Title: Vicissitudes
Ratings: PG-13
Summary: Marshall/Mary. Comfort-fic. Maybe more? *Contains spoilers for Season Four. Before 4.07.*
Author's Notes: This went in a totally different direction than I was planning. Unbetad. Yes, I was watching V for Vendetta while writing this. Written for Mary_Marshall's Month of Mayhem (a community on livejournal).
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for the moment.
"In nature there are unexpected storms; in life there are unpredictable vicissitudes. "
-unknown author
"Hello?" a sleepy voice managed to mumble around the cotton in her mouth.
"Happy National Cinnamon Crescent Day," a voice answered.
"Huh? Marshall?" Mary angled her head so that she could see the clock on the nightstand, "It is two am. On. A. Monday."
"Oh? Is it? I hadn't realized."
"Are you drunk?"
Marshall laughed softly before answering, "No, not drunk enough...Almost though. Maybe? Did you know that the history of cinnamon dates back to ancient times. The ancient Egyptians used it as part of the mummy embalming process."
"Marshall!" Mary interrupted him sensing something wasn't right.
"Yes?" He replied distractedly.
"Tell me what you need," Mary softly demanded gathering the sheet around her as she sat up in bed. Things had been strained between her and Marshall for months. They hadn't socialized outside of work in months so odd and drunk phone calls in the wee hours of the morning weren't the norm anymore.
"Can you come over?," a subdued Marshall whispered.
"Of course," Mary whispered back, "I'll be there in fifteen" She walked over and flipped on the light switch and quickly gather her scattered clothes from the floor. Dressing quickly, she was gathering her keys and her cell phone when a sleepy voice asked her where she was going.
Without a backwards glance, "Out," Mary sneered as she slammed the hotel door behind her.
Mary broke more than the usual amount of traffic laws on her way over to Marshall's. In spite of the past few months and the numerous mistakes and hurts between them he was her best friend, who was hurt and sad. Cursing as she hit another red light, worry settled like a brick in the pit of her stomach. The possible scenarios running through her head of what drove her keystone in life to borrow one of her coping methods. He tended to use more healthier and well adjust coping methods. At least he hadn't run. Yet.
Slamming on her brakes as she slid to a stop in front of Marshall's house. Mary whipped up the collar of her leather jacket as she jogged through the downpour to the front door.
After knocking and receiving no response Mary used her key to let herself in. Following the scent of cinnamon, she walked into the dimly lit kitchen where she found Marshall slumped over at his kitchen table his head resting on the window next to him.
She took notice of the nearly empty bottle of Jameson, the circles under his eyes and the grief written on his face.
Marshall stared sightlessly outside soothed by the sounds of millions of raindrops, his mind a thousand miles away. At the sound of her keys dropping on his kitchen counter Marshall angled his head and liquid blue eyes met concerned green-hazel.
As a lightning illuminated the kitchen Mary was surprised at tears slowly floating out of his eyes. She shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it next to her keys on the counter. She eased over next to him, her hand sliding over his shoulder before settling at the back of his neck, "Marshall?"
"Did you know that cinnamon can be used as medicine to treat throat maladies, as well as to preserve meats."
"Ok," Mary whispered as she eased even closer to him trying to warm him with her presence alone, "but that doesn't explain what you're wearing."
"Yesterday was also Golfer's Day. The Professional Golfers' Association of America was founded on April 10, 1916. Eight years later on April 10, 1924 the tubular steel golf club shaft was approved for championship play," Marshall whispered as shifting his head to rest against his partner, "Golf happened to be the favorite sport of one Eugene Frederick Miller born April 10, 1916 died April 10, 2011. Grandfather to one Marshal Marshall Mann."
"We played a round of golf yesterday morning. He made a whole in one. We shared his cinnamon crescent roll cake with his friends at the nursing home. Afterwards, we sat out on the porch with lemonade until sunset while I read to him. I left just after dinner when he told me he was tired. Do you know what his last words to me were as I was leaving? That this was one the best birthdays he'd had in a while, to never settle for second best and that I should take care of my mother. He hugged me and told me that he loved me and that he was proud of what a good boy I had turned out to be."
"Oh, Marshall," Mary murmured as she hugged him to her, "Be the river." Her fingers gently smoothing his locks away from his forehead.
Gasping, his face wet with tears, "I didn't listen to him when he said he was tired. I heard what he said but I didn't hear what he meant. There were so many things that I still wanted to say to him," Marshall berated himself as he collapsed bonelessly against her, heart breaking sobs shaking his body.
"I think you've had enough," Mary whispered as she helped him stand, "Come on, lets get you to bed."
"They called me just after midnight that the EMTs where working on him. I was his emergency contact. Me. He never told me. They said he was sitting up reading in the lounge and when they went to wake him up to send him to bed they found he wasn't breathing. They called time of death at 12:30am. He gave me his golf clubs when I left said I needed them more than he did," Marshall drunkenly rambled as he allowed Mary to help him into his bed, "Stay?"
Mary hesitated as she let him tug her wrist and pull her into the bed with him, "Do you want me to call Abby?"
"Stay," He insisted his hand sliding down to entwine with hers,"Maybe if you're here I'll be able to force myself out of bed in the morning. Help me keep my head above water?"
"Of course," Mary whispered as she curled herself around him, her hand coming to rest over his heart.
"That's my girl," Marshall mumbled as he pulled her closer and dropped a kiss along her hair line.
\%%/
Marshall woke up to a bright and sunny day but oddly cold and with a terrible headache. It felt like someone was trying to split logs in his hear. With his eyes still closed he stretched slightly, groaning as muscles protested. He rolled away from the sunny window taking a moment to breath in the familiar scent on his pillow before gingerly opening his eyes. He laid there for a moment trying to place the scent before sitting up. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he figured out why he was cold. He stumbled over a mess of discarded clothing on the floor in his rush to relieve his demanding bladder.
Scratching his head he paused in front of the mirror as he tried to recall how he had gotten to bed. The last thing he clearly remembered was the phone call about his grandfather and his attempts to chug a whole bottle of Jameson. Something about about a river. He had vague memories of tasting and breathing in that familiar scent as it surrounded him, making him feel loved and cherished.
A delicious smell drifted up the stairs interrupting his musings. Marshall paused to slip on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt as gingerly made his way down the stairs to investigate. He paused in the
doorway when he saw his partner standing in front of the window sipping from a cup of coffee. Her wet hair gathered in a ponytail, wearing a tank top and jeans. Her badge, gun and key tossed carelessly on the kitchen counter. He couldn't explain the warm feeling he felt to find her here.
"Why was I naked?" a blushing Marshall asked as he stumbled into the kitchen making a beeline for the coffee pot.
"You got hot in the middle of the night," Mary replied with a smirked before grabbing something out of the freezer. She smiled softly at him as she noticed thinly hidden grief and pain in his eyes, "Good morning. I called Stan and told him we wouldn't be in today."
She tossed him a Hot Pocket and gestured with her head towards the microwave. "I also bought you some watermelon slices. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you everything will be okay. But I will be there to help you along the way, to keep your head above water"
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VICISSITUDE (Random House Dictionary)
–noun
1. a change or variation occurring in the course of something.
2. interchange or alternation, as of states or things.
3. vicissitudes, successive, alternating, or changing phases or conditions, as of life or fortune; ups and downs
4. regular change or succession of one state or thing to another.
5. change; mutation; mutability.
\/\/\/\/\/
Definition of VICISSITUDE (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)
1 ~a : the quality or state of being changeable : mutability
~~b : natural change or mutation visible in nature or in human affairs
2 ~a : a favorable or unfavorable event or situation that occurs by chance : a fluctuation of state or condition the vicissitudes of daily life
~~b : a difficulty or hardship attendant on a way of life, a career, or a course of action and usually beyond one's control
~~c : alternating change : succession