Chapter 2 – Hummingbirds

If there was a sound that made Mary's scowl lighten just slightly, it was that of the coffee maker at work, trying it's best to produce the one thing it was meant to – coffee. She had to admit the joy of not being pregnant was mostly centered around the fact she could have coffee again. So with an unusual amount of patience, she leaned against the counter and listened to it hiss, choke and rattle – and among these sounds came the drips of the coffee. This sound accompanied a myriad of other ones – Delia's overly perky confirmation of some small task Stan assigned her, Marshall's constantly calm response to any phone call he received and the printer spewing out pages about some other unfortunate who was sentenced to life in New Mexico. Just to name a few.

With all these noises, it was remarkable that she heard anything else, but the overhead light had a deep hum that she had trouble ignoring. She wasn't sure why, probably because of that stupid special that was the tv last night – she had it on to keep her awake in case Squish called, even though she had promised Marshall not to care and do all the Shannon upkeep. What had that show been about, anyway?

Unknowingly she sharply exhaled, which came out sounding like an annoyed huff, but she had turned around to take her share of the coffee maker's hard work. Well, more then her fair share, but she didn't see anyone else standing in line, so really, not so much to justify. She was sipping from her star mug, and seeing the same mug on Marshall's desk made something flit through her.

As she prowled back to her desk, she caught a glimpse of the flaming red shirt Delia had on and suddenly remembered what that show had been about. At the time, she had been sprawled on her couch, Oscar's head in her lap, and she was scrolling through her phone's address book, wondering who was it she hadn't called yet, threatening them within an inch of their barely glorified existence for information about her sister. But on the tv screen was this bird, similarly colored to Delia's choice of fashion (or lack thereof, Mary added with an expressive eye roll), was going about its business with this curious British voice narrating its life.

Mary leaned back in her chair, holding her mug of coffee, and let out a small "huh", a remark on something she had thought of – nothing life changing, but something to muse over. Well, Marshall would see it as musing, she would see it as just thinking.

She imagined – briefly – what it would be like if some old British guy narrated her life. Like the small bird on the tv – it was a hummingbird, now that she thought about it. The hum of the overheard light definitely reminded her of the hum that some special recording caught of the bird's thrumming wings. But she was no hummingbird – probably some big time predator. Either way, she could almost hear it now… "….this particular predator waits patiently in the mid-day heat for her hapless prey to make its unfortunate way towards her…" and blah blah blah.

"Mare? You alright?" He was always the first one to notice when she wasn't throwing insults like darts.

She narrowed her eyes at him and gave an overly dramatic shrug where she bared her teeth a touch, as if to say, "who gives a flying crap". That was her way of saying, lay off, I'm thinking through something. Marshall just thinned his lips in slight irritation, although the raised corners of his lips said differently as to his feelings. He turned back to his computer screen, sparing a glance every few minutes to keep an eye on his partner.

He quietly thought of their embrace just a few weeks before. Mare hadn't become any more hostile, in fact quite the opposite. She wouldn't snap back when she disagreed with something immediately, instead she'd stew a bit without noise and listen him out, letting him take lead on some situations, even. Although there were still moments she'd level him – raze him to the ground in fact, especially when it came to one of her witnesses' safety. He was secretly glad she hadn't changed so much since the birth of her child.

Left to her thoughts, Mary turned once again to the small bird that she now knew way too much about. In some ways, hummingbirds were very much like her family – she learned that these small winged things had the smallest backbone of…some animal family, whatever, anyway – similar to Brandi. Very pretty, liked sweet things and had the tiniest backbone. She grinned at this, thinking of how insulted Brandi would be, and how much Jinx wouldn't get the joke behind the idea.

That's when she caught it. The invisible hummingbird in the office that took form in one of Marshall's well-intentioned glances.

"Can I help ya with something?" The sarcasm didn't lace her voice, it pulled it right down to the floor with its weight.

Marshall momentarily froze. He'd been caught.

"Nothing more than usual, Mare." He drawled, hoping to sound indifferent.

"Uh-huh, I don't buy that. I'd buy a roadkill burrito faster than that bull." Mary grinned like a kid when Marshall made a disgusted face at the thought of such a meal.

That made him go back to his work and let her think a bit more. Stan would chastise her later for not using the morning for getting paperwork done, but she'd shrug and go help her newest witness. Or undermine Marshall in front of his.

Marshall. It was an undeniable thing…whatever had happened when he caught her and then she let herself be held. Well, she wasn't exactly shouting no and trying to escape him – she didn't think it was that gooey and stupid feeling of being "safe", but instead just letting her constant guard to rest a bit. She didn't have to worry that Marshall was going to get drunk and pulled over by Bobby the Cowboy, or run away from his own wedding or hop out of the car to run away after eating the rest of her grilled cheese. It was nice not to wonder when he was going to screw up next – because he didn't. His track record was flawless, as far as she was concerned. He still considered it a bit of a shameful moment that he couldn't hunt down the man who had shot her all those months ago, but his dogged pursuit let her have the glory of chasing down that donut hoarding gangster clutching his chihuahua to his mountainous self. She smiled – that had been a good moment, she had been hurting but it made no difference to her.

Still, that inkling of a feeling poked at her the way those hummingbirds poked at flowers. Well, there was some crap about how the feathered cottonball-sized birds were good for flowers, but constantly something tickled against her. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling so to say, just unknown, and that was what bothered her the most. Still, every damn time Marshall said something caring or just looked her way with that concerned look, there was a hum of wings in her stomach. It was a warm feeling, but not weighed down with the responsibility of carrying a child – it was a hopeful promise of something more exciting. With that thought, she finished her coffee and went along with her day, knowing something she didn't this morning, but not angsting over it. She snorted, she didn't angst, that was left for her whiny witnesses. Which, by the look of things in the conference room, was going to be really whiny. It was going to be a long day.

Correction. It was going to be a few long weeks. She had trouble sleeping now. Well, correction, she had trouble with peaceful sleep. She smiled to herself in that knowing way that she only would when no one else was around. Hands wrapped around a hot mug of coffee she had managed to make herself, she stood leaning against the counter looking out the window. The New Mexican sunrise was pretty spectacular, she'd admit it – not aloud, but she thought it was nice. Better than Jersey. She shoved off the counter with her hip and squinted a bit against the growing light outside. It wasn't entirely welcome, to be honest.

She kept thinking of her dreams, which were all hazy. She was always wandering around searching for something, and someone was there telling her where she was, but it wasn't making sense. But she kept searching, going from one dream to the next, one place to the next. She frowned, knowing that it was very similar to the life she already led. Weren't dreams supposed to be enjoyable? Like, she didn't want Fabio popping up, long hair blowing the wind, but couldn't she at least have peaceful dreams? When she felt a wet nose sniffing at her bare feet, she knew her time for thinking was over.

Oscar walked next to her, not because he was trained offleash or anything stupid like that, but he just stayed there now. She figured he ran off only for good reasons, well, most of the time. He was going about his business and Mary had time to take a glance at her neighbors. Most of the neighborhood was pretty nice, but she was stuck next to this total psychopath couple. Of course, they wouldn't tell you why that house was on the market, oh no, they'd wait for you to be cozy and moved in and then you realize you're living next to the stupid equivalents of Hannibal Lector and that crazy woman from that movie…Mare sighed. She couldn't remember what it was called, but she knew that somehow a rabbit was involved. Anyway, she was a total nutso. They were pretty pissed about her problems with the FBI, who had also decided to dig up her neighbor's garden, claiming that Brandi had hidden something in their yard. Little did the FBI know they had trotted onto an obsessive gardener's paradise and that had put both the FBI and Mary on her neighbor's blacklist. Forever.

She squinted at the sound of those wind chimes – how was that relaxing? Hollow pipes beating against each other, really? Oscar didn't like it either, as he shied away from the sound. So Mary walked on, ignoring that clanking, until something flew in front of her and she nearly fell on her ass. Of course, Oscar was off the sidewalk and into the nasty neighbor's yard.

"Oscar!" Mary hissed, crouching low and running beneath window level of her neighbor's house.

By some miracle he hadn't started barking but he rounded the back of the house to follow whatever had frightened Mary. She followed him, cursing his waggy tail the entire time, wanting him to just stop getting deeper into the yard. Her neighbor's wife was the gardener, the neighbor himself was a hunter. Not good news.

"You idiot, get over here!" She whispered angrily at him, but he just glanced at her and kept going. Finally he stopped towards the back porch and sat down in the dew-laced grass, looking up at something. He was totally involved, not at all caring that she was putting her life on the line just to save his furry butt. She didn't care what it was he was so drooly over, she wanted to get out of this yard pronto. Crouching, she swiftly covered the lawn on the side of the house, and reaching out, snagged her fingers between Oscar's collar and his neck. Bingo.

Of course, something had to distract her.

Oscar was watching something right behind her head. At first, she thought maybe her rifle-toting nutjob of a neighbor was out, so she swung around. She, thankfully, did not see him, but it took her a few seconds to focus on what the dog was watching.

No.

Can't be.

Mary muttered out a few choice curses when she saw the stupid flitting brightly colored bird humming next to a fake nectar thing. It hung from the porch roof, and had red plastic tubes shaped like flowers and other garish decorations for the hummingbirds to drink from. Wait…didn't they eat that? Drink? Mary shook her head and tugged on the collar of her dog, trying to drag him off. But, he's part pit, so he wasn't going anywhere.

So she watched the bird for a bit, seeing it almost mechanically slide from spot to spot in the air. How it was so fast and so graceful, she had no idea. Humans were not like that, she decided. She had never known anyone to be so naturally and continuously nimble, well, she frowned slightly at the small voice in her head that said there certainly was someone who fit that description. Hmph, she sniffed and her frown deepened, but the bird was entirely concentrated on its food and made no move to even entertain the idea of paying attention to its audience. Mary relaxed again and watched it, liking how the morning sun made its feathers almost look metallic. Very much like the metallic looking rifle barrel that rounded the corner of the sliding door.

"Who the hell are you?" His nasty and gravelly voice totally destroyed her morning.

"Your neighbor?" She stood up, suddenly wishing for her sidearm. She could smell the psycho on this one.

"Get outta my yard, bitch." He was holding his rifle in the crook of his elbow, but he began to raise it a touch. Too much for her liking, and Oscar's, as well. His growl started to rumble in his chest and it raised to a pretty constant snarl that was rippling the air – the hummingbird was long gone.

"Look," she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her weight onto her left hip. "Don't know why you had to bring out the armory, asswipe." Her hackles raised, just as Oscar's did.

"You're on my lawn, blondie – move." His tone wasn't brooking any argument.

"I'm getting my dog from your lawn, your stupid wannabe golf lawn." Mary wasn't not having this today – her semi-peaceful morning and (she hated to use this term) bird watching had been screwed up by this overaggressive whale with a rifle.

"What you sayin' 'bout my wife's lawn?" The threat in his voice raised to a level Mary was trained to identify – a level she was almost worried about. Of course she couldn't go tell Oscar to hide in the bathroom until this was all over. She did rest her hand on his head and he relaxed. Sort of.

"Look, bud, your wife's lawn is just the topping of shitty sprinkles on her already sad life because it's tied to you. So I'm saying your wife's lawn has nothing to do with this, I'm just getting my dog and getting off your property." She had raised her voice to a level she could've heard in her own yard, but still had that power behind it without being hysterical.

"No you ain't, blondie," and he raised his gun just a bit higher and cocked it.

That's when it hit her – what was she doing? She purposefully antagonized her neighbor to the point of her life being threatened. Well, he deserved it, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she was searching out this conflict, and did her best to make it worse. Now it was at a point where she was putting herself in danger.

"Please. You couldn't hit a snake that tried to swallow your rifle." She was playing unconcerned and went to the side to take the weapon out of his hands. But he swung back and had it on his shoulder aimed directly at her.

"It helps when I'm aimin' at something so irritatin'." He snidely remarked and as he went to close his eye, a government issued weapon met his skull.

"Do you realize, sir, that you're aiming at a federal agent?" His voice, hard as ice, drifted out and he walked around, gun aimed on her neighbor's head. Mary didn't mind.

"Well, that blonde bit-"

"Shut up." Marshall would not be contested. "Mare, you ok?" His face slid into one of concern and relief. Only to snap back to anger when the neighbor went to move his rifle. "That's enough from you, now get in your house and don't come out." He ordered the man to move, and diffused the situation all in one.

The grumbling bear waddled back over his porch and called out – "as long as that woman and her mutt stay off my property."

"Wouldn't come back even if you paid me." Mary shot at him and with one final glare, he slammed the sliding door shut, rattling the window.

"Marsh-" she couldn't even finish her sentence, because he stalked off through the grass and Oscar just upped and followed him. She hurried behind him and tried getting a word in edgeways but he kept going until he stood in her kitchen, with the island safely between him and his partner.

"What were you thinking, Mare?" His voice was serious, not to be trifled with. "What made you go off and enrage your neighbor to the point of violence?"

"You don't get it! I was following this," she gestured to the floor with a touch of irritation, to where Oscar lay, "and I got distracted – and then it was his fault, he wouldn't lay off." She crossed her arms, knowing she sounded immature but not really caring.

"Mare! You can't do that!" He was exasperated, and suddenly she was scared. He took angry steps towards the door, his boots harshly hitting the floor. She didn't want him to be so upset that he would leave – couldn't he stay? She'd even say she was sorry if it made him stay, she couldn't think of him just getting up and leaving. She was already without her baby – how could she also lose Marshall? The sudden thought of the little warm gurgly and blinking bundle made her chest tighten with sharp pain and she inhaled suddenly, gripping the counter with far more force than necessary. He had been so warm – and trusting, he instinctually trusted her – there was only one other human who trusted her. His eyes had curiously watched her in an almost detached way, from his cozy spot in her arms and against her chest (at the time she thought it was because he was hungry that he was so perfect, it would make sense, considering his mother) – he watched her and he seemed to know he was hers. He seemed to know from his slow moving grasps at her hair and face that this woman was somehow his and he was definitely connected to her. Mary could feel scorching hot tears lining her eyes and Oscar's presence at her side, nuzzling her thigh with concern. She had willingly given her baby boy up, and now she was willingly let Marshall walk away.

She hadn't realized that Marshall had turned and watched her from the door, watched her struggle with that eternal struggle she hadn't had enough time to sort out those weeks before. Could he leave her as it haunted her – he didn't think so. He returned to her much faster than he had walked away and wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her arms away from the counter. For a long moment she stood frozen until she remembered that this embrace was ok – and she turned around and just hid her face in his chest. She briefly lifted her head and swallowing deeply, examined his perfectly ironed collar momentarily, the plaid soothing and familiar. Lifting her chin a inch or so higher, she lightly kissed Marshall's pale cheek, before returning to her hiding place in his chest. She would never know that incredibly similar look of wonderment that Marshall bestowed on her – except this time, instead of the gaze emerging from a newborn in her arms, it was from the man who loved her, who held her in his arms. He kissed the crown of her head, more than once, before resting his lips there and basking in the feel of her tightened grip on him and her steady breathing.

The morning had returned to a moment of peace.