Chapter 4

Marshall woke with a start, his softly buzzing cell phone as loud to his sensitive ears as a clanging bell. He quickly grabbed it from the bedside table, hoping he wouldn't wake Abby. Glancing at the caller ID, he frowned to see Jinx's name, a small frisson of unease starting to work its way into his belly.

"Marshall," he said quietly, trying to hold his voice steady. Jinx never called him. Never. A hundred scenarios were rushing through his sleep muddled mind. None of them good.

"Marshall," Mary's mother was breathless, struggling to hold onto a semblance of calm, "you have to come to the hospital." Marshall was already throwing the covers aside, reaching for his jeans and shirt neatly folded on the chair by the dresser. His stomach was threatening to flip over.

"Is Mary okay?" he asked sharply, the thin edge of fear sharp in his voice. "Where is she?"

"It's Norah. You have to come quick. Mary is so distraught." Marshall murmured his agreement, pushed aside the faint guilty feeling at the relief he felt that it wasn't Mary, and turned to find the slightly accusatory stare of his fiancée. He didn't have time to deal with that right now.

"That was Jinx. It's Norah. She's in the hospital with a 104 degree fever." Abby's expression changed and she stood up, saying she would come with him. Marshall nodded, knowing acquiescence was the quickest way to get to the hospital, to Mary.

They drove in silence to the medical center. Marshall's mind was covering a myriad of subjects, but always circling back to one. Why didn't Mary call? Jinx said they brought Norah in at 10:00. It was now 3:20 in the morning. His agitated thoughts shied away from the obvious: he had told Mary not to call him. And she hadn't. She had kept her word and not called unless it was work related. That wasn't what he had meant, for her to completely stop calling. And surely she knew he would always be there for her if anything happened to Norah?

Grimly pulling into the parking garage, he hastily got out of his truck, walking so quickly Abby had to run to keep up. Entering the hospital, they headed towards the pediatric ward, Marshall anxiously scanning the hallways and waiting rooms for Mary. Asking at the nurses station, they were directed down the hall to a small waiting room, where he found a post- pregnancy swollen Brandi dozing in a chair, baby carrier at her feet, a worried Jinx flipping through a magazine and his hyper partner – no, former partner – pacing the small room. Her hands were holding her head; Marshall recognized the gesture. She was barely holding on, dangerously close to flaming out in a full blown panic.

Mary looked up as the door opened, her expression changing from one of hopeful expectation to dashed chagrin to...Marshall had never seen this expression before on his friend's face. Like he had come to save her. She took a step towards him. "Marshall." A single word croaked out, so full of emotion it almost bowled him over. He crossed to her in a few quick steps, catching her crumpling form as she dissolved in sobs. Strong arms circled her shoulders and held her to him as she cried, anguish and fear escaping in tears and harshly drawn breath.

Her hands scrabbled to find purchase on his lean body, fingers entwined in his jacket, hanging on so tight he felt some difficulty drawing a deep breath. He swore he could literally feel her drawing strength from him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, his own face mirroring the fear and grief Mary was letting escape through her sobs.

"I'm here now," he whispered in her ear. "Tell me what you need." The cries increased, not exactly the effect he was going for. He settled for continuing to hold her, rubbing his hand slowly up and down her back, his other arm securely around her waist. Her shaking form felt familiar, even though he had rarely, in the decade they'd known each other, ever put his arms around her. Marshall tightened his hold on her, every shudder racking her body like a thorn in his heart. Finally she pulled back, rubbing a hand angrily over red eyes and reluctantly looked up at him.

"What are you doing here?" The abrupt question hurt more than he liked to admit.

"Jinx called me," he said quietly. "What happened to Norah?"

Mary cast a baleful look at Jinx, who was watching the two of them sadly. "Meningitis," she said shortly. "It's bad."

Marshall stood in the doorway to Norah's room, silently watching Mary bend over her baby's bed. She was lightly running her hand over Norah's forehead, murmuring to her. He smiled, amazed anew every time at how well Mary had taken to motherhood. His posture relaxed as he saw Mary was more relaxed.

Abigail stopped down the hall from Marshall, watching him watch Mary. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was Mary he was watching in that room and not Norah. The soft smile playing on his lips, the casual stance. Her lips compressed. They were going to have to talk again. She needed to know just exactly what Marshall had told Mary in their talk. Abby didn't understand the dynamics that were at play now. She knew Mary didn't call nearly as often. She also knew there was a tinge of sadness that seemed to surround Marshall. On more than one occasion, Abby had watched him pick up his cell phone, look at it, hesitate, then put it back in it's holder. His restraint was palpable, the desire to call his former partner. She turned and headed back to the waiting room.

Marshall walked into the room, calling a soft greeting to Mary. She looked up and smiled tightly. She had never in her life allowed herself to fall apart like she had earlier, especially not in someone's arms. Not even that other time she had cried in his arms, on the balcony. Stupid balcony was like a place of doom, she thought darkly. That had been bad enough, but this time there were witnesses, including Abby. She was alternately embarrassed and angry – embarrassed that he had seen her so vulnerable and angry that he was here. No, not angry he was here she told herself, angry that he had made her feel she couldn't call him. She had desperately wanted to, had agonized over it, but ultimately refrained from doing so. She had promised. Of course Jinx didn't know that. Her mother couldn't understand why Mary wouldn't have called Marshall straight off, couldn't understand her adamance that she wasn't going to call him.

He stood on the other side of the crib and gently stroked Norah's silky hair. "What does the doctor say?" he asked, not looking at Mary.

"The next few hours are critical." Her tiny body was radiating heat, even in sleep her distress evident, her restless limbs in near constant motion.

"I'll stay with you," he offered, girding himself for the expected refusal, which came quickly. He looked up. "I'll stay with you," he stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Why didn't you call?" The question was out before he could stop it.

"You know why," she said, all the fight leaving her and a feeling of hollowness left. "You told me not to call. So I haven't. I'm trying to respect your wishes. I'm trying to be a good friend. For once."

"Mary..." She cut him off with an abrupt gesture.

"Not now," she said. Marshall stared at her, then silently sank down into the chair on the other side of the crib. The enormity of the damage he had wreaked on their relationship hit him anew. His best friend didn't feel like she could rely on him anymore, that he wouldn't be there for her. And of course, he couldn't, not if he was to maintain his relationship with his fiancée. Eyes shutting against a sudden suspicious wetness, he leaned back into the chair and continued his silent self-recrimination .

Several hours later, Mary wearily glanced at her watch – 6:00 a.m. Hopefully the doctor would be through soon on his rounds. She was rather glad Marshall was still here, even though he was asleep. He could help interpret doctor speak. She studied his inert form. He looked worn, haggard almost, his age beginning to catch up with him. Was it just the new job responsibilities that were having this effect on him? Or were the impending nuptials more stressful than she thought? The strain in their relationship couldn't possibly be helping either.

Mary bent over the crib once again, the back of her hand on Norah's fevered brow. "Okay, Bug," she whispered, "this has got to stop. You are all I have now. You have to get better. You have to." She felt the unwelcome tears constrict her throat again. "I don't have anyone else."

Marshall listened in anguish as the little scene unfolded in front of him. Mary felt completely alone. He had done that to her. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Somehow he had to fix this. Somehow.

Marshall pushed number three on his speed dial, listening to one, two, three rings before Stan picked up. He greeted his old boss and regretfully relayed the news about Norah. Stan was concerned, asking about Norah's condition and then how Mary was holding up.

Marshall hesitated a microsecond. "Not good," he said. "She's barely holding it together." He had escaped out to the parking lot to make this call, and leaned back against the GMC, idly drawing stick figures in the thin layer of dust on the door. A small prick of irritation shot through him. Abby was supposed to have taken the truck to be washed.

Stan quickly processed everything his former inspector told him, knew the mental state Mary would be in. "At least she has you to help her through," he said, then paused as Marshall didn't reply.

Marshall felt the unwelcome hitch in his voice. "Stan," he said, then stopped.

"Marshall?" his old boss questioned, concern seeping through the phone line. More was going on than just Norah being ill. "What's wrong?"

"Everything." The blurted response surprised Marshall as well as Stan. "Stan, it's all gone wrong."

"With the job?" Stan probed gingerly. "Or with Mary." He had wondered how Mary would handle Marshall's engagement and how it would affect the friendship.

"I've made a terrible mistake and I don't know how to fix it." His pride wavered but the desire to get advice from a man he admired and trusted won out and Marshall told him everything.

"I've lost my best friend and I want her back." The older man grimaced, wishing he were there in person, to be able to give some kind of comfort. The waver in the new chief's voice told him a lot about the level of distress he was experiencing. Marshall and Mary. He felt more for them than he had for any other inspectors that had worked for him over the years. He had truly hoped they would acknowledge their feelings for each other. He ran his hand over his bald pate. He wasn't the oblivious doofus some assumed he was. He had eyes and he had seen plenty over the years. He stayed out of his inspector's private lives, but Marshall was asking for his opinion.

Stan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Marshall, I've known you for over a decade. In some ways, you're like the son I never had. I've watched you grow into your job. I've watched you grow into your partnership, your friendship with Mary. I've watched how you cover each other, I've watched how you communicate, I've watched how you fight, I've watched how you love." He took a breath, wondering if he should say the rest of what he was thinking. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"When you were shot, I waited with Mary at the hospital. She sobbed for you, Marshall. Great big painful cries I wouldn't have believed her capable of had I not witnessed it. Love is a crazy thing, Inspector. And we can't control it. It expresses itself in different ways. Marshall, you haven't lost her. She's doing what you asked. For the probably the first time in her life. And the fact that she's holding to her promise means something. You are important to her. And she doesn't want to lose you either. I want you to be happy son. Decide what you want Marshall. Decide who you want. And then talk to her. Tell her how you feel."