Yet another post-"Stan by Me" fic trying to answer the question 'What happens when Marshall finds out what happened in the basement'?

Stan and Marshall led Mary through the ransacked house, shielding her from the curious and concerned eyes of the cops who swarmed the place. Stan left his inspectors near the SUV to speak with Detective Dershowitz. Marshall took advantage of the moment alone to pull Mary into a strong embrace, resting his chin atop the tangle of blond hair. Amazingly, somewhere beneath the blood and grime and sweat, he could still catch the scent of her. The cool desert air against her damp skin caused her to shiver, prompting Marshall to lead her to the rear of the truck, where he sat her down on the bumper and draped a spare jacket around her shoulders.

"Mary? Mare?" Marshall called her name several times before she seemed to hear him, looking up at him as though she wasn't even sure who he was. Or who she was, for that matter. "I'm going to get the medics to come take a look at you, okay?"

Mary shook her head. "No, Marshall. I'm fine."

He lifted her chin, forcing her look at him. "That may be the biggest load of bull you've ever tried to sell me," he said softly. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Humor me, Mary." He whistled and waved over the waiting medics. "I'm going to be right over there with Stan while they check you out, okay?" Mary nodded weakly.

Marshall met up with Stan and Bobby D. while Mary reluctantly submitted to the medics' ministrations.

"Marshall," said Stan. "Detective Dershowitz has agreed to come down to the Sunshine Building to take Mary's statement. Try to keep this as low-profile as possible." Marshall kept his eyes fixed on his partner. "Marshall? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, I heard you. Statement, Sunshine, Bobby D—Got it." He walked away.

The medics were just finishing up when Marshall returned to be with Mary. "She's going to be sore as hell, and headachy from the chloroform, but she's going to be okay," the medic assured him. Seeing his partner slumped against the door frame, Marshall wasn't too sure.

"Thanks, man," he muttered as the medic packed his gear and left. Marshall reached out to tuck a strand of golden hair behind Mary's ear. She looked up at him uncertainly, pursing her lips as though she had something to say but wasn't sure how to say it. "Mary, what is it?"

Stan interrupted before she could answer. "We ready to go?"

Mary nodded and Marshall helped her to her feet. Stan held open the car door. "Here, Marshall, you ride in back with her," he said, as though Marshall had any intention of leaving her side.

Mary sat stiffly in the backseat as Stan started the car and pulled into the street. Marshall knew her defenses were rebuilding, was torn between her need to draw into herself and his need to know what happened in that basement. "Mary," he said, lifting her face to look at him. He paused, not wanting to ask the question, afraid of the answer. But he couldn't un-hear the shout of that little bastard to "have his turn," and certainly couldn't un-see the dead guy in the basement with the unzipped fly. "Mare, did they...hurt you?"

She tried to look away. "No. I mean…it's like the medic told you…."

"That's not what I'm asking, Mary," Marshall said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "That guy you shot"—Mary eyes squeezed shut against the image replaying in her mind—"did he hurt you?"

Her face crumpled in response, not just to the question, but to the emotion she heard in her partner's voice. Marshall Mann, who could crack wise with a sucking chest wound, was choked up. Over her. She swallowed hard, unable to break contact with those deep blue eyes. Blue eyes pained by the sight of something breaking, collapsing, flooding within his partner. The facade of kick-ass U.S. Marshal Mary Shannon tumbled down. "He tried...he tried to..." she stumbled on the words. "He tried to rape me."

Stan slammed his fists into the steering wheel.

Marshall's stomach seemed to drop somewhere below the Earth's crust even as bile rose in his throat. "Turn the car around, Stan. I'm going to shoot the bastard myself."

"Don't tempt me," Stan replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh my god, Marshall. Oh my god," she sobbed. Then, frantically, "Stop the car, Stan--stop the car!"

Stan did as ordered. Mary threw the door open with such force she would have tumbled onto the pavement were it not for her partner's arm around her waist. Marshall held back her hair for long minutes as she heaved little more than bile onto the dusty asphalt.

Watching his step, Stan appeared with a handful of tissues and a bottle of water.

"All empty?" asked Marshall, stroking her back.

She nodded weakly. "I think so." She wiped at her mouth with the proffered tissue.

"Drink this, you're dehydrated," Stan said, uncapping the water bottle. "Small sips, though."

Marshall pulled Mary back into the truck, and she allowed herself to stay tucked in her partner's arms. Marshall and Stan exchanged troubled glances before Stan shut the door and they were back on the highway.

Though she was quiet, Marshall could feel the tears dampening his shirt. "Hey, you're safe now. You fought your way out of a bad situation and you're safe now." He slowly rubbed circles on her back.

"Don't leave," she murmured into his chest.

"That would involve jumping out of a speeding vehicle. A poor decision on my part." Marshall deadpanned.

The sliver of normality comforted Mary, and she responded with a pinch to his arm. But, still. "Please, Marshall."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "Never."

Mary pulled her legs up, curling into Marshall's lap.

They stayed that way for the rest of the ride to the Sunshine Building, one marshal wrapped in the arms of the other.

Ta-Da!