A/N: I don't know if any of my few faithful readers were anticipating this, but I have been writing non-stop in my blessed time off before my spring semester begins. I always make sure I finish a story completely before posting because I don't ever want to start and get blocked not being able to finish (in case I am lucky enough to have people that are awaiting new chapters!)
So, I composed "Look to the Sky" which started out as a stand-alone in which Marshall's father passes away and six-months-pregnant Mary goes to his homeland in his time of need, thus enabling them to realize their feelings for one another. I got such a good response I went on to write "The Girl You Are Today" where Mary experiences her own father's passing as well as the responsibility of being a fairly new mom and soon-to-be-aunt.
Now, whether any of you give a flying fig or not, I have moved on to part three and likely the final part of the trilogy, "My Way Home." In this installment, Sam is a thriving first grader and Mary's and Marshall's jobs as federal employees have finally come back to bite them in the butt. I warn you before you begin; this tale is appreciably longer, as it is likely the final one in the series. I had no idea Sam and the Kansas gang would take me so far but they have. I really hope that a lot of you will give this a glance, especially if you had any interest in the first two stories. My belief is not that pregnancy and/or motherhood automatically changes you, but that it CAN and that over the last two stories, she has morphed slightly as a wife and a mother while still (hopefully) remaining true to herself.
It is high on drama and angst so enjoy this first chapter before it all comes crashing down!
XXX
Whoever donned Wednesday 'hump day' had a seriously dirty mind, Mary reflected as she held onto a sandwich bag with her teeth and tossed Cheetos somewhat past their expiration into the Ziploc still in her hands.
Did Cheetos actually go bad? Maybe just overly crunchy.
Sealing the bag, she spit out the one in her teeth and grabbed Sam's peanut butter and jelly and wiggled it inside. She then stuffed the whole assortment, plus a cup of pudding into the waiting brown paper lunch sack.
"Sam, let's go!" she hollered, spewing little bits of stretchy plastic she'd accidently gnawed off.
Wednesdays were the worst. There was nothing 'hump' about them, either in the literal or figurative sense when it came to the Mann household. All it meant for their little trio was that either Mary or Marshall caught up on an overload of work until Friday evening, sometimes early Saturday morning, while the other parent stayed with Sam. It was the only way they managed to coordinate WITSEC and the mother-father gig at the same time. Come Monday, they switched right back – lather, rinse, repeat. On lighter weeks they were able to revert back to the olden days of going to the office and checking out crime scenes, but this wasn't one of those weeks.
"SAM!" Mary bellowed, turning on her Marshal voice.
In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn't Sam himself that was holding up the trot to school. This week, it was his dad's turn to spend the time away from his family and Mary knew they were both trying to squeeze out a few extra minutes.
"Marshall!" she changed her tactic slightly and strode across the room to grab Sam's backpack off the couch, sticking her head inside to make sure he had everything he was supposed to for life in the first grade.
"Coming!" said a muffled voice, behind the closed door of Sam's bedroom.
"Coming should've been five minutes ago!" Mary didn't let up, recognizing the tone of her son. "Marshall, move your ass!"
Laughter sounded from behind the door, identical giggles and yet vastly different all at the same time. One hysterical and filled with adoration, the other genuine amusement and joy. If you didn't know better, you'd never be able to tell one from the other.
Seeing that both were going to have to be dragged out by their ears – or with a glock in their back – Mary huffed and stalked to Sam's bedroom and flung the door open. She found the pair of them in the center of what long before had been the guest living quarters, Marshall with a sword and Sam with a lasso.
"For God's sake…" Mary muttered, seeing Sam whip the rope round and round just as his father had taught him. Marshall was trying to slay him through the circles, but the younger was too quick for him.
"Sam, your shoes aren't even on!" his mother interrupted without hesitation, stepping between the pair of them. "Hurry up! I made your lunch; let's go!"
She seized the rope from his fingers and, resigned but expected, he let go and Marshall put up his hands in defeat.
"Your mom's right, sheriff. We'll have to continue the battle of the knight versus the cowboy when I get back," Marshall tossed his weapon onto the bed and rumpled Sam's hair.
"But you said you were gonna come up with something more realistic," the six-year-old spouted. "Cause you said knights were alive…?"
Sam paused in thought, screwing up his face in concentration as he tried to remember. Marshall waited, hanging on to see if his son could pull the information from the rear of his brain.
"The Middle Ages?" Sam finally said uncertainly.
"Correct," Marshall nodded approvingly.
"Christ almighty – and I'm trying to get him to school, why?" Mary murmured under her breath, but neither one of her men paid any attention.
"So if the knights were in the Middle Ages and the cowboys were part of the Old West then they couldn't be in the same fight," the little one reminded him. "That's what you said."
"Marshall…!" Mary interjected, sticking her hands on her hips and heaving an exasperated sigh.
He finally turned to her and smirked, clearly unable to hide the glee at his son having such a brilliant mind. There was no denying where he'd acquired it. He was as interested in the all the philosophical garbage his dad was; lapped it up like a puppy on water, flowers to rain in springtime.
"You're right Sam," her husband reinforced. "And I did tell you I'd map out a more realistic scene. But I haven't found anyone who used lassos in the Middle Ages yet," he admitted.
"What if I used my pistol?" Sam asked seriously. "And you could use that hammer thing," he suggested.
"The Colt!" Marshall said enthusiastically, referring to the gun. "Up against the War hammer!" he went on, eyes lighting up. "Logistically, still not a fair fight but that'd be some match-up…"
"Say, here's an idea!" Mary could not sit through this any longer, determined not to have Sam miss the bus again. "How 'bout I bust out a belt and tie your hands and frog-march you out to the bus stop?"
Both of them finally looked at her, as if not even realizing she'd entered, despite Marshall's devilish grin a few minutes before, pleading for five more minutes.
"Who do you think would win that battle?" she asked when neither one responded, a dangerous gleam in her eye.
Marshall finally chuckled and Mary knew this was his way of moving on. She seized Sam by the arm and they trooped back into the living room, Sam still chattering about artillery, warhorses, and figures of evil as he shouldered his backpack.
"You couldn't lay off, just for one morning," Mary pretended to be angry as she went to the kitchen to grab the lunch sack, Marshall following.
"Have a heart," he pouted. "I probably won't see him till Saturday."
"You better see him Saturday," Mary reminded him. "He will pitch a fit if you aren't here on his birthday. Even for a fraction of a second; I'm telling you, he won't…"
"Mare, relax," Marshall held up his hand. "I'll be here. I'll be back Friday night; I'll even pick up his cake."
"Seems like the least you could do," she groused, but Marshall wasn't fooled. He leaned over and pecked her cheek.
"He's not the only one I'm going to miss, you know," he murmured, close to her ear.
Mary moaned contentedly, steadfast in not letting her hormones take over. She shoved him lightly in the chest to get him to back up.
"You're such a girl," she teased, unable to hide her smile this time. "Can't even ditch the house without tearing up like some sap."
Before Marshall could respond, Sam returned wearing his navy windbreaker, backpack resting squarely on both shoulders. He eyed his parents curiously, standing about a foot apart but not touching; Marshall smirking stupidly, Mary with a mocking glint in her eye.
"Here," Mary said, seeing him appear and shoving his lunch into his waiting hands. "Your lunch."
"You mean his chuck box!" Marshall shot his son a glowing look and he smiled, tongue poking between his single missing tooth on the bottom.
"Honestly, you two," Mary sighed. "Can you be normal for like…five seconds?"
"Never," Marshall shook his head, eyes still on Sam.
"Dad says normal is overrated," her son dictated and Mary rolled her eyes.
"Seriously?" she shot Marshall a glance, but he couldn't keep the delight off his face. Mary knew her role when they got like this; fake thinking its annoying and they'd just take it to the next level.
Sam stuck his head inside his bag and fed his mother his own irritated look.
"What's with that face?" she wanted to know.
"Mom," he stated seriously. "You forgot my drink. Again."
Before Mary could respond, Marshall side-stepped behind her and went to the fridge, pulling out a juice box, which he tossed to Sam. The boy missed completely and it fell onto the linoleum with a dull thud. He immediately scooped it up and stuffed it into the confines where it was supposed to go.
"You better get moving," Marshall reminded him. "Bus will be at the corner in five minutes."
For the first time, a little bit of sadness crept into Sam's normally bright features; his blue eyes downcast, even his reddish-brown waves seem to droop. Mary felt a little badly for reacting so harshly to the playtime with his dad. He hated when Marshall had to leave.
"You'll be back before my birthday, right?" he asked, just to make sure. "Because we're brawling in the backyard; I'm getting out all my weapons. But I'm saving the crossbow for Jesse," he reminded him. "Even though he can't shoot it," he finished with a giggle.
Marshall laughed too and stepped over to Sam, running his hand over his soft brown hair.
"Yes, I will be back," he reinforced. "I would never miss your seventh birthday."
"You know I'm only the third person in my class to turn seven," Sam reported proudly. "Only Carson and Skylar did already."
Skylar? Mary thought disdainfully. She was so grateful she had given her child an ordinary name.
"It's only October," she reminded him in thinking about this. "The year is still young."
Without giving him a chance to respond, Mary pressed on to avoid overlooking anything else besides the juice box.
"Remember; you get off the bus with Jesse this afternoon," she said to jog his memory. "Brandi and Peter are gonna order pizza and one of them will take you two to school tomorrow."
"I know, I know," Sam shook his head, aggravated. "But are you going with dad?" he asked. "Both of you?"
"No," Mary said at once. "But I'm not sure how late I'm gonna be; it's just easier for you to stay with Brandi this time, okay?"
"Oh!" Sam suddenly exploded, jumping up on the spot and ignoring his mother's directions. "I told him I'd bring all my stuff so we could practice fighting before my birthday!"
"What's…all your stuff?" Marshall wanted to know before Mary could ask.
Sam shrugged, clearly evasive and knowing the answer even prior to speaking.
"My weapons."
"Sam, you know you can't take those things to school," Mary heaved a sigh, having been over this far too many times.
Sam would never, in a million years, ever truly hurt anybody; most of his toys were plastic, phony artifacts meant for display. Over half his interest was in the history of their origin – like father, like son. But the elementary didn't exactly see it that way. The last thing Mary needed was for her kid to be blamed for concealing firearms.
"I'm not taking them to school!" Sam protested. "I won't even take them out of my bag! It's for later!" he whined.
"Smush, cut it out," Mary said firmly. "You know the rules."
Her son stuck his lip way out, looking so much like Brandi when he pouted it was comical. But Mary hated when he whined; it grated on her nerves more than almost anything else. Briefly, Marshall threw her a pleading look, guidance to let the conventions bend just a little.
It didn't please his wife, but she nodded her acceptance.
"One thing," Marshall reported. "One. That's it."
"My lasso!" Sam decided, accepting the leeway at once.
And he tore back to his bedroom, footfalls heavy on the floorboards. This was not a surprise in the least. When forced to divvy up his supplies, he chose the bandannas, the pistols, the ropes every single time. A cowboy at heart.
"Book it, Sam!" Mary bellowed. "You'll be late!"
He was back in an instant, backpack swinging side-to-side on his shoulders; the tiniest sliver of twine peeking out through the zipper where he'd shoved the lasso haphazardly inside. Breathless now from a little bit of compliance, he skidded to a halt just in front of the back of the couch, telltale mischievous smirk on his face.
"All right," Mary said, slightly dreading what was coming. "Say goodbye to dad. You'll see him in a few days," she promised roughly, gruff as she let her gaze fall to the ground. She always left the sentiment up to Marshall. He was far better at it.
Sam's look mirrored his mother's as Marshall joined the two of them in the living room, holding out his arms.
"Give me a big one, sheriff. It needs to last me till Saturday," Marshall played, pulling his boy into his embrace.
It was an awkward looking hug, Mary noticed as she stood beside them trying not to be too conspicuous. Marshall was so tall and had to stoop to reach Sam, who practically got lost in his long, lanky arms. Still, there was something secluded about it also, like it didn't matter where Mary was or how close. They could lose themselves in their own little world just fine.
"I love you, bud," Marshall said, patting his backpack forcefully. "We'll fashion a proper battle when I return to the homeland," he promised. And then, pulling away, "By oh-six hundred Saturday morning," he added as he righted himself and saluted.
Sam considered, thinking hard as he reflected on his dad's frame of reference.
"That's eight o'clock right?" he asked to confirm.
"Close," Marshall said with a small, obliging smile. "Six o'clock. A.M."
"In the morning?" Sam burst. "I'm not getting up at six in the morning!"
"Not even on your birthday?" Marshall asked as he guided him toward the door, knowing if they didn't get cracking he would never make it to the bus. Mary followed, lingering to give them their moment before departure.
"Oh yeah!" Sam said, forgetting. "You'll really be back by then?"
"Of course!" Marshall reinforced as he pulled open the front door, early morning sunshine streaming onto the porch through the leaves of rich crimson red and brown. "You know I always keep my promises."
Truer words had never been spoken. Marshall never made a vow he wasn't certain he could uphold.
"Okay," Sam said, finally accepting the words as he stepped onto the threshold, just as the bus pulled up at the house next door. "Bye dad."
He waved even though Marshall stood not two feet in front of him.
"See you mom," he added as an afterthought.
"Bye pal," Mary finally spoke, stepping in beside Marshall and tousling up his flyaway waves, still the exact shade of molasses. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, all right? Have fun with Jesse tonight."
"Okay," he repeated as he ran across the lawn, the dew of fall dampening his sneakers as he chased through the grass. He made it to the bus just as it was about to slide its doors shut, accordion style, slipping in between the crack.
The glare from the sun was too harsh for Mary to be able to see him wave from the window, but he'd claimed he was getting too old to do so anyway, so she wasn't sure he'd even have attempted it.
The pair of them stood long after the bus had already disappeared, robins and sparrows squawking in the trees above, a slight chill in the air as autumn floated in on its breeze. New Mexico or not, the cool still loitered, as did the fallen leaves crackling on the driveway, striking in hues of burnt orange and sienna. They fluttered down the sidewalk, sailed softly to the ground, reminding Mary that Sam's birthday was not the only thing on its way – Halloween, Thanksgiving. Before she knew it-it would be Christmas.
"So…" she said to avoid thinking about this, clutching Marshall's arm to steer him back into the house.
She shut the door behind them and trailed after him to the bedroom, watching him put his things together – a few pairs of clothes in a small suitcase, the essentials he always traveled with.
"Where are you headed this go around?" Mary asked. "Nowhere too far, right?"
"Las Cruces," he reported swiftly. "A transport's coming in from El Paso."
"A transport?" Mary questioned, leaning in the doorframe. "What's his story?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Marshall explained, zipping his bag. He'd packed most of the necessities the night before, typically organized as usual.
"The usual – drug-smuggling, jailhouse snitch. But some of the guy's less-than-law-abiding-former-cronies are still running around out there," he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but Mary wasn't buying it.
She shifted off the frame, raising her eyebrows, and joined him next to the foot of the bed as he set the suitcase on the floor.
"Running around out where?" she wanted clarification.
"It's no big deal," Marshall assured her. "Stan's coming with me."
This was more alarming than Mary cared to admit. Their boss did not traditionally accompany his inspectors on witness escorts.
"Why?" she wanted to know immediately.
"Because my partner isn't," he reminded her with a significant glance and a hand on her shoulder. "Just a precaution."
"Well, maybe I should go," Mary decided, fully ready to step in and do her job. She always hated the idea of Marshall going out when she wasn't there to save his ass, despite the fact that he always came back just fine.
"Mare, you do this every time we have a busy month," he reminded her, now rubbing her shoulder. "I know it's hard for you to just sit on the sidelines even for a millisecond, but it isn't safe," he implored. "This is what we decided – because of Sam. When it's remotely dangerous, one of us has to stay home."
"I know," she sighed, not without a characteristic roll of her eyes. "But is it my fault you won't be able to cover your own hide if I'm not there to jam my gun in the balls of the guy who tries to cross you?"
"And…" Marshall began patiently. "This is where I use your very favorite phrase," he paused to let it sink in. "I can take care of myself."
Mary knew it was true, knew she trusted him, knew he was badass and cutthroat when he really wanted to be, but she couldn't help it. She'd never worried like this when they'd just been partners, but things were different now.
Sensing the apprehension, Marshall kissed her as he always did; capturing her lips in his, and put her at ease. That always did the trick.
"I'll be home in a few days and we can have a proper fight when I get back," he promised with a silly grin, as though he were talking to Sam.
Mary tried not to smile, but it didn't go over. He was too damn charming for his own good.
"Be careful, doofus," she tried not to sound too pleading, adding the nickname to make herself feel better. She slunk into his arms without even knowing it, gazing up into his huge blue orbs. "I'm sure it's just a bunch of lowlife douche-bags but even knob-jobs can be obnoxiously tricky sometimes."
"I know the drill," Marshall swore as Mary ran her fingers up and down the buttons on his shirt. "And yes, I will be careful."
"You better," Mary said as she allowed him to pick up his suitcase and head back into the living room.
She stumbled along behind him, tickling his back with her long fingers as he walked, trying to keep up and make him stay a minute longer. But within seconds they were back at the door and she couldn't turn into a sap. She knew he had to go.
"Be good babe," he beseeched her with one last kiss; Mary fought to pull away.
"Are you kidding?" she fed him a brave attempt at a haughty look, smile still remaining. "I'm always good."
And with a look of longing, she made herself close the door in his face.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the beginning of things here! Reviews make me so-so happy and I would really appreciate it if you took the time. XOXO