This story is actually finished but my beta actually is going over the last few chapters of it. The updates should be pretty regular because I intended it to be a one shot but it just got to be too long (37 pages in word), so I'm splitting it up a bit. Enjoy the Mary Marshall goodness.

Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just use the characters to further the enjoyment of all.

ooOOoo

Mary was awake but kept her eyes closed. Everything was a little fuzzy and she wanted to make sure she wasn't going to have any surprises when she opened her eyes. She tried to remember everything that had happened: protecting her witness because of her insistence to move into that god awful neighborhood. The gangster on the front step, trying to gain admittance to the house. Calling Dershowitz; what a mistake that had been. She didn't need to be completely coherent to know that he hadn't done much. But, then again, maybe she wouldn't be here at all if not for him. She didn't really know. The details were vague past a certain point. All she remembered was pulling her gun and then nothing really.

Opening her eyes slowly, Mary took a quick look around the room. She saw the obligatory blue curtains that matched that standard blue paint that hospitals seemed to love so. Blue tiles were on the floor and bathroom walls; blue vinyl chairs were lined up against the wall with the window. The shelves by her bed were blue and the florescent lights giving off a hint of blue. Even her ridiculous gown was blue, not to mention unflattering. She was grateful for the blue blankets that were covering her from the waist down.

There were lots of things beeping, but she knew that she would have more problems if they stopped. Just because they were important, didn't mean that they weren't annoying. She had a feeling that once she was less tired she needed to make a big deal out of it. That was now on her list of things to do: become coherent, complain about the noise.

It was obvious that there had to have been shots fired and she was on the receiving end of one of the shots. She didn't know how severe the damage was, but if the pain in her gut every time she moved was any indication, she was pretty sure that it was bad. Raph was probably freaking out. He didn't handle the pressures of her job well when she wasn't in any danger.

It suddenly occurred to her that all of her family must be worried sick about her. She hoped that her mother hadn't started drinking again because of this. Wouldn't that have been just the icing on the cake to this whole predicament? She gets shot and Jinx has a relapse.

Her thoughts wandered to Raph and she looked for him. Instead of seeing him, her eyes fell on Marshall, asleep, in a hard hospital chair next to her bed. The sight surprised her. She figured he'd be working, not sitting here guarding her bed.

She saw him stir and shut her eyes again, not wanting to let on that she had woken up. She didn't know how long she had been out but it was long enough that soon people were going to come in and start gushing over the fact that she was awake. She wasn't ready to actually deal with people yet.

"I know you're awake." In fact, he'd known for sometime that she was waking up but he kept the facts to himself. She didn't need to hear his random spouting of facts when she might not even know who he was.

She opened one eye and saw Marshall looking at her. Saw him trying to keep a placid face and wondered who he was trying to fool. After all the years that they had spent together, she knew when Marshall had been stretched to his limits. In all the time she'd known him, she'd never seen him this bad. It made her all the more curious as to how long she'd been asleep.

"How do you know shit like that?" Mary made a move to sit up a little and then decided against it; it was too painful. She noted that Marshall moved towards her as if to help and had stopped. He knew her too well sometimes. Even now he recognized her need to be self-sufficient.

"How do you manage to be sarcastic less than a minute after coming out of a coma?" he retorted. When she just glared at him he gave her a real answer. "Your heart beat speeds up when you're awake."

"You could have just said that to begin with," she mumbled.

"You could let me help you sit up instead of laying there suffering."

"Damn it. Fine, you win." She held out her hand to him and he stood up, supporting her shoulders and helping her sit up in her bed. He let her go the second she was settled and sat back down in his seat. "So are you going to tell me what happened?"

"How much do you remember?" The doctor had told Marshall not to push her into anything. There was a chance that Mary was going to forget a lot. No one could determine how much damage had been done to her brain when she stopped breathing.

"I remember Francesca being an idiot and moving herself to that shitty neighborhood," Mary mumbled more to herself than Marshall.

"Is that it?"

"No, I remember pulling my gun. That's where it all goes dark. Marshall, will you please just tell me what the hell happened?"

Marshall shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly in relief. Nothing was wrong with Mary's brain. At least, nothing more than the normal things that were out-of-whack in Mary's head. "You were shot."

"Well, obviously. I was hoping for a little more detail than that."

"So pushy. Give me more than five seconds to get the words out of my mouth." His answer was an annoyed glare. He probably shouldn't be pushing her buttons. She needed to relax and antagonizing her wasn't the way to make sure she relaxed. "Dershowitz called 911 and they rushed you to the hospital. You stopped breathing and your heart stopped but they restarted it. They put you in surgery once you were stable enough to do so and you've been in a coma for two and a half weeks. You've been in and out the past couple of days, waking up for a few minutes at a time, one time for a whole half hour, though you didn't say anything. You just stared at us all blankly."

"Two and a half weeks? That long? Damn. I don't remember waking up at all until now."

"We've all been a little worried about you."

Mary looked at him and saw when he said "we" he really meant "I", though she was sure he wasn't the only one who was worried. "You know me. I always like to be the center of attention."

"No you don't. You hate it."

"Yeah, well, all that repressed envy of the girls who were the center of attention. I had to get it out somehow."

"Next time could you try something a little less dangerous? I think you might have given me a gray hair."

"Well, then, my life is complete."

Marshall rolled his eyes to hide how much her words had affected him. Her life had very nearly been over and he hadn't handled it well. All too quickly he found out what his life would be like without Mary around and he hadn't liked it for a second.

"Do you want me to call everyone?"

"As in, 'walk into the hall because they're all waiting there' call or 'pick up your phone and they have to drive here' call?"

"Drive here call."

She frowned in that way that indicated whatever she was about to say wasn't meant to be taken seriously. "Really? They're not all waiting every second of the day and watching me sleep? I'm a little disappointed. What does a girl have to do to get people waiting by her bedside with grief?"

Marshall had to stop himself from saying 'be your partner.' He didn't want her to know just how long he had been at this hospital doing that very thing. Everyone else had gone back to their lives and continued on as much as they could, though visits were frequent and long.

"I'm a little surprised that Raph isn't here. He's the wait-by-your-bedside type."

"Raph is working. He's been working a lot, actually." Marshall waved his hand like it was no big deal, like they all hadn't had the hardest time pretending that life was fine. Marshall didn't even bother to pretend; he'd been on leave since she'd been shot. After trying to interrogate a witness that first night, everyone had decided that he would be better off taking some time for himself.

"Shouldn't you be at work? I mean it's," she looked at the wall clock across from her. "Three PM. What the hell are you doing here?"

Marshall didn't know what to say to her. How did you tell your partner that you hadn't left since they had been shot other than to change your clothes? How did you tactfully mention that you hadn't slept in a real bed for almost three weeks and that it didn't matter because you didn't sleep much these days anyways? Every time he closed his eyes, Mary pale and not breathing on a gurney came to mind, forcing his eyes open again. "I had some time off that I'm using." It wasn't the total truth but he figured it was a better explanation than the alternative: he couldn't cope. They were in a line of work where you had to learn to cope, to deal and to not let it affect your work. Marshall had quickly realized that there was a limit and Mary was his.

Mary wasn't fooled. She thought about commenting on it but felt that maybe right now wasn't the time. She had never seen him like this in all her life and she wasn't sure if she should be flattered or scared. Perhaps the answer was a little of both.

"You should go call everyone. I mean, if I'm going to pretend that waking up is a big deal in everyone's book I need them here to fuel my sickness."

"You sure you don't want more time to build up to them coming?"

"No, I'll take a nap before they get here. Go." Marshall got up to leave but she stopped him. "And Marshall?"

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised slightly in question.

"Go home. Take a shower. Sleep in a real bed. I'm going to be up for awhile now. Everyone else can take over 'Mary watch.'"

He just smiled at her. Sometimes he was glad that he didn't have to explain.

ooOOoo

"Dershowitz, why won't you tell me about the perp who tried to kill me?"

"Because it's irrelevant information right now. When you have to testify against him, then I'll tell you. Right now all you need to do is concentrate on getting better."

"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" Mary complained. "Like it takes a supreme mental effort to lay here and let the hole in my abdomen heal."

"It's an expression, Mary, let it go," Brandi said to her. Her hand was laced with Peter's, squeezing it. The relief that had hit her when Marshall called was the most wonderful feeling she had ever had. Life had been a mess since Mary had gotten shot. Jinx almost started drinking again, something that Brandi had a hard time dealing with by herself. She couldn't let Mary wake to an alcoholic mother, though, so she kept Jinx in check. Peter had been supportive through everything and Brandi was once again thankful for his presence.

"Fine, but if one more person says to concentrate on getting better, I'm going to punch them."

Mary sat and endured her family and friends, knowing that the whole ordeal had probably been taxing on them. Stan, though he showed up, didn't say much. Everyone acted like if they even looked at her the wrong way she would suddenly slip back into oblivion. Mary, though tired, had no such concerns. She was awake and felt better than she had an hour ago. Of course the refresher of morphine could have been a big factor in that, but she decided that she liked the idea that things were improving.

The morphine was also making her eyes droop but she fought against it. Her body had slept enough, almost three weeks in fact, though she doubted that being in a coma had the same rejuvenate effects as sleeping. The sensation of having missed such a large chunk of her life was disconcerting and she just wanted the room cleared. She also couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Raph wasn't around. He had claimed that he couldn't get out of work and that he would come soon. The excuse that he didn't think she was going to wake up when she did was a weak one. She had only been out of it a few weeks and, while it was probably pretty scary, she thought it was a little too soon to be writing her off as a vegetable.

"Hey, Mary, how are you feeling?"

Mary looked up, unaware that she had zoned out so thoroughly. Usually she knew exactly what was going on around here but the drugs combined with her tired state made her completely miss the fact that Marshall was talking to her or even the fact that he had returned. She saw him now, his face close, worry lines creasing his forehead.

"I'm just tired. Who knew that all I had to do to become a junkie was get shot? Would have done it years ago had I known." The laughter that came from her family was awkward and stilted. They didn't understand how she was making jokes so easily.

"Why don't we all clear out of here?" Stan suggested. The company just agreed and said their goodbyes to Mary. Everyone but Marshall had exited the room.

"Marshall, you coming?" Stan asked.

"Leave him, Stan," Mary said. "He likes being the martyr." Stan left and Mary looked at her partner. Though he had taken her advice about the shower, she knew that he hadn't taken her advice about getting some sleep. "Christ, you really are a martyr, aren't you?"

"Just concerned," he answered, sitting down in the chair he had been occupying for weeks. "Besides, a martyr is traditionally someone who dies for a cause. No one died and there's no cause here so really, no martyrdom is involved. However, its original definition was someone who bore witness, though I don't think that definition really applies here, either."

"Leave it to you to know the definition of a martyr." She noticed that her words were a lot more slurred than they had been previously. The drugs were really starting to work themselves into her system.

"Get some sleep, Mary."

Mary was going to say something else to him but finally her eyelids won over her willpower and she fell asleep.