Author's Note: As deeply disappointing as the Series Finale was to my bleeding shipper heart, I pretty much knew and accepted that a canon M&M HEA was completely out of the question by now. We would've needed at least another season and a half to get to it in a non deux ex machina kind of way. But, due to TPTB's infinite wisdom, IPS has now joined the ranks of good shows with a shitload of unanswered questions and unfulfilled plot lines twined with blatant cop-outs. Lovely…
In my opinion, Season 3's finale is the turning point. It was the absolute "Do or die" moment for them and it was missed due to Marshall's endearing (but completely unhelpful) learned evasiveness and Mary being…well, Mary. So, I am going to wrap myself in a comfortable delusion and I'm gonna try and fix what was broken after the "Messy" speech. This is gonna be a pretty long oneshot and there will obviously be a sequel. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"
"You've done the cowboy. And when you weren't doing the cowboy, you were the cowboy, like with Raph. You don't need to let off steam, what you need is— I get that you don't like messy, but maybe messy is what you need. Maybe instead of just anyone you should be looking for someone. Someone who challenges you, who calls you on your BS and gets in your face and makes you think…"
His words kept buzzing in her head, seeming to be amplified in the tomb like silence of the late night/early morning desert.
Mary Shannon had finally gotten her long held wishes. Her family members had vacated the premises and due to a hefty check from the Feds, her house looked like the homes she used to dream about while living on Skid Row. No drama, no theatrics, and she could drink as much as she wanted to, blast her music, hell she could even slide around the floors like Tom Cruise if she so chose. But, she hadn't done any of it. She had come home from the office the previous night and taken down the bottle of expensive wine. It was a "gift" from Special Agent Michael Faber, a smarmy lying asshole who wanted in her pussy.
That was all men really wanted from her at the end of the day. Never mind that she had a perfectly functioning mind. Nope, it was all about the pussy, pussy that she'd be all too willing to give up as long as things stayed simple. Meet up, get off, move on. No fuss, no muss, little to no risk of complications. She had invested in a 5 year implant, finding a OB-GYN willing to accommodate her due to her hectic job, and she kept fresh condoms at hand at all times, in varying sizes. Any complaints and the guy got the boot, sometimes literally. She wasn't one for long term relationships, marriage, or children, something that Mark from Jersey and Raphael Ramirez had learned the hard way.
Why Marshall Mann, a man of high intelligence and someone who had actually bothered to get to know her, couldn't grasp that concept was beyond her comprehension.
She took another pull of the bottle of rich people wine and sat further on the roof of her Mustang. Her cell phone had lost the battery power to actually ring but she could see it flashing 'Marshall' over and over again, interspersed with 'Stan', 'Jinx', 'Squish' and of course, 'Faber'. She had stuffed a bunch of clothes in her duffel, grabbed enough non perishable food and water to last for at least 3 days, and the blankets from her bed before just leaving, door left ajar on accident. She had to get out of Albuquerque. She had to get away so she could think. Or rather, not think. Marshall might as well had serenaded her, it was so obvious. He was saying that she needed messy with him and it freaked her the living fucking hell out.
He should really know better! She was damaged goods on a good day and just a completely broken bitch on a bad. Marshall wasn't the type that needed her kind of woman. He needed someone normal, someone with no daddy, trust, and anger issues. He needed someone respectable, like a schoolteacher or a librarian or even a cop from ABQ PD. He needed someone open, not closed up tight like a vault and someone who could give him what all good men wanted: marriage, kids, and maybe even a dog. A beagle or a golden retriever called Enzo. He needed warm love, not hot lust and hot lust was all she was really capable of. He needed to stop wasting his time and his love on her, of all people…
Reaching through the back window, she pulled out a can of spray on sun screen and stood up to put it on. It would be easy. She had on a dark gray tank top and a pair of ancient black sleep shorts, probably Squish's since the word 'Juicy' was on the ass in pink. Her feet had been hastily stuffed into house shoes but she pulled them out to spray, too. The last thing she needed was to be drunk and sunburnt. But, she was definitely drunk or maybe starting to get heat stroke. After all, why else would a black SUV be tearassing straight at her from the direction of the highway? Why else would a periodic table t-shirt, brown moccasined, and black basketball short clad Marshall be looking at her with relieved rage? And why else would he yank her off the car roof and nearly send them both crashing to the sand like space junk? Instinctively, she dug her nails into his arms to get her footing and he pulled away quickly, glaring at her harshly.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" he hissed gutturally.
Oh, yeah. She was Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds because Marshall just totally dropped the F-Bomb. He avoided the F-Bomb and other hardcore curse words like a Catholic schoolboy in front of the nuns. The vein at his right temple was pulsing like mad and his hair was an utter, unMarshall like wreck, as if he had been holding onto it with clenched fingers.
"Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? You've been gone for over 8 hours! I thought someone had taken you again! Why haven't you been answering your phone?" he demanded with wide, near tearful eyes.
His cheeks were stained a bright pink with rage and since it looked like blush, she tried to wipe it off a little. Marshall in makeup would be hilarious but horrifying at the same time…
"What are you…are you drunk?" he asked incredulously.
"And hallucinatin', too. What're you doin' here? How'd you find me? It's the middle of fuckin' nowhere in the middle of the fuckin' night."
"It's called signal triangulation and cashing in almost a decade's worth of favors. Mary, what are you doing out here and where did you get that wine from?"
"I'm thinkin'. I told you I needed to and I'm not out here all willy-nilly, either. I brought survival stuff. Oh, and the wine came from Faber. He dropped it off as a bribe for pussy but I haven't taken him up on it, yet."
/
Marshall watched her take another pull straight from the bottle before she carefully resumed her perch on her car roof. Other than sleep deprivation and her drunken state, she was physically sound. Mentally and emotionally were still question marks and… wait, what the hell did she mean yet?
"You're not seriously considering screwing Faber, are you?"
"Why not? He's offering, I'm single and on vacation, and he lives at least 100 miles away. It could work…"
"Screwing him would turn out to be just like another Raph!"
"And screwin' you would be a complete disaster, somethin' I'm tryin' to avoid!"
Hurt and mortification slammed into him at her venomous statement, draining away his indignation fast. Mary sighed harshly and recorked the half empty bottle, looking at him wearily.
"Look, I'm not stupid. I may be blonde but I'm not a fuckin' idiot, Marshall. You oughta know that by now. When you said that I needed messy, that was your convoluted way of sayin' that I needed you. For some ass backward reason I don't get, you want me and not just for sex, either. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong, Marshall!"
"I can't!"
"I knew it! God, what the hell were you thinkin'? Of all people in the world to fall in love with, why'd you pick me? All I can offer you is some damned good sex and a stomach ulcer!"
"That's not true, Mary!"
"The hell it's not! You know me! You know how I am and how I treat the guys that want more than a fuck from me! I can tell you right now that we wouldn't work, Marshall! We're too fuckin' different and you need to go find someone that's not too damned emotionally retarded to love! Not to mention that we just so happen to be partners and best friends, for chrissakes! You really want to fuck that up with a relationship that's doomed to failure from the start?"
Of all the scenarios he had imagined having this conversation in, this was completely out of the box. He had always expected some form of rejection from her. He wasn't going to lie. Mary was Mary and she had made her views very clear on any and all aspects of relationships. And she had a valid point. They did see things differently. His mother and brothers always called him "the last true romantic". She saw people of the opposite sex as diversions while he was always searching for that connection, the deep tangible connection that came with love. If and when she eventually figured out his feelings or he mustered up enough sack to actually tell her, she'd turn him down flat, just like she was doing now.
What shocked him was the deep well of self loathing she was speaking from. It wasn't the usual bitter self deprecating humor or even in vino veritas, but raw truth. She couldn't even fathom the idea of being with someone that wanted more than sex from her. She couldn't even imagine herself in a healthy, happy relationship with anyone because she saw herself as…unworthy. She saw herself as a burden or a plague to be endured, things that were not true at all. And…
"Mary, how do you feel about me?"
'That doesn't matter, Marshall!"
"Yes, it does! You're not speaking as someone that doesn't return my feelings. You're speaking as someone trying to protect me, as if I'm an emotional Witness…"
"Look, your lame ass metaphors are what made me run away and get wasted in the first place, okay? If you insist on busting open this goddamned Can of Worms, then you can at least be straight with me! For once in your life, say exactly what you mean or shut the fuck up, Marshall!"
"You're not turning me down because you're an emotional retard or even because you don't love me back! You're turning me down because you're scared! You're turning me down because you think I couldn't possibly want to be a relationship with you without wanting to change you like the other stupid sons of bitches you've gotten tangled up with! You're turning me down because you feel inadequate and unworthy, which you are not, and most of all, you're turning me down because as always, you think I'm going to hurt and abandon you like your rat bastard glorified sperm donor did! Is that straight enough for you, Mary?"
Her celery eyes were wider than dinner plates and giving into the temptation, he grabbed the bottle out of her hand, opened it and chugged the rest of it. Jesus God, she had always been infuriating but he had always managed to keep a level head. Not this time, though. Mary finally managed to run roughshod over every ounce of control and civilized behavior he had, leaving him an emotionally raw and confused mess. And a destructive one, too because the wine bottle was now shattered against a nearby cactus. Better the wine bottle than her, of course…
"How the fuck are you supposed to get home, now? You can't drive wasted."
"I'm not leaving here without you, Mary and I have my own survival kit. You didn't answer my question."
"What question?"
"How do you feel about me?"
/
She didn't know. No, that wasn't completely true. She wanted to love him back. Honestly, she did but…she didn't want to ruin him, either. According to Jinx and countless others, she destroyed any and everything good in her life and everybody else's. Marshall was a kind man, warm and compassionate. If she got her claws in him, she'd turn him into a complete doormat or he'd become just as much of an asshole she was in order to keep up with her. She couldn't do that to him…
"You're thinking too much. It's a simple question, Mary."
"The hell it is.", she rasped quietly.
"Look, I'm pretty sure that you don't love me even half as much I love you but…"
"I want to love you but I don't know how and I don't want to ruin you. All right? That's how I fuckin' feel about you."
"Okay. Why do you think you'd ruin me?"
"You're seriously asking me that? After you've witnessed my twisted version of The Dating Game for years, you're seriously asking me that?"
Marshall chuckled and she damned near fell off the car again trying to slug him. He caught her and this time, he gently lowered her to her feet.
"Point taken. But, ruining's a two-way street, Mary. I'd have to let you. Do you really think I'd let you?"
"Well...kinda. You've been pretty yieldin' to me in the past."
He thought about that and winced.
"I have, haven't I?"
"Yeah."
"Shit."
"And normally, I don't mind it but…this…whatever this is, it's different and way too damned important for our usual MO. So, if and it's a big fuckin' if, we're gonna do this whole more than friends/partners thing, the both of us are gonna have to change. You need to grow a pair and I need to quit bein' such a bitch to you when you don't deserve it. Does that answer your question?"
"For now."
"Good, because that's the best I can do right now. Damned rich people's booze. So, what now?"
"Right now, I'm gonna call Stan and get us back to the city. We'll talk more after we, mainly you, sleep this off."