Title: Mia Amice
Rating: G
Summary: Missing scene near the end of Death Becomes Her
Notes: This involved a ridiculous amount of wrestling with my muse, and I'm still not terribly happy with it. But, hey, iffy fic is better than no fic!
So, she apparently called him in the middle of the night and then was going to make him wait ouside?
The morgue attendant removed his apron and began shuffling papers at desk in the corner when it became clear the marshals might linger for a while.
Mary stood silently over Mia's body for long minutes, Marshall's palm a comforting presence on her shoulder. He waited for a tear, a sniffle, a waiver of breath, but no outward sign of grief was forthcoming; the tough-Mary facade held firm. He finally squeezed her shoulder and pulled her back towards the door, awakening her from her reverie.
Mary strode towards the exit, car keys in hand, but gasped, startled, when instead of following her out to the garage, Marshall seized her arm and pulled her into the stairwell, dragging her into the space beneath the stairs.
"Jesus, Marshall, what gives?" she questioned, pulling her arm free.
Marshall spoke quietly but sure, the tone of a man who already knows the answers, but who's waiting for the other party to catch on. "So you dragged me out of bed just to stand by while you sign papers."
Mary's bravado held fast. "Sorry I dared interrupt your beauty sleep because my friend died," she sniped.
"Mary," Marshall whispered, reaching for his partner even as she crossed her arms and stepped back. "That's not what I meant."
"You're my best friend, Marshall, I call you when anything happens."
"Anything, Mare? Really?" Marshall's heart twisted a little. This wasn't the direction he meant this conversation to go. And yet, the air between them suddenly filled with all the anythings she hadn't called about, suitcases of meth and events involving a certain Dominican among them.
Mary studied her hands, her boots, a old glob of chewing gum stuck under a stair. "Okay, not everything. But I should have. I just- I don't want to… I don't know…" She looked up at Marshall. "You tell me, answer boy."
"You don't want to what? Admit that you're human, Mare? That you hurt because you were friends with this cool lady and she died?"
"Please don't mess with my head right now." Mary shook her head, trying to keep her emotions at bay.
Marshall reached out for her, squeezing her arm gently. "I'm sorry. Ceasing messing."
Mary's voice finally faltered under the weight of her grief. "It hurts like a sonovabitch."
"I know." Marshall took advantage of her lowered defenses and pulled her against his chest; Mary stiffened a moment, then closed the half-step remaining between them. "You weren't wrong to love her just because it hurts right now," Marshall spoke softly near her ear.
Mary snaked her arms under his jacket and around his waist as she sobbed into the soft cotton of his shirt. Marshall rested his cheek on her hair, consciously refraining from uttering the kind of empty platitudes that aggravated the woman in his arms. They stood together quietly until one of Mary's muffled sobs sounded a bit more literate than the others.
Marshall pulled back slightly. "Did you say something?"
Mary looked up at her partner, a smile sneaking through her tears. "I said, 'Holy fuck you're skinny.'"
"Makes me good for hugging," replied Marshall.
"That you are." Mary indulged in another moment in Marshall's arms before stepping back to shake off the show of emotion. "Tell anyone I said that," she said as she wiped at her eyes, "and I will kick you in the shin."
"I don't doubt it," Marshall replied, following Mary out of the stairwell and towards the garage.