A/N: sorry again for the lateness! I had to gather ideas and I haven't been feeling well…I just watched this creepy confusing movie called Wind Chill, if anyone is interested. It makes no sense, and the ending is…sucky…but the effects are good and I love the actress—the assistant from Devil Wears Prada, the red haired girl. Love her accent. Anyways, I know that the ice skates sounded expensive, but it was more of a reflection of how parents over exaggerate prices to deter their children from things. I think an average pair of professional/custom skates are like…anywhere from 3-7 hundred. I was going for the idea that he really thought the gift through. Oh well…here's part 4! "Halo" lyrics by Bethany Joy Lenz.

Killing Time

If It Helps You Sleep At Night

I always said that I would make mistakes

I'm only human, and that's my saving grace

I fall as hard as I try

So don't be blinded

See me as I really am,

I have flaws and sometimes I even sin

So pull me from that pedestal

I don't belong there

One thing is clear

I wear a halo when you look at me

But standing from here

You wouldn't say so

Everything hurt. That much he was sure of. But it was the persistent shaking that was annoying him the most. He groaned, feeling like he was a kid again, being forcibly woken to go to school at six in the morning.

"Marshall," a female voice whispered, urgency in her tone. "Marshall?" it questioned again, and he wanted nothing more than for it to go away. The pounding in his head was blinding, causing bright white sparks to burst in the backs of his eyelids. "Marshall!" the voice exclaimed, and was accompanied by a decidedly unnecessary punch to the right shoulder. That got him up.

His eyes blinked deliriously, trying to focus in on her form. He winced at the throbbing war of a headache being waged. "Ouch," he drew out the single syllable word. "That sucked."

"I'm sure it did Sherlock, but we've got bigger problems," she muttered.

"Mary? I didn't know there were two you," he said, pausing for effect before cracking a lopsided smile. She rolled her eyes.

"That would be funny if we weren't holed up in the three hillbilly stooges basement," she replied sarcastically.

"What happened? Back at the lake?"

She looked away. "The driver, I think the one with the map, Jimmy, said his name was Sam, and the other one was Lou. Sam took a shot at you with the driver side mirror. Clocked you pretty hard."

"What about you, are you okay?" he asked quickly, looking her over with blurry vision. She looked alright, but she did not sound alright.

She shrugged. "I'll be okay. But Jimmy…he's not exactly the happiest person in the world right now," she grinned.

"Why…"

"Let's just say ice skates are the stilettos of defending yourself in the middle of winter. At least he won't have too much to worry about in prison."

Even in his dizzy, unfocused mind, he got the drift. And he cringed. "Never, and I repeat—never—get that mad at me."

"You haven't given me a reason yet," Mary whispered softly. She pulled at her shirt then, tearing the hem of the once pristine pale blue fabric. He realized there were gaping holes in the rest of her layered clothing as well, especially her jeans. In the midst of winding the blue cloth into a mock bandage, he grasped her wrist firmly. She flinched and glanced up, meeting his blue eyes. Which were quite suddenly very clear.

"Mary, what did they do?" he questioned slowly. His stare trapped her; she swallowed thickly.

"I told you, don't worry about it—"

"Bull. What did they do Mary?"

"Nothing. They tried…they just didn't get very far…they didn't know I had the ice skates with me. Really, Marshall, once I got Jimmy with the blades they stopped; considering they were all bleeding a little profusely in places too," her impish grin was back. "They can't be that bright…they left a few minutes ago…I'm guessing for the hospital, so I figured we should try to make a run for it now."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Marshall asked once more. He was worried about her state of mind; no one gets jumped by three grown men and jokes their way around it, no matter how tough, no matter how seemingly impervious. There was only so much she could take. And there was little he could do about it now.

"Eventually, I just, I fought, Marshall, I fought and right now all I can do is focus on the task at hand. I'll process later, but right now if we don't get out of this creepy basement I won't be okay and neither will you. At least the stooges didn't think to clean your wound, by the way," Mary said evenly, holding up bits of broken mirror no longer than finger length, albeit tinted red. "Obviously they underestimated what a piece of chipped mirror can cut through."

Marshall observed the severed, frayed ends of rope that lay entwined like limp snakes on the wood floor.

"If we get out of this alive, remind me to thank you," Marshall said resolutely. She nodded.

"I'll hold you too that, but we need to get going." Mary dabbed at the flattering dent in Marshall's head the mirror had left gently, his fists clenched at the pain. He repeated the same mantra in his mind: it could have been worse. The things they could have done to Mary while he was unconscious, three men against one woman. A tough, hardcore woman who would not go out without a fight. Still, one only had so much fight before even the strongest broke.

"Worry about my injury later, let's go," Marshall reiterated as she started to tear another piece of her clothing. She hesitated, but gave in and put his arm over her shoulder, slowly helping him stand and find his equilibrium. He felt as if someone had shoved him under water, fuzzy and disoriented and feeling like he was moving through liquid, even in a still state. "I haven't felt like this in….years," he slurred, when gravity decided to tilt the room.

"I don't know if I want to know the reasoning behind that statement, but you're going to have to work with me Marshall, you've got to stay awake. If you don't…I don't want a new partner. I'm really attached to the one I've got," Mary rushed, trying to balance his tall frame and keep herself level as well.

He smiled. "Well…let's try that walking thing then."

There were sixteen steps from the basement to the first floor. Sixteen steps that took them sixteen minutes. Marshall felt like he was in a dream where he was climbing to the point where he fell, ending in his muscles seizing and jerking him awake. When he told Mary this, and that the falling sensation while dreaming was called a hypnic jerk, and was due to something called hypnagogia, the transitory process between sleeping and waking up, she'd asked why Sam hadn't hit the part of his head that dumbed him down a little more, which only lead Marshall to start in on the various functions of each brain hemisphere and what they controlled. Mary had tuned out.

The door was locked, but it wasn't exactly rocket science getting out. The house was relatively small for three men, and glancing around the sparse furnishings and floral patterned wall paper, Mary had a sinking feeling that it wasn't their house at all. She decided not to think too much about that. "Marshall, hold on. Sit here, I'm going to grab some things we may need," she eased him into the closest chair, then dashed into the kitchen, grabbing for a leather bag she figured the three stooges used for deer hunting or…well, whatever it was they particularly enjoyed hunting. She shuddered once again. They hadn't bothered to take the car, which left both Marshal's cell phones, identification, and any way out with it. The one day she left her gun in her purse, she thought bitterly. But by no means would a gun fit in an ice skate. At least the geniuses had bottled water; she took four bottles, granola bars, and a box of crackers; a pocket knife, two flashlights, a pack of matches, some antiseptic and Tylenol from the bathroom, and put the bag over her shoulder. "Let's go."

Even the best laid plans had their pitfalls. The moment they eased outside, the first realization hit them hard. The temperature had dropped severely, and they were in the middle of…nowhere. The tiny house was surrounded by a collection of tall trees, but the cold and their lack of appropriate outerwear now that the men had had their way in slashing the layers of clothing to hell, left them quite conveniently…screwed.

Mary bit her lip in worry. Marshall felt the bitter cold to his bones. "We don't have a choice."

Mary nodded. She couldn't recall being cold, being in snow or knowing what winter was. The closest she'd come was when it was so hot outside that the air conditioning was left running for three days straight, down to nearly fifty degrees, skyrocketing her bill. This was new to her. Her chattering teeth clicked harshly, but they had to move.

Haley stared worriedly out the frosted window for the hundredth time in the past few moments. Brows furrowed, thoughts racing. They weren't familiar with the area. They didn't know how bad back roads got, how high drifts stood, even how to get back from the lake. Andrew looked at his wife, the same concern written in his eyes, but for both their sakes, not in his voice.

"They are fine! It's snowing; they are either laying low in a neighboring house or being towed here as we speak. I'd say they booked a hotel if they didn't already have a hotel booked," Drew said cheekily.

Her grim smile was twitched with an unbelieving laugh. "Yea, I'm sure that's it."

She looked back out the window once more. I hope.

Thirty slow minutes later had gotten them far enough into the woods beyond it. Far enough, but they'd have to stay low until they found help. That was starting to look dismal, as the only other standing building was a half condemned shed, burned long ago and left to be a gutted eyesore in the middle of a forest. They had to stop.

Mary had chattered on, trying to keep herself from shivering to death, or thinking of anything but freezing to death in this middle of nowhere place.

"This is like that sick, twisted movie that Kevin Bacon played in where he kidnapped that lady and her kid…or Deliverance."

"Both of those took place in the summer, you do realize that right? They were on boats. On water. That was moving," Marshall said with a grimace as they stumbled over a brush covered log. They scoped out the tiny structure, checking for any particularly loose roofing and anything to prop as a mock door against the wind. Nothing.

"Ice, water, boats, who cares and either way it's still going to kill us. And if it doesn't, the three hillbilly stooges will."

"It's encouraging that you can still find humor in our life threatening situation," Marshall said dryly. Mary rolled her eyes, settling Marshall gently into a corner of the crappy shed, sitting down close to share any warmth.

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if Stan didn't think we were clinically insane or something," she muttered darkly. Marshall, boy scout that he was, went about igniting a match to some of the drier sticks and timber they'd found around the shed as well.

"You," Marshall said from where he sat awkwardly next to her. "Not me. You. I was shot and I survived it, I saw the shrink for that much already. But you, Mary…you don't have a coping mechanism. You are pure fire and energy and anger—it helps and it hurts you. I see that. That untapped passion…that needs an outlet…or at the least a two week vacation."

She stared at him crossly, the fire he spoke of growing in her. "What are you saying?" she bit out.

"That if you don't harness that energy, you're going to get yourself killed."

She snorted sarcastically. "If I wanted your opinion I would have asked. My life and how I live it is none of your business. I'm sorry I can't be as smart or zen or happy or perfect as you want to make me out to be! I'm sorry that you have me on a pedestal I can't live up to! If you hadn't noticed, I don't really get to meet people's standards; not with a house to keep standing, a drunk of a mother who tells me that the only time I'm happy is when she's failing and how much I ruin her life every day, and a sister to keep out of trouble…I don't have time to care for anybody else, you're right, Marshall, I really don't, Jesus, I don't have time to care for me! All I need to do is keep other people alive. That's my job. I come last on a long list—and I always will." Her voice had risen so high in her fit that it cracked at the peak and fell from there. The strain of tears that caught at her throat couldn't be held back. If there was anyplace to run, she would have hidden away, pushed it to the back of her mind and pretended that nothing had happened. But there was no chance of that. Instead, pride injured, she turned over, facing away from him. The cold was making her tired, all she wanted was to be back in New Mexico, doing her job, and pretending vacations didn't exist. Pretending nothing between them had changed, and that it would all go back to normal like the hopeful ideals of a child. Her quiet tears turned into miniscule ice drops. It was almost fitting, she mused. An ice queen.

Marshall sighed, feeling like she'd, once again, drawn her own conclusions and jumped the gun on how to react. There were eight million different ways he'd meant the comment, many different ways in which it could have been taken, and Mary had figured it the complete opposite way. As always. The fire burned low, not emitting much light or heat, but helping even the slightest bit.

They were in undefined territory. But it was dangerous, literally and emotionally, to act on anything. The cold would kill them, and it was not a way in which he wished to die. Instead, without asking, he put his arm around her freezing form. She tensed, but her options were slim. She caved into the warm body next to her. Tomorrow they would fight more, both knew, but for now they had to live to see that day.

When he woke the next morning, it was snowing. Their corner of the old shed was the only untouched area. He flexed his fingers, trying to get the blood flowing and the feeling back. Mary was curled into him, tiny and cold to the touch. He shook her lightly, as she had done back at the "Stooges" house. She barely moved.

Worry coursed through him. "Mary? Mary come on, you've got to wake up for me."

Her eyes flickered ever slightly. Her usually pink lips were a faintly tinged purple. He had to get them anywhere but here. She wouldn't last much longer in the bitter temperature.

"What the hell man!" Lou screamed when emerged from the basement. "The bitch and the man are gone!" He whirled on the youngest brother, who visibly flinched from his position in the seat Marshall had vacated the previous night. "This is your fault! You idiot you didn't lock the damn door?"

"If you hadn't noticed I was bleeding from a certain vital part of my body dude!" Jimmy lashed back.

"Hah! Like it's been of any use since…well, ever! Leave the heavy lifting to me and Sam, you just sit back and watch," Lou yelled darkly.

"Now boys," Sam started calmly. The pair glanced in their eldest brothers direction. A slow smirk graced his aging features. "They want to hide, we can play seek. They want a hunt, that's what will give them."

Barking from the backyard echoed ominously as Sam's vision narrowed and his younger brothers slowly caught on. "This can still be fun."

I would continue, but I'm super crunched for time. AHhhhh! The crazy packing, and working still, and hurricanes are coming?? Wish me luck and I will try to finish sooon I promise! I know I'm horrible and I wanted this to be a MUCH longer chapter…but review and I shall try!