A/N: Thank-you again for the kind reviews! I do so appreciate it!
For whatever reason, I am partial to writing more specifically from Mary's standpoint; all my stories are more centered on her feelings and thoughts than on Marshall's (for the most part) but here's an attempt at some Marshall – some father/son Marshall. :)
XXX
Three Months, January:
The buzz was as familiar as the back of a hand, the sight of their child's eyes, as automatic as breathing, blinking, or walking. It was as much a part of Mary as anything else in her life. The buzz and vibration meant one of many things – Brandi was on her way over, Marshall was going to be late, Stan needed her to come in, where did Mary keep Sam's emergency pacifier.
But as the darkness pressed in on her and the stillness of the air beyond her window became apparent, Mary knew this buzz that floated out of her Blackberry sang of option number three. It was the middle of the night – early morning – and that meant Stan needed one or both of his inspectors in a situation.
Groping and choosing not to open her eyes, Marshall grunting to her right, Mary closed in on the phone and managed to bring it to her ear.
"Yeah," was all she got out and very croakily at that.
"Sorry about the hour kiddo," Stan said up front. "But I'm gonna need you."
"For what?" eyes still shut, trying to capture a few more fruitless minutes of rest.
"Leo Billups," he reported without further ado.
Leo Billups. Mary's mind searched as frantically as it could in the wee hours of the morning, but she wasn't coming up with anything. Begrudgingly, she slipped her lids open in hopes that this would promote some comprehension. The room was pitch black; she could barely make out her closet doors beyond the bed.
"Saw his mother murdered…went to live with Carter and Wendy…"
Right. Some of this was starting to make sense.
"Vernon came into the program to be in Albuquerque," Mary voiced throatily as she recalled Leo's biological father. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Stan replied. "Anyway, Vernon's actually the issue. Now that Leo's older, he's wanting to spend some more time with the guy and the Billups' are getting kind of heated up about it…"
It was all Mary could do not to fall right back to sleep, especially with Marshall still zonked next to her.
"Carter, specifically," Stan clarified. "I guess Leo, in his infinite teenage wisdom, tried to run away from home and there was a bit of an uproar."
"They find him?" Mary tuned in a little better at the mention of the real issue.
"Yeah," Stan assured her. "But I'm not all that confident about the home situation at the moment; I'd like you or Marshall to go over and secure the place, check it out, have a chat with Leo about bolting when things suck…"
"All right…" Mary rubbed one of her eyes with her hand, better alert now that she had the problem. "I'll let him know," she finished, not catching on to the fact that Stan had said 'or' not 'and' when referring to the witness; it was programmed into her that they did everything together.
"My apologies, inspector," Stan emphasized for the second time. "I wouldn't call unless I thought it was necessary."
"Mmm hmm…" was all Mary could say in response before she slipped the cell away and hit the off button.
Although she was exhausted and would've loved to crash back out, Mary was hard-wired to go through the motions when such a scenario presented itself. It got her juices flowing, and she wouldn't do it if she didn't love it on some bizarre level.
She turned and clapped Marshall on the shoulder to wake him up.
"Marshall…" she whispered. "Marshall…" she added a light shove.
"Mmm…what?"
"Stan – Leo Billups," was her brief response, and she was already out of bed, opening her accordion-style doors to put some clothes on.
Pulling out a pair of jeans she was pretty sure hadn't been washed and a shirt with long sleeves due to the fact that it was winter, her eye caught the clock on the nightstand pulling her pajama top over her head. 4:45 in the morning.
Wordlessly, she threw Marshall his own pair of pants and belt, and some random button-up of an unknown color she couldn't make out because it was so dark. They dressed wordlessly, not facing one another; they had the same built-in mechanism to just go when the alarm sounded. They were firefighters and doctors and counselors all rolled into one.
It wasn't until they bumped in the narrow hall, neither one paying much attention to where they were headed in their drowsiness, that Marshall came to life.
His eyes scanned her up and down, skeptical and confused.
"Why are you dressed?" his voice was hoarse and laced with the after-effects of sleep.
"I'm not going over there in pajamas, doofus," she said smartly, wondering what kind of question this was supposed to be.
If possible, he looked even more lost, if that was indeed the message she was getting from his weary eyes.
"Going over where?"
Mary was perplexed and looked at him properly to respond.
"What, are you rusty?" she wanted to know. "Witness – showdown – phone call. I'm there."
"I thought I was going…" Marshall continued uncertainly.
"You are," she insisted. "You and me – partners. Hello. Eight years now. Where you been?"
Marshall just shook his head like she was being a complete moron, and she did not understand the calamity. Until…
"If we're both going to tend to a witness…" he pressed distinctly, like she might be hard of hearing. "Who's going to stay with…?" his eyes flickered to the second bedroom door up the hall.
Oh. Dear. God.
She hadn't. She hadn't. But Mary knew that feeling as though her heart was sinking like a stone meant she absolutely, without question, indisputably had. She'd forgotten.
She'd forgotten about Sam.
"Sweet Jesus…" she breathed, putting up a hand to her head and trying to make sense of how she'd managed such a thing.
It was that blasted way she'd been programmed; she'd been doing the same thing for so long, it just took over. Lack of sleep, delirium; her body had kicked into autonomy, the autonomy that did not include her child.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it now and she had places to be.
"I'll call Jinx…" this was also a habitual response, and she was halfway to pulling her Blackberry out of her jeans, when Marshall's fingers closed around her wrist.
Looking up, she was marginally startled by the resolute compilation his features had settled into.
"What?" she hissed, now troubling to keep her voice down as she'd recalled her son snoozing just beyond.
"You're not calling Jinx to come over here at five in the morning," he stated firmly.
Mary was taken aback, and marginally exasperated by such a command. Who did he think he was fooling? Jinx – or Brandi – came over all the time. They'd talked about this when Sam was born, but they'd also talked about something else and Mary was about to be reminded very quickly what it had been.
"This is a choice we have to make," Marshall went on firmly in an undertone. "We knew when Sam came along that there were compromises we were going to have to make. Either you call Delia and go, or I'll call Delia and go," his blue eyes had that sharp grayness they got when he was serious.
He proved just how serious with his final word.
"We're not going to leave him before sunrise."
Mary was baffled by the no-nonsense way he was speaking to her, and so early in the morning. But he knew how Mary could be, knew she would get argumentative and try to finagle a way for both of them to brave their work and get Sam saddled with an unsuspecting family member.
But Marshall wasn't going to live that way – he wasn't going to let his son have fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants parents; he'd made a promise to himself. One was better than none, and that was where they were right now.
"I'm not a child…" Mary finally grumbled. "I can grasp the concept without an ultimatum," she informed him snottily.
"No ultimatum," Marshall was clear and clean. "But it's one thing to say we're going to live a certain way, it's another to stand by it," he was big on principles. "I want one of us here – you or me," he wasn't backing down. "Better decide who it's gonna be or Stan's going to wonder what's up."
Mary wanted to argue with him, but how could she? He'd covered every base, he'd sealed every crack. She'd known this was important to him, but they hadn't had to deal with it until now. During the day worked – Jinx or Brandi was enlisted while she and Marshall ran all over the place like regular working parents. But he was right; the middle of the night was a different story.
And yet, Marshall also knew that her passion for her work as well as her love for her son couldn't be compared and he needed to give her the opportunity so she wouldn't feel badly about leaving Sam behind.
"Go…" he placed his hand on her shoulder, peering down into her green eyes; big in the half-light of the dim hallway bulb. "He was your witness…" he reminded her. "I'll stay with the sheriff."
She didn't want to go. But she did want to go.
"I shouldn't…"
"You're not some fifties housewife," Marshall placated her. "You're a working woman, and duty has called. Sam's not suffering from one nightly excursion," he was talking an awful lot for so early in the day. "We'll adjust as needed down the road."
Once again, Mary couldn't fight him. And on cue, it was obvious their voices had carried because whimpering sounded from behind the door. Mary was about to leap into action, but Marshall stopped her.
"Go," he repeated. "You've got somewhere to be; one of us has to do it and this time it's you."
Mary just shook her head and swallowed.
"Okay…" she murmured, knowing she needed to get going. She couldn't leave it off, "Love you…" she stretched and planted a quick kiss on his lips.
"Love you too," Marshall assured her, but she was already shuffling down the hall, grabbing her tote where it lay on the couch.
She cast him one last fleeting glance before he nodded his approval and she was out the door, mindful of shutting it quietly in her wake.
Marshall, feeling a bit foolish fully-dressed and nowhere to go, did the only logical thing once Mary was gone. He eased open the door to Sam's nursery, where the fussing magnified now that there was nothing in the way to dampen the sound. He bent down and notched the nightlight plugged in to the outlet so he could see better.
"Hey Sam…" he whispered to his boy once he reached the crib, fiddling with the mobile of pastel ponies above his head, but he persisted in whining. "What's got you up so early, my boy?"
He was probably hungry. Usually, he managed to hold off until about 5:30 or so, but obviously the uncharacteristic movement had stirred him sooner.
"Oh-five-hundred hours…" his father mused philosophically. "Quite a way to start the day, sheriff…"
Marshall reached into the confines of the crib and pulled Sam out, spreading him upright against his chest. He gently cupped the back of his head with his hand, still precariously heavier than the rest of his body. He struggled to hold it up on his own, and kept fussing even though Marshall did his best to soothe him.
"Let's get a look at you sir…" he teased lightly, laying his son on the changing table. "Before we find you something to eat."
Sam calmed a little as Marshall unsnapped his sleeper – the one Carolyn had given him and Mary for Christmas that had once belonged to Marshall himself. He loved its vibrant red color; still bright even all these years later. The way the cowboys seemed to chase each other around the fabric; the worn cotton against the seat.
"Is that what you were all worked up about?" Marshall chattered softly as he removed his son's diaper. "You goofy boy…"
He made a face, sticking his tongue out and waggling his fingers. Sam's whimpers abated and lightness snuck into his blue eyes. Wanting to keep it going, Marshall bent and pressed his lips to his bare belly and blew a raspberry.
"You taste so good!" he joked, as if Sam would understand. "Yummy-yummy-yummy in Sammy's tummy!"
His son smiled just slightly, tongue poking out of his toothless mouth. Marshall continued to try and keep him content while he got him changed and redid his sleeper, pulling him into warmth once more.
"Come with me sheriff…" he scooped him up one-handed into cradle-style; he was barely small enough to still fit in the crook of his arm, but the little one obviously enjoyed the security it brought and settled in with his daddy.
Marshall took his boy out to the living room, snapping on a few lights as he did so and busied himself preparing a bottle of formula for Sam to chomp on. His son's mouth was working furiously in anticipation of such an event; his clock as involuntary as his mother's. Once he'd made enough, he settled into the chair on the far end of the couch and offered his mixture to Sam, who latched on at once.
"Such a fine boy…" Marshall crooned at his quick acceptance, rubbing the lack of hair on his head. "So smart…" he whispered. "Always know just what to do…"
Unable to resist with how enchanted his child made him and confident nobody was going to walk in on them, Marshall managed to undo the buttons on his shirt with his free hand and swaddle Sam against his skin. He absolutely loved the way he felt all snuggled in close, and saw no reason Mary should have all the fun just because she was a woman.
"You want to sing a song, Sam?" Marshall asked, knowing this was something else he couldn't do with Mary around because she found it unbearably corny. "What song should we sing?"
Marshall considered, trying to choose one he thought would lull Sam back into a trance once he finished his bottle.
"Golden Slumbers is one of my favorites, sheriff…" he whispered, feeling his cheek against the coarse hair on his chest. "What do you say?"
Sam's only response was to stare up at him with those enormous eyes of his, as if to say Marshall had all the power. He held all the cards, all the supremacy to make all the right choices, to make everything okay. Every part of it told Marshall trust. He trusts you and it's your job to fulfill that no matter what the cost.
Kissing his head, Marshall began to hum. He murmured, sweet and low, poking a gentle finger into Sam's soft, working cheek.
Grinning, Marshall started to rock him back and forth as the formula in the bottle dwindled, whispering the lyrics line-by-line.
He could've been merely exhausted, but Marshall could've sworn Sam had actually been listening. The way his eyes probed back and forth, never leaving his father's face, hanging onto every word and every lyric as though they brought him hope or comfort. His mouth sucking up his early meal had even begun to taper.
"My handsome man…" Marshall slipped the bottle out of his rounded lips, seeing he was through. "So attentive, I say."
He wondered if there would come a day when he didn't think everything Sam did was completely and utterly perfect. He severely doubted it. It didn't seem possible.
Jostling the little one out of the crook of his arm, Marshall set the empty bottle on the coffee table and sat Sam up and began to pat his back to burp him. Unfortunately, he was nearly startled out of his grip when his phone, reminiscent of Mary's, started to vibrate on the armrest.
"Huh…" Marshall shifted him as well as he could while he persisted in trying to get that belch. "Wonder if that's mama…"
Who else could it be at this hour? It was slowly inching toward six o'clock, but Mary really hadn't been gone that long. It could always be Stan asking which one of them had actually braved the rising sun for the run-amok witness.
"Oh…" he murmured, trying to distract Sam who was fussing again from a full and un-burped belly. "It's Grandma…"
Marshall tried to rein in his worry as he hit the talk button, but he completely forgot to say hello – between wondering why his mother was calling and Sam's pitiful cries.
"Mom?" he posed at once, attempting to get Sam more comfortable. "Everything all right?"
"I'm fine, dear," Carolyn assured him gently. "Just up for a little midnight snack; I know my grandson usually likes his breakfast around this time…"
She was trying to be casual, but nothing erased the fact that his widowed mother was puttering around at what was even an earlier time in Kansas. In a big empty house. All by herself. Just three months out from losing her husband of forty years in a highly unexpected fashion.
"But, what are you doing up?" Marshall couldn't resist even though she'd already told him. "You need your rest, mom."
"To do what, honey?" she teased.
Marshall, admittedly, didn't have a good answer for that. Still, it was highly disconcerting. He didn't like to think of his mother all alone. He ought to call Griffin or Julian and get them to check on her more often.
"Well, Sam's not being his most charming self at the moment…" he diverted, clamping the phone on his shoulder to pat his son's back with both hands. "I just fed him…"
"Oh, as if that Sammy boy can be anything but charming," the admiring grandmother said decidedly, as though her opinion settled the matter.
Marshall chuckled as well as he could, and just when Sam was about to reach some truly epic wailing, the burp came – satisfying and maybe even a little louder than usual.
"Good boy…" Marshall whispered, forgetting his mother could hear.
Sam shuddered a little, like he'd been caught off guard by the sound and Marshall used his trusty towel to wipe the corners of his milk-stained mouth. Carolyn was patient as he arranged him back in his lap to regroup and turn serene again.
"Sorry mom…" he rubbed gentle circles onto Sam's back; this often helped him doze off.
"Don't mention it," Carolyn was agreeable. "You decide to let Mary catch up on sleep this morning?" she asked with a reluctant yawn. "Offer to take the early shift?"
Marshall chortled, "In a matter of speaking," he told her. Sam coughed in his high-pitched warble and his father eased him, "Shh…"
Once he'd finished hacking, Marshall reached for the handy pacifier on the coffee table and gave it to his son, where he sucked contentedly.
"Mary had something to take care of," he continued evasively. "Work."
Marshall hated having to be so secretive. He almost felt worse because Carolyn was always so understanding, unlike Seth who had badgered for years about the details of WITSEC.
"Goodness; she'll be worn out when she gets back," his mother replied.
"Yes…" Marshall had to agree. "But Mary functions best when she's busy, even when she's on overdrive."
"Marshall, tell her to slow down a little," Carolyn was always one to offer friendly advice, especially when Mary was not around. "You don't want these years to go by in a whirlwind."
Marshall knew this to be true, knew as Sam munched on his pacifier that although the days and nights seemed endless right now, they were going to vanish before he or Mary could wrap their minds around it. Carolyn, the voice of experience, knew it to be so.
"I'll do what I can," he promised. "But it's not easy. Mary's got a mind of her own."
It was an intangible trait of Mary's that Marshall pretended to find aggravating, when instead it was something he adored. To avoid answering when he didn't have a good response, he stood to place Sam back in his crib. He was passing out quicker than Marshall had anticipated.
"That's not such a bad thing," Carolyn assured him.
She needn't have reminded Marshall of that, he thought. Reflecting, he laid his son back among the blankets and his new stuffed horse that daddy himself had picked up for his boy's proverbial first Christmas. It was rich, gravy brown and Sam seemed to love it.
"Night-night pal…" he crooned, leaning over the bars to kiss his boy. "Sorry mom…" he repeated for the second time, venturing back to the hall and shutting the door lightly. "I keep getting distracted…"
"It's no problem," she reinforced.
Marshall chose his own bedroom this time and rested inside the rumpled sheets to try and give Carolyn her time. He folded an arm behind his head and stretched out his legs, lounging comfortably.
"You're a natural, Marshall…" he heard her say, more to herself than to him.
"Hmm?" it was his turn to yawn. "A natural what?"
His mother chuckled softly, but chose not to answer his question and Marshall had realized even after he'd said it that it was obvious what she'd meant.
"I should let you sleep," Carolyn whispered dispiritedly. "I shouldn't have called so early…"
Marshall could tell she was about to hang up and forced himself to tune back in. If Mary could do it, so could he.
"No-no…" he tried to sit up. "Mom, wait…"
There was a pause as he blinked, willing himself to focus. His mother was not needy or overstepping or desperate. There had to be a good reason for her calling, a legitimate explanation. And then he reminded himself, valid or not, it didn't matter; she'd called and he had a responsibility to give her whatever she needed.
With a hard swallow, "It's dad, isn't it?"
He knew it was. It absolutely was.
"Marshall…" she opened at once with the leeway. "Honey, I just…" she was trying to keep it together. "I forget sometimes. I forget he's not here."
It was so-so sad. Nothing else – just sad.
"And the worst part is, I know there's going to come a day when I don't forget, as absurd as that sounds…"
"It does not sound absurd…" Marshall interjected, even if he wasn't sure what she really meant.
"I'll forget the way he tucked his shirt in before work," she assumed. "The way he…taught Claire to hold a baseball bat…" she continued. "The look on his face when he met his son for the first time."
She wasn't crying, but it couldn't have been worse. And yet, Marshall knew there were a thousand things he could offer in hopes that they would provide a little comfort. He was taken back to Mary – somehow, someway – managing to neglect for ten minutes that she had a child. And how impossible it was to truly leave that behind.
"Mom, there are some things you don't forget," he promised. "Your children, your grandchildren…" he hoped his words were enough. "The details might fade, and that's difficult, but nothing erases the place they hold in your heart."
Marshall had never been shy about sharing his feelings, and Carolyn knew this better than just about anyone.
"You hold onto that sweet little man of yours, Marshall," was her only response. "You can't possibly imagine…" she sighed.
And then, "Just how fast it goes."
A/N: Lots of fluff, but it's important to see how these two became so close, right? 'Till 'My Way Home' Marshall was described as being Sam's go-to parent; he and Mary became more tied as a result of the accident, so this is Marshall getting his time in.
