A/N: All right, it's time for the oldest line in the books, my friends – it has been TOO long! Followed closely by, "I missed you!" How many stories have I started posting now that have started with that introduction? Well, let me assure you it has never stopped being true!

So, I am back, over three months since the close of "Summer Stardust" with a new tale, "Heads and Hearts." This fresh story is a sequel to "Glowing Embers" which I wrapped up in November of 2012 (almost two years ago!) For those who didn't read "Glowing Embers" or cannot remember what it entailed, here is a brief recap:

"Glowing Embers" took place mid-to-late season four and, when a pregnant Mary was trapped in a burning elementary school protecting a young witness, she was forced to deliver her baby eight weeks ahead of schedule due to a placental abruption she suffered after falling in the chaos of the fire. This baby became Melissa, better known as "Missy" or "Little Missy" and after much deliberation, Mary opted to keep her rather than giving her up for adoption, and watched her grow stronger in the NICU, Marshall by her side. Of course, the pair of happy partners got together and, in the epilogue (at Melissa's fifth birthday,) we discovered they had gotten married. The epilogue also told us that Melissa's upbringing had been fairly unconventional; she had no one she considered a father, and called Marshall, Mark, and Stan all by their first names; they shared the role of parent along with Mary. She's a skinny, tiny, clever girl with glasses and brilliance she inherited from her beloved Marshall. ;)

"Heads and Hearts" begins with Missy as an eight-year-old and, as you probably know from my stories by now, this child's life isn't going to be without drama! I have to say, I hope it is not a tale that becomes too depressing to read because it can get very bleak at times, which was no on purpose, but you know me and the theatrics. I will try to shut up now and hope that you enjoy the first chapter!

XXX

Coppery and round, with a perfect circling ridge etched into the surface, Mary worked the buckle of the overalls into its holster for what felt like the fiftieth time. The satisfying click meant she had secured the clasp, and that she could move on to the other strap. First, she smoothed the one she had been working on, making sure it wasn't going to slip off the shoulders of her weedy, tiny little girl. Scrawny like an underfed cat, Melissa boasted arms like twigs and knobby knees, fortunately covered this morning by her beloved jean overalls. As Mary worked on getting her dressed, she continually pushed her round glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. They were always slipping.

This was a hard morning for Mary, though she was trying not to show it in front of her daughter, who was as blasé as she was every day before school. The woman had never seen her child as lesser – not once. In fact, she'd often considered her far superior to other children, with her staggering intellect and horde of men waiting at her beck-and-call. Today though, she seemed to be viewing her through a different set of lenses.

How could she never have noticed just how skinny she really was? She ate like a horse, but never put on any weight – one of the blissful things that kids took for granted. Her glasses really were slightly too big for her. Why hadn't Mary ever gotten her another pair, a pair that would stay on her nose so she could actually see straight? Maybe then she wouldn't always be bumping into things, tripping over nothing, and banging her elbows and knees on anything in sight.

"Mom, aren't you done yet?" Melissa finally interrupted the workings of her mother's mind with an impatient huff. "My eggs will get cold."

Startled back to reality, Mary shook her head and hastened to do-up the second overall buckle, creating a perfect bib over the bright yellow thermal shirt Melissa wore beneath. She looked adorable. She always looked adorable, although Mary would never use such a word aloud. How could an outfit so darling also have Mary wishing her daughter would change her clothes and put on something else?

It wasn't that she hated the overalls. It was the other kids – the mean, nasty, bratty, intolerant second graders with whom her child was unfortunate enough to share a classroom. They hated the overalls. They hated the glasses too. And the clumsiness. And the smaller stature. And in spite of it all, Melissa rarely seemed to mind. Still awed by this, Mary couldn't let her get away so quickly, still perched on her knees on her daughter's bedroom floor so they were eye-to-eye.

"Are you sure you want to wear these?" she asked, plucking the worn denim with a fingernail.

Melissa nodded, "They're my favorite."

"I know," Mary sighed.

How could she not? She donned the same pair every day.

"But, Miss Newman told me that some of the kids in your class were teasing you. None of them wear overalls."

Melissa shrugged, "They were. They said I looked like a farmer. But, I don't care. I like them. I want to wear them."

"Sweets…" Mary used the affectionate nickname she had coined her daughter by from the very beginning. "You know that Marshall and I are going to talk to your teacher today. These other kids, they can't get away with picking on you."

"But, they're just being dumb," Melissa was truly unruffled by the whole experience, though it had followed her around since kindergarten. "They don't get me. They don't understand me," there was no denying that. "That's their problem. I have friends. I don't need them."

"What friends?" Mary couldn't help wondering, as her eight-year-old never brought any companions over to the house. "Honestly."

And Missy was nothing if not honest.

"Marshall and Mark and Stan."

This both touched and broke Mary's heart, "Yeah, but Melissa…"

"And, once Brandi's baby is born, he'll be my friend too. Besides, Mark said that the kids in my class are just jealous because I'm so smart and that's why they make fun of me. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not smart."

And the mother had to admire this. It was true her daughter was a brain of epic proportions, and there probably was some fact in Mark's theory, but that couldn't be the only reason the heathens of second grade were on her daughter's case. They might have been intimidated by her at first – a little waif with a mind the size of Albuquerque itself – but Mary didn't think they were so envious of the way she was so accident-prone, or that she was practically blind without her spectacles.

Eight years before, being a little awkward with her footing and having bad eyesight had seemed like a bee sting after having been born eight weeks too soon after surviving a blazing fire. Mary got angry just thinking about it. Whatever Melissa's quirks, she couldn't help most of them. And, it shouldn't matter anyway. She had a heart of gold. Why was it that only the three most important men in her life saw it for what it was?

"Mom, I'm hungry!" she finally bleated with a little giggle, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Can't I go have breakfast?"

Mary shook her head, knowing that if these things didn't bother Melissa, they shouldn't bother her, and granted sanction for her to head to the kitchen.

"Tell Marshall I'll be there in a minute…" Melissa was off, sliding in her socks down the hall. "Be careful…"

Used to this caution, the little girl didn't comment, but for once Mary wasn't truly worried. Her kid actually ran pretty well – like once she picked up enough speed, her arms and legs knew what to do. It was walking and anything involving sports that posed a problem. Her coordination was abysmal, something Mary had never cared about until she'd entered school and the other children began to take notice.

Standing and knowing she was probably nervous over nothing, Mary made her way to visit her husband, who was standing at the stove with a dishtowel tucked in his pocket and flipping bacon with the greatest of ease. Melissa was a few feet behind him, holding a plate that was already piled high with scrambled eggs.

"Here's the pitch!" the man called, and with a backward serve, he sent a strip of bacon flying over his shoulder, presumably to land on Melissa's plate.

Like every morning before this one – whether Marshall was tossing bacon, pancakes, or waffles – the food landed on the floor. Melissa wasn't very good at catching, but she laughed anyway, rescuing her breakfast and taking a hearty bite before sauntering to the table.

"Five second rule!" she proclaimed around bites of bacon.

"I think we adopted the ten second rule in this house a long time ago," Marshall decided. "Have a seat, Little Missy. I'll pour you some juice."

"I've got it…" Mary decided to make her presence known, not going to let Marshall do all the grunt work, not when he did so much for the two of them already. "Do you want apple or orange, sweets?"

"Cranberry!"

Marshall smirked at the eccentric choice while Mary rooted around in the back of the fridge for the desired beverage, glad there was still a swallow of the crimson liquid left. She plunked it on the island and unscrewed the cap while Marshall abandoned his post at the stove and joined her. Brushing her hair out of her face, he laid a good morning kiss on her cheek. She smiled against her will, but wouldn't glance up and show him how nervous she was about the impending meeting that afternoon.

But, Mary ought to have known by now that Marshall could sense anything, whether you used words or not.

"You have been awfully quiet since the sunrise…" he observed, leaning close and whispering in her ear. "Something on your mind?"

Mary skirted the issue with something trivial, "I wish she wouldn't wear those overalls to school."

"Don't you think she looks cute?" Marshall already knew the answer to this; he was playing coy.

"Of course I do," though she wouldn't assume his exact phrasing. "You know I do."

"So, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that it's just another way that she's different," Mary spat, hating herself for wanting her child to conform, but it would be better than hearing she was being endlessly teased day in and out. "As if having a mom and three dads wasn't making her different enough…"

"First of all, she does not have three dads," Marshall politely corrected her. "She has three boys…" since that was how Melissa referred to them. "Who adore her and treat her as their own. She's lucky…"

"Seven-and-eight-year-olds don't see it that way. I swear, they think you and Mark are some sort of gay couple and that Stan is your father…"

Marshall gave a laugh, "If they had ever seen me with you, it would blow that hypothesis right out of their heads."

Hearing him joke, Mary knew it was time to give up the ghost, "I don't want to go to this stupid meeting. I don't need to hear Miss Newman and that dumbass principal tell me what's wrong with my kid. There's nothing wrong with her. It's those other brat's parents they should be talking to, not me."

"Be that as it may…" Marshall was patient as he ran a finger down Mary's neck, creating a tickle that very nearly made her jump. "I think it's time we faced that her balance is a legitimate concern; they've been telling us since kindergarten that her equilibrium is off…"

"They aren't doctors."

"No, but there are exercises she can do that will help with that sort of thing, which means the other kids won't have as much reason to make fun of her…"

"So, she's supposed to change when she's the victim?" Mary hissed, turning to face Marshall dead-on and hoping her daughter wouldn't hear.

The man shrugged, "She doesn't act like a victim. I don't think a few little coordination activities will bother her at all. I think it bothers you more."

It wasn't as if Mary didn't already know this. Her concerns for Melissa far outweighed Melissa's concerns for herself – and even Marshall's reservations. It shouldn't have surprised her, really, because her husband reveled in the fact that his would-be-daughter was so unique. He practically salivated over it. Deep down, Mary liked that she was her own person as well, with no qualms about what others thought, but surely one day that was going to catch up with her.

With an inkling that his wife was a tough one to sway when it came to Missy's feelings, Marshall softened seeing her scowl.

"Look…Mary…" now his arm was around her shoulders, jostling the furthest one in a lets-roll-with-it kind of way. "I know you hate thinking of her being taunted by some circle of onlookers. I do too. But, she's always done very well holding her own. I think it's up to us to give her whatever tools she doesn't possess to make her life a little easier, even if she doesn't realize it's hard."

"Aren't you philosophical," the woman groused. And then, "Melissa, come get your juice!"

With the scraping of her chair, she got up – not without hitting her shoulder on the seat when she stood – and rushed forward. Taking the glass from her mother, she took a long gulp while the adults looked on. When she emerged, she had red rings around her lips, which she promptly smacked with delight.

"Delectable!" she proclaimed. "Very pleasant, especially to eat or drink, right Marshall?" she rattled off the definition without missing a beat.

"You got it, ma'am," he praised. "You ready for that math test you have today?" leaving Mary and her woes in the rearview.

"I think so," but she was as confident as ever. "It's two-digit addition, and you already taught me two-digit subtraction, so addition's pretty easy."

"Quick! Fourteen plus twelve!" Marshall demanded, mock-serious like a drill sergeant.

Melissa mouthed soundlessly for a moment, her eyes flipping skyward, but the answer came without even using her fingers.

"Twenty-six."

The inspector smirked and held up his hand, "Put her there, Missy," and she jumped up to smack his palm. "You don't even need a pencil and paper. That is most impressive."

"I see it in my head," she told him, taking another drink of her cranberry juice. "Carrying the ones and everything. But, I like when I use the paper too. That way I know I didn't make a mistake."

"You are a bright bulb, my dear," Marshall's glowing compliments never ended. "Finish your breakfast and get packed up for school."

Taking her drink with her, the child meandered back to the table, Mary watching her go with something between fondness and – was it? – pity. She didn't know why she felt sorry for her daughter, especially when said daughter was so sure of herself and could allow those less mature than she to just roll off her back. But, the school system had been crying 'odd duck' on her for years, even if that wasn't what they called it.

In kindergarten, she was so advanced than the other students that they'd wanted to move her to first grade, but Mary had refused, backed up by Marshall. Nonetheless, she'd sailed ahead, reading far more difficult books than anybody else in the class, leaving her isolated almost immediately. Her clumsiness had started to surface then too, and while they'd made a note of it during her initial year, it wasn't until first grade that the teachers had begun suggesting that she see someone. When you knocked over buckets of crayons and bins of scissors just walking past, it appeared to be a red flag.

But, Mary had always insisted that Melissa's troubles were unimportant – minor, even. Glasses had fixed her blurry vision. Wouldn't time and age fix her balance? Fix her gracelessness? Wouldn't she grow at some point despite being just over three pounds at birth? Physically, was she destined to stay behind forever, no matter how she bounded ahead academically?

"Why are kids so damn superficial?" Mary murmured as she watched Melissa devour the remainder of her eggs. "Why do they care what she looks like?"

"Because they're kids," Marshall supplied. "Life is rarely fair for the short, skinny, and squinting. I may have only fit one of those descriptions as a kid, but it was rough for me too. Missy's fortunate that she can brush it off."

"She shouldn't have to," the blonde reiterated. "And if there were any justice in this world, no self-respecting teacher would make me go to a school where I was nearly torched alive."

She was dripping with attitude and sarcasm, turning back to the stove to see if there was any bacon left for her, but Marshall wouldn't let her get away so easily. Laying a hand on her back, his fingers began to pinch lightly, trying to ease her tension.

"I know that going back is not your idea of a fun time," he whispered gently. "But, you've managed before and you will manage this time. I'll be there with you. PTSD-like memories aside, there is nothing to fear from a building."

Easy for him to say.

Melissa attending school in the very complex where she and her mother had almost lost their lives was some kind of cruel irony. But, while the little girl found it exhilarating, even a mark of her bravery, Mary found it daunting. She hated visiting the elementary, even knowing that her fright was somewhat irrational, that the threat was long gone. Even the renovations that had taken place after the fire eight years earlier couldn't squelch the sort of memories evoked from setting foot inside.

"Are you sure Stan's okay with you taking the afternoon off?" Mary proposed so she wouldn't have to dwell. "I worry about him and Eleanor getting all cozy in there by themselves…"

Marshall chuckled, "He said he was fine with it. If something comes up, we can send Mark."

Mary much preferred having her husband with her for anything involving Melissa's education, but Mark could be a good sidekick as well. He doted on her very precociously, always making sure her hair was combed, that she was comfortable and presentable. Mary had always thought Marshall would be the one who was so meticulous, but it had been her bio-daddy from the start, though no man in Missy's life came with a label.

"You want my dishes?" the girl in question returned almost out of nowhere, sneaking up and holding her empty plate and cup. "I ate it all…"

"That's where you say, 'My compliments to the chef,'" Marshall bowed down and accepted the cutlery before depositing it in the sink. "It will make you sound highly sophisticated."

Melissa ignored him, "Can I call Stan before we have to go? He said he was going to teach me to fly my model airplane one day after school…"

"Better wait," Mary had to turn her down, knowing her boss would be especially busy this morning planning for both his inspectors being out that afternoon. "But, Stan won't forget; he just has a lot to do."

"But, I already painted it without him, and he said he really wanted to see it fly – besides, I want to show him the parallel stripes I made," Melissa pouted by being told the boss couldn't come to the house. "Can't I just call and ask?"

"We'll ask him when we go in this morning," Marshall referred to himself and Mary, even though he knew the child really just wanted to speak to Stan, with or without the airplane. "If not today, probably soon."

Looking dejected by being thwarted, but not going to give up, Melissa's mouth worked side-to-side as she attempted to bargain for something. She was not a girl who threw all her cards in the air from a simple 'no.'

"Can I call Mark, then?"

Mary stuck a hand on her hip, "What for?"

Her daughter shrugged, as she had no feasible response, "Just 'cause."

With that, her hands went inside the pockets of her overalls and she swayed back and forth, batting her eyelashes beneath her glasses and looking so wholly innocent it would be next to impossible to deny her anything. Mousy and tiny she might be, but Marshall hadn't been lying. She was painfully cute, especially once she started in with spouting her scholarly phrases, just like her step-father. Mary wondered if any other eight-year-old used the word, 'parallel.'

Sighing and salvaging her phone from the counter, Mary handed it out, exasperated but lenient because of the ill-omened sit-down that would be taking place that afternoon.

"You know the number," it would be good for Mark to be reminded of the chit-chat to be had with the teacher and principal anyway, once Mary got a chance to speak to him. "Tell him if he's not out of bed yet, then he'd better haul…"

"Behind," Marshall cut in shrewdly, grinning at stopping his wife from saying 'ass.' "He better haul his behind out of bed."

Buttoning up while Melissa giggled, the woman rolled her eyes, reaching in the wicker basket that sat on the counter and hoping to find a brush. The girl dialed, Mary noticing just how tangled her hair was in the process, and she soon reached a third of the trio with which she was so enraptured.

"Hi Mark. It's me."

Mary knew without even being able to hear her ex-husband that he had countered with, 'me who?' and Melissa's next lines proved it.

"You know who!" she squealed, her mother tossing bills and rubber bands out of the storage bin she was rooting inside. "Missy!"

Silence while Mary wondered if she would have to retreat to the bathroom before finding something with which to tame her child's dirty blonde streaks. Marshall went to the sink and began rinsing plates and all the other spoiled dishes, Melissa getting on with her conversation.

"Nothing…" another pause. "Mom said I could say hi before school. I have a math test today."

"Got it!" Mary was triumphant, finding a brush with a wad of tangled hair ensnared in all the prongs. "Sad-looking, but…"

"But, it'll get the job done," Marshall called over his shoulder. "Frankly, I still find it amusing that you fancy yourself any sort of stylist."

Mary took the josh in stride, "Like you said, I get the job done."

"You can quiz me if you want…" Melissa was saying, the mother pulling pieces of lint from inside her utensil so it wouldn't look like her daughter had dandruff when she finally got around to calming the locks. "All the way up to thirty, but Miss Newman said the test would only go up to twenty. I'll just be ready for the next one."

"Sweets, come here…" Mary detoured around the island and yanked out a barstool, knowing the little girl could listen to two things at once quite well. "You've still got some ridiculous bed-head going on…"

Obediently, Melissa tried to hoist herself onto the stool with one hand, still occupied with Mark on the cell, but this was a mistake if ever Mary had seen it, though she wasn't able to stop her in time. Doing anything without both of her limbs almost always resulted in some kind of minor crash and, unable to balance on one foot while using the other to stand on the rungs of the stool, Missy toppled almost at once. It was predictable, even mundane, and still Mary was annoyed, probably due to the discussion she'd just had with Marshall about the child's stability, or lack thereof.

The phone landed with a loud bang on the linoleum, probably deafening Mark, and Melissa fell smack on her butt, reminding Mary of when she'd been a baby and had thumped hard on her rear too many times to count.

Marshall heard, but was placid as he turned off the water, "Whoa…did we have a collision over here…?"

"I'm okay…" Melissa insisted, not ruffled in the least, already pushing herself back to her feet.

But Mary, temperamental because she was being forced to examine every shortcoming her daughter possessed, was not so tranquil.

"Melissa, you have to careful!" she was louder than she meant to be. "You should've put the phone down and used both hands…"

The man saw where this was going and was quick to head her off, "Mare, come on..."

You knew it was bad when Melissa was bewildered too, "Why are you yelling? What'd I do?" she was more confused than upset, which was a good thing.

Knowing she was overreacting and pushing her own hair out of her face, Mary just exhaled and shook her head, hating that she was so jittery over something like talking with educational authority figures.

"Nothing…never mind…" she brushed it aside, not wishing to brood. "Get up there and I'll do something about your hair…"

"Why don't I take care of it?" Marshall offered, for all the men in their inner circle had learned a few things about refining the rat's nest when needed. "You talk to Mark."

Mary had forgotten about him. He too probably had to be wondering what was going on, but the blonde nodded her approval and stooped to retrieve her cell from the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marshall extend his hand in order to give Melissa a boost, ensuring she would not tumble again. Casting her mother a sidelong glance, the girl seemed put-out that her discussion with Mark was being cut short, but she also knew when it was a good idea to keep quiet.

Leaving the grooming to her husband, Mary dusted her phone off and turned it around before putting it to her ear.

"Mark, you still there?"

"Yeah…" his cheerful voice floated through, a little more perplexed than usual. "What happened? One minute I'm grilling Missy Jean on her addition facts, the next it's like a gun blasted off in my ear."

"Don't be so sure that wasn't me firing a warning shot," Mary started off irritable.

"No, seriously," Mark laughed. "Everything's all right? Did Missy fall?"

These men knew this girl way-way too well.

"Yes…" the inspector sighed. "Par for the course though, right?"

"You've got that meeting today, don't you?" so apparently Mark hadn't forgotten, not when he'd refused to beat around the bush. "Nervous, aren't you?" he was almost mocking, but Mary also knew he was joking.

"It's giving me hives. I know exactly what those hacks are going to tell me. That my kid is 'special' when 'special' is code for smart or lopsided or ungainly or a target for some band of spoiled little monsters to throw stones at on the playground."

Mark sounded as pacifying as her husband had, "Mare, don't freak out. I've been to a few of those conferences," only when Marshall couldn't attend. "They want to help her…"

"She doesn't need help," Mary interspersed snidely. "She's perfect the way she is."

Those words coming out of her mouth were disorienting. From a woman who had once claimed to think anything flawless was out of the question, she had learned where true faultlessness, excellence, and precision lay, and it was all wrapped up within her daughter. Who cared if she couldn't walk a straight line, if she was at least five inches shorter than every other second grader around, if she couldn't see without her glasses to save her life? Carelessly knocking into things, being petite and having poor eyesight were all part of who Missy was, and Mary would not change a single thing. She'd never wished she were more seemingly 'normal.' Never had she pined for a taller child, a child with x-ray vision or the ability to dribble a soccer ball. Who needed those things? Not Mary.

And as she looked across the room, as she saw Marshall gathering those blonde waves into a ponytail, brushing out the knots and securing it with a rubber band, she saw a little girl who was happy and healthy and brilliant to boot. Who was she to say she shouldn't wear overalls? She should wear whatever she damn well wanted.

Mark finally got around to answering, "Well, if perfection exists, I'd say she's pretty close to it, but don't discount that perfection can be honed."

"When you say things like 'honed' I know you've been hanging out with Marshall too much."

Mark laughed, but she wasn't listening anymore. Melissa was staring up into the face of the man who had watched her harrowing entrance into the world, had watched her grow each day from the tiny sprite in the NICU to the specimen they had before them today.

If Mary had wished for anything in those early days, when she had been hampered by smoke-filled lungs and debilitating uncertainty about the road of motherhood ahead, it had been a single entity.

She'd wished for a little Missy that belonged to Marshall. And a little Missy was exactly what she'd got.

XXX

A/N: A rocky, but hopefully fairly cheerful beginning! I would LOVE to hear what you think of my first installment! I'm sure there is something I left out of my author's notes, but I can always make up for that next time – I yammered on enough already! Thank-you in advance for any reviews!