Another oneshot written because my IPS muse is awake and demanding tribute. Fair warning: it's a bit of a tear-jerker. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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Once again, it's come down to them.

Mary Shannon sighed as her old bones protested sitting still for so long. She had not expected to live for as long as she did, not in the line of work she was in. She had expected to go out in a fiery blaze years ago, but that just did not seem to be in the cards for her. No, instead she had watched her daughter grow into a fine young woman and eventually she had found her own happy ending with Marshall.

Now it was all slipping away.

Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes and she fervently wiped them away. Marshall had suffered multiple heart attacks in the past two years and now his heart was finally giving out. Mary found it ironic that the strongest part of her best friend was killing him. At least she had gotten the time she had with him, and for that she was grateful.

Her hand slipped into his and she leaned forward in her seat, studying his pale face. When the inevitable diagnosis came, Mary had been resolute on her decision to take him home. There was nothing they could do for him in the hospital that she couldn't do for him at home, so his doctors allowed it. He was transferred by ambulance from the hospital to their home, and from there Mary was shown how to care for him in his final days. Mary impatiently listened and then asked them to leave because she wasn't going to share the rest of his precious life with complete strangers.

That had been four days ago, and Marshall had only been conscious for brief periods of time since then. Norah had arrived the day before and sat with Marshall long enough for Mary to take a shower and a brief nap and when she came back, she knew her daughter had been crying. Now Norah was in the guest room, going over Marshall's legal documents and making preparations for his funeral. Mary was grateful that she wasn't completely alone in this.

Sighing, she rose from her chair and joined Marshall on the bed the hospice had provided. It was large and comfortable and she had slept with him every night since he was home. Mindful of his oxygen canula and heart monitor, she nestled into his side and gently rubbed his arm. There would be no more last minute miracles here. His heart, the heart she loved so much, was failing him.

"Mary…"

Startled, she raised her head and saw him sleepily open his eyes. "Marshall." She shifted until her head rested next to his on the pillow and she could see his eyes. "Hey…"

The corners of his mouth lifted in a weak smile. "How long…?"

"Not much longer." Her voice held a telltale tremor. "Are you in any pain?" She had been monitoring his morphine and looking for any indication of an increase in pain for him. For the most part, he had seemed comfortable, to her relief.

"Hmm…no…" He blinked drowsily and smiled again when Mary continued to stroke his arm. "This is good…"

She nodded and leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. "I love you, Marshall."

"Going…going soft on me, Mare…?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"No."

"Love you, too…"

She expected him to drift out of consciousness again quickly, but to her surprise, he stayed awake a while longer and Norah was even able to sit and talk with him for a little while. But when he became tired again, Mary shooed her daughter out of the room and reclaimed her spot beside him.

His breathing was erratic as she curled up with him. "Mary…"

"No," she interrupted quickly. "We aren't saying goodbye."

"But…"

"I know. We both know what's happening," she murmured, absently grasping his hand. "There's nothing we can do about it. So I'm going to sit right here with you, just like I always have, and we won't say goodbye because this isn't the end."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not. Because a story like ours doesn't end." She gently brushed his hair back and stroked his cheek. "It doesn't."

He smiled tiredly and leaned into her hand. "Okay…"

"Okay."

Those were the last words they exchanged, and Mary didn't regret it. He lapsed into unconsciousness a few minutes later and the next night, he quietly died in Mary's arms. Norah was standing next to the bed, her hand on his shoulder, and Mary was murmuring to him as his labored breathing stuttered, then ceased. Knowing he was gone broke the part of her heart that he had repaired with his friendship and love, and she would never be the same for knowing and loving him.

Several days after his funeral, Mary found herself in their bedroom, sorting through photographs of the two of them. Norah was in the guest room and with the door closed, Mary was able to let herself cry as she looked at Marshall's face. She had wasted so much time not letting herself love him and there would always be regret for that, but she cherished the time they were able to have together, however limited it was.

"I love you, Marshall," she whispered as she reverently placed the photographs in a box and closed it. To her, the world seemed dimmer without him in it. She was thankful for Norah, who was doing her best to keep her mother together and sane.

Mary placed the box aside and reclined against the pillows behind her, where Marshall's comforting scent still lingered.

"Marshall."

Norah found her a short while later and when she opened the door, she just knew.

The doctors would call it heart failure and Norah would find it ironic that her mother would die in such a saccharine way. But Norah, more romantic than her mother, had almost expected such a thing to happen. Her mom loved her, she knew, but these things happened. Mary had tried, but for her a life without Marshall was the one thing she couldn't face.

Norah buried her mother beside her stepfather and on her first visit to their graves, she left flowers, which she was certain her mom would have hated but Marshall would have appreciated. She missed them both every day, but she was glad that they had each other to look out for.

"Love you, guys."

Finis.