A/N: Oh friends, how I have missed you. I cannot say that emphatically enough. It's been a little over three months since the close of "Critical Mass" and I am not exaggerating when I say I have mourned your support and kindness in that frame of time. There are days that I don't know what I ever did without you guys cheering me on; you are a band of the small, but mighty, and I can't thank-you enough for it.

It has been a somewhat trying three months in my writing world (elsewhere too, but we won't get into that). I feel like I have been writing this story literally forever. It is without question my longest ever, which I worry will make people think I just wrote with absolutely no direction or end in sight. I assure you that is not the case; it was always headed somewhere, even when it seems particularly elongated.

"Summer Stardust" takes place mid-to-late season four with a little bit of a twist from what actually occurred on the show. While Mary was supposed to be thirty-two weeks pregnant by the season four finale, I have made her thirty-five weeks here at the end of August. Also, I know that Marshall and Abigail moved in together somewhere around "Provo-Cation" but in this installment they have not made that leap yet. Other than that, things are pretty status quo; Mary is channeling her energies toward adoption and all that other stuff that was going on during the show. I don't think it's anything you can't pick up by reading, so that's good, right? ;)

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy the ride with me. This may sound terribly dramatic, but I miss "In Plain Sight" like crazy. I worry that the longer it is off the air, the fewer the number of people who will go hunting for fan-fiction. More than that, I worry that they'll miss out on a great show; it was pulled from the air way too soon! If I think of anything else I forgot to preface this with, you'll see it in the next chapter. Enjoy!

XXX

Marshall savored his morning routine. Truly, he basked and reveled in it like a dog moaned when its ears were scratched in just the right spot. It was that comfort and familiarity that started his day off right, that led him to emit that sigh of contentment not unlike that dog he used in a perfect simile. That was not to say that he couldn't change when necessary, that his entire world was upset when man's gentle touch couldn't reach his itching skin that day, but the dawns when he was able to observe his clockwork procedures were those he enjoyed best.

Fortunately for Marshall, this was one of those mornings – a perfectly sunny and very humid Monday, not unlike the dozen or so others they had already experienced this Albuquerque August. He was not someone who was particularly bothered by the heat, but there were others in his most frequent company who frowned upon the blistering temperatures. It was that company – a certain "she" in particular – that he thought of as he scrambled out of his bed and pattered off to the bathroom to take his shower.

At 7:32 exactly, he emerged from the bathroom, wet-haired but appropriately refreshed, the shirt sleeves on his white button-down expertly rolled to his elbows. He journeyed to the living room and through to the front porch, where he retrieved the morning paper, left his suit jacket draped over the back of the couch, and took a seat in his alcove of a kitchen to peruse the headlines.

Marshall's house was not extravagant, but it was well-kept and suited him just fine. It boasted a single bedroom, but two baths – one off the master, and one in the hall. The living room and kitchen were essentially joined, a single stretch of hardwood that faced the front lawn, dual windows overlooking the quiet street. From his spot at the square-cornered table that had once belonged to his mother, he found it minimally difficult to keep his eyes on his paper because they kept catching adornments across the room.

As of late, Abigail had taken to plastering his refrigerator with photos – photos of the two of them, with a handful of Oscar thrown in for good measure. While he and his girlfriend had not yet managed to cohabitate, which meant she kept the dog most nights, the pooch had essentially become a part of their family. Marshall was rather fond of the pictures that showcased his drooping, sad-eyed mug, and looking at those snapshots helped him not to focus on the ones of him and the detective.

It wasn't easy. Abigail was a beautiful, radiant woman with an even more dazzling smile. Each and every picture showed her with her arms hanging around his neck, curly brunette hair cascading down her back. She appeared overjoyed no matter where they were – the rattlesnake museum, Isotopes games, hiking in the Sandia Mountains and braving the rough terrain. Though Marshall recalled those day trips as happy experiences, he suddenly saw his permanently preserved face a little differently as it stared at him from the fridge.

His grin was sheepish, almost resigned. Why would he appear as such? The smile was genuine, but it didn't meet his eyes, which weren't as lit up as he knew they were when he was truly stimulated. Before Abigail, he had never really kept prints exhibited like these were, and the sight of them was suddenly intruding on his typically regimented morning. There was no reason for it; the unsettling feeling was unnerving on a second level, but luckily Marshall didn't have time to dwell on it. The clock on the microwave was telling him it was 7:43, which meant he had already expended the usual eleven minutes he spent skimming the newspaper. Breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast was calling.

As he stood at the stove, browning his eggs while his hair dried, Marshall couldn't help contemplating why his morning exercises pleased him so. Perhaps it was because the habitual practices were observed so infrequently. Spending many nights at Abigail's certainly tested his need for normalcy, but he'd spent many a year before that living out of suitcases in hotel rooms when he was bunking up with witnesses. He dealt well enough when order was not studied, but the relaxation of his sometimes-daily endeavors always got him off on the right foot. Those intermittent happenings were the ones he knew he could not take for granted.

Back at the table, Marshall folded the paper directly in two and pushed it lightly beneath the salt shaker for safe-keeping. In two minutes promptly, his slightly burnt toast would pop from its confines, ready to be buttered and eaten. Just as he was about to sample the first bite of eggs – standing, so he could be ready to retrieve said toast – his cell phone rang. Unruffled by the interruption, he meandered to the living room to fish it out of his jacket – the place where it always resided unless it was buzzing, as it was doing now.

The four letters that represented his partner's name flashed at him from the lighted screen. A glance at his watch showed him that it was 7:51 meaning that, if his calculations were correct, Mary would be leaving her house in nine minutes – possibly a few seconds after, as she did not keep as tight a rein on her time as he did. But, as the man lived closer to the Sunshine Building, he could afford not to depart until 8:10, an option Mary often used even though it always made her late.

Hitting the tiny button printed with the even tinier green phone to answer, Marshall shook his damp hair out of his face before taking care to greet his friend.

"Might this first light phone call mean that you are taking a leaf out of my book and preparing to arrive at the office on schedule?" he quipped exactly what he was thinking, fully prepared for the irritable huff that sounded through the other end.

"Not the way I'm going, Poindexter," Mary informed him. "I've got a science question for you."

Marshall couldn't help but be surprised. Mary often mocked his intellect, although deep down he had the suspicion that she was glad for his intelligence because it meant she had a valuable resource at her beck-and-call. But, for her to ask outright for anything scholarly was quite unprecedented.

"Oh?" he was calm, not wanting to drive her away with excitement. "Do tell, inspector."

"Even you are going to be stumped on this one, though," she proclaimed in that superior way she often spoke about everything. "It goes against the laws of nature. They should pack me in ice, dump me in a lab, and study me."

Marshall had a vague inkling of where this supposed 'science' question might be headed now. She had pinpointed herself, meaning that whatever anomaly she was curious about likely had to do with child fostering its growth in her uterus. More often than not, Mary considered her pregnancy as exclusive – all the pushing and pulling was reserved for her and her alone. In her mind, no other woman could possibly have experienced what she was going through as housing for what would soon become a child.

"Ah…" Marshall breathed his recognition only semi-smugly. "Might we be talking about little Mango?"

What made him choose such an outlandish nickname out of the blue was anybody's guess, but he had a habit of doing that when it came to Mary. His mouth got ahead of his mind and he found himself uttering facts and figures – and nicknames, it seemed – that were pulled forth without his consent. It was a nervous habit, one he never seemed able to get over.

His partner's reaction was predictable, as was the sputtering, pseudo-cough she produced to indicate how disgusted she was.

"Mango?!" Mary repeated incredulously. "Your dork status just hit an all-time high," she continued. "How long have you been thinking of this kid as fruit? And, if anything, it's way past Mango and onto Watermelon. Not that I'm condoning this ridiculous title," she was careful to add.

But, as was often the case with Marshall, his own rapidly running mouth had turned his blunder into something worthwhile.

"I was thinking that 'Mango' is sexually ambiguous, as well devoid of sentiment or personality, both of which you claim to need no part of when it comes to this baby," Marshall couldn't forget Mary's many insistences that the child would belong to her for nine months alone, and then it was up to someone else to foster it into their family; it would be a Shannon solely in blood. "I figure that wooly moniker such as the one I have given little he or she will suffice until Mango's permanent family takes it under their wings for the future."

"At least you concede the future is going to be someplace far-far away from here," Mary grumbled, and her partner knew she was thinking of Jinx and Brandi, both of whom were still lobbying for her to keep the baby and give up the notion of adoption.

Truth be told, Marshall was on their side one hundred percent when it came to the thought of losing the offspring of his best and only friend – not counting Abigail. Such a thing put a knot in his stomach, but he knew Mary's reasoning was sound, and he also respected her decision. She had a dangerous job, no connection to the father as Mark was in New Jersey, and simply no desire to be a mother – so she stated. It was a trio combined that had Marshall neglecting to argue about it. Besides, she liked him a whole lot better when he didn't agree with her mother and sister.

"In the spirit of moving things along…" Marshall knew they'd gotten somewhat off the beaten path, especially as he made his way back to the kitchen to retrieve his toast. "I take it that my hypothesis about your 'science question' was right on the money," he surmised. "It does include Mango – or Peach, or Plum, or whichever you prefer. Enlighten me, please."

Sighing loudly through the speaker, Mary opted not to comment on his varying fruit-themed headings for her unborn spawn and hastened to get on with the reason she had phoned in the first place. If there was anything she was averse to discussing, it was the eventual outcome of the child's home.

"Tell me how I can outwit the laws of gravity to get my shoes on my feet."

Instinctively, Marshall frowned at this prospect, not entirely certain what Mary was getting at, but the longer he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. It was true that his partner had really started putting on the pounds since entering her third trimester, although she was a uniquely-shaped pregnant woman. Far from round with the proverbial Buddha-belly, she had grown a solidly stout stomach – an all-over mass that made it appear as though the baby were lying sideways most of the time. Still though, Marshall could see where problems might be beginning to occur.

"Having trouble seeing over the mountain, are we?"

"Marshall, it's sad," Mary conceded dully. "Really, it's pathetic. I can't bend all the way over anymore, so I sat on my bed and tried to pull them on, but my damn belly is still in the way! What am I supposed to do? Jump into the soles and hope for the best?"

"I would pay to see that," Marshall said with a chuckle. "But, I do recognize the conundrum. Might you own shoes that do not tie or buckle?" he was thinking of the boots she so often donned, which had to be murder on swelling feet.

"This isn't the beach," she sniped. "You want me showing up to work in flip-flops?"

"I do not think Stan would mind," Marshall was maddeningly cheerful. "In any case, I would think you are out of luck otherwise. Over-exerting yourself just for footwear is not a favorable idea. Is your mom around? Unless she can stop by and do-up your laces, I think you're stuck with slip-ons."

"And what if I don't own slip-ons," she sounded sick at the mention of the word.

"There's always the barefoot approach – many a culture do not even bother with shoes. Why not go the whole nine yards and cease cutting your hair as well?"

"So I can look like a homeless person?" Mary forecasted. "No thanks. Seriously Marshall, surely your pal Isaac Newton has some law of motion you can refer to so that I can swing my feet up enough to jam them into a pair of shoes."

"I am afraid I am not very well-versed in that particular aspect of gravity," the man admitted. "Sorry to disappoint," as he took a hearty bite of toast in order to stay on schedule.

Unfortunately, the crunch he made heightened Mary's awareness, and Marshall knew even before she opened her mouth that she was not going to be happy that he was behaving so leisurely when she found herself in such a knot.

"Are you eating while I'm practically killing myself just trying to get dressed?!" she thundered, but he was used to her theatrics. "I didn't call you so you could rub it in my face that you practically whip-up a five-star breakfast without sharing it with me!"

"Eggs and toast is hardly gourmet worthy," Marshall was placid. "But, missing your coffee, I see."

Mary moaned in a representation of her mourning at this, "I need my fix," now she was pleading. "I am so sick of all this damn tea that I am going to vomit. Since that's what I do when I smell coffee, I might as well have some anyway…"

"That would not be advisable whether you could stomach the beverage or not," Marshall pointed out, licking stray butter from around his lips. "Caffeine – not so good for the little one."

"Humph," was Mary's response. "What can it really do? I doubt a shot of Joe is going to make it any more hyper than it already is. I barely slept last night thanks to that incessant kicking…"

"You are a woman with many a complaint this morning," Marshall couldn't help but observe this, as well as the distinct drumming he felt when Mary griped so heartily, because he was always seized with the desire to help her, if only she'd accept. "Because I am such a dear and treasured friend, I am going to offer my services in whatever way I can. Perhaps if I lend a hand, you will cheer up, thus making the day more pleasant for all involved."

He was well aware that, had he been able to see Mary, she would've been squinting and wrinkling her nose at the idea that he believed his assistance could in any way quench her ongoing bad mood.

"If you tell me you're going to drop by and put my shoes on for me, you've got another thing coming."

"That would likely earn me a boot in the face…"

"Or up your ass," Mary added as an aside, but Marshall ignored her.

"I would like to know," he interrupted skillfully. "What do you hope to accomplish by singing your woes?" he was truly curious, not knowing he needed an answer until the question occurred to him. "Far be it from me to demean the obstacles of pregnancy, but most women would allow a little facilitation now and then, thus minimizing their concerns. As you are not interested in such hand-holding, I cannot help wondering what you wish to achieve."

In a classic defense, Mary motored around the actual inquiry and replied with something different, "I swear, I need a dictionary to decode your warped language most days, doofus. Why don't you try speaking English?"

"Which word did you need help with?" Marshall was still merry, knowing how constant optimism irritated a partner who was already irate. "Facilitation in synonyms refers to aid or assist, even to make something easier to do. Well…" he took pause, picturing Mary rolling her eyes as he did so. "Now I can see why that would be foreign to you, as you allow it to take place only once in a blue moon…"

"Spare me," she cut him off.

"Then provide me a proper response," the male inspector requested, marching back to his tiny table to take a few more bites of his eggs before throwing the remainder of his breakfast in the garbage. "Why such negativity? You don't want help, so it can't be that you're fishing for support. I don't imagine you are looking for anyone to feel sorry for you…"

"God, no."

"So, then?"

The finality of his having the last word was always a deal-breaker for Mary, and Marshall enjoyed the silence while she tried to manufacture a good comeback. He hoped it would be a truthful one this time, even as he sauntered to the trash can under the sink, noting that it was now 7:59. Mary was most assuredly going to be late to work, whereas he still had those eleven coveted minutes before he needed to be out the door. She must be sweating bullets on the other end, knowing this.

But, it appeared that Marshall's Monday was off to a promising start after all, even with his usual customs having been impeded. He was a flexible man, and Mary's honest reply made up for whatever minor scrambling he would do to right his day once more.

A more genuine, less snarky exhale escaped through the speaker. Marshall loved that sound. It was the sound of his friend weaning off her typical attitude and transitioning into her more authentic self, the self Marshall only saw in glimpses and glimmers.

"I don't know…I'm sorry…" though begrudging, Marshall had to admire the apology. "I'm just stressed, I guess."

As the most sensitive of their pair, Marshall knew he could not let a moment like this go by unnoticed.

"Understandable," he bequeathed. "Work's been pretty hectic lately, and you with all these additional appointments – Stan and Delia and I aren't dealing with that on top of the usual WITSEC hustle-and-bustle."

"It's not really the appointments…" she corrected him, although he wasn't sure this part of her speech was true; between the OBGYN and the adoption agency, the hours spent with others were piling up. "It's more…I don't know…" she repeated. "It's a lot of indecision, you know?"

Marshall did know, although Mary often claimed to be perfectly on board with her aspirations of giving the baby up for adoption. Any vacillation she experienced she covered up by saying she just wasn't sure which family to choose, that there was something wrong with every one of them. Deep down, Marshall had serious suspicions that she doubted whether to give the baby up at all, but he knew better than to say so. A promising day did not include getting his head bitten off.

So, he switched to something else. While Mary might ordinarily hate being treated like an invalid just because she was pregnant, in this case he had the feeling she might welcome discussing her health in lieu of reminiscing about the eventual residence for little Mango.

"I'm sure you are feeling somewhat sub-par, whether you would like to admit it or not," he guessed. "The third trimester brings all sorts of heightened discomforts – increased weight gain, Braxton Hicks, backaches, shortness of breath, heartburn, swelling…"

"Thank-you, Web-MD," Mary quipped. "But, I suppose you've got some of it right. Especially my back."

"Sore?"

"Yeah, I had trouble sleeping last night," she reiterated what she'd already mentioned when she'd brought up the child's kicking.

"Lord knows that makes all of us feel less-than-chipper," he joked, wisecracking that a temperamental Mary was not one that anyone wanted to deal with. "But, fear not. You're close to thirty-five weeks, so you're nearing the finish line."

"Christ, already?" it was just like Mary to rely on Marshall for specifics about her pregnancy, and not know herself how far along she was. "I still had it in my head I was thirty-three."

"Well, that should boost your spirits then," he trumpeted with gusto. "Two weeks less than you originally thought."

"Yeah…" but Mary didn't sound enthused in the least.

It was her one-worded response that had Marshall believing it was probably time to let this go. Mary had said all she was going to. How or why Marshall knew this, he couldn't be sure, but most of it came from just knowing Mary. Little alarms went off in his brain whenever he sensed that she might retreat, and he was nearly always right. Past instances where he had not listened to those signals had left him feeling stupid and hurt when Mary ran away just as he was getting to her core.

"You better get to work," he did a complete one-eighty so she would know he was through with anything deep. "8:02 already, inspector."

"You are a slave to routine," she proclaimed with disdain. "You ever try breaking out of the box a little bit?"

"I will if you will," Marshall made a small jab at Mary's inability to embrace change, and was glad when she didn't take it to heart.

"Guess it's time I unearthed some sandals anyway, with the heat wave we've been having."

"That's the spirit, inspector."

And with that, Marshall hung up, fully ready to begin another ordinary week in a life that prompted the extraordinary around every corner.

XXX

A/N: It's a start, slow as it might be! I am trying my hand at chapter titles for this story, which is totally new ground for me, so I beg you'll forgive me if they're not very clever. I would absolutely love to hear what you thought of the beginning and hope you'll stick with me! XOXO