A/N: Many thanks to my reviewers, those who have alerted, favorited, anything under the sun. If you're out there with a set of eyes and reading it, I'm happy.
XXX
"Let's not get crazy; I don't want to fight you…"
"Back to the fence! Back up towards the fence!"
A sneer – a flicker of her lids. The brightest flash of silver, a beacon in the dark.
"GUN!"
Her hand to her belt loop – the swift pull of her glock.
She yanked the trigger –
The pain; blinding white, red hot. A fiery stomach, a flare in her back. The smack of the concrete…
Mary woke up gasping, springing forward and upward, her gut burning as though it was on fire. The pain had been real. The scar on her abdomen was searing, flesh tingling it was so intense. She doubled over and clutched against the hurt, hoping to squash it, still gasping to grab a breath of air.
She was in the living room at home, the blanket someone had thrown over her cast aside by the way she'd shot up to a sitting position. And Peter – not Brandi as she'd expected – was dashing to her from the kitchen, looking worried. She only saw him out of the corner of her eye.
"Hey-hey…" he bounced onto the couch beside her, in what little room there was left with her curled over her knees. "What's wrong? Do you feel sick?"
Mary had no intention of speaking, but somehow the urge to tell became more important.
"It's my scar…" she panted, managing to untangle herself as though to present evidence.
"Your scar…" Peter repeated uncertainly, not wanting to seem disbelieving but clearly lost.
"From when I was shot – in my abdomen – just like Marshall was. It hurts…" she had slowly reverted into simply giving details now, not nearly as frantic anymore, but her belly was still throbbing.
"Does that happen often?" Peter wanted to know, trying to get a handle on things.
"No…" she shook her head and without thinking that Peter could see her, sure her incision must be bleeding something fierce, folded up the hem of her shirt.
It looked perfectly ordinary – the same as it always did. A fine line just to the right of the top of her belly button; she could run her finger over it and still feel the ridge. Slipping her hand around to her back, she groped and felt for the wound there, but it seemed normal also.
Slowly, she rolled her shirt back down and as her heart rate returned to normal, realized her gut was no longer burning, but cramping up – an intense ache.
She sighed, groaning in her throat, and covered her face with her hand – embarrassed as well as hurting.
"Oh God…" she murmured.
Peter was tender and caring as he pulled her hand away from her eyes and felt her forehead, pushing her bangs out of her line of vision.
"I'm okay…" she said automatically, shaking her head even with his hand still on her flesh.
"You're not feverish," he reported. "Have you eaten anything recently?"
She knew she hadn't. Quite frankly, she couldn't even remember the last time she had. Yet she couldn't decide if she was delirious from lack-of-food or if there was something deeper going on. Was it possible she was feeling Marshall's pain through such a similar injury? Ordinarily, she'd never believe in such cockamamie crap but her mind was still fuzzy from her dream. She was likely to buy into anything.
"Not in awhile," she supplied in an answer to Peter's question.
He patted her knee and stood up.
"I'll make you a snack."
She wanted to tell him she could handle it, but it was probably best to just let him get on with it at this point. Sitting up and watching him while he worked at the island, a second thought came to mind.
"What are you doing here?" she wondered. "Where's Brandi?"
And then a third thought – really the one that should've come before all others.
"Where's Sam? He was here when I dozed off."
"Brandi took him to pick up Jesse from school so you could sneak in a quick nap," Peter informed her, pulling a block of cheese from the fridge and a box of crackers from an upper cabinet.
"So…you came over because…?" Mary prodded.
Peter didn't even bother to hide it.
"To keep an eye on you."
Mary sighed, "I don't need a nursemaid."
Peter simply raised his eyebrows, indicating the turn of events just experienced and Mary was reminded that her belly was still aching in protest. She stayed silent while Peter sliced off some cheese and placed the pieces strategically on squares of cracker. Back to the fridge to add a glass of milk and he was at her side in no time, settling the items on the coffee table before them.
Slowly, Mary picked up the plate and took a tentative bite of cracker. The effect was instantaneous and her head began to clear.
"Thanks," she said, chewing thoughtfully.
"Sure," Peter nodded.
Mary stayed quiet and inquisitive as she crunched, and then decided she could ask Peter what she was thinking. He was sweet and sensitive and wouldn't make fun of her. And really, what could make her feel worse than everything crashing around her right now?
"Peter…" she murmured, pausing with another cracker halfway to her mouth. "What would you do if something like this happened to Brandi?"
Her brother-in-law sighed, leaning forward onto his knees as he pondered, and then righted himself. It was just like him to take the question seriously.
"I'm sure I'd be doing the same thing you are," he concluded. "I'd be miserable, I'd be pissed, I'd be doubting myself…"
"Who says I'm doubting myself?" Mary interrupted sharply.
"We all doubt ourselves, Mary," he said evenly. "Some more than others. I, as a recovering alcoholic…" he put a hand to his chest and shut his eyes with a smile, as though this title were a badge of honor. "Don myself quite a bit of guilt whether I deserve it or not."
Mary rolled her eyes, but let him continue.
"I would be a wreck, but most importantly I would be trying my hardest to take care of my son and make it easier on him."
He stared straight at her. They both had green eyes. It was no wonder Jesse's were the same shade.
"And that's what you're doing," he nodded definitively. "You're doing everything humanly possible. Nobody could ask any more of you, Mary. Marshall would be proud."
Peter wore his heart on his sleeve so often it was alarming and usually Mary found it very risky. It had never compounded with her that someone could be so open and raw so much of the time. But here, it was different. It just seemed direct and unwavering, doling out facts like they couldn't be disputed.
"I wonder if he hurts," she murmured at the ground, swallowing the last cracker she'd devoured. "If that's why I had this…stupid…"
She gestured indistinctly at her stomach, instantly regretting her willingness to share this dumb idea. Peter had gotten her all undone with his bluntness.
"You mean like sympathy pains," he offered. "You're so in-sync you're hurting at the same time."
"Yes…" she leaned in, more eagerly than she meant to now that he'd latched on. "But I don't want him hurting like this…" she let her hand come to rest on her belly now. "It would horrible for him…"
"Well, that's one way to look at it," Peter shrugged. "But maybe you're not experiencing the twinges together. Maybe it's just you feeling it."
Mary cocked her head and narrowed her eyebrows.
"Why would that be?"
"You're feeling his pain so he doesn't have to."
Mary opened her mouth, unsure what she was going to say to this theory, but any thoughts on the subject left her mind when she heard the key in the front door.
Starting and jumping away from Peter as though they were about to be caught doing something indecent, Mary expected to see Sam trudge in with Brandi, but it was Jesse who appeared first.
She tried to smile at him, but knew her hair was matted and her eyes droopy, but apparently her nephew had ideas of his own. Wordlessly, he jogged up, in between the coffee table right to where Mary was sitting and put his arms around her chest in what was unmistakably a hug.
Mary had learned long ago that Jesse was the more affectionate of the pair of cousins. Sam didn't exactly shy away from it, but he wasn't outward with it either – a safe middle-ground between Mary's aversion to touch and Marshall's need to be tangible at all times. But Jesse was different; he hugged you even if he'd seen you two hours before. He kissed you goodnight and held your hand whether you were crossing the street or crossing the room.
And Mary had a very shrewd idea what this particular embrace was about.
"I'm sorry Uncle Marshall's sick," he said plainly as Mary rested her chin on his silky blonde hair.
She willed herself not to cry and resolved to kiss his head to avoid it.
"Me too Jess," she admitted.
"Careful man…" Peter cautioned as Jesse stepped back. "Aunt Mary's feeling a little lousy."
Unfortunately, this phrase escaped just as Brandi and Sam entered and both of them heard it.
"What do you mean?" Brandi wanted to know at once, halting with Sam at her side. "You don't feel well?"
"Mom…!" Sam raced over at these words, almost knocking Jesse to the floor in his anticipation. There was a frenzied and anxious look dancing in his eyes. "What's the matter? Are you sick?"
"Sam, no…" she shook her head, startled by the frantic way he was reacting. "I'm fine…"
"But Peter said…"
"I just needed to eat something," she interrupted, holding up the empty plate of crackers for him to see. "I just forgot to have lunch."
She'd forgotten more meals than that, but that was water under the bridge at this point.
"But I feel better now," she assured him. "I promise."
"Promises don't mean anything," Sam stated baldly.
It was like a round in exchanging looks. Mary glanced up at Brandi, who turned to Peter, who flicked his eyes onto Mary's. This was nasty territory. How did she refute something like that?
"Smush…" she proceeded delicately, feeling the ache in her muscles return like a familiar friend. "You know how dad and I always tell you that you get grouchy if you haven't eaten enough?"
Slowly, reluctantly, Sam nodded.
"Well that's all that happened," she went on. "Peter fixed me a snack and now I'm tip-top."
"Will you remember to eat next time?" Sam wanted to know.
Mary did not like this. Initially, she had found it sweet that Sam wanted to take care of her and had wanted Marshall to know it, but how had she not seen it coming down the pike? She hated when kids felt they were in charge of someone who was much more capable. Her entire childhood was defined by the experience and she'd resented it for years after – raising Brandi, making excuses for Jinx. She'd lived it. Sam would not live it too.
"Yes Sam, I will," she started to say. "But it's not your job to make sure I do," she went on forcefully. "It's not your job to make sure I do anything. That's my job. I'm the grown-up; I take care of myself."
She wasn't entirely sure how she expected her son to respond, but he just nodded and seemed to accept the directions for what they were. For now – crisis averted.
However, there was another immediate concern on the horizon and she preferred that she and Sam have the next conversation alone.
"Jesse…" she threw Brandi a significant look, hoping she would catch on. "You think you could head out back and pick up around the patio for me? We had dinner out there a few nights ago and I didn't get a chance to clean up…"
"Sure," Peter said at once, and Brandi nodded. "Come on man; mom and I will help you."
Jesse was visibly bewildered by the request, but kept quiet as his parents herded him into the kitchen and out the deck door. Once Mary was sure it had shut, she patted the empty space of couch beside her, indicating that Sam should sit.
"Come see me, Smush," she requested. "Let's talk for a second."
Sam did not look thrilled at the prospect, but did as he was told and hopped up beside her, legs dangling above the ground. It was obvious he could not stand to receive any more bad news, but this was more an issue of what to do about the misfortune they'd already been caused.
"I want to talk about your birthday tomorrow," Mary said frankly, determined to get this over with as soon as possible, hoping not to upset Sam any more than he already was.
"Who cares?" he said predictably, but no hint of accusation made its way through. "Like dad's gonna be there."
"No, he's not," Mary proceeded gently. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she repeated for what seemed like more than just the third time. "We can still have the party, but if you don't want it that's fine too."
Sam dropped his gaze to his lap, watching his fingers twist and turn in apprehension and indecision.
"We can do whatever you want," Mary told him, a phrase she never thought she would utter when it came to her son. "Do you still want all your friends to come over?"
Sam considered, shifting side-to-side and looking so uncomfortable and confused it made Mary want to hug him all over again. Judging by the way he was behaving, she guessed she might have to make rearrangements for him, but he surprised her.
Looking up, disappointed but resolute, he shook his head.
"You don't want your friends to come over?" Mary wanted to clarify.
There was little hesitation this time. He shook his head once more.
"Okay," she said at once, needing him to know she accepted his decision. "All right. That's fine," she assured him.
Now it was on the next order of business.
"Is there something else you want to do?" she prompted. "I know everyone's here to be with dad; but they can come here and help you celebrate," she offered. "Uncle Griffin and Uncle Julian would love to see you…"
Mary had spent the entire morning at the hospital and the afternoon with Sam, but his uncles on Marshall's side had yet to catch a glimpse of him.
"Could it just…?" he spoke faster than Mary was expecting, but she intended to listen to every word.
He paused briefly, as though trying to get what he wanted to say out just right, biting his bottom lip.
"Could it just…be you and me…?" he asked. "And Brandi and Jinx and Grandma?"
Mary had to admit being a little thrown by the group of people in the request. He adored Brandi, seemed to get a kick out of Jinx, and Carolyn was a novelty right now but the absentee members were throwing her off. He absolutely loved Peter and hadn't seen Griffin or Julian in God knew how long. Not to mention, Stan was supposed to come initially as well if he could find the time to spare.
Still, she didn't want Sam to think he'd asked for something non-negotiable, so she nodded in a would-be-confident way to reassure him.
"Sure," she said. "If that's what you want; that's what we'll do."
She was still bobbing her head up and down as though to reinforce the point when another matter occurred to her.
"What about Jesse?" she wondered aloud. "You want him to stay home?"
Mary hoped beyond hope he would not say yes. Jesse would lose his mind if he found out Sam didn't want him at his birthday party, regardless of the circumstances. He was much more sensitive than Sam and she wouldn't envy Brandi having to deal with the repercussions.
Fortunately, Sam shrugged and said half-heartedly, "Jesse can still come."
She hated this blank and empty shell that used to be her son. He was nothing like himself, minus the fact that he was still tactful, polite, and easy to manage. All of his spunk, his vigor was gone. She shouldn't have expected anything less, but it was depressing at the highest degree.
"You'll be quite the ladies man tomorrow," she attempted to joke with him, but he didn't crack a smile.
He stared at her – straight through her – as though he'd never seen her before in his life. Was she capable of going on like this?
Slowly, she reached out and put her arm around his back, steering him in toward her. He slumped into her chest, finding the warmth, nudging into the embrace as he shoved the rest of his body in next to her. He was limp in the hug, but seemed to need it all the same.
"I know it's not the same bud," she admitted, resting her chin on the top of his head. "But dad would be here if he could. Remember – you're his sheriff."
The word made him tremble and in an effort to keep him from crying, Mary squeezed him tight.
"He'd want you to have a good time."
A/N: I wanted to get some Peter in; he's a good soul. And Sam and Jesse as well. ;)
