A/N: Okie dokie, guys! I know this seems abrupt. But, really, I hope you enjoy anyway! I didn't know what else to do. You may all be a little confused. But, the next chapter should explain! Sorry it's been so long!

""Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion."
― Dylan Thomas

XXX

Mary and Marshall spent most of their time talking of her family, his parents, and sometimes Stan. Marshall talked of how Brandi was faring, and Mary recollected too many times that day at the wedding. Then, she told him of the second go around, and the beauty of those nuptials, much smaller than the first, more personal. Brandi came around, but it took the birth of hers and Peter's sons to do it.

He couldn't help but bring it up when there was a second of quiet.

"It's been a whole month," Marshall sighed. "You've been gone a whole month."

He had his arms crossed over his chest, lying on his bed. His breathing was slow, his heart steady in his ears.

"Technically, I haven't been gone at all," she stated, cool air tickling his cheeks as it seemed she came closer.

"But, Brandi, and Jinx… the boys…"

"How are the boys?" she asked, trying to veer away from the solemnity of the subject.

"They're… confused," Marshall admitted. "They really don't understand, and Brandi can't explain the concept well enough… not that she is doing a bad job of explaining it, it's just—

"Not an easy thing to explain," Mary finished with a huff.

The room was becoming frigid; Marshall let out a shiver as the cold coursed through his veins, and then threw his comforter over himself.

"And Peter can't seem to help them comprehend, either. Brandi asked me to give it a shot," he choked, "but I respectfully declined that melancholy opportunity. I love those boys, Mary, but I don't think I, in good conscience, can illustrate the death of their aunt in a proper manner. Especially, when she visits me every night," he joked half-heartedly.

There was a silence, one where you could almost hear the chilliness consume the room. He had to glance over to make sure she hadn't left.

She hadn't. She was lying there, lost in the depths of her glacial aura, then with a croak she said rather airily, "You know, there was only supposed to be one of them."

Marshall furrowed his brow. "One of what?"

"The boys," Mary added immediately. "Jake was a sure surprise when he came feet first straight after Samuel," she turned, "he was extra. We had half the clothes, half the… everything. To top it off, Peter had to go and give me unwanted sympathetic glances every two seconds in the delivery room."

"Mary," he began, rolling onto his side. "It was very shortly after—

"Marshall you know I don't like talking about it."

"Alright, I'll let it slide." He paused for a short second, then furrowed his brow, "You didn't tell me you were in the delivery room," he deflected.

"You didn't even know about the second kid until they were six weeks old," Mary scoffed. "That must have been a surprise."

"I was aware of the pregnancy. You told me about that."

"Unfortunately, you and Nancy Drew were getting real friendly around that time. I thought it best to keep my distance while you two were still fresh onto that whole engagement thing."

"Well… Mary…"

"It wasn't my place, Marshall. I understood that!" she said forcefully.

"No need to yell," he chuckled nervously. "I, um, appreciate you thinking of my relationship. You know… in- in that respect," he replied, rubbing his neck uncomfortably.

"I see it's done you a hell of a lot of good," she snorted, watching the way he still hurt because of the long gone red head.

"I don't think Abigail and I meshed as well as we thought," he exhaled. "I understand now it was just a case of wishful thinking that spiraled out of our control." They both knew it wouldn't have lasted, not if Mary had survived that nightmare. They would have parted eventually, anyway.

"I do miss Jake and Sam," Mary said backtracking to her nephews. "They were some pretty stellar kids."

"In every Aunt's eyes their nephews can do no wrong," Marshall played, a mild smirk on his lips in light of the recent topics of discussion.

"You say that, but you know me. I'm no good with kids. They were different, it was… easier with them. For one, they were cuter than any babies I'd ever seen, and two, I had no choice but to help out Brandi after little bomb tagged along with Samuel."

"Little bomb?" Marshall wondered confusedly.

"Yeah," Mary laughed. "Jake came so quickly, it scared the ever loving hell out of Brandi. I called him 'little bomb', because I'd never seen Squish so surprised."

"It was a good surprise, I'll assume," Marshall coaxed, attempting to keep the conversation rolling.

"Of course! She loves that boy, just as much as she does Jake!" Mary sat up, the air whooshing through his hair quickly, ruffling the mop on his head.

"I wouldn't doubt it." he responded softly.

"I loved them, too."

"I wasn't implicating otherwise," he let out a forced chuckle.

Mary seemed to be finished with that subject, quickly calling attention to something Marshall wouldn't want brought up. She had an uncanny way of sniffing out what he'd rather leave untouched.

"So did Stan-the-man make you talk to Finkel?" she asked almost absently.

"Hm?" and then the words clicked, "Shelley. Yes, he did make me talk to Shelley," Marshall said honestly. Mary had gotten to know that woman very well. It wasn't easy to take a man's life, assist a run-away bride, and lose a baby all in the same day. Stan made sure as hell that Mary would be welcomed by Finkel the moment she walked back through those WITSEC doors. Upon her return, it seemed she was held up in the conference room for a majority of each day, arguing, pouting, and crying. It was a sight Marshall didn't like to see, one he was glad he could be spared from when the shades were pulled shut, and the scene was disclosed from his view

"So, what did she have to say?"

"Not much," he lied, knowing the topic of discussion was mostly Mary, and other things he didn't care perusing through during chats.

"Not much?" she snorted. "You kicked the life out of a drugged out country hick. Finkel has to bereading into it! What, you can tell me? She thinks you have a problem with rednecks, now? Thinks you want to be a superhero wanting to take down druggies?" Mary wiggled like a small child waiting for a bedtime story.

"No. None of that," he huffed. "Finkel just thinks I've been through a lot. Too much in such a short period of time….."

"Do you believe her?"

"I'd like to. Did I really have to kill the kid, Mare? Couldn't I have taken less extraordinary measures?"

"Marshall, I'm sure you did the right thing, you always do," she stated as a matter of fact. "Stan probably needs to do it to save face."

He began to reach up, but stopped himself, feeling ice on his fingertips rather than the soft blonde strands of hair he had meant to push away from her eyes.

She smirked, "You know it really frightens me when you try to touch me."

"It's just habit… you're so real."

"I may be real, but, you know what I think when you try to put your hands on me," Mary sighed, hopping to her feet.

"It seems as though we've been over it a million times, Mary," Marshall said, staying in his place, wrapped in blankets, unmoving to stay warm.

"I just don't want you to think this is how we should stay. Eventually—

"Shut up, Mary."

"What?" she questioned in disbelief.

"Every time I do something anywhere near intimate, you threaten to leave," he stood up too, sheets still around him. "Make up your mind! Do you want to stay, or not?"

"It's not that I don't want to stay! It's that I don't want you digging yourself a hole so deep you can't get the hell out!" Mary hollered.

"I'm a grown man! I can—

"But you can't!" she interrupted. "Not really. You think you can keep your life and this time with me separate, but it's not as easy as you would think!"

"Why do you have to be like this?"

"So everyone doesn't lose you, Marshall!" she shouted. And her eyes were wild and raging with hurt, and sadness, like she had lost something too and she stared at him, a deep gaze he didn't dare to break.

"What?" he whispered. "Why would they lose me?"

And she came closer, and closer and he began to shake with the cold, his arms were like icicles, his head heavy on his shoulders, she approached at an excruciatingly slow pace. "Don't you see? It's not me who has gone, Marshall. It was you." And there was this artic blow that rocketed across his stomach.

His knees buckled, his tailbone crashing against the wooden floor, but her eyes never left his.

Frosty fingers touched his cheek, it was only seconds before there was a numbness in his face. "Mary, what are you—

"Shhhhh," she said, her expression pained. "Be quiet. Everything is fine," her image changed, no longer murky in his view, she was so crystal clear. And he didn't know why.

He was so confused. So confused, but his body was solid, grounded like a brick cemented to the floor. She could see he was wondering and Marshall was well aware she was wondering too.

Now he couldn't make words. He wanted to, he wanted her to know that he wouldn't leave anyone like he had left her. "D-d-don't l-leave m-me a-gain," he pleaded helplessly. And then her brow furrowed, and that's all he saw as everything went black.

When he opened his eyes, it was like staring into the brightest light, whiteness pierced his pupils, and he was blinded by it. He felt someone squeezing his hand, tightness in his chest and soreness everywhere. He groaned, "Who's that?"

"It's me."

The voice was like magic, tickling his eardrums; whimsicalness came about his aching limbs. But, there was an unsure appeal to it, almost scary.

"Mary?"

"Yeah? You're awake," she quivered. "We thought you were lost there for a while."

"I-I can—

He sputtered for a few moments, his throat suddenly burning for wetness. He continued through the desert in his mouth, "I can… f-feel y-you."

"Of course you can," she stated strangely. "Let me get a nurse…" It was an urgent tone, like she was surprised to be making this exchange. He felt her fingers fall from his, and his heart dropped low into his gut. Everything was still so fuzzy. He couldn't make out anything just yet. But, the bright light was fading.

"A nurse?" he repeated.

"Yeah, Marshall, you need—

"No," he said abruptly. "Don't. I want you to stay here for a little while," he coughed. "Don't go." He attempted to lift his arm.

"I have to. You've been…" she sighed defeated, and he was sure there were tears being shed. "Marshall they'd kill me if I told you."

" Who? Tell me what?" he whispered, as things began to flesh out in his vision. There was a clock on the wall, a TV blaring some commercials. His legs were elevated uncomfortable on pillows, and he felt freezing. Why would his ghost, his ghost of Mary Shannon be playing such a cruel joke?

"You're supposed to be dead," she broke. "They've zapped you with those paddles five times. You got your brains scrambled in that parking garage."

He could feel himself shaking his head, "This isn't funny. I don't think you're funny for tricking me like this," his head was pounding, "you're the one who's dead."

Marshall could feel Mary's piercing and horrified gaze. A perfect poker face if he could see her or not.

"I'll nix the nurse idea and just get you a doctor," she responded.

Everything was in and out, the room. A hospital room. How does this make sense?

Mary was gone. He was upset. She always left, always. She never stayed. He just wanted her to stay for once. He should be getting dressed, should be going to work.

"I wasn't joking he's awake!" He heard from his left, so he turned his head.

There was pain. Lots of it.

"Woah there!" the strange man segued. "Slow down," he ordered. "Now, can you answer a few questions?" He felt him stabilize his had with his hands.

"Mhm, sure?"

"What's your name?"

"Marshal Marshall Mann."

"Good. Now, Marshall. I'm going to tell you something that may be difficult to comprehend right now."

He felt the smaller, thinner fingers slide into his. This time they were warm, they squeezed. She was back.

"Shoot," Marshall responded, and he thought he felt the grip on his right hand grow tighter, and in the fuzziness he could see the man cringe.

"It's been one month. You were in a medically induced coma, because you were shot in the line of duty."

I hope you enjoyed, sorry if you're confused!

Please review with any questions or to tell me what you think!