A/N: Thank-you for the reviews! It is finally a new day in Mary's world! She was stuck on Wednesday for awhile LOL!

XXX

The morning came too early for Mary who, to her great surprise, slept like a log. Evidently, she was fatigued enough that the absence of Marshall in bed beside her wasn't enough to keep her from going under. She could only hope that Melissa had achieved the same, but you'd never be able to tell it by looking at her when she stirred with the rising sun. Mary had to wonder if she'd tossed and turned all night, or else had been plagued by nightmares, but she hadn't heard a sound from her room down the hall. With Brandi in the living room, surely someone would've come to her aide if she'd cried out at any point.

True to her word, though, Melissa managed to get herself dressed, insisting all the while that she had to go to school. And go she did, wearing the same overalls she'd had on the day before, this time with a red T-shirt printed with tiny white polka dots. Mary had tried to dissuade her, tried to tell her the treasured outfit was dirty and she would be better off donning a pair of jeans. No sale. It was overalls or bust, and as Melissa was cranky and suffering from lack of sleep, her mother didn't see the point in arguing for too long.

With Brandi enlisted to drive the little girl off to the second grade – rather against the inspector's better judgment – it left Mary free to head back to the hospital before Marshall's surgery. She was dreading the day; not knowing how long the operation would take or what version of Marshall would reappear once he was brought out of anesthesia. She expected to spend the better part of the morning by herself, knowing that Stan, at least, would have to go into the office to help Eleanor with everything piling up. Everyone else, of course, had jobs to attend to as well – Mary's world might stop when it came to Marshall's misfortunate, but that didn't mean everyone's did. Even Melissa knew her duty, and was sitting in her desk with the other eight-year-olds where she claimed to belong.

The woman was nothing short of stunned, therefore, when Mark wandered into the waiting room after Mary had barely been there ten minutes. He held a white paper sack in one hand and his phone in the other, spotting his ex at once, who was bleary-eyed and completely thrown by his appearance.

"What are you doing here?" she stood up at once, ignoring his cute little wave he cast her from across the room. "You have to go to work. You told me last week that you have to start getting measurements on the roofs of those new developments out west; you said they'd take their business to somebody else if you didn't get a jump on it…"

"Would you relax?" Mark's tone was easy, holding up a hand to quiet her and cutting cleanly through her babble. "Stan called me earlier and asked if I would stop in since I guess he's pretty jammed up…"

At least Mary had been able to guess one thing right, but she still found herself mouthing soundlessly at having someone to keep her company. Mark would expect her to talk, to share what she was thinking or feeling, and there was no telling if she was up for that.

"I don't care what Stan said," she was jittery from downing two mugs of coffee, wanting to be certain she'd stay awake. "I don't need anyone to coddle me…" this definitely hadn't been true the day before, but she was bound and determined to be strong now. "If you have somewhere to be, you have somewhere to be, and there's nothing to see here anyway; not for hours…"

"You are on a roll," he remarked with a hint of a smirk. "I've never heard you so chatty."

"It…its nerves…" Mary had to admit, knowing as soon as she heard Mark's observation that she must sound stupid, talking too much and too fast.

"Yeah, I know it is," he replied smartly. "So, sit back down and don't be a hero, all right?" he indicated the couch where she'd been residing before he'd walked in. "I didn't come empty handed, beautiful. I brought you breakfast," he held up the sack he'd been toting, producing two drinks as though from nowhere.

Mary feigned being suspicious as she followed his advice and resumed her seat, narrowing her eyes at the bag, but knowing just from the smells wafting out of it that she was going to want to devour whatever was inside. Her stomach was growling already – loudly enough that Mark actually raised his eyebrows as he sat beside her, meaning she couldn't hide her rapidly mounting appetite.

"Have you eaten anything since last night?" he inquired skeptically.

"I didn't eat anything last night," she corrected him. "I was busy, wasn't I? Lunch yesterday was my last meal."

"Geez, you must be starving," Mark assumed. "Going on some sort of hunger strike isn't going to help anybody…"

"That's not what I was doing…"

And, even if she'd planned on it, she wasn't going to last now. To satisfied looks from Mark, she seized the sack and stuck her nose inside, inhaling the warm breakfast fragrance of bacon, egg, and what she thought was sausages. She'd managed to get Melissa to eat something before she'd left for school, but hadn't bothered with herself.

"Chow down," Mark chortled. "Here, I got you an apple juice too…" passing the cup into her hands. "I looked for cranberry, but they didn't have any…"

"It's Melissa who likes cranberry juice, not me," the blonde reminded him around bites of hash browns, a handful of which she had taken from a pouch in the bottom of the bag. "And pineapple and even that disgusting V8 – the tomato stuff; it makes me gag…"

The man laughed again, clearly not buying that Mary found her daughter's diverse tastes exasperating. Whatever her reservations about Melissa's quirks, he knew as well as anyone that she wouldn't have her any other way. You couldn't expect someone like her to have an ordinary child.

"Speaking of Missy…" he also saw his opening and ran with it, Mary eating with almost indecent fervor beside him. "Was she okay last night after I left? She was beat; I hope she slept for you."

The inspector hunched her shoulders indifferently and swallowed, "As well as can be expected, I guess," she conceded. "She was pretty hyper when I first got there, but once I put her to bed she settled down. Brandi slept on the couch, so I had back-up…"

"Good," Mark sounded relieved. "I wouldn't blame you if you had trouble getting her to chill out. I had a time of it myself – one minute she seemed fine, but the next something would set her off again…"

"Yeah, well…" she grumbled, this time with her mouth full, which muddled her speech. "I don't imagine seeing Marshall plowed into the ground is something she'll forget very quickly."

They had reached the elephant in the room in no time at all, Mark clamming up in the presence of Mary's awkward comment. He allowed her to chew her breakfast for a moment, which happened to be an enormous biscuit, some of the contents spilling out onto her lap. For something to do, she rustled in the sack for a napkin, but she could still see out of the corner of her eye that Mark was fighting the urge to discuss the man who was confined to the operating room right now. Regardless of how Melissa was feeling, it seemed that Mary had reached an even-keel, and he didn't want to disturb it.

But, his staring was starting to irritate her, and she stuffed another tater-tot mulishly into her mouth.

"Ask me. I know you want to."

Mark didn't hesitate once he'd been given permission, "How…how is Marshall?" but he had the grace to sound cautious. "Did you see him…before they wheeled him back?" he wondered. "I figured he must be doing all right, especially if they're going ahead with the surgery on his leg…"

Again, Mary had to gulp down a large mouthful of food before responding. It also gave her time to ponder rational-sounding answers before blurting anything out and sounding as anxious as she felt.

"I saw him, but he was already asleep so…it was more like talking to a rock, if you want to know the truth…"

"That must've been disappointing."

"I guess," Mary grumped, wishing she could be more upbeat without having to expend such a sizeable amount of effort. "But, if he was anything like he was last night, then I imagine I didn't miss much."

"Well, maybe once he comes through the operation he'll be more himself. Did they say how long it would take?"

"Awhile," she sighed. "Most of the morning. So, like I said, if you need to get to work…"

"I have time," Mark reiterated gently. "There are things that are more important than solar panels…"

"You mean, everything?" she managed a joke, and he chortled appreciatively.

"Yeah, a lot of things seem pretty…irrelevant, I guess, after yesterday. It reminds you what really matters…"

"You better call the PSA department," Mary replied in response to his cheesy line. "You could be in one of those 'The More You Know' ads with the shooting stars…"

"Nice to see your sense of humor is still intact."

"Mmm hmm…" but, she was biting her nail so obsessively and zealously that she was soon likely to break the skin. "I'm a riot and a half."

But, the truth behind this statement was really very small, and it was nice of Mark to pretend that she was so much like her old self. Judging by her actions, he could see she wasn't in much of a mood to talk about Marshall or, indeed, anything that had happened the day before. It was going to be a long day no matter how he tried to engage, especially considering she had all-but demolished her meal in less than five minutes. Being both extra-hungry and edgy had-had her binging like a tiger.

When she saw him looking at the remnants of her breakfast, she had a sudden thought, and though it was too late to do anything about it now, she wanted to show she could still be considerate when she wanted.

"Was some of this for you?" Mary eyed the empty wrappers. "I have a few hash browns left if you want some…"

But, Mark held up a casual hand and shook his head, "I ate in the car on the way over," he informed her. "No worries."

This was followed by a nod and another long exhale, the woman tossing all her trash onto the table in front of them, too lazy to get up and find a trashcan. Mark seemed lost for how to proceed and was wringing his hands absently, just short of twiddling his thumbs. If Mary didn't want the silence to overtake them, she was going to have to get the ball rolling. For as much as she loved Mark, he was no Marshall when it came to filling long periods of quiet.

"I hate hospitals," she droned lamely. "Too many trips with Jinx when I was a kid…all sloshed and shrieking for something to stop her headache…"

"As far as I know, hospitals don't prompt especially happy memories for anyone," Mark countered. "Short of broads having kids, they're pretty depressing, and even you didn't get the conventional experience where Missy Jean is concerned…"

"Tell me about it," a grunt. "I was just talking to her about that last night."

"How come?"

"Oh, she likes picturing Marshall as some kind of action hero," she waved a dismissive hand. "Rescuing the damsel in distress and the heir to the throne," the 'heir' being Melissa.

"It was unique, you can't deny…"

"Yeah…" she ran a hand up and down her jeans, picking at a stray thread near her knee. "Talking about it yesterday, though…I'd forgotten just how shitty I felt after she was born…" and the emergency ward only recalled her to the sensation. "I mean, usually I don't focus on that, but she was asking these questions last night that reminded me…"

Mark was patient, letting her tell her story, unembellished and without all the bells and whistles that she typically created for Melissa.

"I hacked so much I felt like my lungs were going to disintegrate. And they put me on this medication that did something to my uterus; I don't even remember now…" it was too foggy. "Jesus, I thought I was going to die; it hurt so bad…" she shook her head as though warding off a fly. "I mean, you showed up on the tail-end of things, so you missed all the gory stuff…"

"Lucky me," he chimed in.

"Yeah…right…"

"But, you both survived," he pointed out. "You're here to tell the tale. And, look at Missy. Would you have ever guessed when she was just that little urchin that she'd grow up to have a brain like she does? It's insane…"

Mary had to laugh at his use of the word 'urchin' because it was so like him to be that blunt, but this was quickly pushed aside to make room for his mention of the little girl's astounding intelligence. She still had not discussed with Mark what had gone down in the meeting at the elementary school, not that she'd had time. Melissa had been almost hysterically adamant about going into the gifted program, and if they were going to put her there, she was going to have to have Mark sign off.

Not knowing what else they were going to find to talk about on this early Thursday morning, she decided now was as good a time as any.

"Too bad you weren't around to witness the big showdown at the school yesterday," she groused, the mere memory of it making her gnash her teeth. "You'd have gotten to hear about how it doesn't matter how smart Melissa is; if she's tripping and falling on her face all the time then intellect might as well go by the wayside."

Mark didn't say anything at first; looking as though he wasn't quite sure whether he should believe Mary's account of the events. She was known for exaggerating when she wanted to, and her current predicament meant she was going to cast as much blame around as humanly possible.

"Someone said that?" Mark prodded. "Those words?"

"I don't have a photographic memory, dingus," Mary sniped. "But, it's close enough. They don't give a damn if the kids are making fun of her because, as far as they're concerned, she's bringing it on herself by being so klutzy…" The minute this was out of her mouth, she regretted it, because she suddenly remembered how Melissa had described herself the night before, and she didn't need her mother adding fuel to those notions. "Uncoordinated. Uncoordinated; you know what I mean."

"Well, but…wait a minute…" the man still looked like he didn't think this was adding up. "Who is 'they?'" he wanted to know. "I met her teacher when she first started school, a couple months ago…"

"Yeah, so?"

"She was a young thing, wasn't she? Foxy…"

"I don't see what that has to do with it," Mary snapped at him, annoyed with his juvenility.

"Well, looks aside…" she distinctly saw him grin, even though she was still scowling. "She didn't seem the type to just stand by while a kid like Missy gets the pulp beat out of her."

Mary wouldn't have pegged Mark for being so perceptive after just one meeting with Miss Newman, and the fact that he was calling her on her overstatements was obnoxious. Nonetheless, she was glad that Courtney could be counted upon to do right by her daughter if they had issues down the road.

"Maybe not her," she eventually admitted grudgingly. "But, this principal…" she let out a low whistle. "What a trip she was. She gave me hell from the start – how I'm letting Melissa 'suffer' because I haven't done anything about her balance being lopsided…"

"Well, she can shut it."

This made Mary laugh for real, spontaneous and glorious as it was. It also felt stark and somewhat inappropriate; the joy from it was sapped as soon as it came on. For her to be sitting here cracking up, however briefly, when Marshall's life had so recently hung in the balance, was obscene. But, that was the thing about Mark. Mary wouldn't trade Marshall for anything in the world, but her ex-husband was prone to uttering things that her current husband never would.

"What does she know, anyway?" she didn't expect Mark to keep ranting either. "Missy Jean is none of her business. Is she letting the other kids have a pass on taunting her – is that what you're saying?"

"It sounded that way to me, but fortunately that Miss Newman actually has her head screwed on is still trying to do something about it," Mary conceded. "But, she also thought that…maybe…"

It was hard to say why she took pause. There was no reason to think Mark wouldn't be completely on board with moving Melissa up a few levels. But, every time Mary thought about it, she got a knot in her stomach – a knot there was no explanation for. She should want her daughter to have the best educational experience possible; she needed a place where she could flourish and come into her own without the burden of her immature classmates dragging her down. But, as everyone around Mary knew, one of her greatest fears was that Melissa would stick out like a sore thumb. Having no father had already set her apart, and this would just push her further and further out of what children considered an acceptable social circle.

But, Mark was getting impatient and hastened to hurry her along.

"She thought what?"

Mary sighed loudly, "She wants to put her in some class with the other bookworms and future scholars," the disdain was unnecessary, and she wished she hadn't made the prospect sound so awful.

"What, all day?" Mark goaded. "Why don't they just send her to third grade if they're going to do that?"

"Because her teacher doesn't think it's a good idea and neither do I," the blonde said at once. "She needs to be with kids her own age, no matter what kind of holy terrors they are."

"Then, what is this?" he wanted clarified. "How's it different from just moving up a grade?"

"I don't know, exactly," Mary disclosed. "I guess I'll find out down the road, but Miss Newman said it's just for a couple hours during the day; some gifted teacher will map something out that's suited to Melissa and she'll get to interact with kids on her level – some older, some younger too, I suppose…"

"So, what did you and Marshall decide?"

For some reason, this view startled Mary. Marshall was her spouse, yes, and they had made many a choice about Melissa's future as the years had gone on, but never without talking it over with Mark. Mary hadn't forgotten, nor did she discount, who he really was underneath. There would be no Melissa without him.

"Well…nothing, yet," she recovered herself enough to notify him. "I wanted to see what you thought first. In fact, I have to see what you think. They won't let her go unless both guardians sign the forms…"

"It's not like you and Marshall couldn't do that…"

"Not at this school, we can't," Mary enlightened him grimly. "This principal – Regina Hodges – she's like some broad out of the dark ages. One mom, one dad; end of story. She actually sat there in front of Marshall and acted like he was nothing to Melissa just because they don't share something as inconsequential as DNA…"

The tears came so fast that Mary surprised even herself. She hadn't been feeling that upset – all of her efforts were concentrated on rage toward Mrs. Hodges, who had made things far more difficult than they had to be for her little girl. And, instead, she was sitting here blubbering like a baby, with no idea where the flood of emotion had come from, clapping a hand to her mouth to stop a sniveling sob from escaping.

She didn't even know what she was crying for and, oddly enough, Mark seemed to figure it out before she did.

"Hey…hey…" his voice was sweet and he put his arm around her, willing to concede that the combination of the accident and the conference at the elementary had caused a valve to burst somewhere. "Come on…" Mary swiped at her eyes even as he attempted to comfort her. "You can't let some old hag knock you down…"

She didn't even find it in her to giggle, but tried to illuminate where she was coming from, even though she scarcely understood it herself.

"Marshall…" she hiccupped without meaning to. "He adores her; she's everything to him…"

"To all of us."

"That someone could try to take that from him for no reason…"

"She doesn't understand, Mare. She's close-minded," Mark chalked it up to that, still rubbing her arm. "You and me and Stan and Marshall…we've been in this together from the very beginning. It's three dads or no dads; this principal isn't going to change that."

"It might not be her that changes it…"

The real source of her sudden misery was about to be revealed; what had been masquerading as anger was nothing more than unbridled angst. Mary wasn't a person who exposed her scars very freely, but lately, she had fear oozing out from all sides; so strong, it was unable to be kept at bay.

"If Marshall doesn't snap out of this, three dads are going to become two…"

"No-no-no…" Mark cut her off tenderly. "He's gonna be fine; it's just a broken leg now…"

"There was something else wrong with him; the way he looked at me…it wasn't right…"

"You're expecting too much; that's easy to do…" Mark declared. "Patience will pay off in the end…"

"Patience isn't really my forte, Mark."

"Heh…" he grunted with a smile. "When you start using words like 'forte' I know that Marshall has rubbed off on you. He's here whether he's here or not. In you…in Melissa…"

"You know, most guys wouldn't be so accepting with another man dominating their kid's life," this was supposed to be a compliment, but the sagging quality of her voice might've indicated otherwise. "It's almost too modern of you…"

"Come on, you know I think Marshall is aces," and even though he wouldn't have said anything to the contrary in this moment, Mary knew he was sincere, and immediately resolved to quit sobbing all over him. "He's more than just this guy that lives with Missy; he's a friend…"

"Yeah, you know…" a sniffle, the first act to getting herself under control. "Before Melissa, I never really knew how nice it was to have friends."

Mark couldn't suppress a bemused chuckle, "What do you mean?" and he halted his caressing of her arm to shoot her a perplexed look.

Mary supposed her truthful answer would seem strange to most people, but anybody who had known her long enough knew that her ability for forging relationships was not very honed. But, until her daughter had come along, Mark had been fairly out of the picture, and so he wouldn't have been around to watch the way she isolated herself. She'd been different as a teenager – much more openly vulnerable, and that was probably why Mark didn't find it very peculiar that she burst into tears at inopportune moments.

"Marshall was my only friend for years; I'm not kidding…"

"What about Stan?"

"Stan was my boss," she had just told Melissa as much last night. "I never thought of him as a friend. And, I didn't want to either. My father screwed me over so badly that I wasn't going to risk letting anyone else in. But, I didn't want Melissa to grow up learning to shut herself away like I did…" a shrug, the last of the wetness soaking into her cheeks. "When you said you'd come and help me out with her, I never expected to be so relieved, but I was. I don't know if that was a sign that I was finally ready to start trusting people again or what…"

"Well, if Marshall were here…" Mark was pressing his luck even entertaining the idea, but Mary let him get away with it. "…I'm pretty sure he'd say it was – a sign, I mean," he clarified.

"Nah…" she wagged her head, not one to start believing in unspoken signals no matter how strong they might be. "He'd say it was something way more scientific – the position of the planets and stars aligning or something."

Her ex chortled again, looking pleased that she was no longer coming undone.

"That sounds more like astrology or astronomy…" he observed. "I forget which is which."

"Melissa could probably tell you."

"Yep…she probably could."

They had reminisced on the child's cleverness too often for it to carry them very far, and Mary was finding herself mesmerized by Mark's ever-present, sunny smile. What must it be like to possess that level of positivity without even trying? Mark had it, Brandi had it, and Marshall certainly had it. By some miracle, even Melissa seemed to carry it around with her – the belief that the world only kept spinning because there were still good, moral individuals walking the surface, leaving their mark for the generations of the future. Mary wished, just once, she could hoard that kind of faith in others.

Perhaps he could tell from her dismal features what she was thinking, or else he'd just learned how to read her thoughts after so many years, but Mark blinked almost shyly at her, wavering with whether or not to say what was going through his mind.

"You know, gorgeous…" there was that flattering nickname again; most women's husbands would be the one to call them that, but Mary had always been unconventional. "I know everyone around here likes to wax poetic about how Missy Jean got her super brain from Marshall, but don't go thinking you're any slouch in the smarts department…"

The scoff escaped before she could stop herself, but Mark wasn't through.

"You are one sharp gal, but being book-smart isn't everything…"

"You don't say?" her usual sarcasm dripped from every letter.

"Missy doesn't need the world wrapped in plastic. She's just as lucky to have a realist like you running around as she is to have the rest of our phony smiles flashing at her twenty-four-seven."

The image this created made Mary laugh through the few tears still sparkling in the corners of her eyes. She knew as well as Mark did that nobody in the little girl's life was beaming sunshine and rainbows all the time, but that he was referring to the events as of late. They all wanted to assure her it would come up roses in the end, whereas Mary was much more willing to voice the grittier aspects. And according to him, that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Whatever you settle on as far as this genius class is concerned…" he gave a blasé, but not entirely carefree shrug. "Your judgment is as good as anyone's. You know better than all of us what's best for our girl."

She cherished, deeply cherished, the way he referred to Melissa simply as 'our girl' and not as 'our kid' or 'our daughter' or 'our child.' Their hodge-podge family had blended seamlessly as time had elapsed, and Mary just hoped it wasn't about to crumble because of one afternoon playing too far out in the street.

"I used to love making my own choices…" she murmured, which shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. "But, now it's like I don't know how – not if Marshall's not showing me the way. I used to be the most independent person there was, and now…" There was no better way to say it, "I'm needy as hell."

Funnily enough, Mark shot her a shrewd smile upon hearing this, as though he knew something she didn't. And, for a man who was without girlfriend, who lived his life on the coattails of his ex-wife, being the quarter of a parent to one remarkable little girl, there were still occasions when he had more knowledge of true devotion than Mary did.

He squeezed her shoulder and smirked one more time.

"I don't think they call it 'needy' when it's something like you and Marshall have," he stated plainly. "I think they just call it love."

XXX

A/N: I wish there weren't so many chapters that are Marshall-less, but with him being the one who is injured it pretty much has to be written from Mary's perspective (but, of course, I tend to write from her point of view anyway!)