A/N: I'm glad I had some folks like the last chapter! I was worried, but it seems it went over well! Hope you all are into the next one, because it is fairly high drama. Remember what I said up-front about one-shots being hard to write because they need to be on such a broad end of the spectrum to be interesting – cheesy-silly-goofy, sappy-sugar-sweet, or super emotional LOL!

Don't read the author's notes at the bottom if you are completely spoiler-free for the actual show!

XXX

Twenty Months, June:

It was surprisingly pleasant for early June, Mary thought as she attempted a bout of frolicking with Marshall and Sam in the backyard. Sam was perfectly comfortable in his overalls and red T-shirt, for once not whining and trying to undo the straps. It was a rare joint day off, and Mary mostly stood aside as Marshall tried to improve Sam's coordination by tossing him a ball in the grass.

"Here it comes, sheriff…!" he called, swinging the sphere back and forth between his legs while Sam wiggled around about five feet away in anticipation. "You ready?"

Sam's little tongue was poking between his teeth and his hair was all windswept. Mary reached over for about the sixth time to get it out of his eyes. It needed a trimming and the curls were rapidly becoming wilder and wilder.

"Ally-oop!" Marshall called.

He mocked flinging the ball straight up in the air, which definitely fooled Sam. His blue eyes journeyed straight to the sky, matching its vibrant clearness. When there was nothing to see, he turned slowly back to Marshall. He was jiggling the ball enticingly with a silly smirk on his face.

"Sam, I teased you!" his dad called, and Mary was hard-pressed not to smile as her son giggled feverishly at being taken in.

"Don't let him do that, Smush," his mother knelt beside him to whisper in his ear. "You have to show him who's boss."

Sam blinked a few times at having her so close, but nodded his head as though he understood, or at least understood Mary wanted him to do something. She remembered questions usually worked better to garner a response, so she re-worded.

"Do you think you can get it?" she asked.

He didn't know what that meant, but just as Mary had hoped, he recognized the inquiry, the tone of voice.

"Yeah!" he declared, bouncing up and down on the heels of his feet so erratically he fell back onto his butt into the grass.

"Whoa…!" Mary laughed as he came down with a thump. She hoisted him up under his arms without giving him a chance to do it himself, "Reel it in a little, sheriff. Save it for the majors."

"Okay Sam…" Marshall called, unable to hear either one of them from his position. "No hoodwinking this time…" he decided. "Get ready."

Mary wanted to take her boy's hand to ensure he wouldn't topple over again, but settled for an anchor around his back, just barely touching.

"One…" Marshall began.

Mary didn't miss the opportunity to infuse.

"Sam, what comes after one?" she whispered.

No answer. She'd been trying, just a little too overenthusiastically, to teach him a few things since he was nearing the twenty-four months mark. Marshall had obliged her nagging to a reasonable point, but often had to rein her in when she became overzealous.

"Two…" Marshall began to swing his arm back and forth again.

Sam sprung up and down a few more times, knocking Mary's hand aside trying to prepare himself.

"Three!" her husband bellowed.

He mocked a very hard serve, but in reality popped it to his son with the lightest of tosses. Sam, predictably, flung out his arms to grab too late and the ball bounced into his chest. Feeling the smack, he fumbled all over, arms waving in every direction and knocked the ball upward into his face. This prompted a delighted giggle and Mary managed to slip her fingers in at just the right time before it hit the ground, shoving it into Sam's arms.

"Sam, you caught it!" Marshall fabricated outrageously, holding up his own hands in triumph. "You caught it!"

Sam looked satisfyingly surprised and turned to Mary with his sweet, perpetual little smile.

"Mama, caw't," he gurgled proudly, muddying the term. "Caw't ball…"

"Of course you did," Mary assured him, rumpling up his hair which was all over the place. "Gonna be a fielder someday."

"Mare, do you hear that?" Marshall stood up all the way while Mary was feeding their son chock-full of lies.

Listening to this, she did the same and shook her head.

"Hear what?"

Marshall obviously wasn't convinced and left his stance in the grass, stepping over to the patio to peer through the glass. This upset Sam, who began to fuss at his game ending so abruptly.

"No play!" he protested, standing on tiptoe and trying to yank the hem of Mary's shirt. "No play!"

"Calm down…" Mary murmured absently, shoving him back.

"There's someone at the door," Marshall reported, squinting at the glare the sun was casting on the windowpane. "I can't see who – just the shape through the frosted glass…"

He was about to go inside and investigate but Mary, bumming off Sam, strode over to stop him.

"Stay and play with him," she instructed, jerking her head at Sam who was rapidly ascending into a wail. "He's gonna blow a fuse if you leave."

Recognizing the truth of her words, Marshall agreed and went back to Sam, scooping up the ball on his way. He claimed they were going to stand further apart now; he was going to make it harder. Mary could hear Sam abandon his tears almost at once as she slid open the door and went back in the house.

In the brief moments while she made her way there, she couldn't help hoping it didn't have anything to do with work. Strictly speaking, witnesses couldn't know where she lived. In very special, very rare cases where the poor sap really was in the program of nothing to do with their own volition, Marshall would give them up as a support system. But for the most part, they were to stay ambiguous.

Yet, when she undid the deadbolt and tugged at the knob, the face on the other side was far worse than that of the former criminal.

Or, maybe it was worse. Because that face made her think of the illegal and unlawful individuals; the illegal and unlawful individual she yearned for the most. The lasting faux-virtuousness in his features; the light, fair beard that combed his cheeks and chin. And the eyes – the cobalt quality was completely uncanny, and also the most frightening.

"What the hell are you doing here?" was Mary's response to Scott, the half-brother to whom she did not want to share even a portion, let alone the whole thing.

And then, before he could even respond, "Brandi doesn't live here anymore. She has her own place."

She wondered if he already knew this, if he knew about Peter and Jesse too. She had no idea; Brandi had certainly become intelligent enough not to mention him if they were still in touch. She knew Mary wanted their distance kept.

"I've already been to see Brandi," he claimed. "Just a little while ago."

"Are you two still girlfriends?" Mary decided she might as well ask. "Gossiping about the woes and tragedies of being a Shannon. Or whatever the hell it is you are," she couldn't remember Scott's last name, whatever fake identity James had chosen to foist on his second family.

"No," he told her. "Not until today anyway. I came because…"

Mary knew why he'd come, or she could venture a pretty good guess. She just didn't want him to say it. Until now, this had felt like the first day she hadn't thought about him – about her father – since he'd died. She knew there had been others, that they'd come and gone, but the absence of dwelling was suddenly smacking her very hard. It was worse when she forgot to remember.

"Because I just found out," he concluded awkwardly. "About our father."

Mary wouldn't step aside so he could come in.

"Nice work Clouseau," she muttered waspishly. "Only took you two months."

It wasn't as if she'd wanted him around during that time anyway. She wanted him around now even less, with her throat closing up and the familiarity, the rawness and freshness of James' death settling heavily over her once more.

"Nobody told me!" a little bit of indignation worked its way in. "Me or Lauren or…" he'd been about to reveal his second sister's name when Mary shut him up.

"How were we supposed to?" she wanted to know, sticking a hand on her hip. "Where the hell do you even live?"

"In Miami!" he insisted. "You know that!"

"Since when?" Mary wrinkled her nose in that expert way she always did.

"Well, Brandi knows," he rectified. "I may move around a bit for work but I have a place in Miami…"

"A bit for work," Mary scoffed, still blocking his path.

She had no idea how much he knew about Marshall or Sam and she never, ever wanted him to find out. It was essential she keep him at bay. Internally, her mind was buzzing wondering what Brandi had done when Scott had come to call. She was far easier influenced than Mary and the elder sister was not convinced this was mere loneliness that had Scott on her doorstep. He wanted something.

"Yes, for work," he projected with false-confidence. "Day-trading…"

A second sneer, "How's that going for you?"

The brief poise fell away almost instantly as Scott shuffled his shoes and looked sheepish.

"Not so good…"

"Color me surprise," Mary snapped heartlessly.

Visibly, Scott had the urge to defend himself even if it wasn't worth a damn thing to Mary, and touting his job wasn't going to do it. Attempting to make nice, he sighed and leaned his hand on the doorframe.

"Do you mind if I come in?" he asked. "Because I…"

"Yes," Mary interrupted sharply, speaking right over him. "I do mind."

He went silent, sighing again and shifting off the frame. He rubbed the side of his temple in agitation and the gesture about catapulted Mary off the edge of the cliff she was so close to falling over. He looked so much like him. It was terrifying; it was so scary Mary could hardly handle it. Her emotions, already so close to the surface since James had died, were going to bubble and boil in excess.

"I don't want you showing up at my house," she informed him directly, poking her finger in his chest.

She knew if she kept her voice up Marshall would come in. She wasn't sure if she wanted this or not. What she wanted, more than anything, was for Scott to leave. She could feel herself becoming a wreck; she'd rarely felt this out-of-control with emotions and it was as frightening as everything else.

"You have your sisters," she went on snidely. "Leave me be and stay the hell away from Brandi."

She had to protect Brandi. She was too young – upwards of thirty-six, but still – to know how to tell him no. She craved family and connections and Mary refused to let her get mixed up with this poser. This spitting image.

"Brandi wanted to get to know me before you came along," he accused pitifully. "You don't want me – fine. But don't go making her decisions for her."

"Why are you here?" Mary spat to counteract this. "What do you want?"

Her voice had climbed to an unnatural level and she was inches from his face, willing him off her porch and out the door. She had no desire for him to see her become a mess and she knew it was coming.

"Our father is dead!" he declared boldly, nearly spitting on her they were so close and Mary felt her heart splinter into painful, jagged shards at the words. "I miss him the same as you!"

"You do not miss him the same as me!" this was too much. "You don't know a Goddamn thing about him; you thought he was some sugar-sweet Willy Wonka for Christ's sake!"

"He loved us!" Scott insisted, forcing himself to back up but not leave. "Me and Lauren and Ashley!"

It was then that Mary heard the back door, heard the step of Marshall's boots on the kitchen linoleum but she was immersed and couldn't turn around. She felt, vaguely, how flushed her cheeks were, that they were slick with wetness but she was so confused.

She didn't want anything to do with Scott but his resemblance, his similarities to James so soon after the accident was yanking – tugging, pulling, choking – her heartstrings.

"He did love us!" Scott was still shouting even as Marshall dashed over, putting Sam to the floor to investigate. "You can't admit that – you never could!"

"Who is this?"

"He loved you like he loved the rest of us!"

Jinx.

"Mary, what the hell is going on?"

"He chose us!" was the last cry that came from this supposed brother. "Not you! Us!"

Mary couldn't stop the hand that flung out and shoved him – hard – in the chest. He staggered, but she obviously hadn't hurt him and Marshall had grabbed her so fast she spun too. She even fought him; she was so desperate to get at Scott.

"Mary!" Marshall shouted in his best Marshal voice. "Mary, stop it!" he had to pull her in at the elbows so she wouldn't retaliate. "Enough!"

She finally wrenched herself free and out of the doorway – done, finished. Sam was screaming, wailing and bawling at the top of his lungs in the middle of the living room but she couldn't bring herself to comfort him. She was outside herself, outside her body. What was she thinking? What had she done?

The rest came in a blur.

"Who are you?" she just barely heard Marshall in a dangerously low voice. And fainter still, "Are you a witness?"

"What…?" Scott was dazed from being pushed. "No. I'm Scott. I'm…"

Marshall did not need to know anything else and immediately cut him off.

"Scott, I would think even you would be intelligent enough to realize that this is not the best time and I would strongly advise you leave while you still have all your limbs," he warned distinctly. "We have nothing here of use to you. Now, kindly get off the lawn and try not to tread in the flowers on your way out."

Scott huffed for a moment before he saw that there was nothing else to be done and sauntered down the walk, into some junk heap of a car, and drove out of sight.

Marshall shut the door quickly and even though he knew things that waited behind weren't pleasant, he was startled to turn and find that Mary was in complete disarray. A total wreck, demolished, reduced to rubble. Her sobbing and heaving mixed very crudely with Sam, who was just all-out howling at the loud noise and confusion.

Although Marshall knew it was essential he tend to his son – and soon – he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Mary like this. But there was something to be said for it; despite grieving her father's death, she'd never done the full-on cleanse. She'd shed her tears and voiced her doubts, but fear of Marshall's opinion, Brandi becoming a new mother, all of it had forced her to move on. He guessed seeing Scott at the door had finally given her the final push and she'd come apart.

"Mary…" he intoned so quietly he found it very likely she did not hear.

Stepping up to her, he was certain he'd have to guide her into his embrace, but he didn't. As soon as he was close enough, she all-but collapsed into him, burying her face in the shelter of his chest so she wouldn't have to face the outside world. The unmistakable sobs issuing from his wife broke his heart, but he knew it was better not to say anything. He just let her burrow and just let her cry, running one hand up and down her back.

After several minutes, the room reverberating with the mixture of mutual unhappiness from mother and son, Mary finally spoke in thick and muddled tones.

"I thought it was him…" she just barely pulled back, Marshall almost unable to understand. "I forgot he was gone and I thought it was him…" she went on recklessly. "Just for a second – just for a flash – I saw that face and I've pictured that face so many times on my doorstep…"

Marshall could tell she was feeling guilty as well as grief-stricken. Tears still streaming, he kissed the crown of her head, then her temple, and finally her cheek, hoping the tenderness would calm her.

"He's not coming back…" she wept.

"I know, babe," was the best he could do, still rubbing her back.

"It was easier before he was dead…" she shook her head, treading a few steps further away. "It was easier to pretend…"

Marshall understood the logic in this, but Sam had reached tornado-siren-status and had graduated to clutching his beloved stuffed horse while he plopped on the floor and sobbed.

"Mare, I'm gonna have to get him…" Marshall conceded. "He's frightened…"

Mary nodded shakily; hardly daring to believe they'd managed to ignore him this long and also knowing it was her and her theatrics that was scaring their son. With this shame came another, knowing she should not have laid a hand on Scott – for any reason, but especially with Sam nearby.

"Come on buddy…" Marshall lifted Sam off the floor, which must've deafened him when his open mouth passed by his ear. "It's all right pal…"

Mary watched as Marshall did his best to comfort their manic child, who was going beet red and breathless in all the chaos. Sam flailed at first, but slowly settled his cries into Marshall's chest just as Mary had done. His dad bounced him lightly, speaking softly and murmuring in his ear.

"Shh…" he soothed. "Who's my sweet Sam…?" he asked in that beautiful, wonderful way he did.

He whimpered and hiccupped coming down off the wave, but his huge watery eyes were with Mary, who was still a mess although she'd quieted down a little bit. Sam was obviously more perceptive than his mother gave him credit for, because he fussed all over again seeing her as such.

Marshall was clearly determined not to go down that road.

"No-no…" he whispered calmly, venturing over to his wife. "It's okay – mama's okay…" he promised.

Sam was close enough to see for himself now, but maintained that fretful gaze on Mary's weepy face.

"See – mama's okay…" Marshall reinforced. "Take him, Mare…" her husband had to remind her.

This was as good an idea as any, and Mary accepted her son as Marshall passed him into her arms. This was evidently a perfect remedy. Sam sighed almost at once, contented and crashed knowing Mary had not entirely transformed and cooed sweetly, rolling his head onto her shoulder.

She patted his back a little harder than she would've done ordinarily, but he was all hiccupy and running out of air. She liked the feeling of his head beside hers, the way his hair fluttered onto her cheek.

"Sit down…" Marshall suggested quietly. "Sit…"

Mary didn't know what else to do, so she sat, still clutching Sam and he sprawled down her upper body with the drop. Marshall settled himself beside them, putting his arm around Mary who was still sniffling pretty well. But she had to be a mom now.

"I'm sorry bud…" she murmured, rocking him just a little like he was newborn again. "I'm sorry…"

She felt Marshall squeeze her shoulder, but she still felt badly for having let her feelings take precedence over her son's. Just fifteen minutes before they'd been fine; they'd been fooling around in the backyard on a gorgeous summer day. How could the switch have come on so abruptly?

Mary took her turn at sighing, fingering her way through Sam's hair, and he eventually wiggled down on her chest so he could turn his head to look at Marshall. Marshall himself found the pair of them quite a sight, and Sam just looked so melancholy for a boy so young.

He wondered if cheering him up would go anywhere toward doing the same for Mary.

"Saaaammm…" he whispered enticingly. "You want to play our special game of Sam-Bam?"

It was such a dumb name for something that was really not a game at all, but one of Mary's convoluted schemes to pack their son with knowledge. The belief from their general public was that Marshall was the one who was concerned with his intelligence, but he simply spouted in hopes it would rub off. Mary was much more obsessed with making sure he actually got it, and he was far too young for them to worry about it.

"Sam, where's your nose?" Marshall asked, pretending to be lost and pondering with his hand on his chin.

Mary seemed to be zoning out and Sam wasn't fooled. He shook his head.

"No nose…" he buried his face in Mary's chest. "No nose…"

This was code for, 'I'm far too sorrowful to bother with your childish antics' Marshall thought.

"Oh, silly!' his dad reached and poked him in the arm. "You do so have a nose! I don't know where mine is! I need your help!"

Mary didn't speak, but nudged Sam in his shoulder to get him to unearth. When he did, he was trying to hold fast to grumpy, but daddy's approval often kept him from succumbing.

Slowly, Sam considered and then raised a tiny finger to his face uncertainly. He was a little off, and his nail landed more underneath his eye but, wordlessly, Mary guided it across to his nose.

"Bam Sam!" Marshall called, placing his palm on his boy's honker like he was pushing a button.

He gave a reluctant grin at this. He liked the rhyme and the enthusiasm with which Marshall said it.

"Okay now…" Marshall was boosted and decided to continue if Mary was going to be so quiet with Sam sprawled out on her torso. "Where are Sam's eyes?"

He often had trouble with this one. Marshall immediately decided to help him out in hopes that it would make Mary smile. He shut his lids and stuck his hands out in front of him, groping blindly.

"I can't see – I can't see!" he blundered dramatically. "Where are my eyes?"

A giggle erupted from their boy and just as Marshall cocked one blue orb to watch, Sam blinked furiously in answer. He instantly turned shy after doing so, leaning into Mary again and trying to hide from his dad with a coy, soft smile.

Marshall gasped and placed his hands over his eyes and re-opened them like he was playing peek-a-boo.

"Bam Sam!"

Now not wanting to be left out, "Bam," he repeated, although lacking a little gusto.

"Wham-bam…" Marshall reinforced, tickling his fingers up and down his back.

Mary was still silent, and still very teary-eyed, just letting the goofiness go on around her, not going to be swayed into false happiness. She'd been hit and she'd been hit hard, and Marshall was dismayed.

Regardless, he pressed on.

"Where's your belly, Sam?"

'Belly' was one of his favorite words, and one Marshall knew he would grasp. He could entertain himself for hours with such a phrase if you just asked; he'd go around the room pointing out everyone's belly with great passion. Mary, once so amused with this affinity, had left him nearly-alone with Jesse one afternoon so he could poke his belly. Jesse had only been about the size of a loaf of bread, only stirring a few times from getting prodded in the stomach.

As it was, Sam shifted onto his side so Mary had to anchor him with her arm and patted one hand sound on his tummy like a drum with a very genuine grin.

"Belly!"

Marshall was quick as he stuck his finger in his son, circa the Pillsbury Doughboy.

"Bam Sam!"

A giddy laugh, "Bam-bam!" And then, "More-more!"

"Okay…" Marshall sighed. "One more…"

He wanted to talk to Mary and now that Sam was chilling out, hopefully he could taper their game off and get him busy while he tended to his very shaken wife.

"This one's tough…" he decided, wiggling his eyebrows for entertainment.

It still surprised him, to this day, that Mary had included this in her list when she'd made up this little game. But he couldn't argue with it.

"Where's your heart?"

Sam was purposefully stumped. Marshall could tell by the way he frowned and turned sullen again that he disapproved of this question and wanted a better one. But Marshall kept his eyebrows arched, maintaining contact with his boy, and drew a circle around his chest to give him an idea. He kept tracing in midair as the moments passed and Sam's comprehension dawned.

But when the surly look faded away, he still looked just a little bit perplexed. And Marshall was astonished to see him; eyes still with his father, stretch and place his pudgy fingers on Mary's ribcage. He just sat there, poised in action waiting for Marshall to tell him he was right.

The father was initially too touched to bother, but immediately realized he needed to keep it together because Mary had welled-up completely, shutting her eyes against the tears.

"Well…that's actually mama's heart…" he eventually whispered.

Sam merely pouted that the game had ended on such a low note and Marshall thought perhaps it was safe to detach him from Mary and put him to the ground. He tolerated this and immediately toddled off for his toys.

Marshall wasted no time scooting over and pulling Mary back into his embrace. She rested her head inside his shoulder, less out-of-control but tears still gushing from her eyes. It was making them burn; she couldn't believe she'd let herself get sucked in so severely. He was gone – of course he was gone. How on earth could she have forgotten?

"I shouldn't have hit him…" was her random remark while Marshall stroked her hair.

"No," Marshall agreed calmly above her. "You definitely should not have. But I heard him, and there was no reason for him to speak to you that way."

"He was upset…" she claimed, hardly daring to believe she was sticking up for Scott. "And out-of-the-loop…"

"Yes," Marshall was likely to agree with anything. "This is true."

Mary exhaled as she shuddered and Marshall held her tighter, continuing his soothing movements while Sam's precious babble sounded in the background.

"I don't know what's going on with me…" Mary blundered on, muffled from being huddled inside of Marshall. "I thought I was over it…" she assumed. "It's been two months…"

"There's no right way or right time to grieve," Marshall stated philosophically. "This was a trigger."

The word made her think of Jinx, and she recalled she'd fallen back on those words of her mother's earlier.

"But I already did the whole…" she shook her head with what little room she had. "Fall to pieces, blubber uncontrollably, and ship it out…"

"Not really," Marshall finally disagreed. "You told me how you felt and you got upset, but we were away and you were self-conscious and then Jesse came along…" he reminded her. "You brushed past it; you found a way but…"

"I get it," Mary sighed, but without disdain. "I guess."

She pulled away and wiped at her eyes, straying to Sam playing by himself on the floor with some of his horses and trucks. She was becoming more humiliated with every passing second, and Marshall obviously sensed it.

"Mary, there's nothing wrong with it," he declared boldly. "It's not a weakness. At all."

Mary was not entirely reassured and did not feel much better, which was something Marshall rarely failed to do. Unfortunately, she had no opportunity to respond to what he'd said because her phone started buzzing on the coffee table. She sighed again and pushed her hair out of her face, picking it up to see who it was.

"Brandi…"

"You sure you're up to it right now?" Marshall wanted to know.

Mary shrugged, knowing she would have to be. Brandi would continue to call until she got her, and it was highly likely she wanted to discuss Scott and bawl over him too. Might as well get it over with now.

"Hey," the older sister said flatly as she answered and Marshall slid off the couch to join Sam.

"Oh Mary…" Brandi didn't even bother with a greeting and launched right in. "I really wish I'd been able to call earlier. Scott's in town…"

"I know," Mary cut her off. "He was just here."

There was an enormous, tearful huff of air from the other end of the phone that issued out of Brandi.

"Mary, I told him not to go over there."

She had?

"What?" Mary was skeptical. "Why?"

"Because he was here and he wanted to borrow money…" she shared with a swallow. "And I didn't want him going to you and asking for the same thing, especially with Sam there…"

Mary was floored her sister had managed to be this considerate, and couldn't form the words to speak before Brandi was defending herself straight out of the box.

"Mary, I swear I didn't give him any."

The oddest, strangest, almost maternal pride soared from Mary's chest and it was the weirdest sensation mingling with her misery.

"I wanted to…"

Okay, the pride tapered a little.

"But I just didn't think I should," Brandi rationalized. "I don't know what he's going to do with it, especially when he never paid me – well, I guess Peter – back last time, and I haven't a clue where he's been all this time…"

She sighed dramatically once more before going on.

"I feel kind of bad though," she admitted in a small voice. "I hope he's not in trouble."

Mary suspected this was exactly the case, but knew she would never get anywhere with Brandi if she didn't go completely overboard on the praise.

"Squish, you did the right thing."

Had she ever said that to Brandi before in her life?

"You can't be feeding him when you have Jesse to think about…" she reminded her. "He'll figure it out; he's got two other sisters. Much as I hate to admit it, Lauren seemed pretty together…"

"Yeah," Brandi conceded. "I know. I've kind of been wanting to see him since…" there was an awkward pause while Mary waited. "Well, since dad and everything…" she worked in. "But I didn't like it…"

And then. Because Brandi was so good at wearing emotions on her sleeve.

"I like it better when it's just us."

Mary was going to start bawling all over again, and Marshall looked up from playing with Sam to make sure she was okay. She nodded even though she still felt a little unstable and tried to respond to Brandi.

"Thanks for trying to keep him away Squish," she offered kindly, albeit thickly. "I do appreciate it."

Brandi had undoubtedly heard the tears in her voice, had known what she was doing when she'd told Scott to beat it and leave Mary alone and she wasn't deceived in the least. But she was careful with her words, careful not to let the sentiment and sap overflow and push Mary away.

"Do you and Marshall want to come over for dinner tonight?" she asked casually. "I can call mom and she can come too and hang out with the boys. That way we can…" she fumbled a little, but turned it around. "Talk or, I don't know…"

She knew Mary was not a fan of talking and she might've just spoiled everything.

"Or just eat," she hurried to rectify. "Whatever."

Oddly, this sounded pretty good to Mary. But she knew she shouldn't let Brandi, relatively new-mom and all, put herself out playing hostess, especially since she was not the best cook in the world.

"Why don't you guys just come here?" Mary found herself suggesting.

And as she watched Sam crawl into Marshall's cross-legged lap, pretending to have his battered old horse gallop up and down the pinstripes on his daddy's shirt, the tears returned for a different reason this time. It was the path the horse was taking, right over his chest, right over his heart.

"I'd rather stay here."

Her heart was here.

A/N: I hope you'll believe me when I say that I wrote this shot WAY before I knew that Scott was going to return in some capacity or another on the show (and tomorrow, at that!) I always thought it was realistic that Mary was faced with the colder, harder truth of her father passing and her resentment toward Scott as well as his resemblance to James would give her that push. Hope it wasn't too theatrical!