Just a little idea that popped into my head. Thanks to Jekkah for letting me bounce ideas. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not mine!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Abigail Chaffee always dreaded the ring of the phone.
As a detective and the daughter of a detective, she knew a phone call had the potential to bring anything from a new case to the death of a loved one. She had long since come to terms with her mortality and that of her boyfriend's, just as her mother had with her father's.
Still, when the call came in, it threw her entire world off its axis.
Stan McQueen was the one who called her, not that she was surprised. His voice had trembled as he informed her of a shooting Mary and Marshall had been involved in. He didn't have many details, just the name of the hospital where they had been admitted. Anger crept up on her when she realized the shooting had occurred hours before and Stan tried to apologize, but she hung up on him and grabbed her keys.
The ride to the hospital was a blur. She turned her sirens on and drove at least thirty miles over the speed limit, cutting the trip's time in half. She finally reached the hospital parking lot and barely remembered to cut the engine off before she jumped out and ran into the hospital.
The nursing staff was kind as they directed her to a room on the second floor. Marshall had come through surgery with no complications and had been situated in a private room only a half-hour before her arrival. Quickly thanking them for their help, Abigail hurried upstairs, to the room where she would find her boyfriend.
His door was open, to her surprise, and she heard soft voices coming from within. She slowed down and peered into the room. Her eyes widened.
Marshall was lying on the only bed in the room. Gauze was wrapped around his head and his left leg was supported by several pillows. Clearly his injuries weren't too severe; at least there was that. But the part that hurt Abigail more than his injuries was Mary. The blond was curled into Marshall's right side. Even in the darkness, Abigail could see the stitches on her cheek and the bruising on her pale skin. Mary's right wrist was in a cast and draped over Marshall's chest.
Part of Abigail wanted to rush into the room and push Mary away from Marshall. Another part wanted to scream at Marshall and demand to know why he was sharing his bed with his partner. But they were only small parts, easily outweighed by her desire to remain a detective and a larger desire to see Marshall happy, no matter what the cost was to her.
The conversation being carried on was too quiet to hear, and frankly she didn't want to add more hurt by listening. Careful not to make any noise, Abigail stepped away from the entry to the room and back down the hall.
Once she was outside, she wrapped her arms around herself and blinked back tears.
"Be happy, Marshall."
The End.