The voice drifting from the speakers was not as tinny as she wanted, not as annoying and thus much harder to ignore. She was saying something about Christmas was for everyone blah blah blah, but a stupid question kept repeating itself, and it was driving her nearly up the wall to rip the speakers out.

"What do you mean, what have I done?" She muttered to herself, blowing a lock of hair out of her face while looking through sizes on flannel shirts hanging on the rack. "What have I done? What haven't I done?"

"Mary?" She swung around and her steadfast leader was standing a safe few feet behind her.

"Stan, what the hell are you doing here?" Her head was bowed a bit, similar to an angry goat getting ready to charge.

"Uh…I could ask you the same question." He gestured around vaguely and sure enough, it was the men's section of an outfitting store.

"Look, Stan," she was irritated for being here, but even more irritated for being caught here. "Just…whatever."

"Mary…" his tone held a note of warning, but also of patience. He watched her pace, and she went from goat to tiger quite quickly. He'd do this as he'd done a thousand times before, with patience and perseverance. Once or twice he saw her glare at the speakers that spilled out with holiday music, and that wasn't making her any calmer.

"Ok, fine. I'mhereforDoofus." She muttered it out.

"And why are you here for Marshall?" He teased it out of her.

"He hinted he was getting me something and I thought…" she sighed and glared at the flannel shirts. They had those neat pearly snap buttons that made clothes so much easier. Why was she shopping for him again?

"It would be nice to get him something?" He supplied.

"What? For factoid freak? No!" But her eyes said yes.

"Right. Do you know what size he wears?" Stan was just going to plow ahead with this one.

"…no." Stan shook his head – Marshall knew every breathing living thing about his partner, and Mary…not so much. However, when it came push to shove, he knew no one would shove back harder than Mary if it was for Marshall. For Mary it was more like push to shove to slam into a wall.

"He's got long arms." She said randomly, while toeing the hideous brown-corded rug beneath her boots. "So…you know" she gave him the exasperated look she gave her witnesses when she thought they were especially stupid…or deserving of it, "probably a large?"

"Now we're getting somewhere. What color?"

"Huh?" Mary had taken out her phone. And promptly put it away – must've been Jinx or Brandi.

"Color."

"Oh. Blue." She said that with such surety that it threw Stan a bit. Well, to be honest it threw Stan that Mary was shopping. Oh, he could dangle this as leverage over Mary for weeks, especially if he threatened to tell Delia.

"Ok. How about this blue?" He held up a dark navy.

"Ugh, too dark. If he walked out in that at night people would think his face was the moon it's so white and pasty against that color!" She chuckled at her own joke, even in light of Stan's frown.

"This?" It was a light cobalt blue type, with proper lighter shades of blue as the plaid. Her head cocked to the side, and he knew he had found the right one.

"Yeah…looks good!" He handed it over to her. With the snarky smirk and irritated wave goodbye, Stan didn't see Mary until Monday.

"I hate Mondays." Mary was sitting at her desk, frowning into her coffee cup. She knew it was helping, but it managed to offend her nonetheless.

"The word Monday technically has nothing to do with it, you know. If today were labeled another name, you'd be just as angry then." Marshall was being a bit to philosophical…for Monday, or whatever day of the week it was.

"Can it, doofus." She was brooding.

"So I take it you had a decent weekend?"

"Your idea of a decent weekend is reading nonfiction history, fiddling with toy airplanes and listening to Ken Burns Civil War tour guide CDs in your car while driving to a ranch." She snapped.

"That is very true." But before he could press her for details of her weekend and not his fantasy weekend, Stan emerged from his office with file in hand. New witness.

This one new witness became many when she insisted she wouldn't do a damn thing without her family with her. And if she could believe it, all eight members of her family upped and moved from frosty Minnesota to New Mexico. The grandfather looked at Mary with a frown and said: "Why, family's family."

So as soon as the entire Martin family was settled in…which was a lot to settle in, Christmas was around the bend. More and more decorations had been slyly appearing at work and the little reindeer antler set that was precariously perched on the coffee machine was just too much. Mary shoved the coffee pot back into its home with extra force, hoping to dislodge those ridiculous felt antlers with green and red shiny bells. It was Christmas Eve and Marshall had been antsy all day and was out the door before the ink dried on his last paperwork. She didn't want fuss or fanfare over her contribution to the Christmas wallet-wasting, so she snuck the clumsily wrapped package into his messenger bag while he wasn't looking. By the time he got to opening it, which would be past his drive to home, his welcome home dinner and after dinner coffee and lectures from dad, he'd be too tired to do a thing. Hopefully he wouldn't even call.

That's why, hours after this stealth move, Mary almost spit her coffee out on her screen when Marshall showed up breathless from the elevator. If the card swipe didn't exist, he would've swung the door open, so sadly that bit of drama was lost. She stood right up and walked in front her desk.

"What the hell are you doing here Marshall?" She was cross with him, this was her space to mope.

"Mare, please." Even in his anxious mode he was polite. "Did you do this?" He held out her package, the shirt outside of its crinkled wrapping, which was even more destroyed now that he had been clutching it.

"Maybe." She muttered and swung around behind her desk. Safe there. He followed her and rested his hands on each corner of her desk and angled down to look at her, the present still held in his right hand. The constant noise it made being moved annoyed her a bit.

"Mare, why did you do this?" Was he angry with her? Oh hell he was not taking that road, not tonight.

"Why the hell does it matter?" She stood up, suddenly fiery and defensive. He realized too late he sounded accusatory. She was shoving random things into her bag and it was clear she wanted out from here. He grabbed her hand to stop her after a few uncomfortable seconds of rushing.

"You don't need a stapler." He guided her hand back down to the desk where she dropped it..

"Just…" she started after a few seconds. "take the shirt, ok? I mean, I didn't take you as the returning type…but returning it to the buyer has got to be bad manners. I mean you of all people must have that dinky and semi-trendy mini book to proper etiquette." Her sarcasm was her attempt at thinly veiling her hurt. She thought she had done the right thing for once, even if it was just for one person.

"Why wouldn't I?" He stood up and furrowed his eyebrows.

"Why wouldn't you what?" This conversation was frustrating.

"Take the shirt." He knew he had to be short and terse. Only way to bridge the gap at this point in the night…and he suspected she was hungry. Another added difficulty to communicating with her.

"I don't know, it's probably a stupid shirt, anyway." She managed to reshuffle her bag and find her car keys.

"Shut up for a minute and let me speak." She almost stumbled back. Marshall did not say shut up and he did not say it to her. "I'm confused because you hate Christmas, and I'm confused because you despise gift giving as a whole and the spirit of this season is lost upon you. Always. Why did you get a gift for me?"

"Cause…seemed like a good idea…at the time." He held up his hand before she could fall into a rant.

"You don't do good ideas unless it's food."

"You said it was cold." She looked down at her desk.

"What?" He was now tenderly holding the shirt.

"You said it was cold at your folk's place, and when you went on your stupid pony rides." She pushed a pen across her desk with her finger.

"Well…" Marshall was at a complete loss. Not only had Mary listened, she reacted – had she changed so much without him noticing? "Thank you." She looked up at him with a less hostile and more quizzical look. "It's perfect." That's when he caught a glimpse of a much younger Mary, maybe one who had tried to give her habitually drunk mother a gift and the gift was ignored or ridiculed. His rage was like wildfire and he suddenly wanted to destroy every vestige of Jinx, the mother who haunted instead of helped.

"Well, let's go, numbnuts, you gotta go back to your parent's place and I have a very lonely bottle of Jack at home." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and began to walk out. He followed her quietly, held the door open for her as usual.

They stood in the elevator without noise until he suddenly moved right next to her.

"Hey buster, not so close." But he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple, a gesture that frightened her…but not as much as it thrilled her. Thrilled her? Who was she, some heartsick wench in an old Western?

"Thanks, Mare."

There was no annoying music, no grotesque decorations and no one to bother her. She wasn't sure if this was the idea of her perfect place, but she had an inkling it was close. Marshall had dropped his arm and she rested her head on his shoulder for the rest of the ride down.

"Yeah, well don't get used to it, doofus."