Summary: Marshall knows just what Mary needs to make her see the light on being Brandi's MOH. One-shot. First fan-fic attempt. (I realized after I wrote this that there is another MOH story published right before mine. I want to say now that I in no way copied her idea or was aware of the previous fic. I apologize to the author in advance.) I do not own IPS or the character within.
Mary sat at her desk looking at a new witness that had just been presented to another witsec team in the ABQ office. Stan was talking with him and the other Marshal's while Mary watched with a look of sadness.
Marshall glanced up from his paperwork to see a seldom displayed emotion cross her face. His stomach tightened trying to figure out what had made his partner look so forlorn.
You okay, Mare?" He asked in his deep voice. She shook her head and reluctantly brought her attention to him.
"It's a shame Marshall. Just look at him." She commanded. They both turned back to the witness.
Mary continued, "Just look at the muscles. The long legs. That shirt that hugs every curve. And his face is just…" she sighed, " just perfect."
"Mare, I don't know how you missed it, after working together for seven years, but I happen to be a man." Marshall gave an exasperated sigh and began to type again.
Mary smirked at him. "Yes, my friend. That's what's so sad."
"Excuse me? You're sad that I'm a man?" His surprised face was once more turned to her.
"Not exactly. If you were a woman I would have killed you a long time ago. No, the problem with you being a man is that you're just the type for Mr. Perfect over here."
Marshall's countenance went from confusion to blood red embarrassment when the man in question turned and winked at him. "Uh, umm…" Before he could come up with something to say Mary's phone saved him.
"Ugh, why won't she stop calling?" Mary ignored the caller for the fifth time since her arrival this morning.
"Your mom?" Marshall asked.
"Who else calls me at work constantly and drives me crazy? She's trying to railroad me into being Brandi's Maid of Honor."
"Ah, the MOH. I figured you would be her first choice."
"Why? Why in the world would she think I want to do this?" Mary leaned forward and rested her arms on the desk in front of her, her head following them until her face was hidden by a fall of blond hair.
"Mary. She is getting married. Your sister has grown into a beautiful, stable, confident woman. She has come so far from the little sister you knew."
"Gah, Marshall. Should I call Peter and tell him about your crush on his fiancé?"
Marshall ignored her, knowing she was trying to distract him. "One thing has not changed though. This wedding is about what your sister wants, not what you want. And you know that after arguing and being mad you will eventually cave in. In the mean time making her feel as bad as you can for honoring you with such an important position."
"Is there a point coming anytime soon? I only devote so many minutes per day to actually listening to you and you're getting close to the cut off."
Marshall glared at her. "The point is that deep down you want to do this and you know you are going to do it anyway. So spare everyone your negative attitude and be happy that your sister loves you enough to offer."
Mary lifted her head to stare at her partner. Her mind was working over what he said, being one of the few people that she actually did listen to no matter what she told him. And he knew this, which is why he left her alone to ponder his words in silence.
"How do you do it?" she asked. He just continued to sit and watch her.
Mary finally gave in and admitted that she was nervous about taking her sister up on the offer because she didn't want to fail her. And that Brandi getting married and having to give her baby sister away was one of the biggest worries she had. But, as Marshall had stated, it wasn't about what Mary wanted. He was always the one who gave her the kick in the pants that she needed.
"She wants me to help her pick out a dress."
Her voice told him all he needed to hear. He smiled and motioned her over. "Show me what you've got."
She shook her head at her partner then reached down and grabbed a few bridal magazines she had secreted in the bottom drawer of her desk. A couple hours and a few interruptions later they had picked out a few options and Mary felt a lot better about her decision. As they walked out, the magazines in her bag, she couldn't help but thank the lord she had him as a partner. What other straight man would go through wedding mags with a woman when neither of them were even getting married. That was a true friend.