Author's Notes: Ah! I'm sorry I missed a day of updating. A lot of things got in the way. And then I watched tonight's episode, and that just kinda pissed me off royally. On the bright side, it spurred me to write another chapter, and this is where I originally planned the story to end, even though this was supposed to happen at the end of Chapter One. I'm still not sure where this is going, if anywhere, but bear with me.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, as usual.
On the one hand, she was anxious to get back to her table, away from Shelley, where she would hopefully blend into her surroundings; on the other hand, she wanted to make her walk last as long as possible, thoughts of deception running through her over-active mind. Marshall never lied to her about anything remotely important. Considering he had apparently lied to her earlier in the day, there must be something damn important going on, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering what it was. She had no idea what possible reason he had for lying to her and leading her on.
She sat down at the table, noting that the food still hadn't been served, yet thoughts about what he'd ordered her never crossed her mind.
"Everything okay?" His voice was quieter than usual, laced with the same edge of concern that was usually there.
"Yeah, fine," she said, already unclipping her phone. She scrolled down to Marshall's number and eagerly punched the keys, sending him a text asking him how his date with Shelley was going. She was positive he'd find time to reply, even if it was just a smart-ass comment, had he actually been on a date with the woman. The minutes passed as Raph tried making conversation, all the while Mary's eyes were fixed on her phone, waiting for it to show the slightest signs of life.
"I ordered you salad and bread sticks."
"Yeah, fine," she repeated, the comment not fully sinking in. "Wait, you better be fucking joking, and if you are, it's not a good joke." Salad and fucking bread sticks? What the hell? Did he think she was Lindsay Lohan or something?
"I'm joking, Mary, lighten up. Chicken Parmesan."
"Eh," she said, contemplating it in her head. "You could've done worse." Her mind still distracted. Her phone beeped once and she snatched it up before it could even think about beeping again. She clicked on "View Now" and scanned his response, her face remaining stoic.
'Great, dinner's almost ready'. The longer she thought about him lying to her, the more pissed off she became. There was no Goddamn reason for him to lie to her, especially about something as trivial as a date. She replied with 'Have fun' and shoved her phone back into it's clip, hoping to calm down some.
"Mary, what's going on?" His voice was lower than before, his face nearly halfway across the table.
"Work," she said, intentionally using her occupation as guise for mystery. "I'll pay for the damn food, but I really need you to take me back to get my car."
"No. Absolutely not."
She stared at him incredulously. "Fuck you, then." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'll get a damn cab."
"Jesus, calm down, that's not what I meant. I meant 'No, you're not paying for the food.' Must be something serious at work if it's got you acting this crazy. Go out to the car, I'll grab the check." He stood, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple before walking towards the hostess by the door. She felt bad for her little bout of paranoia, reprimanding herself for thinking he could be that heartless.
"Fuck it," she mumbled, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and making her way out of the restaurant. She should've known that she couldn't have an entire Christmas Eve that was devoid of stress and drama.
The ride back to Raph's apartment was accomplished in utter silence, and Mary couldn't decide if she relieved or upset by it. She was almost positive that he wasn't mad at her, but something in the pit of her stomach kept tugging at her. It reminded her of one of Jinx's favorite guilt trips that she'd heard growing up.
"I'm not mad at you, Mary," she'd start, intentionally pausing to wipe her eyes for effect. "I'm disappointed."
The thought pissed her off, but when she came back to reality and realized it was Raph and not her mother, she calmed down a bit and just wondered. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, knowing that she didn't know the answer to her own question, "You mad?"
He turned and looked at her, his eyes burning into her soul. "Why would I be mad? You're in the Witness Protection thing. Interrupted plans don't really sound uncommon, from what I've been reading. I just want you to be safe." He grabbed her hand in his and placed a kiss on her knuckles, returning the tangled bunch of limbs to center console.
"Just checking," she said offhand, doing her best to not pay attention to how thoughtful his words were. The last thing she needed was to be getting in too deep in a relationship. She'd already broken one rule about letting him know her profession; she'd be damned if she let him trick her into talking about it. The worst of it all, she thought, was that his concern was genuine. He would never try to force her to reveal details of her job; he was just concerned for her well being and wanted to make sure she was okay. She shrugged it off, knowing that she wasn't ready to commit to anything.
It only made her feel worse that she wasn't abandoning him on Christmas Eve for the job; She was doing it for own morbid curiosity and her concern for her partner. Letting Raph know her true intentions, though, was sure to start a fight, and she knew she wasn't in the mood to deal with that.
She gave him a parting kiss as she climbed into her decrepit car, doing her best to avoid his gaze. The sooner she got away from his prying eyes, the easier she could breathe. She knew she wasn't bound by any contracts to honor his wishes, but she also knew that her relationship with him was one of the few decent things in her life. And with that firmly planted in her subconscience, she pulled out of the driveway and drove off without a second thought.
The living room light of Marshall's house shined dimly through the drapes, letting her know that he was still awake. She eased the Probe in behind his truck, not really caring if it announced her presence or not. This wasn't the time for secrecy; that ship had long since sailed. Yet for some reason, she shut her door with so little force that she questioned whether it was fully shut or not. She hip-checked it just in case and made her way to the front door, doing her best to put on a neutral face as she rang the bell. He may be her best friend, but this didn't feel like a moment to walk inside uninvited. It was killing her to remain level-headed, but she hoped it would pay off, hoped that she was just overreacting.
The door opened seconds later, Marshall's lanky frame filling the empty space. His attire suggested he was nearly in bed already, and his face told her he hadn't been sleeping yet.
"Mary... Hey." His voice was uneven, surprised, but he still stepped aside and halfway ushered her inside.
"Hey." As soon as she crossed the threshold, her eyes were roaming over the dining room and living room, trying to decide if he had actually had company earlier.
"What are you doing here?"
"Just wanted to come by, see how you were doing. It's Christmas Eve, after all."
"What if I had been 'in the throes of passion', as you so eloquently put it?"
"Please! You're more conservative than a monk. I'd be surprised if the date lasted past nine."
"Fair point," he said, eying her suspiciously. "Excuse me." As soon as the bathroom door shut, she hurried to kitchen for a quick inventory. One plate in the sink. One glass. One fork. It all seemed sketchy for someone who had supposedly had company recently, yet it played into her theories perfectly.
"You'll never guess who I ran into while we were at dinner," she said, not even letting him get to the living room before she started in.
"Random stranger? Old witness? Jinx?"
"Shelley." The word came out flat, a small smile plastered on her face.
"Like... 'Hey, I'm Here To Shrink Your Head' Shelley?"
"Who else?"
"Wow. That's... That is really astonishing. I didn't think my food was nearly that bad. Different strokes for different folks." He shrugged and laid himself into the recliner, facing the black screen of the television but still able to keep her in his peripheral vision.
"Okay, cut the fucking act," she said, dropping herself on the edge of the couch. "I know you didn't have a date tonight, and that's fine. I couldn't care less. What pisses me off is that you'd lie to me about it, repeatedly. Seriously, Marshall, what the fuck?" Her words had gotten away from her. She didn't intend for it to fall out like it did, but that's what happened, and there was no changing it. "We've been partners for how long? And you still feel the need to lie and hide shit from me? I would've swore to God I knew you."
"Five years."
"What? Five years of what?"
He breathed deeply through his nose. "That's how long it's been since we actually became friends instead of partners. Five years. Exactly. We had a relocation, had to drive to Colorado Springs. One of the worst motels I've ever stayed in, but you made it bearable. Hell, you made it enjoyable. As soon as the Denver Marshals picked her up, we got a 12 pack and ordered a pizza. We were both too tired to drive, too tired to deal with regular Christmas Eve happenings. That was the first night you called me your friend." His gaze was focused on the coffee table, unable to meet hers.
"Yeah. I remember. What I don't get is what the hell it has to do with tonight."
He rose and made his way to his bedroom, avoiding her stare the entire time, even as he emerged with a box and handed it to her. "What's this?"
He didn't say anything; didn't even look at her. Another moment of silence and she opened the flaps of the box. The first thing she saw was an intricately carved wooden angel, the detail work astonishing. It was smooth yet rugged, graceful and fierce. She spent a minute or two turning it over in her hands, running her fingers over every inch of it before setting it aside and looking in the box again. Below a thin layer of tissue paper was a knife. She knew from the sight of it that it wasn't just any knife, though; it was an American Lawman 58AL. The blade itself was only three and a half inches, but it was stainless steel, coated with a black Teflon finish, able to kill any living thing given the proper knowledge. It barely weighed five ounces, and it's pocket/belt clip lay underneath it. She'd mentioned it to Marshall once or twice in "passing interest", never actually believing she'd spend over a hundred dollars for such a small survival knife. And now, she twirled it around her hands, eyes wide, mouth all but agape.
"I don't understand."
"Fifth anniversary," he mumbled. "Traditional gift is wood, modern is silverware. Kinda used my own interpretation on the latter. Didn't exactly know which group to classify you in, so I did both."
"I'm busting my ass here, but I'm still not getting where this is going."
"Look," he breathed, standing up. "I was excited about this. I know it's stupid, but I was. And then I found out you had plans with the ball player. I wasn't about to have you choose between a date with your boyfriend and a lame night about a superficial anniversary. I was going to slip you the presents tomorrow, listen to you nag me about how much of a girl I was, and be done with it. That's why I made up the date." He'd done his best to keep his mouth shut, but the words just kept pouring out against his better judgment. "I'm sorry, about everything, but I'm tired. I need to get to sleep."
She pushed herself off the couch and closed the distance between them, her lips landing just to the side of his; definitely not a cheek kiss.
"Goodnight, Marshall. Thank you." She made sure she caught his gaze and held it for a few seconds, hoping the look conveyed enough of her appreciation. She picked up the gifts and let herself out, not trusting her own ability to continue the conversation. How in the hell had she not remembered something that was as equally important to them both? He was the only real friend she had, yet she forgot a day like this. She tried to placate herself, reminding herself that he had never made an attempt to celebrate any of the other "anniversaries"; that she'd done nothing wrong.
Regardless of how much she believed it, it didn't do anything to ease the painful guilt that had built up in her stomach.
Wow. Any thoughts? Or, eh, perhaps REVIEWS?