A/N: I hope you all enjoyed that last chapter! You never know! ;)
XXX
Back at the office, discussions on Savannah Doyle were deferred when Marshall was waylaid by a frantic witness that kept him in the conference room until further notice. It seemed the morning wasn't going to remain uneventful for long, but life in WITSEC rarely worked that way. It was a well-oiled machine, but ready to lose its wheels at any given time; you constantly had to be ready to roll with the punches.
Nonetheless, Mary's charges seemed to be letting her off the hook and, once she finished all the paperwork she had neglected to complete the day before, she was left with a little free time prior to lunch. She did her best not to remind herself that her light load was probably brought on by the fact that she had been banned from working in the field. It was demeaning for her to contemplate, especially since she knew Delia had been enlisted to take over her more fragile witnesses.
And so, because Stan was ensconced in his office, Marshall was talking a squirrely boy down from his ledge, and Delia was on the phone, Mary pulled her copy of the Harmon's file from inside her tote, hoping no one was going to catch her in the act. The originals lay with Mrs. Anders at the agency, but she'd been able to keep their introduction letter and the few photos they'd provided. She had faint hope that, by poring over and studying them more intensely, she might feel better about picking them over the Templetons.
Brooke and Christopher had written a fairly standard, traditionally sickly biography of themselves and their children. Mary surprised even herself by selecting a unit that was so different from her own family, but wasn't that the point? Mind-numbingly cutesy they might be, but they were the furthest thing from James and Jinx, not to mention Mary and Brandi in their youth. Mary hadn't wanted her child to experience the turmoil that she had, and being that she would morph into a single mother overnight, she wouldn't be starting off on the right foot.
She read the words and descriptions carefully, trying to glean more than she had the first few times she'd gone through the papers, trying not to see them as superficial or needy.
Dear Birth Mother,
Did every letter start out that way? Mary hadn't pored over that many files, but every single one had-had the same beginning line. Did the agency have stipulations about that sort of thing? Shaking her head and deciding it didn't matter, Mary pushed on.
Dear Birth Mother,
Before you read any further, we want you to know how much we admire what you are doing. Placing your baby in the hands of strangers is an incredibly selfless and noble act. For you to put your trust and reliance in someone you have never met is taking an enormous leap of faith, and we want you to know that we do not diminish the choice you have made, whether we are your couple of choice or not.
Mary took pause to mull this over. Did these people expect her to believe that they would really find her to be so 'selfless' if they weren't chosen in her little miniature lottery? It was more likely they'd feel resentful and cheated. Trying to ignore this too, she continued, willing herself to get through the whole thing before making any more internal judgments.
We are Christopher and Brooke Harmon of Providence, Rhode Island. We are both natives of "The Ocean State" and met at Brown University when we discovered we were both majoring in education. Chris, the oldest of five children…
Five? Mary still couldn't get over this stat. It sounded like Mango's potential grandparents had been busy in Christopher's youth.
Chris, the oldest of five children, had aspirations of becoming a sixth grade teacher, but later set his sights on administration. He is the principal at the elementary school located in our subdivision, and has been for the past five years. After receiving her degree in elementary education, Brooke – an only child - was also hired in the same building, and teaches second grade. We love living in such a close knit community where the local children know we live and breathe the same culture that they do. It makes for wonderful connections between school and home, which has already been so beneficial to our two young sons.
The wife must've written this, Mary couldn't help thinking, even as she attempted to solider on and translate the remainder of the letter. Only a second grade teacher could sound so sunny and positive, although it stood to reason that if Chris was a principal he had to adopt that persona as well.
There was another reason she had stalled, and that was at the mention of the sons. When Mary had first decided on adoption, she had never envisioned her baby having siblings, and yet here she was. A ready-made, cookie-cutter family straight out of a picture frame.
Our oldest, Trevor, is eight years old. He loves sports, especially basketball, and to go fishing with his dad. He claims his favorite part of school is recess, but he also loves math and science. When he isn't outside practicing his dribbling, he's beating the next level on one of his many video games.
Our younger son, Hunter, is four. He will turn five in April, and therefore begin kindergarten next fall. He is less outgoing than his brother, and can be extremely shy, but has a love for animals and has already picked up an affinity for books.
This was starting to sound like a report card. Granted, Mary had thought the same thing when she had gone through the articles the first time, but it was beginning to stand out now. Still, she convinced herself that the twisting feeling in her belly was just Mango making its presence known, and not misgivings about who she had landed on to raise him. These were obviously nice people. So what if they were a little clichéd? They were up to the task, weren't they?
Trevor and Hunter are the light of our lives and we would love to give them a third sibling to complete our family. After spending eight years feeling so fortunate to become parents so easily, we would like to provide a home to a child who needs us. We know there are so many babies out there looking to find a family, and we hope we can be that family for your child. We understand that you would always play a vital role in your baby's life, and we would never discount the sacrifice you have made for us. Please know that we are willing to enter into a closed or open adoption, depending upon your preference.
Thank-you so much for giving us a chance and we hope to be in touch soon.
Sincerely,
"What are you looking at?"
Mary didn't realize how engrossed she had become in the final lines until Stan's voice interrupted her reverie. She jumped and grabbed the nearest mug full of pencils, which was only big enough to conceal the giant adoption seal on the top of the letterhead.
"Nothing."
But, she could've cursed herself for acting so shifty. She'd have been better off behaving like she was just skimming something from a witness, but because she'd been so caught off guard; she hadn't had time to think it through.
Unfortunately, Stan must not have noticed how uptight she'd suddenly become, and tried to tease her.
"Ah…that is not a 'nothing' look on your face, inspector," he joshed with a smile. "You poring over documents trying to figure out how to undo the restraints on your desk so you can escape into the field?"
This wasn't a bad guess on Stan's part, as he knew how much Mary hated tedious office work, but he was off the mark this time.
"Well, I am an eagle eye when it comes to bolting inspectors; you aren't getting out of here on my watch…" and, to Mary's horror, he managed to slip the letter out from under the cup. "Hand it over…"
Now she could only sigh, knowing if she tried to make a grab for the paper she would just look more suspicious. As it was, Stan saw fairly quickly what he had stumbled upon and immediately looked aghast with himself. He did a better job of covering it up than Mary, who simply sat and clicked her pencil on the side of the desk, waiting to see how he was going to talk his way out of his snooping.
When he finally looked up, he was gaping slightly, but trying to be low key.
"I guess that's what I get for being nosy, huh?"
Mary slowly took the letter as he held it out to return it to her, "Some comeuppance," she groused. "I don't care if you saw it so long as you keep your mouth shut."
"From who?" he wanted to know. "I mean, surely Marshall…"
"Marshall doesn't know who I picked," this was exactly what she'd told Jinx. "He knew who I was debating between, but he doesn't know anything about them. I'd like to keep it that way."
Now Stan furrowed his brow, "Why? I don't see him acting as some kind of peanut gallery. He'll respect your decision…"
"Will he?" Mary couldn't help scoffing, averting her eyes and expertly sliding the fated piece of paper out of sight, back into her bag. "I'm not so sure."
Stan's hands went inside his pockets – they often traveled there when he was thinking hard, or trying to explain something. It was funny how Mary could read his body language so abruptly; she'd watched him elicit this gesture for years now with no thought as to what it meant. All of a sudden, she could practically see his mind at work while his fingers rested in the crevices of his slacks.
"I don't really think of Marshall as being someone who is particularly disapproving," the chief declared. "Why would you doubt his support?"
"It really has nothing to do with him…" Mary fessed up; glad Marshall himself was well out of ear shot while they had this conversation. "I mean, yes, part of this I just want to keep to myself, because it's my issue and no one else's, you know?"
"Sure…"
"But…Marshall has…" she wondered how Stan would take this, if he would think she was trying to be delicate, or if she was rushing to judgment no matter how passive she came off. "…He has other people in his life now that he didn't have before, and I can't guarantee how much of what I tell him will get back to…" now she couldn't help herself from pursing her lips and shaking her head before ultimately returning to the items on her desk. "Others."
It was clear from his suddenly awkward-looking brown eyes – the way they shifted left to right – that Stan knew exactly who 'others' were, and it wasn't plural either.
"Chaffee?"
Mary liked Stan a little better for not using Abigail's first name. It made her seem more distant, and that was where Mary wished she would stay – at a distance.
"I don't even know what she thinks I'm doing with the baby. Marshall's known I planned to go with adoption since I got pregnant, but would he tell her that?"
"Even if he didn't, she'll find out anyway, Mary…"
"Yeah, but I don't like the idea of them having some cozy catch-up over an Ouija board at their little slumber parties," she snarked bitterly. "I can't even think about Abigail's 'high-ho, it's off to the agency we go' attitude about this whole thing without losing my lunch."
Stan actually chuckled upon hearing this, undoubtedly because he could envision the detective bouncing and jaunting her way through sunlit fields, perfectly sprightly about Mary handing her child over to a couple of bright and shiny teachers in Rhode Island. Mary still believed adoption was the best route to go, but that didn't mean it needed to be coated in caramel and chocolate sundaes, which was what Abigail was sure to do.
"Well, I don't know if he's told her or not," her boss admitted. "I really don't even know how serious they are. They've only been together a few months."
"More like eight," Mary surprised herself by correcting him. "At least since January."
"Yeah, but 'serious' is subjective," Stan decided. "And, I wouldn't worry about what the two of them discuss. Marshall may have gone a little more in depth with her as far as your plans go, but he's not going to go into painstaking detail, Mary. He cares too much about you to have a heart-to-heart about your personal life with someone else."
Mary wanted Stan to believe that she was leery of Abigail getting too much information because she was cautious of anyone prying too zealously into her private business, but that wasn't entirely the case. Truthfully, she hated to think of Marshall having a relationship so intimate with a woman that was not her, and she couldn't say why. Marshall had certainly had girlfriends over the years, but none had irked her more than Abigail. She was such a glaring contrast to the kind of woman she would imagine he could be with. Marshall was optimistic, but nowhere near as gallingly vivacious as his current girlfriend.
It would be too much to disclose to him, but the thought of he and Abigail huddled together dissecting her life really bothered her. She could only hope that Stan was right, that Marshall would use discretion when talking about Mary at home. She couldn't fathom what he might say.
"Why does he hold back, do you think?" Mary proposed after a long silence, and even though she wasn't one to go to someone like Stan for tidbits on her and Marshall's friendship, it seemed acceptable in this case. "I mean, what does he have to gain from keeping things from Abigail? She's not going to like him any better for it…"
"It's what I just said," the man reiterated. "He cares about you – your feelings. He knows you don't like people overanalyzing you, so he isn't going to do that with Abigail, even if she is his girlfriend. If there's a future, then maybe, but pushing his luck on that too soon is asking for trouble."
"Gee, Stan…" she hadn't expected such an in-depth answer, leaning back in her rolling chair and lifting her swollen feet onto the desktop. "Maybe you and Finkel could team up, huh? You could be her little assistant; getting coffee and sitting in with the nutters kind of like Charlie used to do with us."
"I try to be helpful and this is the thanks I get?" the shorter couldn't stop smirking though, even as he nudged Mary's booted feet to indicate it wasn't commonplace for her to lounge around in the office. "It is hardly expertise, what I am spit-balling here. But, when you've watched the pair of you as long as I have…" a shrug. "You pick up on a few things."
"Hands off the sausages…" his inspector swatted his fingers away from her toes, but she rested her dogs on the floor once more, regardless. "You don't know what kind of over-bloated hams you're pinching there."
"And, I think that would be my cue to exit…"
For, Stan definitely had his limits when it came to pregnancy, but he wasn't going to be able to retreat after all. Marshall emerged from the conference room, trailing his fidgeting witness on one arm. Stan hung back, waiting until he had seen him to the door and through the elevator. When Marshall was back in their midst once more, he looked weary, like the little buddy had really taken it out of him.
"What's with Tiny Tim?" Mary asked right off the bat, gesturing toward the closed glass doors.
Marshall blew out slowly, trying to regain his composure as he stopped at Stan's side.
"That was Simon Porter. You know he has his bouts with paranoia…"
"I gotta tell you, skinny, that most of your nerds fade into the woodwork…"
"Well, in any event, I managed to calm him down. He's been convinced for the past week that he's seeing somebody from his past in the grocery store, but security footage hasn't turned up anything…"
"It was nice of you to look into it," Stan complimented him as a good boss would. "Simon's hunches have never panned out."
"It makes him feel better if we humor him," Marshall concurred. "He's just a kid, after all."
Mary watched their byplay with a pen between her teeth, noticing not for the first time just how considerate Marshall really was, something that was probably sharpened due to Stan's insistence that her partner was so in tune to her own emotions. Fortunately for her, as she didn't like to dwell upon anything mushy for very long, Stan was apt to switch gears now that his male employee had returned.
"Since you're through, I thought we could cover a few more bases on the Doyle case…"
"Oh, that's right…" such a thing had obviously slipped Marshall's mind once he'd been whisked away.
"We can arrange the particulars later this afternoon if we have time, but it's looking like you two may be shipping out before week's end…"
Hearing this, the blonde removed the pen she was sucking on and sat up a little straighter, "What? How come? You said that Savannah probably wouldn't be called until…"
"Until next week, I know," Stan conceded with only half a glance to the woman. "But, Monday or Tuesday is looking the most likely; DOJ is really pushing to set a date. Savannah and Delia will be able to fly out over the weekend, but since you all are driving…"
"We'll have to be gone by Thursday," Marshall calculated at warp speed. "In order to stay off the beaten path and not attract attention, it'll take the better part of that long weekend to get all the way up there since we'll have to stop at night…"
Mary was irked by this, "It's only a solid twenty-four hours from Albuquerque to Philly," she interjected. "I say we just burn all the rubber we can, there and back, and save ourselves the crappy hotels and gas station bathrooms."
"Not the most favorable idea," and there was Marshall, practical as always. "And, it's more like thirty-two hours depending on traffic and construction. We'll want to stay under the radar…"
"Who the hell is going to be looking for us?" Mary was not convinced such a trip could really be dangerous. "Hicks? Hippies? Tourists at the Saint Louis Arch?"
"Marshall's right," Stan declared as though he hadn't even heard Mary. "You want to give yourselves plenty of time and with you being…" now he hedged. "Well, you know…" yes, Mary did know, and she didn't hesitate to roll her eyes at his discomfort. "…Over a day's worth of time in the car can't be good for you. I'm banking on three nights on the road before you make it to Pennsylvania, and then Sunday to set up camp."
"Looks good to me, chief," Marshall was agreeable, but Mary was not.
"Wussies," she accused spitefully.
But, little could deter Marshall's enthusiasm for a good, juicy case, even one that was so out of their way. Mary still felt that the Department of Justice was asking quite a lot for them to drive cross-country just to give an account of Savannah's life in WITSEC – and wasting their precious money to boot. But, it was their dime, and so she could hardly complain; she could even use it against them on the horizon if they continued to bitch about their lack of funding.
"It'll be an adventure," Marshall was sunny and smiling. "You, me, and Mango hitting the open road."
And given Mary's internal battle with Mango and its eventual parents, an adventurous open road sounded pretty good – even if she hadn't confided in her partner that they would be extending their journey to "The Ocean State" just to make nice with the revered principal and his bubbly wife.
XXX
A/N: Ah, Stan…relationship extraordinaire LOL.
