A/N: Thank-you to my lone reviewer thus far! I hope the story captures your attention as it progresses!

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The minute Marshall stepped through the front door of Mary's house – he and Mary's house – he wanted to back right out again. But he forced himself to stay rooted to the threshold once he shut the door, simply watching Mary and Sam. He knew she knew he was there, but apparently she was feeling tolerant.

Sam sat on the counter in a pair of orange knit pants and one of Mary's usual simple T-shirts – yellow with green stripes. He loved that his boy didn't match. He had a low mien noodle between his fingers, undoubtedly stolen from one of the open cartons on the counter. He mashed it a few times before shoving it into his mouth where it hung, half-in, half-out. He turned to Mary who was slurping her own noodles in her usual, unladylike way but Marshall knew it was for Sam's benefit.

When she sucked in two in one sitting, he giggled delightedly and Mary reached over to help him chew up his own dinner.

"Evening," Marshall finally strode in, knowing he couldn't stand on the doormat forever. He deposited his briefcase on the couch and ventured into the kitchen.

"Da-da, da-da," Sam babbled around his noodles. Marshall grinned, rumpled his hair, and kissed him.

"How's my boy?" he crooned, and the little one grinned with pleasure.

Mary ignored the salutation – their child rarely uttered a 'mama.' She claimed it didn't bother her, even though Marshall continually assured her Sam was merely a quiet kid and rarely said much at all and that all babies developed their language skills at different rates anyway.

"Where you been?" Mary asked, tossing him a package of egg rolls. "You didn't have much left to do, did you?"

He'd been driving around aimlessly, wondering how on earth he was going to drop this bomb. As it was, he didn't answer Mary's question and put the egg rolls back on the counter beside Sam. Seeing the little boy reach out his grubby hands for a taste, Mary hoisted him up and anchored him on her hip.

"Nuh-uh," she said when he whined pitifully. "You had your dinner," she jerked her head at the stove, scattered with pieces of Lucky Charms.

"Ah, from all the food groups," Marshall mused, attempting a joke. "Grain and sugar."

"Humph," Mary scoffed, bouncing Sam to keep him from progressing into a full-blown tantrum.

Evidently, she wasn't going to be baited into distraction because she clearly noticed Marshall's haunted eyes, the absence of his usual smile when he came home for supper, the way he seemed to want to run to her even though she was perfectly safe and standing upright in the kitchen. It reminded Mary of when Seth had died and that scared her.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Did you get some bad news?"

That was one way of putting it. But Marshall was starting to kick himself for getting so worked up about this situation. Mary would need him and it was imperative he be stable and calm, not some over-emotional sap so concerned with her well-being he couldn't get a handle on his own feelings.

"Marshall," she stepped forward and quit jostling Sam, for their son had gone silent in investigating the crumbs on his shirt.

He looked into those big green eyes of hers, probing his own – back and forth, back and forth. He was going to break her heart – crush the only wish she'd ever had.

"Mare, why don't you come sit down?" he offered, waving his hand behind him, indicating the living room. "I've got something to tell you."

"I don't want to sit down," she said immediately, and Marshall should've sensed that coming. "If you've got something to tell me, tell me now."

Sam stirred as her voice rose; Mary realized and shifted him higher onto her hip, brushing his flyaway waves across his forehead and out of his eyes.

"Please," Marshall said as he watched this. "Just come sit."

Mary caught the urgency and the agitation wrung tight inside his tone and was hard-pressed not to agree this time. He was already on his way to the couch before she followed, bewildered, behind him. He settled himself on the coffee table and she sat nervously across from him, wondering what on earth this could be about. Sam wiggled to get off her lap and she lifted him down where he immediately tore off for one of his stuffed horses, its mane chewed and damp.

"So, what?" Mary said harshly to try and save face and not show how skittish Marshall was making her. "What's with the hangdog?"

Marshall sighed and looked at the ground before meeting her eyes again. Gently, he placed his hand on her knee. She wanted to shake it away, but found that she couldn't.

"Mary…this is not easy…for me to tell you…" he began.

"Something tells me it's not gonna be a picnic for me to listen to either, Marshall, but get on with it," she interrupted, sounding appropriately agitated.

Knowing this was true, Marshall went on, "Someone called the office a little while ago…"

He couldn't say it yet. Not yet.

"About your father."

Man alive, why had he thought that would be better? Mary's eyes widened and she shook her head, looking totally thrown-for-a-loop. Why was Marshall being such a fool? He gave people horrible news all the time; he should really be doing a more decent job at it.

"My father?" she repeated, voice hushed and low, lost somewhere in her throat. "What about him?"

Marshall knew he couldn't leave it here. He had to go on.

Sam was chattering sweetly to himself behind him, the sound music to his ears.

He squeezed Mary's knee

"Babe…he died," Marshall blurted out. "In a car accident."

Even as the words slammed into Mary – bricks in her stomach, a train in her chest, the hand over her mouth so she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move, only one thought made it into her head and she despised herself for thinking it.

Her father was gone. Dead. It was official. He was never coming back for her.

It was the most asinine thing in the world. She'd known, for decades now that she was likely never going to see her father again. He'd abandoned her, he'd had a second family, he was a crook and a fugitive and a liar and she couldn't count on him for anything.

But this was different. Something inside her ached, but she couldn't discern where it was or why it was making her feel like she couldn't draw breath. She swallowed as she tried to speak and it was like her airway was coated with cotton. Tears unshed.

"When did this happen?" she whispered. "Today?"

"A couple months back," Marshall reported softly. And then the final blow, "It was…believed he had no living relatives."

Mary's chest hurt and her eyes stung. He'd forgotten her. There had been nothing to indicate she had ever been a presence in his life.

Marshall was unable to restrain himself from comforting her. She was just sitting there, staring at him and also past him – at something he couldn't see.

"I'm so sorry, Mare," he murmured quietly. "I really wish…things had turned out differently."

Well, so had she. She always had.

When she didn't respond to what he'd said, Marshall got off the coffee table and took a seat beside her. She allowed him to put his arm around her back, but she didn't look at him; she didn't move. Her eyes were still locked on the spot he'd vacated, as though she hadn't even noticed him leave.

After a moment, Marshall decided he needed to speak again.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, dipping his head low to try and catch her eye.

She finally stirred at this, but just barely, shaking her head at the ground. Marshall didn't know what to think. It was most unusual for her to be so quiet about something of this magnitude.

"Mary, I know you must be upset," her husband continued evenly, still with his arm around her. "And I know you probably don't want to be," he guessed. "But it's fine if you are…"

She didn't react to any of this – to anything at all – until Marshall's words were torn in two by a loud thud and a thump. Sam, for what seemed the zillionth time, had bumped his head on the lip of the coffee table and fallen to the floor. He let out an ear-splitting wail, sitting in a heap on the ground.

It was this that seemed to recall Mary to consciousness.

"Oh, damn it…" she cursed and flew to her feet, motoring around to pick Sam up. "How many times is this gonna happen?" she voiced loudly to no one in particular. "Come here…come here…"

She bent and lifted Sam up with ease where she tried to calm his cries, but he squirmed and wiggled against her chest, clearly uncomfortable.

"Hush…hush…" Mary murmured sweetly, rubbing his hair but evidently he wanted something else – someone else.

With an anguished sob that only increased his volume, he whined clear as day, "Da-da-da-da…!"

Mary couldn't stop the sigh from escaping and Marshall did the same as he stood up, neither one hearing the other over Sam's fussing.

"For Christ's sake…take him…" Mary said, unable to hide the hurt in her voice or hold off on the wetness threatening to spill over onto her own cheeks.

Transferring him into Marshall's arms, she felt certain she was going to burst watching her son descend into gentle hiccups and quivers against Marshall's chest. Marshall had the grace to look ashamed, but this did not help Mary.

"I can't give him what he wants!" she shouted in what was fast-becoming a silent room.

"Mare, don't…" Marshall started to say, but she couldn't help it.

"Why can't I ever give him what he wants?" she exploded as Marshall stooped awkwardly to retrieve Sam's pacifier from the coffee table, which he promptly stuffed into his mouth.

Marshall knew she was referring to more than Sam at this point and he stepped forward to put his free hand on her shoulder. She had none of it.

"He wants you!" she shook her head disbelievingly, gesturing in the vicinity. "He always wants you!"

"Not always…" Marshall tried to say.

But both of them knew this wasn't true. Sam loved Mary, and Mary loved him, there was no denying it. But like any eighteen-month-old, he had a preference and never hesitated to share it. More often than not, he whined for Marshall, for Brandi, for Jinx before Mary. She was more his entertainment than his mother. It killed her even though she usually didn't let on, and she never knew what she was doing wrong. It was a mystery that had plagued her-her entire life, stemming from two days before she turned seven.

"Why the hell would he want me anyway?" she found herself saying, cheeks red and flushed now and she raged. "Nobody ever has!"

"Mary, stop this," Marshall said sternly. "He loves you. I love you; don't you ever think otherwise…"

The room was heavy with the absence of Sam's sobs as he snuggled into Marshall.

"Come on…sit back down and talk to me…" he invited softly, but Mary wouldn't bite.

"For what?" she wanted to know. "What are you gonna tell me that's gonna take this away; that's gonna change what you just said? It's over, it's done…!"

But even as she said it, she felt the tears on her face, couldn't stop her lip from quivering as they rolled and she let out her own anguished sob that matched her son's. She folded into her hands, not wanting Marshall to see her like this, but he saw everything.

"Come here…" he whispered, offering her his free arm, the other still supporting Sam.

He had to guide her in on his own, but to her credit, she didn't pull away. It wasn't the most comfortable of hugs; she mostly just stood cheek-to-cheek with him, making his face damp as well. He rubbed her neck serenely, the sound of her cries far worse than Sam's. Marshall turned to the side and kissed her temple, lips pressed firmly on her flushed skin.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this when it was over," Mary murmured thickly, sniffling in an attempt not to drip snot all over Marshall's jacket. "I wasn't supposed to care anymore."

The man really didn't know what to say to that, so he kept quiet and wished he could release Sam to engulf her in a proper embrace.

"You want to postpone the trip?" Marshall asked as she nudged herself away to look into his face and wipe her eyes. "Stay here and have some sort of…I don't know…" he shifted Sam up to keep him from slipping. "Service or something?"

"For a criminal?" Mary whispered, even in her ethereal voice unable to keep the contempt out.

Marshall thought about saying he wasn't just a criminal but had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well, so he landed on a different tack instead.

"I just thought…Jinx and Brandi…"

Oh God, Jinx and Brandi. Mary hadn't even thought about them. Truthfully, she wondered how she'd managed to forget even in the short space of time since she'd gotten the news. Brandi would bawl even though she hadn't even known the man; being nearly nine months pregnant was only going to make the tears come faster. And Jinx would flip out – never mind the fact that James, legally, had been declared dead about five years ago. Something told Mary this wouldn't stop her mother's dramatics.

It was with this realization that caused Mary to make a fast decision.

"No," she shook her head and Marshall, thoughtfully, reached over and brushed the stray tears away from her eyelids. "The plan is to go; we're not going to change it. There's no reason to stay."

Marshall wasn't sure this was true and knew it was all part of Mary's obsessive need to honor her commitments, but he couldn't argue with her.

"If that's what you want," he said. "Then we'll go."

"Marshall…" she whispered, and he saw her welling up again, hearing the tightness against her vocal chords. "I don't know what I want. Obviously," she added as an afterthought with a bitter laugh.

"I know," Marshall whispered.

When Sam let out a contended sigh against Marshall's shoulder, he had a sudden revelation in knowing what he would want after news like this. When Seth had died, he'd been fortunate enough to have been given the one person he desired most on the planet earth. Although this wasn't that simple, he had to try.

"Hey Sam…" he murmured softly, nudging the boy's head lightly with his own to sit him up. He stirred and tossed the tufts from his red-rimmed eyes.

"Can you give mama a hug?" he prompted. "A hug and a kiss?"

Mary rolled her eyes even through the gloom at Marshall's request. He had been attempting rather steadfastly as of late to school their kid on how to 'hug and kiss' but he was finicky about when and where. Mary didn't expect him to agree and wasn't sure her heart could take another beating. To her surprise, when Marshall passed him lightly into her arms, he accepted the touch and palmed his pacifier. The kiss he delivered was flat-lipped and slobbery but Mary didn't mind at all.

"Mmm…" she unarticulated as she began to cry all over again, silently this time. "Thanks sheriff…"

She sheltered him close against her, fingering the soft, baby-fine strands of his rich, reddish-brown waves. He didn't look like her. Sometimes, she saw Mark but other days he resembled no one at all. Like he really had been dropped by the stork.

Seeing her lost in her grief and her confusion, Marshall guided her to put Sam back to the floor and, blissfully, he toddled off – onto another adventure, completely unaware of what circled around him. In his absence, he hugged his wife; resting her cheek on his shirt, cotton on her skin. He kissed her honey-golden locks when he felt her tremble with another shudder.

"I love you," he said again, wanting her to hear it as many times as she needed. "And Sam loves you too."

For the first time, Mary had to accept that this was going to have to be enough.

A/N: Like I said, dramatic start but hopefully that's not bad.