Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

Miraculous Mary Extended Play Version

Chapter 9

Home Again Home Again

MARY POV

After two more interminable days in the hospital, of being woken up, poked and prodded, the doc released me. The aftercare instructions were thick enough to be an owner's manual. Marshall came with Brandi and Jinx to spring me. He listened attentively to everything the nurse said. Brandi and Jinx listened too but my stomach is queasy at the thought of them touching my wound although Brandi did a good job with Raph's knee.

Marshall's truck was easier to get into so they wheeled me to the door and I went with him. Brandi and Jinx followed us home. I thought Raph would make an appearance while I was in the hospital. Did anyone tell him I was shot? Is he angry? Maybe he went to see his mother in the Dominican Republic. Whatever. I'm too tired to worry about it. That part of my life is over.

When we arrive home I rotate to get out of the passenger seat but Marshall is standing in the way.

"Move it, Doofus! I'm going to step on you."

"The doc said to take it easy. Stepping down will stretch your stitches and I'm not going back to the hospital today. Let me carry you."

"Hell no." When I see his face I relent and allow him to put his arm around my waist. Lucky for him the stitches don't go that far down. I'm panting by the time we get to my bedroom. "Why in the hell does getting into bed take so much energy?" As Marshall is taking off my shoes I hear Jinx and Brandi in the hall. I flop back and pull the sheet over me.

He heads them off at the doorway. "The trip home wore her out. Why don't we let her sleep?" He closes the door and relative silence descends. Well a silence of the relatives. Oh my God, puns! I must still have drugs in my system. One more thing to do before I can rest. "Dear Holy Mother, please thank your son for keeping me alive and keeping Marshall unharmed. I know your miraculous intervention made it so. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen."

Wouldn't want God to think I'm ungrateful. Sore, yes, but still grateful. The shooting turned into a chance for Marshall and I to become closer. I still don't understand why he wants to be with me. I'm like a burr under his saddle, a constant irritant. Why would he want that?

I know why I want him. He's an honorable man working in a position of dubious morality. Despite that, his soul and his reputation are unsullied, pure. That doesn't mean he's naive or weak. In both mind and body he's the strongest man I know. And he'll be a wonderful father. That's the last thing I remember before falling asleep. For the rest of that day and the next my naps are interrupted only by Jinx or Brandi bearing soup or jello.

When the weekend comes, Marshall takes me on a road trip – to his house for the day. Brandi was actually a good nurse. She bit her lip and drew a pained breath when she changed my bandage, but she did it and never hurt me, much. After the first time Jinx couldn't even watch. I suppose I'd have a hard time seeing Norah hurting. Never thought of myself as one of Jinx's babies.

I sit in the SUV in his driveway while Marshall opens up his place and took in my go bag, just in case. I had managed to stand long enough to pack it. Woowee! My great accomplishment for the week! The plan was to give me an afternoon out, a change of scenery. This is my chance to talk to Marshall about becoming us. We're not getting any younger and this time I'm determined not to waste any time.

"Let's get you in the house, Sunshine."

I grumble. "I thought the purpose of this trip was to get me out of the house."

I let him get the car door. Let him? Who am I kidding? Even now, days later, leaning that far would have painfully pulled the incision. Marshall places his arm under my good arm and I watch my feet to make sure I don't trip. I feel like a baby learning to walk. Tears fill my eyes and I sniff wetly as I remember Norah learning to walk. Marshall thinks I'm in pain.

"I've got your pain meds in the house. When was the last time you took one?"

"Umm, I don't remember. This morning?"

"That sounds about right. I'll check Brandi's note but you can probably take more now. Let's get you settled." We go through his living room, heading for the bedrooms.

"No Marsh – not the bedroom. Can't I sit out here?" The recliner is beckoning. Anything but bed, please. I've spent too much time in bed, alone.

He sees me eyeing the recliner. "How about this? It's comfortable."

I can't resist teasing him. "Sleep there often do you?"

Marshall grins. "Sometimes."

"You just want to stick me somewhere and know I can't escape. I won't be able to get out of that!"

"Just bellow, Sunshine. I'll bring you whatever you need." If I know Marshall he's prepared for my visit – food, drink, a walker maybe. He's always been the thoughtful one.

I sink back into the recliner and look around. There's so much memorabilia in this room – photos, medals, rocks. Only Marshall would collect rocks, but then he minored in geology. Wait! How did I know that? Oh yeah, Abigail told me when we were chasing the car thieves, the time she drove into a bullet. Did Marshall ever tell me?

"Hey Marsh!" He's gone down the hall for some last minute primping.

"What do you need Mare?"

"What's with the rocks?"

He's wearing big yellow industrial rubber gloves. When I raise an eyebrow at his choice of gloves he says, "Last minute sanitizing. Don't want you catching anything. I've got your pain meds in my pocket. Want one now?"

I shake my head. I don't need one now. He goes into the kitchen and tosses the gloves into the sink. I could eat off his toilet and it would be cleaner than my kitchen. "So, the rocks?"

"Well Miss Nosybuttons, if you must know, I minored in geology." I can tell he's expecting some snarky comments about getting his rocks off.

"Did you do a lot of traveling to collect these, or are they mostly local?" He's taken aback but pleased at my interest.

Marshall walks over to a shadow box with several rocks, some quite sparkly. "I found most of these growing up. Whenever we went on vacation I hunted for interesting specimens. These came from Texas, Colorado and Montana.

He hands me the box. "They're kind of pretty. Especially that one." I'm pointing to a sparkly blue stone.

"That's a sapphire from Montana. Sapphire's are relatively easy to find there." Aw, look at that. Marshall's preening. Sweet man.

"How long does it take you to dust all this stuff?"

"Eh, not long. I have hospital grade filters on the ventilation system. Keeps the place clean." Of course he does.

"What's that?" I point to a frame on the wall.

He returns the shadow box to it's place and takes down a framed certificate. "This is a commendation from the President to my great great grandfather." Fifth generation marshal. Yup.

I peer at the fragile gold leafed paper carefully preserved under glass. "Is that. . .is that Teddy Roosevelt's signature?"

"It certainly is," he declares proudly.

"Wow! How did you end up with it? Didn't your Dad want that piece of history?"

"He's not the sentimental type. Mom got it framed but couldn't find a spot for it. She knew I would take good care of it so she gave it to me for my birthday." Birthday? Oh crap. Did I miss it? I haven't met Seth yet in this lifetime, but Marshall's right. His father is hard headed and unemotional. So different from his caring son.

Marshall loves to share what he's learned. Here's my chance to get him talking and learn about his family, his childhood, his interests. "Tell me about everything in this room."

He perches on the wide stuffed arm of the recliner, crowding me just a bit, but away from my wound. "The leather for this recliner came from a hand fed cow. . . ."

I punch him.

"Ow!" He fakes injury. "You said you wanted to know…"

"Not that stuff. Your family stuff. The history things and stuff that you found or collected or discovered. Like that picture of a little boy on a pony. Is that you? How old were you there?"

We spend the afternoon exploring that one room. I never appreciated the breadth of Marshall's hobbies. Rocks, riding, literature, art. Most things focus on the west. Marshall loves the west with its cowboys and ranches and ranges. Even his family photos have a western theme.

I fall asleep in the recliner, listening to him drone on. Some company I am. The smell of something yummy wakes me up. "Marsh. What are you doing?"

"Making a late lunch, early dinner. Glazed pork chops, baked beans, and green salad. Sound good?"

"Yeah." I'm trapped in recliner heaven till he comes to get me. We move slowly to his kitchen where I sit gingerly. A bowl of salad and a plate with a gorgeous chop, beans, applesauce and a roll sit before me. "You made this?"

"Yeah. It's the recommended post-surgery diet." He points to each item as he talks. "The roll is whole grain. It, the salad and the applesauce provide fiber. The pork is lean protein and the beans are carbohydrates. They'll all help you heal Mare."

I am so touched by the lengths this man has gone to for me. I start sniffing to hold back my tears and scare the bejezzus out of him.

"Mare? What's wrong? Are you in pain? Tell me what you need."

When I don't answer right away, he gets up and puts his arm around my shaking shoulders. "Mare? What hurts?" I shake my head my throat too full to speak. "Nothing," I croak.

"Then why the tears?"

I point at him.

"Me? What did I do to make you cry? I'll stop. Just tell me."

I turn and caress his face. "You. You are so good to me." I wanted to say more, but I was too choked up.

"Aw Mare. I want you to get better. I need my partner." He stands and goes back to his chair. "Now eat up. Chef Mann's culinary masterpiece is to be enjoyed."

I get control of myself, must be the drugs, and we spend the rest of the meal in muted camaraderie. Then it's time to go home. Back at my house I get my second wind. The meal and the nap helped a lot.

We're in my living room and I don't want him to go. Jinx and Brandi greet us then make themselves scarce. I put my good arm around his neck and pull his head down to mine. "I love you Marshall Mann."

I pull back to see how he took my declaration. "You don't believe me." He's stunned. He doesn't believe I love him.

I get up and rush out of the living room. Rush, ha! Meaning I move slightly faster than a ruptured snail, faster than I have since getting out of the hospital. Marshall follows me.

"Hey, take it easy Mare. You'll hurt yourself. Where are you going?"

"To get proof." I call over my shoulder.

In my bedroom I squat gingerly and pull out the small box in the bottom of my closet. I'm glad now that I didn't follow my first instinct and throw the crap out. Marshall steadies me when I wobble standing up. We sit side by side on my bed and I hand him the box.

"What's this?"

"Like I said, proof. Open it."

I watch his face as he opens the box. Like me, when he first sees the ticket stubs and wrappers he thinks it's trash. As he takes each item out and examines it his expression changes to wonder.

"You saved this?" He's waving the brochure from the art museum. "You complained the entire time!"

I drop my head, embarrassed. "I wasn't complaining. I was letting you know what I thought."

"You thought it was crap!"

"Yeah well, I did at the time, but after I thought about what you said I began to see some of what you saw. So I kept the brochure. It reminded me of you, us. Despite what you think I had a good time."

Marshall picks up the wrapper from the low-carb non-fat burrito and laughed. "You said this tasted like dryer lint!"

I sway my head from side to side. "Yeah I did, but it was your dryer lint, your attempt to get me to eat healthier. You cared enough about me to want me to stay healthy by eating better. I got that."

"And this?" He's holding the ticket from the foreign language movie he dragged me to.

I sigh. "I know. No car chases, no gratuitous violence, subtitles, not my kind of movie." I carefully turn my whole torso to face him. "But it's your kind of movie. A movie of ideas and emotion, a sort of love conquers all thing. God Marshall. I want that for us."

Marshall faces me and puts his hands on either side of my face. "Us? You really want there to be an us? In the hospital I was sure that was the meds speaking."

Then he's kissing the daylights out of me. That man can kiss. I can't wait to see what else he can do.

"Marsh? Marshall!" He's hyperventilating and I don't want him to pass out. "This isn't a one off. I want this to be, for us to be a forever thing. I know my track record is pretty crappy so I think we should take this slow." Actually I don't think that. I want to jump his bones, peel off those jeans and enjoy the goodies God gave him. But my body needs slow and so does he. He needs to know he can trust me with his heart.

Marshall shakes his head. "All those years you teased me and made rude comments about anything and everything I did. What was I supposed to think?"

I turn back slowly and try putting my elbows on my knees. "Remember when you were in fifth grade and the girls were discovering kissing and boys thought they had cooties? How could a girl let a boy know she liked him?" He's lost. I'm talking about something outside his experience. "By punching him! Kissing was taboo, but if a girl made contact," I punch his bicep gently, "she was expressing her interest."

Marshall's looking at me like I'm crazy. Then he gets it. "Is that what you did?"

"Uh huh."

He stares at me trying to figure out what in the hell kind of person I am.

"Told you I was a crazy bitch." This is his last chance to realize what he's getting himself into and get the hell out of here.

Instead of running away as fast as he can, Marshall carefully hugs me. "But you're my crazy bitch and I wouldn't want you any other way."


A/N: Just because they're together doesn't mean the story's over. Not by a long shot.