Happy Life on a Balcony
Marshall stared at himself in the mirror, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes, the hollowed cheeks, the few lines of grey mixing in with his brown hair. This was the happy Mary had released him to? This was the life he'd wanted? Abby was a wonderful woman, a loving wife, but he always, always had a sense of needing something more.
The past five years in Denver – where they moved after ABQ Witsec Office shut down – Marshall had acclimated himself to a different reality and a new partner. A partner who understood his jokes, got his references, and usually agreed with his course of action. At home he had a wife who enjoyed burning him meals, spending quality time together when their schedules allowed, and talking about having a baby. A baby that never quite materialized because in his heart – pushed to the darkest reaches – he still pictured a child with blonde hair, a color neither he nor his wife could produce since genetically they didn't carry that particular color marker.
Five years without sarcasm, bullying, or soul-stripping conversations within conversations. Five years without a sense of completion, home, or anchor. Five years without Mary.
She'd done it, done what he never thought her capable of doing – she'd let him go. The furiously possessive, intensely loyal friend, soul mate, and throbbing beat of his secret heart, had walked down the aisle as his Best Man, recited a terrifically funny and accurate wedding toast, and then walked out of his life altogether. He'd told her the truth when he said he'd always answer her call, always come running to her aid, so she never called, never spoke. Mary hated e-mails, and postal letters were a thing of the past, so Marshall was left with pictures and memories of the indefinable thing they'd shared since months after their initial intense meeting all those years ago, before they became partners in every sense but romantic.
Abby called to him from the other room, her perky southern Barbie voice suddenly intrusive and grating against senses reaching for a low husky laugh laced with a life time of bitterness. He didn't want his wife's dark eyes and soft fingers undressing him, tracing his skin, but hands calloused from training and gunplay, hazel eyes snapping with fire and challenge. He wanted to feel alive as he did by her side, not trapped in this perfect life he'd always thought he wanted, but now realized was a reaction to words his father had spoken so truthfully years ago after meeting Abby: "it says something when you leave the bed of one woman for another one at four in the morning."
As always, Marshall had rebelled against his father, not realizing at the time it was hurting him more than it would his dad. He remembered the sadness in the older man's face on the day of his wedding, as if he was mourning the end of something. Now, a year after his old man's death, he understood: despite everything, his father had loved him, wanted him to have the best, and Abigail wasn't it. She never was. She was settling because he was too chicken-shit to admit his love for Mary was love love as a man for a woman, not just a best friend. He'd hidden from her for so long, he'd become comfortable with status quo and hadn't wanted to rock the boat, all the stupid clichés he could think up.
Now he had the happy life he posited to Mary on the balcony, and all he wanted was to throw himself off.
A/N: I know Marshall became Chief, but this popped into my head as soon as their "talk" was over and I couldn't resist writing it. One part of me is happy they didn't let Mary and Marshall get together because ultimately Mary isn't in the right place to be open to him, though she's getting there. The other part was sad because they truly were perfect for one another – perhaps if we'd gotten to see more of Abigail and him living a real life instead of a cutesy wootsey one, I could be more content with his choice.