Has anyone – a witness; a family member – ever notice that Marshall has never said my name to my face?
I have.
Sure, he may have said my name to Stan when I was out of the room.
Sure, he may have said my name to my back. But at the point, I was a little busy trying to pin down some African jewel thief while his partner was getting away on horseback. The situation would have preoccupied anyone.
Sure, he may have said my name – even if it was more of a nickname – over the phone. But really, what kind of nickname is "Mar" anyway?
Sure, he gets my attention by saying "Hey" and refers to me as "you" or "her."
Sure, he calls me a lot of things and says my name from time to time, but Marshall Mann has never said my name to my face, ever.
One would think that, after being partners for about three years, one would be comfortable enough to say the name of one's partner.
One would also think that if a certain someone says their partner's name all the time, with or without the person in the same room, then that partner would have the decent courtesy to say that person's name.
I mean, how many times do I say his name a day? I call him from across the room by his name, I say his name over the phone, I even say his name when I'm infuriated because he has the stupid nerve to start lecturing me about some trivial crap.
I can perfectly recall such an occasion when I couldn't stop saying his name. Because I feared that if I didn't call him, then he would leave me and the rest of the world. On that fateful day, the day Marshall Mann was shot and nearly died, I must have broken the record for saying someone's name continuously. Honestly, every other sentence I used contained his name.
I lost count of how many times I called him in that hellhole of a diner: when he was shot, when he lost consciousness, when he regained consciousness, when I learned why he wanted to leave… the list is endless. And that was one day!
Since then, I've still said his name – although with less panic – and he still hasn't once said my name to my face.
At one point, the irritation at this observation was too much to bear and I decided that I would beat my name out of him.
Of course, that plan of action was erased, even if I did kinda prefer it.
Going on a less violent path, I decided that I would go up to him and trick him into saying my name with a line like, "Hey, what's my name again?".
Of course, he would probably look at me funny and ask me something like, "Did you forget it already? I didn't think you were that old," or something along those lines that would result in him receiving a bruised arm and me walking away without my prize.
My last choice was to just go up to him and demand that he say my name then and there.
That would most likely turn into a staring contest or a battle of wills but I would have more of a chance that he would just sigh, mumble my name, and continue with whatever he was doing.
I made my choice: decision three. Not my usual type of character but the easiest way to get the job done.
"Hey," I said suddenly, lifting my eyes from where they were staring listlessly at my blank computer screen.
Marshall didn't look up to meet my eyes. "What?"
Now that it was the moment of truth, I found that I was strangely hesitant. What did it matter to me if Marshall said my name anyway? I should forget the whole thing and actually start on my paperwork. No, I was seeing this through.
To allow myself a pause to compose myself without arousing suspicion, I stood up and ambled around my desk, absentmindingly shuffling my papers to look as if I were doing something progressive.
"Can I ask you a favor?" I asked, my downcast eyes flicking up to see if Marshall's posture changed.
He was still looking at the papers on his desk and typing on his computer. "As if I have a choice," he replied nonchalantly. He took a sip of his coffee.
I obviously wasn't getting anywhere with this. I had to get his attention. His full attention.
Is that what I wanted?
I ambled away from my desk and made a beeline for his.
Why was I stalling? Why were my legs feeling gooey and why were my palms growing a thin layer of sweat? What was I getting worked up about? I hadn't even asked him to say my name yet.
I stopped at a clear space of his desk where mountains of papers weren't threatening to topple over. As casually as I could manage I placed my hands on his desk and leaned in slightly.
He was still busy doing work. Goody-two-shoes. Actually, work sounded like a good idea… No! I had to stay focused. He was going to say my name whether he wanted to or not.
"Marshall?"
Dammit! My stupid voice came out to soft. I almost sounded helpless. My nerves just had to fail me now.
Marshall had heard the difference in my voice. As soon as I squeaked his name out, I had his undivided attention. His fingers were frozen over the keyboard, one hand about to flip the page of the file he was recording. His eyes were locked onto mine, those striking blue sapphires. They were wide, in surprise. His mouth remained closed but I could see that question in his eyes: "What's wrong?"
I sighed heavily and tore my fingers through my hair distractedly. Marshall slowly turned his body towards me, folding his hands lightly in front of him, only inches from mine.
"Um, I was wondering…" Of all times for my voice to fail me, why did it have to be now? What difference did it make if Marshall said my name? I would still be Mary: master of insults and commander of attitude.
Thankfully, Marshall had the brains to remain in his chair and keep his mouth close. Although, the silence was making me nervous.
"I was wondering, well asking more than wondering… actually I want you to do it despite your choice on the matter-"
The words were coming out fast now. God, how stupid could I get? It was a simple question! Why was I blubbering in front of him?
Marshall seemed truly confused now. His brow was pulled down, making his eyes squint curiously at me.
"What do you want me to do?" he finally asked. I was jealous of his even voice.
"Say my name," I whispered in response.
His whole demeanor changed then, in the blink of an eye. A sigh escaped his mouth as his body slowly relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and placed a relieved smile on his lips.
"That's it?" he asked, a little too easily.
I nodded. My face remained the same: focused on the prize, unsure of its result.
Marshall looked me over thoughtfully for a moment. His smile faded back into seriousness.
"Why?" he asked with sincere curiosity.
How was I going to explain this? That I wanted to make sure he knew the correct way to say it? To make me feel better that he considered me someone worth having their name said to them? To have the fulfilling feeling that Marshall actually said my name, my name?
Truthfully, I didn't know the real answer. And that scared me.
Marshall – ever-seeing, too sensitive Marshall – seemed to see these questions raging in my head. He smiled reassuringly and stood.
My breath hitched.
He walked around his desk to stand beside me. That smile was still on his face, brightening his features and making those two sapphires sparkle.
All I wanted was for him to say my name. Nothing else. Why was he getting this close?
Marshall stopped, only inches from my body, and placed his gentle hands on my shoulders. With extreme care – as if I would break if he was too fast or rough – he turned me to fully face him.
That soothing smile was still there. His calm face was all I could see. I dropped my eyes, almost reluctantly, to examine the floor. The floor didn't make my heart flutter. Yeah, the floor was good to look at. Hey, I didn't know there was a pattern on it.
Soft fingers slid under my chin and a gentle pressure was applied beneath it. I found that my eyes were traveling up again against my will as Marshall lifted my face. Then, I was looking at Marshall again, his fingers on my chin denied another attempt to escape those eyes.
Wait, was his face getting closer?
"Ready?" he asked, his lips just a hair's length away from my ear. His warm breath made me shiver.
I nodded numbly as he brought his face away from mine to look at me.
What a wonderful smile.
"Mary," he said softly.
My heart skipped a beat as a smile spread across my warming face.
That was the moment when I realized, I liked it when Marshall said my name. It was a rare and delicious delicacy that I would wait for a lifetime to hear again. The longer I waited, the longer I tolerated the Heys and Yous, the better my name would sound on Marshall Mann's lips whenever he next decided to grace me with saying my name.
Hell, I'll even bear through his next pointless lecture, if only to hear my name again.