here among the two of us, and one no longer inside of you," severe, not exactly Marshall's style, but it worked for Mary's more rough-edged mindset and she almost smiled. "It will hurt and it will be exhausting; I can certify that as equally as I can certify Mango's existence."

"You can, huh?"

"I can."

"Is there something else you can do?" using his word that marked that ability to succeed and throwing it right back in his face.

"What?"

Mary let loose a swallow that was really more like a gulp, "Can you be there?"

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to keep going if she zeroed in on his stupefied, yet entirely ecstatic face, she dashed her way to the end of her question. Her noiseless pondering hadn't _just_ come from trying to disguise her fears, as Marshall had assumed. It came from the need to gear up for asking and, more to the point, accepting the greatest favor of her life.

"I'm…I'm gonna need help," a trembling laugh that sounded more like a hiccup eked out on the tail end. "Will you…?"

But, before Marshall could answer with a hearty, 'yes' she cut herself off with a sudden shout, pointing wildly to a green road sign posted in the soggy ground outside the window.

"Oh!"

"What?!" he commanded, startled out of their chat quite callously.

"That sign back there – it had the restaurants at the next exit!" Mary even whipped around in her seat as though hoping to catch a second look.

"Well, so…?"

"There's an Orange Julius!" she announced like she'd never heard of anything like it; the most novel idea in a century. "I love Orange Julius!"

"You do?"

"Hello! Why do you think I'm practically having a stroke right now?"

It was possible that this was all just a ploy so she could get out of requesting that Marshall be by her side as she panted through contractions, but somehow he didn't think so. The fire that had lit in her eyes at something so simple, like a child noticing the six spots of a ladybug on a leaf, was tangible. It was real; it was a Mary he rarely saw, and a Mary he could not deny.

"Well, do you want to stop?"

"Do we have time?"

"Sure!" her excitement was catching and once they'd elapsed the few miles to come, he pulled straight off the freeway, squinting around for the desired location, glad he could make up for his subpar gas station lemonade. "I don't even know what you get. Why the fascination?"

"It's the _original_ Orange Julius," she informed him almost pretentiously. "None of that fairy airy berry crap. Straight up orange smoothie. There was one around the corner from where I grew up in Jersey before my dad left. If he was home in the mornings and wasn't hung over…" no memory from Mary's childhood was complete without a hint of grief, but she turned it around. "He'd walk up and buy me one. Jinx hated it because she thought it was like ice cream and she didn't think I should eat ice cream for breakfast."

Cheerful that the recollection had taken an upswing, Marshall grinned in earnest as he motored the SUV into the drive thru. It made him feel better that the shorter had something to distract her, but a small part of him was glad they'd made it through so many of his labor instructions. Frightening though they were, they would come in handy down the road.

And, if he had been hearing right before the sighting of the building with the bright orange balls on the door that remarkably resembled mangos, he was going to get to be a spectator in the event. He would get to see this little boy enter the world, headfirst, kicking and screaming; be there as he cried his first cry, watch as Mary cradled him into her arms.

The words might never come, but he couldn't pretend that, underneath, he hadn't waited eight years to witness just that.

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of a fluff chapter, but anything that brings them closer can't be that bad, right? ;)**


	46. S'More or Less

**A/N: I have such loyal readers! I am so lucky! Many hugs!**

XXX

That evening, despite the fact that Mary had been roped into a wedding-related conversation with Jinx and Marshall shut himself up in the bathroom for an oddly extended period of time; the woman couldn't help feeling happy. In one corner of her mind, she wondered what Marshall must be doing – or, indeed, who he must be talking to, because she could hear his voice. But, Jinx kept her occupied and unable to do much eavesdropping, and the idea that it was her last night in a hotel prevented her from growing churlish.

In any case, Marshall emerged from the restroom, pocketing his phone, before Mary managed to end her discussion with her mother. Then, as though he hadn't been doing anything strange at all, he dove into his suitcase, making a series of rustling sounds. It became hard to concentrate after that, especially once he started using the microwave. Not all their hotel rooms had-had one, but this one happened to be equipped, and with a refrigerator as well. As warm, soothing scents filled the room – something like melted chocolate, Mary's nostrils told her – she knew she couldn't stay on with Jinx much longer.

"Hey, mom, listen…" she broke into her babble from where she sat at the head of the bed in her drawstring pants. "I really think I've got the drill down. If I don't make the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, then all I have to do is walk down the aisle with you and plunk my two-ton ass in the front row. What could be simpler?"

"But, I won't be sitting with you, darling, remember?" she'd only gone over this a hundred times, at least. "I'll have to go on up front to stand on Brandi's side."

"Yeah, I know, because you're taking my place – my 'MOH' duties rescinded."

"I do wish Brandi had somebody else on her side of the aisle; Peter has his best man and two groomsmen…" she fretted, getting herself worked up all over again. "We had to ask Hal to walk Brandi down the aisle because we didn't know who else to go to."

"Who's Hal?" Mary wrinkled her nose, not familiar with the name.

"Peter's father," Jinx supplied, sounding weary.

"The yokel who watched her get arrested?" the daughter demanded incredulously. "He can't give her away – he practically tried to show her the door!"

"But, who else is there, honey?" she presented a good point. "I don't like going into too much detail about it with Brandi; it just upsets her."

A sudden, however faulty thought occurred to Mary, "Marshall or Stan could do it."

Sure, Brandi wasn't particularly close to either of them – Stan, especially – but it would be better than the man who had tried to stop her marrying Peter in the first place. A hot surge of anger toward James rapidly flared in Mary's belly; her makeshift wedding to Mark hadn't called for a ceremony, and so she'd never gone through this, but she could just imagine how Brandi must be feeling. No daddy to walk you down the aisle had to be a downer.

"That's very sweet, angel…" Jinx gushed, making Mary wish she hadn't suggested her boss or her partner. "But, Brandi's come to terms with Hal; it would be rude to change at this point."

Not as rude as trying to force a pre-nuptial agreement down her throat, Mary thought, but didn't say. If she wanted to get off the phone and taste whatever Marshall was doing in the microwave soon, she didn't need to spare any unnecessary time.

"All right, well is that it then, mom? I'll see you tomorrow night, and we can go over any last minute things?"

"Brandi actually wanted me to ask you a few other things, dear…" there was no mistaking the faltering tone that suddenly took over her speech, like whatever was coming wasn't something Mary would be endeared to. "Just some small pieces, if you were willing…"

The blonde huffed, trying to stay patient and not assume the worst, "What?"

Jinx cleared her throat several times, also attempting to brace herself for some kind of avalanche if her daughter didn't like what she heard, or wasn't on board for participating in all the wedding hoopla. Flowers and sparkling lanterns had never been Mary's style, something that Jinx and Brandi had always shared because they were both more feminine, leaving the elder Shannon girl to pursue her own path. While it had never made Mary feel particularly left out, there was a definite gap there, and she had to wonder what they were trying to rope her into this time.

"Well…I know you're not technically the maid or honor anymore, sweetheart…" that was what she thought. "But…traditionally, there's a first dance that includes the bridal party…"

Mary stopped her on the spot, "Oh, no," she refuted darkly, like it was a fate worse than death. "Jesus God – no way. Mom, I don't dance."

She shouldn't have given Marshall any clues, because at the mention of her swinging her hips, he glanced up from his preparation and crackling to raise his eyebrows. As if the notion weren't ludicrous enough, he swiveled around with an imaginary woman right before her very eyes, swooning and batting his eyelashes. Mary offered him something between a grin, because he really did look amusing, and a grimace at the thought that she was going to have to engage in such endeavors. Ignoring her partner's silly show, she got back to Jinx, who seemed to be negotiating.

"It wouldn't be for long, darling…" as if that was motivation. "I told Brandi that your dancing days were going to be limited, anyway; you need to be off your feet…"

"Yeah, so I've heard," Mary grumped, thinking of Ted and the way he'd shoved her into the time out chair the second he sensed danger. "I'm still not dancing – not for two seconds or two minutes, and not with some car salesman groomsman from Peter's dealership."

"Well…uh, we'll see how you feel when the time comes…" the brunette brushed over her kibosh, almost like she hadn't heard, or was choosing to put it aside. "But, Brandi was actually more interested in whether or not you would give a toast at the reception. Nothing fancy, just…"

But, Mary had-had enough, "I thought I _wasn't_ the maid of honor! When I enlisted you to take over buying bouquets of flowers and setting up catering and hemming the ends of dresses, I gave you the whole shooting match, okay?! You can't just dole out the parts you don't like and bum them off on me! I have been working my ass off since I left, and now you think I have time to compose some flowery speech? No thanks!"

Strictly speaking, Mary was stretching the truth about the amount of time she'd actually spent 'working' but everything she'd done since pulling out of New Mexico had certainly felt like work. Even if Jinx couldn't know the details, it didn't stop it from being true. And evidently, she was keen to make it known that she wasn't behind all the last minute changes, even sounding affronted when she spoke again.

"It wasn't my idea!" she informed Mary shrilly. "It was your sister's! She is making the best of a situation where her side of the aisle is practically empty, and all she wants is for her big sister to say a few nice words!"

Not Jinx's idea - right, the blonde thought with a scowl. Did that mean this guilt trip wasn't her idea either? If it hadn't been for the nature of the favor being requested, she might've actually agreed, but she was really better at mincing words than she was at forming fluent ones. Try as she might to say something inspirational or moving, it would likely come out sounding sardonic and cynical, because that was what always happened when she got tongue-tied. Raw emotion didn't bring out the best in her.

"Look, I would have done it myself, but Brandi had the nerve to say I'm not eloquent enough," Jinx changed her tune slightly, sounding disgruntled about the insult.

"But, she thinks I am?" Mary scoffed, but didn't give her mother a chance to answer. "I mean…I'll think about it, mom, but don't expect miracles. I can't promise anything," why she was giving in even half-heartedly was a mystery, but she really wanted to get off the phone. Her mouth was watering from Marshall's cooking, and she was going to have enough of the 'I do' to last her a lifetime come tomorrow.

"Please, honey, I know it would mean so much to Brandi," the dancer got in one last plea. "It really doesn't have to be extravagant – just something from your heart."

Presuming she would still have that organ and it wouldn't combust at all the wedding merriment, Mary nodded, more to remind herself that this didn't have to be a production, and hurried to wrap things up.

"I'll do my best," and that was more than she had intended to attempt in the beginning. "I need to go, mom; I've got a few things to do before bed. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"All right…" Jinx sighed tiredly; handling an entire wedding was probably taking its toll on her too, even if she did enjoy it. "I've missed you, honey; I'll be glad you're home. I love you."

"Love you too, mom."

With a sense of relief that she could finally pull the plug, Mary hit the red button on her cell and threw it somewhat carelessly onto the end table, where it created a bit of a bang, but seemed to be in working order. If it could survive her beating it against the table once, not to mention a car accident, than it could survive anything.

"Okay…" she hoisted herself off her pillows using her hands and wiggled her way to the end of the bed with some degree of difficulty. "What have you got smoking in that microwave?" she called to Marshall over the hum of the tiny contraption. "My stomach is growling already."

"Well…" he began stealthily, peering in through the window to check on his concoction. "While we were at the gas station this morning I picked up a few supplies. I thought we could have a little powwow on our last night on the road."

"What kind of supplies?" Mary grew suspicious in a hurry. "Gatorade? Cigarettes? Hot dogs on a stick?"

"Not quite…" Marshall was still operating under his mystery, pulling the door of the microwave open before it even beeped and sliding out a plate of something Mary couldn't make out. "The supplies aren't specific to the gas station; it just happened to be where we were," he clarified.

"Smells like there's chocolate involved."

"Oh, yes."

"Melted chocolate?" there was no other reason for him to be using the microwave.

"At your service," she was right again. "I just figured…" his back was turned while he worked at the desk adjacent from the miniature kitchen, opening a box, crackling wrapping. "We're a little burnt out on Cheez-It's and Chips Ahoy and any other snack you find in a carton."

"And, yet, I still see you rummaging in cardboard," Mary noticed, not mentioning that she had been thinking exactly the same thing not long ago. "So, where's the home cooking in this scenario?"

"I am no master chef, and this is hardly a master_piece_…" he prefaced from over his shoulder. "But, when you combine and alter the ingredients that go into a meal, I say that qualifies as 'home cooking' any day."

"So, then?" the woman goaded, still trying to peer around his tall stature to see what he was doing, but it soon become unimportant.

Whirling around, a paper plate in each hand like he was a waiter, and a goofy grin on his face, he came prancing over to the end of the bed where Mary was sitting. Stooping low like a hunchback in a corny-looking bow, he presented her with, quite possibly, the finest treat she could've asked for as a pregnant woman who wished to devour anything sweet in sight.

"S'mores!" Mary exclaimed, sounding remarkably like a six-year-old in her delight. "Without a fire?" arching her brows in that unconvinced way of hers.

"Well, you make do with what you have…" Marshall conceded with a shrug, showing that he knew his construction wasn't going to be as delectable as it might under different circumstances. "I softened the Hershey bars and just barely warmed up the marshmallows before slapping them on the graham crackers, so they should be okay."

"They look good…" his partner was feeling charitable, yes, but she wasn't fibbing. "Sit them down; I'll make short work of those babies."

Given that they weren't actually going to be roasting anything with skewers, it was true that Marshall's design looked quite tasty. Just the right amount of chocolate was oozing out from beneath the sandwich, the marshmallows squashed tight in-between. It was the best she could hope for, and in some ways even better because she was sharing them with him.

"Well, be my guinea pig…" her friend encouraged, settling himself in front of her on the edge of the mattress with a bounce. "Taste one. How are they?"

Taking one of the plates out of his hand, which was topped off with, not one, but three s'mores, Mary tucked her legs up underneath her, laying the platter beside her, hoping she wouldn't stain the white bedspread if she tipped it over. Then, she carefully took one of the delicacies, trying to keep it from falling apart, put about half her mouth around it, and took an enormous, chomping bite that made cracker crumbs sprinkle all down her front. This display made Marshall laugh, and he actually reached over to brush the debris away, Mary unable to chastise him for doing so with her cheeks full.

And, not entirely to her surprise given how the dessert looked, she found it to be wholeheartedly delicious. The chocolate ran like a river through her mouth, over her tongue, and smoothly down her throat; warm and silky, like an endless ribbon that she clutched again and again as she savored each bite. The marshmallows were sticky, soaking in the excess chocolate, mashing the two together in a flavorful, scrumptious combination. The crunch of the graham crackers was the literal icing on the cake to tie the three together, and the minute Mary was able to speak without spitting everything out, she paid Marshall the compliment he deserved.

"They're great!" she tapped the plate meant for him, telling him to try. "Really – I'm not just saying that. Why didn't you tell me you could cook?"

"This is hardly cooking…" modest as ever. "And, I'm sure you're being kind, given that you're eating for two."

"No, I'm not," Mary contested, running her tongue around her lips for stray bites. "When have you ever known me to be arbitrarily kind? I know good stuff when I taste it."

Polishing off her first and reaching for another, she watched as her friend sampled his own creation, although much more daintily than she had, nibbling off a corner at a time. He wasn't disappointed, however, and Mary was strangely glad that he would know she'd been telling the truth when she'd patted him on the back.

"Who knew a microwave could do such good work?" he remarked. "I'll have to make some more."

For a few minutes, they sat in blissful, gooey silence, their mouths busy masticating their indulgences for the evening. Mary was uninhibited to the maximum, morsels of graham cracker powdering her pants, chocolate smeared across her lips, her fingers clinging to one another from the sticky marshmallows. Marshall smacked his own fingers loudly, licking off fragments he might have missed, but otherwise he was more couth than his partner. They had always been the proverbial 'night and day' in terms of their personalities, but Mary was realizing more and more just how well that helped them to balance each other out.

With a soft harmony playing out of the television in the background, as Marshall hadn't been able to land on a show and had settled for an all-music channel, it was shaping up to be a very pleasant evening. As they finished the first batch of s'mores, however, Mary recalled that before Marshall had put on his hypothetical chef's hat, he had been locked in the bathroom, most likely with his cell phone. As the mood was so light and carefree, she didn't feel subdued asking him about what the call had contained.

"So…" she began, her tongue poking between her teeth to rid the crevices of excess marshmallow. "Why were you taking refuge in that broom cupboard earlier?" gesturing to the door across the room. "From out here, it didn't sound like you were just trying to avoid interrupting my _scintillating_ conversation with Jinx."

Marshall managed a chortle, but it was definitely lacking in something; Mary noticed it didn't meet his eyes, for they had traveled down to his plate. But, when asked a direct question, he rarely avoided in the verbal sense, even if he appeared awkward on the outside.

"It was…nothing we need to worry about tonight…" although, he did try to skirt around the issue on the pretense of being considerate. "I didn't order s'mores and sorrow," this time, his laugh was weaker.

But, the use of the word defining sadness made Mary's ears perk up to the point where she abandoned her sugar-sweet dinner, wiping her hands on her empty plate because there were no napkins. Eyes round, she had to dip her chin to make sure Marshall would look at her; he might be feigning that he wished to leave his troubles in the rearview, but she wasn't fooled. He wouldn't have brought them up, even if a round-about way, if he truly wanted to stay mum.

"Sorrow?" Mary repeated, and she sounded suddenly loud when she sliced through the quiet. "What sorrow?" trying to lower her voice. "Did something happen?"

"No, nothing happened…" Marshall muttered in a would-be-casual way, hunching his shoulders as he did so. "It's not important; I promise."

"It was important enough for you to go and hide in the bathroom."

"Needing privacy doesn't always equate with importance," he signified. "Don't trouble yourself with me. I'm not."

"You never trouble yourself with…yourself," Mary reminded him, indexing the odd combination of her phrasing, but there wasn't a better way to put it. "I mean, you never put yourself first," becoming more poetic as she went along. "But, why is it that you can run around like a chicken with your head cut off when it comes to _my_ woes, but I'm not allowed to bother myself with you when you have a problem? Hmm?"

She threw him a particularly pompous look, like she knew she had caught him in his own trap. This was the man who had said that friends didn't need to 'owe' each other, that it was a give-and-take relationship. Well, it was high time he got to do a little of the taking.

Even so, he hesitated distinctly, shifting where he was perched on the corner of the bed, maneuvering himself into a cross-legged position so he wasn't in danger of falling off completely. This action said something to Mary; it said he was planning on staying, that he wasn't going to run away and bury his nose in something so he wouldn't have to disclose anything. That was really more her department.

"Well…" the male inspector sighed, picking at the last of his own glorified chocolate sandwich, but not as though he was really going to eat any more of it. "It seems that I will, regrettably, not be 'plus-one' at Brandi's wedding on Monday," a thin-lipped smile followed this publication, like it was all a matter of fact and nothing more. "And, judging by your exchange with Jinx, I am not the only one who will be sorry about that."

This would indeed leave even fewer guests to occupy the bride's side of the walkway, but that was the furthest thing from Mary's mind. After all these months of hoping, all-but praying, that Marshall would free himself from Abigail's clutches, it seemed it had finally happened. All she needed was for him to say the exact words, and she could quit fussing over how on earth she would ever manage to get along with a woman so different from her.

But, if she was getting exactly what she wanted, if all of her dreams were coming true, why did she feel this wrenching ache in the pit of her stomach? Why had her heart sunk so far it was beginning to feel too heavy to hold? When all was supposed to be coming together, why did she feel so lousy?

It was because she hated when Marshall's face looked like it did. Like he had lost his best friend – like he was a failure. And for someone who was constantly trying so hard to succeed, it was physically painful to have him think he had fallen so short. Mary could be certain of one thing, and that was if her partner and the detective had indeed gone their separate ways, no way was it Marshall's fault.

But, she still needed to be sure, "What…what do you mean?" the woman was suddenly very aware of how stained her cheeks and lips were from gobbling down the s'mores. "You're not…you're not bringing Abigail?"

He shook his head slowly, "I don't think so. In fact, I _know_ so. I don't see us rekindling much when I return to the Land of Enchantment tomorrow," using one of New Mexico's very cheesy nicknames. "I think that ship has sailed."

"But, why?" Mary demanded, almost speaking over him in her fervor to know.

"Sometimes things just don't work out…"

"Is it because of Vincent?"

"Partly," the taller was honest. "Every time I've spoken to Abigail, she has dropped hints that they might be trying to renew something of their own, although she was never completely overt. I can still read between the lines."

"But, there's another reason too?"

A most peculiar look spread over Marshall's face then. He was staring at Mary like he had never seen her before in his life, like he was viewing her through some pair of magical, powerful glasses that allowed him to x-ray all her insides, straight to her heart and soul. The way his blue eyes squinted in her direction, his head cocked, and his mouth hung part-way open, it was almost like _he_ was waiting for _her_ to say something. But, that didn't make any sense, the pregnant one thought. He was the one who had just had his whole romantic relationship thrown upside-down. Mary didn't have anything to do with it.

Did she?

If she did, she wasn't going to find out right now, "You know, sometimes people want different things," he teed up a handy, all-purpose reply. "The chemistry isn't there. The sparks fizzle. And when those things fade, the future fades as well. It happens."

But, it was not an 'it happens' expression on his face. There was more to this story, probably more than even Abigail was aware of, but Mary knew she would hate it if someone pressured her about her spoiled courtships, and so she wasn't going to do the same to Marshall.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, knowing it was the most compassionate formula of words she could give him. "I know you liked her."

"Yes, I did…" he exhaled again, looking more melancholy than he had initially, but Mary had chosen to leave it aside, and she wasn't changing her mind now. "But, I'll be all right. Life goes on."

"Well, if you are still searching for a 'plus-one' even this late in the game…" shrugging and holding up her hands, palms out to indicate it was now or never. "I'm short a date myself."

This entire barrage of expressions came funneling out of Mary's mouth as easily as the chocolate had done, without conscious thought or deliberation. She just knew how fiercely she despised seeing Marshall so bedraggled and miserable, even if she had never believed Abigail was the right woman for him. Picturing him alone at a round table at Brandi's wedding, kicking back champagne and growing tipsy, wasn't the partner she knew and loved.

What she also loved was the genuine, spontaneous grin that stretched from cheek-to-cheek, catching his periwinkle orbs and making them sparkle. They were stars and sapphires and jewels disguised as rocks at the bottom of the ocean. Wholesome and circular, she could lose herself in them every time.

But, because this was Marshall, and Marshall knew how to play to his strengths, to amuse every tick in Mary's heart just the way she liked it, he wasn't going to accept her invitation outright.

"I don't know if being your 'plus-one' is really in my partner criteria…" he was teasing, she knew. "I mean, from what I could glean from this end of that phone call, _your_ 'plus-one' has to dance. I didn't sign on for that."

His smirk was devilish and wily, and though Mary rolled her eyes at the way he was messing with her, she couldn't have been happier to see it.

"I don't dance," she restated, just as she had done with Jinx. "Do you really want to see _this_ dancing?" jutting a finger at her protruding belly. "It won't be a pretty sight, doofus."

"We will just have to see about that."

And, to Mary's shock and bewilderment, he held out his hand, towing her off the bed by one of her bandaged ones, tugging her so forcefully that she had no choice but to go along. In truth, if she'd really wanted to fight him, she could've broken free, but she didn't. Her head might be spinning, wondering what he thought he was doing and what it would all mean tomorrow, but something deep down – like a dormant animal suddenly raising its head to growl – didn't care about the repercussions. All she cared about was the here and now, and the here and now was comfortable. Comfort was going to be hard to come by once Mango arrived, and the mother needed to take the opportunity while she had it.

So, with the classical music still tinkling out of the television, the melody inaudible, but the background chords guiding them along, Marshall wrapped his arms around her waist, seemingly not even noticing that she had very little waist left. Mary's veins seemed to be popping, all her capillaries exploding, because she could not remember ever being this close to Marshall by choice, or staying in his arms for so long. The goose bumps that rose on her flesh came from nervousness, but excitement mingled pleasantly with that same sensation, urging her not to let go.

What was he doing? Was he trying to tell her something? If so, what could that possibly be? Mary had known Marshall for almost a decade. She thought she knew everything about him – how far he was willing to push the envelope, how close he would get before she could push him away – but, maybe she didn't. Maybe there was an animal inside his chest too – a caged, feral, frenzied lion longing to be set free.

"You move well for a pregnant gal…" the lion remarked as Mary felt her hips begin to sway in time with his. "Most ladies in your state wouldn't stand a chance."

Because Mary didn't know what to say, she went with something neutral, "Just special I guess."

Somehow, her head found his shoulder. Or, rather, her cheek did; it fit perfectly; she was just enough shorter than him that she could nestle perfectly right beside his chin. The spot was warm and cavernous, like it had been waiting all its life to be filled, and filled by Mary herself.

What was going on here? Was she really dancing with him? Was he as relaxed as he seemed, or was his heart racing a mile a minute like hers was? On Marshall, you never could tell. Because she had no idea what to do or how to react next without ruining everything, Mary swallowed hard, trying to keep her feet moving, to pretend she was at ease with this stance as he was.

"You know, if you were _my_ boyfriend…"

Oh, Jesus. This was 'at ease?' Who was she fooling?

"Not that you are," she hurried to correct herself, her throat feeling parched. "But, if you were…"

"Mmm?"

"You wouldn't ever catch me dumping you."

It was saying it out loud that made Mary realize how brutally she believed in what she'd just told him. For how could Abigail, in all her perkiness and rainbows, give away a dance as pure as this?

XXX

**A/N: The dancing is probably overkill, but oh well! ;)**


	47. Be My Anchor

**A/N: I am so sorry I am late this evening – the site would not let me upload! Hopefully I found a way around it! **

** So, here is the next installment – and so close to 300 reviews! My buddy Jayne's catch-up ones got me right at the edge! I can't thank you all enough!**

XXX

If Mary thought she was going to arrive home to anything akin to seclusion on Sunday, she was sorely mistaken. Nonetheless, on what was a very steamy September evening, she was thrilled to see the peaks of the Sandia Mountains as she and Marshall rolled into town. Her favorite restaurants were lit with the orange afterglow from the setting sun, the flagpole outside their office building flapping mildly in the heated breeze. Everything was so consoling; coffee shops and park benches, the courthouse and the Texaco station; all of it screamed 'home.'

And, when Mary put two feet on her very own driveway, her pregnant shadow something of an amusement, she scarcely cared that both Brandi's and Jinx's cars were parked at the curb. It seemed they had risked breaking and entering charges to penetrate the confines of her house, but that was to be expected. Their intrusive nature aside, the wedding reception was set to take place in Mary's backyard, as most of Peter's was taken up by a swimming pool, and preparations would've started. It seemed she hadn't missed the rehearsal dinner after all, but this thought wasn't cheering.

She had been run ragged by the drive; all the vertebrae in her back seemed to be gyrating against one another, her belly felt squashed and tight, and she looked like she hadn't showered in days. Cleaner than she appeared, but still feeling dirty, Mary was sorry to see Marshall go when he dropped her off, duffel bag in hand.

"If you're going over to the church, I'm happy to go with you…" he offered graciously, for he was still Marshall through and through. "I should probably stop by the office first to let Stan know we're back, but I can swing by if you want."

Mary gaped listlessly at him out of weary eyes, "Aren't you tired?"

"I am starting to feel a tad sluggish," he admitted. "But, we've got the day off tomorrow for the wedding, barring disaster with a witness. I'll be able to get reenergized in plenty of time."

Mary wished she could say the same for herself, but she just wagged her head, longing to go inside and collapse on her own bed, but terrified of the circus Jinx and Brandi were sure to have set up within the confines. And, why Marshall wasn't taking as much time for himself as he could was a total mystery. Mary didn't really think life with a newborn and subsequent child meant she would get a lot of free hours to relax, but her days at work were numbered, whereas Marshall was going to be back in action on Tuesday. She at least had an excuse for taking things slow, but not him, and he wasn't even utilizing any justifications.

"Come on, it won't be too painful," he decided optimistically, seeing his friend's downtrodden features. "The food will be good, right? Festivities at Peter's place in the aftermath of the dress rehearsal, if I remember correctly? That means catering."

"Only if you're an old moneybags like my soon-to-be-brother-in-law," and while she was as cheap as they came and would ordinarily appreciate wealth, what she wanted right now was a night on her own to decompress. "Seriously, who is going to miss me? No one's going to notice if you're not there – you're not in the wedding."

"You're not either, not anymore," Marshall harked upon, still in the SUV, as he clearly wasn't planning on going inside with her. "You weren't even supposed to be back in time for this shindig. Just tell Jinx you're not up for it."

"Yeah, and have Brandi throw a hissy fit?" Mary predicted. "No thanks."

That was the real truth of the matter, the inspector thought miserably. Jinx might understand, especially given that her daughter was considering dropping the bomb about Mango sooner rather than later. But, Brandi would never be so benevolent, not when she was so likely to be wound tighter than spring about her nuptials being less than twenty-four hours away. Mary just hoped she wouldn't go all 'runaway bride' on them, leaving Peter rejected and pouty at the altar. The sight was too depressing to contemplate, even if the older sister had no interest in weddings.

"Well, if you do decide you need backup, I'm your man," Marshall said one more time, apparently spotting how his partner hadn't made a move toward the front door since she'd exited the car. "If not, I'll see you tomorrow, right? You want me to pick you up around noon?" since he had been designated her 'plus-one.'

"Yeah, that's fine…" he was more in tune to times than she was. "Jinx and Brandi will be here all morning too; they want to oversee the reception crap, I guess. Brandi's staying with mom tonight, and they'll be back to torture me before the sun's up."

"Can't see the bride before the wedding," Marshall noted how the engaged one wasn't bunking with her future husband. "Bad luck."

"There's a lot of that to go around."

It would be stupid to stall any longer, because even though the sun was fast disappearing, it was still much too warm out, and with fall on its way in too. Only the third day of September, Mary was ready for summer to begin to dissipate, looking for the day she could wear her sweaters and blazers without sweating right through the fabric. Although, she supposed no longer being pregnant in four weeks would help with that as well.

"Have a good night, Marshall," she murmured, heaving her duffel off the concrete where she'd set it down momentarily.

"I'd say, 'same to you' but it seems moot."

She cast him a feeble smile, "I'll see you. Say hi to Stan."

"Will do."

But, as Mary turned to go into the house she had begun to miss so heartily in the last few days, she realized with a jolt that this was the first night in nine days she was going to spend without her partner. The thought made her strangely sad, even lonely, which was not an emotion she typically embarked upon. The only person she could stand was herself, and so her quiet moments of isolation were to be cherished, not frowned upon. And yet, she recalled those midnights in the dark, Marshall's gentle breathing in the bed beside hers; a security blanket of sorts, a signal that she was safe, protected, and that she was going to wake up in the morning with someone she loved right there waiting.

It was hard not to yearn for that.

Stopping and rotating around on her heel, seeing the man about to insert his key into the ignition, she called out to him, not going to let him get away without a word of kindness.

"Hey, Marshall."

"Yeah?" he raised his voice to shout back, rolling down the windows and peering over the now empty passenger seat, the seat Mary had occupied for nearly two weeks. "Did you say something?"

She might be swinging a bag full of filthy laundry, empty chip wrappers, and crumpled, unused adoption forms, but she would never say this journey hadn't been an enlightening one. One that she would look back on with an allusion of frustration, but a far bigger part would recall the closeness, the laughs, and the lessons learned with each mile that ticked by.

"Thanks for a great trip."

Even at a distance, she could see him grin to the point where he showed every single one of his teeth. Mary suddenly noticed that he only looked that happy when _he_ had made _her_ happy.

"I had fun too, Mare," he reciprocated. "Don't let mom and sister dearest drill you into the ground, okay? If you need to sleep, you're entitled."

With an absentminded, "Mmm hmm," she relented and continued her paces to the front door, not turning back even when she heard the rev of the engine and the SUV's tires bounce over the curb, which meant he was out of sight. If she had stopped for one last look, she probably would've run after him, screaming that she be kept away from all the sequins and glitter that were sure to ensue.

Unlocking the front door took some doing with Mary holding both her duffel and her tote that she carried everywhere, both of which seemed to grow more weighted every day. But, when she finally managed, spilling the whole of her front entryway with the burning red light from the setting sun, she was met with a chatter of sound and a blast of cold air. She might've been stepping into a freezer for all she knew.

It seemed that Jinx and Brandi, in their quest to cool the house down after it had likely been sweltering for days, had overcompensated and turned the air conditioning on full blast. But, the frosty temperature wasn't what attracted Mary the most; her living room looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Coming home to a messy house wasn't amusing, and she had half a mind to shout that her mother and sister had better get things cleaned up before she even said hello.

Bundles of flowers in plastic wrap, their stems protruding out the bottom, their centers squashed together, were heaped on the couch, while boxes of boutonnières littered the coffee table. At least five or six pairs of fancy, high-heeled shoes were scattered all over the floor, the boxes they had come in tossed carelessly aside with tissue paper falling out of them. A dress, presumably Jinx's because it was a garish shade of magenta, was heaped over the back of the sofa on a hanger; Brandi's seemed to be still in its garment bag, weaving from a knob on one of the cabinets in the kitchen. Mary didn't think it was likely that the handle would hold it for long with the way the air vents were causing such a breeze.

But, really, the tornado-like picture in front of her wasn't even what was so over-stimulating. Jinx and Brandi were babbling a mile a minute, each one speaking over the other, Brandi with her hair half in rollers, the other half hanging limply onto her shoulder. She wore a tea-length summer dress with a skirt that flipped out, bright yellow and very appropriate for the weather outdoors. But, she didn't quite look the part of the blushing bride; in fact, she looked harassed, like Jinx was trying to talk her down, both with a cell phone in hand.

"Honey, you don't have to wear it curled if you don't like it…"

"I can't change my mind at the last minute and hope for the best!" Brandi bawled shrilly. "This is how I've wanted it for months, but my hair's grown out and it doesn't look the same anymore!"

"It looks beautiful, angel; you'll look beautiful no matter what…"

"You have to say that; you're my mother!"

"No! No – it has nothing to do with that!" but you could tell by Jinx's flighty tone that she was fibbing. "Peter would still marry you even if you wore a pair of jeans down the aisle; that's what's important…"

"I can't believe I have to start all over; I can't…"

But, in the midst of her moaning, one hand over her eyes as the weight of bad hair came crashing down, Jinx spotted Mary standing in the hall, staring at the both of them and their theatrics. It was anybody's guess as to how she looked – openmouthed at the sight of her living room, for starters, but also dazed and disoriented after hours in a moving vehicle. This upheaval next to all that tedium was a jarring jerk back to reality.

Jinx, however, seized her opportunity immediately, obviously hoping to cheer Brandi up.

"Mary, honey!" she bleated, and in spite of her obvious efforts to put on a show, she did actually sound pleased. "You're home! I'm so glad to see you, baby – we've missed you!"

Goose-stepping and tripping her way through the sea of boxes and shoes, she managed to detach herself from her sniveling younger daughter to greet the older one. Numbly, Mary allowed herself the warm welcome, reciprocating the brief hug she received without disdainful comments, for Jinx was clearly trying to stay sunny and upbeat for the sake of Brandi.

"How are you, sweetheart?" she began fingering her hair lightly once they were through embracing. "You look well."

Mary supposed she meant physically, which was as suspect as her attractiveness at the moment. But, reading the rosy-cheeked smile in mother's face correctly, she knew now wasn't the time to gripe. Brandi likely had dibs on that until Peter was kissing his bride under the arch.

"Well, I…I feel okay…" the elder stuttered. "I'm a little jet-lagged, even without the plane; it's a lot of driving," she tried to make this sound like it was no big deal. "What are you guys doing?" peering around Jinx to get another look at Brandi.

"Oh, just tying up some loose ends for tomorrow," the brunette twittered, gesturing idly at the helter-skelter room behind her. "The layers in Brandi's hair might mean she ends up with a different style come tomorrow, but we will figure it out – the hair-dressers on call; it will be long forgotten by the time she's walking down that aisle!" clasping her hands in merriment just at the thought.

Brandi didn't look as though she thought _anything_ was going to be figured out, from her hair to whether or not Peter even showed up in his tux. But, Mary supposed pre-wedding jitters were to be expected, and she bypassed her mother to go all the way inside, dragging her luggage through the mess as she did so. Her little sister was dabbing at her eyes, trying to keep from coming undone, but her mascara was already running.

Even in spite of her disheveled form, Mary still thought she looked incredible, something she had never really thought about Brandi before. Perhaps it was because she was now the size of two semis, but she couldn't help noticing Brandi's golden-bronze tan, her toned upper arm and calf muscles while still maintaining a slim physique. Even with all her hair out of place, she looked every bit the bride she was supposed to be; with a few touch-ups, she would be right there.

And, in some ways, it was grating for Mary to see her that way. She was supposed to be a little kid still – a whining, dependent little kid that needed her big sister for everything. It seemed those days were beginning to pass, even if she reverted just a little the night before her big day.

"Hey Squish…" she greeted her lightly. "What's with the frowny mug?" drawing a finger up and down her face. "You couldn't look any better if you tried."

"You're just like mom…"

"And when have you known me to a pay a compliment to anyone when it wasn't warranted?"

Good thing Brandi hadn't been around for the past nine days – watching her make nice with little girls, stretching the truth on behalf of Ted, doting on Marshall while he threw up his oysters, and trying to find the good in people even if she had to squint against the sun. Then, she might know Mary had become more prone to looking for the positive aspects in people, but not this time.

"I want to look _good_…" she groaned, but Mary could tell she was wavering. "This isn't Easter dinner or the homecoming dance where it doesn't matter if everything isn't perfect. This is my wedding; it _has_ to be perfect."

"Well, perfect is asking a lot," the taller reminded her. "But, if it's any consolation, I can guarantee you'll look better than I will. I hope you ordered the woolly-mammoth size dress. Triple XL."

Brandi gave a watery laugh that made her eyes run again, but Jinx seemed buoyed by the sudden change in mood, glad to see her anxious daughter smiling.

"I'm so happy you're back, Mare…" she stated croakily, putting a hand to her out of place locks as if she could suddenly contemplate fixing them. "You'll make it in time for the dinner; mom and I were going to head over in about twenty minutes. You can go, can't you?"

How could she say no now, no matter what Marshall said? She was so obviously Brandi's anchor; the missing hand that she had needed to tether her to the ground. The younger Shannon and her mother might be two peas in a pod, with so many feminine and emotional qualities in common, but together without a third party they could oftentimes clash horribly. It seemed Mary's sudden reappearance was going to save the day, at least in Brandi's nervous eyes. It was hard for Mary to believe that, even with all the change she had wrapped her arms around in her time away, the minute she walked through the front door, she was right back where she'd started. The Shannon family chaos never took a day off; she could step right into her caretaker role the instant the whistle blew.

This might be a good thing; it meant protective instincts for Mango did reside deep down. It also might be a bad thing. Jinx and Brandi weren't the only people she was going to have to watch out for anymore. With this realization, she knew that her chances for confiding Mango's future in any member of her family were limited. This might be Brandi's time to shine, but she was going to have to get a move on if she wanted anyone to know what a different direction her own life was headed in.

But, first, she needed to answer her sister's question.

"I'll…I'll come, sure…" she tried not to sound too weary. "As long as I don't have to go through a dry run of my supposed 'speech,'" she hadn't forgotten this act of goodwill.

Brandi's eyes lit up, "But, you'll give the toast? You will?"

"I…I mean, I guess…" she hadn't made a conscious decision to agree, but she was trapped. "But, really, Squish; I don't have anything to say tonight. If I'm going to do it, you're going to have to trust that I can wing it tomorrow."

'Winging it' probably wasn't in Brandi's vocabulary at the moment, but she appeared to let it slide, Jinx beaming from ear-to-ear between them.

"And, you think Marshall could come along if he's free – tonight, I mean?" she yammered on, apparently using any excuse in the book to spend yet another evening with her partner. "He could stand to take advantage of free food too…"

"Yeah, sure!" the prospect of more guests was exciting. "He can bring Abigail."

"He's not bringing Abigail," Mary corrected her sharply without thinking.

"Why not? Did they break up?"

"I don't really know," she replied stiffly. "But, I think so. She's not coming tomorrow; I know that."

Brandi pouted at the news that she was going to be a short a visitor representing her half of the aisle, but said no more. Jinx, luminous as ever this evening, seemed scarcely bothered by the fact that Abigail would be hitting the road. Mary suddenly remembered how she had declared that the inspector could 'take her' when she'd complained about her before she and Marshall had left for Pennsylvania. There was clearly no love lost between them.

"Marshall will be a dear to have around; he probably knows more about beads and sashes than I do!" the mother chuckled loudly.

"Sadly, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's true," Mary joked. "You said you're leaving for the church in about twenty minutes?" that might give her just enough time to shower, even if she did show up with wet hair. "Both of you?"

"If you want to come separately, darling, then that's fine; no one will mind if you're a few minutes late…" she looked to Brandi as she said this. "You've had a long day."

"All right, um…" grateful for the charitable act here, Mary's throat suddenly felt clogged as she tried to gather her courage for what she knew she needed to do next. "Uh…mom, do you think I could have just a minute?" nodding toward her bedroom door at the back of the house. "I-I won't be long – just kind of, help me unpack?" this was a bit of a fumble, but it got the job done.

Mary was aware the timing on her part was strange, but if she didn't tell her about Mango now, when was she going to? Tomorrow was out, and while it might be kinder to wait until Tuesday when Brandi was off on her honeymoon, Mary was going to have to go back to work, even if it was only part-time. She had things to accomplish before she ended up being gone for a whole three months, a thought that was still horrifying to her; she'd never been away from work for so long. But, she knew it was necessary, and she knew it was a change she was going to have to make, even if it was a hard one. It would be worth it; surely it would.

Jinx looked a little taken aback at the woman's shift in gears, but it had been a long time since they'd seen each other, and if Mary was initiating a get-together, she would be dumb not to accept.

"Of course…" she agreed, side-stepping all the garbage on the floor. "Brandi, honey, just take your hair out; it looks fine for now. Try to clean up a little bit of this mess and then we'll go, all right?"

"Fine…" she huffed, clearly too caught up in her own drama to really wonder about what was going to happen behind closed doors; a lucky break for Mary.

Followed by Jinx back to her bedroom, Mary entered and flipped on the light, which mingled oddly with the natural hue still streaming in from outdoors. Her blinds were cracked, throwing striped shadows onto her mattress, and a pale blue dress that really did look like it might fit a woolly mammoth was hanging in her closet, ready to be worn the next day. Otherwise, though, her living space looked relatively undisturbed, and she could be grateful for that. It seemed her mother and sister had only recently taken over the outer rooms; she'd caught a glimpse of tables and canopies set up for the reception in the backyard when she'd passed the kitchen.

Jinx was smart enough to shut the door behind her, Mary unzipping her duffel on her bed and immediately throwing out dirty clothes. If she kept busy, it might make this conversation easier. It might help her avoid a sound 'I told you so' from her mother in regards to who should raise her grandchild.

"Goodness, sweetheart; you really have been gone a long time…" Jinx remarked, stepping up to her elbow to survey the unloading. "You must be exhausted. Really, how have you been feeling?"

The 'really' must indicate that she expected an honest answer, as Mary had mostly skated over that when she'd been asked after she'd first come through the door.

"I…you know, I could be better, but not bad…" this was a nice, casual, but still truthful retort. "You know how it is."

"Did you and Marshall have a good time, at least?" she pressed, beginning to separate stacks of clothes where they stood side by side as Mary hurled them out. "I know it was for work, but surely you must've enjoyed some of it. You…you were meeting with that family in Rhode Island, weren't you?" this was said shyly, but for Mary it was like a detonation.

How had they arrived here so quickly? She'd wanted to take a little more time; prepare herself for what to say and how to say it, short of just blurting it out sloppily. Jinx's reaction was going to be fairly predictable, and she wanted to put a damper on that as much as she could, because too much excitement would make her edgy.

Fortuitously, though, she was granted a few more seconds to think when the brunette, who was standing so close to her they might be sharing shoes, caught sight of her daughter's hands as she riffled around in her bag.

Yanking one into her own, she sounded distraught as she examined the wrappings.

"Oh, honey…"

"What?" Mary didn't immediately realize what had happened, but then saw her mother inspecting the bandages and understood. "Oh," she breathed, attempting not to pull away. "It's not a big deal, mom; really, they feel a lot better. They were sore yesterday, but they're fine now…"

"You poor thing," she wasn't listening to a single word Mary was saying. "All those stitches, and you said Marshall wasn't hurt at all?"

"No, he was lucky; we both were…"

"I had no idea they were this bad," she bemoaned further, although Mary didn't know what she meant by this, as she couldn't see the bruises and scrapes underneath the bindings. "Are you sure they're not bothering you?"

"No, they're not," she repeated firmly. "I appreciate the concern, mom, but I'm good. I have something else I need to talk to you about that's a lot more important than my cut-up hands."

If she didn't want to be coddled, there was no sense waiting. Jinx was going to feel how she was going to feel; why Mary thought a few extra minutes would make a difference suddenly didn't make much sense.

"What's that?" the dancer wanted to know, dropping a shirt that had fallen limply from her grasp. "About your trip?"

"Oh, well…kind of…" Mary supposed that was sort of it; without Marshall's unending influence, she might never have come to the decision she had. "You…you remembered, obviously, that I was supposed to meet a family – that was the Harmons…"

Jinx was already looking resigned to the worst, the brightened attitude she had displayed with Brandi vanishing in a flash. This was slightly irksome, because for all she knew Mary was going to say that Brooke and Chris had been the perfect fit, and that Mango was set to be shipped their way in the immediate future. Her current persona didn't exactly say she was going to be supportive, but fortunately for both of them, Brooke and Chris were no longer poised to become Mango's parents.

Still, her features aside, Jinx's words spoke to being on Mary's side, even if her poker face was abysmal.

"What did you think of them?" she whispered in a small voice. "Were they nice?"

"Oh…yeah, they were very nice…" even though the Providence-dwellers couldn't hear her, it felt important to give them at least that much credit. "It's just, um…" she had to swallow, at first only once, but then several more times, like she was trying not to choke and the object just wouldn't go down all the way. "I…I didn't really think that…"

Why was this so hard? Jinx was going to flip her shit in the best way possible; shouldn't Mary be grateful for that? She wanted help, and her mother would be only too happy to give it. There was no reason for her to be clamming up like this. But, something in Jinx's wide green eyes – so like Mary's – was making the reveal a bit of a struggle. This was a first chance for the daughter, but it was a second chance for the grandmother. Mary loved Jinx; she always had, and she always would, even when she drove her up the wall. But, fears that were juvenile and selfish still ran deep in her veins. Mango was hers and hers alone. Wanting assistance didn't mean wanting another to take over.

Marshall had said she could turn her child into whatever she wanted him to be, with the idea in mind that nature sometimes played a part all its own that you couldn't control. This was a fresh slate for her. To a point, she wanted it to be one for Jinx as well. Drunken, neglectful days aside, Jinx still probably knew more about being a mother – at least when it came to the basics like diapering and feeding – than Mary did. Frightening though that was, torn as she felt; she was going to have to push on. Her mother was going to become suspicious soon enough.

"Mom…"

The quality of her voice was slightly foggy still, and she coughed in order to get it together.

"Mom…they were nice people; they really were, but…"

No, she had already said this. Repeating herself counted for nothing. Put up or shut up.

"But…they're not right for this baby…"

Hope brimmed so quickly in Jinx's gaze that it was alarming, but Mary couldn't have stopped now if she'd wanted to.

"In fact, I don't think that anybody other than me is going to be right for this baby…"

She was nearly there. Any second now it was going to be out, and then there would be no taking it back, although Mary had-had no plans of turning tail again.

"That's why I've decided that I'm not going to give him up after all. He's mine – I'm going to raise him. I am."

She was pretty direct for someone who was shaking in her boots, because saying it out loud for a second time was fairly intimidating, but her words still shook unsteadily as though they were wobbling on a string. The deep breath she took in the aftermath was almost unheard because Jinx matched it with an airy, girlish gasp, her hands clapping immediately over her mouth, almost like she was going to be sick. Mary knew this was not the case at all; especially when tears sprung into the older's eyes, as if all her wildest dreams had come true.

When she was lucid enough to speak, Jinx didn't hold back in the least, her fingers leaving her lips so her reply wouldn't be so muffled.

"Oh, Mary…" the gushing was going to become overpowering. "Oh, sweetheart…"

Flinging her arms around her for a second time, Mary only allowed her a moment of her theatrics before pawing her away, knowing she would start crying too if she got too wrapped up this performance. The notion of becoming a mother was still very new to her; with anyone other than Marshall, she worried that regrets might seep in.

"Oh, this is wonderful, angel…" Jinx blubbered on, all of a dither. "You will be such a fantastic mom…" at least somebody besides Marshall thought so. "What changed your mind?"

"I…I don't know…" there had been countless things, each of them distinct and yet all of them jumbled at the same time. "Just…just the thought of someone who needs me – someone I need…" this was going to get mushy if she wasn't careful. "Wanting to give him more than I had, but not having him be a part of some 'Leave it to Beaver' family…" another gulp. "Seeing…seeing Marshall with his little nieces…"

Wait. Hold on. That hadn't been on the roster before, had it? The whole concept of 'the legacy' and everything – that was what she had cited, not her partner doting after the most refined children this side of Kansas. Unfortunately, Mary's flub didn't go unnoticed either, because Jinx's eyebrows flew up.

"Marshall?"

"No, I mean…" this was getting too complicated for the moment. "Not _just_ Marshall. He's just a factor; I'm not saying…" it would be best to simply shut up now. "Never mind. I've told you, and now you know, okay?" there; she had closed all the gaps. "Oh, and it's a boy, by the way…" except for that one. "I found out when I was in the ER. It's a boy, and he's fine. So, you're going to have a grandson."

If this didn't send Jinx into complete hysterics, than nothing would, but she managed to keep the weeping to a minimum, hands intertwined in something resembling prayer. The way she was gazing munificently at her daughter was starting to get to be a bit much, but when Mary narrowed her brows so that she looked more menacing, Jinx got with the program and moved on.

"I'll help you in any way I can, honey…" she offered, probably as much for herself as for Mary. "As soon as we get through the wedding tomorrow; I am all yours, all right?"

It was debatable as to whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, but Mary hurried to make one more thing known before booting her mother out completely.

"You don't need to tell Brandi until after she's hitched, okay? I don't need her thinking I'm stealing her thunder; she has enough to worry about."

In some ways, having this, the second reveal, off her chest was a great relief. But, her sister wasn't the only one with things to trouble herself over. Fatigued, she might be, but Mary couldn't help being grateful for the opportunity to keep chugging up the hill in the form of the wedding the next day. The longer her mind was occupied, the longer she could put off the veracity of single motherhood hitting her square in the face.

XXX

**A/N: Home at last! Now, reality hits. ;) **


	48. Curbing the Undertow

**A/N: Wahoo, 300 reviews and beyond! Thank-you so very-very much! It is wedding day in this IPS world – on a Monday LOL! It's supposed to be Labor Day Monday, so hopefully that makes it less unrealistic. ;)**

XXX

It could not be denied that there were an immense number of things on Mary's mind when she woke up on Monday morning. Some of them were superficial, even petty. Others were more pressing, definitely parts she was going to have to address at a later date, if not within the next twenty-four hours. In the shallow category was the fact that she was surly for a variety of reasons – her baby sister was getting married before she was, she was going to have to wear a dress, she was going to have to speak in front of other people and pretend to enjoy the overload of gaiety. All of this without the ability to take a single sip of champagne or even something stronger wasn't something she looked forward to.

But, in the more serious category, there was what to do with her guest room in order to turn it into a plausible nursery. She was going to lose an entire day that she could've spent finagling the space with help from either Jinx or Marshall. Also up in the air were her case files at work. Who was going to take her witnesses? What would happen if there was an emergency with one of them and she was stuck on diaper duty at three in the morning? Would Stan replace her temporarily and would her replacement partner Marshall? All of it was beginning to spin in a virtual whirlwind, until Mary was sure her head couldn't hold much more.

However, none of these worries – trivial or otherwise – could compare to the new one she discovered almost immediately after getting out of bed upon hearing Jinx and Brandi crash through her front door at half past eight.

The flaming pangs in her lower belly that she'd been experiencing the longer she remained pregnant had become almost commonplace. Their patterns were always asymmetrical and never lasted long, and so it was hard for her to see them as anything to lose sleep over. But, there was something distinctly different about the twinges gracing her abdomen on what Brandi kept stridently referring to as, 'my day.' Without even looking at the clock, Mary thought she could somehow sense, intuitively, when the next pain would strike, and it made her so tense that it wasn't unreasonable to think she was making it worse for herself.

Jinx and Brandi flying from one end of the house to the other didn't do wonders for her either. Strangers kept traipsing in and out to spruce up the backyard for the reception, which was beginning to look like it had been infested with shrouds of fairies, there were so many lights and flowers. Mary knew it was imperative that she not let her distress show, because Jinx would overreact and Brandi would mope about the possibility of the wedding being crashed.

Still though, the longer the morning waned on, the more anxious Mary became. The pain wasn't actually terrible; it was uncomfortable and still slightly intermittent, punctuated every eight or nine minutes with a sneaky twisting sensation. It was like her intestines were being bent into coils and then wound together; causing nasty cramps that she had to breathe through, but she didn't do a very good job. For one thing, she didn't even try most of the time because she was attempting to help Brandi get ready, with Jinx subsequently attacking her older daughter's hair so she wouldn't show up to the ceremony looking as bad as she felt. Panicking couldn't be in the cards yet, though. Mary was made of durable reserves. Anybody who had been shot square in the gut could survive something as simple as this.

As noon drew nearer and nearer and Brandi was beginning to wiggle into her dress, Mary retreated to her bedroom to allow Jinx to take over. It would give her time to gather herself before Marshall showed up. In any case, she was no stylist; the task of fittings was best left to her mother, anyway.

Marshall himself, in a crisp grey suit and pale lavender tie, came knocking ten minutes early, knowing he was going to perspire right through his outfit, but you couldn't have asked for a nicer day. Scorching temperatures aside, the sun hung brilliantly in the sky, catching the bright flowers on every corner and patches of green grass on each lawn. It might be September, but summer's warm scents were still caught in every sniff of the air you inhaled.

Sticking his head through the already half-cracked front door, the man stumbled upon a scene that didn't include Mary, but a beautiful scene nonetheless. Jinx was all-but crawling along the floor, wearing a knee-length dress in a flashy shade of pink, her hair piled on her head in a curly up 'do. Brandi had her back to him, her white-as-snow gown flowing its train across the mahogany hardwood. Soft waves framed what little he could see of her face, and when she turned at the sound of the door, she sent him a radiant, beaming smile, not without a hint of stress. With a jolt, he suddenly realized how grown up she looked, and how such a trait made her resemble Mary more strongly than he had ever noticed before.

"Marshall!" the bride exclaimed, waving stiffly so she wouldn't move and upset the motoring Jinx on the floor. "You're early! Aren't…aren't you…?" she threw an anxious glance over her shoulder, just in case she'd mistaken the time.

"Wearisomely punctual, I assure you," he promised with a polite nod of his head. "An attribute I have never been able to shake, I am afraid."

Jinx chuckled from the ground, looking up briefly from where she was adjusting Brandi's hem, blowing stray bangs out of her face.

"Hello, dear…" she twittered pleasantly. "Don't you look smart!"

"Oh, I will pale in comparison…" he gestured instantly to Brandi, who blushed furiously and cast off an erratic giggle. "As it should be. Anybody who upstages the bride on her wedding day is asking for trouble." With an impish wink, "You look stunning, Brandi. Peter certainly is a lucky man."

Cheeks still as pink as the roses in the yard, "Thanks, Marshall," she muttered almost shyly. No doubt fueled by the compliments, "I was…sorry to hear about you and Abigail. I mean, I know she and I kind of got off to a rocky start, but it's too bad things didn't work out for you guys."

While the sentiment was sweet, Marshall felt strangely little gloom when it came to him and the detective parting ways. His lack of lament did inspire a certain amount of guilt, but perhaps he would've felt worse if Abigail had seemed to miss him. But, their severing ties had been short and sweet, as she was fairly unabashed about her reunification with Vincent. He couldn't fault the woman for following her heart, even if he had missed having someone to come home to the night before, even though he and Abigail had never managed to make plans to shack up together. The pictures of the pair of them on his fridge that had greeted him at his house had left him with a bit of a concave hole, but something – _someone_, maybe – was helping it to heal already.

"Some unions are meant to be – some are not," he spouted diplomatically, not wishing to spend a lot of time on this subject. "But, who needs to be talking about my unsuccessful relationships on a historic occurrence such as this?" spreading his arms wide, soaking in all the good cheer in the air.

"Historic!" Jinx bleated approvingly, finally standing up and hitching her dress back into place. "You hear that, Brandi? He makes your wedding sound like a holiday."

"You mean it's not?" the younger guffawed, clearly warming to the idea. "They can replace Labor Day with this!"

It was indeed the holiday weekend, something Brandi had probably strategically planned well in advance so that people from far and wide might make she and Peter their long weekend 'plans.' If they could catch them early, they might snag more guests, something Marshall knew Brandi had been concerned about from the beginning.

"All right, angel…" Jinx's hands fluttered about her daughter's waist, testing the tightness of the dress, but it appeared to fit perfectly. "The hem is fine; as long as you're careful walking to the car you shouldn't get caught."

"Okay…" Brandi bobbed her head, her nod becoming more jagged the longer she allowed it to go on, an act obviously borne out of unease. "Do I have everything else? Our flowers are on that table by the door…" she pointed toward the entrance where two bouquets were lying. "My extra shoes and clothes are over there too…" Marshall spotted a plastic bag bulging with supplies.

"What about your plane tickets?" Jinx recalled. "Your luggage for the flight?"

"Peter has all that," she spoke up, looking quite thankful that she wasn't in charge of this particular undertaking. "The tickets, the suitcases, passports…"

"Where will the newlyweds be going on their blissful honeymoon?" Marshall interjected, genuinely curious even though he had just returned from a passage of his own. "Somewhere with white sand beaches and turquoise oceans, I hope?"

"Aruba," Brandi announced excitedly, fulfilling the man's fantasy. "Seven days – a whole week! Just me and Peter."

"I should think," he agreed, knowing that alone-time was exactly what a honeymoon was for. "Say hello the warawara and the kinikini for me, won't you?"

His little bit of wisdom earned him dueling laughs from both Brandi and Jinx. Unlike Mary, they found his always eternal fount of information to be funny, maybe even interesting, rather than peculiar. At the same time, though, he couldn't help thinking that his show of high intelligence wasn't quite the same without his partner scrunching her nose and rolling her eyes at his display.

"The what?" Brandi finally asked, not having a clue what he was talking about with his native terms.

"Birds of prey," he dictated. "I will not bore you with the details, but they are two of many inhabitant animals you are sure to see on your adventures. I must admit, I am envious."

"Oh, you listen to him…" Jinx chirped joyfully, sounding like a bird herself. "Waxing poetic about historic occasions and birds of Aruba – he should be giving your toast."

"Speaking of…" the inspector broke in before they could get any ideas. "I trust Mary is around here somewhere? I would hate to appear stag when I was someone's promised 'plus one,'" that phrase seemed to have been thrown around a lot lately, but it had never been truer. "She hasn't bolted from the premises due to sequin overexposure, has she?"

Yet another round of raucous laughter followed this; Brandi's probably came from nervousness, but Jinx was staring at him in a very premeditated way. In fact, she hadn't taken her eyes off him since he'd arrived, now that he thought about it. What he'd done to deserve this kind of attention, he couldn't be sure, but his charm certainly seemed to be having an effect on the ladies. More than anything, he was glad he could help Brandi to ease up, because if things went smoothly for her, they would go more smoothly for Mary.

"I don't know how she got through nine days with you when you're so positive all the time, Marshall…" the little sister proclaimed. "Not when she's so…" she glanced to Jinx for help with the right terminology, and then decided to use the first thought that came to mind. "Rude…all the time."

Her comment was obviously supposed to be taken as a joke as well; Marshall wasn't even really offended, not when his friend could indeed be very acidic, and her family was often on the receiving end of it. But, it was Jinx who really seemed to feel the need to correct her child, wedding day or not.

"Honey, she has a lot going on…" she interrupted quietly, sensibly. "Be patient with her, okay?"

This fit very neatly with the undivided concentration she was focusing on Marshall, he thought shrewdly, but Brandi just scoffed at the suggestion and shook her head. Nothing was going to deter her today; it was her time in the limelight, and she was going to be damned if anybody ruined it for her. Nonetheless, it seemed she realized she hadn't really responded to the man's inquiry and got around to exposing the information he needed about his date.

"She's in her room," she added as an afterthought. "I think she's getting dressed, but you're probably right – all this happy stuff is likely getting to her."

"I'll be sure to check there," he concluded simply.

"We have to get going anyway," Jinx chimed in with a quick peek at her watch. "We don't want to be late!" an ecstatic grin that showed all her teeth. "I'll help you gather all your things; the car should be here any minute."

And while the two of them went off to tidy up the house, ridding it of any and all items that Brandi might need for the approaching ceremony, Marshall assumed he was being granted permission to go and court his woman. For a moment, he stayed behind just to make sure they didn't need extra hands, because Brandi was clearly reluctant to do much moving around lest she disturb her gown. But, when it became clear that they were lost in their own wedding-centric-world, he departed without another word, tiptoeing up the hall to see what had transpired with his partner.

Ordinarily, he would've rapped his knuckles on the door, so as not to be intrusive, but it was already open part way, and so he felt safe tucking his head around the frame. At first, he wasn't sure Mary was even there; his eyes scanned the room and the only thing they caught was a big blue smudge somewhere in the vicinity of the head of the bed. A double take told him that the cobalt streak that had flown past as he'd glanced _was_ Mary, but she seemed to be hunched over and he could barely see her head, which was why he'd mistaken her for a lapse in vision.

"Your chariot awaits, ma'am!" he called gleefully, hoping to get the day off on a decent foot. "Not to worry – you can still ride shotgun even though a proper date would usually chauffeur you."

He waited patiently, mostly to be asked all the way inside. At the very least, he expected a snarky remark or an exasperated glance, but when he received neither, a funny feeling stole over him – a feeling that something was off. Why was she all bent over like she was? Had she even heard him? If she had, why couldn't she answer?

Deciding that this was one of those times it might be okay to be impolite, he nudged himself through the crack in the door and shut it behind him.

Treading softly across the carpet, "Mary?" his voice remained even, never once raising or expressing apprehension. "Are you okay; are you ready to go?"

Up close, it became apparent at once that describing Mary as 'okay' would be being kind. Marshall scarcely took in her formal attire and styled hair, such a unique look for her, because there were more urgent matters to attend to. She was gripping her bedside table so hard that her knuckles were turning white; the force nearly sawing the gauze and bandages on her palms right in two. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she gave an explicit wince of pain that it was impossible to miss, prompting a long, trembling draw of breath that seemed to be pulled from somewhere deep in her chest.

"Mary…" his alarm snuck through, but hearing her name for a second time seemed to wrench her back to the present.

Starting and shaking her head, she blinked wildly up into his face, like she'd had no clue he was there, like he'd materialized from nowhere.

"Oh…" she spluttered, still flashing her eyes remarkably fast. "Oh…oh my God; I didn't even see you…" that much was clear. "How…how long have you been there?"

Marshall tried not to panic. It was totally conceivable she _had_ noticed him, but in her stupor or intensity just hadn't registered his presence properly. Her brain had more important things to focus on, and he had filtered out. It was nothing to get worked up over.

"I just walked in…" he got her up to speed. "It's almost twelve; Jinx and Brandi are on their way out. Can I…do something for you before we leave? You look like you could use a hand."

His code-speak seemed to be just the ticket. Mary's whole face sunk inward, like she had been dying to let loose and express her fears for ages, and he was giving her-her first opportunity.

"I feel terrible," the moan was bottomless, her voice low and laced with glum.

"Terrible how?"

"My stomach really hurts…" even as she said it, she cringed again, her hand gripping her belly. "It's killing me; I've never had cramps like these. But, I can't…"

It seemed there was more, but she was unable to finish, caught in another tidal wave, the undertow pulling her downstream. This ache came with a whimper that she clearly tried to clamp down on, but Marshall heard nonetheless, and hurried to head her off before she tried to expend too much stamina completing her tale.

"Okay, listen to me…" gently, he laid a hand on her upper arm, which at the moment happened to be bare. "Breathe in – go slow, steady…" he demonstrated the sound he was looking for. When she managed a trembling version on her own, he continued, "Good, now breathe out – keep going slow, nice and deep; don't try and race it, just stay focused."

What he meant by 'race it' Mary wasn't sure, but she managed to collect a little bit of oxygen with his instructions, which cleared her mind as well as her constricting stomach for the time being. His fingers on her fleshy arm seemed oddly foreign, and a strange thing to fixate on. Had he ever touched her bare skin, not including her hand in very few instances?

Ignoring this anomaly, she swallowed hard, feeling a little more in control already now that she had told somebody the truth. Jinx and Brandi couldn't know what was going on, but if Marshall did then he could tell her if he thought things were getting worse throughout the day. Even if she hadn't wanted him to be in the loop, there wouldn't have been anything stopping his roving eagle eye anyway.

"Thanks…" she said softly, knowing she was still shaking, but trying to appear perfectly alert. "I just needed the reminder…"

It was more an instruction in general, as Mary had refused to be schooled in the intricacies of Lamaze, but Marshall had no intentions of bringing that up at the moment. If they were going to get through the day even somewhat effectively, he was going to have to find out what they were up against.

"How long has this been going on? All morning?"

"Yeah…" she admitted disconsolately. "It wasn't so bad when I was in the shower earlier, but it's not letting up like it used to. I'm sure it's just me trying to do too much at once – you know me; I always like to tackle more than I should," a shaky smile, probably so Marshall wouldn't worry.

"Okay, but the contractions don't have a pattern, do they?" he pushed delicately. "Have you timed any of them?"

"Oh – no, that's not what it is."

Or, rather, Mary _hoped_ that wasn't what it was. 'It' being the main event; the big one; the birth of her child right in the front row staring at the altar where her sister would be getting married. That would be too crude, even with Mary usually being a magnet for misfortune.

"No, it's like I said," just looking at Marshall's face she could tell he wasn't convinced, but he didn't have the benefit of knowing when the pain was at its peak and when it had died down. "Too much too fast – I don't know how to slow down, and there's no time to do it now. Tomorrow…by tomorrow, I'll be able to relax a little more and, hey, Jinx knows now, so she's going to figure out the nursery…"

Her endless babble was telling, Marshall thought. She never talked this much about something so seemingly minor; all of her nonstop rants were reserved for complaints. But, getting all the options out into the open seemed to be helping her stay calm, and so Marshall couldn't fault her. It wasn't as if her rationalizations were completely outside the realm of possibility; not enough rest and a surplus of strain could absolutely be putting her in this state.

"You told Jinx?" the man tore after something neutral to keep the woman's mind off her troubles. "What about Brandi?"

"No, Brandi doesn't know; I told Jinx not to tell her," she reported, sidestepping him now and shuffling off to the bathroom, presumably to grab something. Marshall stayed where he was for the time being, listening to her echo from inside the restroom, "I'm not looking for a catfight during the first dance about whose news is bigger!"

She emerged quickly, fiddling with the clasp on a miniscule handbag that didn't fit Mary's personality at all, but between the dress and the hair, she was breaking new ground everywhere. It was only now that Marshall was indexing how incredible she looked; a dolled-up version of his partner wasn't one he was able to observe very often. He might prefer her in her jeans and blazer because that was the Mary he knew and loved, but he wasn't going to deny this new side of her was intriguing – and alluring – as well.

The azure shade of her dress was exactly the same tint as the summer sky blazing outside the window right now – cloudless, pure, and clear. There was no secret as to why she had chosen it once Brandi had given her the green light to pick something that suited her. It was plain as could be except for the sash running around the center. Simplistic or not, the fabric hugged her hips and pulled her tummy in, which was likely suffocating her, but the look was actually flattering. It boasted no straps, instead counting on the edging around the top to hold everything in; Marshall's hand still seemed to be tingling where he had touched her back.

And, apart from the attire itself, there was her hair – it was curled, like Brandi's, but because it was longer it fell in waves down her chest which gave her a soft, almost innocent look. Someone, probably the hairdresser on call, had pulled strands of her bangs back in bobby pins, swept to the side, which made her eyes stand out in her rounded, moon-shaped face.

Once she pulled her nose out of her bag, Mary caught him staring. Unfortunately for Marshall, he was a little slower on the uptake and didn't think to look away in time.

"What?"

It was a good sign that she was grinning, possibly laughing at him, because that meant he could cover up his intentions.

"I…no, nothing…" he insisted, shaking his head in order to snap out of it. "You just look…"

Could he do this and have it come out right? It would probably earn him a hearty chuckle, but after all their time on the road together, all the scars they'd seen in one another, he felt more willing to risk it now than he ever had before.

"You look gorgeous."

And, apparently, his perception as far as her reaction was completely off the mark. Rather than tell him she could stand next to a killer whale and look the part of its twin, she actually smiled, pausing with her pocketbook in hand. Evidently, even Mary could enjoy being paid a compliment now and then.

"Thanks," she even patted her hair nervously. "I mean, I felt like I was being groomed like a poodle when that lackey of Jinx's went after my hair, but I guess it's nice to know I didn't end up looking like one."

"Definitely not," he assured her. "If I had remembered you were wearing blue, I'd have donned a different tie – we could've matched."

"Well, that's going too far," Mary informed him, which was predictable. "We're not some cheesy couple out of a rom-com, Marshall."

True. They were not. Hearing this out loud was oddly disheartening, even though there was no denying its accuracy. But, he soldiered on, not going to consume himself in 'what could've been' if she wasn't.

"The dress does look a little tight…" he pointed to prove he could be merely observational and not a hopeless sap, even on a day filled with such people. "You're not going to spontaneously combust in the buffet line or anything, are you?"

"Oh, yeah; it's cutting off my circulation," proving his hypothesis. "But, I'm built from stronger stuff. Pinches in the threads here is child's play. Don't start thinking I can't handle…"

But, in a sad contradiction, her self-congratulatory speech was sliced apart by what was clearly another jab to her belly. She dropped her itty-bitty handbag in favor of grappling where the pain was belting her hard and fast in the gut. Seeing her face so screwed up in resistance was wrenching for Marshall, but he dashed across the room anyway, his actions more a clue to his fretfulness than his words.

"Relax…" he urged, because when he took the opportunity to rest a hand on her shoulder again, he could feel in her stance how rigid she was. "Relax. Breathe…in through your nose, out through your mouth…"

Even though she managed to do what he said, however choking and warbling, it was clear she was disappointed in the results. Worried as she sounded, Marshall was at least glad she could still speak; the throbbing hadn't gotten so bad that she could no longer talk to him.

"It's not helping; it still hurts…" and she grabbed hard onto his shoulder to steady herself, now inhaling and exhaling a little too fast. "It still hurts…"

"It's just to keep you focused," he told her gently, saddened that she thought drawing air might actually make the pain go away. "Do you want to sit down?" he motioned toward the bed.

"No…" a moan escaped. "It bothers my back too much…"

"Okay," Marshall would bow down to whatever she told him. "Well, just hold on; you're gonna be fine. Wait it out."

And wait it out they did – both of them, Marshall tethering her upright, Mary swaying but managing to stay standing if she hung onto him, her nails digging into his shoulder blade. When the imminent danger had passed, she found her legs once more and relinquished her death grip on him, but all of the breezy lightness she had exhibited minutes earlier when Marshall had been mooning over her was gone. Striking, she definitely still was, but with the lines of worry etched in her face, it hampered her appearance in a very sad way.

When she took it upon herself to open her mouth again, it was with a statement that really shouldn't have surprised Marshall, because in spite of Mary's acidity, her concern was often for others and not herself.

"She's getting married…"

"What?" the high-pitched whine in her voice was distracting. "I don't…"

"She's getting married – she's my baby sister and she's getting married. I have to see her get married."

Tears sounded like they might not be far away, but Marshall wasn't going to let her fall that far. He realized her announcement spoke a lot more toward what _she_ would be missing out on, not Brandi, which was almost sweeter. Four-inch heels, jeweled purses, and bouquets of flowers might be the last thing she'd welcome, but she loved Brandi – she wanted to be there to watch her walk down the aisle as much as Brandi needed her by her side.

"You're going to see her," the taller promised, even if they both knew how uncertain it might be. "You'll be there, and I'll be right next to you," now she nodded, eyes still shiny, but cheeks dry. "We'll take it one step at a time; go easy on yourself, okay?"

It was so kind of him not to even entertain the possibility that she was going to have to be rushed to the hospital because she was labor, even though Mary knew he had to be thinking it. But, it was too early to tell; both knew it could be the 'real thing' or a simple scare. They had a foot in both camps right now; a fifty-fifty chance. And then there was the woman's other fear – the fear that came out of naiveté, of pretending for nine months that childbirth wasn't pending, but hazy, in another universe to which she did not belong.

"You…you don't think anything's…" she sounded really stupid, so uninformed, but it was too late now. "You don't think anything's wrong, do you?"

Marshall was fast, "Oh, no; I'm sure nothing's wrong," he certainly sounded confident. "Mango is a warrior. Don't count him out yet."

She was bobbing her head again, trying to feed him the same sunny smile that he was doling out for her. If _he_ wasn't falling apart, she shouldn't be, right? The aches – they came with the territory. They just happened to come on an awful day. She wasn't going to be washed out by the tide without Marshall keeping her afloat for as long as possible in the hurricane that was slowly developing. There had to be some amount of comfort in that.

Not to mention, the way he could not seem to stop looking at her, even as she shuddered and tried to keep from crying, had to be consoling as well. Because, his gaze didn't show anything resembling agony or trepidation, but awe – unadulterated wonder, all in a blink of blue.

"You don't really think I'm gorgeous, do you?"

Why Mary was goading him to change his mind was anybody's guess, but underneath, it was probably just her way of getting him to confirm his tribute to her looks – bloated and maximized though they were.

"I do."

Only Marshall could get away with going the extra mile.

"I always have."

XXX

**A/N: So happy everyone is still enjoying the story! I wouldn't be posting without all of you out there cheering me on!**


	49. Dance with your Skeletons

**A/N: The chapters are getting to be a little bit lengthy! I don't know if I got wordy because we're getting to the heart of things, or what! But, hopefully you don't get bored reading the more extensive ones!**

XXX

Regardless of whatever was going on in her soon-to-be-completely-full uterus, Mary somehow succeeded in making it through the wedding and subsequent reception without a hitch. This didn't mean that she felt any healthier than she had when she'd first gotten up, but the pain glossed over to a dull, persistent ache, which was a lot easier to cope with. It sucked up all her energy and ruined her appetite, which was a crying shame after she saw the spread available at the reception, but she was just grateful not to be doubling over in pain.

Brandi was a glowing bride; every bit of nerves she'd shown before the fact completely melted away once she saw Peter waiting for her at the end of the aisle. She didn't even seem to mind that Hal was the one to escort her, or that Mary couldn't hold her overflowing bouquet because she was sitting in the audience with Marshall. She cried a virtual river of tears once the vows started, Jinx copying her in the background, Peter choking up as he slid what looked like a million-dollar-rock on his wife's finger. The whole thing was thoroughly saccharine, but Mary managed not to roll her eyes too much, especially since Marshall seemed to be thriving under so much schmaltz. It was right up his alley.

Though the pregnant one had no idea just how heartily her house was going to be trashed, she had to admit that her backyard serving as the reception venue couldn't have been a more attractive choice. Peter's, which was considerably larger but also very hilly and occupied by a swimming pool, wouldn't have worked, but Mary's was just spacious enough to accommodate everyone, even if she did ensure that they were herded out of the main house as much as possible.

Dozens of little round tables with candles in the centers, their flames waving in the warm breeze, were scattered all over the lawn. Canopies were draped from the rooftop to the fences, shielding them from the sun, making Mary feel like she was inside a giant tent. Slats of light still snuck through the shelter, creating a feel that the time of day was perpetually sunset. Lanterns dangled from above, and more flowers than Mary had ever seen in her life were bursting at every corner. A patch of ground had been cleared and wrapped in a cover for dancing, every style of song you could imagine blaring out of enormous speakers in the corners.

It was fairytale-like, and Mary kept forgetting she was at home. Even though she had planned to escape inside for the better half of the party, she was constantly accosted, and soon became remiss about darting away.

Among Brandi's many reasons to be over-the-moon, it turned out that her side of the aisle wasn't as bare-boned as she'd speculated. Stan and Delia both came, which meant the new folks at the Sunshine Building had their work cut out for them, but the pair seemed equally glad to have a day out of the office. But, their appearance was nothing compared with the body Mary spotted weaving his way between tables, clearly on the lookout for someone he recognized. This was no stranger to her, but she hadn't seen him at the ceremony, and so assumed she had gotten off the hook on making nice with someone she had lied to for nearly nine months. Apparently, she wasn't going to be so fortunate.

"Oh, Jesus…" Mary, who was sitting beside Marshall, a table all to themselves, smacked his arm hard, which nearly caused him to choke on his champagne. "Look…"

Spluttering and hacking, he tried to follow her finger across the yard, but there were too many people to be certain of which one she was singling out.

"What am I looking at?"

"There…" she hissed, ducking down as if burying her head like an ostrich would really make her invisible. "Damn it!" now she was scrabbling around the tablecloth, trying to find something to conceal her further. "He wasn't supposed to come – Brandi said he wasn't coming!"

The 'he' in question finally caught Marshall's eye, and it was plain that he could tell why his partner was suddenly trying to crawl under the table. Mark, ex-husband and father of Mango, kept tripping his way through all the eating surfaces, stopping to talk to a few pretty girls in his typical flirtatious fashion.

The sight of him was raucous, like Mary had been whacked hard on the head. Much as she didn't want to, she had resigned herself to calling him the next day, at the latest the day after, but it seemed she was going to have to fess up long before then. Mark had gotten the shaft since she'd learned she was pregnant – first with the adoption and now with the alteration in plans where Mary opted to raise her child on her own. There was no telling how he'd react now, and causing a scene in the middle of Brandi's big day wouldn't win him points with anyone.

"Stand down, would you?" Marshall whispered, for Mary had almost shimmied onto his lap in an effort to get away. "Mark's a nice guy. He isn't going to flip out here. He'll save that for later," a scheming smirk, which caused the woman to growl deep in her throat. "Okay, bad time for jokes…"

"You better believe it," unable to fathom that he'd even gone there.

"But, seriously. Just be cool," this would be easy if she had even an ounce of Marshall's composure. "You can't avoid him forever. Nothing has to be set in stone right this second. Be honest with him – keep it light."

"I still don't even know what he thinks he's doing, showing up here…" Mary confirmed she wasn't listening to a word he was saying. "When you say you can't make it, you're supposed to keep your word…"

"He likes Brandi, and he likes you," Marshall was far too rational to have this discussion with someone like his friend, who constantly assumed ulterior motives were involved. "And, who can blame him? You're likeable gals."

"Sure we are."

"Look, he's going to walk by any minute; just get it over with…"

"I don't even have my glock; it would've shown through this stupid dress…"

"Why on earth would you need your glock?"

Because threatening people was the way Mary dealt with awkward situations, that was why. But, you couldn't expect Marshall to have such violent thoughts, and rather than dignify his question with yet another sarcastic response, she hoisted herself out of her chair, which was a poor idea when she was under such stress. She staggered, almost hitting her head on one of those blasted lanterns swinging from the canopy. Marshall threw out a hand to ensure that she wouldn't topple over, and she shot him a dark look for daring to be chivalrous.

"Don't forget, I _am_ your date," was his cheery response. "And, what sort of escort would I be if I let you fall face-first into this scrumptious appetizer?" he motioned toward the petite plate on the table, heaped with some sort of cracker-and-cheese combination that Mary hadn't touched. "Just…really…" going back to serious in a hurry. "He'll take his cue from you. If you act like he has something to be upset about, then he might rile. If you try to be understanding and listen, I'm sure it will be effortless."

'Effortless' was an embellishment, but Marshall did have Mark down pretty well. He _did_ like Mary; he always had, sometimes a little too much. If she was kind to him and tried to see his view on the pregnancy he hadn't known existed until a week ago, he might not bite her head off for being so secretive.

"All right…" she breathed, seeing that if she made a beeline for her ex now, she'd be able to cross in front of him before he was swept away by the crowd once more. "Wish me luck."

"All my best," and he raised his glass in recognition, gulping down whatever he hadn't managed to spill when Mary had whacked him.

Without further ado, operating under blind adrenaline, the woman darted – well, more like waddled – past chairs and empty tables, squeezing her way between bodies without so much as an 'excuse me.' How she was able to move so quickly was a mystery, but when she had places to be, little could stop her. She didn't particularly want to reach Mark in such a speedy manner, but she wasn't going to squander the only chance she might have to speak to him alone. If she was going to do this, it was going to be on her terms.

And, in seconds, she was there, but he turned at the last minute, glancing over his shoulder like someone had called his name. This meant that when he whirled back around to continue walking, he rammed smack into Mary, stumbling over the bump like a roadblock. The collision was something far less than graceful, and not at all what Mary had planned, but it was fairly symbolic of their relationship – running into each other and hooking up when they least expected it. Mark didn't even seem to realize who he'd hit at first, and hastened into apologies.

"Oh…" there was a laugh involved as he righted himself and straightened his jacket. "Sorry, I didn't…"

But, then his big brown eyes fell on his former mate, and the rest of his phrase filtered out immediately. Mouth slightly agape, but in something close to a half-smile, he hitched up his coat one more time, gawking into her bound and determined face, chewing her lip, eyes burning with fortitude. His own orbs traveled from her resolve to her belly and, perhaps thinking it would be discourteous to simply walk away, uttered the first word between them.

"Mary…"

She processed surprise, but also friendliness, which couldn't be all bad. He _was_ trying to grin; he had been since he'd realized who he'd tripped over.

"Hey…" Mark went on, as the inspector didn't seem capable of speaking just yet, still pooling her reserves for what might lie ahead. "I was looking for you."

A comeback sprang to mind, "And here I thought I was impossible to miss."

This was a gutsy move; it was mentioning the pink elephant in the room right away, not dancing around it even for a second. Mary could only guess that her subconscious knew she wanted to get this conversation over and done as fast as possible.

"I…I…I see…" Mark chuckled, and she would cut him some slack here, as coming up with decent snark in this situation was a task better left to the professionals. "I…I missed the ceremony; my flight was delayed."

"I didn't even know you were coming," if this was a defense, it wasn't a very good one. "Brandi made it sound like you couldn't…"

"I didn't think I was," he explained. "Work has really picked up, and I didn't think I could spare the time, but I had a cancellation and decided to pop in on the fly. I haven't even seen Brandi yet; woman of the hour, she's busy…"

This inoperative small talk was really quite pathetic, and Mary found it annoying that she had tried to shove the awkward portions out into the open and Mark had ignored the attempt. Either he was dense, or he didn't know what to say. Either way, they weren't getting to the heart of the matter very quickly.

"She won't care if you interrupt," Mary replied in reference to him missing out on shaking hands with her sister. "The more people that tell her she looks great, the better."

He cleared his throat, "You look pretty good yourself."

An automatic blink, sigh, and cock of her head followed what she considered to be a filthy, rotten lie, but it was not astonishing coming from Mark. Wooing women was his specialty; it was as natural as breathing to him. His suave, debonair demeanor was what had lured her into bed, resulting in Mango. Exasperating though he often was, his charisma could sometimes be hard to deny. He was harmless in a vexing sort of way.

"Mark, no I don't," now her head was shaking, warding off his insane ideas. "I look huge and ridiculously bedazzled in this damn dress. Seeing me like this has to be…"

What, exactly? They were circling what was going on without pinning it down, but any minute it was going to pop up out of the earth, unable to be thrust back in.

"…I don't know…" coming clean about her ignorance here was probably safest. "Weird?"

"Well, yeah, it's a little weird…" he was as blithe as ever, even with his hands jammed in his pockets. "But, I've had some time with it since you called last Monday. I don't think if I were resentful or anything that I could've shown up here."

"So, you're not? Resentful?"

"I was at first," the blonde hadn't totally passed through the gates, but Mark proved immediately he wasn't a man who held a grudge. "But, I guess I get where you were coming from. It would've been nice to know sooner, but hey, I guess I'm lucky to know at all."

He wasn't even being sarcastic, Mary realized, but sincere. He really did think he'd been lucky, that even if he didn't know what the reason was, he trusted his ex-wife had a good one for staying mum, for shutting him out of his child's life. This made her feel so crummy that she wouldn't be surprised if the contractions started up again, the way her stomach began to churn, but she vowed to remain in power while still giving Mark a scrap of credit.

"Well, you're going to get your chance now, if you want it…"

She couldn't believe that, since the start of this happenstance meeting, they hadn't once mentioned the words 'baby' or 'pregnancy' and yet they were almost through with the messier portions. Something about knowing one another for twenty years meant you could adopt a kind of shorthand, skipping any sort of unpleasantness that might manifest itself.

"I know I was pretty disorganized when we spoke, and that I told you this wasn't going to be our kid for long…" her breaths were coming fast, almost obstructing her speech. "Well, that's not the case anymore. If you see yourself being a part of this, then you can…" the potential intrusion was hive-inducing, but Mark _was_ the father. "I…I wouldn't keep him from you; if you want to see him…" this was starting to get out of hand, but all the benevolence floating in the air was changing her usually stand-offish qualities. "…You…you could come here; I could go to Jersey…"

Mark clearly noticed that she was promising him something she wasn't likely to uphold down the road, that she was screened by guilt and the merriment of the wedding.

"You're not coming to Jersey," he scoffed, but not as though he was disappointed. When Mary opened her mouth to object, "You're not. And, that's not a knock on you. No kind of father is a plane ride away…"

"That's not true…"

"Mare, I'd be happy to play some doting dad in your world, but is it feasible?"

Something about this wasn't going right. Mary was doing what she could to be accommodating, but Mark wasn't taking it in. Was he looking for an out, for the chance to be irresponsible? Or, was he simply trying to step aside, to give her what she wanted, knowing an eternal life with him in the picture wasn't it?

"I don't even live here; what kind of visits are we talking about?"

Before the woman could come up with a solution, he was off and running again.

"I could move here – I'd do it in a minute for my kid, but my career would be in the toilet…" this was a bit brutal, and slightly selfish, but when he continued Mary realized what he was getting at. "I'm not saying it's not worth it – it _would_ be worth it. But, Mare, you and I both know life will be far better for you two if I just stay out of the way…"

"I'm not saying that," she interjected, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "I'm not. I know we aren't the most compatible people, but we could make this work. He needs two parents…"

"He'll have them," he insisted, sounding certain. "You'll never catch me abandoning him…" he wasn't even cataloging the gender of the baby, taking Mary's lead with the pronoun. "But, I'm not going to disrupt your life. I can be a better provider for him in Jersey – I'll make more money, and I'll make time to come here and see him. I promise. You have my word on that."

It was as if he had everything worked out, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. But, Mary was beginning to feel confused. Why was this settling so uneasily with her? In some ways, Mark was stepping up far more than she'd believed he would, but in other ways she still expected more. Realistically, he needed to stay in New Jersey if he was making good money, and he knew best about how much he needed to accumulate in order to pay for, not just himself now, but his son. Did Mary really expect him to pack everything up and settle down for a life in Albuquerque? Would she have done it if the situation were reversed?

She'd never know. Like it or not, she was the one carrying Mango, and so she was the primary caregiver – she had been from day one.

"This is my fault…" she spit out, trying to quell the fears that were beginning to mount again. "This is because I didn't tell you; I made you think you would suck at being a dad, and you wouldn't…"

"That's not what it is," he contested calmly. "Mare, I know you. This is your show – your moment. You don't need _me_ to turn this kid into someone we'll both adore. The best thing I can do for him is send the checks and see him whenever I can…"

"And, when is that going to be?" anxiety was creeping up on her faster than she could keep up with it. "What am I going to tell him about where you are and why you're not here with us?"

"Do you really want us to be an 'us?'"

"But, we _are!"_ she exclaimed, the music in the background suddenly growing noisy, blaring in her ears and making her feel flustered. "We are whether we like it or not! I get what you're doing here, Mark; you think that by keeping your distance you're helping, but…"

"I'm not going anywhere," he interrupted steadfastly. "I'll be here when you need me, okay? I swear. But, I'm not going to get in the way."

"Being a father isn't getting in the way!"

"Look…" he sighed, mopping his brow, like this discussion was as taxing for him as it was for Mary. "I'm only in town for the night; I wish I could stay longer so we could talk about this more…" even now, he didn't seem certain about his plan to hunker down in Jersey; he was just lost, that was all. "I…but, I just…"

"I'm due in four weeks," she shot at him like a fireball. "End of September – can you come back?" she was unable to believe she was even asking him, but it was his right, his duty. "We'll work something out. You won't be intruding, Mark; this is your son…"

Frightened of fatherhood, or whatever he was experiencing, still seemed to be a heavy blow for the man, but Mary's insistence that she wanted him involved as much as he could be seemed to be changing his mind, even if he couldn't commit this second. She had to go a little easy on him; she'd had longer to digest the circumstances and, after all, she, too, had tried to streak away from responsibility. If she had come around, he could too.

"Yeah…yeah, I'll try to get back…" he murmured with a nod. "You'll keep me updated?"

"I will," now that-that was over, she felt safe sending him away. "You'd better say hi to Brandi."

"I-I think I probably should…" no fool was going to say no to this escape plan, even though Mark was really bumbling over his words. "I…I'm sorry, Mare; I know I'm messing up here. I was trying to do what I thought you'd want…"

"I know," she said hurriedly. "I gave you the wrong impression by waiting so long to tell you. I should've known when you found out that you offering to raise the baby on your own was a sign you were ready to man-up."

But, was he? They had flown through what should've been a very important conversation at the speed of light, backtracking to go over parts they might've missed, promising to come to terms when there was more time down the road. But, time was running out. As of now, Mary was on her own; with Mark catching the red-eye back to New Jersey before midnight, she was no further along in her strategy for Mango than she'd been the day before. The way the opportunities seemed to be slipping away was alarming, and Mark clearly felt he had stuck around long enough.

"I should really let Brandi know I'm here…" this excuse had been batted around once already; it was time to act on it. "I'll say goodbye before I leave; we'll make a plan to talk again."

Mary's head nodded, though she didn't remember telling it to, and then he was gone, back to fighting his way through the throng to reach the blushing bride.

Nothing about this was going at all like the woman had hoped, and even now she couldn't be sure what she'd really been looking for. This left her hurt and bewildered, standing rooted to the spot, still staring at the place where Mark had vanished, as if waiting for him to come back and change his tune. Plenty of fathers didn't live in the same state as their children; plenty didn't uproot themselves when it came to divided households. It didn't mean they were monsters; it was sometimes a necessary evil. And yet, Mary suddenly felt more alone than she had before, realizing with a jolt that her future as a truly single mother was really going to happen.

Awaiting something different had been asinine, she mentally told herself. Even if Mark had offered to acclimate to the southwest, he wouldn't have been living with her; there wouldn't be anyone there to relieve her at four in the morning or when she needed to go to work. It was Mary. Mary and only Mary.

But, the time for panicking over this fact was going to be very short lived, as was Mark's attempt to confront Brandi with jolly hellos. The bride herself abruptly caught Mary's eye, and when she saw her sister looking, she beckoned her over with a zealous wave of her hand. The gesture could not be mistaken for anything else, and Mary couldn't credibly ignore it. Brandi had seen her; they had locked eyes; there was nowhere to run. Unlike Mark, she had no way out, even if in this case it only included giving a sloppy, lovelorn speech to a crowd of strangers.

Accepting her fate, slogging her way up front without once looking at Marshall, because it would only have her whirling around to return to his side, she reached Brandi in seconds, hangdog and dispirited. Mark, too busy making pleasantries every few feet, hadn't managed to beat her there, which was just as well. Best to get this sermon over and done with.

"Hi!" Brandi squealed, the polar opposite of her elder sister, shouting over the song blasting overhead. "Are you having fun?" she must've been completely immune to reading facial expressions. "Peter and I are having a ball! I've never danced so much in my life!"

Oh, shit. Mary was going to be subjected to that too. How could she have forgotten? Just add it to the list.

"You should do the toast now!" the little sister continued to bellow, confirming Mary's suspicions. "I'm gonna throw the bouquet soon and we still need to cut the cake! Mom says we should get a move on!"

Well, if Jinx said it, then it must be so. Mary might've been game for all their eccentricities tonight, mostly because she was so beyond caring anymore, but she couldn't let Brandi think she was going to have everyone weeping with the heartfelt messages by night's end. She hadn't thought one jot about what she was going to say, whatever she'd told Jinx two nights before. It was going to have to be off-the-cuff and probably horribly acidic as well. Her mother and sister ought to know what they were getting themselves into; they'd both known Mary too long not to be prepared for scorn at its finest.

"Squish, I'll do this, but it's going to be lame…"

"No, it won't!" nothing could deter Brandi's animation tonight; she had surpassed cloud nine and floated all the way to ten and eleven. "It's just to introduce us – and the cake and everything!" a cake needed introducing? "Please, Mare? Please?"

"I said I would, and I will."

Brandi needed not a margin more of guarantees; she seized the nearest glass and thrust it into Mary's chubby hands, complete with a spoon with which to smack against the side. Sighing, her mind nowhere near earnest words, still back with Mark and his gun shy attitude, the older made her way somewhere in the vicinity of the center of the fray, right at the head of the dance floor. Watching everyone chat it up, enjoy their dinner, and bubbly company, she hated to ruin their good time as well as her own, but she was stuck. It was time to rip the band aid off and be done.

"Hey, all right! Toast coming on – bridesmaids making out with groomsmen in my bathroom better come up for air!"

Booming laughter that seemed to echo in the claustrophobic tent suddenly erupted from all corners, drowning the sound of her utensil against the champagne flute, the tinkling dying almost at once. Everyone's eyes fell upon hers remarkably quickly so she had no time to assemble her resources, to hark back to any sappy speeches she'd heard in movies that she could paraphrase. The sight of so many eyes on her, expecting something grand, was unnerving, and Mary swallowed hard before saying anything. She hadn't even known she possessed stage fright until now.

"Well…in case you needed a head's up…I'm Mary…" she'd start with something neutral, wishing she could actually drink the booze in her hand and not receive scandalized looks in return. "Sister of the bride."

When she pointed to Brandi, there was a round of polite applause that the wordsmith found totally unnecessary, but it disappeared quickly. Now that the basics were out of the way, what was going to come next? Thinking fast, Mary's eyes landed on her belly, which was now so enormous she couldn't see her feet beneath it. It was possible it had been weeks since she could spot her toes and she was only just now realizing it; she didn't glance downward very often.

The first thing that came to mind with this image was understandably Mango, and even though Mary knew she shouldn't, she had no other options.

"As you all can tell, Brandi's not just becoming a wife this month – she's becoming an aunt."

Jinx looked horrorstruck from her place in the corner, but gracious laughter trickled beyond Mary's admission, and Brandi herself was all joy and no bitterness. There was no thunder to steal when no one in the audience knew that the little one among them had once been poised to become a Harmon, rather than a Shannon.

"I told her I'd keep this short, because nobody wants to see me fall on my ass after trying to support my own weight on the sausages that used to be my ankles," more chuckles. "I'm nowhere near poetic; anybody who's met me even once can tell you that. But, I'll try and drudge up something inspired on behalf of the newlyweds."

And now there was only silence, even though the swarm of a hundred faces had never sounded louder, swiveled in their seats, glasses poised and ready to be raised; they were rapt with attention. Mary was sure she had nowhere to go but down, and she began to fidget, the speakers quiet, the lightest wind whispering through the open slats.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours went by, and still Mary was shifting from foot-to-foot, the back of her neck perspiring and dripping onto the back of her dress. Where to go? What to do? How to put it – what to say?

But, then she looked up and saw Marshall. He was staring at her, just like everyone else, and yet when she centered on his face, it was like the others melted away, nothing more than blurred shapes and hazy ghosts getting caught in the lanterns. She thought of all he had helped her realize since they had set off on their cross-country quest, all the terrors he had quietly condensed, all the ugly-ugly sides of her he'd seen without once batting an eye.

She thought of Mango and how his childhood was likely to be as slipshod as her own, even if she could swear allegiance to never leaving him the way that James had. She thought of how she longed to promise her son something better and knowing she couldn't, because it would be a lie. She remembered Marshall's insistence that 'better' was a term, that life was only what you made it; that anything flawless was too good to be true.

And the words came.

"Someone who's here tonight…someone who's a lot kinder and smarter and…well, better than me…said something recently that bears repeating…"

The parallel between his analogy and the one she was about to make in regards to Brandi were hardly one in the same, and yet they connected like the threads of a patchwork quilt.

"He told me that everybody has skeletons – things they're ashamed of, things that make them feel lesser than everyone else, things they just don't want anyone to know…"

Like alcoholism and meth deals and a deadbeat father. Or, their lack of maternal instinct, their deepest doubts. And the same deadbeat father.

"I think anyone who knows Brandi and Peter knows they've had their share of bones pile up…"

A laugh wiggled its way to the surface here, and the spectators followed suit.

"…And they probably long for what my friend calls the 'white picket fence family…'"

Mansions, Olympic swimming pools, and three babies to rock to sleep. Or, the ability to nurture one little boy with someone else by your side. Whatever your pleasure, whatever your love.

"…But, they learned early on that those sequestered skeletons are what pull them together…"

A vision flashed through Mary's mind, that of a gentlemanly, warm Peter carrying a drunken Brandi over the threshold, and then the reminiscence that he'd gone back for a second date. It was quickly obstructed by one of that 'friend' in question hearing that his other half had relished seeing his relationship ruined, and had still returned to hug her when she'd melted down in a grade school parking lot.

"…Because…we all struggle…"

Something like a crater formed in Mary's throat, burning a hole through her flesh, causing her to choke.

"But, it is so much harder to struggle alone…"

Was she going to lose it up here? Could she hold it together, pretend to be praising her sister's accomplishments, when in reality she was mourning the loss of her own?

"And…I'll be damned if these two lovebirds didn't throw out the daisies a long time ago just to show the world their scars…"

At this, Peter himself called a hearty, "Here-here!" from the edge of the yard, raising his glass of ginger ale and drinking before the others.

Mary smiled a watery smile as the others chuckled, wanting to thank her new brother-in-law from saving her embarrassment, whether he'd meant to or not. It also gave her clearance to close down, to wrap up, and to scamper away to where she could embrace her personal devils, and even wallow with them by her side.

"So…you know…" she was suddenly very aware of everyone's concentration again, it returning in a fleet as she landed hard back on solid ground. "The…the bones in the closet aren't a deal breaker," she could take credit for that one, way back in the diner between Missouri and Indiana. "And, Brandi and Peter figured that out a lot faster than most – and are proud of it, I assume."

Brandi grinned, Peter nodded, Jinx blinked benignly, and Marshall looked more captivated than Mary had ever seen him, his eyes dancing with bliss, their shimmering blue flashing in the shivering candles.

"They don't just shake their skeleton's hand, they bring 'em out to party on Saturday nights." Rambling over the laughter, "Perfection is for losers. I'll drink to that any day."

Masking her sudden, overwhelming insecurity about just how _un_-perfect her life had become, Mary lifted her glass, the oglers fully appreciating her dry wittiness even if she couldn't, and beat her way to the end.

"To Brandi and Peter."

"To Brandi and Peter!" echoed the crowd.

With a unanimous drink, they descended into applause, it washing over Mary like she couldn't even hear it. Faking something she believed in had never been hard for her, and if all these people thought she was at one with her warts, then the better off she would be. She could hide from her disquiet as easily as she could breathe, rescued from bawling onstage just in time, not that it would've mattered. Everyone would believe she'd sobbed on behalf of Brandi, and not over her own muddled life.

What ensued in the aftermath was a flurry of hugs and kisses, first from Brandi and then from Jinx; the pair of them mauled her, stepping aside only long enough to allow Peter to grasp her fingers. It was a surreal, misty blur; Mary said all the right things, presented all the right moves, played her part to a T, the only clue to her grief was that her glued-on grin didn't stretch as far as her green eyes. This was nonexistent to her mother and sister, who immediately took to the dance floor, Brandi pairing up with her new husband, Jinx with a red-faced and unsuspecting Stan. They were a funny duo, one that brought genuine enjoyment to Mary's heart because they were so implausible.

It wasn't until Hal and Dora had joined in the festivities, Jinx and Stan were well on their way to a full-blown boogie, and Peter and Brandi were sashaying with the best of them, that Mary glimpsed the face that had provoked her speech in the first place. She'd never been happier to see him, and yet she'd never felt more exposed either. Hands in his pockets, sauntering in like he owned the place and had every right to, he came to a stop in front of her, waiting for her to take the lead.

When all Mary could manage was a quaking tremor of a giggle, he realized he was going to have to be the one to initiate proceedings.

"Well said."

"It…it wasn't me who said it."

There was no guessing who the 'someone' greater than she was in her little oration.

"All I represented was the starting block. You crafted it. Straight from the heart," thumping his chest for emphasis. And, eliminating the chitchat instantly, "How's Mark?"

He couldn't know that the absence of her ex was what had begun her downward spiral, and so she kicked him and his sixth sense straight to the curb.

"I don't want to talk about it right now."

Nodding, but seeing the ponds gathering in her lids, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yes. Do you want to dance?"

What a glaring rendition of the classic Sophie's Choice. Which did Marshall want more? To know all of his partner's secrets, or to share a dance with her? The selection was a doozy, but he also knew if he didn't pick the latter, he would lose the option to hoard both. This made the whole thing a lot easier than it had seemed at the onset, even if he couldn't get over the fact that Mary had really proposed ballet rather than hash out her feelings.

"I'd love to."

Though he extended his palm, she was the one to pull him onto the stretch of grass swathed in tarp; up close, he noticed that her shoes were long gone, and she walked barefoot, crackling the cover every step of the way. By the time his arms were looped around her waist and her chin was over his shoulder, the music had switched to something slower and softer, which meant neither one of them would be subjected to jiving with the more fanatical dancers.

Marshall became so consumed in holding her as close as he was, breathing in their moment so like this one from their seclusion in the hotel, that he didn't pick up on the soft sniffling sound from behind his back. At first, he thought it was a glitch in one of the stereos – an excess of static – but then realized with a shock that it was Mary. Of all the unlikely places she'd shed tears in the last week, this took the cake. There were people everywhere, and she wasn't holding back. The exhilaration he felt about her ability to open up like she was made him feel slightly guilty, but that was soon overpowered by the need to know what was going on.

Was it Brandi – the stress of the day, sending her sister into the sunset, being the one to stay behind in the nest? Or, was it something else? Anything else…

"Are you crying?" he whispered, dipping his chin low and never once halting his movements, rocking her back and forth in time to the beat. Without waiting for a reply, "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know…"

"Is it Mango? Are you in pain again?" still, his efforts were kept stealthy.

"No…"

"You can go inside and reenergize; I'll go with you…"

"It's not that…"

"Then, what?"

With half a glance to his right, Marshall was able to see what the rest of the world was seeing when it came to his best friend. Her arms were folded at her elbows, crossed in front of her mouth along his upper back so that the uninformed eye saw only her shiny orbs, which could be reflected in the overhead light for all they knew. No one – no one except for him – could spot the soft tears rolling sadly down her cheeks. Clever.

Clever, and very sad.

"Mary…" he pressed, his hips shuffling side-to-side now, wishing he could look at her and knowing if he did he would spoil everything. "You can tell me. You can tell me _anything."_

Anything. Anything. Anything at all.

"Mark's not coming. He's staying in Jersey. It's just me. It's just me…"

The cascade became more pronounced then, and Marshall squeezed, his nails catching the small of her back in just the right place.

"It is not just you. You have me. You will _always_ have me."

The cascade became a waterfall, dripping all over his sleek grey jacket, but he wouldn't know it until the rain had already dried. In this case, however, the stream surged onward due to being moved, rather than distraught.

"What you said up there is true. The past is nothing at all; your perceived peril is _nothing_ unless you let it take you over…"

"I didn't mean what I said…"

"Yes, you did. And, so do I. Life is only worth living if you're spending it with people who see the absolute best of you through your scars."

Scars, skeletons, the frames and carcasses of those who were brave enough to let the light shine in the gaps, shot through the holes, proud for the universe to see they were flawed. Mary didn't know if she was that brave. Was Marshall?

And, then she said something she'd never said before – not to Marshall, not to Jinx, not to Brandi, not even to her father. Three words, not the three most chased their entire lives, but three that were just as powerful in their own way.

"I need you."

It was croaky and clogged, but it was real. Marshall's loyalty was the only thing he had left to give.

"You've got me."

And, to punctuate it, he clung dangerously hard to her back, to show rather than tell, and he felt her head tip forward, burying the whole of her face in his shoulder. Then, the form of his shrinking friend gave a quiver, and his nobility burst forth without warning.

"Is…is that bad?" referring to his unyielding grip. "Too tight?"

The shake of Mary's temple was a fanfare if ever Marshall had heard one. If he had something to say – three magical words of his own – then he was going to have to say them soon.

"Tighter."

XXX

**A/N: Hope you liked Mary's speech! And thank-you again for all your readings and reviews!**


	50. Jumping is the Hardest Part

**A/N: I am flattered by the sweet reviews on the last chapter! I fear you are going to want to pummel me when it comes to this one, but if you hang in there, I can all-but guarantee you won't be disappointed for long! ;)**

XXX

The remainder of what should have been a spectacular evening was something of a bust from Mary's point of view. The entire ordeal felt so phony, like she was experiencing the whirl of color and sound in someone else's body. She could see herself from afar, engaging diplomatically with Peter's friends, feigning interest in what Brandi planned to do in Aruba, even sparing a second or two to get caught up on WITSEC-related matters with Stan. The information sifted into her brain and then sifted out as quickly as it had entered; she processed nothing, stored very little for down the road. Life consisted of one thing and one thing only – what was going to become of her when she stopped being Mary and transformed into mama.

It was a skin, a coat that she had thought she was capable of shedding fairly comfortably, but the authenticity of the situation seemed to have hit her much harder on this Labor Day evening in September. She wasn't beginning a life of wedding bliss like Brandi and Peter, off to begin the journey naked in aqua waves of purest blue. She couldn't return to installing solar panels by day and winning women over by night the way that Mark could. She couldn't even just slide into her oldest pair of shoes and take up her residence in her desk at the Sunshine Building, a la Marshall. Even that was set to come to an end, temporary or not.

Feeling thoroughly depressed even after her home had been cleared of every last wedding straggler and only the builders remained to take down the tents, Mary was perched on a stool at the island, trying to decide if she could stomach a piece of the wedding cake. It had looked a triple-decker-delight, a classic delicacy with moist, chocolate insides and vanilla frosting, but up close it wasn't so appetizing. Even in her all-purpose drawstring pants and oversized T-shirt – for she had ditched the dress as soon as the guests had begun to disperse – she was still green around the gills. If you combined the strain from Mark and the unwise dancing with the stabs of pain she had already been through that morning, it wasn't unreasonable to think the pangs would show their repulsive face again.

After those dismantling the construction had gone on their way, Brandi and Peter in a car to take them to the airport for their honeymoon, Mary was met by the only other person in the house besides herself. Unfortunately, she was a little cloudy in the head, leaning hunched over her belly, one hand cradling the side. Short, non-dramatic puffs of air every few seconds seemed to be keeping some of her discomfort at bay, but it took so much absorption in the task that she became blind to everything else. Her cake lay untouched on its dainty round plate, and the footsteps she heard were what brought her out of her fog.

"Hey, there…"

Marshall slipped through the back door, his jacket removed and draped over his arm, stiff white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, tie loose at the neck. The light in the kitchen shining over the island where Mary sat was a stark contrast from the darkness outdoors; with all the candles and lanterns extinguished, nature's hue was its own once more.

Although the position of his partner was disconcerting, Marshall managed to hold himself back from jumping into superhero-mode, which turned out to be a good thing. At his voice, Mary glanced up and smiled tiredly, one hand still rubbing the side of her belly.

"Hi…" another current of air followed the greeting, but her grin didn't falter. "I didn't know you were still here; I thought you'd gone."

"Some of Peter's college buddies were still hanging in the yard; I saw them out through the back gate," jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I figured you were about burnt out on visitors."

"You thought right."

The man noted that she seemed to have buried a grimace as she said this, not wanting to appear weak-willed when she had done as much several times already today. The smirk he received this time was a little desultory, but only because of her soreness, and not because she wanted him to shut his mouth and go home.

"Was that for me?" he teased, stepping up to the opposite side of the island from where she was seated and indicating the slice of cake. "I already had a piece earlier, mind you, but it was tasty…"

"It's yours if you want it," Mary informed him generously, sliding the plate over to him without taking a single bite. "I'm not much in the mood for eating."

Marshall dug his fork through the bakery treat, smacking his lips as he tasted the chocolate once more, Mary looking longingly through her lifeless eyes in his direction. He knew better than anyone that she would've been devouring the lot of she'd been in better shape to do so, but regardless of her somnolent appearance, he still thought she looked quite striking. She might've donned pajamas since he'd seen her last, but her hair was still stiff and styled from the wedding, the bobby pins firmly clamped in place, curls bouncing down her chest and framing her face. The disparity between her comfy clothes and made-up features was an interesting one – one that Marshall could appreciate. She was Mary, but she wasn't Mary all at the same time.

"Is it good?" she whispered sadly.

"It's delicious…" it had been earlier in the day as well. "Are you sure you don't want some?"

"No…" a long, low, deliberate exhale came next, and she twitched in her seat, that hand never once parting company with her tummy. "I'm really not hungry."

Between bites, "Mango's making a ruckus today, isn't he?"

"He's really putting me through the wringer…" keeping up with their repartee was clearly what the woman was trying to accomplish, but finding a relaxing arrangement to sit in soon became more important. "Relief today has been few and far between…"

"Do you want me to see if you have a heating pad or a hot water bottle somewhere?" Marshall asked, putting down his fork, ready to be of service. "You could use it on your back; it might help…"

Along with being so restless, now the amount of breaths she was taking couldn't be misconstrued for sighs. Gnawing on her lip so forcefully she was likely to break the skin any moment, she was now halfway out of the stool, hands pressing into the counter because they had nowhere else to go, nothing else to cling to.

"Hang tight…" Marshall was soft and gentle, placing one of his own hands on top of one of hers, patting her knuckles. "Take a deep breath…"

Following his instructions earned Mary praise as well as a break from her astringent insides and she was able to sit back down, though for how long she couldn't know. Marshall's hand traveled up to her face, where he brushed a few stray hairs out of her eyes and then quietly tapped her cheek, a move he got away with because she was so exhausted. She even coaxed a tight-lipped chuckle into the open, like her writhing was all a laughing matter.

"Atta girl…" the congratulations was for her ability to draw air as well as her lighthearted manner about her woes. "That was good. Not to bring up a touchy subject, but you might want to start timing the contractions," he would call them nothing else. "I'm not saying it's anything to rush off to the hospital for yet – four weeks is still a month away, after all – but, you don't want any surprises."

Mary let out a jeer upon hearing this, "Any more surprises today and I'd drop dead of a heart attack."

"Yeah, I know; it's been a trying one for you…"

"I don't know why I'm so disgruntled about this whole thing," she twirled one of her curls absently, still staring at the now half-eaten piece of cake like getting sick might be a small price to pay for tasting it. "It's so… 'Poor, pitiful single mommy' of me," now she made a face. "I'm not the first; I won't be the last. I knew going in that this was my ship to sail or sink."

"The 'ship' being Mango?"

"Mmm…" Mary hummed in assent, but her own claims didn't seem to be having much affect on her; like it or not, she was flooded by the idea of being alone, even if she had claimed to want no part of the human race for as long as Marshall had known her. "I don't know…" and she was ready to back down already, too sleepy to fight. "I know you said swing sets and bird baths and bedtime stories with mom and dad are overrated Marshall, but…"

He had said no such thing, but the taller knew what she meant. She was summarizing the 'white picket fence' mentality, one that seemed to be looking glossier to her in the face of Mark being a hundred miles away and having a sister that no longer needed her to hold her hand.

Unfortunately, this concept played into the feelings Marshall had-had while the two of them had swung back and forth on the dance floor as she'd wept, the memory still fresh in his mind. It had stirred all sorts of fantasies in him, likely spurred by all the love in the air, manufactured by the bride and groom. He'd wanted to act on those emotions then, but had laid them to rest as he always did – smartly so. He just wasn't sure he could do it again, and if Mary kept talking, it was going to be even harder. He'd stayed mute for eight years. Maybe he only got nine before he had to talk, where he couldn't live a lie any longer.

Yanked back to the present by the fact that his partner hadn't finished her sentence, "…I don't know. Overrated or not, they still look better than what I'm seeing from where I'm sitting."

They, what? Marshall suddenly thought, knowing he hadn't been paying well enough attention to recall.

"I mean, maybe not the bird baths. I don't need the bird baths."

Oh, right. Perfection, flawlessness, precision and all sorts of other synonyms that Mary claimed she didn't need or what. But, judging by her speech at the moment, she was beginning to change her mind to a degree, whatever she'd said about Brandi and Peter when she'd had the eyes of a hundred.

"Uh…no…" Marshall chimed back in, his throat feeling oddly taut. "Maybe the bird bath is a bit superfluous…" it surprised him that he could come up with such a fancy word when his head was swimming. "But, a garden maybe?" he was fishing now. "And, I wouldn't say no to those swing sets…" going back to her original nixes.

"I'll bet you wouldn't," she sniggered derisively. "You were one of those kids that jumped off while the swing was in the air and then cried when you skinned your knee, weren't you?"

"I would think you'd be preparing for something like that," he was thinking of Mango's eventual hardships. "Broken bones, bloody fingers, and the like."

"Well, there's a confidence booster," Mary snarked. "Will you be the one to call CPS when my kid cracks his head open?" Before Marshall could ensure that he would never do that, she baited him more and more by the second without even realizing it, "Because you can bet he'll have nowhere to go when that happens. It'll be off to the fosters with him – working mom dealing with whackos clearly isn't fit to raise her own spawn…"

Not even looking at Marshall, she stuck her index finger to the plate with the slice of cake on it and licked off a few crumbs. Because she was so wrapped up in her own professed tragedies, she didn't glimpse the way her partner was gazing at her – with a hungry, almost hyper stare, his lips pressed together, battling the urge to speak. To speak _now._

"That'll be the day, huh?" nibbling up more morsels since her stomach had tolerated the first few. "Like I won't be alone enough to start out – screwing up changing diapers, smearing formula on the walls trying to feed him, becoming a disgrace to women everywhere – then I'll be on the stand telling the jury I didn't _mean_ for him to bust his lip, it just _happened…"_ this tirade was getting long-winded, but it was becoming white noise to Marshall. "There won't be anyone standing by me then; no one to take him, no one to take _me…"_ this was a big assumption, but she wasn't done. "Can't get more alone than that…"

"You're not alone…"

It was all Marshall could manage without coming apart at the seams, without bearing his entire soul right there on the island, but if Mary didn't quit giving him reasons to profess his undying loyalty – and more – then he stood no chance.

But, the woman was on a roll and seemed not to hear what he'd articulated which was, if possible, more frustrating than if she had. No matter; there would be no guessing his secret soon enough…

"How could I spend almost forty years thinking I had it made being by myself and now I decide I want a rug rat as well as a barn and a tire swing and pet chickens?" smacking her lips, which were coated with chocolate. "There's been an unnatural shift of the earth's axis…"

"Maybe it's finally tilting in the right direction…"

"Of course it's too damn late for me now, and I'm gonna be a nightmare with Mango; forget the rest of the pieces…"

"Sometimes the pieces aren't so hard to find…"

"To hell with it; I'm not subjecting anybody to this circus but me. Me and Mango; comrades and brothers in arms. All for one, one for all; we don't need anybody but each other…"

"I love you."

The silence crashed like the sky had fallen, like the clouds, the rain, the snow, the stars, the sun, the moon, and even heaven itself blanketed the two of them in all its splendor. The angels and shards of paradise softened the blow, creating the stillness, when ordinarily there would be a monumental, colossal thud. Crickets outside the sliding glass door and a hint of locusts joined the horde and Marshall, his heart racing a mile a minute, forced himself to feel the weight of all that lay above as he stared into Mary's eyes.

He had not a clue what made him say it. For minutes at a time – _years_ at a time – he had exercised the utmost in self-control. Waging a muted war with himself, he had carried on, not willing to risk losing his most treasured, greatest friend on the off chance she would become something more. Even tonight, he had been winning the fight, waving his flag, proud of triumphing over his feelings, and it had all come apart with one peculiar dialogue from his partner about being alone for the rest of her life.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to steer her his direction in his own gentle way, but she hadn't listened. The buildup of emotion, the strain of carrying it all around for so long had finally broken. And, the look on Mary's face as she stared back at him, one finger still raised, poised to sample more of the cake, told him absolutely nothing. Marshall had no idea what was coming when on every other occasion he knew this woman like the back of his hand.

"What?"

There was nothing detectable in her tone – no shock, no amazement. This, if possible, made things scarier, but Marshall didn't seem to be acting of his own accord anymore. His brain had completely shut down and his heart as well as his mouth seemed to be taking care of everything.

"Yeah."

First, the confirmation.

"Yes."

Second, the reiteration.

"I love you."

Finally, the statement itself. There could be no misunderstanding. Not now. Not anymore.

But, the glance that seemed to be sinking into Mary's eyes looked remarkably like misunderstanding. It turned quickly to confusion, and a shake of her head joined the stupefaction living in her forested orbs. She, like him, sought to repeat what had already been doled out.

"_What?!"_

There was nothing flat about it this time. Marshall's stomach began to coil when he realized that there wasn't disbelief in the single word, but anger. Oddly enough, realizing this didn't affect him a bit. When your brain was no longer on the bandwagon, there was nothing left to do but own up.

"Yes. I love you. I have loved you for a long time. You don't have worry about being alone because I'm here. I'll always be here. Because I love you."

Saying it so many times was as thrilling as it was terrifying, but Mary didn't seem to have the same feeling, even though he sounded so placid, so curiously calm. The fury that had bubbled to her exterior was replaced by the strangest expression Marshall had ever seen when it came to what he was telling her. For a split second, he thought he caught something like utter realization flicker through her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come on. The corners of her mouth twitched and, in a cruel twist of fate, she _smiled._ Normally a sight Marshall adored, something about this one was atrocious; his insides clenched when he realized what was about to happen.

"Marshall, this isn't funny."

Funny it might not be, but you'd never know it by looking at the blonde, who actually laughed. Again, the sound turned the man completely upside-down. He cherished Mary's laugh, but this wasn't Mary's laugh. It was cold and stark. Something strange seemed to be happening here, and he instantly became more aware of himself – the bumbling idiot who had just confessed his deepest desire was a different man than he was.

"Come on, stop fooling around. I'm not in the mood for this tonight."

And, with that, she stood up and pranced over to the fridge, pulling out a jug of milk and pouring herself a glass with her back to him. Marshall's palms began to sweat and he rubbed them on his slacks, trying not to explode, trying not to scream at her to listen and listen good, but he wasn't going to last for long.

She didn't _really_ think he was joking, did she? Was she _hoping_ he was? Being evasive because she was scared? None of the options here were good ones.

Gulping hard, he marched across the linoleum, in full consciousness of what he was doing and with no notions of burrowing back into the ground. He grabbed Mary's arm the instant he was close enough and jerked her just hard enough to turn her around, which she did with a jeer that made his warm heart turn suddenly to ice.

"I'm not kidding. This isn't a game," his previous dispassionate manner was replaced with grave significance. "I'm serious. I am in love with you. I want to be your boyfriend…"

"Cut it out…" still indifference

"I want to be your husband…"

"Stop it!" unadulterated fear.

"I want to raise your baby and wake up next to you and grow old with you…!"

"STOP!"

And now the rage – red hot and lethal, Mary wrenched herself free, going so far as to shove him several feet from her in her ferocity. All aloofness was gone, her teeth bared like a bulldog's, she had-had enough; if he was going to play, so was she, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

But, Marshall had surpassed 'pretty.' He didn't care if he was freaking her out. He didn't care if she was upset or even if she read him the riot act. He had stayed quiet for too long, even if he knew in the back of his mind that the manic way he was suddenly going after her was really uncalled for. The old him would've backed away, but the thought never occurred to him. Even if it had, it was too late. Mary believed him now, even if she despised what she saw.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!" she shouted, each word accented with venom. "What is your problem?! Is this comedy to you?!" they'd gone over the fact that it most certainly wasn't, but she didn't wait for him to answer. "Bombarding me with something like this when I already have fifty thousand different things going on?! How could you do this – how could you do this _now?!"_

It was the final question that enabled Marshall to craft a rebuttal, "If not now, when?! You're the smartest person I know; you can't stand here and tell me you didn't feel it or see it all these years!" He delayed her chance to bat back at him by going on, "Now is when it matters most! Now is the time! Now – when you need me; I'm here!"

"So…so you get to fake feeling something for me…?"

"It is NOT fake!"

Marshall's jaw jutted outward in vehemence of his own, all the bones in his neck turning inflexible and hard. His past dealings with Mary's denial had been aggravating, but absolutely nothing like this. The fact that she dared suggest he was putting on a show for – for what? – was ludicrous.

"…You get to _announce_ that you feel this way now just so you can play the knight on the white horse?" the very image repulsed her. "To _save_ me from myself?"

"Who was it that I was talking to outside, huh?" Marshall reminded her wildly, flinging his hand toward the window to send her back to the dance floor. "That woman who was blubbering and holding me and telling me how badly she needed me?!" bringing up such a raw moment was going to shoot his credibility down the drain, but he didn't care. "I thought that was you!"

"I…I…I was…" Mary was thrown off guard without any plausible resistance, but she could clash with the best of them, and right now she was smack in the middle of the fray, claws gnashing. "You took that to mean I wanted to take you to bed?!"

Making him sound like such a playboy, a juvenile little kid that wanted nothing more than a night of passion, to be forgotten in time for work in the morning, enraged him to the point where he was spitting. He could never remember fighting like this with Mary; she made him mad all the time, but this was on a whole new level.

"You are a piece of work!" he declared, jamming his finger forward, which produced a noticeable flinch. "It's been about you from the very beginning!" every frustration he'd had about Mary's isolating herself suddenly came flooding out; in currents, in rivers and streams. "Eight years I've been at your beck-and-call, dropping everything when _you_ decide you're going to leave your armor at home and accept some help! And I've been patient! I've taken the leftovers! Not being allowed to hold your hand, not being allowed to _hug_ you because touching is going too far…!" his voice broke suddenly, but underneath there was just more umbrage. "I thought after this trip it was going to be different! I thought you were ready!"

"Ready for what?!" her two cents were going to force their way in, come hell or high water. "Ready for you to lose your damn mind?! You don't know what the hell you are talking about, Marshall – it's this stupid wedding! It's making you think things that you don't think…!"

Her foisting her deep defiance onto him just fueled his temper, matched pound-for-pound with hers.

"Don't stand here and tell me what I think and what I don't!" his face was burning, skin tingling and throat singed red from yelling so much. "I've let you dictate how I feel and what I do the entire time I've known you…!"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"I loved you too much to put our relationship in jeopardy! Better some than none at all, right?!" there was a psychotic glint in his eye now that made him look certifiable, like he'd gone around the bend. "Well, no more! You feel the same way I do – I _know_ you do!"

"Because I _danced_ with you?"

"Because you let me comfort you when you lost the Harmons, because you let me _meet_ the Harmons, because you said I could be there when your son is born, because you let me feel him kick and reached for my hand when we went spinning off the road…!"

"Because you're my _friend!"_ Mary finally cut him off, her head pounding, ears ringing with all his justifications. "Because you're my friend, because you've _been_ my friend and I needed to be yours in return!"

"You need to quit being scared of this!" he growled boldly back. "It's no use settling! I know you better than you know yourself and I'm not going to sit idly by anymore! Say it…!"

"Say _what?"_

"Tell me you love me!"

"You can't make me when I don't…!"

He spoke right over her, "Say it!"

"I won't – stop acting like this – this isn't you!"

"This _is_ me! I've been hiding – I've been hiding just like you!"

"Go back in your hole, then!"

"Listen to me – damn it; listen to me!"

In an act that actually was _not_ him, Marshall let his desperation overcome him, lunging forward and grabbing her old, faded T-shirt in his fingers, thrusting his face in front of hers so that she couldn't ignore him. Immediately, he realized his error and tried to get a grip on himself, because this feeling of falling twenty stories was starting to make him dizzy, but Mary didn't give him a chance to become more balanced.

With a moan of displeasure, she clamped her fingers hard around his and propelled herself free. It was her turn to speak, her turn to hold the cards, and though the man anticipated more impatience, more of her wrath, he got something else entirely.

"You think I'm not listening?"

She was crying before she could finish, tears streaming down her face like she had turned the knob on a faucet, spilling from somewhere within like Marshall grabbing her had been their cue.

"I'm always listening – there's no one I listen to like I listen to you!" the elaborate make-up she had been adorned with for the wedding turned the rims of her eyes black when mixed with tears. "I hear it all; I see it all; that doesn't mean I like what I see!"

"I…I don't…"

His deeds in the past few minutes began to collapse profoundly onto Marshall's head. What in the world had he been thinking? He'd waited years to let everything out like he had, to rip off the tape and wrapping paper to expose the magic within, but it was going obscenely wrong. He could've handled the denial, maddening though it was. Even the anger would've been manageable, but the Mary in front of him now wasn't incensed; she was miserable. It was he who had made her miserable. He, Marshall, who had been so sure that she had needed to hear the whole hideous truth. He had broken the cardinal rule of being Mary's best friend. You push, and she ran far-far away.

"Marshall, I need a friend – I need a partner; I need _you_ the way you are _right now!"_

This was horrible. It was more horrible than Marshall had thought it could be. He couldn't veil his desires anymore; he had shooed them into the open in the most irrational of ways, and there was no going back. He couldn't force Mary to feel what she didn't.

Had he been wrong all this time? Wrong to think she had shared the same feelings he did?

"I'm going to be a mother in four weeks!" she was bawling now, her speech nearly unintelligible, her cheeks streaked with mascara. "I am up to my ears in uncertainty, and you're going to take away the one solid I had?"

They couldn't be friends anymore if he wanted to be her lover. Even if his mind was fully-functioning again, his heart was busy dying.

"How can you do this? What is your problem?"

It was hard to say if she really wanted a response, but Marshall was too dejected to articulate anything at all. This was all unfolding exactly as he had dreaded it would for eight long years. Their unique, exceptional camaraderie was in splinters because he had tried to compel them into something more. There could be no 'more' if Mary didn't feel the way that he did, a thought that made him want to crawl under the table and shrivel up, unable to be healed or consoled.

"So…this is it, then?" no longer beautiful because she was so broken, Mary proved she did, in fact, need Marshall to say something. "You…you need me to be more than I am…"

"I've never needed you to be anything other than who you are."

That used to be true, but was it now? He had just hurled an entire barrage of insults at her, and even if they had been said in the heat of the moment, the one thing he really wanted from Mary – her undying adoration – he couldn't have. The woman seemed to realize this as well, and sighed despondently, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You thought I was someone I'm not."

"Mary, I see things in you…" he would try this one more time; use his last ray of hope. "I'm the only one you'll let close to you, the only one you talk to when something's gone wrong; you said once you'd rather I parent your child…" the potential loss of Mango in this nightmare was almost too much to bear. "You're really going to stand here and tell me it was all about friendship? It was all platonic? Because I…" he could be so audacious. "I think you'd be lying."

He couldn't really have been mistaken all these years, could he? He had been _so_ sure, that if he'd said the right things, picked the right moment, it would be the perfect concoction to get her to admit what she'd been running from the entire duration of their partnership. Yes, he had bungled his delivery when he'd become so uncharacteristically furious, but he was more himself now, never mind that chills were tickling up and down his spine.

And Mary, all her wounds bleeding freely in the open air, stared at him through her waterlogged eyes and knew she just couldn't make the leap. A part of her – a small, very brave part – fantasized about running across the room and into his arms, letting him shower her with affection and years upon years of devotion, side-by-side in a single bed. But, this valor was overpowered by all the ambiguity she had been cloaked in for the past two weeks. After deciding to keep Mango, giving the newly-adult Brandi her blessing, learning about the tragedy that was Luke, puzzling over the secrecy of Marshall's family, and everything in-between, this was too much. Everything on her list was fraught with complications and no security whatsoever.

She couldn't take him in – she couldn't take this on. It had been the one thing in her life she'd been certain of, and now it was gone. She wasn't going to pile it on with still more doubts in the form of a romantic relationship with her longtime partner, no matter how she might feel. She would forgo love for a shot at safety – to, for once, know what was coming. There was nothing appealing about it, but running was all that Mary knew.

"I'm not lying…" she made herself say, but the words were like acid on her tongue. "I'm sorry, Marshall…"

"You are; you're lying; you're trying to protect yourself…"

"I'm sorry, Marshall…"

"I understand; I do; I shouldn't have…"

"Marshall, please…" the sobs returned in full force, wracking her shoulders with tremors as she fought her hardest ever to shove him away. "Please don't make me do this…"

"I love you. Do you love me?" he was going to make her. "Or not?"

_Yes-yes-yes_ hammered violently into Mary's mind and she craved the daring to say it out loud. But, she was nothing but a sniveling, simpering coward who could not allow herself to be coveted by anyone when the probability of getting hurt was too great. James had left her with abrasions that had never mended, thirty long years later.

"No…"

The rejection in Marshall's eyes was so horrendous Mary thought she might be bodily ill, and yet she couldn't stop.

"No, I don't, Marshall. I'm sorry. I love you – I'm not _in_ love with you," if this was supposed to pass for kind, it was pathetic. "You're my best friend. You're…you're my friend."

Never before had such a word meant so very little. Mary was sure that Marshall was going to haggle with her some more, maybe even fly into another rage, grab her by the arm and make her see reason, and part of her wished he would. But, apparently, she had deprived him of quite enough. With a gulp that might very well have been keeping him from his own tears, he shook his head and ended this dreadfulness once and for all.

"I don't want to be your friend."

And, he turned on his heel and made straight for the door, not once stopping to see if he was going to be towed back. Seeing him abandon her even though she could hardly blame him made Mary holler to his retreating back, internally begging him to understand even though she didn't understand it herself.

"Marshall…!"

The wail was drowned by the slam of the door, and then he was gone, driven away, pushed to the edge: mission accomplished.

And yet, Mary was in ruins. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the sound of his departure and the volume of tears blurred her vision so badly she couldn't see two feet in front of her. She knew the second he was gone that she had made a ghastly mistake; she should've reciprocated, she should've stopped acting like a seven-year-old and welcomed him in because he was so willing to come. But, the opportunity was long gone; she, not he, had wrecked everything. She wasn't his lover. She wasn't even his friend. Not now. Not anymore.

Blindly, blubbering and making noises like that of a sick, injured animal, Mary collected her milk glass and stumbled back to the island where she threw herself down on the stool, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed. She'd done it now; she had no one but herself to blame for this appalling evening, for losing Marshall. No one she had ever allowed to get away had ever damaged her like this – not Raph, not Mark, not even James. Someone might very well have slashed her heart in two bloody pieces, and yet she was still sure she had been the one holding the knife.

To cry by herself was terribly lonely, the darkness created by her shielding fingers making the images of her trusted partner flash in bursts before her eyes. Driving with him over midnight, watching him laugh as she stole his cookies and drank the entire carton of milk, the way he'd doted on Brianna and smiled at the little girl in the Midwest who had named her puppy Scout. Marshall was the best she'd ever gotten and she'd destroyed any future they might've had. The awful constrictions in her belly had returned in full-force, putting her in physical agony as well as emotional, but she had no time to grab a breath of air, which just made her stomachache more pronounced. This whole night had come straight out of hell.

Mary likely would've sat there weeping for hours on end if it hadn't been for the front door reopening. She didn't even look up to see if Marshall had returned, ready to give her another chance she didn't deserve. She knew it wasn't him, and she was right. Surprisingly, it was Brandi, a cyclone of euphoria and chaos, babbling at the top of her lungs to the room at large.

"Peter forgot our passports!" she bellowed like this was the goofiest thing in the world. "He's lucky he remembered before we got on the freeway or we wouldn't have had time to come back and make our flight! He left the travel envelope with his extra clothes in the closet…"

Mary heard the faint sound of front closet opening and closing while her sister extracted whatever she needed.

"Got them!"

Prancing through the living room to make sure she hadn't been speaking to nobody, she just barely peeked at Mary's shattered form at the island, her face still secluded beneath her hands.

"Bye, Mare! I'll see you in…"

The noise was what stopped her, rather than the sight. Pausing in her waltz, she halted her jubilation straight in its tracks to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was. The uncontrolled, unconstrained whimpering coming from the older Shannon was rare indeed and even Brandi, Aruba-bound, couldn't let it go by without comment.

"Mare?"

The use of her name a second time clued Mary in to how she must appear to the outside world, but before she could mop up Brandi had scurried over and was inspecting her for irregularities, not that they weren't glaring.

The misshapen form of her big sister obviously frightened her, but Brandi was known for being very sweet when she wanted to, and this was one of those times.

"Mare, what's wrong?" her voice was high-pitched and innocent, like she was a child all over again. "What is it; what happened?" her head was jockeying all around like a parrot's trying to get the best view. "Please tell me…"

She was so earnest, and Mary couldn't have held back even if she'd wanted to. Emerging, her face hot, her cheeks sticky, she looked up into the baby blue eyes of her newly-married little sister, and dribbled out some measure of the truth.

"I…I fought with Marshall…"

"Oh…"

Setting her purse down, Brandi did something she had never done before. _She_ became the caretaker; she wiped the tears and wrapped the cuts, winding her arms around Mary from behind and resting her chin on her shoulder so that her hands were clasped, linked together on her sister's chest. This gesture, foreign though it was, made Mary sob harder and expel a little more of the reality.

"I was really mean to him…"

"Shh…"

"I lied to him…"

And there it was, even if Brandi couldn't know how paramount the statement. She just held her stance and clucked her tongue, not caring that Mary was oozing tears all over her pristine, expensive new shirt she had changed into following the wedding. The admissions were easier when the older didn't have to face the younger, but Brandi was a big girl now. She was an adult. Mary was ready for someone else to be in charge.

"I screwed this up really bad, Squish…"

"Shh; Mary…" a soft, supple kiss to her temple. "Don't worry…"

"Squish…"

"It's okay," a promise. "He'll forgive you. Marshall loves you."

So he did. Mary just wished she'd known that before tonight.

XXX

**A/N: The change is just too much for Mary – she has taken on so much already! It is in her nature to run – I just hope you will stay with me long enough to watch her run in another direction! ;)**


	51. The Promise of Never

**A/N: I am so glad I didn't make anyone too angry with the last chapter LOL! I probably worry unnecessarily about such things!**

XXX

Marshall's calculated routine brought him no solace come Tuesday morning, something that made him feel strangely empty. After over a week on the road, forgoing timetables and watches based on when they needed to leave a hotel, he had hoped being in his own house once more would promote serenity found in everyday habits. Out of the shower at 7:32, munching toast and eggs at 7:43, and out the door at 8:10 – every portion was there; all the motions fell right into place. And yet, Marshall felt nothing but dismay.

Maybe it was the pictures of him and Abigail that he still had plastered to his refrigerator door. He risked disrupting his coveted schedule to take them down in lieu of reading the newspaper, and the faces staring back at him seemed like strangers. Abigail read as little more than a colleague at this point; Marshall had made no effort to see her since returning to New Mexico; their break had been clean while he'd been on the road. His own features bursting out of the frames seemed phony, like his relationship with the perky detective had all been for show, devoid of any real substance. The thing that truly depressed him, however, was the loveable mug of Oscar; for all he knew, the mutt was still bunking with his now-ex-girlfriend, and it was likely to stay that way.

The toast was dry even though Marshall spread copious amounts of butter on each piece; he couldn't taste it. His eggs were rubbery, tough to chew and even tougher to swallow. His milk had expired while he had been away and so he drank water instead, which only added to the bland quality of the rest of his meal.

But, even the funk of returning to normalcy, the harsh illustrations of his former girlfriend at every corner, and the insipid eminence of his breakfast couldn't have dejected Marshall as much as his silent cell phone, black and dark on the table beside the salt shaker. All night as he tossed and turned, relived his foolish words, and saw his partner's furious face, he had hoped the telltale buzz would sound. Even if she didn't feel the way he did, even if they couldn't stand under an arch of their own and recite vows, she might come around. She might broaden her mind; she might concede they could still be acquaintances even after such a terrible showdown. Marshall was willing to try, even if it meant settling; he ached to take back what he had said as he'd stormed out about no longer wanting to be her friend. What he'd meant, of course, was that he didn't want to _just_ be her friend, but the time for explanations had passed. God only knew what Mary was thinking now.

And, as Marshall pondered his upcoming day at the Sunshine Building, with or without his better half, his phone stayed quiet, a silent, yet brutal reminder of what he had crushed the night before. As he picked up his newspaper to skim the headlines before walking out the door, he knew he was going to have to accept it.

Mary wasn't calling. She wasn't going to talk to him. Not now – maybe not even ever again.

X

If speaking were an attainable goal, Mary would've strove for it like a dog with a bone. She'd have hunted it obsessively, in hot pursuit of a task that used to be so simple, a task she took for granted. Unfortunately, opening her mouth and uttering comprehensible vocabulary had become a thing of the past. Words had been replaced with anything from sobs to moans to screams depending upon how much she cared to fight. And, as the sun rose outside her bedroom, a pinkish tinge sailing neatly through the white net curtains on her window, her will to wrestle became less and less pronounced.

She was a woman in great distress. For one thing, there was her broken heart, which was probably the real source of the crying she had done since the minute Marshall had left until now. But, for another, there was her cramping belly which had become a volatile mixture of light, uncomfortable squeezes, progressing to a vicious, terrible binding sensation that made Mary feel faint every time it happened. Sleep, like speaking, had been nothing short of impossible. Awake for hours on end, she had paced her floors, hands poised on her lower back, stopping every six or seven minutes to keel over and wait for the danger to pass.

It was a debilitating, frightening cycle. Rationally, she knew what was happening and yet she pushed it to the rear of her mind for as long as possible. The altercation with Marshall meant that the physical ailments of what had to be early labor were really child's play by comparison, though that didn't stop Mary from vocalizing just how much pain she was in. The concept of breathing was a lost cause; she'd tried for awhile, gasping and grunting like some sort of cow, but when it made her dizzy enough that it hindered rather than helped, she gave up. Every time she failed, she thought of how Marshall was supposed to be guiding her, how he'd promised to be her coach, and she had spoiled that dream along with so many others.

And now, exhausted from being up for a solid twenty-four hours and with excruciating contractions to boot, Mary could no longer walk around to relieve herself. Curled on her bed, knees hunched, the release of tension she experienced by shouting all manner of profanity every time she was slammed – "Jesus!" "Shit!" "Goddamn it!" – was gone. The wicked, unforgiving constrictions of her uterus that only mounted with each hour that passed meant talking at all was unachievable. Yet another place where she had fallen short.

While Mary squirmed on her mattress, seeking out any position that might be even marginally more comfortable, she tried to brace herself for what she knew was coming. Stressed though it made her, she had taken to timing her contractions for the last two hours, and knew that by nine or ten o'clock they were going to be five minutes apart. She hadn't forgotten what Marshall had said about when it was time to go to the hospital, and that time was fast approaching. Being by herself all night had been bad enough, but at least she was in her own home, safe and sheltered from anyone seeing how defeated she looked and felt. But, the hospital posed another hurdle – a big one. She was going to have to go it alone, just as she had planned all those weeks ago in Doctor Reese's office.

Mark was on a plane back to New Jersey, Brandi was splashing in the ocean tide of Aruba, Jinx was in a studio pirouetting around with perfect, unspoiled little girls. And Marshall – he'd promised and, noble man that he was, would probably put aside being discarded to hold her hand, but Mary wasn't going to make him.

Why hadn't she confessed when she'd had the chance? Why had the panic become so enormous that she couldn't kick it aside as she would anything else? Why couldn't she pick up the phone right now and tell Marshall, who she loved more than life itself, that she needed him more than ever before?

Because she'd used and hurt him enough. She couldn't talk to him. Not now – maybe not even ever again.

X

Mary's empty desk stood out incredibly crassly when Marshall stepped off the elevator at the Sunshine Building. He knew he was reading far too much into the barrenness, for his partner was often late for work and, prior to becoming pregnant, would go out into the field before ever coming to the office. But, seeing it today, papers heaped and piled on top just as they had been before the two of them had left for Philadelphia – it was like she'd died. Marshall had the sinking suspicion that she wouldn't be coming in at all, which told him so much about how she'd taken their confrontation after the wedding. Mary could root herself in dissent better than anyone the man knew, but if she was too humiliated or stunned to even attempt that, he knew he'd really gone too far.

Sighing and stopping at his own desk to boot up his computer, Marshall adjusted his cup of pencils and realigned all his stray file folders, both of which seemed to have been scattered since he'd last been in the office. Sipping the scalding coffee he'd brought with him from the drive thru, he wasn't alone for long before Stan emerged from his office. He appeared to be in good spirits, probably due to the fact that the Sunshine Building was full again, all his inspectors back under one roof, but he was in for a surprise.

"Inspector!" the boss called, strolling across the linoleum and right up to his employee. "So good to have you back with us!" proving Marshall's theory correct. "Delia and I were getting pretty lonesome without our gruesome twosome."

Marshall could only rub one of his bloodshot, tired eyes in response. Something seemed to have happened to him when he'd spilled all his secrets to Mary. Though she had accused his professed love as being bogus, it was really the life he'd been living for the past eight years that was a sham. Why pretend any longer?

"Whoa…" Stan chuckled, spotting his pale skin, stubble-ridden cheeks, and dull eyes that wouldn't meet his. "You look a little worse for wear this morning. Too much to drink last night?"

"Oh…no…" Marshall managed to choke out, wagging his head lazily. "I just had a glass or two of champagne…"

"You look like you had about six," the older observed, tipping forward onto his toes and gazing up into the younger's haggard face. "You're conning me, Marshall."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, then what's the problem?" Stan took his word for it this time. "You stay up too late talking to Mary? I didn't get to bed until midnight and I left the house a little after ten."

It seemed everyone had been too hopped up to snuggle under their covers and rest, even Stan; any minute now, Delia was probably going to appear to offer them all a shot more of caffeine to boost their energy levels. But, the chief's supposed lethargy was absolutely nothing compared to Marshall's, and his came from sorrow as well as weakness. He wondered if the shorter could pinpoint the difference.

"Yeah, just uh…trying to get back into the right time zone…" he murmured absently. And then, clutching his mention of the female inspector in a last ditch attempt at optimism, "Where is Mary? She hasn't come in?"

"Ah…" Stan waved a nonchalant hand and shrugged his shoulders casually. "I left her a message last night – told her not to worry about getting here until the afternoon, if that," he winked, probably because the Mary he knew would never stand for being told to stay home. "She'll have to start backing away soon, anyway, what with the baby on the way…" Marshall's stomach did a nasty somersault at the reminder. "This will get her into a different groove, and she's gotta be running on empty after last night; why not let her sleep in?"

And, it seemed Mary had actually taken Stan's advice to heart – adhered to his directions as the perfect excuse to bypass her job and avoid Marshall in the process. But, what would happen come tomorrow? The next day? Would she become so used to life without him, too embarrassed to try again, that she would disappear completely? Find a new job – make a whole new existence, starting with Mango?

The thought sent chills racing up and down Marshall's spine, and Stan must've noticed the electric-like-charge appear on his face, because his brow suddenly furrowed in concern.

"Maybe I should've given you the morning off too…"

"No-no…" he sought to cover up. "I…I'm good."

"Yeah, but you don't look it," Stan insisted. "Is something going on? Did you need Mary for something?"

His choice of words was startling, but Marshall shook his head, "No. No, I don't."

When he busied himself in his documents on his desk, keeping his speech so quick and to the point, Stan knew that something was up. With his guard down, Marshall wasn't as successful at keeping his clandestine cravings to himself, and anybody who knew him well enough knew that he never said no to the chance to elaborate during a conversation. Him cutting Stan off and trying to sidle away was like an alarm sounding.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on?" the older man pressed, reading Marshall's deliberate, stony movements like an open book. "You and Mary didn't get into it, did you?" in a manner of speaking. "So much time spent in close quarters like that…" he meant the road trip. "The blood starts to boil…"

"No…" Marshall articulated curtly. "It's nothing…" and yet it had never felt less like nothing. "I told Mary something she wasn't interested in hearing. That's it."

What a tasteless, ordinary label to put on something so epic, the taller reflected. If he was going to start treating his feelings like they were pointless, however, he was going to have to act like it, and this was step one. The wrenching, ripping sensation that seemed to be tearing through his heart would just have to be buried.

Stan, however, looked unconvinced, and needled him further. Just like the father figure he had always been, he wasn't going to step aside when he sensed one of his 'kids' in trouble.

"What exactly did you tell her?"

"It doesn't matter."

That one hurt worse. It mattered so much it was killing him.

"Forget it."

There, that one was more neutral, and a lot less agonizing. Forgetting it was the only way to move on.

"I'll have a tough time sidestepping anything between you two if it means you can't work together," Stan brought up a logical point. "I've watched you both try and handle witnesses when you're battling and it is no fun being the referee. So, _can_ you forget it?"

It was unclear to Marshall how much his chief was guessing here. He was a brilliant man, and sometimes even more astute than he was smart. But, if Mary hadn't been able to guess Marshall's harboring worship all these years, how could he expect Stan to? Then again, Mary had as much as said that she _had_ noticed her partner's feelings, she'd just ignored them. There was a difference.

But, when the inspector forced himself to glance up and saw his boss' wise, swirling brown eyes blinking back at him, he knew there was an hunch hidden somewhere in there. He was simply waiting – waiting, as Marshall had done, and trying to be patient. For all that had gotten him.

"Marshall…" he whispered suddenly, gently placing a hand on his forearm in his most paternal manner. "What did you say to her?"

He was not going to lose his marbles at work, Marshall vowed. This was a place of business; he needed to be professional and upstanding, and yet Stan's solemn face was encouraging him to break down by the second. He had to know – he must. Why else would he be treating his inspector so delicately? But, Marshall had thought a lot of things about Mary that had been abruptly invalidated the night before, and so there was no sense in making assumptions this time.

"I…I just tried to tell her that I…" he couldn't go through this all over again; it would sever him in half. "That I…well…that she…that she means a lot to me…" it had been far more than that, but the abridgement would have to do. "…And over the past week or so, with the trip and everything, I thought that she and I might…" swallowing so hard he could feel the lump in his chest. "That we might…"

Stan's fingers patted his jacket as his voice petered out into nothingness. With a weary exhale, he finished the admission all on his own.

"Oh, inspector…" the renewed use of his formal title was heartening in a strange way. "You are a brave man. You waited such a long time…"

So he did know. Well, at least somebody besides Marshall did. That was something.

"She bolted, didn't she?"

The pair of them, above everyone else, even above Jinx and Brandi, could estimate the movements of Mary in a heartbeat. It would probably shame her to know she was so predictable, but the truth was that her reactions to uncomfortable situations were that of the lather, rinse, repeat variety. Anytime someone defied her wishes and tried to wiggle into her inner circle, she tore off, screaming for the hills every step of the way. Marshall had just thought, after all they'd been through in their time together, topping it off with such an intimate journey from one end of the country to the other, that she might finally be ready to settle down.

And, for as livid as he had been with her attitude, he must love her, because Stan's inference was met with a defense on her behalf.

"She didn't bolt…" not according to Mary, she hadn't. "She was honest. She wants to be my friend. She doesn't want anything else."

Stan's face might be impassive, but his tone was scandalized, "Marshall, she's bluffing. You scared her, and she's bluffing. I guarantee it; you go back to the well and you tell her…"

"I'm not going back to the well," he interrupted sharply. "I'm not. You would've been petrified too if you'd seen how unhinged I was being…"

"I don't buy that for a second…"

"Stan, this isn't something I can bully her into," he insisted, holding a yellow pencil clenched tight in his fist. "If she doesn't feel anything, she doesn't feel anything…"

"She _does!_ Marshall, take it from someone who has watched you two like a hawk for the past eight years! Whatever she told you, she is making it up!"

"I don't care if she is!" he blurted out, shocking himself for shouting at his boss, but he had been provoked into it. "I'm not putting myself though this another time – last night was hellish beyond words. She has more than herself to worry about now; I'm not going to get in the way of her and her child, and that's a promise."

X

"_Hey Mary. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about coming in too early tomorrow. You've had a long couple of days and its tough work being the sister of the bride. Rest up and we'll see you when we see you."_

"_Hi, this is Brandi! Can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message at the beep!"_

"_Hello, you've reached Jinx Shannon. Leave me your number and I'll call back as soon as I can."_

"_Hey, this is Mark! Leave me a message or try me at home!"_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Flinching at the ear-splitting sounds that warbled through her ear every time she picked up her cell phone, Mary began to feel disgraced that she had really thought anybody would be able to come to her rescue. Stan's voicemail said he wasn't expecting her at work, and so would not worry about what had become of her when she didn't show up. Calling Brandi had been useless. Not only wouldn't she answer because she was probably sexing it up in the sand with Peter, there was no way for her to be by her side with her cruising around the Caribbean. Jinx, she was well aware, was in the middle of back-to-back dance sessions, and probably wouldn't check her phone for another two hours, at least. And Mark, very last choice though he was, was back in New Jersey or still on a plane.

There were other things the laboring expectant mother could do, of course. She could call the studio and reach Jinx that way. She could phone Doctor Reese to see if what was going on was anything to be worked up about at all. Or, were she a much bigger, better, and more generous person, she would fall on her sword and find Marshall. It was supposed to be him; it never should've come to this, and yet Mary was draped in isolation from all sides. Dialing in every number she could think of had really been to remind herself that she could depend on no one but herself. If she was going to do this alone, now was the time to start.

Dragging herself out of bed was an ordeal all by itself. Staying mobile might have helped overnight, but now her labor – or what she assumed was labor – had progressed enough that it wore her out an instant, her ankles weighed down, her back throbbing in protest, her belly unable to hack the intensity. Drowning and drowning fast, Mary knew the moment of truth was upon her. Reaching out to her supposed loved ones and receiving not so much as Morse code in return had told her she was going to have to buck up and muddle through her toughest skirmish yet.

Clinging to the refuge that was her outside counter, slumped over like a hunchbacked old woman, Mary just prayed she wouldn't suffer another contraction while she was on the phone. Punching in the number for her OBGYN's office, she waited with bated breath, or what little breath she had left from all the hoarse panting she'd put herself through. Someone answered on the second ring.

"Women's Clinic," said a cheerful, floating voice that couldn't know the sort of basket case that resided on the other end. "How can I help you?"

Remembering her fight with speaking, Mary closed her eyes and swallowed, the whites of the orbs stinging violently with tiredness and the tears that had been submerged in them.

"Is…is Doctor Reese there – can she talk?"

Every word that escaped was pinched, pulled painstakingly from within as Mary steeled herself for the next round of beatings she was likely to receive. A few droplets of water leaked onto her cheeks, her nerves at an all-time high.

"I'm not sure, but I'll put you on hold; give me a second to check."

Deciding she could detour around saying thank-you, Mary winced as the fifth beep of the morning squawked from inside the speaker. In the quiet, when no one would hear her, she inhaled and exhaled in an almost cavernous matter, massaging her belly as if hoping Mango might get the message to hang on a little longer, to wait until his mother figured out her messy life.

The voice she heard next was one she recognized, and while the physician might not be Mary's favorite person, after spending the night chained up on her own and being tortured, she could covet contact with the outside world.

"Raquel Reese."

The breath she let out at this was so loud it created a breeze in the speaker, but she was too busy trying to figure out how to present her dilemma without continuing to howl to really notice.

"H-hi…" Mary's greeting was stammered, like her vocal chords weren't working right. "Hi…it's Mary…" Gathering still more gumption, "Mary Shannon…"

Now that this was out of the way, Doctor Reese clued in, "Mary…" and with pleasant surprise. "What happened last week?" this would be first on her list, the fact that her patient had missed a scheduled appointment, but she'd been somewhere between Saint Louis and Indianapolis during that time. "You were a no-show; we should really reschedule just so I can make sure everything's still in order…"

So much for that. Everything about Mary right now was disorderly; it was just uttering it that was going to be hard. But, she hadn't quite collected all of her courage yet, her face tearstained from every angle, her knees about to give way from standing up for all of five minutes. White-knuckling the counter, feeling the slight twinge from her lower belly that meant the worst was yet to come in a few seconds time, she knew she was going to have to hurry, but Raquel got there first.

"Mary, are you still there?" she wanted to know. "What was it that you needed?"

Forgetting the postponement of their original get-together was exactly what the woman needed, as was the question that would lead her to her doom.

"I…I think I might…" she began to quiver, knowing that keeping the tears at bay was going to be all for naught. "I…I think I might be in labor…"

The timid, trembling quality to her persona suddenly made sense to the good doctor, and Mary felt a little freer in flowing so much moisture. She knew Doctor Reese could hear everything, could hear what a shambles she was in, but at least she would be sympathetic. She did this for a living, after all.

"Okay…" the professional got right down to business. "You're having contractions, then?"

"Yes…" she sounded like she was suffocating, but Doctor Reese paid her no mind.

"For how long? Have you timed them?"

For most patients, this might be a very essential question – a way to refute and tear down all those false labor scares most expectant moms were likely to experience in their excitement. Doctor Reese might not know Mary very well, but she knew she treated her pregnancy far differently than most women. She would know that if she was resorting to calling in the big guns that she was at the end of her tether.

"Yes…yesterday morning…" she scrambled not at all elegantly. "I…I was having what I thought were contractions; they were more painful than usual and they lasted awhile…" such a long sentence made her winded and she had to stop for a second, but Raquel was patient. "But…they were irregular…"

Describing them that way made Mary think of Marshall, which would only increase her hysteria, but she prodded herself to finish.

"And…they did go away eventually, so I didn't think it was anything…" another swallow. "But then, last night like…around nine, I don't know…" if only she could remember the exact moment when Marshall had barreled away after she'd battered his psyche. "They came back, and they haven't gone away since. They were seven minutes apart for…for awhile…" she couldn't remember how long. "But, now it's more like five…"

Realizing that this was really taking it out of a woman who already had much more to tackle down the road, Doctor Reese broke in now that she'd gotten the information she needed.

"How long have they been five minutes apart?"

"Only a half hour or something…" a loud sniffle.

"Did your water break?"

This was another inquiry best left for Marshall, but he wasn't here now, and he wasn't going to be.

"No…" she croaked, becoming still more emotional because she was embarrassed not to know. "I…I don't think so; I'm not sure…"

"All right, Mary, listen close for me," she was tender, but firm, probably so the blonde wouldn't disentangle any further. "It sounds like this is it, okay?" no beating around the bush. "You're four weeks early, but I don't want you to worry," until now, Mary hadn't even considered the prematurity of her child, which only added to her unease. "The last time I saw you, everything looked fine; thirty-six-weekers are almost always viable…"

"What…what should I do?" she was displaying her ignorance everywhere, but Doctor Reese was happy to oblige.

"Stay calm, remember to breathe…" worthless advice. "Gather a few things for the hospital and then find your way over there. I'll meet you as soon as I can." A third thought suddenly occurred to her, as if recalling the individuality of this particular patient, "Is there someone who can drive you?"

"No…"

"Do you want me to send an ambulance?"

Mary's first thought was, absolutely not, but she didn't have a choice. Arriving in that squealing white box with its lights flashing red and blue was not at all how she had pictured this event, and still it was where she had landed. Again, her hunger for Marshall grew tenfold, but after demoralizing him the way she had, she wasn't going to run back to him now. He deserved better. He always had.

"Mary, are you sure there's no one who can bring you?"

"There…there's not…"

"Where's your mom? What about your sister?" she was harking back to those silly forms, which would be of no help now.

"I don't know where my mother is, and my sister is on her honeymoon," a sob dribbled out, because Mary knew if she suggested Marshall she was going to disintegrate into a million pieces, then and there.

Fortunately, the other knew when to hold back, "Then I'll call for an ambulance. Please promise me you'll keep trying to call someone to come and sit with you."

Raquel had been right all along. She'd said all those who claimed they could survive the perils of childbirth on their own ended up in ruins in the end, and she was right. Now, more than ever, Mary needed and wanted a hand to hold, but there was no one left to reach for. Assembling whatever smidgen of her old self she still had left, she ignored Doctor Reese's proposal and took the reins herself.

"It's just me, and that's all I need. That's a promise."

XXX

**A/N: It's baby-time! And, fear not! I won't make our favorite duo suffer alone for long. ;)**


	52. Giving Up Feels So Good

**A/N: The story is likely to be incredibly sappy from here on out, and probably wildly out-of-character, but I guess I couldn't help myself!**

XXX

"Will anyone be joining you?"

"Is there someone we can call?"

"Is your husband on his way?"

A hundred versions of the same question were hurled at Mary once the ambulance deposited her in the maternity ward at the hospital. Each time she heard it, she became more and more agitated, and more and more upset. It was as if they _wanted_ her to feel remote, cut off from anyone and everything, like it was their goal to break her and make her ask for assistance. She wasn't going to do it because there was no one to ask, but that didn't mean the idea of being left out wasn't debilitating all on its own.

At first, Mary was nice, if not a little shaky. She tolerated the gown, the IV needle, the heart monitor, and the blood pressure clamp with relative grace, even if she couldn't seem to quit crying to save her life. She even held it together while various nurses poked and prodded every inch of her they could reach, as long as she wasn't ensconced in a contraction, in which case all bets were off. But, the constant reminder that she had no one to cheer her on and kiss her cheek was too much, and she was forced to whine out the matching answers to their insolent queries again and again and again.

"No, no one's coming…"

"No, there's no one to call; it's just me…"

"No, I don't have a husband…"

Mortifying didn't begin to describe it. Mary might not want to be by herself, but out of all the available options – robotic nurses and non-emotive doctors – she would rather brave the storm in peace. But, from the second she was admitted she was hassled left, right, and center; there was no escape. Trapped and in insufferable pain, she wanted someone to conk her over the head until she turned back into the rugged, take-no-prisoners Marshal she used to be.

It was thirty minutes before she even saw Doctor Reese, who marched in as though she were late for a lunch meeting, carrying a clipboard with a pen already poised and ready in her hand. Mary was not in the most flattering of positions when she arrived, balled on her side as tightly as she could go with her belly in the way, fingers fisting the bed sheets like she planned to rip them in two.

"Mary?" Raquel proposed carelessly, which made the mentioned unfold herself slightly to see who was there. "Hi."

There was nothing she could say back that would remotely explain her appearance. It wouldn't have surprised the pregnant one in the least if she looked like she'd been abused, only without the bruises. Her hair was limp and tangled, a scruffy version of its former glory from the night before, when it had been curled and crimped for the wedding. Her cheeks were rosy red from all the stamina she'd exerted, both in crying and in her disastrous attempts to breathe in and out. Crimson lines snaked all through the whites of her eyes, every vein prominent, their usual green obscured by the fat, wet tears that seemed to keep coming from nowhere. The way Mary looked at it, she had never been in a worse state, and knew it could only go down from here.

Following her blank gaze across the room, Doctor Reese migrated to the head of the bed to examine the mechanism charting Mary's contractions as well as her IV line, cool as a cucumber.

"How you doing?" some empathy was detectable as she gave the printout the once-over. "You hanging in there?"

This earned her nothing but a glare, the best Mary could muster when she felt as badly as she did. Doctor Reese ignored it, targeting facts and figures instead.

"Your vitals look good…" she proclaimed cheerfully. "Your blood pressure is a little higher than I would like, so we'll have to keep an eye on that, but otherwise we couldn't ask for better," considering how much stress she was under, hypertension could not only be anticipated, but guaranteed. "If you'll sit up for me, I can check you really quick and see how far along you are…"

There were all sorts of things wrong with this lesson, why Mary didn't see herself giving in one iota. Shifting onto her back with her legs practically in the air was going to be a monstrous mountain to climb given how uncomfortable she already was. Add in the torment of having her cervix checked and she felt like asking for them to put a bullet in her head right now. In any case, there would be no giving up easily, not if she had anything to say about it.

"I don't want you to check me…" Mary groaned, her head falling slack on her pillow. "I want to be left alone."

"I'll be done as soon as I can, Mary," Doctor Reese gave her a polite nudge with her shoulder, but the patient wouldn't budge. "I need to see how many centimeters you're dilated so we can get a better idea of when you might deliver."

This was a crock if ever Mary had heard one. Marshall – her heart sank another few notches at the thought of him – had said that childbirth was one of the most fickle adventures someone could go through. Trying to gauge when she was likely to reach the finish line was pure deception.

"You aren't going to know anything from sticking your fingers up there!" she burst crudely, still hunched on her side. "Leave me the hell alone and come back when this kid is crowning!"

Doctor Reese was obviously used to temperamental women given her profession, even if Mary was in a class by herself, and still she tried to elbow her into the desired position. When Mary refused to be shunted aside, she motioned none-too-discreetly at a nurse in the hall, which about sent her clear over the edge.

"What are you doing?!" she demanded, knowing she was going to be outnumbered, that the nurse was there to maneuver her, to overpower her. "I told you that you're not touching me! Are you _asking_ to get sued?"

But, her bones were so weak; her level of energy so low, that two were able to do what one could not. Mary found herself sitting upright, the stranger of a nurse pinning her down by her shoulder with a surprisingly strong arm. Doctor Reese then saw herself to the end of the bed, plopping down on a rolling stool and snapping on a pair of surgical gloves.

"I'll do my best to be quick, Mary; I know it's cumbersome…" this understanding went nowhere toward improving the inspector's mood. "While we're on the subject of interventions, though…" whatever that meant. "If you were looking for pain relief, we can make that happen. Were you interested in an epidural?"

The term sparked something in Mary's memory and she became distracted against her will, try as she might to keep an eye on the doctor to see what she was going to do.

"The…the spine thing…" she spluttered, exactly what she had said to her partner when he'd brought it up. "It…it makes you numb…"

"From the waist down, yes," Doctor Reese confirmed. "If you like, we can track down the anesthesiologist and have him on call for when you're ready…"

"I'm ready now," Mary assured her boldly. "Call him now. Give it to me now," anything to taper some of this wretchedness.

"Well, you may have to wait awhile yet; it can't be administered until you're four centimeters dilated, but I'm checking on that right now…"

As if this bad news wasn't enough, Mary felt her entire body tense automatically, the pings of the monitor telling her as well as her uterus that she wasn't going to be pain-free for much longer. The coaster was ascending the hill, first in the form of a tiny stitch, no more than a thorn in her side. When it built to a nauseating ache, Mary began to growl low in throat, the conception of Lamaze now a very distant aim. The guttural sound she made alerted Doctor Reese as well as the nurse to what was going on, but before they could get any ideas, Mary made herself holler, no matter how much precious vigor it wasted.

"Don't do it now; please don't do it now…"

Her begging was ignored. Perhaps Doctor Reese thought she was sparing her the agony of two spurts of pain, but Mary would've rather dealt with that than the blindingly terrible feeling she experienced of the peak of a contraction matched with having her cervix examined. Hating herself for it but unable to restrain the bellow of the beast, she cried out like she never had before – a whimpering, sobbing little girl trying to block the sensation that her entire belly had just been compressed into a wad and turned upside-down, like her insides were water being wrung out of a towel.

"I told you to stop, damn it!"

Being mean was the closest she was going to get to feeling like her old self, and Doctor Reese seemed remorseful, but not nearly remorseful enough.

"I'm sorry, Mary; I know that smarts, but you're done…"

Nothing about her was 'done' even as she panted for air through her tears on the tail end of the contraction, shaking violently from the shock to her system.

"You've just eclipsed two centimeters, so you'll have to hang on a little while before you can have the epidural…"

"Get out!" was her toxic reaction to this unsatisfying news, gesturing madly toward the door and almost hitting the unsuspecting nurse smack in the face. "Get out NOW!"

The nurse didn't need telling twice; with a subtle nod from Doctor Reese she scurried away, clearly frightened of how malicious a woman in labor could be. But, the one in charge stayed behind, hands on her hips, staring at Mary's distorted form like she was a spectacle at the zoo. She knew that being manhandled hadn't done her outlook any favors, but she also knew it went far beyond that. She was digging herself into a giant hole; anyone with eyes could see she would never last for the duration in this condition.

"Mary, call somebody."

Her voice was level, but there could be no mistaking how essential she found the order.

"You are miserable; you're scared, and you have every right…" as if noting that mattered. "You need _someone._ Don't do this to yourself. This will turn into a day that will haunt you for the rest of your life if you let it go on."

Blubbering but still doing her best to look menacing, Mary rose her eyes just enough to face the other woman and make her plea known one more time.

"Go away. Please, just go away…"

Doctor Reese sighed, but she was there to help the patient, and if the patient wanted her gone and there weren't any more pressing matters to attend to, then she needed to abide.

"I'll be back in an hour to check you again. Hit the call button if you need anything; one of the nurses will come in."

As a comeback, Mary rolled right over and faced the opposite wall once more, where all she could see was the curtained window, the blinds drawn so that only the smallest inkling of sunlight passed through the cracks. Only when the footsteps died away and the door had clunked shut did she believe Doctor Reese had really gone. The veracity of her announcement was terrorizing to an extent. If Mary loved Mango like she very sincerely hoped she would once he materialized in the here and now, she wouldn't want to remember his birthday as a time of melancholy. It was supposed to be mammoth, not horribly scarring.

It might've been this realization that caused the woman to throw in the towel, or it might've been another one entirely. Nonetheless, she pulled her broken shavings together, glued them into a misshapen mess, and reached for her phone on the bedside table. Sleek and slick in her hand, the screen still slightly dented from where she had smashed it in the hotel, she sniffled and punched in one of two numbers she had yet to call. Through the rings, discouraged because she was asking for that which she hadn't earned, she told herself that her method of dissolving down to nothingness still held some measure of self-worth. She wasn't seeking out the man whom she adored, but going for the big guns, because she knew the boss would accomplish what she couldn't bring herself to do.

"McQueen."

Infinitely more than Doctor Reese, Stan's salutation was a breath of cool, calming fresh air. He was the father Mary couldn't run to, and he'd give her what she was too ashamed to grovel for. She trusted him to understand, to know what she needed and allow her to save face at the same time.

"Stan…?"

Her voice echoed in the small space to which she was confined; she sounded suddenly small and meek, the tears glistening upon her cheeks as she grounded herself for a few single seconds.

"Mary?" but, he knew without questioning who was on the other end. "I'm so glad you called; I wanted to talk to you about something. Marshall said…"

Whatever Marshall had said, Mary didn't have to guess for a second, but she also didn't care what sort of stories they had swapped in her absence. Gossip and water coolers and stolen secrets were meaningless and, any minute now, Stan was going to think so too. Diluted by her constantly fragile state of being, she allowed the tears to run without being stemmed, sliding over the slopes of her cheeks and around her nose.

"Stan…" she interrupted with a shuddering sigh. "Stan, I'm…" Unlike Doctor Reese, she didn't need to use the proper terminology and cut to what she knew he would comprehend, "I'm having the baby…" And, in case he didn't get it, "Now. Today. I'm in the hospital."

The effort she expended to be direct failed outstandingly, because each word was riddled with more sobs, something that was probably making Stan feel so awkward that he didn't know which direction to stumble first. But, like the inspector he had trained so well, he did not show even a sliver of his discomfort, nor did he ask for clarification from Mary. He wasn't a US Marshal for nothing – and US Marshals put everything on the line when they scented danger.

"Oh, Jesus…" if she hadn't been so overwhelmed, Mary might've laughed because he sounded so much like her. "What timing…" no kidding. "Oh, man…okay…" he was gearing himself up, Mary could tell. "All right…okay…" the repetition while feeling ill-at-ease was so very Stan. "Okay…okay…"

"Stan…" she sighed, her head sinking into her pillow, dotting the cover with moisture.

But, the sound of her voice seemed to recall him to the most important question that he had yet to ask.

"Are you okay, kiddo?"

Saying yes would mean transforming back into her old, acerbic self, a side of her she desperately wanted Stan to see because it would mean that she hadn't experienced so many frightening changes. The universe in which she had resided for over a week now was so unlike the one she'd lived since the age of seven, when she'd become the adult, taking over for a father who couldn't get the job done himself.

But, she had a father right now. It wasn't James; it wasn't the man who had coiled a medallion around her neck and tucked Biscuit into the crook of her arm. It was not he who had written her letters from nowhere, he who coined her 'sweetheart' and promised she was destined to make everyone feel safe. And yet, Mary had been back at the beginning for days now, trying to manage an uphill climb she had skipped when she'd gone from seven to thirty-five overnight. James didn't have to be the father with the key. That man was standing right here, waiting for her soul to be poured into his.

"Mary…?" Stan prompted when all he heard was crying. "Are you all right?"

Candor was going to feel like a relief, "No…" even if came with still more wracking sobs.

She knew he hadn't said, done, signaled, gestured, indicated, or shouted anything at all and yet, like any man worth his salt, he knew exactly what his girl needed when she wasn't okay.

"He'll be there, kiddo. He's on his way."

X

Marshall was standing on the roof of the Sunshine Building, allowing the warm September breeze to ruffle his hair, arms folded against the cement wall as he looked down at the street below. His phone, which might very well be broken for all the noise it had made this morning, sat beside his bent elbow. He was almost to the point where he'd quit glancing at it, resigned to the fact that it was not going to go off. His ingrained reflex to pick it up, to answer it when it wasn't ringing, or else to place a call to his partner was a hard habit to break.

He had insisted, probably thirty minutes earlier, that he just needed some air before meeting with a new witness, although Stan had seemed skeptical he would be up to the task today. And, when he heard his chief's voice calling all the way from inside, he assumed he had been out longer than he'd anticipated, that the new charge was here, and it was time to go in and get back to the grind.

But, when Marshall whirled around at the sound of his name, he saw a Stan that couldn't possibly be this frenzied over a simple witness.

"Marshall! Marshall!"

Alarm setting in quickly, he took two steps toward the glass door before his boss burst through it, breathless even though he'd only run the length of the top floor, anxiety in his brown eyes.

"What is it?" the younger man wanted to know, intending to get to the bottom of the chaos as quickly as possible. "What's going on…?"

"You've gotta go – you've gotta get out of here…"

"What, why?"

"It's Mary!"

"What…what about Mary?"

And then…

"She's in labor!"

Marshall's brain seemed to crash with a resounding clunk against his skull as this information slammed into being. He wouldn't have been surprised if he staggered where he stood, unable to believe after everything he'd endured in the last twenty-four hours, that it was going to end with this.

Mango. Mango was coming. Mango was arriving – this very minute, perhaps. By day's end, or shortly after, he wouldn't be a Mango anymore. He'd be a John or a Billy or an Alex; a whole, complete, tiny person that would appear and change Mary's existence for the long haul. Nine months Marshall had waited, with the last week in highest anticipation because of what this child would mean to him as he embarked upon his journey officially as Mary's son. The day was finally here.

And yet, the cogs in the inspector's head seemed to be spinning in opposite directions, preventing him from rushing off as Stan had indicated he needed to do. Last night was still unsullied and abominably fresh. If he'd lost Mary, he'd lost Mango, hadn't he? They were one in the same now, and the hurt and indisputably negative response from his dearest friend still rang true. Weren't things different now? How could he be sure that he could stake any sort of claim after such a momentous brawl?

Evidently, Stan was the one who was going to make him 'sure.'

"Why are you just standing here?!" the shorter demanded, in more of a tizzy than Marshall had ever seen him. "Get down to the hospital – go!"

The other faltered in his uncertainty, "But…but…she didn't call me; she called you – she-she must want…"

But, Stan shut him up with a furious whack to his bicep that actually stung and a few words of not-so-fatherly wisdom – but words he needed to hear nonetheless.

"She doesn't want me, you moron – she wants _you!"_

Dazed from the blow, "But…but, how do you…?"

"Marshall, wake up!" and here was the bad-ass-boss they all knew so very well, coming into his own at the drop of a hat. "She wants you – she _needs_ you! She called me because she's too embarrassed to call you; she wants to protect her dignity – you know how she is!"

"But…but how…" he still couldn't wrap his head around this, and still his feet began to itch in their yearning to be out the door, right by Mary's side. "How…did she sound…is she…?"

Stan sighed, probably due to just how many times he had-had to show his two inspectors the very bright light when it came to their relationship, but they had finally reached the crux. If they didn't get it now, if they didn't leap now, they never would.

"She sounds like she is _dying_ because she is not with you."

And this was all that Marshall needed. Love or no love, wedding or no wedding, future or no future, the child of his best friend was about to enter the world, and he would never forgive himself if he missed it.

"Now, would you _go?!"_

Stan slapped him on the back and with a burst of renewed power and mirth, he ran.

X

Marshall all-but flew through the corridors of the hospital once he arrived, feeling very much in disarray, but bound and determined to get to his destination. He was counting on Stan's knowledge to carry him through, that he possessed enough intuition to know what Mary wanted, because putting himself out there when they'd gone through such turmoil was risky business indeed. The very idea of facing his partner after their tribulation was making him feel edgy already, but it was vital to put it aside. Chances were, Mary was in a far more defenseless state than he was.

Once upstairs in the maternity ward, Marshall searched hungrily for the room number the receptionist on the floor below had presented him with. Twice, he had to turn and go a different direction because the numbers on the doors didn't match the one in his hand. The longer he hunted, the more agitated he became. There was no telling what he was missing, what had already happened in his absence, and how much more would escape his notice before he arrived. In equal measure, the time spent locating his target gave way to all the foolish 'I love you's' from the night before, pounded into his brain as though with a sledgehammer. It was really no wonder he'd upset Mary. It might've been time to be a little more forthright, but the way he'd pushed her off the dock had been rather intrepid – perhaps even idiotic.

Then, at long last, when Marshall was beginning to sweat and was considering asking passerby for help, he found the room he was looking for. Witnesses didn't typically land themselves in the maternity ward, and so his dealings with the hospital tended to be confined to the ER. Now, he had reached quite possibly the most sensitive wing in this entire palace – it docked women at their most powerful as well as their most vulnerable. Only the best and brightest deserved to be here. Marshall just hoped Mary considered him one of those people.

Taking a deep breath, preparing himself to walk in on a flurrying, fussy, fevered version of his partner, he was therefore surprised when he pushed open the door and saw nothing but the woman's back. Undoubtedly trying to shield herself from anyone who dared intrude on her in such a thin-skinned moment, Mary was curled in something resembling the fetal position, probably not unlike the one that Mango was leaving at this very moment. It wasn't the posture that really bothered Marshall, however. It was the noise issuing from the other end of the room – a noise that definitely wasn't a whistling air vent or a bleeping monitor. In some ways, Mary was exactly as Marshall had left her twelve hours earlier.

Crying.

To her credit, she did seem to be trying to hold it in, and concealing it from onlookers to boot. And yet, the image as well as the idea made Marshall feel great pity for the friend whose world he had rocked to the very core. In all their time together, he couldn't imagine a time when Mary had been so exposed – no walls, no pretense; nothing but bare skin and bones.

If she had heard him enter, she didn't show it. In fact, there was no way for her to know who stood on the threshold, but Marshall was going to have to give himself up soon enough. With one cautious step after another, he inched himself closer and closer to the bed and when he stood looming above her, his shadow casting darkness over her form, he knew he was going to have to make the first move.

"Mary?"

His voice rent the tears, arresting their control over an already sticky set of circumstances. The woman in question hiccupped, but Marshall could've sworn she was listening. Maybe it was because she knew the tone belonged to a man, maybe because she had guessed what Stan's plan of attack would be once he'd heard the news, but when Marshall settled himself in a rolling stool placed on his side of the bed, she finally rotated around to see who had come to call.

He had the briefest glimpse of her soaked face before the sounds of ecstasy and liberation came streaming into the open, expelled in the form of still more tears.

"Oh…!"

It was really more like a gasp than anything else, but it was all Mary managed before the wash of buckets inundated her once more, crumpling her face, deforming her features. For a split second, Marshall thought he might've made a mistake in coming, because she looked horrorstruck, but then he saw her arms extend, saw the way she hurried to get all the way around to face him, and knew at once he was in the clear.

"I told him not to tell you…!"

The 'he' was, of course, Stan, but this excuse was feeble at best. Both partners knew her strategy in dialing the chief had been to get the news of her predicament to her best friend in a round-about way, but there was no sense bringing that up.

"I told him not to say anything – I didn't want you to think you had to come down here and rescue me after what I said and what I did to you! It's not fair – it's not fair to you – Marshall…" the run-on was making her breathless, which was not a good sign given the fact that she was in labor, but there was no shutting her up now. "Marshall…Marshall, I'm…I'm…"

"Come here; come on; come here…"

Without further ado, he swept her hard and fast into his arms, her face plunged deep into his chest, drenching it with her overflow of dampness. She was trembling so badly that Marshall found her hard to hold, but he wasn't going to let go for anything. Having her so near to him again, even though they hadn't been apart for more than a day, was intoxicating. She might be the one in pain, but he had been aching just as fiercely. Neither heart that beat in either chest was whole without the other ticking out an identical rhythm; they pounded a tempo all their own.

And, if Marshall thought having the furrowed form of Mary in his grasp was the best he was going to get today, he was wonderfully, marvelously mistaken.

"Marshall, I'm so sorry…"

He'd never heard an apology so genuine coming from his best friend, which told him how real it was.

"I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay…" he didn't even care anymore; the two of them entwined together was more than enough.

"I wasn't telling you the truth…" muffled with her mouth pressed into his shoulder, and stopped up with tears. "I lied, Marshall…"

And, finally, the three words he had longed to hear for eight endless years suddenly become four – more evident, more accented, with more force than he could've ever hoped for.

"I _do_ love you."

"Oh…" it was the man's turn to breathe out as his eyes fluttered shut, bathing, basking, savoring such a beautiful phrase; a thousand times more so coming from Mary. Even though he should've come up with something far more poetic in return all he could manage was, "Yeah?"

"I just…I didn't know what to do…I never know what to do anymore; I was so afraid that what we have would go away and I can't handle that…" this was all so new and exciting, and fearsome just the same. "But…if for some insane reason you still want me after everything I put you through…"

"Of course I still want you…" he whispered, patting her back now, feeling her grapple at his own still tighter. "Of course I do…"

"What I said was awful…"

"It's okay; I don't care anymore…" and there was nothing untrue about this at all. "I went about it completely the wrong way; I forced the whole thing, I sprung it on you; I should've been more careful…"

"But, I wasn't listening; I never listen…"

"Well, you seem to be listening now," Marshall observed quietly. "And so am I."

Not wanting to, but knowing it was necessary, he gently lugged himself free, finally getting his first real look at Mary's face since entering the room. Unkempt wasn't a strong enough word for the expression she wore, but her exquisite nature shone through nonetheless. More attractive than anything else about her was that, scared shitless though she might be, there had been a profound reprieve granted upon her, a woman who had been so closeted for so long. Whatever came next might be difficult, but it could come when they had nothing left to hide, and that was the only place to start.

With his index finger, Marshall drew a path underneath Mary's eyelids; soaking in her tears even as she blinked and more trickled out.

"I'm here," he promised stoutly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We will get through this together, okay?"

"I'm making a disaster of it already…" Mary wallowed. "I have been a wreck; be glad you didn't witness it…"

"It's you and me now," more allegiances. "Come what may; the trail starts here – with Mango. Does that sound all right to you?"

And a watery, weak-willed smile finally formed on Mary's careworn face, the first one she'd spread since Marshall's departure the night before.

"_Anything_ with you sounds all right to me."

XXX

**A/N: So, it IS love after all! My endless gratitude to all of you for being so loyal! I feel like now, at chapter fifty-two, is a good time to tell you that this marathon of a story is winding it's way to the end. Still quite a few chapters to come, though!**


	53. Squeeze

**A/N: Goodness gracious! I had a slew of regular reviews last night as well as a huge influx of catch-up reviews, which bumped me about twenty overnight! I am floored, and so humbled by your comments. Thank-you so much to everyone for taking the time to leave such kind words. Thanks to last night's barrage, I have surpassed my review record, which was 333! I don't know if this really counts, technically, since this is a longer story and therefore has more chapters to review, but it makes me happy nonetheless!**

XXX

Marshall knew _everything._

If Mary hadn't thought as much long before this September Tuesday, she certainly did now. In truth, she had always admired his vast wealth of knowledge, the fact that he could store and recall so many different facets, whether they were helpful to the conversation at hand or just plain odd. Mary took in only the information she needed, and then cast it off when her use for it became moot once more. Not Marshall. He looked at every opportunity as one for learning, for some measure of growth, and now, as Mary labored erratically beside him, was no exception to his rule.

It was the small things that really caught her attention at first – the things he did seemingly without even thinking about them. Once they got over their initial weepy hellos, he had set to work at once, pampering her and tending to her every want and need even if she changed what she desired in no time flat. He fluffed her pillows, he scoured for ice chips at the nurse's station, he found the setting on the bed that reclined her just the right amount – he even called Jinx at the studio and had her tearing across town to be with her daughter. Even things Mary didn't know she needed, he foraged and found, showing her that he knew her much better than she knew herself.

And then there were the bigger things – the things Marshall was obviously putting more effort into, but that didn't make them any less special. Because Mary hadn't attended any type of breathing class and trying to learn the ropes at the last minute seemed to make her feel worse, he came up with a new method all on his own. It might not be doctor-approved, but they were breaking new ground together, and that meant bursting out of the box. Sometimes his instructions proved helpful, and sometimes they didn't work at all, but he chalked them up to the push-and-pull of childbirth – everything was unpredictable, even when you were infinitely more prepared than Mary.

Cross-legged on the end of the bed with Marshall seated much the same behind her, they had worked out a system, and the routine – messy though it was – gave Mary far more clarity than she could've ever hoped for. Between contractions, Marshall rubbed her back, kneading her shoulders tightly and then progressing to her inner muscles, all of which had grown very tense. The minute she was hammered with a contraction, he would stop, because she needed his hands for something else. Now was one of those times.

The constricted-sounding gulp that issued from in front of him told Marshall all he needed to know about what was coming up. Releasing his hold, he made sure of his next move before forcing it on Mary.

"Another one?"

She nodded, eyes already closed, hand flapping aimlessly in midair until Marshall grabbed it and held it tight in his own. He was careful to let her exert all the pressure, mostly because he was afraid of hurting her palms, both of which were still bandaged from the car accident. If she didn't care that she popped a stitch, that was one thing, but he wasn't going to be the one to sever those strings.

"Tell me what to do again…"

She asked every time, always with the same shaking tone, and even though Marshall thought his partner could remember his coaching without his words by this point, he was more than happy to humor her.

"Breathe in…right now; go ahead…"

From behind her, he kept an eye on the monitor, charting the course of the earthquake so he would know when, exactly, inhaling and exhaling would become too much for her.

"Good…" he encouraged once the sound of her air filled the room. "Good…now, breathe out; slow and steady, don't rush…"

The exhale was a little more pinched than the intake, which made perfect sense to the man because the contraction was only climbing in intensity. If he hurried just a little, never mind his instruction for her to take things at a leisurely pace, he might be able to get her to inhale one more time before the real boom was lowered.

"Perfect…you're doing great; breathe in again…"

Mary was able to manage for about three of her usual five seconds before the iron fist sunk square in her gut, the pain matched identically with the picture on the screen. The height of the wave had been reached, and this was where breathing went by the wayside. Marshall had learned very early on that encouraging his friend to muddle through a series of narrow gasps that really just made her more tired and frustrated was completely counterproductive. When she was slammed hard enough, they went for brutality, and Marshall was more than willing to be the punching bag.

"Okay – squeeze. Squeeze; squeeze hard, as hard as you can…"

Like the act of regimented breathing, allowing Mary to choke the life out of his hand gave her the opportunity to focus – it was simply easier than the alternative. It became a separate battle; by how far her nails dug into his flesh, he could tell just how much pain she was in and how much further he could egg her on.

"Squeeze-squeeze-squeeze; you're almost there…"

The compression against him only brought Mary so much relief, but that was to be expected. Marshall was cautiously curious about what happened to all her air while she was throttling him – sometimes he believed she was holding her breath, or else it was simply gathering in clouds in her head until she was ready to release it. Either way, her reactions to the stabs in her abdomen were always random. Sometimes she persevered extremely well, never making a peep, exerting all of her energy into bursting his hand into pieces. Other times, she didn't grip so hard because it didn't seem to help; during these times, she would usually tip over to cope that way, in which case Marshall would revert to rubbing her back again. Sometimes, she gave up and cried until the pain had passed. Marshall learned to expect nothing and be calm about everything.

Unpredictable, she might be, but she was also substantially more in control than he was sure she'd been before he'd arrived, and they couldn't ask for anything better than that.

When the vice on his hand began to loosen, he knew they had conquered another one, and he didn't forget the final word he always gave when he thought Mary could handle it.

"Okay…relax…" in spite of how much she hated that command, he said it anyway. "Deep breath…"

Letting go of his fingers, she did as he said, which gave Marshall the freedom to wring out his hand in the aftermath. From the beginning, Mary hadn't seemed to mind him expressing that his own limb was getting quite a workout. She knew she was killing every blood vessel his hand had – she just didn't care, and neither did he.

"Whew…" he whistled pleasantly now that they were in the clear. "You were a monster that time. Must've been a rough one, huh?" A nod was all he received and it wasn't sufficient enough to convince him she wasn't burying herself in a hole, "You all right?"

The response was the same every single time he asked.

"I want the epidural."

And, it was crucial he continue to be sympathetic, never once growing exasperated when she was aware of the rules, aware she would have to continue to solider on until it was time.

"I know…" like clockwork, his hands resumed their position on her shoulders and began to rub once more. "You'll get it; you just have to hang on. You made it to three centimeters about ninety minutes ago; Doctor Reese will be back soon and maybe then you'll have reached four…" Rather than give her the opportunity to argue about it, he peered around her frame to address something else, "Do you want some more ice chips?"

A grateful bob of her head was all the assent the man needed, and he rotated around on the bed to retrieve the cup, which he then passed into Mary's hands. She immediately threw her head back and crunched three or four cubes at a time, soothed by the constant massage from her partner, moving up the mountain whether she believed she was or not.

"Once you've got that epidural…" making it sound like a reasonable goal was probably a good idea, even if the prize was still far away yet. "You'll be able to get some sleep; reenergize for later…"

Later, Mary thought, was so hazy and depressing that she forced herself not to think about it. Fortunately, Marshall gave her the opportunity not to.

"Then I might be able to go out and give Jinx an update," she assumed he meant when she was snoozing, when she wouldn't know if he'd left the room or not; she'd so far banned him from disappearing, not even to use the bathroom. "Just how many nurses do you imagine she's strangling trying to figure out how you are?" keeping things light had worked in the past. "Maybe an even twenty?"

"Probably more like forty…" Mary murmured hoarsely, in a kind of trance thanks to Marshall's cadenced rubbing. "Not including the guys in lab coats and the receptionists, which probably brings the total to fifty…"

"That'll be the headline in tomorrow's paper," the man joked. "Can't you picture it? 'Unruly Grandmother Stages Coup.' The photographers will be trying to get their shot of her dismantling vending machines and stealing lab results in her wrath…"

Mary managed only an obligatory chuckle at this, try as she might to find the likeness amusing. Marshall's constant pressing in her back was a welcome relief, and she would never tell him to stop, but what he didn't know was that his movements were now so meticulously timed that she could guess when she was going to have another contraction. So far, she had avoided looking at the monitor because it just made her nervous, but her partner was acting as a kind of weather vane of his own. When his hands moved to her lower back, she knew she had probably thirty seconds before the pain began its ascent another time. Five minutes between contractions, where she had been stuck since arriving at the hospital, seemed so short.

Her dark anticipation must've manifested itself somewhere in her body, because Marshall felt her tense unexpectedly.

"Are you okay?" he proposed sweetly, forgetting his joshes on Jinx. "You went rigid all of a sudden…"

"Mmm hmm…" she hummed through tight lips.

"Did I do something you don't like?" placing the blame back on himself. "If I did, make sure you tell me; we'll try something else…"

"No…"

The clues were going to be evident for him in seconds anyway. Thrusting the ice cup back in his hands so her fingers could be free, Mary tried to remember how to begin the race without asking, but her brain always seemed to jam the second she felt the slightest ache. How her uterus hadn't just tightened itself into fragments at this point was a mystery, but she knew it was going to hold up amazingly long as the day wore on – longer than she wanted it to, that was for sure.

"Oh, dear; I fell asleep on the job, wasn't paying enough attention…" when Marshall realized the reason for her abrupt tension by glancing at the seismograph another time, he quickly replaced the cup back to the table and got back to work. "Shame on me…"

The cycle was about to repeat itself for the umpteenth time, and yet on this occasion it was hampered by a new phrase from Mary, one that only heightened her partner's pity.

"It's a bad one…it's a really bad one…"

How or why the woman knew this, she wasn't sure, just that her body felt like it was rocketing into survival mode too early. Per Marshall's instructions, she'd been able to grab two or three breaths of air before she had to call it quits and go for their more medieval approach, but this time she'd be lucky to grab one. The horrific, slicing stab was cutting through her skin sooner than usual, which would only make the pinnacle that much more intolerable when Mary reached it.

"It's bad, Marshall…"

"Just do your best; I'm right here. Do you want my hand…?"

Mary didn't know. She felt like she was free-falling, even though her mind rewound to the same spot it always did, trying to achieve some semblance of normalcy, to take herself back to when she was in charge.

"Tell me what to do…"

And Marshall knew his lines, "Breathe in…right now; go ahead…"

But, the answering call wasn't the same. Instead of a fixed, firm inhale, he received a piercing roar that quickly descended into an agonized moan. These sounds were new and made the hair on Marshall's neck stand on end, but no matter – no matter at all. They would adjust. As Mary was still upright in spite of her grunting, he worked his hand into hers like he thought she might want. But, instead of pushing her to hold on as he'd been doing for the last hour, he let his palm rest in hers with only the most gentle reminder of what she might do for relief.

"Squeeze…" he whispered, which could barely be heard over her groaning, but he wouldn't rise. "Squeeze…you can do it…"

She could do it all right. Noting that he really shouldn't be surprised by her strength at this point, Marshall was still bowled over when she proved she was listening and, instead of clutching his hand, yanked on it with the force of a tow truck and almost sent him sprawling onto his back. This didn't bode well for either one of them, as Marshall wasn't going to be any help lying down, nor would he be if she wrenched his arm clean out of its socket.

He would worry about that later, "Hang in there, Mare; you're almost there…"

But, when the contraction piddled away and Marshall was able to pull himself upright once more, she seemed even more distraught out of pain than she had been in the throes. Tears were gushing from her eyes and one look into them told her partner that she knew she'd almost thrown him off the bed, and she wasn't feeling so casual about such things anymore.

"I'm sorry…" she sobbed, even as Marshall shook his head to quiet her down. "I'm sorry; are you okay?" he didn't even consider answering. "I'm sorry…"

"It's fine – you're fine…" Marshall promised, nudging himself forward a little so that he was more next to her than behind her. "Don't worry about me…"

"I'm going to end up killing you…"

"It's all right; don't trouble yourself," he insisted speedily. "You said it was a bad one and you were right. We'll have to figure out a new plan of attack for those beasts…"

It was Mary's turn to follow the script, although the request held so much more sadness and gloom this time than it had in the past.

"I want the epidural."

Marshall could only be quicker to respond, "I know…" now that he was nearer to her, he could pat her hair, which he did, smoothing it down and tucking it out of her face. "I know you do…" he mopped up a few stray tears with his hands, then cradled her weary features in both his palms, her green eyes as large as dinner plates. "It's getting sticky, but we'll figure it out. You and I, we haven't failed on a case yet, you know."

"I just want a break…just for a few minutes…a half hour…"

"It's coming," he reiterated. "And for a lot longer than thirty minutes once you're given the green light."

"Swear to me, Marshall."

"I swear."

X

There was a time when the phrase, "four centimeters" would've meant next-to-nothing to Mary, but no longer. Lying on her back, entangled in sweaty sheets, the announcement from Doctor Reese at the foot of her bed made her want to jump up and down in celebration. She might've done, too, if not for the fact that she was so exhausted that even standing up seemed too strenuous. Instead, she settled for a weak, wan smile, Marshall her mirror image on his rolling stool, and sought to make sure this milestone meant what she thought it did.

"So…so I can have the epidural?"

Mary could barely see the doctor over her mountainous belly, reclined as she was, but she heard the snap of her gloves that meant she was taking them off. When she wheeled around to give her a proper view she, too, was grinning.

"I will page the anesthesiologist."

The sigh that followed the confirmation really wasn't conducive to just how relieved Mary really felt. Marshall chuckled, clapping her shoulder genially as she threw her head back on her pillows, ready to be so numb that she didn't know which end was up.

In a pesky little corner of her brain, the corner where all her pessimism resided, she reminded herself that this was hardly the end of the road. Epidurals came with side effects, there was no guarantee how effectively it might work, and it most certainly wouldn't last forever. Mary didn't care. Anything had to be better than what she'd suffered since nine o'clock the night before. The sun outside her drawn shades was swinging itself to the northernmost point in the sky, which meant it was nearing twelve o'clock. Mary was beginning to forget when she'd slept last and just hoped the meds would be strong enough to knock her out.

"Marshall, if you could help her sit up so she's sitting on the edge of the bed, that'll make things move faster once the anesthesiologist gets here," Doctor Reese instructed with a nod. "Can you guys manage that by yourself while I'm out or do you want me to grab a nurse?"

"I think we're good," Marshall assured her, knowing Mary would want as little spectacle as possible. "Thank-you so much."

"Thank-you…" the woman herself trilled after the doctor's retreating back, her voice high and chirpy. "Thanks…"

The physician just smiled; she was obviously noticing the enormous change in her patient since she had decided to ask for assistance. While the thought of the epidural was making her delirious with joy, she'd spotted long before now that she was slowly molding back into the no-nonsense Marshal she had been once upon a time. It had to be gratifying, even if Doctor Reese had only been the one to thread the needle.

"You're welcome," she said anyway. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Once she was gone, Mary was unable to resist copying Marshall with a jingling laugh. Hers was loopy and much more drunken sounding, but the man certainly enjoyed hearing it. Giving her fingers a light squeeze, as she had been doing to his all morning, he tugged just enough to get her in mobile-mode, because he didn't think she was going to want to try getting into the desired position by herself.

"Oh, you are living right, inspector; you passed the test…" he praised excitedly, glad they had something to rejoice about. "Four centimeters – quite an accomplishment. Only six to go."

Mary didn't want to brood about what was going to happen when she reached that treasured ten, and instead focused on helping Marshall pull her upright into a vertical stance. It was more work than she'd thought it was going to be. Her arms and legs were full of tremors, like they were made of rubber, and she kept swaying in the dents on the mattress where she'd been sitting. Fortunately, Marshall was strong and gave her something to cling to, lugging her this way and that until she found her bearings.

"Why don't we have you face the window?" he suggested smartly, nodding that direction. "The anesthesiologist will have all his tools with him; if you're over here, he won't have to drag it all to the other end of the room…"

Mary was too foggy to really comprehend what he meant, but trusted him to know what was best. So, she managed to prod herself to the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side, and then Marshall joined her, stool in tow.

"You okay? You want some more ice?" he must've thought all the movement would've taken it out of her. "I might be able to bully someone for actual water and food once that epidural is in…"

"It's fine…" she was still smiling feverishly. "I don't need food; I'm not hungry."

"You're ready, aren't you?" Marshall smirked back, reading her glee correctly.

"I'm ready."

And, luckily for both of them, they didn't have long to wait. The process of getting Mary situated had taken so long that Doctor Reese and the nameless anesthesiologist arrived in a very timely manner, the latter rolling a cart cluttered with instruments, just as Marshall had suspected.

"Mary, this is Doctor Lawrence," Raquel called from her over shoulder, gesturing to a man in his early forties that was already assembling his utensils accordingly. "He's going to be administering the epidural for you."

This was all meaningless professional jargon that she was probably required to say, and so Mary bypassed it and settled for waving over her back where she imagined her savior must be standing. Seconds later, Doctor Reese reappeared in her line of vision with a whole handful of instructions that Mary wasn't expecting at all; she figured she'd made it to the easy part.

"You're going to arch your back forward as far as it will go, Mary…" she began, using her own posture to demonstrate. "It'll be tough with your belly in the way, but really stretch…" again, she mimed the actions, which looked foolish as she was standing. "Marshall can help you curl up if you need him to…" something told her she was going to need him to. "You'll feel the antiseptic being spread on your back, then the local anesthetic, and then the epidural needle should just be some pressure."

Thrilled as she'd been two minutes ago, Mary's mind began to whirl a little bit. How was she supposed to remember all this? What if she didn't hold herself the right way and she messed up the injection? When Marshall had described it to her several days earlier, it hadn't sounded so complicated. But, Doctor Reese was obviously waiting for some sort of confirmation, because she didn't leave her post until she received verbal recognition of the procedure.

"Okay?"

Not knowing what else to do, Mary found herself agreeing, "Uh…oh…okay…"

That was enough for her, and she began to venture back to the door, but trying to watch her go – perhaps so she wouldn't miss any more directions – was a big mistake. Doctor Lawrence was fiddling on his tray, which meant Mary got an eyeful of everything he planned to stick her with, including a needle so large it made her shudder where she sat. Quickly, she turned back around, not wanting to see anymore, and yet she couldn't forget what she'd already laid eyes on.

Breathing a few times might help to clear her head, but she ought to have known by now that the only thing that was truly capable of giving her respite was Marshall.

"You good to go? Feel like you understand?" he asked calmly, no doubt in response to her confused face.

"I…I mean…I guess…"

Even now, she was ascertaining something cold on her bare back, which made her tingle and caused goose bumps to rise on her flesh. Mouthing soundlessly for a moment while Marshall remained remarkably serene, she decided it was probably best to cut to the chase.

"That…that's a big needle…"

Marshall nodded, "Yes, it is," he acknowledged.

"Won't it hurt?"

"Maybe," he stayed still, and Mary suddenly realized that being able to look him straight in his eyes was a huge help; all morning he'd been behind her and so she'd caught very few glimpses of the man within. "The local anesthetic may cause a bit of discomfort, but you shouldn't feel the epidural needle at all."

How could that possibly be? How could you _not_ sense something of that size piercing your spine? Another horrific thought suddenly occurred to her, and she blurted it out without thinking about how jittery she was becoming.

"What if I'm paralyzed?"

Her partner was too sweet to laugh, "Possible, I won't lie to you, but very-very unlikely. People have this performed every day without any complications whatsoever." He had statistics on his side, but still wanted to be open in case she'd had a change of heart, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

For a split second, and shocking even herself, Mary considered saying no. But, then she thought of how many more contractions she was going to struggle through, how many more tears she was going to shed, and how much more desolate the experience was going to become. She'd paid her dues. It just didn't seem fair that she had to be jabbed another time after the mayhem she'd already been through.

But, before she could vocalize her final decision to Marshall, she ran out of time.

"If you could lean over for me now please, Miss Shannon…"

An invisible hand seemed to be pressing on her spine, guiding her forward, even though she knew she was the one in command whether she felt like it or not. She supposed her actions served as her answer to Marshall's question, but he could obviously see that she was still uncertain and was right there to ease her mind.

"You're gonna be fine…" he promised, Mary trying to do as she'd been told and arch out as much as she could, which put her head over Marshall's shoulder. "After contractions, this is going to be a bee sting…"

Attempting to hold onto that thought, she waited on eggshells, her chin tipping downward from her odd hunched position so she was staring into her partner's shirt, rather than over his back. She was practically on top of him, but he pulled her in close, undoubtedly trying to help her stretch just a bit farther.

Her breathing sounded loud in the enclosed space beneath his chin, a shadowy cocoon where she couldn't see the outside world. Marshall's hand was on her forearm, caressing it lightly, keeping her sane. How she would've handled this without him, she had not a clue. Thinking back to how she'd been acting before his arrival, she knew it wouldn't have been graceful in the least.

It was a few seconds before anything happened, and Mary began to get anxious, her heart thudding uncomfortably in spite of her friend's gentle pats for her to wait it out. When she least expected it, just when she was considering sitting up to see what was going on, she felt a sharp stick dig crudely right into the center of her back. It actually startled more than hurt her, but Marshall must've felt her cringe anyway, because he spoke from overhead.

"You okay?"

"It…it pinches…"

"I know, just hold on. You're doing great."

But, surprisingly, that was all there was. The pressure of the real needle came not long after, and within minutes Mary was permitted to reemerge and find her place amongst her pillows once more. Feeling that she had been highly overdramatic given what the epidural actually entailed, she stayed quiet to avoid further humiliation, trying to find a cool spot in her blankets as Doctor Lawrence saw himself out.

Marshall meandered casually back to the side of the bed he'd started on, swiveling around on his stool once more, and seemed to think that Mary's silence meant he could take a break from speaking as well.

She didn't know how long it really took for her to feel the numbness seep from her midsection all the way down her legs, she just knew that when she chanced a glance at the monitor and saw that she was in the throes of a contraction with nary a flicker of pain that she was in the clear. A gentle compressing sensation was all she could feel, which she assumed must be her uterus breathing in and out, but it was nothing but a kind of tick-tock motion. Any throbbing that came with it had vanished.

Turning her head to the left, she saw that Marshall was smiling, and there was no doubt as to why.

"Well…" he remarked, like he had just made an amazing discovery. "That girl looks like Mary Shannon."

A light laugh was expelled as she realized that with the absence of the pain came an abundance of lucidity. Coping with such intensity had forced Mary out of her usual shell into one belonging to someone entirely different. At least for now, she was whole again, and Marshall had obviously noticed. Reaching out and sweeping her bangs off her forehead, the smile never seemed to leave his face.

"You feeling better?"

The reply was a hoarse, but emphatic one, "Yeah."

"I'm glad," of course he was. "You should really try to get some rest, okay? The epidural will probably slow things down a little bit; you'll have plenty of time to recuperate."

What Mary meant to say, as she lay slumped on her side and blinking at him out of bloodshot eyes was, "okay." But, something different came out.

"What are you going to do?"

He seemed bewildered, "What am I going to do? I'm going to stay right here. I might go talk to Jinx in a little while if you get drowsy, but I won't leave."

"You promise?" her eyes were fluttering shut already; the clearance from her body to shut down was immediate. "Even…even if I sleep, you won't…"

"I'll be here the whole time," he avowed, planning to reassure her as many times as she needed it. "For the long haul, all right?"

A yawn, "All right…"

Suddenly, Mary couldn't imagine how she had ever stayed awake, even with the pummeling pain twisting its way in every five minutes. Her bones ached and her head hurt, both things she hadn't even noticed when the contractions had been the most powerful assailant. She felt like someone had chewed her up and spit her out and escaping the hazards of labor had never seemed like a better option, even if it meant leaving Marshall behind for an hour or two.

The recollection of her best friend – boyfriend, significant other, whatever he was now – made the woman utter a few last words before she dropped off into dreamland.

"Thank-you for coming, Marshall…" she sighed, picturing him behind her closed lids. "I do love you, doofus."

Whatever the reason she'd felt the need to say it again, Marshall didn't care, because he cherished hearing it. It she wanted to spitball it for the rest of her life, he wouldn't give a damn; waiting so long to capture the phrase meant he would never tire of it ever again.

"Thank-you, Mary…" his own gratitude was just as essential as hers. "I love you too."

XXX

**A/N: Like I said, it gets pretty ooey-gooey from here to the end, but that's the way it turned out!**


	54. Warm Whirls

**A/N: I am glad that nobody (at least nobody who reviewed!) minds all the lovey-dovey stuff! I figure giving birth is the one time that sort of thing is allowed for characters like Mary that would ordinarily close themselves off.**

XXX

The dreams Mary had as she slept for a solid three hour block were murky and punctuated with all sorts of strange pictures that she couldn't make sense of no matter how she tried. Crying babies, Biscuit the bear, a hung over Jinx, bloody hands, and mysterious kisses with Marshall were just a few of the things that streamed like a waving flag through her subconscious. All of them vanished the instant Mary tried to catch them, to take a closer look, and this always resulted in her waking up against her will.

The only good thing about coming to even when she longed for more rest was that every time it happened, Marshall was still sitting right in front of her. The first time, he was playing with his cell phone, punching a few buttons absently; it was hard to tell if he was composing a text or playing a game, but Mary drifted off again before she could ask. On the second occasion, he'd been dozing lightly with his chin in his hand, making a funny sort of snoring sound and jerking to life every time the slightest noise disturbed him. And, during the final stretch, he'd been whispering into his cell phone; Mary paid attention just long enough to guess that it was probably Stan on the other end. Not wanting him to think he'd woken her, she slipped her eyes shut and listened for a few seconds before succumbing to darkness once more.

"She's fine…she's sleeping now…yeah, I'll tell her you were thinking about her. …Delia too, I will. Thanks…"

Whatever came next, the woman missed in favor of catching a few more winks, feeling grateful each time she stirred that she was able to slip beneath with very little effort. It wasn't until almost four o'clock that she regained consciousness for real, and it didn't take long to figure out why.

In the first two seconds of being awake, Mary felt like her body must've done a one-hundred-and-eighty degree flip. She was sweating bullets, her sheets and blankets drenched and clinging to her moist skin. The room temperature felt like it had gone up thirty or forty degrees, like she was boxed in a giant oven. She would've been more than happy to handle the heat if it weren't for the churning, rolling sensation taking place in her stomach. She hadn't had anything to eat since the few crumbs of cake after the wedding, so why did she feel like she was going to puke – maybe more than once?

"Mmm…" Mary hummed through pursed lips, too afraid to speak for real right away and risk tossing her cookies. "What…?"

On the second utterance, Marshall heard her and immediately snapped to attention like some kind of marine, discarding his cell phone to the table by her bed. Straightening his shirt and flattening his hair, aware that he had taken a catnap as well; he assessed her form as quickly as possible without her noticing.

Aside from squinting in the bright light and trying to roll all the way over to face him, she seemed okay. Three hours seemed far too short a time for the epidural to have worn off, and judging by the monitors which were graphing contractions even as he watched, it seemed the numbing was still in working order.

"Hey…" Marshall whispered pleasantly, pitching his elbows onto his knees for a better view. "You're up…" it was nice to see her again, even if he did wish for her to get as much rest as she could possibly attain. Seeing her struggle to find a comfortable position, "Careful…careful…" extending a hand to pull her into place. "You can't feel your legs so moving might prove difficult…"

With a sigh, Mary suddenly understood that-that was why she felt like she was sloping around on the bed like a slug and allowed Marshall to help her further onto her pillow. All the jostling made her even queasier, and the lights were making her head pound.

"You…_can't_ feel your legs, right?" Marshall repeated himself to make sure his assumptions had been correct. "You shouldn't be able to; if you can I can have someone up your dosage…"

Before he broke his back trying to assist her, Mary cut in, "No…" she waved a hand in front of her line of vision, which helped to block out the bulbs that seemed to be blinding her. "I can't…I'm still all deadened…"

"Good…"

"But, I'm hot."

"Hmm?" perhaps because he was so relieved that she wasn't in pain, Marshall hadn't been listening properly. "What'd you say?"

"I'm roasting…" she fanned her gown open at the neck to try and get some air, which alerted her to how clammy her skin already was. "Did they crank up the thermostat while I was asleep? Aren't you warm?"

But, it was easy to tell in a single glance that he wasn't. His face might be a little fatigued-looking, but it was devoid of perspiration. He was still wearing the suit jacket he always donned with his jeans when he went to work, which meant he couldn't exactly be sweltering, not if he was willing to wear long sleeves indoors.

"Uh…not especially…" Marshall stated, clearly trying not to sound off-put by the question. "But, you are, huh? I can get rid of some of your blankets if you want; that might help…"

As he stood up and stepped toward her, no doubt to make good on his word and trash a few of her many covers, Mary's stomach suddenly did a violent cartwheel and instinct made her shove him back from where he'd come. Hand over her mouth, closing her eyes, she willed herself not to throw up, but she was so queasy she didn't see how she could prevent it. But, miraculously, the dizziness and spinning shapes passed briefly, at least enough that nothing came up, even though there was no telling when the sensation would strike again.

"Are…do you feel sick?" Marshall stammered, trying to keep his distance, not so he wouldn't be spewed on, but so Mary could have some space.

The woman nodded, "I'm really nauseous…" forgetting all about how spectacularly she was sweating, she eased back into her pillows, blankets and all, because the room whirled too aggressively for her to handle when she was sitting up. "Really-really nauseous…"

Closing her eyes didn't help this time, but in the darkness she could hear Marshall take his seat another time, clearly not going to do anything that might upset her stomach further. Listening as best she could when the only real goal was not to barf, Mary tried to stay motionless, wouldn't shift unless she absolutely had to.

"Getting overheated and feeling queasy are common side effects with an epidural…"

Mary ought to have known it was too good to be true, and she nodded slowly to show Marshall she'd heard; glad she had him so she didn't have to ask Doctor Reese or anyone else.

"Just…try to lie still for a minute…" was the suggestion she received through the blackness. "You've been asleep for three hours; once you come around, you might feel better…"

But, Mary had severe doubts about that happening. She couldn't even face the outside world without feeling like she was going to vomit everything in her gut and then some. The glow from overhead was like an axe going through her skull, which also gave her good reason to expel all her intestines. How her digestive system, not to mention her uterus, was going to fare when she was mortal once more was anybody's guess.

"This is just perfect…" she muttered, unwise though it might have been. "If I don't die from the pain, I'll pass out from dehydration after I've puked…"

"Try not to think about that," Marshall advised. "Give your body some time to catch up and adjust to the medication. Can you think of anything that might help?"

Wracking her brain didn't do wonders for her physical state, and it discouraged her; she knew Marshall was asking for input because he couldn't think of anything to aide on his own. It was the first time in awhile he hadn't been able to interpret the beat of her pulse even before she could. She tried to take some solace in the fact that he might have a few ideas, but found them too risky to try when she was on the edge of throwing up.

"Guess not…" the taller commented when Mary's eyes stayed closed and she continued to make faces that would indicate upchucking any moment. "I'd offer you something to eat if I didn't think that was going to make things worse…"

"No…no food…" it was unlikely anybody in charge would allow her to ingest solids anyway. "Knowing this hospital, they'd give me something along the lines of half-assed sandwiches anyway…"

Marshall wasn't going to understand the reference, and she could almost picture his sweetly mystified face in her mind's eye, but mention of the slipshod lunchtime meal she'd had as a kid triggered something in her brain. It probably wasn't the first occasion she'd had this particular yearning, and yet it struck her in a way she was sure it never had before. All of a sudden, she knew exactly what she wanted. She was frail, she was ill – or about to be – and there was someone even beyond Marshall, someone who had a touch that could be rivaled by no one even in her prickliest moments. She might be pretty feeble herself, but there was no replacing her for a minute.

"What are half-assed sandwiches?" the partner chuckled on the other side of Mary's eyes. "I can't say I'm familiar with that particular indulgence…"

Regardless of how it made her head revolve like she was an owl hunting a mouse in the dead of night, the blonde forced herself to face Marshall. He blurred terribly, like someone had painted him with watercolors, and so she waited until he snapped back into focus.

"You do look amazingly glazed over…" the brilliant one observed, politely guiding her even further onto the bed. "Listen, don't overdo it; I won't talk if you don't want me to…"

But, his voice was what caused his features to meld into something Mary resembled and with a few well-timed blinks, he swam clearly once more.

"Is my mom still here?"

"What…?" he seemed caught off guard that she'd almost interrupted him, but didn't waste any time. "I…I'm sure she is. Would you…?"

Mary didn't let him finish, "Can she come back here? Will they let her?"

Indisputably cheered by his friend's acknowledgement that there were some things you couldn't do without the support of your mother, he smiled and gave her hand a tender pat. Under ordinary circumstances, she would tell him to take his sap and shove it, but desire was all she tasted these days. Anything to tackle that would keep her feet firmly on the ground was what she wanted, and Marshall understood that better than anyone.

"Of course they'll let her come back," he didn't want her to have any doubts. "Will you be okay if I go and get her?"

And Mary nodded, even though it was ill-advised and made her certain she was going to lose what little cake there was still in her belly.

"You stay here and relax," Marshall instructed, rising and heading for the door. "I'll be back in a second."

Wondering where he possibly thought she would go, Mary kept sedentary the best way she knew how, using his absence to try and overpower the tossing feeling in her stomach that had yet to go away. She told herself that this wasn't like the contractions, where she seemed to lose all control the minute they became too brutal. This was an issue of mind over matter. The nausea was only as bad as she made it out to be. That didn't mean she needed to take it lightly or ignore it completely, but this was something she might be able to master if she concentrated hard enough.

Dispirited that her unsettled abdomen persisted even after Marshall returned, Mary was willing to put it aside when she saw who her partner had with him. Disregarding the Cheshire-cat-grin painted on his face, she focused instead on Jinx, whose presence washed the daughter with a novel, if not unfamiliar, kind of tranquility. She was no Marshall, of course, but she wasn't supposed to be, which in this moment was all that Mary really needed. Marshall had been tending to her all day, going above and beyond, but he couldn't be her mother. His soothing methods couldn't be put any higher on the pedestal, but Jinx was in a class by herself right now.

Mothers kissed your bruises and mended your scraped knees. They coddled and nurtured you when you were sick, nursed you back to health in that syrupy, sugary-sweet way. Mary often felt nothing but disdain for it, but she was down to nuts and bolts. Feeling so off-kilter had turned her into a seven-year-old all over again – a little girl who craved being taken care of.

And, it seemed Jinx was nothing short of thrilled to step into the role. Tiptoeing in behind Marshall, she actually appeared to be trying to reel in some of her hysteria at finally getting to see her child for the first time since she'd been admitted. Marshall had no doubt told her to tone things down, but this didn't even cross Mary's mind.

"Hi honey…" the older crooned, matronly as ever.

"Hi…"

Something about seeing her encouraged Mary to sit up a little more, but this not only made her sway where she sat, but caused all the color to drain from her face. Fastening down hard on another vomiting spell, she just barely caught a snippet of Jinx's milky face before she had to close her eyes again.

"Oh, don't get up, baby…" she murmured, perching herself on the stool Marshall had taken to sitting on. "Oh, sweetheart…"

The gasping and pearl-clutching was so eerily Jinx that Mary fluttered her lids for what felt like the hundredth time in just a few minutes to witness it for herself. With Marshall lingering by the door, obviously unsure if he should stay or go, Jinx was now the prominent feature in the pregnant one's line of vision. Petite, her dancer-frame in full force, she wore the skinniest of skinny jeans that would never fit Mary in a million years, as well as a floppy, airy pink shirt. She looked just as the child remembered her – a reformed, polished version of the Jinx she'd grown up with as a little girl.

"How are you, honey?" again, with the terms of endearment.

"Not bad…" Mary grumbled, a nasty taste in her mouth when she swallowed, her throat dry from lack-of-water. "Not so good either…"

"Did you need me for something, angel?" Mary must've fallen into an alternate universe, for Jinx to be getting right down to the nitty gritty like this. "Marshall said you were doing well, just tired…"

This was mostly accurate, "I feel like I'm going to hurl…" she revealed baldly. Directing her next statement toward the man in the corner, "Probably like you did when you ate those poisoned oysters…"

"Poisoned oysters?!" Jinx exclaimed, but Marshall just chortled.

"Pretty crappy, then…" he conceded, speaking over the brunette. "My sincere apologies," he had been there, after all.

Not understanding, the mother got back to her original query, "But…what did you want, sweetheart? Is there something I can do – something I can get you?"

It stood to reason that Jinx would think she had been called upon for a specific reason, but Mary didn't have one to give. She'd gone where the wind had blown her, knowing Marshall would present her with whatever she claimed to need, even if the longing evaporated as quickly as it came on. That sensation had yet to go away and so Mary, who didn't have the energy to fumble a lot of excuses anyway, decided it was best to be honest.

"No…" she whispered; all the illumination from the bulbs at every corner were beginning to make her feel woozy again. "I just…wanted to see you…"

Jinx might very well burst into tears, she was so touched. Indeed, she put a hand to her heart, relishing the idea that her daughter had needed her in such a blockbuster moment.

"Aren't you sweet…" she managed thickly, at which point Marshall seemed to think he was getting in the way and stepped forward to announce his exit.

"I…I think I'll slip into the hall for just a second…"

But, he was barely finished when Mary tried to hang onto him, and stoutly at that.

"Don't go!"

Why was she yelling? She didn't have to scream; he was standing right in front of her. The man looked as startled as she felt at the way she'd reacted, but was able to cover quickly, waggling his fingers in an indication for her not to worry.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," a promise. "I can give Stan an update, and then I'll be back."

Mary had every intention of begging him to hang around for as long as it took, but he was gone before she could splutter anything else. Likely because her defenses were so low, and she was trying to center herself on feeling even halfway decent, she hadn't been able to organize a rebuttal in time. It was entirely possible Marshall had taken advantage of this and was slipping away when he knew he had the chance, but the logic involved suddenly became too much for Mary's soggy brain, and she stopped trying to make sense of it all.

In contrast, Jinx was bursting at the idea of being left alone, inching herself to the very edge of the stool so that she seemed magnified in the younger's fuzzy eyes. To counteract this, she altered her weight cautiously another time, not before letting out a long, low breath that briefly made her wobbly again, and she had to wait a moment before it passed.

"You look good, honey…" Jinx twittered gaily.

Mary found it in her to answer, slurred though her speech was, "That is absolutely a bald-faced lie…"

A chuckle, "You look beautiful no matter what, Mary. You've been working hard. I bet _Marshall_ thinks hard work is beautiful," she commented slyly.

As stupid as this might be, the blonde had to concede that her mother had a point. What was more telling was that Jinx seemed to have picked up on a few things in the short time since Mary had last seen her. What conclusions had she come to when it came to the now former friendship of her daughter and her fated partner? Of course, it might still be friendship for all Mary knew. Marshall had said very little about their virtual shoot-out concerning their future. It was hard to say when it would come up again; the man was likely to cater to her for a long time yet, at least until she popped Mango.

"Marshall thinks most things are beautiful…" Mary drawled, nothing better to contribute. "Mice…trees…the new spring fashion line…"

"I don't think he looks at any of those things quite like he looks at you."

So apparently, the cat _was_ out of the bag the daughter thought dully. Well, that was a conversation avoided, at any rate. You knew she was sick when she didn't feel like fighting Jinx on something as silly as star-crossed inspectors. Now that it was in the open, Mary couldn't very well ignore the facts either.

Feeling like she had to pull her eyes open with an obscene amount of effort, she put that same margin of exertion into drilling the discussion. Talking was hard enough. Talking about this was worse.

"He told me," three words would have to do.

Jinx played dumb as she fondled Mary's hair, "Told you what, angel?"

"That he's in love with me."

How unusually commonplace it sounded all of a sudden. Maybe in light of her stomach being chopped in two as well as upended in a grueling washing-machine-like-cycle, 'I love you' really could be mundane.

"I know…" Jinx whispered with absolutely no tact, only pitching her voice lower for a fraction of a second in case Marshall might be listening at the door. "Well…I-I guess I didn't really _know_, but the way he talked to me earlier when he called me, and then just a little bit ago…and seeing you with him…" a faraway, girlish sigh. "Baby…there are things a mother just _knows."_

"I'll have to keep that in mind…"

"Oh, Mary…" she was beginning to sound winded with all the huffing and puffing she was doing, and the breeze on Mary's face just made her still warmer. "You are going to be so happy with him…it's what I've always wanted for you – to have a family."

"I don't know what I'm going to 'be' with him, mom…" it felt important to tell her this. "Right now, I feel too awful to 'be' much of anything. Hell, if I could manage just to be alive after this kid is born, I'll count myself lucky."

"You'll be far more than that…" how she could sound so positive was a mystery of epic proportions. "Just give it time; Marshall told me how well you've been doing…"

"Marshall is full of it…" Mary groused, shooting down her mother's second compliment of the afternoon. "This entire thing has been beyond humiliating…"

"Or humbling…"

"No, definitely humiliating."

Rather than get into a dispute, because this was Mary's game to win, Jinx settled for her rhythmic stroke in the other woman's hair, patting over and over, almost like she was a dog, but May actually didn't mind. The motion gave her something to zero in on that was not how violently her insides were whipping around like a paint mixer. It was astounding, if not downright bizarre, that she hadn't thrown up yet, but Mary supposed this was a small consolation in light of everything else she'd undergone.

The sigh she allowed to break out after a few minutes of silence clearly pleased Jinx. When the pregnant one thought it was safe to blink against the daylight another time, she saw that she was smiling. At least somebody was.

"Mom…?"

"Yes, sweetheart," so keen to assist, she didn't even sculpt her words into a question, but a declaration.

"I…I don't know what I'm doing…" her delirium was making her run at the mouth, making her say things she would never usually say without a gun to her head. "Marshall…what happened last night…" the rest came in fragments and with a hand over her eyes to shield herself from the glare that was causing her head to pulsate. "I…I guess I know what he wants – and I want to give him what he wants; I'd give him anything – but I…I really don't know how to…to be a wife and a mom and…"

"Shh, Mary, honey…" Jinx clucked her tongue to turn off her murkiness, pushing her gently back when she tried to arch up on her sedated lower half again. "You need to rest; I'm right here; you don't need to get up…"

She abided, but barely heard her, "I don't want to disappoint him, mom."

It was a fear she had-had for a very long time, deep down, even before she had recognized her feelings for Marshall for what they really were. He was so righteous, so kind, and so selfless – just like the champion out of every movie she had forever looked down her nose at. And, what was she? She was pushy; she was stubborn, other times she was nothing short of mean and nasty. Wasn't it entirely possible he had loved her from afar simply because he couldn't have her? Absence made his heart grow fonder, something like that? Up close, she was pretty unsightly. He would discover that one day, and where would that leave her? Losing him was too painful to contemplate. She hadn't lasted a day; she'd never make it a lifetime.

"He…he's too good for me; I'll end up hurting him…"

"Mary," Jinx suddenly interrupted, and she sounded firm, her jade eyes inflexible in her pale, porcelain face. "Didn't you just tell me that you were embarrassed by everything that's happened today?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, how come?"

This was easy, "Because…because…I'm like a horror movie…" this might not be very flattering, but there was nothing phony about it. "Losing my marbles every five seconds…crying all over him…mooning like some lovesick teenager – not to mention that I look like a tented circus elephant in this gown and God only knows what he's seen with the back open…"

"Mary…" it was a good thing the dancer cut in gently, because jabbering so much caused a weakness to filter into the woman's limbs, and she had to affix her head to the pillow once more, at least until she could see straight. "Listen to me…"

"Hmm…?" shaking her head back and forth, trying not to think about how thirsty she was, because the only beverage she'd be allowed was ice chips, and the crunching would only increase her headache.

But, her mother had far more insight to share, and none of it had to do with how to relieve a thrashing cranium, even if Mary would welcome it at a time like this.

"How much more _could_ he see, darling?"

"What?"

"Think about everything you just told me – all that he's watched, all that he's done for you…"

The very definition of blood, sweat, and tears. Jinx must've been reading her mind, because she barreled on without waiting for a comeback. Anyone with eyes could see she wasn't going to be capable of speaking for another couple of minutes anyway.

"He's still here, isn't he?"

Yes. Yes, he was. He had put up with Mary's abuse for eight years – being hit on the arm, shoulder, or back of the head, teased for being smart, pushed aside when his partner felt it was her turn in the limelight, bullied into breaking rules so she could have her way. The list only grew when it came to his aristocracy as a Marshal – risking life and limb so Mary didn't get hurt, always staying two steps in front of her to protect her from storms of bullets, beating himself up at every turn so she didn't end up like his first partner, the treasured Luke.

And, still deeper, he remained in constant conflict with himself on how much to give. Who else tried to hold themselves back, from loving _too much? _Mary remembered what he'd said to her as they'd stood toe-to-toe in her kitchen, about how just touching her had become a sin. She thought about how many times they'd come into contact today alone – he'd held her hand, smoothed her hair, and patted her back. He had to be drowning in a puddle of bliss from so much touching, Mary suddenly realized.

Her. That was all he wanted – her. She became suddenly liberated, if not minimally guilty, for finally being able to give him that.

Jinx, interpreting her look of awareness correctly, gave another grin and patted her sweaty chest.

"If he's here after all that, honey…" shaking her head. "You couldn't possibly disappoint him. He's not going _anywhere."_

XXX

**A/N: Mary/Marshall…Mary/Jinx…I wanted Mary to have at least a little time with Jinx, since Brandi is off on her honeymoon. She may drive her crazy, but she's still her mom!**


	55. Lead me to the Shore

**A/N: I really drag out Mary's labor here, LOL! I've spent – what? – four chapters on it already? And a couple more to come before the story ends!**

XXX

It was like a game of leap frog, this whole labor and delivery thing. Two steps forward, one step back. Clearing the bend just to crash into a foolish bicyclist around the corner. Up, then back down – up, and then back down.

The metaphors and analogies, misty though some of them were, chased themselves around Mary's brain, working hard to skive off every ailment in time to be prepared for the one that throttled her next. Rather than have the epidural turned off, or at least down, she opted to cope with being too hot, not to mention the persistent, now all-consuming nausea. She almost thought that if she could go ahead and throw up, embarrassing as it would be, that she would feel better. She was tired of siphoning off every jockeying wave, swallowing down the bile that kept threatening to creep up her throat and out her mouth. Her sheets and blankets so soaked they were now plastered to the mattress, she still thought the pain was too great a price to pay for having her epidural withdrawn, which meant being able to walk again, and therefore the opportunity to have her bedding changed.

Jinx long gone, either back in the waiting room or out running errands per Mary's request – she didn't have a single diaper, let alone a crib or anything else so essential – it had been just her and Marshall for the last two hours. They were nearing five o'clock in the evening, and the woman knew he had to be starving as well as dying for a little bit of time for himself, but you'd never know it by looking at him. Per his attitude, childbirth was breeze, but not a moment was to be missed. With Mary on her back, he sponged her forehead with a cool washcloth, trying to bring her body temperature down as well as keep the sweat from dripping into her eyes. Lying flat didn't do wonders for her joints, but she stayed where she was because she could look at him properly. All she saw was a man who was as alert now as he'd been at nine o'clock that morning – like the Energizer Bunny. You couldn't stop him for anything.

"You know what I was thinking about?" he proposed, hand dabbing across her brow almost automatically.

Mary might be fatigued, but general, everyday discussion was also what kept her grounded and, so long as she could stay awake, she listened to Marshall's droning hum with fondness.

"Mmm…what?"

"Well, it's a little weird, so…" a shrug. "Do with it what you will."

"Mmm…" she hummed again.

"I am the youngest of the Mann siblings…never had a wife, never even been engaged…" this seemed impossible for someone as wonderful as Marshall, but Mary let him finish. "Granted, Eric has managed the latter, but he never went through with it…" a detour. "And yet, I am still the first of the three to survey the phenomenon of life's first steps in all its glory…" A new thought seemed to occur to him, "Hell, I think I even made it before my dad. I don't know; I'd have to ask my mom, but I think in those days men were the cigar-in-the-waiting-room types…"

"You sure Seth never delivered a baby in the back of a cab somewhere…?" she slurred, closing her eyes, trying to take as much comfort in the work of the washcloth as she had two hours before. She didn't have the heart to tell Marshall that, even if he kept it cold, it was really only succeeding in making her sweatier. "I thought he was heroic like that…"

"Well, he might have been; I'll have to check."

"You didn't ever do that yourself back in your clodhopper-yokel days in Indiana?" the first joke she'd come up with in awhile. "Family full of police folks…seems strange not one of you boys had to usher a kid into the world on the side of the road…"

"Well, I admit I was a trifle concerned I would get my chance on our boundless tour of this America," Marshall grinned. "Fascinating though the process is, I didn't really fancy playing midwife. I prefer the spectator's view."

"Something tells me I would too…"

The man's chuckle to this comment was fairly short-lived, because it was accompanied by a recoiling motion from his best friend, something he hadn't seen much of since the wonders of medication had taken over. His hand fell from her head and he paused his metrical splotching of the fabric, mostly because she'd begun to move and he couldn't reach her anyway.

"Oh…" it was something between a groan and a remark of surprise and with a deep breath Mary sat up, shimmying awkwardly toward the head of the bed like she was trying to inch away from something. "Oh…my God; what is that?"

"What is what?"

"He…he's…_moving…"_ the word felt natural, even though Mary hadn't planned to say it until it was already out. "I mean…I guess he is…"

"Down, I assume?"

"Yeah…"

"That's a good thing," Marshall remained optimistic. "Going toward the light, so to speak – or something along those lines in less morbid terms. The faster he heads south, the sooner he'll be born."

The blonde didn't find a second to be nervous about this, because the sensation she had attempted to describe to her partner was suddenly making her feel funny – as if she hadn't been feeling funny enough already. Shifting, rearranging, exploring other positions even with her numb lower half became quickly disconcerting, because no matter which direction she moved, the feeling that Mango was about to fall on the floor at any moment only intensified. It brought a rush of blood to Mary's head, shooting through her veins, because her loss of control was suddenly spreading, and she had left that behind with the epidural.

It must've shown on her face – or else was demonstrated by her fidgeting body language – that Mary was about to fall off the high dive, because Marshall slapped his washcloth on the end table and revved himself right back into his task of pulling her to concrete ground again and again.

"This happens sometimes with an epidural; you can't feel the pain, but you can feel other things…"

"He feels like he's coming…" another squirm, this time trying to slip beneath the covers; when that didn't work she wiggled upward again. "He feels like he's coming _now…"_

"No, I don't think he is; you were only at six centimeters an hour ago; you won't have progressed that fast…"

"What am I going to do?" the more her speech quickened, the more insane she felt, and her breaths suddenly began to rattle, like they were being shaken inside her throat. "What am I going to do if he comes and there's no one in here – there's no one in here now; I-I need you to get somebody; find out what's going on…"

"Well, I can if you really want me to, but I think you can be spared another examination," Marshall promised gently. "At the rate you've been going, you won't have sped from six centimeters to ten in under an hour; your water hasn't even broken…"

But, his intelligence was soon dwarfed by loud, shaky, jangling inhales and exhales, like someone had exaggerated Mary's voice, broadcasted her over a loudspeaker. The extraordinary amount of movement didn't stop either; every twist and turn was an attempt to escape from the feeling of the baby moving down the birth canal, but there was no way out. Well, unless Marshall was holding the key. His techniques had worked earlier; they could work again, even if they had to be modified.

"Mary…" he placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to push her lightly back onto the bed from where she was still trying to sit up, but she was stronger than he would've expected this late in the game. "Mary, listen to me…" though he was sure she wasn't, he went on anyway. "Sometimes, if you blow more than breathe in and out, it can help; it's a different pattern…"

"I…I want your hand; give me your hand back…"

Marshall had no intentions of denying her, but he couldn't help wondering if the old tricks would work this time around. Squeezing his hand had assisted her because it mimicked the rise and fall of the contractions. This was fending off more than battling against, and it soon became clear that Mary found no support in clutching his palm to bits. Indeed, the gauze still wrapped on hers was now frayed; they were going to have to have her stitches examined before she was discharged.

"Let…let's just talk, okay?" the taller decided not to acknowledge that they hadn't yet found a solution to this problem. "We'll keep talking; it'll keep your mind off things…"

"Talk about what's going on…I don't understand what's going on…" the tearful nature to her voice was back, an exploit that made Marshall ache because it took him back to how miserable she'd been earlier. "I'm hot…I'm hot…I'm hotter than I was before and I'm going to be sick…"

"Just tell me if you're going to be sick; I'll be as quick as I can…"

"That's not telling me what's going on!" she barked, sounding very much like the Mary of old, but with more fear etched within. "What's going on?! Why don't you believe me when I tell you he's coming…?!"

This could be easily remedied, Marshall realized. Answer the questions first – validate her feelings, and then get back to fixing the dilemma.

"If I were to venture a guess, I would say you're sliding into transition – seven centimeters and up…" even as Mary smacked a palm to her forehead, looking like she was trying to perform a kind of mind-meld against her rebelling body, he kept on. "The contractions come one on top of the other, and even though you can't feel them, your body is experiencing the rest of the effects – extreme hot or cold, vomiting, and the baby making a run for the exit…" his little tease was probably safe if he kept such things brief. "Word on the street is the pressure is incredible, so you're not alone in thinking he's about to emerge even when it's still too early…"

"What do you mean, too early?" Mary finally kept still for a moment and took his advice about breathing, panting like a dog with short bursts of air. "How can it not be time when I can feel him…?"

"It may take a little longer," the bad news. "The tough part is going to be holding on. If you feel like you have to push…" a whimper snuck out and Marshall rubbed her hair in sympathy. "Hold back as much as you can until Doctor Reese tells you its okay…"

An enormous gulp of air, "What if I can't?"

"You can; I'll help you," as if he really could in an instance like this one. "That's why I want you to talk to me. Use your brain," he meant this in a good way. "Be smarter than your uterus, you know?"

"I…I don't know what I would even…"

"I'll talk," Marshall suddenly decided, knowing if he wanted her to be able to ward off the weight of Mango pressing into her pelvis – among other things – that carrying on a conversation would just be a nuisance. "I'll talk and you breathe. Focus on my repetitive, tedious drone of a monotone; it can be quite lethargic, yet penetrating…"

Mary didn't laugh; she didn't even smile, and he was beginning to have serious doubts about whether having a mere focal point would really make a lot of difference. She'd been queasy and perspiring for the better half of the afternoon, but there had been a noticeable shift in the symptoms. Even with all the maneuvering Mary was doing on the bed, she still found a moment or two to constantly waft her shirt open, like she couldn't get enough cool air. Her feet, deadened though they should be, were kicking the blankets to the floor, or at least as much as she could. What really worried him though was her pallor; she'd turned a vicious shade of green, heightened under the unflattering fluorescent lights. Perhaps the puking she'd been warning against since waking up was finally going to come to fruition.

"All right, uh…let's see…" but, Marshall wasn't going to give up without trying. "Mindless drivel…what mindless drivel can I give you?"

Even as he attempted to start, she all-but swayed into him, either from her unsteady gait on account of the epidural, or because she was so nauseous.

"Ah, yes…" doing his best to sound normal, he carefully guided her back onto the bed, even anchoring her stealthily with a hand on her chest, which worked momentarily. "I mentioned my brothers earlier. Ted obviously hasn't had this, ah…opportunity…" he was rambling now, his face growing a bit red because he couldn't come up with something boring to talk about. "With the girls being adopted and all. But, you might be interested to know that he has had other experiences in the field of detective work that more than make up for his lack of practice delivering children…"

Here, he got cut off, because Mary was in danger of slipping off the bed in trying to lean on her side, no doubt to get away from the powerful pressure he'd already described.

"Try to stay still and center on breathing – it's a pant and blow kind of thing…"

"I _can't…"_ she certainly seemed positive of what she was capable of and what she wasn't. "It's too much; I don't think it should be like this; if it's too early for him to be born and I feel like this than something must be wrong…" she was ascending to a whine, foiling Marshall's attempt to push her back in bed.

"I know it's hard to delay operations like this…"

"No, you don't…"

"No, I don't," Marshall changed speeds before she could blink; rule number one for transition was obviously not to pretend to understand. "Far from. You're absolutely right."

"I am going to burst into flames; I swear to you…" again, with the overheating.

"Do you want some more ice chips?" this had worked in the past, but it might not be a plausible resistance anymore. "You're almost out, but I can page someone to get you some so I won't have to leave…"

"I'm…"

"Really, it'll just take a minute…"

"I'm gonna puke; I'm gonna puke…"

"Okay, no ice; bad idea…"

"No, I'm going to puke!"

Marshall was too late. His reflexes having suffered after being awake for so long, he didn't read Mary's mind as quickly as normal. Even though he scrambled upon realizing that she wasn't kidding or overreacting, he couldn't find the handy, always-too-small basin at the side of the bed designed for just this sort of an eventuality. Hands fluttering in all directions like he didn't know which end was up, he spotted the pink plastic underneath the night table, but just as he was about to reach down, attempt to grab it before they reached critical mass, Mary had exceeded all endurance.

Probably not unlike Marshall himself had done when he'd been infected by the shellfish, she threw up quite impressively, only in her case; there was no sink or toilet to catch it in. This meant the target was the nearest surface where she'd purged over the side of the bed, no place to go, nowhere to run. This plane, most unfortunately for both of them, turned out to be Marshall's lap.

The scene froze like the pair of them were players in a television show; any minute the laugh track might come on, but by staring at Mary's face, Marshall knew there was not a chance in hell that was going to happen. He could tell even before the tears surged forth – which they did, seconds later – that she was horribly, tragically mortified. They were close, true, but they'd never been _this_ close.

The man himself was in two minds, oddly enough. Every fiber in his body was telling him to shake it off, maybe even to make a joke and act like it was no big deal. Part of him did feel that way. The other part was working a million miles an hour not to look like he was grossed out in any way whatsoever. Because, inevitably, he was. Nobody asked for this, but Mary was in a far worse state than he was, and it certainly wasn't as bad as it could've been. Most of what she'd expelled had hit the floor, with only a minor amount splattering the knees of his jeans.

When the sound was turned back up on their suspended action, Mary's face crumpled and a hand went over her mouth, quickly sweeping her eyes, shielding herself from the humiliation.

"Mare, its okay…" even as he laughed nervously and held himself stiffly, so as to not spread any of the mess around. "Really, it was an accident. Don't cry."

Too late, "Jesus, I am such a train wreck…" the episode seemed to have gotten her mind off the urge to push, in any event. "And…I'm going to hurl again from the smell…or that I can still taste what I already threw up…"

Amidst tears and trying to figure out what to do so he could at least eliminate the sight and the scent, Marshall swallowed back some squeamishness of his own at Mary's description. It was hard to know what to do first. Obviously, his initial thought was to comfort his friend, to stop her from weeping, but he couldn't do that very well given what she'd splashed all over his attire. The coercion to do so became more prominent the longer she moaned, however, and he knew he'd have to offer his consoling in words, rather than actions.

"Now what are you supposed to do?" her concern for him over herself was really rather sweet. "I don't know where Jinx is; she can't bring you any other clothes…"

"I can ask a nurse; I'm sure there's something around here I can wear, or I can clean up myself; it's not that much…"

"When the day comes that I'm not such a disaster, you are going to regret that you ever sat here with me and put up with this shit…"

"I beg to differ," he refuted, wondering if it would be imprudent to strip down to his boxers, at least until he could find someone who could retrieve him more suitable bottoms. "If I'm going to be helping with Mr. Mango, I imagine I'll have to get used to being barfed on, no?" Before she could say anything else, "Do you at least feel a little better?" he had a hunch. "You've been saying all afternoon that you were going to get sick, but that was the first time. It might actually settle your stomach, funnily enough…"

"I don't know how I feel…" she definitely looked lost, there was no denying that. "I want this to be over; I want to go home…"

Marshall was fully prepared to echo an, "I know" but stopped himself just in time. Looking at his friend, huddled on her side, gown loose and soaking wet on her frame, hair limp and tangled around her face, torn between vomiting, passing out from heat exhaustion, and trying to pull her child back in the womb, he became aware that he had never 'known' of anything less in his life. He thought back to that day Mary had asked him what he found so fascinating about pregnancy, and he had explained it was women and their ability to rise above and beyond, to take on a task with so much responsibility and not even bat an eye. He believed and understood it now more than ever.

Back to puffing in staccato gusts, which proved more difficult while trying to stem her tears, Mary seemed to think he had quit rambling because he was trying to hide his disgust.

"I can't believe I just did that to you…" the woman whispered, although with fewer hysterics and more sadness. "I'm so sorry; I feel terrible…"

"You didn't do it on purpose," Marshall murmured tenderly. "I'll accost someone soon enough and it'll be taken care of – no trouble. Why don't I get you a drink, huh?"

Sighing and shutting her eyes, "I can't drink anything; you said so…"

"I'll bend the rules," he announced offhandedly, standing up to prove he meant it. "Your influence has rubbed off on me, inspector."

A weak smile that wasn't convincing in the least appeared on Mary's face, and without further ado, Marshall sidestepped the puddle on the floor and made his way, duck-footed, to the bathroom in search of water. The excursion ended up being useful on several levels. Not only was he able to retrieve a beverage for his partner away from prying eyes, but he gathered a lone towel hanging on a hook nearby. This would prove useful in concealing what was on the ground, even if he could only mop up his jeans with paper towels until a nurse arrived to fit him with borrowed pants.

Once he was back in the main room, he dropped the towel on the linoleum, stamping on it with his foot, which would at least block the odor. When he bent down to secure it, however, he spotted what was sitting on the ground by the end table next to his badge and keys, which he hadn't been keeping above to avoid cluttering the space. When Jinx had shot off like a rocket toward the hospital when she'd first heard the news about her daughter, Marshall had asked her to pick something up, as there was no way he was going to be allowed to leave – nor would he want to. Stuffed out of sight, he'd forgotten his supposed thoughtfulness, and now felt badly that the time for enjoying the treat might've passed.

"Ah, good as new…" he breathed nonchalantly, passing the plastic water cup into Mary's shaky fingers. "Here, drink this; I'm serious. One glass of water isn't going to hurt."

Not worried in the least about going against this particular piece of medical advice, the woman downed the entire cup in one gulp, likely parched bone dry even after all the ice. Marshall was considering going back to get her more, nurses be damned, when he shifted his personal items on to the table, wanting to make sure he wouldn't forget his keys and wallet if he ended up changing pants. Not thinking straight, he brought Jinx's delivery with him, and was surprised to find that the blonde was attentive enough that she noticed what was different in his usual cache.

"What is that?" she croaked.

"Uh – what?"

"There…" pointing with a swallow. "Is that a cup? Is that yours; did you get coffee or something while I was asleep?"

Now that he'd been caught in the act, Marshall's generosity seemed suddenly silly. It was like he'd been trying to prove something, to be that proverbial knight on the horse, sword raised and ready for battle, ready to defend the damsels from distress. He should've been wholly centered on Mary, not working on how to better his image. Because of all this, he was hesitant to share, considering using her assumption as explanation.

"Well…I-I had Jinx pick it up…"

"What is it?" she pressed. "It doesn't look like it's even been drunk."

Indeed, there was no straw protruding from the top and so Marshall, hunching his shoulders and blushing slightly, held the Styrofoam cup in one hand, attempting to look modest.

"It…it was supposed to be for you, but you're queasy; you don't want it…"

Having just regurgitated her insides didn't seem to register with Mary, "For me? Well, at least tell me what it is…"

Marshall almost wanted to deny her access purely because the suspense was calming his partner, but knew it wouldn't last for long even if he did play games. In any case, Mary was likely to grow agitated, which would only enhance the plights she seemed to be able to put aside, at least until they intensified once more. The need to push, in particular, was only going to get worse.

"Marshall…" she sounded strangely benign, even childlike in her curiosity. "What's in there?"

It was ridiculous to go around the bend like this. Holding out the cup like a peace offering, Marshall tried to produce a version of his usual corny smile, but came off looking uncertain and bashful instead.

"It is a whipped…blended-to-perfection…" that was the cheesy part. "Orange smoothie. From Orange Julius."

Wacky ignominy or not, Marshall had to admit that the look on Mary's face was definitely worth whatever unknown mistake he might've made. It was clear at once that she didn't think his idea inane at all. He'd only just discovered a few days earlier that she had a fetish for Orange Julius, and he was already using it to please her, to make her day, to bring her spirits up when they had never needed bringing up more. This, combined with the fact that she supposedly wasn't allowed to consume anything but ice and he'd now been willing to break hospital law twice, said quite a lot about just how into her he really was.

Listening to the beats of her body, her head falling into the dent on her pillow, Mary blinked slowly and grinned softly. Extending a hand, she patted his knee lightly, knowing he would understand how initiating contact was her way of showing that little extra bit of affection.

"You're a gem…" even though she tried to make it sound annoying, as she usually would, it came out as the tribute it really was. "A national treasure…"

Marshall tried to smirk himself, "You don't want it, do you?"

"I'm sorry…"

Trying not to tally just how many apologies she had come up with today, he wagged his head, "Don't be – not in the least. You aren't hurting my feelings. It will keep. I'll ask about a refrigerator when I ask about pants."

Mary managed a genuine chuckle at such a statement, "Listen to you. I throw up on you and you're still buying me pretty things," in her mind, good food and drink qualified as 'pretty things,' on the same level as jewelry.

"Well, to be fair I did have this ordered before the, uh…vomiting incident…" gesturing in the vicinity. "Not that it would've mattered."

This was a given, knowing Marshall, and Mary went quiet for a moment, trying to revel in the moment somewhere very far down the road when she would want that Orange Julius, which reminded her so heartily of her father. He'd been on her mind on several occasions this tumultuous Tuesday, for reasons nobody had to guess. Becoming a parent, Jinx becoming a grandparent; the draw that children had on you and the desire to do right by them – all of it led back to James and his nurturing, or lack thereof.

Seeing the man in front of her who had since replaced the protective soul in her life, Mary knew that, biology or not, Marshall would still be ten times the father James could've ever hoped to be.

"This is getting…kind of real now, huh?" she voiced drowsily, referring to both the impending birth and the eighteen-plus-year-outcome. "This 'mom' thing…"

"Yes," Marshall said at once, no smoke screens allowed. "Yes, it is. But, you're not going to catch me bailing now, inspector," just to reiterate. "The shore may be on the horizon, but I'm not letting go until we've reached it."

"And not even then, right?"

And quicker still, "No. Not even then."

XXX

**A/N: Just a handful of chapters to come! I am going to miss you all more than I can say!**


	56. Push

**A/N: The chapter title here is probably misleading, as I am going to make you wait a little longer before you see the baby! I admit I have probably sent Mary so far from the character she originally was, but I get carried away when it comes to having babies!**

XXX

"All right, Mary! It's time!"

It wasn't the words that Mary registered as meaningful, nor was it the constant activity taking place around her misshapen form, half-reclined in bed, her feet jammed uncomfortably into a pair of stirrups. The hustle and bustle of the last hour had indicated on every level that the moment of truth was nearing, sneaking closer and closer, inch by inch, and yet now that it was finally here, the reality didn't seem to sink in.

Even more perplexing was that Mary had been pleading – both internally and externally – with anyone who would listen that she was having a baby, she was having one now, and if they didn't take a peek he was going to emerge with no one to catch him. The pressure exerted from where she knew Mango would materialize was odds-defying; the force went beyond time and space, and staving it off required concentration the likes of which Mary was sure she had never used in her life.

But, no, it wasn't Doctor Reese at the foot of the bed that told the expectant mother it was 'time.' It wasn't the four nurses, two of them by the bed that would hold her son in his first moments, one at her right elbow, and one beside the physician. It wasn't the pinging monitors. It wasn't even the strength of her child's head clearing the surface of his nine-month-burrow.

It was Marshall. It was his face swimming exuberantly, even boyishly, in front of her own. There was no reason he would look so thrilled if not for knowing Mango's arrival was imminent. But, instead of boosting Mary's confidence, the look scared her. All the time, all the waiting, the indecision, the back and forth; it came down to this, and _now_ she was terrified.

"You're ready to go – you're ready…" the man babbled joyously. "You heard her; it's time…"

The phrase 'time for what?' filtered into Mary's brain, but she was able to keep it from coming out. Instead, she gaped soundlessly, eyes trying to take in all that was going on around her, but it was too much. All the instruments flashed silver in the bright lights, all the nurses were strangers behind their surgical masks; every chime of every machine was a warning bell, and Mary didn't know what a single one of them was for.

"No…no…" she knew there was no fighting it, especially physically, and still she cowered. "It…it can't be; I'm not…"

"Yes, you are," Marshall was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, smoothing her hair, adopting the role he had stepped into from the very beginning; coach extraordinaire. "There's no turning back now…ever forward, my friend…"

In truth, Mary knew there had been no turning back for awhile yet, but she understood the significance behind his statement, but it only inspired new fears. The mental challenges were bad enough, but the physical ones? She had been run-ragged. What if she didn't have anything left to give?

"I…I don't…I don't know how…"

"Don't know how to what?"

"To…to _get_ him here…" she wasn't making sense, and yet she couldn't stop chattering. "I don't know anything; you know everything, but you can't do this for me…"

"Too right, I can't," he admitted. "But, I think this part will come far more naturally than the rest. In fact, I think you'll be surprised by how instinctual it is. When in doubt, listen to the professional…" gesturing at Doctor Reese. "She'll point you in the right direction…"

Mary still had many more questions, but before she could launch into anything else, Raquel used her opportunity with Marshall's words of wisdom to get the show on the road. The directions came fast and furious, and Mary didn't think she'd be able to keep up; she was floating free in a powerless, defenseless way; in a way that meant she had no way to reach the top again.

"Listen up, Mary, because you are going to be ready to rock and roll here in about thirty seconds…"

Thirty seconds? _Thirty_ seconds? She was supposed to get her bearings in that frame of time?

"When you feel the onset of the next contraction, we're gonna have you push as hard as you can for as long as you can. That tends to be around ten seconds, but you do what feels right…"

"But…but I…" her voice was trembling; she sounded so inept she wanted to cry. "I can't feel the contractions…how will I know…?"

"We turned off your epidural so the numbness should be wearing off any time now…"

"WHAT?!"

Doctor Reese soldiered on as if she hadn't even heard her exclamation, "We'll help you through it; sometimes it takes some practice before you get the hang of it, so don't be discouraged if we have to try a few different methods…"

Not melting down was the only thing occupying Mary's mind at the close of these instructions, and ten of her thirty seconds were probably gone. How could Doctor Reese make it sound so maddeningly simple? It couldn't be. And turning the epidural off? She was going to be dead before she even started.

Breathing hard and fast, not encouraged in the least by an upswing of movement toward the bottom of the bed, she tried to tell herself that this couldn't be right. Denial was an old and familiar friend; one she knew very well. Maybe she'd been misreading her body's signals. Maybe it wasn't time at all. With the medication, how could she be sure of what she'd been feeling? This was all mixed up; _she_ was all mixed up. No one could trust her for anything, but telling Marshall so just made her look even dumber.

"I…I can't do this; I-I made a mistake; I wasn't sure what was going on with the pressure and everything…"

"Mary…" he placated her gently, eyes flickering none-too-discreetly toward the monitor. "You have been telling me that you need to push for the last hour; now's your chance; you don't have to hold back anymore…" Not believing a word of her story, he closed his hand around her elbow and guided her into a more fitting position without waiting for her to contradict him. "I'm right here…you focus and breathe; the rest will follow…"

Fighting him, or anybody else, soon became impossible regardless of how Mary wished to continue backing away. The urge to let go that had been present for the preceding sixty minutes was returning, and this time it brought with it an unruly, unmanageable, otherworldly pain that she had been blissfully unaware of – until now. Her war vanished, replaced with fearful, trickling tears and a pathetic version of the breathing she was supposed to be doing. So much was happening at once that she couldn't get a grip on herself – she had no choice left but to surrender.

"Here we go, Mary…give it all you've got, okay? Don't be shy…"

Marshall tried to simulate the idea that there wasn't a room full of people watching, because Mary would perform better if she didn't feel like she was on display.

"Breathe in…right now; go ahead…"

His tired, old lines from the distant hours earlier in the day seemed to act as a stimulant. Buoyed that such a thing had worked, he fought to keep his exhilaration under wraps, to adapt the effective stanzas into new ones.

"Squeeze…squeeze as hard as you can…"

Her hand was inside his before he could give it to her, and in the moment, the sensation to free herself of such constriction could not be stemmed.

"I…I have to…"

Marshall knew exactly what she had to do, and with the briefest of looks toward Doctor Reese for the green light, he knew he could encourage her forward into the land of the new, the frightening, and the electrifying.

"Push…" Mary probably never would've done it, at least not right away, if Marshall hadn't been the one to direct her. "Go…push…"

Fresh strength that the man wouldn't have believed Mary still possessed suddenly became applied to his already mangled hand, but he couldn't have been happier for it. It meant she was doing what he told her, no longer steeling herself off, but going with the wind, free as she had been in hours.

"Good…that's it, Mary…" Doctor Reese coached from below. "Give me five more seconds and then take a breath…"

Mary herself felt like she was going to throw up and faint at the same time; never before had she experienced something so powerful, but so daunting. She was almost breaking Marshall's hand apart at his wrist, she was gripping so hard, while all manner of noises dribbled out her mouth – mostly gasps and groans, between the foreign discomfort and her panic. Most people might consider her willingness to finally push her first opportunity for control in hours, but she felt so bungling it was impractical for her to see it as such.

"You're doing great; five seconds is nothing…" Marshall intoned beside her, but she knew she must've released early, too spent from her first try to expend anymore. Her friend completely ignored her giving up, "Good! Good – see you did it; I told you…"

"Take a deep breath, Mary…" Doctor Reese interrupted, not alarmed, but businesslike. "Slow and steady; release all the tension you can…"

While she might've managed to do as she was told, her exhale came out in a quaver, riddled with tears from uncertainty and terrible pain. Marshall could not have been more polar opposite, totally bypassing how freaked out she was to sing her praises.

"What a way to hit the ground running…" his awe was not catching, though Mary wished it were. "That was fantastic…"

She seemed not to hear him, "I'm scared…" she warbled, knowing she'd never conquer any of what was coming if she wasn't honest. "I'm scared; I'm not doing it right; it's not supposed to feel like that…"

"It's supposed to feel however it feels…" Marshall assured her. "The way you cut my hand in two told me you were doing a bang up job…"

His faith in her just upset her more, even if she couldn't say why, "I need help; I'm so stupid; I should know how to do this and I don't…"

"Mary, that was perfect," Doctor Reese was exaggerating; she was sure, but having a professional's opinion did mean something. "If you want to go even harder next time, you have my blessing…"

"You've already got the hang of it!" Marshall insisted. "Let's get ready to go again, okay? Couple more rounds of that and you will be an expert…"

A couple more rounds? How long was this going to take? Mary wished everyone would stop talking so much; it was overwhelming; it made her head spin on her shoulders trying to stay on top of her game, and she was already sinking fast, despite the accolades showering her from all sides. Panting for air so much was making her lightheaded, and she had absolutely no time in between contractions to 'get the hang' of anything.

"I…I'm messing up…" was all she could think of to voice her doubts, head whipping wildly, trying to quell the ache that mounted practically the second it tapered. "I...I need more time…"

"Don't worry so much about right and wrong…" this was typical Marshall; Mary just wished she could find more comfort in it. "Whatever you think you should do – however long, however much – just do it. Doctor Reese will tell you if there's a problem…"

"I…I don't want to hurt him…" she was just barely able to recite this particular fright before she growled, hunching over her belly, frustrated that it was all being hurled at her so quickly. "…At least not like he's hurting me…!"

"Sit up; sit up; you can get another good set in…" Marshall didn't mean to be so demanding, but nerves and enthusiasm combined was making him babble. "Come on; show me what you've got…"

With a reluctant but nonetheless forceful pull, he was able to guide Mary mostly upright, but she remained partly crouched, like she was protecting the vessel that wasn't long for harboring her unborn child.

"I'll hold you up; just give me your hand…"

"Marshall…" Doctor Reese interjected quietly, without any malice. "Like you said, let her do what she needs to do…" repeating his own advice back to him, which was a gentle reminder not to dictate what was 'best.' "I'll be the bad guy if it comes to that…"

Understanding, only minimally cursing himself for not being self-aware enough to realize his flaws here, he shook his head and got back to business. It was heartening to know he wouldn't have to put the kibosh on Mary's techniques if they weren't effective.

"Okay…" he swallowed, prepared to gather his resources once more. "Okay…"

"Deep breath, Mary; deep breath…" Raquel educated, hands poised and at the ready. "Here it comes; nice big push for us…"

"Come on, Mare…"

And Mary, chin pressed so hard into her chest she wouldn't be surprised if she left a dent, followed the path illuminated ahead, pooled her resolve into one, and strove onward, cradling her gargantuan stomach the whole time. Doctor Reese's face was inches from her, curled so far at the end of the bed, but as her eyes were only half-open, this barely registered. The same sounds she had ejected earlier became a pattern of whimpers; the discharge of stress was helpful, even if it completely wiped out her energy to push and moan at the same time.

"Atta girl…" Marshall's voice in her ear sped her up, made her wheels spin faster, because without that extra nudge she would've halted already. "Atta girl…"

"Now breathe…" Doctor Reese, shifting in her stool, cut in when she knew oxygen would be essential. "Stop and breathe…"

It was an effort to tug the reigns back in, and Mary managed it only for as long as humanly possible, choking out a very shuddering, very splintered exhale.

"I…I can't stop…!"

"And push again…" the physician obviously knew the blueprints of this sketch quite well and didn't suggest she wait for the next contraction, as they were still in the middle of the one preceding. "Down further…bear down…"

Now her head was nearly on top of her stomach, as she couldn't recoil any further with her feet wedged in the stirrups. Mary knew she was sobbing, hacking on her own tears, a sight of epic proportions, but the calmness of everyone surrounding her, Marshall in particular, was what kept her from caring.

"There's the spot; right there…go-go…"

"Keep pushing…" Marshall whispered, his hand a dim pat on her shoulder, like a butterfly's wing in comparison to the intensity shrouding his partner. "You're almost there…"

"Another five seconds…" there was that number again, and the man tore after it.

"Five…four…three…two…"

Mary went limp the instant he reached the end of his countdown, and yet her body didn't seem to read her signals correctly. Her victory was slashed in two when her mind desperately wanted to unwind and her uterus wouldn't let her. Shaking all over from trying to rebel, her efforts were wasted when Doctor Reese informed her of the first mistake she was making, unintentional though it was.

"Mary, you need to hang on…" she instructed, retrieving an instrument from one of her nurses and glancing at the monitor above. "Relax and take a breath…"

"I…I can't…I'm trying…" the way she was bawling became repulsive once more, mostly because she knew she had failed somehow; her security in being locked in her own world had vanished. "I can't…he…"

The need to drive forth was overwhelming and by the way she began to twist and writhe in an attempt to hold back meant that Marshall could step into the ring again. Keeping quiet, not bombarding her had been tough, but he recognized his moments for what they were. The yearning in her shining eyes said he was the man to shuttle her in bounds once more.

"Blow out…" cautiously, he lifted their hands together again, feeling how sweaty his partner's were and that the gauze had been unraveled close to shreds. "Like you're trying to keep a balloon in the air; blow out…"

Mary cringed, blocked her eyes with her free hand, but nodded and tried what he recommended. It took every fiber in her veins to manage it, but manage she did.

"Good girl…" and Marshall noticed. "That's the way. You are a force of nature…" he couldn't let their idle time go by without some sort of recognition of her prowess. Seeing her exhales begin to wilt, "Alternate for me; like this. Squeeze…" he felt the compression again in his hand. "Now blow…" and then the puff of air. "Good – squeeze…" it was a steady rhythm of back and forth. "Blow again…"

Focusing on two tasks required more mind authority, but also provided more adequate distraction.

"You're gearing up again, okay?" the male inspector knew she couldn't see the next contraction in the visual sense with her eyes covered. "Breathe for as long as you can…" he knew Doctor Reese's polite but firm instruction had been to deliver a more sufficient amount of oxygen to the baby, but saying that would only distress Mary. "You are doing great…" it didn't matter how repetitive, he was going to keep saying it.

"Give it all you've got now, Mary; that last series was even better than the first; we'll try three rounds this time…"

It only just occurred to the laboring woman as she said it that she had pressed on once through the first contraction and twice through the second. Now she was supposed to manage three? Their empty tributes to her competence didn't mean she felt any surer of herself than she had to begin with. What were they playing at?

Stalling her huff-and-puff because she was being forced into submission yet again, Mary's fingers trickled away from Marshall's with a rasping, guttural rumble that came from the depths of her belly. Only vaguely indexing how aggravating it was that she couldn't even gather her own thoughts before she was slammed again, she resumed her fetal position, her partner's hands returning to her back.

"Tell me when…" a tearful request; if she was going to be made to triple her suffering, she was going to pull in as long as she could. "Tell me when…"

"I'll let you do the honors this time, Marshall…" Raquel knew how desperately he wanted to be involved.

He took the bait like a dog with a bone, "Quick inhale…" it was muffled, as Mary's mouth was all-but pressed against her belly, but he heard it nonetheless. "That's it, now just…"

Apparently, the blonde's plan to wait it out no matter how uncomfortable wasn't going to work. Before Marshall could even finish his sentence, she exploded with a shooting, almost primal roar that made him jump where he stood, but he remembered his duty.

"Push! Push-push-push…"

His prattle had to be endlessly annoying, but it was doubtful Mary could really hear him. It was primitive but exhilarating to see her becoming the master over her own system. Face contorted, tears rolling, cheeks bright red, hand mutilating his, she was everything in every overdramatic movie – and so much more.

"Oh, excellent…" Doctor Reese was shamelessly positive. "Excellent; that's exactly it…"

"You can do it, Mare; I've got you…"

"Inhale – inhale quick; really quick; short breath…"

Forehead crinkled, Mary obeyed, feeling suffocated even though she was supposed to be collecting air.

"And push…"

The race began again, the woman exhaling in a great fell swoop as she began round two.

"Mary, this is incredible; keep going…"

"Right there, right there…"

What was right there, Mary would never know, because the voices around her were white noise; only the one she was dreading made it through.

"Stop…breathe in again…"

This time, she fought, even when she knew she shouldn't, "I don't want to; please…" shaking her head, she longed to allow the rest of the contraction to float on its way, to be granted sixty seconds instead of thirty before the next one. "Please…"

But, Marshall knew the solution, "Squeeze – squeeze now; break my fingers; you can do it! Do it now!" the shouting was likely overkill, but he couldn't help himself.

And if he was going to offer, she wasn't going to say no. In succession, the wheeze struggled into the open at the same moment she fractured every single one of her partner's knuckles. She heard not the faintest trace of a whimper from him, and in her very hazy fog, she noted how noble and selfless he really was.

"This is it; the last time; then you can relax…" Raquel broke in. "Big push, hard push to the end…"

The end might've been a million miles away, but Mary thrust herself through the gate, shattering the fence even though it nearly killed her, ripping her clean in two every step of the way. Nothing else to do to vocalize the resistance, she matched Marshall pound-for-pound in screams. He seemed peculiarly energized by her shrieking, which kept her from being embarrassed.

"Oh, yeah; she's doing it all right; good thing I'm not a surgeon, my hand is never going to be the same…"

"Three…two…one…"

His joke didn't carry him very far. Three chains of pushing was no simple sprint, and Mary collapsed once she was allowed, shaking so violently that her fingers came free from his even though she hadn't actually let go. Soaked with tears and completely strung apart, she looked stunned and horrified by what she had just done, but Marshall wasn't going to let it go by without commending her.

"That was amazing, Mare…" he flattened her stringy hair tenderly and rubbed her chest, trying to provide any measure of comfort when she was receiving so little. "What a beast you were; I'm so proud of you…"

"Relax through the next contraction, Mary; you've earned it…" the physician declared.

"Did it do anything?" the inspector squeaked out unexpectedly. "Did it do anything; did I get him closer?" speech marred with gasps every few seconds, Marshall understood his friend's need to know if she was making progress, but he was worried she might hyperventilate or pass out if she kept trying to prattle on.

"Shh…" he soothed, stooping slightly from his standing position to be on Mary's eye level, for she was flat on her back, gazing bleary-eyed at the ceiling. "You couldn't have done any better; take it one at a time, let nature run its course…"

"You've got it down pat, Mary…" Doctor Reese chimed in. "Don't let your spirits be dampened if your efforts don't yield results right away; slow and steady wins the race…"

Depressing as this was, Marshall tried to find the bright side, "You keep it up, and he's going to be here in no time…"

"Why isn't he here already?" she lamented forlornly, swiveling her eyes to blink into his fervent baby blue ones. "After all that…"

"Three rounds is a marathon, huh?" he accepted without delay. "If you can handle that…" referring to the sequence she'd just been through once more. "You can handle anything." And then, "Really, you need to catch your breath. Don't waste it talking to me."

Mary gulped, knowing he was right, "Okay…"

"Okay," he echoed. "In and out…easy does it…"

Because this string of blowing really was for her own benefit, not to elbow her way through pesky contractions, Mary didn't have any trouble listening to her partner. In fact, she couldn't seem to get _enough_ air, swigging and swallowing on an extremely dry throat.

However, when Doctor Reese had claimed she could sideline for the following cycle, she had expected a far longer vacation. A full minute, rather than thirty seconds, flew by in a blink, and before Mary knew it, she was being cajoled uphill for the fourth time, stabs and stings scraping and bumping the walls of her already searing stomach. Everything from her waist down was bruised and quaking, not in any fit state to try again.

"Up and at 'em, Mary…here we go…"

"No…" she found herself appealing to Marshall, as if he could really do anything to stop what was going to come no matter what. "No; I need more time…"

"I know it's rough, but the more times you push, the faster you'll see him…" he clenched her shoulder blade lightly. "You want to see him, don't you? Aren't you excited?"

This happy-go-lucky vision, whatever it was in Mary's mind, was blasted out of the way when she took on a new stance. Trusting Marshall's advice to hear her body's indicators for what they were, tightening into a ball didn't seem right anymore. Instead, she seized the man's shirt at the neck, fisting it so violently it made her fingers burn. With nary a word about being choked, he followed the guidance of Doctor Reese to move them forward.

"And, push…" again and again, the phrase was pounded into the room, into Mary's skull, as if she didn't know what to do. "Hard push…"

"Great…you've got it; good girl…"

"And again…push…"

The repeated lines and encouragement were all that kept Mary alive, the cheers that said she could succeed. Penetrating, thundering, they were the wings she beat against her sides that ensured she would remain airborne.

Good. Good. Good.

Push. Push. Push.

XXX

**A/N: Only two chapters to go! It makes me so sad to think about this ending; you all give me so much joy with your devotion, and I can't express my gratitude enough. Although, the next chapter is so obscenely long that it really should've been two, but it was originally supposed to be tied with this one, and that was definitely too long! I couldn't find a good place to break up the next one, so hopefully it doesn't get bogged down. Anyway – until tomorrow! **


	57. This Mango is Red

**A/N: As I forewarned at the end of the last chapter, this one is MUCH too long. I'm not sure it needs all the sappy preamble (you'll see what I mean when you read it). As you can see, I am fairly self-conscious about it, but I usually am when it comes to climactic moments. Hopefully it doesn't bore you to sleep getting to the main event!**

XXX

"Push…"

"Do you want to try on your side? It might help…"

"Push…"

"Good…don't force it; let it come easy…"

"Push…"

"It's okay if you need to release early; we'll get the next one…"

"Push…"

"She needs a break."

What had once been thrilling and awe-inspiring was now mundane – bland, even dull. At least, that was how it must have been for everyone except Mary. She realized, after the first half hour of pushing like her life depended on it, that Doctor Reese's encouragement had a shelf life. She never got angry, she didn't tried to bully her into upping the ante, but the constant refrain of how well she was doing began to taper, and new phrases emerged.

Marshall tried to make each veiled insult sound promising, but his partner wasn't fooled. She was being made to maneuver herself all over the place because nothing was happening. They were clearing two hours, push after push after push, and for all Mary knew, she had made absolutely no progress since beginning the journey what seemed like days earlier. She couldn't do it. She was failing.

But, for as badly as she wanted to give up, to form a new plan of attack in her murky brain, she began to protest at Doctor Reese's last suggestion. It was the sign of far more difficult, shattering things to come, and she wouldn't throw in the towel – not yet.

"No…no, I don't need a break…"

"Mary…" Marshall was obviously inclined to agree with the doctor, especially since he was fairly certain he had been keeping the woman from becoming dead weight for awhile now; her strength was so shot. "Just see what she…"

"I don't! I don't need a break!" even as she wheezed and coughed. "He has to be coming – he has to be! A few more; we'll see him! I just…I just…"

The fight was admirable, even if it made Marshall terribly sad to see her battling when she was so weak. She was now slumped over so far that she was almost hanging off the railing on the bed, gaining all the stamina she had left from Marshall's standing form. He wondered if she realized that even if she were to perform a miracle now that Mango would be born into the mattress, as she had squirmed so far to the right.

"All right…" Doctor Reese, clearly against her better judgment, abided her patient's wishes and readied herself once more. "Here we go then…"

And yet, neither individual guiding Mary felt the need to speak. The combat she seemed to be losing was hers and hers alone; she needed assistance only when she was at the starting line, ready for the gun to go off. Now, she was at the back of the pack, no one in the crowd rooting her forward; she was her own best fan, her own worst enemy.

"Let's see what we've got…" Doctor Reese tried to sound hopeful. "Go for it…"

Very commendably, Mary stretched herself another few strides, but she knew even before she'd begun that it was a lost cause. Joints and muscles that had been honed for action almost two hours earlier were now limp and rubbery; try as she might to surge drive and resistance back into them, it simply wouldn't take. All she was met with was a horrible, aggressive shivering sensation and the harder she pushed, the more her body rebelled.

And still, Marshall could tell by her face that even now she was giving it all she had, her fingers curled like claws in his palm. If the doctor wasn't going to see her through, he most certainly was.

"Push…" what had been a gleeful shout earlier was now a whisper. "Push…you're doing great…" the rehearsed saying had never been truer, but never less believable to Mary. "Keep pushing…"

But, she couldn't. Physically, she had been beaten, at least until she allowed herself some respite from this grueling chase. It seemed she knew it as well, because she withered, descended into tears once more, slipping and sliding out of Marshall's grip and back onto the bed completely, burying half her face in her pillow.

"Mary, you need a break…" Raquel repeated, and she sounded absolute this time.

Though he privately agreed, publicly Marshall was going to side with his best friend, "She said if she just gave it a few more…"

"Marshall, she's tired," now the other woman spoke as if the patient were not even there. "She's exhausted. Give her ten minutes – give her fifteen. We'll try again."

Sighing at this defeated attitude, Marshall watched as the physician got up from her stool, conversing with a nurse in the corner, clearly indicating that her rule was the law this time; her absence meant no landing pad at the end of the bed. With her eyes closed and leaking moisture everywhere, Mary didn't notice this development, which was probably just as well. She had quite enough to be going on with.

Resuming his own seat for the first time in awhile, the man wracked his brains for something to say, anything that would fix or empower his partner just enough to see her son born before week's end. He knew, rationally, that expecting the labor to go on forever was completely impractical; another hour like this and a C-section would be discussed. But, though he found no shame in Mary having to be relegated to this option, he knew it would crush her. She would feel she had let him, herself, and Mango down in the worst possible way – to come all this way and bail out at the end.

Knowing that anything involving what was happening in the here and now would just create more stress, Marshall cast around for anything – anything at all – that would put Mary in the frame of mind she needed to be in-in order to clear the final hurdle. To show her that, somehow, someway, when her body was dying her mind could roll on and on and on.

Seeing her lying in front of him, scrunched and trounced in the worst possible way, he reflected silently that this behavior was definitely a first for Mary. Even in her most vulnerable moments, she had never let go like she had today – exposed for all to see. And yet, even as he reveled in this change, he realized that it had taken steps of the tiniest kind to get her to this point. Without all those hopping stones along the way, he might still be in the waiting room, begging for even the smallest peek at the main attraction. Hard edges as well as a soft core had led Mary to where they were today.

And then, Marshall suddenly realized, he was ready to speak.

"Hey…"

Through her sobs and twitches, he reached out and pulled one lifeless hand into his. Not thinking one iota about how brave his intentions were, he folded the hand into a fist and laid a fluttering, gentle kiss on her knuckles. The desired result was achieved. She opened her eyes.

"You are a _champ_, you know that?"

Predictable dejection followed his honor, "I can't do it…" this, for Mary, was supreme; there had been a time when nothing was too hard or too complex, but those days had passed. "I thought I could, but I can't. You told me from day one that I was underestimating this whole thing, and you were right; you're always right and I'm just an idiot that didn't listen…"

More tears fell as she wept, but she didn't let go of Marshall's hand. But, rather than belabor on who said what when, or on her capability of passing this test, her partner ran with his original diagram, the original trail to the long-awaited exit.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

If Mary found anything strange about this question, she didn't show it. Too consumed in her grief and her fatigue, she just nodded, yearning for an era like the one he was referring to, when life was a thousand times easier.

"And…all you did was make fun of me…compared me to the Sound of Music; called me a girl; tried to sabotage my case…" he grinned even though it felt out of place. "You were a pistol. Stubborn as hell, totally independent, never once doubting yourself and you sure didn't need me to find a victory. You were going to get there yourself or die trying."

Despondent and low in her throat, "Bang up qualities to have in a mother…"

But, Marshall wasn't thinking that in the least.

"You know that girl is still you." Feeding off her sudden realization, "That hard-hitting, take-no-prisoners, don't-mess-with-my-guy-or-I'll-whip-out-my-glock kind of girl?" He hoped she knew where he was going, "You're still that girl. Every little bit of her."

"Is…is that even what I want?" she rasped murkily. "To be tough? If I'm gonna be a mom, I can't be so…" evidently, the description was too big for definition and she just shook her head, puddles of tears drying into her pillowcase. "…I've lost, Marshall. I don't even have a crib. This kid knows what he's coming into, and he's fighting it every step of the way…" after so many hours of agony, supernatural phenomenon such as this was all that Mary could stake her claim into. "…I'm not strong enough to get him here. I'm not…maternal enough to be his mom. I tried to be both and I…" The way she had put it first was the most apt, "I lost."

According to her, such a winning combination did not exist, not in her world, and after vocalizing that she'd been unsuccessful in both ruggedness and softness, she shrunk once more. Sniffles and sobs floated up from the bed, marred every now and then by a breath of long, trembling air that was doing nothing but keeping Mary awake.

And yet, even as he understood his partner's plight, he couldn't help thinking that she was making an enormous oversight. Being so worn out, it wouldn't be hard to do. But, that was why she had him – why they had each other. To be the eyes for the one who couldn't see, the ears for the one who couldn't hear, and the heart to beat when the other's had petered out. They shared more than history and miles on a road, more than witty banter and disagreements ranging far and wide. They shared a soul, a connection that was unearthly, that flowed beyond the moon tides and sun rays; straight up into the heavens themselves, there was a single string tethering them as one.

A finger, delicate and thin that was not unlike that hypothetical string, extended and brushed Mary's cheek. Marshall could feel the moisture that had immersed itself in her sunken skin, hot and wet, and yet that sliver of tears in turn soaked through the pad of his thumb. It was how he could take her defeat, infuse it within, and oust it as something brighter than the stars.

"I think trying to balance the best parts of ourselves is sometimes the hardest thing we do…" he whispered, ignoring the murmurs and mutters of the nurses and Doctor Reese. "We all pretend to be comfortable with who we are – but we fight it every day. We're always encouraged to be something less, something more, something bigger or smaller, harder or softer…" eyes that were somnolent to no end still stayed centered on his, and he powered on. "When, really, if we were just allowed to come out of our shell, to throw our chests out and say, 'here I am' we'd all be much better off…"

Even as he spoke, Marshall realized that individuality, while a struggle for most, was a strength – a blessing – for Mary. Who she had been as a seven year old little girl, tragically taken from her, was still her underneath, simply sharpened and toughened to stand up to life's adversities. Unlike most, she really did have two skins – the innocent, childlike one she had never gotten to use was going to come in handy if and when Mango finally made his appearance.

"But…sometimes we can't cover all the bases…" there was a point and he needed to make it. "Sometimes we're _too_ weak or _too_ strong and the luckiest among us have someone else…" by the way she blinked and her lip twitched into something resembling a smile and a frown, Marshall knew his friend was aware of what he meant. "Someone to pick up the slack…someone to bring out those fractions within ourselves that stay hidden." Concluding his speech, "Like I have you. That girl that roughed me up all those years ago, she showed me that the criminal _is_ the enemy and sometimes you have to stand a little taller and be a little bolder to take him down…"

In her stupor, Mary saw her past with Marshall through a mist, clouds and raindrops concealing the details. But, the most essential pieces – his patience, his decency, his fierce yearning to see the world as a pure and beautiful place – they were what shone through. And even though he was trying to tell her that if she could be strong back then, she could be strong now, she ended up wishing she possessed his serenity as the ticket to delivering her little boy, and not the brutality.

"_You_ make me a bad ass, Mary. You always have. After what happened when I burst out of the gate as a kid in Indiana, I might never have found my way back without you…" this was raw, untainted honesty. "And, I can guarantee that if it were me in this bed trying to usher a _human being_ into this world, I would have been dead hours ago."

A strident, rickety laugh squeezed its way through, and it was a sound that brought hope and joy to Marshall's heart, even if they still had a long way to go.

"I needed you, Marshall…" she might just be returning the favor, trying to pay tribute to him as he had done to her, but the reasoning was lost in the shuffle. "I know it took me forever…" fluttering her lashes and dripping still more tears. "…To let you in…even a little…"

The accolades she was trying so hard to eke out were hindered by the fact that she had run clean out of oxygen and had to stop every few words to take a breath. Judging by the monitors, she was scraping her way through the urge to ease Mango down a little further, but a break was a break. She didn't have to move forward this time; she could stay in park.

"Sorry…"

"Shh…" Marshall hummed gently, kneading one of her shoulders to help her through the intensity without pushing her way past it. "You're breathing well; it'll pass…"

Even labor and delivery didn't stop for heartfelt conversations, but Mary regained her thread remarkably quickly once she found the stamina to speak once more. But, rather than note that Marshall was the one who highlighted her underlying kindness, just as she did with bringing out his more rough-and-tumble side, she cut to the chase. And, in her instance, it came in the form of an apology.

"…I…I've never known anyone like you…" being so candid made her cry in earnest, no doubt fueled by the previous hours of stress and frustration. "I'm terrible to you and no matter what I say or what I do you're always there…" it had been impossible for Mary to believe such a person really existed. "…I wasted so many years we could've had because I was petrified you were going to leave me. Like…" And this produced the real cascade, "Like my dad…"

When he reached out to conceal both her hands this time, Marshall noticed that one of them was bleeding. Barely, poking through the gauze from the emergency room was a popped stitch. After an entire day's worth of gripping his fingers to death, only one tiny suture had not survived the attack. A fiend of epic proportions – Mary, through and through.

"There's something I've never told you…" there were a lot of somethings, but this one was pertinent at the moment. "And that is that I frittered away plenty of time _hating_ your father for what he did to you – I just didn't say it because I was never sure how you still felt about it. But, I am talking deepest, deadliest, otherworldly loathing…"

"You should've…" this was Mary saving face, and yet Marshall had a differing trick to pull out of his hat.

"No, I shouldn't," he informed her with a kind of half-smile, her two hands forming a fist inside his exterior sanctuary. "Because, the woman I fell in love with was the smart, sassy, stubborn Mary Shannon. I wouldn't have you any other way, and you are the way you are because of him…"

"I know…"

She sounded so sad, and Marshall realized that she had been beat over the head with this notion her entire life – as an offense, as a bad thing, as something she needed to change. It was exactly as he had said; everyone was expected to be something more or less than they already were. He was here to tell her otherwise.

"And, the way you _are_ is what I love," his elbows were on his knees now, his face millimeters from hers, so close they could lock lips, and yet that thought never even crossed Marshall's mind. "Without him, I wouldn't have you as you _really_ are. And I can't hate a man who has given me that."

In a time and place that wasn't so foggy, Mary might have something opposing to say about this, but underneath he knew her loyalty to James still ran very deep, and he had just given her a reason why it was okay to harbor those feelings of devotion thirty long years later. And, because he had no idea how much of their ten minutes were left before action would have to be taken again, he mustered his courage once more, sealing her dedication to him with yet another memory of days past.

"When you were engaged to Raph…" if the woman hadn't been so helter-skelter herself, she probably would've found it odd that he changed gears so quickly, but as it was she only listened. "And I gave that toast at the office – with the red velvet cupcakes and all…"

A nod.

"I said that no man would ever be good enough for you."

Mary remembered.

"And I meant it – then. I guess I meant Raph and guys like Faber or even James. They all fell short in my eyes…"

Captivating, shimmering blue as they were.

"But…change is a bitch and it is terrifying, but the man who _is_ good enough for you – he's finally on his way…"

Mary's immediate thought, of course, was of the man sitting right in front of her. And then she realized…

"Mango is going to fill that void. He is the one we're working for now – it'll be humbling and redeeming and a complete, unavoidable mess most of the time…" this earned him another quivering chuckle. "But, this is your guy, okay? And whether you're a taskmaster or a pushover or the best of both worlds in-between, I have no doubt that he will still be more than you could've ever hoped for at the end of the day."

The end of the day, such as it was, never seemed to be coming, and yet the light manufactured by those who wished to see her through was being sparked in the darkness once more. At this word, Doctor Reese returned from her position by the sink, prepared to step back in to the fray, at least until she perceived the finale to be viable no more. That meant sedation, knives, and operating rooms, but for now, she was willing to play in the closing round.

"All right, Mary, are you ready to give this another go…?" perhaps she, too, had needed a breather, a way to collect herself before lashing out at the underperforming patient. "I'm in if you are."

Seeing her sit down on her stool another time, feeling the nurse return to her elbow, Mary was unkindly jerked out of the halo she'd fallen into with Marshall. The nightmare she had been living since nine o'clock the night before was raging on all sides once more. The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountaintops outside her curtained window, a hush falling over the cell in which she was trapped.

Could she break free? Did she trust herself to hang on, even if the result was more dejection if she physically wasn't capable of birthing her son, when as a woman it was supposed to be her unspoken talent?

Looking to Marshall, she saw for the first time that there was nervousness in his face. For her or for himself, she wasn't sure, but the sight was strangely calming. They were in this together, reservations and all.

"I've still got a working hand."

And he held up his palm, blistered, bright red and flimsy, a minor, minimized indication of how Mary was faring all over. But, before she could take it – her way of showing him she was going to try – Doctor Reese piped in with the newest cog in their whirring wheel.

"Mary, if it's okay with you, I'm going to have Marshall sit behind you – that can sometimes give you more support. What do you think?"

If there was support to be had, Marshall would surely be the one to provide it. And, with an anxious but not hesitant nod, he was out of his chair, inching his friend forward on the bed with the help of a nurse. Once there was enough space, he swung himself into the divot on the mattress she had just been lying in, one leg wound on either side of her body.

It took some doing to get situated at first, but once they were in position, Mary immediately felt a sense of shelter, one she hadn't experienced in hours. He was her refuge, the rock she could cling to – not a stepping stone in his now-puny hand, but the entire cliff face, ramming her, guiding her ever upward no matter how grueling the journey. And, when he wrapped his arms around her chest, his chin protruding over her shoulder so he could see her face, she knew this mountain wasn't one she could fall off of. No matter what happened, even if a C-section was the outcome, the towering rock that was Marshall would always be there.

"You good?" his voice, directly beside her ear, came with warm, tickling breath. "Throw me off if I become suffocating…"

Mary nodded, though she didn't anticipate doing such a thing, and perked her ears for the next innovative scheme she was going to be expected to operate under.

"This'll be tricky, Mary, and I know you're tired, but try to go with me on it, all right?" Doctor Reese was bargaining. "If you need to stop and take a breath, then do it, but I want you to try and push as long as you possibly can without any kind of interruption. Really crank it, okay? We're going to try and give him that little extra nudge without pulling him back…"

By 'pulling him back' Mary supposed she meant halting to inhale and exhale for two seconds before pushing for another seven or eight, but the task was indeed a daunting one when she was so fatigued. The brief lapse in working toward the goal really couldn't have helped that much. Surely her muscles would still be too strung out to support her…surely she would have to breathe or she would suffocate…surely…

"Okay?" Doctor Reese demanded before Mary could even finish thinking. "Start breathing, here we go…"

The blonde hadn't agreed to anything, and yet she knew she was out of time. If she was going to do this and do it right, she would have to run in blind as a bat and keep running until she hit the wall. If it was the only way, then she was going to have to do it, sight unseen and aimless at every step.

"I'm here…" Marshall promised from over her shoulder. "I'm still here; you can do it, just do your best…"

Her best. Her best, feeble and frail, would always be good enough for Marshall.

"Okay, big-big breath – deep breath, Mary, this is it…" Raquel directed, obviously sensing that the moment was near. "Take in all the air you can; breathe deep…"

Inhaling so extensively she felt sure she was going to faint, Mary exhaled without meaning to when the intake became so overpowering that she could no longer see straight. Apparently, she was just in time; with the enormous release of oxygen came the bellow from between her feet.

"Now! Now, push! Go-go-go…as far as you can; go…"

Even though it made her arms and legs scream in protest from having so much force exerted on them – even though it made _her_ shriek in objection as well, Mary still forced herself past what was safe, past what used to be more than enough, her fingers and toes jangling from the incredible pressure barreling up from within. Like a hot air balloon was expanding inside her, with all her might she made it blow and blow and blow again; she craved the second it popped, but wouldn't let herself raise the pin.

Her body language had given her away from only the second set of pushes; the further she bore down on her belly, the more she curled up, the closer Doctor Reese knew she was to drawing back and waiting for the next opportunity. This time, she wouldn't let her. Like a drill sergeant, she berated her to go on.

"Further, further, come on…!"

"No…!"

"You've got it; don't give up now!" she countered.

"No…!"

And then a third voice, "Squeeze…squeeze…squeeze as hard as you can…"

And while she was no longer holding Marshall's hand, but had her own balled into fists beneath his encompassing arms, she realized his instruction spoke to more than the physical. It was their code; their signal and his belief that she could press on.

"You're doing it; you can do it; don't hold back…"

"Give me five more, Mary, come on…!"

Shaking her head, past the breaking point…

"Three….two…"

"No…no…!"

"There he is!"

The balloon burst. Mary disintegrated, collapsed like someone had kicked her square in the gut, all-but flattening Marshall, a clutter of tears and sobs as he held her close, their heads side-by-side. In the dimness and the unbelievable pain, she even thought she felt him kiss her cheek. So wrapped up in her own horror and misery, she didn't immediately register that Doctor Reese was smiling, nor did she expect there to be a prize outside the precious bubble she had worked so hard to protect.

"Mary, you've got him; he's here – I saw his head!"

Whimpers and whines mostly covered this, but Marshall, God bless him, was cognizant enough to have listened.

"What?! What – is he crowning?!"

"No, the head will sometimes slip down and slip right back up, but he's right there; another couple of pushes and he'll have descended all the way…"

Jubilant, which was a glaring contrast to the heap that was Mary; he kissed her unwisely another time, unable to believe that the moment they had been striving for was finally on the horizon.

"Oh my God, Mare…" he chattered, feeling how tightly she was clinging to his arms, still interlocked around her chest, head lolling on his shoulder. "I can't imagine what you went through to get him that far after all this…" meaning the twenty-plus hours of labor. "He's here; he's coming…it's not going to be long; I promise…"

Even though she claimed not to believe in such allegiances, Mary nodded anyway, but not without voicing just how traumatizing the whole thing had been. After all, what if she hadn't had such success?

"I'm scared…" her eyes were so red and waterlogged that the green was almost nonexistent. "I'm scared…what if I'm too tired…?"

"You're on your last leg, but that's all you need…" Marshall insisted. "Whatever I can do, I'm here…"

But, this was his partner's swan song now, and within seconds the homestretch was visible once more. Letting out an impressive holler that likely came from both aggravation as well as pain, Mary broke free of Marshall's iron hold, knowing that a map to show her the way this time was unnecessary. She knew the path; it was simply treacherous at every single turn.

"Mary, we're going to switch back now; you were awesome; go back to pushing and breathing in-between…"

It didn't matter what she said, because Mary had already begun, the ropes unwinding at their knots, crashing through the door and the hinges clattering to the ground. Marshall was all she heard.

"That's my girl…" a new and exhilarating phrase. "That's my girl; way to go…"

And then…

"We've got him! There's the head!" Doctor Reese was almost as excited as the man, tossed a whole plethora of silver instruments that only Marshall saw because Mary's eyes were pinched shut. "He's crowning, Mary; you're almost there."

Marshall was beside himself, nearly choking her in his exuberance.

"You are astonishing…" only he would use such a word in this moment, even as he jabbered endlessly like a switch had been flipped in his brain. "He's here; he's gonna be here any minute; oh Jesus, Mary…"

Her continual bawling did not seem to have the slightest adverse effect on him, and he momentarily forgot his role as the coach. Doctor Reese had to step in to make sure they stayed the course without veering when they were nearly in the end zone.

"You can wait, Mary; you need to breathe before the next one. Take a minute and relax. In and out…"

Indeed, she had flown through the last two contractions with no conscious thought, so desperate she was to be done, and the consequence was that she could barely hold herself up. Even amidst the panic and the shivering – for she was shaking so violently she might've been holed up in ten-degree-weather – she couldn't say it hadn't been worth it. She knew there was no way to backpedal from here, and her virtual monsoon of tears was a clue to how invigorating and how terrorizing the process had been on her.

Marshall, fortunately, recovered himself enough to simmer down and put a damper on his anticipation in favor of tutoring her back to clarity.

"Go slow…" his voice was low, back to the same old commands. "One at a time…"

The rhythm of breaths, soon to become the rhythm of a brand new life, made his partner's hands rise and fall where they were clasped on her chest. The weight she had to be applying on him as he sat at her rear had to be incredible, but it was plain his mind was nowhere near that. Caught in limbo, her son poised to make his grand entrance, she found herself leaning still further into him, encompassed in the shadows created by his chin.

"You can rest soon; you can rest as much as you want; just a little bit farther…"

The promise of sleep was a good motivator and Mary adjusted her stance when the need to steer her little boy became nauseatingly prevalent once more. The sensation was different now, as he was hanging so precariously, but it was no less obvious; those instincts Marshall had touted at the onset were finally holding true.

"This is a big one Mary, all right?" the physician announced. "If you can pull through for a good ten seconds the head may go ahead and slip out…"

She had every intention of doing this, for what was ten seconds compared with the last twenty hours? And, her initial embarking seemed to be a solid one; Doctor Reese was pleased and encouraging her forward, Marshall right behind her doing the same.

"Good…good…little bit harder…" With the alteration came a, "That's it…"

But, then it happened. A pain like nothing Mary had ever experienced blanketed her from her toes to the tip of head, a white-hot, smoldering, blistering pain that made every inch of her skin feel like it was on fire. This was more than backaches and contractions and the pressure of pushing. She might very well be dying, flames licking, chewing and spitting their way through her flesh, and in the chaos of being eaten alive, she quit pushing and let out a strangled, sickened scream. The result was instantaneous as she held back; the throbbing stopped, but the aftereffects were punishing, mostly in the form of Marshall. He'd heard a lot of yells in this very long Tuesday, but not one so frightening as this.

The repercussions were a bundle of confusion, made more so with Mary's protests and sobs.

"What happened?! What's wrong?!"

"Mary, push through it – you need to push through it!"

"It burns – it burns; I can't…!"

"She said she can't!"

"Marshall, don't. Mary, it's awful; I know, but you push through and the hard part's over…"

"I can't…!"

"Is she okay?!" Marshall sounded angry; he was obviously rattled by his partner's screeching like someone had knifed her, which they might as well have been. "What is going on…?"

"She's fine," Doctor Reese tried to calm herself as well while Mary breathed so abruptly and speedily that she might very well pop a lung. "It's a vicious hurdle here at the end, getting the baby's head through." With a significant nod, "Talk to her."

Satisfied that nothing had gone seriously awry, Marshall did as asked, bending over the form of the stunned woman, wondering what words of wisdom he could possibly have left that would rival any he had already used earlier in the day. He was running out of options and, evidently, so was she.

"Mare, she said if you can scrape through this then the rest is a piece of cake…" reflecting back on Doctor Reese's words. "Let's do it; give it all you have left…"

"I don't have anything left; just let them cut me open; I'm done…"

Almost foiled by the dramatics, Marshall still swallowed and stayed on his horse.

"Come on, partner; you'd never let me quit if this were my job…" truer words had never been spoken, even as he held her upright, her face tearstained and barely preceding his. "I'm not gonna let you either. You can't quit – not now. Not when you're this close."

Mary thought then of all she had tolerated and battled her way through just to arrive at where she was right now – beyond contractions and Mango, but long before that. There was her father and the scars he had left her with when she was too young to ever learn how to heal them. There was Jinx and the way that she, too, had fractured at the loss of love and had found solace only in a little girl who could rise above when she could not. There was Brandi, little and lost and directionless, who was only now finding her groove after so many years of falling out of bounds. There had been abductions and shootings, fiancés lost and girlfriends gained, and yet here she stood. Ready to suspend the greatest of evolutions, the promise of a future, when home was just over the next hill.

Not as strung out as he'd thought, Marshall's heart gave a bound as his best friend sat up, face determined and resolute through her tears. If that wasn't the 'go' sign then he didn't know what was.

"You knock this thing out…this is it…"

"Mary, you are probably two or three pushes away if you can sustain; let's go…"

"Breathe in; right now, go ahead…"

For a split second following Marshall's old familiar command, Mary heard nothing at all. She followed the movements to which she had become so accustomed to the letter, feeling very much now like it was a play she had to perform over and over and over again. But, when she had gathered all the gumption and daring she could, the voices returned – an onslaught and volley from every angle, all-but punting her to that long-awaited finish line.

"Push! Hard push!"

The burn was back, as all-consuming and grating as ever; roaches crawling on her skin, the combustion of every organ and major artery combined, and even though Mary meant to leap over and upward, she must've recoiled without meaning to.

"Through – through, go through it, Mary; come on!"

And so she did, a cutting, clattering wail renting the air.

"NO!"

But, her objection was bypassed, because what her mouth said, her body disobeyed, and this time it was okay.

"Yes-yes – that's it! You've got it; here comes the head!"

"Hang on, Mare; try to hold on; just hold on…"

"There's that pretty face; he's coming…!"

"Oh my God…"

"Stop…stop Mary, stop and take a breath…"

But, she didn't stop. She wasn't sure she could've even if she wanted to, but she didn't wait to find out. If she screeched onto her hands and knees now, there would be no jumping back in again. With intuition she had never used as a Marshal but that was slowly molding her into a mother, she clawed her way past endurance, picked the locks, climbed the stairs, ran the anchor, careened off the high dive, blasted holes in the perpetrator, kicked in the door – free falling a million miles an hour down the roller coaster, staggering to nowhere, with only the man at her shoulder to tell her the way.

The noises and the colors began to close in, clouding her vision as well as her mind, the sound winding down like that of an old black-and-white television, growing fainter and fainter as Mary clambered higher and higher.

"You're doing it; you're doing it; keep going…"

"Here he comes…"

"You're almost there; this is it…"

"We've got shoulders…"

"Mary…Mary…!"

"Keep pushing…right to the end…push-push…!"

"MARY!"

"Last one; one more push…!"

"Mary – Mary! Open your eyes! Open your eyes!"

"Here he is!"

The limpness had overtaken Mary as she fell apart, Marshall's arms squeezing her to shards as she lay almost in his lap. She wasn't aware if she said a word, if she gasped in relief, if she cried or did anything at all. She'd descended into blackness, so freed by the lift of the pressure that she never once thought to embrace her reward for running straight to hell and back. The muffled noises around her meant she reveled in the escape of the unending pain, and it wasn't until Marshall almost slapped her in his unfathomable zest that she thought to raise her head.

"Mary, look! Look-look-look – now!"

It was really the quality to his voice that made her follow, not the persistent whacks to her forearm. It sounded oddly constricted for Marshall, like his vocal chords had suffered a blow. But, when her eyes were level with her knees, she saw why that was.

"It's a boy!"

And there he was. This tiny, flailing, thrashing little creature – a creature with arms and legs, fingers and toes, elbows, knees, chest, belly, head, and even hair, every inch covered in a film of red and purple. Eyes pasted shut, lips drawn in the thinnest of closed lines, elfin ears, and flexing nails. He lay suspended in the air in all his brand-new glory, silent as a mouse, and the universe he had just been born into melted away into nothingness, washed aside to make room for him and his staggered, astounded, exhausted mother.

Mary knew as she stared at him, as she heard absolutely nothing of what was going on in the mortal world behind her, that even if Brooke and Chris Harmon had been waiting in the hall that this would not have been their son. This boy, this eerily quiet, fidgeting, red-faced little boy was Mary's. In truth, he had likely always been Mary's. But, it was like Marshall had said when she had articulated all of her doubts about motherhood. Sometimes you had to see to believe. And, all she saw now was promise, potential, an endless open road not unlike the one she had traveled with Marshall himself just a week earlier.

Marshall.

It was he who had shown her the light, now in this very moment, and on so many countless occasions. And it was he who gently pulled her back to earth.

"Mary, you did it…you did it…he's here…"

It was then that she realized why the change in his tone of voice had brought her out of her seclusion to lay eyes, for the very first time, on her son. He was crying. With more awareness came the feeling of tears that were not her own dribbling onto her cheek, for Marshall's stubble-ridden skin was resting right next to hers. And Mary had no more wetness left to shed, the task now best left to her partner. Unlike so many other new mothers, she did not tumble into submission and sobs at the sight of her flesh and blood. Maybe that made her 'less' than them, but the emotion that came to mind as she gazed at the being in front of her prompted no tears.

It was joy – soaring, swooping happiness – and for the first time in what felt like ages, Mary smiled. With the grin came a laugh, drunken and warbling, but as indisputable as any ache she had endured over the last twenty-four hours. Marshall followed it up with a laugh of his own, clogged and murky through his tears, and then the wail of her son. With his bearings and surroundings intact, the child let loose his first call into the wild, mingling miraculously with the sounds of the two individuals who were sure to love him the most.

"He's here…" Marshall whispered again, and Mary finally found it in her speak as well.

"Is he okay?" after the ride he'd been on, surely he was a little banged up, but no.

"He is perfect…" Doctor Reese proclaimed, whipping him into a blanket and passing him off to a nurse. "A trooper, this guy. Congratulations, Mary."

But, the woman was still laughing, delirious with bliss and relief, peering at every angle to try and get another glimpse of the boy. She'd never felt more tired or more beaten down in her entire life and still, she was happy. Knowing she could finally surrender, she tipped her head into Marshall's chest with a great, tremulous sigh, his arms loosening, his face floating, enraptured, above her own.

"How are you?" he murmured, tears still streaming down his face. "How do you feel?"

A gulp, "Dead…" and still, she chuckled; knowing that thinking she had been stretched in two pieces was par for the course. "But good."

"Mare, I'm so proud of you…" shaking his head in disbelief. "You were incredible."

And, before her arms became occupied, before she passed out or became doped up on drugs, she reached into the sky, pulled Marshall's face to hers, and kissed him. The sparks that imploded in veins that should've long since expired ignited once more, sniffing the air for one last rush. Marshall arched further forward, deepening, tasting her flesh, her hands cradling his face, her fingers soft and tender. An embrace he had been dreaming of for so many years was made infinitely sweeter when it was saved for a moment such as this.

When he resurfaced, Mary was still grinning, and he couldn't help but do the same. In response to his compliment, not that the kiss hadn't taken care of that, she ran one hand through his unkempt hair and rumpled it playfully.

"Thanks."

It was quite possible he was going to bestow a 'thank-you' of his own, because one kiss with Mary after pining for eight years was not nearly enough, but they were interrupted by something – _someone_ – who had the kiss paling in comparison.

"This little fellow…born on September fifth at 7:03 PM is nineteen inches long and weighs in at eight pounds, six ounces…" Doctor Reese called after receiving the report from a passing nurse. "Healthy all-around…"

"Hefty guy," Marshall remarked, not once considering disentangling himself from his backseat position, jostling Mary's shoulders as he did so. "We both know you fed him well."

Yet another spontaneous chuckle likely would've escaped at hearing her partner describe her robust eating habits, but such lighthearted behavior was soon put aside. A nurse crossed the room, a twitching, whimpering bundle in her arms, and Mary suddenly knew where that bundle was headed. Nerves overtook her in a flash, but the beam she was leaning against provided the word of reassurance, as he had always been so good at doing.

"Sit up…" he coaxed quietly. "Just a little; I've got you…"

Wiggling into place as much as she could without disrupting her pulsing lower half, she felt Marshall's chin dip onto her shoulder another time. She suddenly hoped she wasn't obscuring his view because just then, the swatch of blankets was lowered preciously into her waiting arms, which seemed to have thrust themselves out without Mary's brain telling them to move at all. She supposed that when you finally had something so solid and inclusive to hold that your limbs just couldn't help making space.

Never before had Mary felt something so soft, so delicate, innocent, and pure of heart in her grasp; a tranquility unlike any other seemed to radiate from his soundly humming heart, cheeks glowing red, eyelids fluttering and testing the brightness of the outside world above. That he was alive and well in the here and now, when seconds earlier he had still been resting comfortably in Mary's womb, unable to budge, was extraordinary. Something so natural that had occurred for millions of years suddenly felt startlingly original, like Mary was the first of her kind to bring a child into existence – a survivor among so many others who likely felt the exact same way.

Warmth seeped from her son's tiny body and into her chest, a chest that had expelled so many breaths trying to keep this little boy afloat. He was returning her strength without even trying to, just by _being_ – just by being, as Marshall would put, _him_. With a single finger, Mary reached out and caressed his cheek, liveliness flying through her from that first stroke of skin. With a feeble, frightened cry, he then cooed at the touch of his mother – scent that he knew from spending nine months wholly in her company.

With Marshall still sniffing in the background, Mary took the little boy's squeaking noise as hello and knew it would only be right to reciprocate.

"Hey, Mango…"

It was her partner's turned to laugh, and when his arm moved Mary became aware that he was wiping his eyes on his sleeve. It was funny how he had been 'Mango' for so long when he was faceless and ethereal, and now the title didn't seem to fit.

"Attractive little critter…" the man intoned, basking in the woman's reaction as much as he was the child himself. "He's beautiful, Mare…" still, he sounded choked up, but she was beginning to find it endearing. "Quite a head of hair, too…"

"Yeah…"

This was something it had taken her a moment to notice, and when she brushed her fingers over the top of his crown, she realized that the downy soft waves did not boast the more common shades of dark brown or black. In the clear illumination of the lamp overhead, she spotted with a jolt that her child was unique right out of the gate. A small facet, but there nonetheless, and Marshall was the one to broadcast it, a note of surprise matched with delight in his voice.

"Oh my God; he's a redhead…" he was so boyish when he was politely excited; it made Mary's heart sing. "Look at his hair; its ginger…" this produced a few more tears. "Who'd have thought 'Mango' would be so fitting…?"

Indeed, with the fruit being orange, this was a wonderful irony, and Marshall wasn't even through.

"You weren't strawberry when you were young, were you?"

The reminder made Mary's throat go tight, "No…but, my dad was…" a swallow. "…Kind of auburn, but he's probably grey now…" the tidbit wasn't necessary, and she moved on. "Mark too – he was rust before he went brown."

Nothing about this was upsetting in the least. As Marshall had said early on, this boy was hers from the beginning – he was going to start out with pieces of James and Mark no matter what color his hair was. And, seeing those few light orange strands coating his head, there was nothing she couldn't love about it. This child wearing the moniker of 'Mango' during his last week in the womb made Mary feel as though she'd known him even before he'd arrived, that they'd had a bond long before he was resting where he was right at this very moment.

In the silence that followed, Mary swept her hand over those waves again and again, cradling the little one's cheek, watched as he ferreted around for milk and found only shelter in her breast. Still sniveling softly, the new mother did what she could to comfort him, those supposed maternal instincts finding their ground as soon as possible.

"Shh…" she clucked, adjusting his blankets and tenderly turning his face more toward hers, the better to see him. "It's okay, buddy…"

"Yeah, don't worry, pal…" Marshall chimed in, reaching over and poking his finger toward his mouth. "You won't be 'Mango' forever," a joke. "You'll be Josh or Kevin or Garrett…"

"Luke."

It was out of her mouth before Mary could stop herself, and she was glad. A name to go with this angelic, stunning little face was exactly the ribbon she needed to tie the picture all together, to complete the family she had hankered for since she was seven. Because, no matter what happened, her son was hers forever; this was no deadbeat father, no free-spirited ex-husband, no uncertain fiancée. This, as her partner had indicated, was her guy. God willing, the guy that had just gasped in her ear would set up shop right next to him – her boys for life.

"What?" Marshall whispered, sounding breathless. "What'd you say?"

"Luke," without any faltering whatsoever, she looked up at him to confirm. "Luke. That's his name."

"Mary…"

"He needs a name," she murmured, touched seeing Marshall's eyes fill with tears one more time. "And, he needs you, just like I do. You told me your Luke was the one that brought you here – to Albuquerque, and then to me. You told me he was the one who taught you how to be a partner…" There could be no better justification, "We wouldn't be here without him, even though I'm so sorry you lost him…" and she was. "But, if he's really the one that drove you here after he died, then I owe him my life. This is his legacy – and ours."

And Marshall couldn't deny, as he sat overwhelmed with emotion, that this was exactly how he had wanted to honor his first best friend all those years ago. Like Mary's estrangement from James, she wouldn't be who she was without her history, just as he wouldn't be in New Mexico, WITSEC extraordinaire, and Mary's faithful sidekick, without Luke. Tragic as it was, there was no changing it, and now he could never forget how much the original Luke had bought for his happiness.

"I love it…" was all he could say in response. "Luke…"

With a nod, Mary felt a start as little Luke finally felt protected enough to test his orbs and a pair of dark, furiously blinking eyes gazed innocently and avidly up into her own. With a giggle, she succumbed to crying herself, but the smile persisted through every tear that fell.

"Hi, handsome…"

"Gorgeous," Marshall corrected. "Just like his mom."

XXX

**A/N: He's a Luke! (If you managed to get through the novel that is this chapter). There is only one more to go, and I am sad just thinking about not having your wonderful reviews to come to. Would love to hear what you think of the big moment!**


	58. Team Silver Star

**A/N: This is the end, friends! I honestly cannot thank-you enough for your continued support – for some of you, it has gone on for several years now! Thank-you so much for helping me keep IPS alive!**

XXX

Mary had never been more popular. For a girl who had been shunned and ostracized as a child, a teenager, and finally an adult for coming from the wrong side of the tracks – and acting like it – being the center of attention was a lovely alteration. It seemed change wasn't really _all_ bad.

In actuality, she knew it was not really her that was garnering so much consideration – well, maybe some of it – as the real recipient was little Luke Shannon, dark eyes, red hair, and all. But, there was little that could deter Mary's good spirits, especially since those whose opinions really mattered gave her just as much thought as they did her son. It might be another day or so before all the blue-bagged gifts adorned with tissue paper would land on her doorstep, but the words were what Mary carried around in her heart. She would remember the admiration, not to mention the adoration, forever.

Jinx was the only visitor she received in the flesh, dripping tears all over her grandson as she showed Mary pictures of the crib she had purchased on her cell phone. With it, she had acquired a stock of blankets and sleepers, a rocking chair, and changing table, all of which had been stuffed into Mary's former guest room. It was haphazard and unorganized, but it was an enormous relief, and Jinx made continued promises – while blinking benevolently at Luke – that she would work tirelessly the next day in preparing it for homecoming.

The rest of the well-wishes came over the phone, but were no less heartfelt. Each was unique to the person whose voice was floating through the speaker, and Mary wished she could bottle their concern. It might've been the hormones that made her so prone to gratitude, but she was too tired to analyze it and let the feelings of goodwill wash over her without a second thought.

First on the list of callers was, not surprisingly, Brandi. There was no reason for Jinx to have kept her mouth shut; she would've needed _someone_ to talk to with Mary and Marshall holed up together. The older sister was pleased that the younger appeared to be having the time of her life; every word in her speech was etched with elation, and she did not act the least bit upstaged by having her nephew born the day after her wedding.

"We'll never forget his birthday now!" she declared. "We can have double parties and everything – one for me and Peter, one for Luke!"

"I don't know, Squish…" Mary was wary, but she laughed anyway from where she lay, pillowed and cushioned by sheets and blankets, Marshall in a chair at her side, rocking Luke so she could speak on the phone. "But, yeah…easy to remember the day…"

"I wish you would've told me you felt crummy at the wedding!" Brandi bleated on. "I wouldn't have made you dance!"

The other didn't believe this for a second, "Yeah, I would've loved to have seen how that would've gone," proving that her sister could only be so charitable in the aftermath. "Seriously…it wasn't that bad then, and its water under the bridge now…" To avoid this subject, "Speaking of water. How's Aruba?"

"Magical!" Brandi gushed with passion. "The water is _so_ blue – you can see your toes straight to the bottom! And the sand – it's not all rocky with all the shells and stuff like the beach we used to go to back in Jersey…" Mary was surprised Brandi had retained such a memory. "It's gorgeous; all white and smooth and soft. Do you remember when we were kids and mom took us to the ocean that one time – you were like, ten, so I was probably four or something. I cut my foot on that glass bottle and those seagulls pooped all over mom's new beach chair…"

Chuckling again made her stomach hurt, but the darkness of the Jersey shore compared with the lightness Brandi was so obviously experiencing in the tropics was a glaring contrast. She was glad her sister could replace those haunting – if now amusing – beach memories of her youth with new, dazzling ones.

"Yeah, I remember; she never took us back after that…" Mary reciprocated. "I take it there are no seagulls where you are."

"Mondo-huge-turtles, though!" she went on. "I didn't think I'd even care about all the animals and stuff, but they're so cool. Hey…!" she suddenly exclaimed like she'd had an epiphany. "Tell Marshall that Peter and I saw that warawara thing he was talking about!"

Thinking that her brain might not be working properly given her very long day, Mary frowned and shot her partner a glance. He was making eyes at Luke, wiggling his tongue between his teeth as if a child who was only a few hours old would really find silly faces humorous. The woman grinned anyway, her scowl disappearing.

"The what?" she got back to Brandi.

"Warawara – it's a bird, I guess."

"Well, that sounds like Marshall…"

At the sound of his name, he did look up, mouthing "huh?" with a goofy, gaping smile still on his face.

Covering the mouthpiece with her fingers, "Did you fill Brandi's head with ideas about bogus birds? What's a warawara?"

"It is not bogus!" he informed her in a delighted whisper, so as not to disturb Luke. "Did she see one?"

"I guess so…"

"Tell him it was really ugly," Brandi chattered on just in time for Mary to hear her. "But, I thought he'd want to know; he loves all that nature stuff."

"Yeah, he does…"

With this came a yawn that she couldn't suppress, closing her eyes and sinking into the bliss that was fresh bedding and her own pajamas – drawstring pants that still fit her lumpy form and an old thermal shirt Jinx had dug up on her many excursions out of the hospital. For the past twenty-four hours, Mary had been sure that she would never feel comfortable again, but now that she did, she was going to bask in it as much as possible, even if it did mean leaving her sister hanging on the other end of the phone.

Fortunately, her release of air had been loud enough that Brandi heard and, with many new adventures to embark upon herself, didn't have intentions of keeping Mary longer than she wanted to talk.

"You must be exhausted, Mare…" she acknowledged. "I should probably let you go."

"Thanks…" there was no sense fighting it, her eyes slipping shut, her head getting lost in her pillow. "What time is it there?"

"It's after midnight; Peter and I are heading to bed…" she reported. "But, I didn't want to go to sleep without calling. Give Luke a kiss from his auntie for me."

"I will…" she promised, trying to tell herself to actually do it when she was more awake. "I love you, Squish."

Saying such a thing to Marshall had meant the phrase came much easier all around, and the slightest of pauses in Brandi's babble meant that she noticed it too. They'd been sisters for thirty-three years, and the elder had probably never once initiated the affection, even if she could cajole herself to say it in return.

"I love you too, Mare…" it came in a whisper. "So much. Thank-you for everything you did with the wedding; I know it couldn't have been easy…"

"I didn't do much. But, you're welcome."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Squish."

But, the salutations and farewells didn't end there. One of the expressions Mary received, while well-meaning, was less animated and more reserved. Keeping serene and riding the waves as they buoyed from the seafloor wasn't so hard this time; seeing Marshall in her line of vision, kissing her little boy's head and whispering who-knew-what in his miniscule ears kept her from riling. Few things seemed very daunting after childbirth, and Mary didn't even need to remind herself of that fact; it was ingrained and automatic.

"I feel horrible that I wasn't there…" Mark bemoaned several minutes into the conversation with his ex-wife. "I should've been; I should've forgotten all about work and stayed after the wedding to talk about this; it's ten times more important than stupid solar panels…"

"Mark, please don't beat yourself up…" she was merciful toward him in a way she hadn't been before. "It isn't your fault; you didn't know…"

"But, it's time for me to grow up," the birth of his son thousands of miles away seemed to have ignited something in him, even if he was operating under blind emotion and would probably feel differently in the morning. "I was a jerk at the wedding, trying to leave you in the lurch…"

"You were scared," knowing that sensation so well herself enabled Mary to spot it in other people now. "So was I at first – I still am. If you need to stay in Jersey then I will understand; your life is there. We will work something out…"

"What if it's already too late?" his unequivocal upset seemed sad on this side of things, like he no longer knew which end was up. "I missed him being born…I wasn't there when you…"

"Mark, of course it's not too late," Mary insisted with sweet, gentle nods from Marshall; praise for her being so compassionate. "Figure something out with your job, take a week or two off and come and see him…" if it took him a few days to finagle his schedule that would give the woman some time to prepare. "And, please don't worry about me. I'm sorry if you feel like you missed out on something, but I wasn't by myself. Marshall was with me the whole time."

Keeping the focus on herself enabled them not to touch on the fact that, even if Mark had been in town, Mary likely wouldn't have let him anywhere near the delivery room. In the moment, he might not have even wanted that honor, given his apprehension about being involved at all when she'd spoken to him at the reception. The grass always and sometimes only seemed greener on the other side.

"I didn't even ask you his name," he droned in a dejected voice, and Mary felt a sudden bout of nerves, dulled though they were beneath her quietude. "Does he have a name?"

"His name is Luke," she shared, hoping he would take to the title. "Marshall…kind of…sort of helped me come up with it…" this was the best explanation she had until she saw Mark in person again, even if it did earn her an all-knowing smirk from her partner. "How's it grab you?"

"I…I…no, it's fine…" he clearly didn't want to step on any toes. "He's okay then, right? He's healthy?"

"Yes…"

"How's he look? What…what's he look like?"

The need for information on the part of Luke's father was uplifting as well as slightly dismal in its own strange way. Being at the other end of the country, Mark was obviously desperate, ravenous for anything he could sink his teeth into regarding this brand new little boy – a little boy he hadn't even known existed a week earlier. Piteous that he was now deciding he wanted to be in the thick of things and couldn't because he was so far away, Mary did what she could to ease his mind and also to end the call, for she was feeling sleepy again.

"He's a good looking kid," she informed the man. "I'll send you a picture, okay? As soon as I hang up," that ought to satisfy him. "He's a redhead, so he looks a little bit like you – when we were in high school you had some burgundy in your hair, right?"

"Really…?" Mark's voice grew shaky with this tidbit, but Mary could tell it was shaking with joy that he and his son had something in common. "I mean…yeah. Yeah I guess I kind of did…"

"Well, there you have it. I'll give you the full view as soon as I can, all right?"

"Thank-you, Mary."

And with another word or two, she was able to let him go; she had a blanket excuse on not discussing anything with anybody at least for the next few days, and there would be nothing untrue about saying she was too lethargic to engage. Slipping her phone on the table by her bed, thinking surely it would be done ringing for the night; she sighed and realized that Marshall hadn't even noticed she had wrapped things up. That was because his attention was still caught by the being in his arms. Mary had to admit that Luke, above anyone else, was indeed an excellent distracter.

In any case, his ignorance of her presence just meant that she could watch him soak in the child so captivatingly. She didn't think he'd stopped smiling since Luke had been born, even if he had managed to stop crying. Leaning her head into her pillow, easily able to bypass that it was pounding listlessly, she blinked slowly, wanting to take in these peaceful moments before her life became a whirlwind of early morning feedings and dirty diapers and everything else that came with a newborn.

"You're some pair of boys…" Mary commented when she had gazed for several minutes, and Marshall snapped out of his daze at once. "Just saying," she finished in response to his bright-eyed look.

"I am a shameless baby hog," Marshall proclaimed, not sounding guilty in the least. "I should probably give the handsome devil here back to his mama…"

She waved a careless hand, "You can keep him for another few minutes…" but, she couldn't resist giving those slight auburn waves a slow, deliberate stroke. "You put on a good show."

"Who knew mooning all dewy-eyed like me really qualified as a show?"

"And yet, it does," Mary assured him. "At any rate, I'm not sure my phone's done going off. Jinx will probably think of something else to tell me before she turns in for the night."

"You have been all the rage today, I do admit," he stated. "Sounds like things with Mark went better this time. Might we be seeing him soon?"

"Yeah, maybe," she couldn't commit. "I don't know. I think he still needs some more time, but he wants to step up. That's what matters."

"Indeed."

"And even if he doesn't…" there was a conversation Mary knew she needed to have before she went down for the count, and while it might be out of place among such stillness, she had no way of knowing how much longer she had. "Hell, even if he does…" now she poked her finger into Luke's cheek, still marveling at how soft his skin was. "It's not like Luke won't have a dad or better right here…"

Shaken abruptly from his reverie, something Mary regretted but would have to sidestep, Marshall looked as though he'd been hit in the face by this sudden assertion. In many ways, it was foolish of him not to expect to be given the role of father, even if his title said otherwise, but as he and Mary had yet to hash out everything that had been hurled into the open following Brandi's wedding, it was hard to know. Past experience told him that to go too fast or too directly would be a mistake, and yet Mary was the one pushing the envelope this time.

"Mary, I…I'm not looking to…" this was both simple and difficult with the baby in his arms; it made him consider his responses more carefully. "I mean…you and me…that's one thing…" this was accurate. "But…it's not my intention to replace anybody; families work when everyone is willing to compromise, not necessarily concede, and I don't want Mark or anyone else to have to…"

But, before he could finish his thought, Mary proved her assumptions partially correct when her phone erupted in a flurry of buzzing, alarming Marshall more than her. Gaping soundlessly at being unintentionally interrupted, he glanced to the phone knowing how unfair it was for his partner to have to make more small talk, forgot his uncertainty for the moment, and stepped up to the plate.

"Let me get it…you need to rest…"

"Stop…" her fingers closed around his, preventing him from taking the cell. "At least let me see who it is first…"

Aware that this was reasonable, Marshall allowed her that much freedom, quietly placing his itchy hand back where it belonged – across Luke's middle, which brought the grinning and the gawking to the forefront once more. Glad he wasn't dwelling, Mary set her eyes on her caller ID and saw that the person waiting on the other end wasn't one she wished to evade for a change.

"This, I can handle…" her perpetual smile was now matched with Marshall's and she shook her hair out of her face to make room for the phone. "Hello?"

This voice brought her more comfort, an aura of protection she had not received from Jinx, Brandi, or Mark. Short of Marshall, this individual could embody her with the sense that she would never be alone – that there would always be someone watching out for her, giving her what-for when she needed it, and drying her tears no matter how uncomfortable it made him, Marshall or no Marshall.

"Well, I'll be…" the paternal one remarked with an air of surprise. "I thought I'd be talking to your gallant partner in crime…" understandable, even though he had dialed her number. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I was up…" Mary murmured. "Though, for how much longer…" hesitancy was sneaking in.

"I'll make this quick, then," Stan promised. "Congratulations all around, kiddo. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore," lying and saving face benefitted no one here. "But, in one piece, believe it or not. And…happy."

"I'm glad to hear it," he swore. "I just wanted to check in on you. Delia's been going crazy all day, asking me every half hour if we had ourselves a baby – if it would be presumptuous to throw you an impromptu, last-minute baby shower…"

Chuckling at her co-worker's zealousness, "I like that 'we' part of it," Stan would think she was being sarcastic, but she was serious. "It takes a village, right?"

"And a couple of Marshals," Stan agreed. "Mr. Luke may be yours in name, but you aren't going to be able to keep the rest of us from imparting our wisdom, so to speak," this was actually consoling, not overwhelming, especially after all the fretting Mary had done over being alone. "We law enforcement types stay with our team, inspector. New members are inducted and taken under our wing with style."

A sudden flash glimmered in Mary's mind, even though it was as exhausted as the rest of her. The predictions of her running herself into the ground as she scrambled as an inexperienced mother – which were still likely to occur – were replaced with different images, ones that were as miraculous as that sandy, balmy beach Brandi had detailed on the phone. It might not be everyone's paradise; it might include a father halfway across the country and no grandfather to speak of, but it included plenty of other things as well.

She saw Jinx spoiling her first grandchild rotten, lavishing him with gifts and novelties no matter how Mary protested. She saw Stan showing him the ropes, teaching him to stand up straight and tall, to be a bad ass even when you felt like cowering in the corner. She saw Brandi, tentative but completely over the top in her adoration of her nephew, trying her hand at baby-sitting so she could be ready when her day arrived, a fun-loving and relaxed Peter in the background. She even saw Delia, ready to drop everything at a moment's notice just to care for the child of her snarky colleague purely because that was who she was – embedded with the desire to help anyone in need.

And, of course, she saw Marshall – the king, the ruler of them all. She had no doubt he would be better with Luke than she was, serious when the occasion called for it, a total crack up on every other day – a profusion of bed time stories, board games, swings and slides, first steps, first words, first days of school, and more; she wanted him there for every minute with the excess of others, ready to take over without a second thought.

It might not be everyone's dream, and Mary knew in the day-to-day existence she would find portions of it tedious, and would perhaps even take it for granted. But, she couldn't ask for anything better than the legions Stan had described to nurture Luke into his own. That flowery vision she had-had of the boy who used to be Mango, splashing in the ocean tide with his Providence parents, was long gone. She accepted and embraced the more worldly version with open arms.

"I appreciate that, Stan…" she whispered, probably startling him by being so benevolent. "Just in case I forget to say it in all the years down the road. I do appreciate it."

"Luke is one of us now," he wasn't backing down in the least. "Just like you and Marshall have always been."

The mention of Marshall recalled the woman to something else she needed to express, even with the man she was going to speak about sitting right at her elbow. Really, the time for being embarrassed had disappeared. She wouldn't be surprised if she became completely uninhibited after today; childbirth in front of Marshall would likely obliterate any insecurities she might've had left.

"Thank-you for telling him…about me…" she uttered quietly. "About…where I was, and telling him to come down here…even though I told you not to." With a weak chortle, "I'm glad you didn't listen. I'd have been lost otherwise."

"Sometimes boss knows best," Stan stated genially. "Don't ever doubt that, inspector," mock-seriousness prevailed.

There was no telling just how much Marshall had revealed to their mutual chief before he had come to Mary's aid, but she was betting it was more than enough for him to realize the beans had been spilled. His tolerance with the two of them as they traveled their own unsteady road had to be admired; somehow, he had molded them into two people who could work seamlessly together even with far more than friendship waging underneath. That was a talent, if ever there was one.

And, Mary knew she owed Stan just as much as she owed the original Luke, because the latter might have driven Marshall to Albuquerque but the delightfully bald had been the one to hire her. The dominoes never would've fallen in succession without the roles of so very many, but the boss had been at the helm the longest.

"Now, your guy will have my head if I keep you too long," and he was back, ready to be a gentleman. "Get some sleep, won't you? Luke is going to need you at the top of your game."

"Only the scrappiest get put on this team, right?" reflecting over his prior words. "I'd say he's proved himself already."

"I will take your word for it," Stan trusted. "You're a warrior, inspector, so it's no wonder he is too. I'll stop by and see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay." Her final words came as easily as they had done with Brandi, "I love you, Stan."

The reply was much the same as well – a hitch, the tiniest of gasps, the shock that Mary could be so forward but, like her little sister, he accepted it without complaint and even with fondness.

"Well, I love you too, kiddo…" and he didn't sound awkward at all. "Team Silver Star, that's us, right?"

Knowing he was referring to the forever-preserved-in-time seal that represented the Marshal Service, she chuckled at the thought of what her partner would say to such a corny but charming title, and acknowledged it with nary a disdainful word.

"Sounds about right. Luke can be captain."

"I'll put in the paperwork."

"Bye, Stan."

"I'll see you, Mary."

When the blonde hung up this time, she quickly discovered that her chatting time was over, at least for the night. Before she could toss her cell back onto her night table, Marshall had already slipped it clean out of her grasp and dumped it on the floor on top of her tote where she couldn't reach it. This was a silent, but obvious signal that she was not going to be entertaining anymore, whether she wanted to or not. For as sluggish as she was, Mary doubted she was going to be able to hold her head up for any extended period of time, anyway, and she appreciated Marshall taking care of her. It was what he did best, after all.

"It's late…" he announced, as if she didn't know. "Any subsequent calls can wait until tomorrow."

"Come on…" Mary smirked as she stretched, shimmying further under her blankets as she did so. "I slept for a little while earlier…"

"An hour is not sufficient," he decided, sounding extremely scholarly. "That's all you got before Jinx showed up. You need to catch as many z's as you can, because even though you'll likely be here at least through tomorrow, your snoozing days will have passed."

"So bossy…" she was still grinning so he would know she was teasing. "That tone is awfully 'dad' of you. Where'd you learn that? Ted?"

But, what was intended as a joke was taken critically by Marshall, who suddenly looked remarkably melancholy, a dark scowl on his face. The picture didn't mesh at all with the man Mary had just been drooling over, the man who nestled her son like he had been fostering babies his entire life. The look she was receiving now was much too menacing, like someone older and more weathered was living behind Marshall's eyes – this, perhaps, was the Marshall who had lost the original Luke.

"What is that face?" Mary wanted to know at once.

"You…calling me 'dad…'" at least he didn't waste any time, not when they had so little of it to spare before he commanded that his partner relax. "I…I was trying to tell you something before Stan called…"

"So, tell me now."

Marshall sighed, sounding drained already, "This isn't a good time for this. You have been through the wars today, and you do not need me adding to your stress."

"I really don't think that's going to happen," she persisted. "In fact, it'll just stress me out _more_ if you _don't_ tell me," this was logical. "Come on, what is it? What's the deal with the 'dad' thing? Even if that's not who you are, that's still who you are…"

"Mary, I don't want to be the interloper," he interjected quite speedily for a man who had wanted to hold back. "Mark has rights, rights he is entitled to. I don't want to take anyone's place."

Opting to chew on this for a moment, to show the man she was taking him seriously, Mary found her thoughts hampered yet again. She adored the sight of him and Luke so much that it actually encumbered her ability to consider much of anything. He was a natural, far more than she was. It was as if Luke's miniscule body were built to reside in Marshall's hands. The crook of his arm bent perfectly against the man's chest, his head cuddled right in the dip of his caretaker's elbow. Feet just barely jutting out at the far end of his cradle, Marshall's grasp was a haven, the flawless substitute for Mary's womb.

"But…think about what _I'd_ be taking from _him_ if I deny him everything you can give him…" by 'him' of course she meant Luke. "You said it yourself just before he was born. You and I, we bring out parts of each other that we can't seem to find when we're alone. Luke _belongs_ to you, just as much as he belongs to me; he needs _both_ of us. Look at him…"

And Marshall did look, unable to allow his gaze to stray for too long because the creature below was just that miraculous. That same smile he had worn since exactly 7:03 PM snuck onto his face once more, reluctant and uncertain as it might have been.

"But…even so…" he was going to be noble, going to make sure his point was made without fail. "I'm not interested in being 'the other guy' when Mark is still out there somewhere, especially when I don't even know what we are…"

"Oh, us…" Mary waved a dismissive hand, suddenly deciding that a definition for their relationship was wholly unimportant. "Please. Marshall, if I have you and you have me, then that's good enough. Moving in and making out and throwing a shindig like the one we just had for Brandi…" she meant a wedding. "It'll come when it comes. We at least have some idea of where we stand now, and that's more than we had yesterday. I care much more about who you are to Luke than who you are to me."

As if he already knew his name so astonishingly early in life, Luke himself gave a sudden coo that turned quickly to a cry, waking up unsure and confused even in spite of his beautiful cocoon. It was a great big, brand new, bright-lighted, loud-noised world above him, and Mary could hardly blame him for coming to with trepidation. And yet, the sound of his whimper was like a bell, tinkling and waving slowly inside her chest, and her hand was reaching across into Marshall's lap, checking on him, seeing to it that he was secure.

With Marshall, it was foolish to think he wasn't entirely protected, but the man couldn't be prouder that those maternal instincts, long anticipated and often doubted, were finally coming to a head.

"Someone's looking for his mom…" the taller observed, and even though he had no way of knowing if that were true, Mary delighted in the idea just the same. "It's about time she got a better look anyway…"

Perhaps to avoid what were clearly opposing points of view on the same issue, but also because he couldn't get enough of seeing Mary and her child together, Marshall stood and prepared to lower the little boy into the arms that were poised and ready for him to land. Not as adept as her best friend, but learning more by the minute, Mary was cautious and careful as Luke came to rest against her breast, much as he had done in those first few fateful moments. The impression she gathered at having him so close was no less invigorating as it had been on that occasion either. Feather light and rosy cheeked, even with his mouth working itself into a tiny O of disbelief, he was still all warmth and wholesome enchantment, seemingly glowing from the inside out.

For a moment as Marshall regained his seat, he suspected Mary had forgotten he was with her, and that suited him fine. There was no call for interrupting a connection like the one she had so recently discovered, full of endless opportunities – a blank slate, a fresh start; for everyone involved.

"Shh…" Mary hummed, a professional already, just as Marshall had assumed. "Come on, my Luke…" a soft smile when he stopped crying and simply gazed, wide-eyed with wonder, right up at his mother. "See? What are you so worked up for?"

"He knows he's home," Marshall cut in quietly. "Two people loving him or twenty, he still knows exactly where to go when he's lost."

Not becoming completely enraptured by her child was hard, but Mary tried to put him in the rear of her mind for a split second in order to take advantage of Marshall's statement, for it led so perfectly into what she'd been trying to tell him minutes before.

"You know, Marshall…" in a weird way, Mary felt like she was reasoning with him, which was a role reversal for both of them. "Stan says we're a team."

"You and me?" he asked. "You and Luke…?"

"All of us," she clarified. "Not just you, me, and Luke, but everybody – everybody who cares about me and everybody who cares about you should, if they know what's good for them, care about Luke," rationally, this made sense. "And they're his team. You and me, Stan, Jinx and Brandi, Peter, Delia, Mark, even Ted and Leann and the girls…" it was all she could think of and then some. "I don't know about you, but I'm figuring out pretty quickly how much I'm relying on all of them to show me the way here…" gesturing at Luke so he would get the gist.

Leave it to his boss to make something so seemingly complicated so effortless, as simple as it really was. And, while Marshall had long since fantasized about a life with Mary and her child, even _their_ child, he was rapidly realizing that those dreams were exactly that – dreams. Rolling with the punches, winging it, and depending upon those around you to keep you on your feet was what it was all about; the hub he had coveted with Mary was going to expand, and they were lucky for that. Very lucky indeed.

Even so, he wasn't sure his fear of intrusion was covered by this notion, but Mary soon took care of that as well.

"You know how it is on a team, Marshall – any team…"

Basketball, baseball, or a mangled, slipshod lineup of Marshals and fathers, uncles and grandmothers spanning the globe from Alaska to Albuquerque to Indiana to New Jersey.

"Nobody stays in the same position forever. I could be the coach one day – calling every shot, strategizing every play – and I could be in left field the next while you're in charge," it was the best analogy she could come up with, right up Marshall's alley. "You go with what's going to help you win. And, the way I see it, with me as the coach and you as our MVP, Luke is going to be captain of a pretty dominant squad – even one that includes Jinx and Brandi at shortstop and second."

At this, the taller laughed, probably trying to picture the two women motoring around on a baseball field, but Mary's correlation – and Stan's, it would seem – was starting to ring very true. Day in and out, he could be the star just as Mary had indicated, with only she in a higher position of power than he was. But, there would be times when the win was achieved with Mark as the secret weapon, the pinch hitter who was going to knock a homerun clear out of the park. Luke needed his father, just as every team needed someone to pull them out of a hole once in awhile. It had nothing to do with imposition or interference but about acting under the greater good for the group as a whole. With Luke under their wings, they needed every player on the bench they could get.

"Well…that's a team I can say I am proud to be a part of…" he finally voiced, and was pleased to see a look of relief flit across Mary's face that he was in agreement, that she didn't have to worry about losing him just so he could feel he wasn't getting in the way. "With Inspector Brave Star and Courageous Crystal at the helm…"

The sight of Mary rolling her eyes at him bringing those names back into the open was like a rainbow beaming over the treetops, the pot of gold at the bottom sparkling and overflowing in earnest. A knock-out, drag-down fight about their relationship combined with just how closely he had viewed her during Luke's birth had left him concerned they might not reclaim what they'd once had, even if the end result was better than ever. Her disdain for his sap was just the ticket back to the syncopated rhythm they had survived under for so long.

"You are as bad as Stan," she told him. "He's already decided we're Team Silver Star, if you can imagine something so corny. Something tells me you can."

"I like it!" no big surprise there. "Rustic, majestic, and a throwback to how you and I came to be one in the first place," their Marshal badges would forever be emblazoned with the five-point-emblem, reminding them of the work that had brought them together in the beginning. "A fitting depiction; Stan has us down pat."

"Yeah, well…" Mary groaned. "It's just a good thing I love you both – to put up with a label like that."

As it had been hours before, the three-word-phrase was still music to Marshall's ears, its wonder matched only by the sight and sound of the little boy rocking between them. He had thought nothing could rival hearing Mary confess her undying adoration to him, but Luke and such a meaningful phrase were neck-and-neck in that race.

"You are truly extraordinary," was how he responded. "I haven't told you that lately, have I?"

"A few times," Mary chuckled. "But, thanks. It's how I'm going to need to feel if I'm protecting the most fragile member of this crew."

And with another look down, she saw Luke peering almost interestedly up into her face, like he was only just now realizing what Marshall had claimed all along – that the woman he snuggled against was his mother, someone he could trust implicitly for the rest of his days. In times of tragedy and in times of triumph, she was the one he could run to – his coach, his right hand, his mama.

And yet, what would the coach really be without her number one player to lead the gang to victory?

"I'd say you're more than up to the task…" Marshall, the ace in every game from here on out, leaned over and laid the gentlest of fluttering kisses on her cheek.

If she listened hard enough, Mary almost thought she could hear the crack of the bat, the thudding of feet, and the roar of the crowd that would lead her and Luke home.

"Team Silver Star for the win."

XXX

**A/N: That's all she wrote, folks (at least for this story)! My heart is sending all of my readers and reviewers endless gratitude. Thank-you to KeiraCassidy, Ares' Warrior Babe, JJ2008, Jayne Leigh, Meg Manning, Beth – Geek Chick, BrittanyLS, usafcmycloud, carajiggirl, hannanball13, Adelled, butterfly83, kdgteacher7, Karfinwen, Candice, exoticanimal, Bookworm0485, threedays, PepperAnn1, and several guests. Whether you reviewed once, a handful of times, or every single chapter, your support is endlessly appreciated.**

**Many people have asked if I have anything in the works. I had dim ideas for a sequel to this story, but it hasn't materialized yet, so I started working on the fourth installment in the Holiday Series. I can't promise it will become anything, but Norah, Robyn, Max, and Alice started calling me back! Again, I can't express enough gratitude to all of you for sticking with me on this journey. My love of IPS has yet to die, and you guys keep me thinking I am not the only one who misses it! I was thrilled to see Mary McCormack guest host Chelsea Lately last week. If you missed it, you should at least check out the end – her daughters were on, and they are beautiful!**

**Anyway, much love! I would LOVE to read what you think of how I wrapped this up!**


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In Plain Sight, Drama