AN: A birthday pressie for wimseynotes, with the prompt "downpour". A bit of fluff to make up for such a rough day.
Marshall looked up from his paperwork at the sound of Mary's impatient growling. She was pacing near the window of the office, glaring outside at the blackened sky with every pass, the hatred in her eyes hot enough to turn the rain into steam.
"I. Can't. Believe. We're. Stuck. Here." she ground out, each word punctuated by a kick to her desk.
Marshall bit the inside of his lip to hide his amused smirk. The last thing he really wanted was for this caged animal to beat the living shit out of him with no way for an ambulance to reach him for at least four more hours.
"It happens every year," Marshall replied sensibly. "Find some work or something to do as a distraction." Every year it was the same: monsoon season would hit, and downtown would flood, trapping them inside the building for an entire day. Luckily this year they were the only two on their floor, so Marshall didn't have to worry about Mary killing someone, like the witness who had gotten stuck with them last year and had made an innocent comment about the instantaneous change in the weather.
"I don't have any work," Mary whined, "you already did all my paperwork, remember?"
"Only because you dumped it on my desk and I didn't want it sitting there for a month," he shot back, not lifting his eyes from the form in front of him. "Play solitaire or something."
"I don't want to play with myself."
Marshall let out a snort of laughter at her statement, failing to keep a straight face when he looked up from his desk and caught her annoyed gaze. "Ok, ok," he tried to placate her, "how about when I'm finished with this form I'll play Gin Rummy with you?"
"Fine," Mary replied with a smirk after he turned his attention back to his desk. She had gotten exactly what she wanted. While Marshall finished, Mary slipped into Stan's office to dig out his hidden bottle of whiskey and a deck of playing cards.
An hour later, the pair was seated on the floor facing each other, a half-finished game between them and Mary well on her way to getting plastered. Marshall reluctantly laid down another completed hand, discarding his single remaining card, and watched as Mary poured herself another shot, sloshing whiskey over the side of the glass in the process. She took the shot and slammed the glass down on the floor, pushing the cards toward Marshall in an unspoken demand to deal another hand.
Marshall eyed the bottle and estimated that there would be two more hands before Mary would have had enough to fall asleep. Shuffling quickly, he scooted a little closer to her when she began wavering to stay upright, and dealt another hand that he finished in three turns. Mary knocked back another shot, nearly empting the bottle on the floor, and pouted as she poured the last drops from the bottle into Marshall's clean glass, staring at him with what was supposed to be a glare.
Her compliant partner swallowed the amber liquid, never breaking eye contact as he held her gaze. She was fully leaning against his knee now, his long legs the only thing keeping her upright as her hand slid down his thigh trying to find stability. Her hand stopped just inches from his groin, squeezing his thigh tightly, and he fought the urge to shiver under her touch.
Against his body's wishes, he reached down to remove her hand, holding it tightly in his own as he helped her stand. Half-carrying, half-dragging her to the couch in the waiting area, Marshall settled her onto the couch and laid her down with her head resting on the arm.
Her hand squeezing his stopped him from walking away, and he knelt next to her, his eyebrows raised in silent question.
"Happy Birthday," she whispered, her voice thick with alcohol and sleep.
"You remembered," Marshall replied, somewhat stunned, and yet not surprised.
"Mmmhmm…" Mary hummed as she faded into the realms of sleep, unable to see the soft smile on his face or feel his fingers gently brushing her hair from her face.