A/N: Thank-you for the initial reviews! A small, but mighty band! I appreciate all the views and favorites as well, even if you can't find the time to comment every day! I understand! XOXO
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The scream came at roughly two in the morning, after a cheerful afternoon spangling their abode and devouring Jinx's cookies before she or Brandi arrived back at the house. The first time Mary had heard the bloodcurdling, skin-crawling squeal about three years earlier, she'd been certain one of her children was being mauled to death by a grizzly bear. It was that loud – that piercing. It would have to be, to reach Mary and Marshall in their bedroom down the hall.
But now, the woman was as used to it as she was scraped knees and wrinkled school papers in the bottom of backpacks. It was routine, if not slightly unnerving when it happened more than a few nights in a row. Considering the circumstances surrounding her birth, it was ironic that Lizzie could have such a spectacular set of lungs on her, but have them she did.
Mary refused to cite the source of the shouts as 'night terrors' which was what Marshall had donned the workings of their daughter's subconscious. To her, it seemed far too dramatic a title for bad dreams. In truth, when she'd looked up 'night terrors' on the Internet, she had been alarmed by how different they were from average nightmares. All the physical symptoms that went along with the sensation were troubling, but Mary was still in denial about her child being so horrified in the stages of deep sleep.
"Mama! Mama!" Lizzie's frightened wail sounded from the next room.
Mary gave a groan through the darkness, hearing Marshall do the same to her right. It was odd, but during the day Lizzie was all about her daddy – her daddy's attention, her daddy's wisdom. But when the walls began closing in it was mama – always mama – whom she sought for comfort.
"You want me to go?" Marshall offered thickly, rolling over and almost pitching Mary onto the carpet due to being so remiss.
Mary shook her head side to side on the pillow, "Is your name 'mama?'"
Perhaps in an effort to drill this into both parents, Lizzie gave another holler, "MAMA!"
The blonde would never understand why her little girl didn't just get out from under the covers and come into their bedroom if she was so scared, but she'd never bothered to ask. Slapping her palm over her eyes and bracing herself for whatever demon had haunted Lizzie's mind tonight, Mary made herself swing her legs over the frame and stumble to the door.
"I'll get her some water…" Marshall was desperate to feel useful, as he hadn't had a decent comeback for Mary's previous question. "Maybe she left Pretzel out in the living room…"
Pretzel was Lizzie's stuffed bear, a dull khaki color with fluffy fur. He was named as such because his legs were considerably longer than his arms and she'd taken great pleasure during toddlerhood in tying them in knots.
"Good luck finding him," Mary drawled, almost tripping over the open closet door and fighting a swearword when she stubbed her toe.
"What was that?" Marshall materialized out of the shadows when Mary turned the knob to spill them into the hall. "Did you make that thud?"
"Never mind," his wife shuffled off to the twins' room, deciding it wasn't important.
Marshall left it alone and made his way to the kitchen while Mary smoothed her matted hair and granted herself admittance into what had once been the nursery. She was unsurprised to find Lizzie clutching her blankets up around her chin, her silhouette trembling with sobs from where she'd sprung bolt upright. Ben, who couldn't possibly have missed the episode, seemed to have climbed down the ladder of their bunk bed. In actuality, it was a loft, with Ben's bunk horizontal and Lizzie's vertical across the bottom, giving them room to shove a dresser underneath.
Snapping on the lamp on their bedside table, she never failed to be touched watching her son stand guard over his sister, doing the job until their parents could swoop in to save the day.
"Lizzie had a nightmare," he announced boldly.
"Oh, you don't say?" Mary played along, falling back on sarcasm. "Give me those, baby…let go…" she coaxed Lizzie to relinquish her grip on her blankets.
"I told her I was right here and that I'd save her from any bad guys, but she still wanted to see you," Ben reported swiftly, eliciting a smile from his mother.
She reached over to rumple his hair, already extremely tousled, "Well, thanks for standing in, Bullet."
Since their infancy, the twins had always presented the air that Ben was the older and more defensive of the two, and so it always came as a shock to strangers that Lizzie actually surpassed her brother by three minutes in terms of age. It just proved to Mary that three minutes made no difference; you couldn't put much stock in birth order, especially when it came down to the seconds.
"Should I get her some water?" Ben submitted kindly, still not leaving Lizzie's side.
"Dad's taking care of it," Mary assured him. "Why don't you go help him look for Pretzel though?" she had just noticed that the bear was indeed missing from the rumpled sheets and comforter.
Her son held up a finger, signifying his mission, "Back in a flash!" and he was off, pattering on his bare feet down the hall to join Marshall.
Once he was gone, Mary settled herself on the edge of the mattress, knowing that in spite of how much she adored Ben, Lizzie wasn't always comfortable breaking down in front of him. He was used to her, of course, but her mother secretly wondered if she worried Ben would think she was immature for being fearful. Mary doubted this, but there was no convincing her daughter.
"What was it this time, Liz?" she asked softly, motioning to the inner part of her chest, enticing her to crawl out of the fetal position and onto her lap. "The mummies? The goblins?"
"The witch…" her tearstained child quivered, crawling clumsily across the bed to meet Mary. "She was all green…and she tried to shove me into her oven…"
"Was Aunt Brandi reading you 'Hansel and Gretel' again?" Mary guessed, cursing her sister for never being able to remember that spooky fairytales weren't Lizzie's style.
In another, deeper part of her chest, Mary felt a pang of sadness at the name 'Gretel.' Once upon a time she'd known a child with such a name. She thought about her and her brothers more than she admitted.
"It was really-really scary, mama…" Lizzie claimed, but now she was close enough to bury herself in the security of Mary's grasp, and the inspector was more than happy to allow her admittance.
Lugging her daughter onto her lap, she felt the little girl loop her arms around her neck, dampening the back of Mary's loose top with fresh tears. Mary contended herself with rubbing her back, running her hand up and down the purple thermal pajamas she wore, catching sight of the little ballerina graphics printed onto the fabric. These particular pajamas must've been Jinx's doing.
Unlike Marshall, Mary wasn't one to pacify her child with whispered shushing and promises that everything was okay. If she did that, she might be lying, and Mary refused to fib to the twins, even accidentally. She went with neat honesty and careful, frank reassurances.
"Liz, you know that whatever you saw is just make believe, right?" she laid a kiss on her coiled brunette waves, half out of the ponytail they'd been confined to earlier. "It wasn't real. It's just your imagination running wild…"
Lizzie was still snuffling and whimpering, "B…B…Ben n-never h-has bad…dreams…" she moaned tragically, furthering Mary's theory about her little one's feelings of inferiority.
"He does to," Mary scoffed derisively. "He pretends to be a tough guy, but even he gets scared. Everybody does."
"Even you?"
Long ago, Mary would've hesitated and waffled for several minutes, motoring her way around answering truthfully, but not anymore.
"Sure."
Although Mary had admitted this on many occasions before, it still seemed to befuddle her Lizzie, who gave a more measured shudder, calming down the longer she was in her mother's arms. Mary switched to patting her back upon hearing her coast into more manageable hysteria.
"What scares you?" Lizzie wanted to know.
"Well…" Mary left one more kiss, this time on her temple, before making her pull away, brushing bangs out of her eyes as she went on. "I was pretty freaked out when you were born. You were kind of a pipsqueak you know."
The blonde was certain this would do the trick to getting Lizzie back to bed, and the desired result was achieved in no time flat. A shaky grin appeared on her face and she blinked innocently, vying for the tale she'd been privy to many times in the past.
"Can you tell the story?" she asked earnestly. "About when Ben and I were born? Please?"
Mary was resigned to saying yes, thinking of a way to abbreviate certain portions so she could get back to bed by two thirty, when a buoyant yell sounded from down the hall. Before Mary could open her mouth to conciliate her daughter, Ben returned, waving Pretzel the bear in his right hand.
"I found him!" he flung the stuffed animal into Lizzie's lap with a flourish. "All in a day's work," like father like son, he gave a mock-bow of conceit.
Lizzie scooped up her toy, hugging him to her chest, reminiscent of the way Mary often hugged Beatrix when she was feeling low.
"Thanks Ben…" she muttered quietly, face buried in the bear's fur, looking soothed already. "Where was he?"
"Behind one of the couch pillows," Ben hung off the ladder with one hand, swinging back and forth like he was a trapeze artist. "It was a daring rescue…" showing off his vocabulary. "I had to sneak up behind the wall, so quiet; I couldn't make a sound…"
The way his eyes danced when he got going on a good legend reminded Mary so much of Marshall; their excitement and vigor was identical. However, she made herself cut him off this time; if he got going, he'd get all worked-up and never go back to sleep.
"Listen, Superman…" she reached out to give him a tickle, but he wiggled away.
"Bullet," he corrected between laughs.
"Whoever," Mary lamented, pleased to see Lizzie's trembling subside now that she was clutching her treasured Pretzel. "It's time for you to get back in bed, Mr. Smug," she wasn't sure if he knew what that meant, but it sounded good. "You'll need your rest if you're going to be busy defending the world tomorrow."
Lizzie came back to life upon hearing that their mother intended to shackle them back under the covers, "Nooooooooo!" but this whine was different; there was persuasion in every note. "You haven't told the story yet!"
"What story?" Ben inquired while Mary shook her head, too easily swayed by her children.
"The one about when we were born!"
"Aw, I don't like that one…" the boy made a face, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. "I've heard it too many times; it's boring."
Before they could start the full-blown bickering, Mary was saved from detailing her C-section once again, this time due to the arrival of Marshall, who waltzed in holding a glass of water, playing the part of a waiter.
"Beverage, anyone?" he asked the room at large, pretending to peer over heads.
Mary was forever in awe of how calm and collected he behaved in the wee hours of the morning, never acting as though he was inconvenienced or annoyed by his children's nightmares. Watching him, you'd think they'd all gotten up for a bonfire and s'mores just to while away the hours for the fun of it. It was often his careful cajoling with Lizzie and firm wheedling with Ben that sent them back to their beds.
"Is 'beverage' a drink?" Lizzie proposed in an undertone to Mary, not wanting to show her father that she didn't understand his fancy verbiage.
"Yes," Mary bit back a laugh. "Listen Poindexter, try speaking English," she quipped to spare Lizzie additional embarrassment. Taking the glass from his fingers and handing it to her daughter, "We don't have time to decode."
"I like any opportunity to impart my high-caliber intelligence," Marshall puffed out his chest, making Lizzie giggle around sips of water. "Bullet here has already picked up on so much of my vernacular."
"Show-off," Mary snarked, producing yet another snicker from Lizzie.
For Ben, this seemed to be a trigger; although very protective of his sister, he also liked any opportunity to gallivant about the house in the middle of the night. He flung his grip off the ladder and went bounding across the room, throwing himself at Marshall, who was heads-up enough to catch him and lift him high.
"Now that we're up…" he began deviously. "Can we watch those monster movies they show on TV late at night? I saw this one at Aunt Brandi's once – it had a werewolf in it!"
"No…" Lizzie whimpered, smacking her lips free of moisture from her water glass. "No monster movies; they're too scary."
"I'll be there," Ben declared, waving an indistinct hand over his shoulder, as though this would solve all of the girls' problems. "Can we dad? Tomorrow's Saturday; I don't have to go to school…"
Marshall threw Mary an indulgent look, but she gave him the best, most stone-faced expression she possessed. Her husband was a far softer touch than she was, and even though she knew he didn't really want to be up until dawn watching old black-and-white renditions of Godzilla, he had a hard time saying no to Ben. The real issue was that Ben knew it.
But, Marshall knew that sparring with Mary was unwise, especially at this hour, "Sorry, spark. Sleep takes precedence right now. We can watch one of those Scooby Doo videos tomorrow if you want…"
Lizzie gave an eager nod upon hearing this, but Ben merely frowned, fiddling with the buttons on Marshall's flannel pajama top held aloft in his arms.
"Scooby Doo is for babies."
"Ben," Mary cut in sharply seeing the stricken look on Lizzie's face. "We've talked about this. Not everybody likes the same things. You liking scary stuff doesn't make you better than people who don't."
There was no stopping the pride that flitted in Marshall's fuzzy eyes at hearing Mary playing the higher authority in a discussion about feelings. Motherhood had altered her mindset in truly alarming ways. While she might usually be closer to Ben because of his rugged nature, Marshall knew she despised seeing Lizzie hurt, especially since she seemed to view her as more fragile and feeble than her brother.
"But, I like Scooby Doo…" Lizzie chirruped, seemingly not noticing Mary's round-about way of defending her. "I like Daphne and Shaggy…"
Ben was still disgruntled, but Marshall kept him from antagonizing his sister further, "We can all pick something to watch in the morning – maybe a Christmas movie, now that we have the house all decorated." Both twins brightened slightly at the compromise. "Right now though, it's back to bed with the both of you…"
"Uh-oh, dad's playing bad cop…" Mary taunted, even as she guided Lizzie back under her covers and replaced the half-drunk cup of water to the night table by the door. "We all know how he stinks at going all 'evil sheriff.'"
"Yeah, dad!" both kids chorused.
Marshall took it in stride, carrying Ben back to the ladder, when a remote and ringing buzz sounded from somewhere outside the door. Both Mary and Marshall took pause, while Lizzie continued to get situated inside her blankets. Slowly, Marshall slipped Ben onto the floor, which ordinarily would've been a very bad idea because he was likely to bolt for the living room.
"Is that my phone?" Marshall inquired.
"I think it's mine," Mary recognized the subtle difference in the rings, wondering what work-related emergency had cropped up that would now prevent her from getting any sleep at all.
She was on the verge of rising, but Marshall held up a hand to stop her, forever the knight in shining armor.
"You put these two ragamuffins down…"
"Don't say ragamuffins," Mary commanded, which he brushed over.
"I'll grab your cell. It's probably something either of us can handle…" which was a safe assumption if it was WITSEC-related.
As expected, Ben tried to tail along after his father, hoping to be privy to whatever conversation might occur over the phone. To both Mary's and Marshall's chagrin, he was fascinated by what they did at work besides 'apprehend bad guys' and they often put-off facing that he was going to have to be clued in minimally so that he'd stop nosing around.
This time, however, Mary stopped him in his tracks as Marshall disappeared back to the master bedroom.
"Ben, hold it!"
Her son swung on the doorframe, screeching to a halt at his mother's harsh timbre.
"Get back in here. Now."
"Aww…" he pouted, annoyed with being caught, but he slumped over anyway, dropping theatrically onto the edge of the bed, nearly landing himself on Lizzie's knees. "Can't I just listen to a little bit? I promise not to tell what dad talks about…"
Mary forcefully shook her head, and was interrupted by the girl, sheets already fastened around her chin where she lay.
"You won't have to go to work, will you mama?" she wondered, wide-eyed with her chocolate ringlets spread out all over her pillow.
"Well, I don't know…" Mary shrugged, Ben stealing glances at the open doorway all the while. "Either me or dad might have to head out for a little bit, but someone will be here," she stroked the child's hair for emphasis.
Since the twins had been born the inspectors had operated under a kind of tag-team effort. They were rarely together in the field anymore, although worked in harmony on anything going on at the office. Delia had been given a promotion a few years ago, and partnered either Mary or Marshall when anything dangerous cropped up. One thing was for sure; both Manns wore their bullet-proof vests one hundred percent of the time these days, contrary to their former, carefree selves.
"You gonna blast somebody if you leave?" Ben interjected hungrily.
"No," Mary replied firmly, not wanting to put ideas in Lizzie's head. She busied herself straightening his pajama top; they were green with fire-breathing dragons all over them. "You know how it works. Sometimes there are people who really need our help, day or night, and it's important that one of us be there for them."
Before Ben could pounce for details, Lizzie cut in timidly, "But, I miss you when you're gone, mama."
Touched, but slightly unsettled by her daughter's unbridled fears about being alone, Mary worked a smile onto her face and tucked Pretzel into the bend of Lizzie's elbow.
"I miss you too, Liz. But, rules are rules – sometimes we just do what needs to be done."
Lizzie nodded solemnly, if somewhat apprehensively, just as Marshall stuck his head back into the room. He'd returned faster than Mary had expected him, and there was a definite graveness to his normally twinkling azure eyes – the eyes of their children. He was spared covering up his features by Ben engaging Lizzie with thoughts of all the things they could do without Mary in the house, and she was able to see the man beckon with his long index finger. She sent him a quick nod, showing she understood, and immediately turned to the kids so they wouldn't suspect anything.
"Listen you two, I'll be right back, okay?" she spoke to both at once. "Ben, I want you back up there when I come to turn the light out," she indicated the loft above her head.
They effectively ignored her, occupied with their chattering, but she could worry about tying Ben to his mattress later. She left knowing they were content and bustled into the darkened hallway to see which witness had gotten themselves into a knot this time.
His sharp, angular face blurred and shadowy in the half-light of the hall, Marshall had already hung up her cell by the time she reached him. Though she was trying not to fret, Mary couldn't help but be a little disturbed by the severe look he was giving her.
"What is it?" she whispered. "Not another Maureen I hope," death around the holidays would be tragic.
"It's not a witness," he relayed, taking care to keep his voice even lower than Mary's to avoid the children hearing. "It was Brandi."
At this, Mary couldn't help the exasperated sigh that escaped. It was a reflex; she was tired and hankering to go back to bed. What could her sister possibly want at two in the morning?
"What now?" she had to fight not to snap. "Honestly. It's not enough that we watch her kid every day of the week, now she needs me for a full twenty-four hours?"
Marshall did not bother with Mary's poor attitude, "It has to do with Holly," he murmured. "Brandi and Peter just took her to the ER."
Goose bumps rose on Mary's arms, even though she could feel the heat blasting out of the floor vent near her bare feet. She swallowed hard, not having expected something like this. Her memory was jogged when she recalled Holly feeling warm that afternoon when they'd been putting up the Christmas decorations. But, Marshall had been certain that was nothing. What else could have happened to her? She was only three years old – or nearly. Mary might not be her favorite person, but she was just a little girl.
"What? What for? What happened?" the woman struggled to keep her voice impassive, as though she was not nervous in the least.
Marshall exhaled, "Holly woke up a little while ago not feeling well. They took her temperature and it was around a hundred and four…" this sounded daunting, but he wasn't through. "I guess Peter tried to help her out of her bed – you know she has a bunk bed too…"
Mary did know. Holly had begged for a loft like the twins had, purely because the twins had one, but she had no one to sleep in the gap on the bottom.
"She must've missed a step going down – I'm honestly not sure; Brandi was really upset on the phone – but she fell off and hit the ground pretty hard; they think she hurt her leg somehow."
It was worse than Mary had thought, and still she battled with herself to stay in control, if for no other reason than that she didn't want the twins to worry. Her close relationship with the truth meant she needed time to figure out how to explain to them what was going on; there were no secrets in this house.
Unfortunately, Marshall was watching her for signs of outward sensitivity; even in this chaotic moment, he was focused on her feelings. She was different with Holly than she was with Ben and Lizzie; the twins had always been their mother's children. But, she didn't have the same way with her niece; she always seemed to lack something that had the little one keeping her distance.
Still, she cared about the child. She wasn't going to act like she didn't.
What came first was a swallow; "Okay…" her voice was hushed in the dusk. "All right…" she tried to put her hands in her pockets, but there weren't any attached to her drawstring pants. Twisting her fingers together instead, "So…what? What should we do? Do we go to the hospital? Is it that serious?"
"I think it might be," Marshall was very direct. "A hundred and four degree fever is a tall order."
"What do you think is wrong with her?"
"I honestly don't know," he admitted. "She may have a bad virus of some kind, but an injured leg on top of being sick is hardly fun. From the way Brandi came across on the phone…" he paused, likely trying to figure out how to sugarcoat panic. "I think it would be helpful for at least one of us to go over there and sit with her. She has Peter, of course, but nonetheless…"
"Right-right…" Mary murmured agitatedly, cutting him off as she remembered the testy demeanor that had existed between her sister and brother-in-law as of late. "Do you want to stay with the kids?" she'd already resigned herself to throwing on some clothes and toiling over to the emergency room through everlastingly green stoplights.
But Marshall surprised her, "I think you should probably stay here. You're really not a fan of hospitals…" he was remembering her experiences with Jamie, the amniocentesis, and the premature labor episode. "And the two of them will get to bed quicker if mom's in charge."
Mary attempted a modest shrug. She wasn't going to pretend that she really wanted to go and hold Brandi's hand. It went without saying that she felt dreadful for her – lord only knew how Mary would be behaving if this were one of her kids – but Marshall was better with touchy-feely topics. He would do a better job talking Brandi off the ledge, and it would probably aide Peter to have another man around.
"If that's what you think is best," the woman was willing to give him authority. "Then fine. I'll put Ben and Lizzie down and you can call me when you have something to report."
"Fine," Marshall nodded. "You gonna let them in on it?" he jerked his head at the half-open doorway, indicating the twins.
"Some version of 'it,' yeah," Mary was unabashed. "You know I don't like keeping them in the dark."
"You're the boss," Marshall declared, and before Mary could say anything more, he had left a kiss on her cheek and shuffled off down the hall, ready for action; ready to play the hero.
After all, it was one of the roles he played best.
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A/N: I know the fever reading is slightly dramatic, but that's my creative license at work again! Any feedback you can give would be much appreciated!