A/N: I don't have a great grasp on their voices yet, and this was unbeta'ed. So either forgive me my mistakes or crucify me for them - it's fine. I'm always looking to improve.
She wrings her hands nervously through the rest of the night - she's cried more than she thought she would, and now she just feels empty. There's no other word for it. He's--well, he's her only friend. She sits down by the bed with a sigh, cautiously opening a can of soda. The nurses know to avoid her by now - she strongarmed the toughest one into letting her stay past visiting hours with threats of gun violence. She's restless, and yet, not. Stands and sits, stands and sits, like a ridiculous comedy routine. Stan comes in the morning, tells her to go get breakfast. She shakes her head and he nudges one of the day nurses forward.
"Doctor's given him some sedatives and painkillers. He won't wake up for a while." The nurse looks her up and down, catches the slight wrinkling of her pant leg around the small gun she has holstered around her leg. "Ma'am." She rolls her eyes.
She runs downstairs, taking the steps 3 or 4 at a time, anything to make her breath steal out of her chest and get her mind on something more tangible, something like pain, rather than something like loss. It's a small comfort. She gets a bagel from the cafe downstairs, but can't bring herself to eat it. She feels nauseous, not hungry. She browses the gift shop, buys something because that's all she can do. She feels powerless. And that's not something she likes to feel.
When he wakes up, mind still hazy from the mass amount of drugs they pumped into his system, he blinks slowly until the blurs come into focus. He feels a little like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. (Not that he'll tell Mary that.) She steps forward and smiles at him. He smiles back and the nurse hands him a cup of ice chips.
"Suck on them slowly," she advises.
"Marshall."
"Mary."
"Here." She shoves a wrapped gift at his face. He takes it with an arched brow, sets it down beside him.
"Gee, I wonder what it could be," he deadpans.
"What, you're not going to open it?"
"Mary, look at the shape. There's only one thing that's that shape." He fingers the cheap gift wrap, doesn't open it. "Oh, look, a snow globe. How nice."
"Yeah, well." She half-shrugs.
"Thought that counts."
"I don't buy a lot of gifts, Marshall." She flattens her lips into a thin smile. "You're my only friend." She takes his hand. He can sense hesitation, but she doesn't let go. His fingers curl a little around hers.
"Thanks." He smirks. "I'm sure I'll use it...every day."
She pulls up a chair, sits down. "Shut up, Marshall."
"Duly noted."
She plays with the hem of the sheets. "So, are you--are you still going to leave?"
"Think I'm going to have to stay now."
She scrubs at her eyes with her free hand, aggravated. "You don't have to do anything. No one's making you do shit."
"I'm staying," he says.
"Good."
"You gonna eat that bagel?"
"Hands off." He unwraps the gift, gives the globe a good shake.