A/N: I'm still working on Killing Time, but I had to write this. This week's episode nearly made me cry—especially because of Marshall's little admission. (Letters From The Sky, Lyrics by Civil Twilight)

Happy For You

One of these days letters are gonna fall
From the sky telling us all to go free
But until that day I'll find a way to let everybody know
That you're coming back, you're coming back for me
'Cause even though you left me here
I have nothing left to fear
These are only walls that hold me here
Hold me here, hold me here…

He couldn't believe she was engaged. Just the word made him cringe. "Mary" and "engaged" didn't belong in the same sentence. Ever.

But what hurt him the most, deep down, was that she hadn't told him. Hell, she never would have told him if he hadn't seen the tan line on that very important finger. In a sick, twisted way, he wondered if she would have gone and married Raph and kept it a secret from him. It was who she was. Secretive, private, and distant. But never to him. She always came to him. He was her best friend. Her only friend.

And because he was her friend, her supposed confidant, he had to do the one thing that would tear him apart inside.

He had to be happy for her. No matter how much it killed him.

He stared at the blonde from his desk, hands clenching the empty champagne glass. He needed something stronger than the bubbly, fizzy drink to "celebrate" the occasion. He needed to rewind the day and start over, never see the stupid ring line. Never see the diamond chunk that once sat in the middle of a sickening sweet cupcake in a tacky display of affection. He needed to never have met the beautiful blonde that intoxicated his mind and carelessly walked in and out of his life.

She would never be his.

Eleanor cheerfully passed cookies around; Stan obliviously enjoyed downing the rest of the second bottle of champagne; Mary faked her pseudo appreciation as best as she could. She hadn't looked Marshall in the eye since he'd made his brief, enlightening speech.

Roughly slamming the glass down, he silently slipped out of the office. No one the wiser. Stan was too occupied with Eleanor to notice, so he didn't feel the need to dismiss himself for the rest of the day. He just left.

XOX

She felt him leave. Felt his presence vanish from the room. She closed her eyes and sighed, repressing guilty, angry tears. Why hadn't she told him? She told him when she was going to the dentist, he knew when she heading for a mental breakdown, he knew about her illusive, criminal father, for Christ sake, but she couldn't tell him she was engaged? She was her own worst enemy. She was her own worst enemy, and now a friendless wonder on top of that. Two words—that's all it would have taken—two words, "I'm engaged." And she couldn't do that.

She couldn't admit it to herself. She knew, in the back of her mind, that had he not noticed the line on her finger, she wouldn't have told him. She would have married Raph, blissfully leaving her friend ignorant and in the dark.

But it was the words he'd used in his speech that had thrown her. They weren't friend words. They weren't celebratory, congratulatory words. They were goodbye words. His eyes said it all, always. But the real question he asked, the real question he wanted was written clearly in those few moments: do you really love him? And she hadn't been able to answer.

He was done. He'd lost. He threw in his towel at "I love you."

And she knew it.

Looking at Stan and Eleanor, happily dancing around the refreshment table, filled with cupcakes and cookies and champagne, she had to leave. The happiness was making her sick. The cupcakes made her sick. The memories made her sick. She stood, grabbed her jacket, and left without a backwards glance at the happier couple.

XOX

"Another," Marshall said to the bartender, setting the empty shot glass on the counter with more force than necessary. She looked at the bitter man reluctantly, but filled the shot.

"Rough day?" She asked. He eyed her warily, downing the shot.

"My best friend is engaged."

"Oh; did he steal your girl or something?"

Marshall gave a short laugh, sliding the glass back. "Something…something like that."

The bartender nodded; she'd heard it all before. "Well then, here, on the house." She refilled the shot glass. It had been awhile since she'd seen someone so…lost. "It hurts, I know. It'll…well…I can't lie, it will always suck. But here's the thing. Engaged doesn't mean married. Married doesn't even mean married anymore. But my advice, get her before she's gone. You're not doing anyone any good sitting here. We all want someone to step in before it's too late."

He shook his head. "I've been stepping in for three years. Trust me. It's already too late." He tossed a few bills down, stood, smiled, and left the bar.

XOX

She knocked again. And again. And again. She knew he wasn't home. That much was obvious. No lights were on. Her constant, irritating abuse of the doorbell hadn't crushed his patience. She just felt the desire to hit the door. Over again.

She finally gave up, leaning against the apartment door, sliding down till she sat on the ground. He had to come home eventually.

Right?

Mary sighed, head in her hands. All of this over the stupid ring. A ring she didn't want. Too flashy, too big, too…diamond-y. It wasn't her, she thought, as she turned the object over and over in the dimly lit hall.

Deep in her contemplation, she didn't register the slow, heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

"Mary?" Marshall said, keys in hand, surprised to see his partner at his door. She should be at home, with her fiancé. She jumped so hard that the ring clattered to the tile floor, its heaviness echoing back at her. Marshall averted his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he questioned, resigned to let her in.

"I…I don't know," she whispered, staring blankly at the ring, shining innocently on the floor. She could smell the alcohol and smokiness of the bar on him. She cringed; what had she done?

Marshall leaned down, gently picking the fallen ring up. The sharp edges of the diamond's setting bit into his palm. He wished, for a moment, that he could crush the ring into millions of tiny fragments. Instead, he loosened his grip on the trinket, took hold of one of Mary's hands, set the ring in the middle of her palm, and curled her fingers around the band.

"Go home Mary," he whispered evenly. "You don't belong here. Go home." He let go of her hand, unlocked his door, and shut it quietly behind her stunned form.

She sat there for a while longer, the weight of admission circling through her mind. That hurt, more then he knew. But she had hurt him far worse. She stood, staring at his door, knowing he was serious. She didn't belong there. Tears returned, furious and sad and angry as hell.

She left.

XOX

"Where have you been?" Raph asked, washing the dishes from whatever dinner he had made. She still clutched the ring tightly in her hand.

"Um…out," she said quietly. Why would he just lock her out? He'd never had this reaction to her and Raph's relationship before. But this time is different. This time, he loses. It was a nagging, recurring thought. He loses you.

But he didn't. She was still his partner. Still his friend. What more was there? He meant what he said. He meant it.

And there it was again. She knew he loved her more than she would accept it for. He wanted the last word.

"So, how was your day?" Raph asked, smile on his face. She swallowed hard. It was too much.

"Fine," she answered, distracted. He knit his forehead.

"What's wrong Mary?"

"Leave me alone, I said I'm fine," she answered again, far harsher than she meant to be.

"I'm just trying to help," Raph replied, hands up in surrender.

She shook her head. "Don't. I don't need your help," she whispered, heading for her room and swiftly slamming the door behind her. His stuff had started to accumulate in her house. His clothes, his magazines, dishes, possessions. It started grating on her nerves. Boxes sat in every corner. His stuff in her space. It didn't belong there. You don't belong here. Go home.

Angry, she pulled open the drawers that Raph had started to take over, jeans, shirts, socks, and threw them into an open box at her feet. She pushed books into piles, tossed shoes out of her closet. She wanted it out. She wanted out.

She breathed hard, tears finally spilling over. She opened her hand, staring at the white/purple imprint the ring created in her palm. Why did she say yes? Because it was right? Because they'd been together long enough? Because she felt bad for him, losing his career? Because Jinx and Brandi thought it was time? No one had asked her if she wanted it, no one asked why. She was impulsive, and this had been a bad impulsive move.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she breathed deeply, wishing Marshall was there to tell her what to do, how to calm down. And that was it.

She had her answer.

She breathed, calmly, and opened the bedroom door. Raph still stood where she'd left him, puzzled about her abrupt disappearance.

He looked up at her, smile gone.

She took his hand, like Marshall had held hers. His eyes looked hurt and confused when he felt the tiny weight in his hand, pressing down on his skin. Her other hand rest on his chest, and standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek chastely.

"I'm sorry."

XOX

He couldn't sleep. Images of Mary and the stupid ring turning over and over burned his eyelids. He couldn't even drink himself into a stupor. He'd settled on reading one of his thousands of books, but even the torturous facts he knew couldn't appease him. He felt bad. He'd hurt her, and it was eating him inside. He had to tell her he was happy for her. He had to tell Raph if he ever hurt her, he'd kill him. Had to be the best friend for her. Had to help organize the wedding. Had to pretend.

For her sake. For his sanity.

He pulled on a shirt, grabbed a jacket and his keys and made his way to the door, ready to fake all the happiness in the world as long as he could see his friend again.

He opened his door, nearly crashing into the person in question. She stumbled back, his hand shot out to grab her arm, steadying her. "Mare…" he started.

"I…I know you don't want me here. I know you don't want to see me. But can we…can we talk?" She whispered, sounding more like a sad child than he'd ever heard. He nodded, allowing her to come in, and closed the door. He set his keys on the table, shrugging out of his jacket. "If you need to go somewhere…"

He held up his hand. "It's not…important."

Mary looked around the room, not knowing where to start.

"Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water…"

"Coffee…sounds good," she answered.

He went into his kitchen; she followed, distant. The silence stood stagnant and thick. "Mary, why did you come here?" he swallowed, still bitter, not looking at her.

She shrugged her shoulders. All courage had left her. All the words she wanted to use were gone.

"Because you're my friend."

He laughed. "That's not a good reason."

Her eyes narrowed. "So I get engaged and we're not friends anymore? Nice Marshall, I expected more from you," She bit out dangerously.

He tensed, and she wanted to take back all the nasty words. "You expect more from me? That's really rich Mary. That's funny—because I expected more from you too. You're getting married, Mary, and you don't have it in you to tell me? Yea, we're not friends anymore," he said, tone rising, getting angrier. She flinched—he had never been like this before. Never this angry. Never at her. "Forget it, maybe you should leave," he said after a moment, never looking at her.

She gaped at him, frozen, leaning against the counter. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

The smell of coffee surrounded them, and nothing but the ticking of the clock could be heard for a long while. Neither wanted to cave. Neither wanted to break the dangerous air.

"It's kind of late for that," he replied. She bit her lip, closed her eyes against the stupid tears that seemed to be coming more often lately.

"What did you mean in the office, Marshall?"

He stopped his movements. He had nothing left to lose anymore. "You know what I meant, Mary, don't patronize me. Don't do this to me. Go home."

She balled her hands into fists. "Don't tell me what to do. Just because you're pissed off doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do."

"Like you listen anyways. Hope Raph knows what he's getting into," Marshall said dryly. She stared at the floor. In this moment, she hated her friend more than anything.

"Stop it," she whispered.

"You can say it, but I can't? Mary, do you even love him?" Marshall demanded. She didn't answer. "You can't even say it, Mary. How can you marry someone you don't even love?"

She ground her teeth together. Nails digging into flesh, eyes closed tightly against the words she knew were true.

He sighed, the fight wearing out of him faster than he wanted. He couldn't apologize for what he knew was true. "If he's who you want…" Marshall shrugged, the coffee he poured untouched. "Then I'll be happy for you."

She finally looked up from the floor. Looked at the man that knew her better than anyone in the world. Her only friend, back turned away. Willing to give up his happiness for hers.

Because to him, she came first. No flashy displays of arrogant affection; no pressing demands of commitment, no pushing. He knew her, and that was it.

She pushed off the counter, tentatively putting her hands on his back, cautiously. He was steady, frozen. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into him. He didn't move, didn't breathe; didn't want to disturb the moment, didn't want to scare her away.

He put one hand over hers, stroking the knuckles of her left hand absently. They stopped at the ring finger. The one that had caused the catastrophe. He turned around slowly, holding her left hand, eyes finally meeting hers for the first time.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, looking away.

"Did you mean what you said, earlier?" She asked.

"A lot's been said, Mare, you might have to back track for me just a bit," he said, still gripping her finger, slightly stunned.

"Your speech, doofus. What did you mean?"

He loosened his grip on her finger, finally letting it drop. "You know what I meant."

"I need…I need you to say it, again."

He shook his head. "Don't screw with me Mary. Don't make me say it if you don't want to hear it. If you're just going to leave, if you just need a reason to run…"

She looked at him again. "I gave Raph…the ring back," she said, suddenly, sure. "When I left here…I don't know…it didn't feel right. I think…I think it was just…convenient. We'd always been no strings, and then we had strings, and everything was different. I didn't want to share my space with him. I didn't want to give up my closet, my floor, my house, for him. I…didn't want to share my life." The words kept pouring, like a waterfall, like the dam broke and for the first time someone was actually listening to her. "He lost his job, and I felt bad, felt bad for yelling, felt bad for his mom surprising us and wanting to know that we were engaged. I just…I can't do it. I don't love him. Not that way." She finally breathed.

"You'll be okay," Marshall whispered, pulling her into him, admitting defeat. He couldn't stay mad forever, not at her, not now. "Sorry…for earlier."

She laughed lightly. "You had a reason…you were right. You deserve a lot more than me."

"No, Mary. I just want…I just want you to know that I love you. I've been in love with my best friend, my partner, for…for a long time."

"Marshall?"

He held his breath. "Yea?"

"You're the man that's good enough for me. You're the man that's…perfect…for me," she finished, softly.

He stood, staring at her, absorbing what she had just admitted, knowing—hoping—believing she meant every word of it.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the engagement. I didn't want to…I don't know…I didn't want it to be real."

He half grinned. "Well, that makes two of us."

Mary rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly. He caught her hands again, pulling her forward. The smile on her face faded away, as did his. His hand brushed the stray blonde bangs out of her eyes, fingers tracing the contour of her cheek. She leaned into the touch, for once welcoming someone's affection.

"I know you want me to say it…but I just can't yet…I will…I think you deserve to know that," Mary said carefully.

"You're forgetting who you're talking to Mare," Marshall replied. "I get you…which is all I ever wanted. I get you."

"God, you're turning me into a crying sap doofus," Mary muttered, trying to blink the tears away. Marshall caught a few as they fell, laughing as she tried to stop them.

"You're turning into a marshmallow, Inspector Shannon," Marshall whispered in her ear.

"I think there needs to be less talking right now…" Mary whispered back seductively.

"Yea, I'm thinking talking is only getting us in trouble…" Marshall trailed off, pulling her closer.

"Glad we're finally on the same page," Mary finished, before Marshall pulled her to him; she barely heard his agreement before his lips were on hers, hands holding on so tight she could barely breathe. As if he was afraid the moment he let go she would run, disappear. As if the moment was a dream. They were hands and lips, sweet and hard, back and forth, both dominating, and both coming out equal.

They were each others perfect match, in every way.

A/N: I'm a sucker for a happy ending, I know.