A/N: I apologize again for my tardiness – the change in time zones has mixed me up!

XXX

Nobody told Mary to put on a gown. Nobody told her to put her feet in a pair of stirrups. Nobody even told her to sit down. The term they used was, 'wait.' A nurse in teal scrubs printed with atrocious pink bows stuck her head out of the frosted door and called her to come back. Leaving Marshall in the waiting room, she was led to an exam room almost at the end of the hall. And told to, 'wait.'

Wait for what, Mary wondered nervously. For the verdict? The sentencing? A doctor; a nurse; a morphine drip? What? She supposed all these medical personnel thought she was like all other pregnant women – in tune with her own body and well-read when it came to abnormalities in gestation, but she wasn't. She had Marshall for that sort of thing, and she suddenly wished she'd spent a little more time listening to some of the facts he'd fed her. They might do her some good right now.

Mary didn't lie down, but sat with her legs dangling over the edge of a soft, pre-reclined bed. The ultrasound machine, with its wand dangling by a cord, was over in the corner opposite the sink. It was a tiny room; barely big enough for the bed itself. There was a poster on one wall of a baby descending down the birth canal. Mary quickly averted her eyes, but another picture depicted fetal development week-by-week. Curiosity almost had her glancing to see what this child might look like at sixteen weeks, but she changed her mind and focused on her hands in her lap instead.

She was stationary only for a moment before the door sounded and Doctor Wolk came in, this time wearing a lab coat and pocketing a pen. She carried a clipboard with forms fluttering beneath the clamp. Mary wondered, vaguely, why she had dispensed with the pen when she was obviously going to be using it sooner rather than later.

"Hey Mary…" she greeted her smoothly, mostly business but also unperturbed.

"Hi," the other mumbled, not sure what salutation might be appropriate for an unexpected meeting such as this.

"I told Doctor Reese that I decided to look in on you," she went to the sink and rinsed her hands. "But, I'll give her all your paperwork after we figure out what's up here and she can proceed from there. Is that okay with you?" she turned her head over the sound of running water.

Mary nodded slowly, "Yeah, fine."

She didn't see why this would matter to her, but she supposed it was protocol when you were passed from doctor-to-doctor. Once Helen finished washing up, she stepped over to Mary and proceeded with what was probably supposed to be easy conversation.

"Raquel and I were at John's Hopkins together back in the dark ages," she explained with a reminiscent grin. "We trade patients like shoes – probably totally against the code of ethics somewhere, but we've always managed to make it work."

Mary sensed she said this so Mary herself would not feel like she was horning in or becoming a burden, but it was unnecessary. She felt more comfortable with Helen than with Doctor Reese because she'd known her longer, despite never having been in this particular situation before. She trusted Doctor Wolk because she knew without question she could keep her secrets. Her work with WITSEC proved that.

When Mary had nothing to say to the discussion, Helen's face turned a little more serious. It was clear she'd discovered it was time to get on with it. The small talk was over.

"What's going on Mary?" she asked plainly. "Marshall said you've been having really bad cramps…"

As she spoke, she felt Mary's forehead and took the pulse in her neck, timing it with her watch. Mary tried to give all the information she could, but was distracted by the movement, wondering with each stroke if she was about to be told what had gone awry.

"He said that, huh?" she gave a weak laugh, knowing she hadn't said any such thing to Marshall; that he'd deduced it on his own after previously thinking she was ill. "I didn't even clarify for him…"

"He seems worried about you," Doctor Wolk pointed out as she left her post and went to grab the ultrasound machine, rolling it on wheels to Mary's bedside.

"He always worries about me," Mary admitted without thinking, said with slight disdain. "Warranted or unwarranted."

Helen smiled warmly, "That's a good friend."

Mary supposed this was true, and even though she labeled Marshall her best friend, she rarely thought of his actions as such. Regardless, now wasn't the time to think about it. She suddenly realized she hadn't even answered Doctor Wolk's question; a foolish mistake considering why they were here.

"I just thought the pain was routine…" she tried to be casual about it, but her throat went dry at the prospect. "I've never been pregnant; I've never known anyone who has unless you count my mother…"

Doctor Wolk chuckled, but allowed her to continue.

"But, it started to get worse throughout the morning…" she knew it was important to be honest but even so, the next portion brought a burning redness to her cheeks without her permission. "…I just…" swallowing; shaking her head. "…I had a hard time coping."

Her cheeks flared like they were on fire; she was so embarrassed; so humiliated not to have a higher threshold for such things. She had probably made a mountain out of a molehill in the worst possible way. She shuddered to think what her partner would say when they found out she had an overactive uterus or something – or even an overactive baby. That it was nothing at all.

"If it was that bad, you did the right thing by coming in," Doctor Wolk assured her.

"Marshall made me," she mumbled.

Helen ignored her, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Mary wholeheartedly disagreed, but didn't say so. She was too drawn by Doctor Wolk's assemblage of the ultrasound machine and, recognizing the actions; she swung her legs up onto the bed and reclined back with her head against the tilt. She attempted, painstakingly, not to be nervous; not to show her cards. She knew her breathing sounded loud and ragged in such a small space.

"I'm gonna do an ultrasound Mary…" the physician told her, seating herself in a rolling chair beside the mechanism. "I'll see what we can find. Some women do experience more cramping than others, and it doesn't mean anything is wrong. Sometimes, there's a bigger issue though and I don't want to take any chances."

Mary nodded quickly to show she was onboard and did the honors by pulling up the hem of her shirt. She expected Doctor Wolk to administer that cold, icy gel the minute her skin was exposed, but that wasn't the case. Memory jogged by seeing the roundness in all its glory, she appealed to the patient before beginning.

"Marshall said you're sixteen weeks," she stated with a furrowed brow. "Is that right?"

The beginnings of failure trickled in Mary's mind. She'd done her best to give Doctor Reese the right information; she'd slept with Mark sometime in February – late February. Or was it March? Had she told Doctor Reese it was in March? Now she couldn't remember; she'd lost track trying to block the incident out of her mind.

"I think…" she offered lamely. "Shouldn't I be?" a brave attempt at her old sarcasm.

"No…" Doctor Wolk shook her head. "Just checking."

She brushed it off at that, but Mary knew that couldn't be the only reason she'd asked. Just the same, she was glad to have it off the table and tried not to stiffen when the gel hit her belly. While the wand rotated back and forth via Helen's wrist, Mary turned her head sideways, fixing her glance on the black screen adorned with little random splotches of white; like misplaced stars in the galaxy.

"See if we can pin down this little one…" Doctor Wolk muttered absently to herself.

Watching with unease, Mary took herself back to the very first time she'd heard that fateful heartbeat. She'd been disoriented and floored to think there was some minuscule being floating free within her confines. A being she was responsible for, one way or another; a child who would change her life, be it from afar or close to home. It had all been made real by that steady drum; the white light flashing relentlessly as confirmation. She would be a mother; as mommy, mama, or simply biological – nameless and faceless – it had shown her this was something she could never completely run away from.

And now she waited, just as the nurse had told her to do. She waited to watch that blinking glow strobe through the room, followed by the rhythmic pounding. She waited to be told the child looked all right, but there was a small problem. Just a minor mishap. Nothing they couldn't fix. Nothing that couldn't be prevented.

The patterns of the wand slowed as Doctor Wolk pulled almost to a halt.

Back. Forth.

Tick. Tock.

Drag. Pause. Stop.

The screen. It was blank. The surrounding air as silent as the tomb. And when Mary forced herself to tear her eyes from the picture, she saw Doctor Wolk looking grave; her carefree demeanor had vanished to be replaced by this hardened, discouraged stare.

If Mary squinted, she thought she saw something in that vast stretch of blackness; the splotches that were planets dying out. But the something, whatever it was, wasn't moving.

And the woman was suddenly struck with a realization she hadn't even considered before. She'd never, in her wildest dreams, imagined it would come down to this. Something within her core, very deep down, knew what she was about to be told.

Somehow, though it remained a mystery how, she actually spoke.

"Is there even anything to find?"

It was a whisper, like leaves dancing and whirling on the greyest of sidewalks in a chilly fall breeze. The kind of wind that makes the hair on your arms stand up; to chill to the very bone.

Doctor Wolk said nothing. She finally relented in her movements with the wand and hooked it in its place. The ultrasound machine flickered off and Mary's eyes probed back and forth, wanting to scream for her to give her some answers, but she was suddenly lost for words. Once the visual aide had been pushed away, Helen towed her chair further forward so she was just below Mary's gaze. The steeliness of her orbs and the flat line of her mouth told Mary her worst suspicions had been confirmed.

Bells and sirens and bombs went off in Mary's brain. Six thousand pleas of desperation jumbled themselves in sixty seconds before Helen announced her fate.

Don't say it! Don't!

I'll follow orders! I won't play so rough! I'll listen to Marshall and be careful!

I'll be careful! I really will! I promise – give me another chance!

I wasn't really going to give him away!

I didn't mean to! I can keep him safe; I swear! I won't let him get hurt anymore!

What have I done?

"Mary…"

The hands intertwined and clasped together. The chin tipped down and then back up.

"There's no heartbeat."

Mary stared, nonplussed. Feeling certain something like this was coming somehow didn't stop the news from being shocking.

"What can you do for that?" she whispered.

The sympathy in Doctor Wolk's eyes was tormenting. It told Mary how stupid she was being; how far in denial she had already rooted herself. But, the other woman hadn't said the words. Mary had no intention of accepting until she did.

Helen looked like she wanted to reach for Mary's hand, but changed her mind. Instead, she made herself reveal the remainder of the diagnosis.

"Mary, you had a miscarriage," she explained softly.

And despite how cold it sounded, the doctor knew how this woman usually wanted the unvarnished truth.

"The baby died."

Mary had no idea how those three little words would come to haunt her in the seconds, minutes, hours, and days to follow. She was stunned; sitting there with her shirt still halfway up and her form turned to one side. How could this be? What had happened? What had gone wrong? Oddly, the sight of her bare belly was what she grabbed hold of; proof this might be some sort of a mistake.

"But, I'm not…" her voice was so meek it didn't even sound like her own. "I mean…" something that was supposed to be convincing snuck into her eyes and a strange sort of smirk fell onto her face. "Look at me."

This would explain it, surely. She wouldn't be so pudgy if she weren't pregnant. The grin was knocked aside as quickly as it came on, and Doctor Wolk had specifics here as well.

"The fetus didn't disappear, Mary…" she clarified, and the inspector suddenly realized how dumb she had sounded for the second time. "You were – you are – pregnant. The baby is still in your uterus, but the heart stopped beating meaning the fetus didn't survive."

Mary was strangely off-put by how she switched from 'fetus' to 'baby' so effortlessly, but she couldn't say why.

"Your body recognized that the baby had died and tried to…" she hesitated only for a moment. "Take care of it," she finished quickly. "That's why you were in so much pain."

Although Mary heard each of these words; pounded into her brain as though with a sledgehammer, she didn't seem to be able to make sense of any of them. They siphoned off the minute they entered; meaningless and trivial.

Her biggest question was why. Why had this happened? What had she done wrong? How could she have controlled it? There had to have been a way.

"What did I do?" she whispered fearfully.

"What?" Helen hadn't heard; her tone was so timid.

Mary cleared her throat shakily, "What did I do wrong? Couldn't I have stopped it? I must've screwed up somehow."

Oh no. She was about to cry. Why did she feel the bitter sting of those wretched tears in the backs of her eyes? Someone had stuffed wads of cotton in her throat and she wasn't going to be able to hold herself back.

She wasn't sad, she told herself. She was angry and she was frustrated. It was all her fault. Not only had she denied this kid its future, but she'd denied some deserving family the opportunity to be parents. This was not about Mary at all. How could she start crying like she was the one who had lost something here?

"Mary, you didn't do anything," Doctor Wolk assured her kindly. "Miscarriages are far more common than people realize, usually before the twelfth week of pregnancy…"

"But, I'm sixteen weeks!" Mary interrupted croakily, as though this made any difference.

To her surprise, Doctor Wolk shook her head.

"I'm not sure you are," she said quietly. "I think the amount of weight you gained so early combined with maybe a minor mathematical error somewhere led Doctor Reese to believe you were further along than you are," she estimated. "I would guess you're between twelve and fourteen weeks. Miscarriages after twelve or thirteen weeks aren't nearly as frequent."

Was this supposed to make Mary feel better? She'd fallen right in line with the numbers, so no reason to worry? While she knew deep down that Doctor Wolk did not intend to heighten her feelings of guilt – because she knew Mary thrived on the facts – it only worsened such shame. How could she not have had a hand in this? It was impossible.

"I fell…" she blurted out recklessly, earning raised eyebrows from the other woman. "Like, a week and a half ago. Marshall told me to see someone, and I didn't listen; I felt fine…"

"Mary, there's no need to place blame," Helen repeated confidently, albeit slightly sadly. "If you had miscarried because of the fall, you'd have known long before now. It really isn't something anybody can control," part of this seemed rehearsed. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Mary remained unconvinced, but she was fast-becoming mortified; her snappish persona wasn't holding up one iota. Pools of tears had gathered in her large green eyes; she was fighting so hard to keep them at bay. A few stubborn ones snuck out around the corners, leaking onto her cheeks. She turned her face away from Doctor Wolk, using her sleeve to mop them up.

"I'm sorry…" she finally stated respectfully; even kindly. "It's not easy, Mary; I'm really sorry."

Saying it twice didn't give Mary any satisfaction. As she wouldn't meet the woman's gaze, Helen placed a hand on her forearm, willing her to turn around and listen. When Mary felt certain the tears were under control, she slowly rotated the other direction, willing herself to appear adult.

She imagined she failed miserably.

"I need to tell you where we go from here," Doctor Wolk presented in a nice even tone. "Are you okay to listen?" And without waiting for an answer, "I can give you a minute. Why don't I grab Marshall?"

"No," Mary said instantly, but with slightly lackluster vigor.

The last person she wanted seeing her like this was Marshall.

"Are you sure?"

Mary nodded, although the energy was draining from her faster than she could keep up. The soreness only seemed to seep into her bones with Doctor Wolk's next words.

"Your body hasn't expelled the fetus," she detailed upfront. "You have two choices on how you would like to proceed. I can send you home, and you will actually – eventually – miscarry fully on your own. Your body knows what to do."

Mary had severe doubts about this and it sounded horrifying. And although she figured Doctor Wolk was supposed to be impartial, she clearly had a personal opinion when it came to this method.

"While physically there are few risks that go along with letting you do this…" she began. "Emotionally, it can be very trying, Mary. It could take several days for the process to be complete, and it causes quite a bit of pain."

Mary just gulped and shut her eyes once before urging Helen forward, hoping fervently the second prospect was more appealing than the first.

"What's the other choice?"

The physician nodded, "I could perform a procedure called a D and C. We'd put you under general anesthesia for about thirty minutes and take care of the baby and any remaining tissue in your uterus."

Mary hadn't a clue what she meant by, 'take care of' but she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She'd be asleep. She wouldn't remember what they'd done. She could try to forget this whole nightmare ever occurred and that, above all, seemed the best option possible.

"Would I have to stay overnight?" just to make sure.

"No," Helen assured her. "It's a very minimal operation; sometimes it doesn't even take the full half hour. Unless you had complications, I would send you home within the hour after you come out of the anesthesia."

Mary bobbed her head; all questions answered. She dreaded having unplanned surgery; dreaded the loopy, sluggish feeling she contracted after being put under. The medications often made her nauseous; she'd spent almost an entire day in the hospital throwing up when she'd been bedridden with her bullet wound.

How had she ended up here? Yesterday she'd been bemoaning the existence of swollen ankles and now what? She was going under the knife. She'd lost a child; brand new as they might be. She wasn't going to be pregnant much longer.

And despite the reservations, "I guess I'll do that," she whispered flatly.

"All right," Helen stood and replaced her chair to its original location, proceeding with rules and regulations. "I'll call over to Mesa Regional and get you set up. Can Marshall give you a ride home afterward?"

Mary was confused by this question, lost in her own thoughts; lost in a world far beyond this one where the hurt was so prominent.

"I…I don't know…" she muttered absently.

"After having been under anesthesia, you'll be a little bit groggy; better safe than sorry with heavy machinery."

Mary understood now, but still didn't know the answer, "Would you ask him?"

For the first time since delivering the news, Doctor Wolk smiled, but it was a melancholy smile. It was a gesture Mary couldn't share.

"Sure," she agreed. "I can tell him what happened too, if you like."

Mary was briefly liberated to know she was being spared such a task. She also knew it was probably completely against the rules for Doctor Wolk to confide in someone who was not the father or a family member. But, Mary didn't care; she'd offered and she was going to take it. Marshall's face in the back of her mind's eye, so reassuring not so long before, now presented a different picture. She could see his desolate blue eyes; the frown on the corners of his mouth. It was bad enough in pretend form; she didn't need to see the real thing.

"Thanks," Mary finally answered.

Before departing entirely, Helen went to the counter by the sink and pulled three or four tissues from a box. Without a word, she deposited them in Mary's lap. The formerly expectant mother was disheartened that she hadn't managed to conceal her emotions, but chose not to respond in kind.

And once Doctor Wolk had departed, she reluctantly dabbed at her eyes and tried to keep her nose from running down her face. She ached for Marshall, and yet couldn't stomach the thought of him viewing her in such a downtrodden state. She'd lost control in the worst possible way; denied him this child she'd known he had adored. The child she had planned to ship away.

But, the ache for Marshall was the only one she felt. The pain might still be coursing within; prompting stabs of discomfort the likes of which she had experienced all morning. But, she could sense it no more.

She was as numb to physicalities as she was ever going to be. The sorrow was so strong; there was no room for anything else.

XXX

A/N: I'm sure some will be disappointed since I didn't have Marshall with Mary when she received the news, but it's just not how I envisioned it. Not to worry – he'll be back!