For One Night
Mary cringed, wrinkling her nose like a disgusted child when a bearded man with cowboy boots, matching hat included, leered at her, then made it a point to 'brush' past her in the crowded bar. "Ugh, God, I hate people sometimes," she yelled over the line dancing music to Marshall, who stood a mere two inches away, and had seen the entire play.
He smirked, rolling his eyes. "Only sometimes?"
She shoved him lightly. "Semantics," Mary muttered. "What are we doing here anyways?" she paused, running through dates in her mind. "It's not your birthday yet, right? Because if it is…I forgot. And I don't think it's mine, because…then I forgot that too."
He just shook his head, knowing she was trying to figure out the relevance, or lack thereof, of the smoky dive bar with the line dance music played, religiously, after every other song. Marshall shrugged.
"No reason really, just wanted to hang out, unless that's a problem," he said casually. Mary eyed him warily. Something was up…Marshall couldn't lie to save his life—which was good considering he only had to save other peoples lives…everyday.
"It's not a problem…it's just not…we never just 'hang out.' And that makes us sound like cheating teenagers who snuck out of their houses at two in the morning," Mary retaliated.
"About that…" he laughed nervously. "I kind of…need you to help me out of a situation. Or into one. I'm not really sure yet. It depends…"
"Depends on what Marshall?" He grimaced at her tone. She was not happy. This was a bad idea. Why the hell did his only friend have to be the most infuriating woman he'd ever known?
"Look, Mary…" he started hesitantly.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Holding back a comment on how the low cut top would definitely help the situation, he decided to choose his words wisely. Very wisely, because with Mary, they could be his last at any moment. Particularly, this moment.
"Jesus Marshall, don't make me beat it out of you!" she bit out, exasperated. Bodily harm usually persuaded most people, after all. And he was sure Mary wasn't kidding.
"So here's the deal. My former…fiancé…is here, in Albuquerque, and she knows I still live, work, and exist here. Just to add insult to injury, she informed me she's now engaged to my former best friend and roommate from college. Suffice to say, I told her I was totally and completely crazy happy, and dating a woman I work with…" he trailed the end, refusing to look her in the eye.
Her mouth was gaping. She could hear her mother telling her she'd catch flies if she didn't shut it. Marshall had been engaged? Marshall had had a fiancé? Someone who could actually deal with his incessant, nonessential, factual fountain of useless information, 'til death do they part? This was news to her.
"So you lied."
"Funny, but no…" he replied, clearly not amused. "But that's where you come in…"
She couldn't figure out what was more surprising: this phantom fiancé, or his plan to use her to bait the fiancé? Her conscious tugged at her. It sucked to have your best friend steal your fiancé, just like it sucked to have your little sister hitting on your boyfriend, or whatever she and Raph were. Or weren't. That was something to figure out later.
"It's just for one night Mary, please?" he pleaded. Dammit. His stupid face got her every time.
"Only one night! And don't you dare expect me to come to any weddings," Mary queried, grimacing at the thought of the magenta frock she'd had to wear as the maid of horror for one of her witnesses weddings a few months back. "And buddy…you are going to owe me so far into the next freaking millennium that your last words will be—"
She would have continued. She would have continued if she hadn't expected to be physically assaulted by a too tall, too pretty, too…chirpy blonde woman, attached to an equally beaming, toothy, handsome man. One moment everything in her life was normal—well, relatively so—and then she was being hugged, hugged, by a former Texas cheerleader Barbie wannabe of some sort.
"Oh my gosh! You must be Mary! Marshall has told me all about you!" the former phantom Barbie fiancé gushed.
Personal space, my personal space! Back. Off. Was what she wanted to say. Instead, Mary was stuck in the just-hugged-state, clearly freaked out by the unannounced barrage of perfume and awkward affection. "Wow!" she pretended to sound just as excited, prying herself out of arms reach of the woman. "That's funny, because he never told me anything about you!" The red lipstick smile faltered ever so slightly. Barbie wasn't too happy to be meeting Marshall's 'girlfriend' after all.
In a sugary, cotton candy voice, the former fiancé decided to break the sudden tension—by fanning the proverbial fire. "You are just so pretty! Can you really be that pretty in a law enforcement position like yours?"
Mary's eyes narrowed darkly. Marshall watched her hand drift south towards her gun out of his peripheral vision. This was a very very very bad idea. He grabbed her hand, hard enough to cause her knuckles to pop. She winced. Then she stepped on his foot with the heel of her boot.
It was his turn to wince. He stifled the pain that she read, quite satisfied, across his face as he tried to introduce all of the parties to each other. "Mary, this is Amelia St. James and her…Jack Pierce"
Mary smiled, to the best of her ability, and held out her hand towards both of the former friends. "What brings the two of you to Albuquerque?"
Marshall squeezed her hand, gentler this time, as if to say good job, make nice with the other kids on the playground. It didn't mean she couldn't have fun while she was at it. She could pretend like the best of them. She was a WITSEC officer after all. Pretty was only part of the job.
The new fiancé decided to field this question. "We're house hunting, well, vacation house hunting I guess. Millie and I are Looking for a summer home, or thinking about building one in the area. Do you recommend any specific locations?" Jack said, never once looking at Marshall.
Yea, how's five hundred miles from where Jesus lost his sandals?
"Nope, we already live here. Its summer 365 days out of the year; I'd like a winter home, but Marshall isn't keen on the snow part. Oh well," Mary answered.
Jack laughed. Millie looked confused. That part didn't shock her. No wonder she was able to put up with Marshall's torrents of unwanted factoids; she probably thought he was making the stuff up.
"Why don't we sit down, order something?" Marshall offered when silence settled in once again. Jack agreed, vehemently.
Marshall slung his arm around Mary's shoulders, hoping she'd go with it and he wouldn't be thrown over the table. Millie eyed them dangerously. Jack stared at the menu blankly. "How long have you two been…dating? I thought that wasn't allowed in your profession."
"Do you want to field this one honey, or should I?" Mary smirked, pinching his side.
"We have a very…understanding…boss," Marshall attempted, then paused, mulling over his words. "We just, you know, click. It happens, when you're partnered for awhile. You get to know each other, why you're there, why you are who you are. You go through a lot together, survive a lot together."
Mary listened to his lie intently. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She couldn't because she found herself buying into his spiel, just as Jack and Millie were.
Because it wasn't a lie. She just didn't know it.
Jack actually looked up at his ex friend, a quiet, proud expression flickering across his face. As if he wanted to add good for you, you finally found someone. Millie seemed as speechless as Mary.
"Can I take you order?" asked a petite waitress suddenly. They ordered beers all around, none with any real appetite anymore.
"I need to use the ladies room," Mary said quietly, quickly leaving. She couldn't breathe. The smoke and the music and the emotion were all too much. She glanced back at the table to make sure they weren't following her before slipping outside. The cool air hit her abruptly, a different feel from the thick humidity of the bar.
She slid down the wall. Stupid night. Stupid Marshall with his stupid idea and his stupid never-before-seen fiancé Barbie and her stupid questions. Stupid of her to agree. Stupid to ask. Stupid to care. Stupidity ran in her family. Stupid Brandi for hitting on Raph, stupid Raph for not telling Brandi to back off. Everything was falling apart. Stupid. All of it. And she could only blame herself.
Her eyes burned. Stupid tears.
"Dear God, will this night ever end? I will go back to church, I swear. Hell, I'll go to confession! I will join the freaking convent!"
She heard someone give a small laugh next to her. Mary jumped up, startled. "Jack?" she pushed away the tears quickly. "What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for the men's room," he said dryly. At least he had a sense of humor. He shrugged. "Told Marshall and Millie I needed to take a cigarette break. Would have looked less suspicious if I didn't actually have to go outside to smoke."
She laughed this time. "Good point. So why did you come out here, really?"
"Because I saw how you looked when Marshall said all of that. It wasn't much, but it was enough for someone like you."
"What do mean someone like me?" she asked defensively.
"Someone that doesn't know their best friend is actually in love with them. I'm going to go out on a limb and say you and Marshall aren't dating."
Mary opened her mouth, and then shut it, defeated. It was too easy.
"That's what I thought. I get it, the wanting to look happy act in front of the two people that crushed him back in college. Marshall will never forgive me for taking Amelia, and no matter how she comes off, she isn't that bad. There's just something, sometimes, that you don't see…until it's too late. It almost happened with me and Amelia. I couldn't let her go. I know that's selfish," he paused, looking up at the cloudless, starry black sky. "I think you make him happy. And for both your sakes, don't let each other go."
Mary listened silently, a thin smile touching the edges of her lips. "Thanks," she whispered. Jack looked at his watch.
"We should probably head in."
She laughed. "I'm trying to figure out who we should be more worried about, Marshall or Amelia?"
"Amelia, for sure. She was always too nice to tell him she had no idea what he was ever talking about. She used to spend hours in the library pissing off the student aids because she tried to find all the books and poems and movies he'd reference. For a year she slept with a dictionary under her pillow."
Mary cringed. "Wow. I just tell him to shut up."
"That works?"
"Hell no. Then I threaten to tell people he wears pajamas with airplanes on them. Or that I'll shoot him."
"That's a bad thing?" Jack asked curiously.
"What? Shooting him? That depends."
"No, airplane pajama pants."
Mary rolled her eyes. "Men."
When they returned to the table, coming in separately, (Jack first; Mary faking a right, then a left from the women's bathroom) they found their respective significant others exactly as they thought: Marshall spewing facts, Millie pretending she understand every tidbit.
Millie seemed, quite suddenly, not so jealous of Mary by this point. "You know what, it's getting late. We have taken up way to much of your time. We have a lot of traveling in the next week you know," Millie rambled, attempting to sound sorry.
The four stood up, all leaving money for the beers. Outside the bar once again, Mary spoke first. "We should do this again sometime, really. I want to hear geeky college Marshall stories."
Marshall looked at her, startled by her sincerity. Their eyes met, saying we'll talk about it later.
Jack nodded his agreement. "There are plenty. There was this one particular beer pong incident…"
Marshall, forgetting his anger at his old friend, mock glared, saying, "I wouldn't go there…Markie Gressler told me a completely different version of that story."
Millie laughed too, hugging Marshall goodbye, and sensing Mary's affection disposition, settled for a handshake. It would be awhile before she would get used to the giddy cheerleader persona. They all exchanged numbers, promising visits, and an invitation to their wedding. Surprisingly, Mary didn't roll her eyes at this.
"What was that about?" Marshall asked the minute the couple had driven off. Mary shrugged.
"What do you mean?"
"Mary," Marshall warned. "You weren't in the bathroom. And really, in a smoky bar, who goes outside to smoke? At that, Jack doesn't smoke."
She sighed. "All right…I freaked out. I don't play doting girlfriend well. Just ask Raph."
"This isn't about Raph Mary."
She stared at him for a moment. "No, it really isn't. It's about what you said in there. You meant that Marshall. You can't lie for crap, so I know it wasn't a lie. And I highly doubt you rehearsed that in a mirror."
He shook his head tiredly. "What if I did mean it? Does it really make a difference?"
"Yes, Marshall, it does! It does because you can't keep something like that from me!"
"What Mary? That I'm in love with my best friend!" he shouted. Then he balked, running a hand through his hair.
"Yea…something like that," she whispered. She smiled slowly, taking three steps forward and hugging him.
"I don't understand," he said, confused.
"That's a first. Let's make this really, really simple then," Mary smirked coyly. She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him lightly on the lips. He froze for a moment, then responded easily.
"I still don't—"
She kissed him quickly, then said simply, "You really should give Jack another chance. He's a good guy."
Marshall grinned. "You know, I think I will."
(The line about where Jesus lost his sandals is actually from Bones, another show, with a little word change, and I thought the reference would be a cute touch…no infringement necessary)