A/N: Thank-you all so much for the incoming reviews; they're wonderful. I didn't expect this to get much exposure, with its short length and everything, but you all make it worth it!

XXX

Dragging himself away and taking a seat on the couch, Marshall tried to prepare himself for the wait ahead. Pressure or no pressure, he knew killing time before Mary gave birth could still persist for hours down the road. He wondered if she knew that, and a part of him hoped not.

He was only sitting for fifteen minutes or so, trying not to listen to what went on behind closed doors, already having sent Mark back in, when Stan rushed onto the scene. He was out of breath, still in his wedding attire as they all were, running an agitated hand over his shiny bald head.

"Hey…" he gasped upon seeing Marshall, slowing slightly with his approach. "How is she? She all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Marshall reported, grateful for the company. "Or…" he altered his answer. "As well as can be expected."

"As well as can be expected; what's that mean?" Stan pressed, taking a seat beside his inspector and fiddling with the tie around his neck. "They figure out what's up?"

"What's up is she's in labor eight weeks before she's supposed to be," Marshall adopted a cynicism he usually did not, but he was feeling the part of Mary that lived inside him rear its head.

"They can't stop it?" Stan wanted to know, furrowing his brow.

"You'll have to take my word for it that sparing you the details is what you would appreciate," Marshall dictated, thinking of how Stan would react to the term, 'water breaking.'

"All right then…" the older man sighed, leaning back against the sofa in time to catch his breath, adjusting his tie once more so that it would lie flat.

The men sat in silence for a few moments, far enough down the hall not to glean too much of what was coming out of room five, for which Marshall guessed Stan was probably grateful. Marshall could tell just by looking at him that he was anxious about all the pregnancy-related goings-on, but was trying to stay cool.

"You see her?" Stan finally asked, turning to face the younger.

"Yeah," Marshall nodded casually. "For a few minutes. I tried to calm her down; she was…" he hesitated, wondering how Mary would prefer he go about explaining her flip-out. "She was a little upset."

"Poor kid," Stan sighed sympathetically. "Bullets, lockdown, runaway bride, and a baby all in one afternoon."

Marshall chuckled, thinking Mary would appreciate her plight being recognized as rugged, rather than showcasing the need for her to be pitied.

"Speaking of the runaway bride," Stan spoke over Marshall's chortle, visibly relieved to find something besides pregnancy to discuss. "I was late getting down here because I thought Mary and Jinx might want to know what happened to Brandi; make sure she's safe."

"Yeah…?" Marshall waited.

"She took Mary's car, and it's logged in the computer at work. From what I gathered, she's perfectly fine and heading southeast," he reported. "I'm hoping she'll phone when she gets wherever she's going."

"I imagine she will," Marshall assumed. "Once the dust settles," he sighed, copying his boss. "She's got a lot on her mind right now."

Marshall had mixed feelings about Brandi's leaving Peter at the altar. It was heartbreaking for Peter, there was no denying, and there were certainly better ways she could've gone about calling off the wedding, but he also felt a strange sense of mercy for his partner's little sister. From what Mary had told him, Brandi simply hadn't believed she was good enough to marry Peter. And that was just…sad.

"You think she would've gone through with it?" Stan voiced almost out of nowhere. "You know, if…?"

Marshall knew this was Stan's way of finding out if Marshall believed what he did – that if they hadn't sequestered Mary if she'd have been able to talk Brandi off the ledge.

"We'll never know," was Marshall's logical and fault-free response. "It's over and done with."

But apparently Stan was not convinced and decided to stop beating around the bush and just say what was so clearly coursing through his mind.

"I never should've called her and made her come to the courthouse…"

"Stan, come on…" Marshall tried to reason with him, leaning forward and perching on the edge of the couch, trying to get a good look at his boss' face.

"It was her sister's wedding day, and I pull her out – now look where we've landed," he gestured indiscriminately at the doors beyond, shaking his head in his guilt.

"What would you have done?" Marshall asked earnestly. "Honestly. The court could've held her in contempt; you know that…"

"They wouldn't have held her in contempt because we never got to court!" Stan burst, much more angrily than Marshall usually saw from him.

He knew Stan could be a badass, knew that when he meant business there was no double-crossing him, but he tended to place that side of their chief on the professional spectrum. This had so quickly become personal, and that was new.

"You didn't know that," Marshall stated very distinctly, seeing Mary wasn't the only one he was going to have to placate today. "None of us knew. I don't believe for a second – and neither would Mary – that you would ever knowingly put either one of us in a situation we could not handle, especially not when one of us is eight months pregnant!"

Marshall was so emphatic without raising his voice, his blue eyes turning steely as he bored into Stan and not wanting anyone to feel like they had to take the blame for what was going on. Placing fault didn't help anyone, especially when there was no going back and no changing what had already been done. Their focus was on the future.

"I know…" Stan muttered distractedly, sitting up as well and clasping his hands over his knees beside his inspector. "I know."

Marshall nodded, glad to see that Stan was accepting his words of wisdom and both of them went quiet another time, staring into oblivion and thinking about everything that was unfolding. The coffee table of chipped wood was littered with out-of-date magazines, mostly parenting ones but there were a few National Geographic's among the set. Marshall was considering flipping idly through one, when Stan surprised him by speaking.

His voice was barely a whisper, but it was clearly essential that he know the answer.

"What's a kid look like at thirty-two weeks?"

Marshall blinked at him and saw that his hands were pressed over his mouth as he paused in thought, as he contemplated what a baby eight weeks shy of full-term could resemble – what problems might arise.

"Small," was the inspector's simplistic answer.

"Yeah, I figured that," Stan wasn't going to be baited into a false sense of security and didn't bother to hide his disdain.

"The baby could be anywhere from three-to-five pounds; anything under five is considered premature," Marshall explained in more detail, remembering everything he'd read online about pregnancy, so heightened was his curiosity when Mary had gotten, as she referred to it, 'knocked up.'

"Jesus, three pounds?" Stan breathed, looking like he was unable to wrap his mind around this factoid. "That's tiny…"

"I would venture a guess – although I can't be certain – that this kid will be bigger than three," Marshall shrugged. "But I'd be shocked if it had made it to five already."

"All right, all right…" Stan was bobbing his head up and down in his understanding. "Fixable. What else?"

Marshall had to admire Stan's compassion for Mary, and he understood where it came from. Both of them knew, whether Mary was planning to keep the baby or not, that she felt a responsibility to it, that it was up to her to make sure it stayed healthy. Until Stan had asked, Marshall really hadn't considered how Mary might react if the baby had additional problems. If adoption really was her route to go, leaving a sick child was going to be that much harder for her.

"Anything else, we'll pretty much have to wait and see…" Marshall jumbled in response to Stan's inquiry. "The baby will likely be in the NICU and fed intravenously, and the lungs might be underdeveloped…"

He was working himself up unintentionally with all the information, wondering how Mary would fare when she heard all this – and likely from some stranger. Although, it was entirely possible she might ward off any details and hand the baby over to some deserving couple.

And yet there were those sleepers in her bag.

Marshall thought about sharing this with Stan, but guessed Mary wouldn't like it. And in any case, Stan was speaking again.

"Well, it'll be a tough kid," he decided, leaning back again and appearing more relaxed. "Mary's a tough kid," as though this explained it.

"There is that," Marshall couldn't help but agree.

At that moment, his phone rang; it was in the breast pocket of his suit and he had to fish it out, maneuvering it around so that he could see the screen. Not much to his surprise, it was Abigail. Stan seemed to sense who might be on the other end and reached for a magazine to give Marshall some measure of privacy.

"Hey," Marshall greeted his girlfriend, knowing he'd told her not to follow them to the hospital, having no idea how long they would be there. "Did you go home?"

"Yeah, I got here a little while ago; changed clothes," Abigail reported in her Southern twang. "How's Mary?"

"She's okay…" was the best and probably most truthful way Marshall could reply. "Holding up like a champ," he added, even if it was a blatant fib. "You sure you don't mind my sticking around here?"

In his heart of hearts, he didn't care if she minded or not. Fortunately, she chose to be cordial.

"Of course I don't mind," Abigail was amiable as well as kind. "She's your best friend, Marshall."

Marshall didn't really have a good response to this declaration. It was true, and it had been true for as long as he could remember. He didn't intend to dispute it, or to make excuses to Abigail about why he shouldn't stay until the baby was born. But the woman's intuition must have been buzzing, because she forged on.

"About what I said earlier at the courthouse…" she began.

"We don't need to discuss it," Marshall interrupted without thinking.

"I just don't feel like I should have…" Abigail pondered the appropriate response momentarily. "I shouldn't have accused you of doing your job. That's all it was. Protecting Mary is part of your job."

Marshall couldn't have said why, but he was vaguely unsettled by this response. Was it an apology? Was it simply a way for Abigail to express that she disapproved of Mary's and Marshall's relationship and was trying to give her boyfriend a hint? Or did she really see it the way she'd said and hadn't meant anything more by it?

"Well…" he tried to come up with a diplomatic reply. "For the most part, Mary can take care of herself. But when we get in those duck-and-cover situations…"

"I get it Marshall," Abigail cut in. "I do."

She's said that already. Earlier, when Marshall had called her on her claim.

"Good," was all he could think of to say, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "With any luck, I'll be home soon. I know you had quite a day too."

Marshall only meant part of this response; it was true Abigail had been through the wringer as well – less so than Mary, but nonetheless. But a part of himself he was trying to squelch didn't want to go home. Especially not soon.

Fortunately, they were both spared the task of further responses because Jinx emerged from across the room. Marshall had lost track of how long he and Stan had been sitting, but his boss looked up in the presence of the woman and the inspector did as well.

"Marshall…!" Jinx called, obviously trying not to bellow but wanting herself heard as she beckoned with her hand.

"Sorry…" he relayed to Abigail. "I'm gonna have to go."

"I understand," she insisted. "Talk to you later. Keep me updated."

"Sure," Marshall took care to say before slapping his phone shut and replacing it in his pocket.

Both he and Stan stood, and Jinx opted to join them halfway instead of directly in front of the double-doors. She was looking stressed and a little strung-out, but still had the air of trying to be positive, of seeing the bright side. Stan inclined his head in a brief greeting, but both men wanted to give her the floor.

"What's up?" Marshall asked to get her going, not wanting to appear apprehensive.

"I'm sorry honey…" Jinx looked dismayed, and Marshall was briefly thrown by the affectionate term but brushed over it, guessing it was a reflex. "Mary's about to deliver…"

Holy God.

"She wants to talk to you," the mother declared. "You'll have to be quick – clearly there's not a lot of time…" she emitted a nervous little laugh. "But it seemed so important to her; I didn't know what else to do, she's so frightened…"

Jinx was rambling now, getting mixed up, but Marshall saw no issue with this at all and merely hoped he'd be able to keep the visit brief.

"It's not a problem," he insisted genially, raising a hand as though to talk Jinx down. "Let's go…"

Ditching Stan, who could no more have gone in the delivery room than grown a full head of curls, Marshall followed Jinx back to the fated room five, wondering how on earth Mary could've come out of a task in which she needed to be so desperately engrossed to ask for him. A selfish, strange pride was floating in his chest at the thought.

Through the doors they went, and Marshall saw at once that Jinx was absolutely right – he was going to have to be as speedy as possible and get whatever was on Mary's mind out in the open, because giving birth was clearly on the eminent horizon. There was a flurry of nurses, some at Mary's head, a few at the foot with the single doctor. Tools were being passed back-and-forth, towels and flashes of silver, and Mark was on the far side holding one of Mary's legs up. Marshall did everything in his power not to let his eyes wander, because he knew his partner would be humiliated.

Mary was undoubtedly in a considerable amount of pain, as well as wrapped in a virtual cocoon of intensity. She'd fallen into a pattern of gasping and groaning, looking up and then down, sometimes to the side, muttering indistinctly under her breath.

Marshall jogged up to his previous post at her head and if she could feel relief at all in this moment, he could've sworn it flickered through her eyes when they met his face.

"Hey…" he addressed her gently. "What's going on? What do you need?"

How on earth she was going to tell him when she could barely breathe remained a mystery, but he waited just the same; Jinx at his elbow. He ignored Mark as best he could; trying to pretend like it was just the pair of them.

"Marshall, you have to do something…" she managed, grunting low in her throat with the effort.

"What would you like me to do?" he pressed as quickly as he could, not having the faintest idea what she meant.

"I can't do this now…" she whimpered. "I can't," her eyes pinched shut and she swallowed hard. "There must be something…"

Going on went out the window when another contraction forced its way through, and this one definitely caused the team a marginal amount of alarm. Marshall could tell what was going on and it made even him uncomfortable; Mary was protesting, resisting, pulling against the urge with everything she possessed. Stan's 'poor kid' rang in his ears, and Marshall believed it now more than ever. She hadn't prepared herself at all and she was going to battle to the bitter end.

"Oh, Jesus…!" she was really crying now, her speech broken on every syllable.

Mark tried to pat her hair, looking upset on her behalf, and whispering, "It's okay…" every few seconds.

"Mary, we really need you to push the next time you have a contraction…" the doctor directed from the foot of the bed, firm but wanting to sound indulgent. "You're feeling that pressure; it's time…"

"It isn't time!" Mary was furious and miserable as she turned to Marshall, her cheeks slick with sweat and tears. "It's not! I'm not ready!"

"Oh, sweetheart…" Jinx breathed behind him, but Marshall couldn't think about her.

It occurred to him why he'd been asked in here. He was a last-ditch hope in Mary's delirious eyes that he could get her out of this, that he could use his intelligence and intellect to find a way to end this nightmare until she could come to terms with the situation.

He could do nothing of the sort, but he needed to find the next best thing – and soon.

"Mary, listen to me," he implored in a low voice, picking up her hand as he had done before and squeezing it lightly. "Focus on what's going on right now," he whispered, hardly daring to believe he could be so quiet amongst the action. "The past and the future don't matter; just concentrate on getting through this…"

She was gulping, trying to keep from passing out, looking at him like he held all the answers. Her green eyes were so intently alert on his.

"In the here and now, you are ready," he let each word become its own so she couldn't possibly miss a beat. "You are ready to do this. Your body is ready. The baby is ready," her fingers were shaking so violently he compressed them again. "Follow your instincts; they never let you down."

He could tell from the urgency that persisted the time was winding down, that there was none of it left and Mary was maybe – just maybe – wavering to the ideas Marshall was doling out, but she couldn't forget what lay ahead, no matter what he said.

"You don't think I should…"

Her voice trailed, and her statement had been so soft it was nearly unintelligible but Marshall understood. Adoption versus parenting. Nature versus nurture. He relayed a final phrase to seal the deal.

"Mary, you're my friend," he was very serious, not even blinking so as to hold her gaze. "You're my best friend. That's not going to change, no matter what you decide."

A lot of things happened at once then. The flurry of nurses became a swarm, towels were being thrown onto Mary's midsection; her breathing became harsher and more ragged, and the doctor called out above the reassurances.

"You've got about fifteen seconds, Mary!" she reported. "Let's do it this time!"

Marshall was forced to move on, forced to leave everything at the door, to not even wish well in goodbye but he did his best to try.

"Stan and I are right outside," he insisted, backing away and allowing Jinx in his place, knowing he would not be permitted to stay. "We'll see you afterwards; you're gonna be just fine…"

Her hand was the last thing he let go of, backing around the woman in the pale pink dress clumsily. He was heartbroken to see that Mary was still trying to look at him, but he had to go.

Fumbling, not knowing what else he could do, Marshall flung his vigilance to the sky. Making sure Mary could still see, he mouthed the words he couldn't say.

"Love you…"

They didn't come back to him, but they pulled her head around to where it belonged and that was what they needed.

That was all they needed.

XXX

A/N: Hope you all liked this one!