Written over (obviously) a long period of time in shots. Original idea has been lost to the depths of my mind, so make do with this one (xD). Mary's POV. All the way. MxM fluff. Warning! Flashbacks!
It was strange. The whole thing was, you know? She didn't quite believe how things had worked out.
In a real friendship, like the ones she'd seen on TV (she'd never really had one), there was this perfect communication. Love in every word. They didn't have to say it, that they loved each other. They didn't even have to look it. But it was there, in the way they spoke. With some strange tenderness, some way of making what they said soft.
When she was 11, she'd tried. She'd tried her level best to say it the way Mary Kate and Ashley said it. It never came out right. It sounded fake. Forced. Wrong. She'd given up after a year of trying. A year of failure. A year of laughter. She'd come to the unconscious conclusion that it was probably her fault. After all, people on the TV were just people, and if they could do it, so could she. If she'd been normal. But she wasn't. So that was that.
In a real friendship there was this perfect balance. An equality. A give-and-take thing going on. She didn't know, really what it was, but, it had never felt like either of them were in debt. Because if they were, it wouldn't be a friendship, you see?
Marshall was something on a whole new level. She still remembered when she'd first met him.
She'd just punched her last partner in the face. He'd taken it in apparent good nature, but had handed in his resignation letter an hour later. It was his payback. He'd probably had enough of her, and he knew that she would be kicked out without a partner. No one else wanted her. It had gotten that bad. If he went, she went, willing-or-not. She knew this. And she got it.
She'd always been a highly volatile, violent and vulgar person. It was who she was. But nobody could say that she wasn't rational. She understood. That was the way the world worked. If she was unwilling to change who she was, the world would simply say no. But that wasn't to say it didn't hurt. It hurt badly to know that the one job she'd enjoyed in her life would be the job which she was kicked out of. It hurt badly that the job for which she'd given so much, wouldn't accept her for who she was. It hurt so bad that it almost broke her.
Stewart (that was her old partner) had walked in, smirking. "Hey Mary," and smiled in that slimy way he had.
"Hiya Stew. Nice black eye," she'd replied right back, complimenting the massive blue-black patch on his face. Hey, if she was going, she might as well as have fun with it. He'd frowned. He probably wasn't expecting her defiance, this far in.
"So, what are you planning for next?" he asked, trying to seem unfazed.
She knew he was trying to hurt her. She'd expected he'd have enough tact to not rub it in. Bastard. She didn't go for it. "Hmmm. I don't know," she honestly didn't know what else to say. She was trying to fill up a deep sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
He seemed to know this. He smirked. Suddenly, Stan walked in. He frowned at the smirk on Stewart's face and the look of unnatural neutrality on hers.
"Jones," he said addressing Stewart. "Your transport is here. Mary, your new partner is here." Knowledge dawned on his face as he noted the changes on their faces and the dynamics in the room. Mary felt salvaged. Stewart looked shell-shocked, like he hadn't expected a second chance for her. Stan felt smug. He'd never really liked that guy.
"Biya Stew," she smiled, not looking up, but it was undeniable—Mary now had the upper hand.
Stewart didn't go directly. He waited a moment, and then had a little left-then-right moment with someone coming in the door. He sighed in exasperation and stepped aside, gesturing magnificently to come in (sarcastically, of course) and a tall geeky looking guy wearing a ridiculous line-dancing outfit stepped in. He was smirking slightly as if annoying Stewart had been unnaturally fun.
She began to pray. Please please please don't let this be—
"Mary, your new partner." Stan introduced, smiling in a way that made her want to punch his lights out.
He offered his hand. She ignored it and engaged in a staring competition with the new guy. Stan began to look worried, and Stewart sniggered. She took no notice. This guy wasn't backing down. First she felt annoyed, then impressed. She might even like this one! As if thinking exactly what she had been, he smiled genuinely and introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Marshall."
"Marshall? Your name is Marshall?" Mary asked, wondering if he was joking. If he was, he sucked at it.
"Yeah. Go on. Get it out of your system." He sighed and Stewart snickered. Momentarily he wondered what he was still doing there.
"But who names their kid Marshall?!" Mary demanded.
"My parents. My familys' been in the Marshall business for around five generations. They named me Marshall as a poor joke, implying that I wouldn't get away from the family curse." he had a mock-sad expression on his face.
She laughed. Stan and Stewart froze and noticing their sudden movement, Marshall fingered his gun. "What?" he asked sharply.
"She never laughs," Stan explained. "Never." He still looked a bit surprised.
Mary rolled her eyes. "Okay, lets do the ground rules."
"But I've been a Marshall for two years! I know the ground rules!" Marshall yelped, indignant.
"I'm not talking about those ground rules. I'm talking about my ground rules, Doofus."
He looked like he was going to laugh, then a tiny frown pulled at his lips and he went back to neutral. Momentarily she was cowed by how expressive his face was. "Did you know that Doofus is a word derived from Goofus, which was the olden-times scientific term for a fatal malady? Doofus referred to someone suffering from Goofus. Also derived from Goofus is Goober, as in the peanut butter brand, because this malady could be cured by an extract made mainly of peanuts."
She bit her lower lip, as if to stop from laughing out loud and instead rolled her eyes. "Why do you know this?"
He shrugged. "I like to read."
She looked at him as if she expected him to go, 'hah! Gotcha!' but he didn't.
She sighed. Weird fish. Stan looked like he was going to burst with happiness that one of his most dedicated and intelligent Marshalls' had found a partner she might be able to work with. He walked out as Mary began to explain her ground rules.
"Okay, number one. I don't get coffee. Not for you, not for anyone. Number two, no, I will not go out with you for dinner. No means no, and nowhere in those two letters is a secret yearning for having dinner with you. (he smirked) number three, you are my partner, and I will defend you physically and mentally. Please don't argue my actions in public. It makes people doubt us. I may not be the most tactful person around but what I do, it is for our benefit. Number four, I like triple espressos. With whipped cream. Number five, I HATE birthday parties. Especially the surprise ones. Number six, I HATE surprises, in general. Number seven, try not to startle me. I have a trigger happy finger. And too many guns. (he laughed) I can't really think of any more, but when I do, I'll let you know," and she smiled. He smiled right back.
She remembered thinking, this could work. And damn, it worked like a charm. All you had to do was just look at them, and you knew, you know? Apart from the whole Marshals-of-the-Year stuff, it was the way they rolled. It just flowed. You know, the yin-and-yang crap.
He was her opposite, but he wasn't her equal. He was superior to her in all aspects, which was kind of difficult, considering he was nothing like her. But he managed it. It occurred to her that she wasn't making sense.
He couldn't really compare to her, in terms of personality. He was sweet, she wasn't. He was kind all the time, she wasn't. He was funny, she wasn't—generally. He put up with a lot of shit from her.
But he was strong, like her. He was smart, like her. He was devoted, like her. Getting emotional made him stupid, just like her. So you see, he was just better, generally.
He gave her a lot, see. He was everything to her—and not in that crap cliché way either. He was her constant. Without the dark, there is no light. He was her dark, her shadow. Her back-up. Her partner. Only after a year with him, did she realise the weight of the word partner.
"Shit, Marshall. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just a cold, Mar'. I'll be fine."
"If you're sure… I'll do your rounds for you. I owe you one, anyway. And whether I owe you or not, whether you're sick or not, I'll kick you where it hurts, if you call me Mar', one more time."
He'd just grinned.
Everything had gone downhill from there. She hadn't been able to find one of his witnesses, and had ended up searching around a not-so-good neighbourhood. It was plain bad luck that landed her up in that alley with a bunch of young-ish ruffians, armed to the teeth.
It only made things worse that his witness was with them, unwillingly.
When she attacked, she had not been expecting them to use anything but guns. She had used all the routine moves when faced with guns. Those moves had no effect, when faced with a naked blade.
She had been stabbed in the side, and she lay there for a few seconds, bleeding, as the guy steeped up and pressed a gun to her forehead. "Bitch. Meddling in things she don't unders—"
The moment she heard, in some far corner of her mind, the click of the trigger, she slammed her eyes shut. Game over. She was dead. She opened her watery eyes to a fuzzy figure in black. An angel? Was she dead?
"Mary?" he whispered, in an Angel's voice.
"Am I dead?" She had asked, blur and stupid.
"No, but I swear, Mar', you're never going anywhere without me, ever again."
Something had clicked. "Marshall?" and he'd hugged her, there, on the ground, next to the body of the man-who-would-have-killed-her.
She never did, either. He was always there. Eternally by her side. Partner.
And he was more. He was her best friend. But that's where the dilemma comes in. As deduced from above, she thought, trying to sound like Marshall, and failing. As deduced from above, friendship required equality. And as also proven above, he was superior. Therefore they were not friends? And it hurt, but it was probably true.
He told her, so many times, that she was his best friend, but it didn't work that way. It was a give and take relationship. It had to be. She couldn't be Lois Lane all the time; she wanted to be Superman too. (Accredited to Twilight by Stephanie Meyer)
She had also told him so. One evening, in a slightly alcoholic stupor. Hey, he was drunk too!
He'd blinked once. Twice. He shook his head.
"Mary. You're an idiot. You give me so much, every single day. You are my Superman. I need you."
She'd laughed, unconsciously imprinting the words in her mind, to replay when she was sad.
He'd cut her scoffing off, there and then. "Listen, Mary. You are my world. You are my equal. I don't know how I would keep coming to work, every day if not for you. You keep me going."
The tape recorder in her head was happily rolling. She'd looked at him and shook her head. "I don't understand. I don't do anything but make your life miserable. I try, I swear I do, but I don't know how to not. I have tried to change, but it doesn't work. It never has. And I'm sorry. But I don't deserve it."
"But Mary! I don't want you to change!"
The fuzzy feeling vanished. She felt like she had just imbibed a jug of coffee, rather than three vodkas. Awake.
"You don't…want me to change?" The words didn't make sense in that order. "Why?"
"Because you're special just the way you are. You make my life interesting. And you never turn me away. I know you're all manly and stuff, but when I need help, you're here. And that's what matters. I'll be there, right back. We're equals. We've saved each others' asses. We've cried for each other. Fair and square."
She hadn't known what to say.
That had probably been one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her.
And he really understood. About everything. Her mother, sister and father. Her childhood. Her relationship issues. Heck! He knew her better than she did.
"Hey, Mar'. If you need anything, come over to my place."
"Why would I need anything? What are you on about? Heck! What are you on?"
"Nothing. Just, nothing. I'll always be here for you, day and night."
Later that night, when she couldn't sleep, she realised that Marshall had predicted how she would react, when she hadn't realised it herself.
It was queer, how things worked out in the end. How, finally, she could sit her and touch his hair. How she ended up waking up next to him. Strange how every time he kissed her was like the first time. Probably because she couldn't believe she'd got something so good.
Amazing, how she could sit beside him in the morning and watch him sleep. How she could touch his skin, in the grey morning light.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Can I come in?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry. Bit dazed."
"It's okay."
"What happened?"
"I don't think I can be alone right now. I feel alone, near my family. I need to be near you, Marshall."
Silence.
"Drink?"
"Yeah."
"Beer?"
"Yeah."
They exchanged grins.
Silence. They really didn't need anything more.
She slumped asleep onto his shoulder, as the TV droned on, ignored. She was beautiful when she slept, and he couldn't help but touch her hair.
She woke to a soft tickling feeling. She didn't open her eyes, but gleamed what information she could, through lidded cracks. Marshall was watching her with a look of blissful calm on his face. Her head was in his lap (how the heck did it get there?) and he was stroking her cheek.
"Love you Mar'."
Her eyes shot open. He jumped. She jumped to her feet. Silence of the awkward kind.
"No, Marshall. Take it back." Desperation.
"I can't Mar'. I can't undo it." Sincerity.
"No Marshall. Take it back." Fear.
"Is it so bad? That someone loves you?" he'd spat out the word, embarrassed, scared.
"No, you moron. You can't love me. You can't change me. I'll just make you miserable. You'll want someone else, who makes you happy, someday. I'm not that person. I don't deserve it. I'm happy with friendship. I can't take more than I deserve, else I'll never give it up. I'll die if you leave, which you will. You have to." She knew she was rambling. He heard her out.
"You make me happy, moron. You don't deserve this. You deserve more. I'll die if I leave you, I swear. I don't want you to change."
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
He got up and grabbed her by the waist, holding her close. Her breath accelerated. He kissed her, slowly and sweetly. Hot lingering breath, tasting of alcohol and chocolate. Knees of jelly. He pulled away, but not too far, prevented by her hand on his neck.
"Promise."
Strange really, how things worked out.
"Hey Mary. Good morning."
"Go to sleep, idiot. Love you."
He grinned. "Love you too. Always have, Mar'."
Now Whaddya say to that?
Well? What says the audience?
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Love,
Lady Merlin