A/N: My submission for the Month of Mayhem on LJ. Originally written as a birthday gift for a friend - you know who you are!
Wash Away my Pain
Mary stood aside unhappily while Marshall opened her hotel room door for her. He stepped back as his partner slowly walked in, limping slightly and heavily favoring her right arm, holding it close to her body. She sank down on the end of the first bed, grimacing as she did so. Marshall warily watched her, having already been on the receiving end of a pain and frustration induced stream of vitriol. Now, she seemed deflated, or perhaps just worn down by pain.
Marshall's eyes flitted over her, taking in the blood on her clothes, in her hair, the bruise coming up on her cheek, the generally crumpled look of her. She rose slowly and picking up her bag with her uninjured arm, carefully moved into the bathroom and shut the door.
He stood in the middle of the room uncertainly. Should he stay here and make sure she was okay? Or head back to his own room and give her some privacy. He listened and shortly heard the shower running. Compromising, he decided he would leave once he heard her get out of the shower. After five minutes the water stopped and Marshall stood to leave, then froze as he heard a string of softly muttered curses, followed by a sob. Hovering anxiously outside the door, he gingerly placed his ear to the barrier between them and listened. He could tell she was moving around, then heard something slam down.
Hurriedly stepping back, Marshall barely missed getting caught eavesdropping, as Mary opened the door and stuck her head out, misery surrounding her like an aura.
"Marshall," her voice was low and she didn't look him in the eyes. "I need some help." The admission cost her, a blow to both pride and dignity.
"Of course," he said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. "What," he was interrupted as Mary opened the door wider and turned on her heel.
"I can't wash my hair. I can't reach up with this arm and I have to get the blood out." Marshall looked at her wet hair, the scrape on her scalp still oozing, seeping into the blonde tresses. He glanced around the bathroom. The small pedestal sink didn't allow for washing her hair in it. His eye fell on the tub, took in the high sides. She wouldn't be able to easily lean over it.
"OK," he said, bending over to pull off his boots and socks. Straightening up he gestured towards the tub. "Back in you go." She eyed him warily, then shrugged and turned away from him. His belt joined his footwear, followed by badge and wallet. He glanced at his shirt and jeans and mentally shook his head.
Mary acquiesced a little too readily for Marshall's liking. She stepped into the tub, hugging her arm in front of her, and Marshall stepped in behind her. He pulled the curtain shut, enclosing them in a white cocoon of tile, ceramic and vinyl. He reached over to turn on the water and looked at his partner standing forlornly in front of him. She wore a pair of men's boxers and a sleeveless white cotton top that buttoned down the front, the bottom two and top buttons undone.
A memory from junior high skipped through his thoughts, of watching an old Elizabeth Taylor movie. Liz wore a similar style blouse and he had found himself aroused watching her. Even then, it had been an old movie, but Marshall had been completely captivated by the young actress. His eyes guiltily focused on Mary's chest; the fabric tightly stretched over her full breasts, two delicious curves peeking above the low scoop styling. Marshall refocused and turned on the shower.
Gently placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around and positioned her directly under the warm stream of water. Marshall eased back behind her and just stood still a moment, as the spray drenched both of them, soaking into their clothes, darkening hair both blonde and brown. Stretching around her he picked up her shampoo bottle and squeezed out a small dollop. He briefly closed his eyes. This was a fantasy come true and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Not the circumstances under which he wished to have her in the shower with him, but still...
Carefully lathering the shampoo into her long tresses, Marshall inhaled the scent of lavender. He was careful to be extra gentle around the scrape on her scalp as he massaged her head. Tenderly wrapping her hair up in his large hands, he worked the shampoo over and around her head. Sensitive fingers massaged her scalp and worked down her neck. He applied firm pressure on her neck, trying to loosen some of the tight knots he felt under his fingers. Hesitantly moving down to her shoulders, thumbs applying pressure to tense muscles until he heard the low groan unwillingly escape from his partner's throat.
Hands stilled, then glided over the wet, smooth slope of her shoulders, checking an impulse to let his hands continue down her sides. Finally he let the water rinse the soap out, watching the bubbles stream down her hair, her back, over her nicely shaped ass, clearly defined by the clinging wet cotton of her boxers. Once the water ran clear, Marshall turned the shower off and turned Mary around, twisting her hair to wring the excess water from it.
Mary allowed his ministrations, struck by how gentle he was. She'd had lovers who hadn't taken the care he was taking. Her mind balked. Marshall and lover; two words that should not appear in the same sentence. His fingers were magic though, easing the tension and tightness out of her head and neck. She followed the guidance of his hands, rolling her head forward or to the side as he directed, a low groan escaping as he worked out a particularly tight knot. The hot water felt good and her mind refused to think about what kind of peep show the translucent white cotton she wore was presenting to her chivalrous, but thoroughly male, friend.
She stood in front of him, still holding her arm to her body, the soaking fabric of her shirt and shorts clinging to her body, outlining the generous curves of her breasts and the firmness of her thighs. Slender fingers skimmed across the bruise coming up on her cheek. He gingerly ran his hand down her arm and pulled her elbow away from her body, fingers gently probing the tender muscles of her forearm. At her wince, his fingers ceased their movement and he tucked her arm back in against her side.
"You should have let an EMT look at that arm," he said, concern coloring the softly spoken words. He pushed the heavy veil of her wet hair back from the scrape on her scalp. "And at this." His fingers skated lightly over the raw flesh before trailing down her jaw, and lifting her chin up, forced her eyes to meet his.
"I'm okay Marshall. Please let it go." Her eyes were brimming with tears on the verge of spilling onto her cheeks.
"Of course you're okay. That's why you are standing in the shower with me." She flinched and tried to pull away. Marshall released her chin but kept a firm grasp on her good arm. He reached for the towel he had placed on the toilet seat and started to lightly blot her hair. A sigh escaped him and he placed the large towel around her shoulders, traitorous eyes glancing down at her clothes plastered to her body. The dark circles of her aerola were prominent through the drenched white cotton of her top. His body tightened and he squeezed her shoulder gently, unwillingly thinking there was something else he'd like to be squeezing.
"Stay in here and drip a minute. I'm going to get you some dry clothes." She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it at the hard look he gave her.
Ignoring the withering eye she cast on him, Marshall stepped out of the tub and grabbed another towel, quickly running it through his hair. He stripped off his t-shirt and dried his torso, then bent down to rummage through Mary's go bag. He kept one ear cocked for the expected invective from his partner, but all he heard was silence.
Mary watched in fascinated silence as Marshall pulled off his shirt and then folded the long, lean muscles of his back over her bag. Sinews moved fluidly under his skin as he searched through it's contents. She felt disconnected from her body. The sight of her geekoid partner pawing through her clothes should have inspired outrage. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the long line of his back and nicely presented ass long enough to work up the proper response. For the moment, she was content to just let him handle everything, to watch the graceful play of his movements as he folded at the waist, then crouched down.
Glancing over, he saw her staring at him, an expression on her face that he had never seen before. Frowning, he turned back to her bag, drew out a pair of underwear and stood up. He quickly placed the plain white undergarment on the toilet lid.
"I'm going to get you one of my shirts. You don't have any more that button up and I don't think you can get your arm through anything that pulls over your head." He departed the bathroom, towel in hand, drawing the door closed behind him.
Stepping through the connecting doorway into his room, Marshall quickly peeled off his sodden jeans and boxers, ran the towel over his all too alert body and pulled on some dry clothes. He grabbed a shirt from his bag and returned to his dripping friend, still standing exactly where he left her. He was starting to become very concerned. Mary never did what he told her, unless it involved a witness.
He hesitated, then gestured for her to step out of the tub. Ever so carefully pressing the towel against safe parts of her body, Marshall tried to dry her as best he could without risk of losing a limb. Looking up apologetically, he found himself staring into the fathomless depths of sea-foam eyes. He couldn't read her and that was...unsettling.
Marshall wrapped the big towel around Mary's shoulders, leaned forward to kiss her forehead and whispered in her ear, " Trust me." She looked up at him sharply, then down at her soggy clothes. A flush crept up her neck and tears started slipping down her cheeks. Marshall bent down once again to Mary's bag and pulled out a bottle of aspirin and a bottle of water. Shaking out two tablets, he handed them to her and unscrewed the top of the water bottle. Mary downed the drugs and handed the water back to Marshall.
"I really think you should go to the emergency room." He was cut off by her sharp no. She drew herself upright.
"I'm not going." Her eyes blazed anger and pain and defiance. This time she was in control.
"Okay," Marshall agreed softly. "But you need some help. You can't sleep in wet clothes. Let me help you." Mary looked at Marshall's bare chest, his unbuttoned shirt giving her an up close view of well defined pecs, before quickly refocusing on his bare feet, then nodding imperceptibly.
Marshall gently turned her around, the fluffy white towel covering her from her shoulders to her knees.
"Can you get your buttons undone?" Mary nodded and got the remaining two buttons slipped loose of the buttonholes. He held the towel wide and asked her to slip out of her top. He averted his gaze, his height affording him an unfair opportunity to sneak a peek. Mary grunted when the wet garment fell to the floor.
Marshall quickly blotted her dry, then let the towel fall and picked up his shirt, his eye running over the slender line of her back, the spine prominent. He frowned as he noticed she had a slight curvature, started to reach out to trace it, then thought better of it.
"Let your right arm fall to your side," he murmured, holding the shirt at the ready. Mary grimaced as she tried to comply, her left arm held tightly over her breasts. Marshall gently slipped the shirt sleeve up her arm, carefully maintaining his position behind her. He muttered apologies as Mary muttered curses. Getting the right arm in, he quickly pulled the shirt over her back and asked for her left arm. Giving a sigh of relief at getting the garment on her, Marshall placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Okay, hold still," he said, reaching around her carefully, and getting a couple of the buttons done up without touching any parts that could get him castrated.
"Mary, you're not going to like this, what comes next." He waited, but she was silent. She knew what came next.
"I'm going to reach up and pull the boxers down." He watched her entire body stiffen. She had already wrestled her uncooperative body into one set of sleepwear. She simply didn't have the energy to do a second round and conceded to Marshall's help.
His shirt fell down to mid-thigh, leaving shapely calves exposed. Marshall reached up gingerly under the loose fabric, hooked his fingers into both the boxers and her panties and quickly drew them down. Mary stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Her partner silently handed her the towel, indicated the dry panties on the toilet seat and left the bathroom, grateful to escape with testicles intact. More than a little worried that the future generation of Manns hadn't been threatened.
He waited for her outside the door and drew in a deep breath. He should be maimed, if not dead, several times over. Mary had not protested, nor tried to disrobe herself. She hadn't pushed his hands away, hadn't yelled at him. He was worried. He had left her to pull her bottoms on as best she could. He simply couldn't go there. When his drawn looking partner emerged a few minutes later, Marshall looked her over critically.
She gave a wan smile. Marshall looked slightly...terrified. "Don't worry Nancy. I did manage to get my undies on."
Sigh of relief escaping him, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her over to the bed, sitting her down. Retrieving her comb from her bag, he sat beside her.
"Okay, let me comb out the tangles for you," he said, gesturing to her to turn slightly. Mary presented her back to him and Marshall carefully began to comb out the long locks, taking extra vigilance around her wound. Once he had it smooth and straight, he rummaged in her bag again, then returning to her, deftly braided it and tied the plaits off with the bands taken from her bag.
"I don't want you sleeping on all that wet hair,' he said, drawing the braids over her shoulders. Marshall looked down into her forlorn face, his unease growing. Physical pain was not enough to put her into this kind of a funk. Reaching over for the first aid kit he had placed on the bed, he drew out an elastic bandage, and very gently took her arm in his hand. Mary watched silently as her partner efficiently wrapped her injured limb. Marshall knew she was aware he was probing the tender flesh as he circled her arm, feeling for anything more than strained muscles.
"Talk to me, Mary," he whispered, as he placed her arm securely against her belly.
Mary stared silently at the familiar hands, taking care of her. Trying to fix her. Wanting to comfort her.
"I've hurt this arm before," she mumbled. Marshall was silent, fingers lightly grasping her shoulders. "I didn't want a repeat of the hospital visit, the questions." She stopped abruptly and Marshall frowned, trying to make sense of the statement. Mary was no stranger to hospitals. Why this particular injury? She reached over and grasped a handful of soft cotton shirt in her hand, her fist balling up, then flattening against his chest.
"I told you I got married real young, didn't I?" She didn't look up to see his nod. "Mark used to slap me around. One night he beat the hell out of me. Ended up in the hospital. Really messed this arm up. I was trying to get away and he...he wouldn't let go of my arm." Marshall's fingers tightened on her shoulders and his body tensed. "I left him after that."
Marshall's harsh breathing echoed in the small room. He had to struggle to contain the emotions surging through him. The impulse to protect the woman in front of him, to remove any threat to her, threatened to overwhelm him for a moment. Mark had hurt her. His Mary. The possessive streak that shot through his gut just amplified his other emotions. His 'me Tarzan, you Jane' feelings embarrassed him, but the urge to protect was primal, ferocious. It was just the way of things. The males protected their females, even when the females didn't want that protection. Even when they didn't need it.
"Marshall," her strained voice barely penetrated the haze of red he was seeing, "you're hurting me." With a start, he realized his fingers were biting into her shoulders. He released her with yet another murmured apology.
"Did you press charges?" he asked tightly. "Was he punished?" Mary whispered a negative.
"I was 17 years old. I just wanted it all to go away." She didn't like the look that was on her partner's face. Her eyes slid away. Mark's angry face floated in front of her weary eyes, his harsh voice echoing in her ears. Calling her names: stupid, bitch, worthless, whore. Berating her abilities, deriding her interests, belittling her accomplishments, laughing at her sexual experience, or lack thereof. All the while clamping tighter to her arm, depriving her of all feeling. Then he hit her. Mary shook her head to clear the image, was immediately contrite as a throbbing stab of pain shot through her.
"So, he's still out there? Probably hurting somebody else. We both know that pattern of behavior doesn't change." Marshall's voice edged up a notch, but then he saw the stricken look on her face and swiftly kissed her forehead and patted her back.
"Okay, into bed for you," he said, while making a mental note to locate that bastard Mark.
Mary slid between the sheets that Marshall held up for her. Her arm was throbbing, her head hurt, she was shaking from the trauma of the day's events and the memories they brought up.
She laid down, but caught Marshall's hand as he pulled the covers up, jerking her head towards the empty pillow next to her.
"Crawl in." She managed to make it a command, even though her voice was barely there and she couldn't look him in the eye. She focused on his chest, this man who had become a central anchor of her life. Solid, secure, unwavering, loyal, supportive. All those adjectives that had always screamed boring to her. His hand in hers was warm and somehow imbued those descriptors with an aura of sexiness. Solid in both physical and moral aspect. Secure in the level of trust she surrendered him. Unwavering in his belief in her and her abilities. Loyal to a fault; he would back her no matter what, because he was her partner, her friend, and it was the right thing to do. Supportive of everything she did; whether he thought she was doing the right thing or not. Because she was his friend.
Marshall squeezed her hand, looking at her closely. He smiled his lovely sweet smile, not the goofy one, then straightened and made sure the door was secure, flipped off the lights and walked around to the other side of the bed. Mary heard him pull off his shirt and discard it on the chair by the bed. Gingerly lifting the covers, he got into bed beside her and turned on his side.
He reached out and grasped her good hand, gratified to feel her interlace her fingers with his. Carefully easing his other arm under her, he curled up close to her. He was going to dream of her; he knew that. Dream of her in that shower, water flowing in rivulets down her curves. Dream of his hands on her damp skin, his darker tones contrasted against the paleness of hers. Dream of doing her against the tile, a hot stream of water pounding on his back as he pounded into her.
Mary relaxed back into the solid security of his chest. Rested her injured arm against his forearm circled around her waist. Felt the warm breath of his exhalations on her neck. Sighed in something approaching contentment. Marshall heard the low hum of pleasure and smiled.
Tomorrow, he would have to deal with the paperwork from the clusterfuck of today's transfer. He would need to persuade Mary to at least go to a doc in the box. He would need to get them back to Albuquerque. He would need to start a search for Mark. For tonight though, she was safe, she was in his arms. For tonight, that was enough.
The End