Description: M and M's separate thoughts as they go to their respective homes. What was going on between the two of them? Set after Whistle Stop.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me!
A/N- I couldn't sleep.
Marshall walked through his door exhausted both mentally and physically from the incredibly eventful trip to Colorado. He set down his luggage by the door and headed to his modest kitchen to pour himself a drink. Yes, it had been one of those sort of trips.
There had been no tragic ending for the witness and his family, but there had almost been. And that had been trying, to be certain. But that was not what had him on edge at this particular moment. Marshall had been waxing melancholy since he got in his car to drive home.
Back in college he couldn't wait to fall in love. He would have been happy with a Shakespeare comedy love, but he had really hoped for an epic Jane Austen romance.
Never in his naive dreams could he have imagined a bargain bin tragedy, not worth the paper it was printed on.
"Oh Mary," he spoke, breaking the steel silence that filled his one bedroom apartment.
He wasn't sure when or how, but his heart was irrevocably hers now. Every other woman, no matter how smart or beautiful could ever outshine her. The logical thing to do was move on, try again, and hope fate dealt him another lucky card. He wondered if he could ever fall in love again. He had no hope of that being so.
He smiled to himself as he thought about the advice of country songs, and poets, and the old black and white movies. The muses and sages and psychologists all proffered the same advice to anyone who would listen: you'll always regret not telling her.
But what could he do? His heart shouted "tell her" and even mind agreed that the regret would give him an ulcer and a heart condition.
His mind sifted though the details of their adventure in Colorado. The kid with the balloons. The FBI prick whose mess they had to clean up. That stupid car ride.
He was sure it was not the first time he had been unable to comfort her, but it was the only one that came to mind. The trouble was his brain had been many other places.
He knew the moment she had walked into the office, the cranky mood, the missing ring, he knew they'd broken up. But hearing her say it, something broke in his mind. A thousand of his fantasies had begun with those words.
There was a small part of his brain that was watching the road, but much of the rest was caught up in celebration. A mix of emotions that had been surpressed by alcohol and sheer will began to break free again, and take over his body. There was no part of his brain left to spout off facts about Avogadro's number or the proper way to shoe a horse, or even contemplate the Beach Boy's first song or China's GNP.
His brain had seized up with information overload. It was just not the type of information he could spout to Mary. They had spent the remainder of the car ride with Mary shifting restlessly in her seat, and huffing in anger. And he silently drove, his brain battling within itself. Half screaming, "now, you fool" and the other half logically spouting reasons he should not.
In the end prudence won, for now.
He drank deeply from the glass he had poured himself and moved into his living room. He had a recliner and a couch, but he always chose the recliner. He eased himself slowly into the chair and let his mind wander recklessly where it may.
A flutter of hope made him feel again. Maybe a lesser man would have given up. She was still his partner. And he did not know how much personal stock the God of the universe had in his life, but the hands of fate had not yet severed their bond. Indeed, it only grew stronger as the days wore on.
He would continue to stand next to her. Battle with her. Protect her in all the ways she didn't know she needed protecting (even from washed out FBI agents who couldn't take the hint).
His hopes had been dashed with the engagement, but now Raph was gone, and he was still here. Unrequited love does not always remain so, Marshall decided, as he finished his drink and got up to get ready for bed.
*******
Mary walked into her house that evening with a sense of loathing. The empty house may one day be a place of refuge, but it still smelled like chili powder and Raph's cologne.
She dropped off her luggage in her room and went to the kitchen to make herself a drink. The witness and his family had been taken care of for the evening, and in the end it had all worked out. A few years ago she would have been more rattled by a kidnapped witness, but now it almost seemed like business as usual.
She stood in the kitchen, staring at the glass of ice and scotch, watching the beads of condensation form. There was something that had been bugging her for hours. It wasn't angst over Raph that was gnawing at her. Her mind was rife with questions.
Why the hell hadn't she been able to tell Marshall about the break-up? She told him everything. When she did her own laundry, she told him. When she had been kidnapped, she told him every agonizing detail. When she hated her witness, he would listen to every rant and rave. When she was PMSing, he fearfully knew of that, too. He knew that those creepy lizards freaked her out, and he knew every reason she would cry when the Probe breathed its last and died.
So why couldn't she tell her best friend the details of this whole sordid break-up?
She had kept the engagement from him for good reason, she knew it would be difficult for him. She wasn't certain why it would be difficult, but she had just known. Maybe change was hard for Marshall. Maybe.
But why had she been hesitant to tell him it was broken off? What was she afraid of? And why had he been so freaking silent in the car?
And when he sat down so they could talk, it had been her turn to be silent. Her brain felt like it had been thrown in that stupid ice cream maker. Why couldn't she just tell him that she didn't love Raph enough? Like there was a part of her heart she couldn't give away anymore.
She started pacing in her kitchen a bit, anxiety crawling underneath her skin. There was something she was missing. She felt like she was groping at it in the dark. She could get a sense of what it was, but the details were still lurking in the shadows. Was it something to do with Marshall?
She squashed the thought like it was spider on the wall. That just couldn't be it. Her mind ached, though, filled to capacity with thoughts she refused to think. She drank deeply from the glass that had been sitting on the counter.
Maybe tomorrow she could explain to Marshall why they had broken up. Maybe when Marshall asked why she didn't love Raphael enough, she could just say she's all messed up, and that's that. A bubble of pain erupted from her stomach, because she knew Marshall wouldn't let her get away with blaming it on neurosis. He would search deeper.
Maybe she just wouldn't tell him.
The silence was about to become maddening. Considering all the times she had begged for silence, now that she finally had it she would have given anything for some asinine drama to distract her from her thoughts.
"Gah!" she yelled, and it echoed through her empty house. And though Mary could count the number of times she had turned on the TV since she had owned it, she went into the living room and curled up in a chair and turned it on, hoping one of those inane late night talk shows could distract her till she was exhausted enough to sleep.