Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me!

Marshall's POV

The week hadn't been a bad one. I had gone on a prison transfer, it was usual. But I had a lot of free time to ruminate over Mary and the plausibility of her falling for Faber. Stupid alliteration. It's not supposed to sound poetic when it is something so vile. I spent the week with a small knot in my stomach.

I could have taken the rest of the day off today, which is pretty standard procedure after a week of traveling. I went into the office under the guise of getting my paperwork taken care of, but no one asked, so I didn't have to lie. I was hoping to ease the agglomeration that had become my insides. I was hoping to see her, sulking and miserable over the thought of working with Faber. Her eyes would light up with both joy and relief at the sight of me. I would scoop her up and rescue her from him. We would go to that new steak place downtown and roast Faber on a verbal pyre. I am nothing, if not optimistic.

But I knew. I knew the moment I got off the elevator, still covered in the grime of travel. I felt the tension. I watched him flick that rubber band and her, and I saw her giggle. He was macking on her like a peacock in mating season. And she was falling for it. I watched as that moment and saw how it would progress into weeks and months of flirty dinners and bedroom revelry. My hope fizzled like an Alka-Seltzer tab in a glass of tepid water. A bitter medicine that I would be forced to drink.

Now I'm sitting here, staring at a transfer summary sheet. If I had any other real friends, they would tell me to chill out, she was just being nice to him. But I know Mary. I know her better than I know myself. And I know that Faber will keep pushing, and Mary will lap it up like a kitten drinking milk. He is charming, in a sleaze ball sort of way. And way too damaged for Mary to resist.

But she just can't see! Where will Faber be when she breaks down again? Will *he* comfort her? Will *he* reach into her heart and untangle all the knots? Or will he just say a few glossy words and try and make her forget? She doesn't just need to forget.

And what will they talk about? Guns, old cases, and innuendo, I suppose. Eventually they will run out of things to say, and be left clutching their collective scars.

When she comes to me, I make her better. Her and I, we talk about everything.

I look out the window. The night lays heavy in the sky and in the collection of mid-sized office buildings that make up business district, only a few dim lights are on, a few work-junkies burning the midnight oil. I sit here sipping stale coffee and trying to focus, the smell of Mary's lotion still hangs in the air, though she left hours ago.

I knew Raph wasn't the right guy for her. I knew. I sat and waited, hoping she would realize it. And then Faber. The first time Faber asked her out, I should have realized that Mary would not last long on the open market. I should have told her right then and there, that there is only one guy who will ever make her happy, and that's the one who has been making her happy these last 7 years. But I also knew Mary needed time.

What should I do? I've been beseeching the heavens that Mary would wake up one morning and realize that she is madly in love with me thing. It would be much easier that way, for both her and me. But now it is evident that at some point I will have to take action. I have always been sort of an advisor to her. And when I need to, I can guide her toward making the right decision. It seems kind of biased, but I know that the right decision here is, well, me. I am beginning to face the fact that without intervention, Mary may continue to throw herself at every persistent blow hard who wants to cop a feel.

I never wanted to confess my love for her, point blank. That isn't how Mary would want it either. The worst of it is, I know she loves me, and I know we could live happily together.

I have always been prepared to never confess my feelings, if her happiness would be the result. Now though, it is becoming more and more apparent that her happiness hinges not on my silence, but on my candid confession.

Mary's POV

I touch my cheek, where he kissed me. The point of physical contact still smolders. I clutch the bottle of wine, I am still standing at the door, unmoving.

I am not really an introspective kind of person, but the break-up with Raph has left me sifting through my life, trying to amass my broken life into something meaningful.

And now I have that feeling again, that giddy sort of feeling. The one that never changes, from the moment you hit puberty, and that first boy runs his fingers through your hair. Your heart races and your mind wanders to what could be.

My heart flutters, and my body becomes restless. I walk back to my kitchen table, where my dinner had been interrupted. I sit down, but I don't eat. I stare at the bottle of wine, heavy in my hands.

I like Faber. He is competent at his job, sort of. He is all broken, but he is really making an effort to change. He listened to me. That is what hooked me. I had reamed him out and instead of moping like an helpless infant, he changed, sort of. I shift in my chair.

Now he is coming on all smooth, and wanting to take it slow. I have been feeling so useless lately, so unwanted. The hole that Raph left in my life was so much bigger than I had initially realized. He made me feel pretty and sexy and worthy of love, and all those stupid things that I didn't want to need to feel. And I really been needing someone to tell me that I am desirable, and in walks Faber, not so creepy and less like a jerk-off.

I let my mind wander, cheerfully, and then for some stupid reason, Marshall's voice pops in my head like a beacon of sanity. He warned me, as if he knew. How the hell could he know, when I had so clearly hated Faber? Maybe it hadn't been so clear. How the hell had he known? How could he always know? And what was his protest? I tried to remember clearly.

Yeah, Faber was a manipulative douche when we met him in Colorado. But maybe that was all a facade. I put on a facade, sometimes. And then he stuck up for me in front of his boss. I weigh the two different Fabers in my mind, trying to reconcile slimy and slandering Faber with damaged and kindly Faber. I could see us as psuedo-happy. I could also see it going horribly wrong.

Marshall's words resounded in me more than I would ever admit, even under torture. And I thought about giving Faber the purest part of my heart, and that seemed wrong. Like forcing puzzle pieces together. I sighed heavily, not wanting my "a guy likes me" buzz to be killed. I like that Marshall sees poetry in me, something more. But maybe, just maybe, Marshall is wrong.

I am damaged goods and pushing 40. I am not really at the stage of the game where I can be picky. And Faber likes me enough. Maybe this could work. I am definitely open to seeing where it leads. I set down the bottle of wine on the table, and my hand instinctively touches my cheek again.