Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just wish I did.

Unintended Consequences

Chapter 10

"I'm sitting on a porch of a ranch house in Texas, sipping lemonade, while the heat and humidity force me to baste in my own juices. I feel like a cliché," Mary said as the partners did exactly that.

"Could be worse, Mare. You could have called it a veranda," Marshall drawled. Mary scoffed and sucked at her straw.

"Could be better. This could be a mint julep in my hand. At least then I'd be getting buzzed while I sweat."

An awkward silence followed her words. Marshall couldn't help thinking of how callous he'd been to her that morning; the mention of drinking had reminded him. Mary was preoccupied with thoughts of her own.

"Mary," "Marshall," they broke the silence simultaneously, halting at the sudden collision of speech.

"Ladies first?" Marshall offered.

"Only one of us is a lady," Mary smirked, "and it isn't me."

"It's comforting to know that while you possess no manners whatsoever, you are at least capable of recognizing that I do."

"Just spit it out, Doofus."

"I want to apologize for this morning, and last night," he began.

"Marshall," Mary murmured, "you don't have to do that. You really don't."

"I do have to, actually; I said things this morning that were hurtful, and furthermore, baseless. I know you weren't trying to compare me to your mother, or judge me in any way. You were just trying to watch out for my best interests and I should have seen that."

Mary felt a twinge of guilt; she didn't think his best interests included sleeping with him when he was vulnerable. She had been reconsidering telling him all that had transpired the night before, but she had let him go first to postpone having to go through with it.

"As for last night," Marshall continued, "I still don't remember anything to speak of, and it's possible I never will. But whatever happened, I'm sorry for putting you through it. Having to break up a fight between me and my brothers, having to help me out of my clothes, while still outdoors, no less… I know I've always been a source of stability for you, I know you need that from me, and I regret forcing you to see me in that state. I shouldn't have had that much to drink and I regret that last night even happened. I'm truly sorry for anything I may have said or done to you that was out of line."

Mary bit her lip and nodded, eyes downcast. Marshall doesn't even know what I did to him and he regrets it. She knew that not telling him was the coward's way out, but she also knew she wouldn't be able to handle his inevitable rejection after the facts were all in. There's no way I can ever tell him now.

"Don't worry about it," she whispered. Marshall was surprised. He had been certain that she would be angry at him.

"Are you sure, Mare?" he asked with caution.

"Yeah," she replied, lifting her head and looking him in the eye. "I accept your apology. Last night is written off as far as I'm concerned." She looked away again, suddenly very interested the flaking paint on the arm of her chair.

"Okay, then…" Marshall said slowly. He had expected… something. Something more than this. A fight, or having to beg, or a request for food before she would forgive him. A few days of making him miserable. Anything. He didn't expect her to just cave like that. It wasn't that he minded being let off the hook so easily… it was that something about it just didn't seem quite right.

"So, what did you have on your mind?" he prodded.

Mary looked up at him, distracted. "What?"

"I said your name, you said mine at the same time, and then you called me a woman and let me go first," Marshall prompted. "So what was it you were going to say?"

"I was thinking…" Mary scrambled for a plausible alternative to what was really bothering her, and found it. "You're probably going to have to talk to your mom, huh?"

"I've been thinking about that," Marshall eyed Mary contemplatively. She had a valid point, but he had a feeling that wasn't the topic she had originally intended to discuss. He was unable to pin down exactly why he felt that was the case, and he didn't want to press her, so he turned his thoughts back to her present question.

"I know what was kept from me, but I don't know why of it. I have to hear that from her." Marshall sighed. "I just want to come to some understanding of this. I need to know why they chose to do this."

Mary grasped his hand, and they sat together in the quiet of the afternoon.

"I'll talk to her tonight," Marshall resolved.

That evening, after the family had returned and settled in, Marshall waited for an opening. He didn't want to have this conversation in front of anyone else; his brothers weren't likely to take kindly either to the information he was asking about, assuming they didn't already know, or what they would perceive as him badgering their mother. He didn't want more violence or argument on top of what was undoubtedly going to be a very uncomfortable conversation. Marshall couldn't leave it alone, though; he couldn't come away from this with any acceptance of the situation when he had only partial knowledge of the circumstances. He needed answers, and he would get them. Eventually, he saw his mother head for her bedroom. He followed and tapped on her open door to announce himself. She looked up at the sound.

"Oh, Marshall! What is it, dear?" she asked.

"Mom," Marshall said quietly, "I need to speak with you."

The older woman stood in front of her dresser. "What about?" she asked, as she sifted through the contents of a drawer.

"We need to talk about dad," he replied. His voice was soft, but his tone brooked no argument.

His mother's hands froze. "What about him?" she asked warily.

"I think you know."

His blue eyes met matching blue, and he saw a mingling of sadness, defiance… and guilt. He held out the now wrinkled and soiled bundle of medical records to her. She clutched them in her hands as an expression of resignation crossed her face.

"Marshall…"

"Why didn't either of you tell me he was sick?" Marshall pleaded.

"That was the way your father wanted it. He didn't want any of you kids to know."

"And you didn't think I had the right to know my own father was ill?" Marshall hissed. "That he was dying? You didn't think I would want to come see him before it was too late?" He let the question hang in the air.

"You did want to come see him," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when you were planning to come out here around the holidays?"

"Yeah, I do. You told me the two of you had decided to take a cruise, that we could get together later…" Marshall's eyes widened. "No, Mom, don't tell me…"

"Your father was in the hospital for two weeks," she answered, a tremor in her voice. "We thought it might be the end, that time… but he told me the same thing then that he told me when he was admitted to the hospital before he died." Marshall looked at her, uncomprehending, as she continued.

"He told me not to call anyone until we knew for sure." Marshall felt a surge of anger at her words.

"Goddammit, Mom…" Marshall raised voice was cut off by a stinging slap to his cheek. He recoiled, looking at her in shock, his own hand going to his face.

"Marshall, you know I have never laid a hand to you, but you will not speak to me that way," she cried, tears in her eyes. "I did what I could for my husband, whom I have just buried. I fulfilled the last request he ever made of me, and I won't take that back!"

Marshall swallowed roughly and looked to the ground.

"I can only hope, my baby, that you will one day be blessed enough to understand what that means," his mother added softly. Marshall felt fresh tears on his cheeks and nodded as she turned from him.

"I'll ask you not to tell your brothers about this." Marshall's head snapped up in surprise.

"What? You still don't plan on telling them?" Marshall was stunned.

"No good can come from them knowing! I did as my husband asked of me and now all I can do is protect my boys."

"Mom… you can't hide the truth from them. They'll find out sooner or later, like I did."

"Marshall, I will only tell you this once, and I expect you to abide by my wishes," his mother said sternly. "It is my decision to make, and I have made it. You will not tell them. It is not your secret to tell."

"If that's the way you want to play this," Marshall replied bitterly, "then that's your business, but I won't be a party to it." He turned to the door.

"Marshall…" she called to him. He hesitated before turning back to her.

"I strongly urge you reconsider… before you lose your other sons." Marshall's mother watched, speechless, as he departed.

Marshall nearly ran into Mary where she stood in the hall. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, not really; she had just been waiting to make sure Marshall would be okay. But she had heard everything.

"Get packed," his speech was measured and dispassionate. "We're on the road at first light."

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but realized she had no idea what to say.

Later that night, they both lay awake in bed. Mary was uncertain how to either broach the topic of their impending departure, or offer Marshall comfort. She had been down the mom-fight road more times than she cared to remember, but she suspected nothing about Jinx was in any way relevant to the situation with Marshall's mother.

"Marshall?" Mary glanced at him He stared at the ceiling, unmoving.

"What?" his answer came, stilted, into the silence of the guest room.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly. He turned his head to face her and regarded her for a moment, uncertain how to put his thoughts into words. Finally, he replied.

"I just keep thinking… 'I want to go home.' But, I am home… aren't I?" His eyes held a desperate sadness.

"Oh, Marshall…" Mary breathed, a tear slipping to her cheek. He reached up to brush it away. After looking at her a moment more, he rolled onto his side and curled against her. She heard him murmur softly.

"I want to go home, Mare. Please… take me home."

This entire trip, Mary reflected, was one disaster after another. One great, big, hairy, goddamned mess.

It wasn't like she had thought it would be peaches and cream, of course. She had known from the outset that Marshall's father would likely die, that there would be complicated feelings in play, and that Marshall would need her to help him through it all, no matter what came to pass. And what a fabulous job you did there, Mary! she berated herself. You not only failed to even get Marshall there in time to see his dad, you also managed to let him drink himself stupid and fight with his brothers, and then you just had to screw him on top of it. And when it comes to the icing on the proverbial cake, you then discovered a horrible family secret and caused him to have a huge fight with his mom…

And here they were, driving back to Albuquerque. Though neither of them had slept well, Marshall had them heading down the dirt road at sunup, though Mary had once more insisted on taking the wheel. While she was only a bit tired, Marshall was exhausted and prone to distraction. Mary questioned the wisdom of leaving with so much unresolved, but Marshall's will wouldn't be moved, and so, they drove. Marshall stared out the window until lack of sleep and the strain of the week overtook him, and he began to doze. Mary fervently hoped he would be able to rebuild his relationship with his mother, but she knew there was little chance of that until the woman confessed to his brothers the truth of their father's last year of life. She had a feeling the frequent phone calls to Mom were going to be on hold indefinitely.

The only thing that had worked out remotely well over the past few days was the fact that, because Marshall's brothers had been so drunk the night of the fight and Marshall had gotten away from it largely unmarked, the two of them thought they had beaten the crap out of each other. Other than that, Mary worried this trip might have done more harm than good. Looking back on the previous evening, she wondered how Marshall would be able to begin picking up the pieces.

Mary huffed in dissatisfaction, tightening her grip on the steering wheel as the road behind them blurred into the horizon. She sucked down convenience store coffee and listened to the thrumming of the engine and the sound of her partner's breathing as he fitfully slept. She hated how rough the week had been for him, hated that she had felt powerless in the face of events beyond her control, events that had run Marshall over like road kill. She took a deep breath and blew it out; maybe, with the return to more comfortable surroundings, she and Marshall could start finding their way back to normal.

The open road stretched all the way to Albuquerque, and Mary let it lead them home.

Author's Note: This chapter is brought to you by an author who is sick, had a dentist appointment, got a flat tire, and still wrote this for you. Consider it my thanks for the wonderful reviews you've given me! Next time on Unintended Consequences: Marshall deserves a little down time, don't you think? I'm feeling some fluff coming on. =)