Torn and Tattered Seams
Chapter 7: Of Road Trips and Gummy Bears
A/N: Okay first off, I'll admit, I'm a Texas Woman and damn proud of it. How can I not be, I live in the greatest state in the nation! Which may be part of the reason why Abigail bugged me so much. Firstly, no one who's an alumni of SMU is that proud of it, her level of enthusiasm is typically relegated to someone who went to Texas A&M or University of Texas. Secondly, most Texans will only refer to it as 'The Republic of Texas' to one another, the solidarity of being a member of the population of a state that was once it's own nation, and has the potential to be one again. Thirdly, the actresses Texas accent is horrendous, seriously the stuff of nightmares, and sounds more like the accent of a wanna be southern belle from Georgia (who is trying really hard to fake it to cover up a thick New York or Jersey accent).
And no one better give me any crap about my love of my home state, I've lived many other places and never found anywhere better! But also know that I'm not poking fun of where anyone else is from. I just love Texas and I'm not afraid to let everyone know!
Disclaimer: Don't own it, if I did, it would be much more pornographic. I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind seeing more of Fred Weller, and less of his clothes. ^_^ And the song mid way through belongs to Cross Canadian Ragweed. I couldn't help but throw it in.
mMm
Marshall had conditioned himself over the years to achieve a certain level of alertness at all times, he slept deeply, but was easily awoken by out of place noises and unsettling feelings. He could tell who was approaching him by the sound of their footsteps, and even tell you what pair of shoes those he knew best were wearing based on the sounds of their footfalls. The sound of Mary banging and stomping around his house were hardly out of place, though the early hour brought him to partial attention as he heard her shuffling around his home office, opening and closing the drawers on his filing cabinet, before padding out of the room barefoot. Later he became aware of her sneaker clad feet moving through the living room and then the front door opened as she left the house, once again the early hour being the only thing strange as the sounds brought him to partial wakefulness. He heard her truck crank and doors slam before she put it in gear and pulled away from the curb.
He wasn't too overly concerned with her departure. They often times came and went at odd hours at the behest of a witness, and he ran through all of them in his head trying to guess which one had summoned her from bed. Guessing that it was one of his because of her rummaging in his office, he ran over names and known issues, trying to use the errant thoughts to fill the place between consciousness and sleep to keep guilt and worry from sneaking into the unoccupied spaces.
Her return, several hours later, jarred him from waking dreams, the snippets heart wrenching and brief, leaving him feeling unsettled and nauseous. And as he became more acutely aware of his surroundings, he noticed that Mary was moving through his house with much greater purpose know, occasionally disappearing out to her truck before returning. Lastly, she entered his room. He didn't tense, not feeling nervous or worried about her presence there, she checked on him often throughout the night when she thought he wasn't paying attention, and even more regularly, stole his pajamas and workout clothes (both of which were much to big on her) because she was too lazy to do more laundry than she felt was necessary. At least that was his theory, he didn't even want to think that maybe she liked sleeping in his clothes.
Mary went to his closet and grabbed his duffle bags, stuffing them with clothes, toiletries and the collection of sentimental trinkets that he kept in his nightstand. Never once did he let on to being awake, not that he doubted that she had noticed. She always knew when he was awake and simply feigning sleep. Returning from her truck several minutes later, she slunk across his bed and dropped down heavily beside him, bouncing him slightly and he fought a growl of irritation.
"I know you're awake," Mary stated firmly, poking him with one long finger, "And have been for a while. Come on, its 6:30 in the morning, normally you're the one up and about and I'm still lolling around on the couch." He grunted and tried to roll away, she chuckled and pulled him back.
"What do you want?" he grumbled, not in the mood for whatever it was she was planning.
"It's time to get up," Mary rolled her eyes, "I made plans for us today doofus, and I'm not letting you screw them up by moping in bed all day."
"You are not taking me back to the hospital," his voice was stony, and she stared at him, startled, "And you can tell the physical therapist not to bother with whatever you two cooked up."
She punched him in the arm hard, growling out her words, "I'm not taking you to the hospital, idiot, and I told the therapist yesterday not to bother coming back. You're obviously on some self-destructive binder and far be it from us to try and get you to do something that's actually good for you!"
"What's the point?" he snarled, catching the headboard with one hand and hauling himself over towards her, so he was laying on his side facing her. His breath and scent washed over her, and she was struck by just how much larger than her he actually was. His eyes, those eyes she kept imagining on the face of a blonde infant, locked on hers and she was trapped. In the dull morning light they were like ice, cold and unforgiving.
"The point?" she echoed, feeling confused and cornered, not the aura she had wanted to project this morning.
"Yes Mare, the point! Why bother with me, even if I ever do walk again, it won't be without a limp or with the assistance of a cane!" He was enraged, eyes flashing as ice melted and became boiling water, "I'll be of no use to the Marshal Service! I won't be able to watch your back! Just find a new partner, and leave me the hell alone!"
He tried to move away from her then, towards the edge of the bed where the wheelchair sat, but she caught him and held fast, one arm going around his waist, and the other cupping his cheek as she pressed herself against him from shoulder to hip. "The point, Marshall, is that you are my best friend. The only person in the world that I will ever fully trust. The only man who I will ever let see my stupid vulnerable side. I'm not thinking about your job, or you badge, or your gun. I'm thinking about you." She pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes against the sting of tears, hating herself for wanting to cry again, and just held him to her for a moment. "Now you are going to get dressed, and you are going to get in my truck, and then we are going for a ride." She poked him in the chest with a finger as she finally released him. "No more of this moping bullshit, or I'll shoot you myself."
He smiled gently at her coarseness and nodded in compliance.
Mary threw his change of clothes at him, a pair of sweat pants that she had yet to steal from him, fresh boxers, a worn blue t-shirt, and socks. She turned away from him as he struggled into his boxers and pants, before coming over to the side of the bed and crouching down to help him with his socks and sneakers as he pulled on his t-shirt. Rubbing his feet gently before manipulating his shoes into place, she noted the muscles on his right foot twitching gently under her touch, the sole and top of his foot now had feeling instead of just his toes, and she grinned. Tilting her head forward so he couldn't see her face behind a curtain of blonde hair, her smiled widened as the big toe on his left foot twitched slightly. She was struck by the urge to push him backwards onto the bed and check him over completely for isolated pockets of newly regained feeling, but she fought against it.
Leaving Marshall to get into his chair and follow her down the hall by himself, knowing that he valued even this small bit of independence, she went to the kitchen and loaded bottles of water into a small ice chest. He was totally silent as she did a last minute check around his house, jiggling windows to make sure they were locked and turning off electronics.
"Where are we going?" he was curious by nature and couldn't help but ask.
"You'll find out when we get there doofus," he could practically feel her nervousness vibrating her entire body and his by default. He faltered for a moment, Mary didn't do nervous.
Marshall cast a look around his house, taking in all the preparations that Mary was making for their departure. "How long are we going to be gone?"
"None of your beeswax, nosey," she cut him an irritated look, and grabbed a hold of the wheelchair handles roughly, jerking him towards the door after depositing the small ice chest in his lap. He sighed internally, irritated was good. Irritated was normal. Nervous Mary made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. When Mary actually used the temporary ramp off the porch that Stan had put in, instead of jostling him down the stairs, his worry practically skyrocketed. Mary didn't do kind and gentle, just like she didn't do nervous, and here she was doing all of the above. He wanted to question her, demand to know where the alien with her face had stashed the body, but when he saw her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, all the words in his head became stillborn on his tongue.
Marshall knew that she cared. That she worried. But to see all of those softer emotions actually displayed on her face was a little humbling. She was that worried about him, and all he was doing was being an ass. A wave of bitterness swept through him, feeling almost pleased that she was feeling this way. Suffering because of him. Feeling a tiny portion of what she caused him to feel regularly. And while he hated himself for it, he couldn't help but hope that this would be the thing to push her away. Life without Mary would be excruciating, crippling in its own distinct way. But a life with Mary in it, where he was unable to protect her... Unable to watch her back... Forced to see someone else take his place...
It would kill him.
He needed to force her away now. Before he was replaced. As her partner. As her friend.
Sitting by, unable to be fully in her life, in both the ways he already was and the ways he dreamed to be. He couldn't stand to watch her fill those holes with others.
Couldn't bear to see her with another partner. Another man. As tenuous as his claim on her was, she was still his, but one day soon, she wouldn't be. She would find another Faber or two, and then another Raph. One who'd manage to worm his way in far enough to make her think that the white picket dream he was offering was something she wanted, that changing to accommodate that dream was what she needed to do. That he'd keep her from being alone. The one thing that she really and truly feared. And she'd say yes. Again. And she'd go through with it this time.
And that was the one thing that he really and truly feared.
His face was like stone, as he reached up and grabbed the interior handles of Mary's truck, the ice chest had been moved while he was distracted by his musings, and he hauled himself forward, wretchedly aware of Mary, warm and soft, pressed against his back, arms around his waist. Supporting him with all her strength as she helped him into the passenger seat. God, he hated this. Hated that it had taken him being crippled and rendered impotent to get her arms around him. That she was only doing this because she had to, not because she wanted to.
Mary lingered with her arms half around him as he shimmied into his seat, and leaned her forehead against his chest, breathing slowly, trying to get herself together before she lifted her eyes to his. She had seen his mood darken further in the 20 minutes it had taken to get him from his bed to the truck. A new, deeper melancholy developing after his short bout of curiosity. She wanted to talk to him, but didn't know what to say. How to reassure him, and she felt her own mood begin to falter. She had felt so good that morning, so unbelievably at peace, rendered calm by the knowledge that she was doing right by Marshall. Putting his needs before her own. Taking him to where he needed to be.
But now...
Now she felt weak, like the energy had been sucked out of her, and tears stung her eyes. Driven more by need than sense, she forced her hands behind his back, pulling herself to him tightly, her face buried in the side of his neck, and his entire body went still and rigid. Pulling strength from the fact that he was there and solid against her, she nuzzled against him, overwhelmed by his sheer presence, once again feeling relief granted by nothing more than his living, breathing form.
Taking a deep breath, fighting the shiver that his scent evoked, she pulled away from him slowly noticing for the first time that she was virtually sprawled across his lap, and much to her horror a bright blush bloomed across her cheeks. Meeting his eyes, she suddenly felt cold, her entire body freezing at the dull, distant look on his face. Backpedalling quickly, she made sure he was settled, and closed the door, praying that he couldn't hear her heart pounding, because she certainly could.
Her pulse had slowed to a less embarrassing rate by the time she had made it around to her side of the truck, and she refused to look at him as she settled into her seat.
This was going to be a long drive.
mMm
When they entered Carlsbad on State Highway 285, she saw stunned comprehension dawn across his face out of the corner of her eye. Easing her truck into a gas station, she flipped it into park and cut off the engine. Mary jumped out, stretching her arms out above her head, and set up the truck to refuel before heading into the station. His eyes were fixed straight ahead when she returned with a full grocery bag which she promptly tossed into his lap, startling him.
"What the...?" he mumbled, his first words since getting into the truck, as he pulled bag after bag of gummy bears out of the grocery sack.
"Some tall know-it-all once told me that it's not really a road trip unless there's gummy bears involved," she grinned at him, her smile widening as the corners of his lips turned upwards.
"The gummy bear originated in Germany in 1922, and was created by Hans Riegel Sr. the founder of the Haribo Company. It was originally released under the name 'Dancing Bear'. The gummy worm wasn't introduced until 1981 by Trolli. Gummy bears were so popular that they were used as a basis for a Disney Saturday morning cartoon of the same name," his voice was soft and lacked his normal enthusiasm for useless trivia, but it was trivia none the less.
Mary snatched one of the packages from him and ripped it open, grabbing a small handful and shoving it in her mouth, "And here I thought that all they were good for was illustrating sex positions." She grinned toothily, multicolored bits of gummy bear carnage stuck to her teeth.
Marshall seemed thoughtful as he ripped open another package of gummy bears and began to munch on them as Mary started the truck and pulled out of the station. "Are you just taking me to my parents home so you can dump me off on my family and get back to your normal life?"
She was startled by his bluntness. "No," she stuttered slightly, "We are going to see your family."
"You have work," he pointed out.
"I took time off," she answered evasively, hands tightening on the steering wheel.
"You left our witnesses to Delia and Charlie?" Marshall was trying to make sense of the situation and failing miserably.
"Stan is covering our witnesses with their help," her voice was terse and he knew that she was hiding something, but he didn't push it.
They passed through the heart of the town, looping around the city park to avoid road construction and Marshall averted his eyes from the playground full of children, feeling suddenly very upset. He had spotted a tall man chasing a small blonde girl, looking to be about five years old, laughter plain on his angular face, and Marshall felt his heart grab painfully. Feeling the acute loss of his fanciful dreams. Mary spotted the father/daughter pair seconds after he did, and noticed his reaction, her heart breaking for him. Reaching out, she took his hand without thinking and twined their fingers together, keeping a firm grip on him so he couldn't pull away.
He tightened his grip on her hand as he closed his eyes, and Mary felt for the first time, that she might just be getting through to him, if only a little bit.
mMm
Early evening found them crossing the New Mexico/Texas border and Mary pulled the truck into the Texas Welcome Center Rest Stop. She slid out tiredly and walked around to the other side of the truck to help Marshall out, getting his wheelchair out of the backseat. They both had to use the restroom, and Mary pushed him up the hill towards the buildings, pausing unsurely outside the men's room. He had had a hard enough time at the gas station restrooms, she knew not because he told her, but because how long it had taken him. She knew that even handicapped stalls at this particular rest stop were a little tight from a witness transfer several years ago when they had had to track down a witnesses errant 5 year old who thought hiding in bathrooms was funny.
"Do you need any help?" she asked finally after a long pause, finally working up the courage to say the words.
"I don't need any help taking a piss," he snapped, jerking his chair away from her, "My bladder muscles still work just fine."
"Damn it Marshall," she sighed, rubbing her face with long fingered hands, "Please don't start a fight over this. I just want to help you."
He stopped in his tracks, stubbornly refusing to turn around, "You want to help me?"
"Yes, Marshall," she was tired and cranky, and doing her best not to snap at him, "I want to help you. How hard is that to comprehend?"
"Want to? Not have to?" his brain felt sluggish and his body ached, he really needed to take more pain medicine, but had been resisting the temptations and Mary's offers to retrieve the pill bottle from his bag. They made him feel fuzzy and he didn't like it, but he was slowly beginning to realize that his pain was making him just as fuzzy.
"Yes. I want to help you," she was having a hard time grasping the subtle nuisances that were so obviously important to him.
Silence stretched between them, weighing heavily on their shoulders. "I'm fine," he told her after a long moment, "But could you get me a bottle of juice or something from the vending machines? I think that it's about time I took my pain meds, and I'm getting a little tired of water."
"Yeah, no problem," she yawned, "We should probably stop for the night before too long, and just start again fresh in the morning. I think that there's a Motel 6 or something like that not too far from here. Is that okay with you?"
"Fine by me," he forced the anger and bitterness from his voice easily, feeling oddly lightened by the new found distinction between wanting to help and having to help. He felt good, probably for the first time since he had been shot, and he pondered that as he rolled himself into the men's room.
Mary was waiting by the truck when he emerged from the men's room, his pills in one hand and a bottle of apple juice in the other. He couldn't help but smile as he rolled himself towards her, he knew it took a lot of effort for her to stay rooted in place, leaning against the front fender, and he appreciated it, though at the same time wondering if this was all the independence that he would ever be allowed. All the independence that he would ever be able to handle. The thought was depressing but it barely took the edge off the thrill he still felt deep in his gut. Mary wanted to help him. Wanted. Not had too.
Any kind of want from Mary was precious, not exactly the kind he wanted, but better than what he had.
"Done marking your territory Mr. Mann?" she was smiling, and he couldn't help but mirror the action.
"Ran out of piss," he answered, taking the juice from her hand and taking a swig, "Need to refuel."
"Ugh," she handed him his pain pills, "Just don't relieve yourself on my truck. I like my paint job just the way it is." Mary waggled a finger at him, "And not on me either. Find a less Neanderthal tactic, because I would not be amused." She suddenly flushed at her words, bright pink coming to her cheeks and she was once more horrified by herself for blushing. Mary Shannon didn't blush. But her she was, doing just that, because of her own off handed insinuation to Marshall that she was part of his territory. She had made the joke before, but suddenly it didn't feel like a joke anymore.
Marshall noticed her pink cheeks and panicked expression, but let it go an obvious sign of just how tired he was, and shrugged his shoulders, "I'll just club you over the head and drag you back to my cave later."
Chuckling, she shook her head, blonde hair flying every which way. Just joking with Marshall like she had done a thousand times before made her feel more like herself than she had since Stan's 2am call. "Just don't hit me too hard, if I wake up with a headache and a knot on my head, you're going to have to cook your own brontosaurus and sleep in the dirt outside the cave."
"Yes ma'am," he mock saluted.
"Just get over here doofus, she we can get you in the truck and get on our way," she pouted, actually pouted, at him.
"Fine. Bossy woman," he grumbled, no real irritation in his voice as he reached for the interior handles, and Mary wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself snuggly to him and using her knees to work his legs into the truck. His arms came around as she shifted his back towards the seat, breast pressed to his side, and he pulled her more firmly too him, pressing his face into her hair. Mary could hardly breathe as she stood there on tip toe, pressed against him, his arms holding her pleasantly restrained.
After a dozen heartbeats, his arms slackened and she rolled off her toes, standing flat footed only a foot from him. His face was a soft smile, and she answered in kind, her face gentle as she slipped the rest of the way from his grip and closed the door.
Mary had to force herself not to skip around the front of the truck like a little girl.
God, this man made her crazy.
mMm
As it turns out, Mary's memory of this road wasn't as good as she believed it to be. There was absolutely nothing along 285 until they hit Pecos one and a half hours later, and found the Motel 6 she had recalled, she had thought it was much closer, and growled angrily at herself as the clock on the dash read half after midnight. The parking lot was almost totally full as she backed her truck into one of the few open spots, and she glared daggers at the school buses and vans bearing school names filling the parking lot. High school students clad in blue corduroy were milling about, in and out of rooms, shouting at one another. One group had a rope going over the second floor railing, using it to pull their luggage upstairs instead of using the clogged stairway.
"Damn it, I hope they have a room left," Mary was not happy.
"There'll probably be one or two," he told her, unbuckling his seat belt.
Rolling her eyes, she went to help him out, and together they made it to the lobby, dodging running teenagers, and Mary snarling angrily at them when they got to close to Marshall. "Hello," Mary called, banging on the bell at the front desk, "Anyone home?"
"Sorry, sorry," a harassed looking clerk came rushing out of the back room, "How can I help you?"
"We need a room, a double, hopefully with beds bigger than twin size," she was tired and trying not to bit the man's head off.
"Not a double left in town I'm afraid," he shot her a sheepish grin, "Most places are full to capacity right now. One or two hotels have a single room left. We have just one." He typed something in on the computer, "First floor, queen size bed, large bathroom with assistance handles in the shower and around the toilet."
Mary was grateful that he had avoided the word handicapped. "Fine we'll take it," she yawned, passing the man a credit card and filling in the check-in forms, before handing Marshall one of the key cards, "Go scope it out, I'll get the bags."
They exited lobby, and Marshall headed down the sidewalk towards the room as Mary retrieved their smallest duffels from the back seat of her truck, watching the teenagers in the parking lot joking and laughing. One group had a radio going and were dancing to the slow country song floating from the speakers. She had never much cared for country music, not because she had heard it and not liked it, but because her father had always hated it.
But this was nice.
"Sick and tired of being sick and tired,
Everything around you's grown old.
The days drag on, the nights last forever,
Every day's tougher just to keep it together.
Forgot everything you've ever known,
Except for home.
Home is where the heart is:
That's what somebody once said.
I think your heart is where your love is:
All the rest baby, the rest it's all in your head."
Mary froze in place, staring at the group of kids but not really seeing them. She could feel her heart grab painfully in her chest, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She had left Albuquerque without a second thought, just to follow Marshall. Twice she would have followed him to the grave. Each time the choice was easy, not even a choice really, just the only fathomable course of action. Where Marshall went, she would follow, always. They weren't themselves without the other, it wasn't just Marshall or Mary, it was Marshall and Mary.
"Oh sweet Jesus," she mumbled, realization shooting through her like lightening, leaving the hair on her neck and arms standing on end. "This is going to be a fucking disaster…" Ignoring the rest of the song, she practically ran to the room, trying to clear her head of crashing thoughts and tumultuous emotions.
She couldn't feel like this.
Marshall was too good. Too honorable. Too kind and loving. She would ruin him. Drag him down to her level. She was like poison, toxic and corrosive, taking in everything good and turning it to sludge.
Mary was nearly hyperventilating by the time she crashed into their room, startling Marshall. "What's wrong?" he took in her panicked state and wide, wild eyes. Looking every inch the edgy lioness he knew her to be.
She didn't know what to do, what to say, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "I saw a mouse."
The look on his face was one of bewildered confusion, "A mouse?"
She nodded quickly, finding her footing as she reigned in her emotions, "Little bastards freak me the hell out with their beady eyes and nasty little tails." She shuddered, "He darted out of the grass when I was heading to the room and surprised me." Mary had never been a good liar, especially not when it was Marshall she was trying to lie to, but the words sounded convincing even to her, and he nodded in understanding.
She supposed that it lent credence to her words that mice really did freak her out.
Stupid hairless tails. She shuddered at the thought.
Dropping his bag on the bed first, she turned away from him, "I got dibs on the bathroom."
"Yeah, Yeah," he rolled his eyes, "Go wash off the road crud."
"I won't be long," she assured him. And she wasn't, a quick shower and brushing of teeth and she was back out in the room, wearing a pair of his pajama bottoms, the cow print ones with an udder printed over the fly, and baggy USMS t-shirt that he was pretty sure had been his at one point or another. She dropped down on the bed and rolled up the too long legs of the pants, exposing her slim calves as he headed for the bathroom.
Marshall took longer than she had, though he hadn't gotten into the shower. Instead cleaning himself with a damp wash cloth and washing his hair in the sink, he hadn't shaved in a few days, and though he felt that he should, he didn't feel like bothering with it. He was scratching his scruffy chin as he made his way out of the bathroom, and rolled up to the bed, somehow managing to maneuver the chair with one hand.
"Alright Mister," Mary was standing on the bed, feet spread a part and hands on her hips, "Get your butt on this bed!" He looked at her in startled confusion for a long moment, "You better be on your back by the time I count to five." She was drumming her fingers on her hips, shooting him a playfully cross expression. He did as she said, and Mary smiled as she dropped down next to him, reaching across his body to grab his right calf, bending his leg at the knee and pushing his thigh towards his chest.
"What are you doing?" he asked as she continued to flex his leg.
"And everyone thinks you're the smart one," she rolled her eyes, "You were sitting down for a long time today, your legs need to be stretched out." As she finished her sentence she switched to his other leg, "Aren't you the one always advocating stops to stretch our legs on road trips to avoid blood clots?"
"I didn't know you were even listening," he seemed sullen and she was taken aback, feeling hurt by his assumption.
"I always listen to what you have to say doofus, I just don't always seem like it." She was pouting again, and this time instead of smothering the soft reaction, she pushed her lip out further. "I do value you, and your annoying trivia."
"Thank you," he was startled by her admission, though it felt quite gratifying to know that she actually listened to, and valued what he said.
Blushing again, she shoved his shoulder, "Time for bed idiot."
Helping him under the covers, she scooted in next to him, and after a momentary war with her newly emerging, squishier nature, she curled up purposefully against his side, using one of his arms as a pillow.
She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, and if she had looked up, she would have seen that Marshall was grinning too.
mMm
The next day and a half of driving went by in a similar fashion, stops for food and gas, a detour when a herd of cows busted out of their pasture because they felt the need to mosey into town, and an explosive bout of road rage from both Mary and Marshall at the idiot with Louisiana plates driving 30 miles under the speed limit. But the closer they got to San Antonio and the subsequent 1200 acres owned collectively by the Mann Family, about an hour east of the city, the quieter Marshall got.
Mary tried to coax stories of his childhood and useless factoids out of him, but she could see him shutting down again. She had expected it, but it stung more than she had thought it would. To see him crawling away from her and into himself had her chest aching, and by the time they passed through San Antonio, she was doing her level best to fight back tears.
If she could, she'd poke that kinder, gentler, sappier part of her brain with a stick.
She was both relieved and irritated when they turned on to the county road that may as well have been the Mann Family driveway. Every house along the road was built in a similar country farmhouse style, with big, wrap around porches, complete with rocking chairs, and barbwire fenced pastures full of a collection of black and red cows. In front of each was a numbered mailbox bearing the name Mann.
Claire had told Mary that Marshall was the only one of her children not to have a home along this road, and she wondered what in the world could have enticed him to leave his family and this beautiful country side for the desert and Albuquerque.
If Jersey and her family had been anything like this, she never would have left.
Her chest grabbed and she knew that her previous thought wasn't true. After her temporary assignment to Albuquerque 8 years ago, she had felt an unexplainable need to go back. To leave Jersey and its people behind, for the desert and the people that she had found there. Mary felt her rebellious guts settle, and sighed softly, watching as Marshall became twitchier and less at ease beside her.
She could practically feel his dark mood sucking him back in, and she prayed that she had made the right choice bringing him home.
Pulling up in front of the last farmhouse on the road, a big three story house made of natural stone and whitewashed wooden siding, with a grand porch wrapping around its ground floor, Mary breathed in the smells of honeysuckle and roses wafting in her window, and the telltale odor of pecan pie. Marshall's favorite. She could see a dark oak door open at the front of the house, and a crowd of people heading through it, the only one she really recognized was Seth, but it was totally clear who the people were.
The resemblance to Marshall was uncanny.
Mary had just managed to get Marshall settled into his wheelchair, frowning at the gravel of the driveway which would make pushing the chair a real pain, when a short woman burst from the crowd of tall people. Gray streaked her brown hair, framing her still smooth face, and big blue eyes were full of tears.
The woman crashed into Marshall, hugging him and sobbing into his shirt, planting big kisses all over his face, and then she was on her feet, snagging Mary in a bone crushing hug, laughing and crying at the same time. Pulling back, the woman grinned in the same dimpled fashion Marshall had, one hand on his shoulder, and the other on Mary's arm. "Welcome home, Marshall-baby, and you too Sweet Pea."
Clair Mann.
mMm
A/N: Oh my goodness, first off I am so sorry for this chapter taking so long, and it would have taken even longer if not for the word processing software on my wonderful smart phone. I wrote a good portion of this chapter on my phone while at my nephew's Allstar Baseball Tournament two weekends ago, then even more of it while at work over the five days straight in which I didn't leave the shop once (I'm tired just thinking about it), and during the Fourth of July weekend (in which I both worked and partied, and got hit in the head a half dozen times).
Well here we have Mary being Mary, avoiding her realizations with excuses and false assumptions about herself. And Marshall being, well Emo-Marshall. There is a lot of healing ahead for them both. I hope to have the next chapter out sometime this coming weekend, but I don't know how much writing I'll get to do with a week full of 16-18 hour workdays, and fence clearing and building with my folks when I'm off. Plus my little sister turns 21 in three days time.
Ugh. Life is wearing me down.
Though on a positive note, the actress who plays Abigail is not listed as a cast member on any of the remaining episodes this season according to the episode filmographies. ^_^
Love Y'all,
DToB
