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Oh Marshall, you'll never understand Mary!
32 weeks
Marshall fiddled with his fingers when he woke up that morning, wondering what the day would have in store. Everything was going quite well. Mary was in the shower, Norah had already been picked up by Mark and there were no witnesses being instated today, if Stan and him could help it.
There were no court dates or appearances to be made by either one of the Inspectors, no con men awaiting another bite at the WITSEC apple. And Marshall had hid her glock. Granted, it was only strapped to his ankle. If there were any dire emergencies where Mary did indeed need to use the force of a firearm, he'd have it in her hands in a jiffy, but he did not intend for any situation of the sort to occur.
He laid her clothes out on the bed and slipped on his own jacket. He knew she would give him hell for it when she got out, but he was just looking for any way to put less stress on his wife. Less stress, no contractions. That was his mindset.
He itched at the unusually larger weapon on his leg, unused to the weight. It hid well underneath his slacks, but he would have to figure a way of walking without the uneven lean. Marshall had told Mary as per, (a made up) WITSEC rule, her gun would have to be placed in her desk drawer before they left the office every evening. He had begun to enforce the rule just a week ago, hoping she wouldn't catch on if he rendered his façade work related. In every way it was work related- if he thought about it. Ronnie was responsible for every last second of that God awful day. The chunks of glass embedded in his head, the run-away bride and the pre-term labor. Who's to say Brandi wouldn't have gone through with her marriage if Mary had been there to calm the nerves of the quaking bride-to- be? But, perhaps the early arrival of Norah was a reason for their companionship now.
Perhaps that faithful day where instinct was to protect Mary rather than Detective Chaffee was a turning point. Perhaps, Marshall being caught soothing his partner in his arms while she panted and moaned was a deciding factor of Abigail's departure. It would have stung him if he had been her. He couldn't imagine how that must have felt, walking into a mutual friend's hospital room to find your fiancé cradling another woman in his arms.
And then there were those weeks afterward. Marshall rushing off to Mary in the wee hours of the morning to assist with the wailing Norah, coming home exhausted to a frisky Abigail to disappoint her by passing out for a few hours, only to return to Mary's home a little after midnight. Marshall could have stopped, but at the end of the day, he found himself miserable in the silence of his own sanctum. With Norah and bantering with Mary he was out of this world content. Abigail figured it out, unreasonably she begged him to choose. Naturally, that couldn't happen, he realized with an aching feeling of defeat. Marshall proceeded to kick himself to the curb, showing up on Mary's doorstep. He smiled,
"I'll always choose you." He had said when she answered the door.
Marshall sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Come on Mare! We're gonna be late!"
Silence, he no longer heard the shower running. "I heard Delia is making those muffins you like, you know, those ones with the mocha frosting!" He smiled, thinking that would most definitely have her up and out of the bathroom. Even though her bump slowed her down a bit, if food or gunfire was involved she could move real fast.
He shuddered, gun fire… Not something he wanted on his brain right now.
"Mary? Everything all right? Do you need any assistance?" he called, inching closer to the bathroom door.
She emerged, like a couple weeks prior steamy and dripping. This time she was covered with a towel. "How the hell would you assist me creepo?" She snapped, running her fingers through her wet hair.
"I was just making- forget it." He stopped himself. "It doesn't matter."
Mary gulped, wiping at her eyes. Once again, he stopped himself from asking her if anything was the matter. "Whatever Doofus. Take a chill pill, this kid isn't going anywhere." Mary gestured to her middle. She trembled a little bit over her last sentence which Marshall chose to ignore.
"Okay." He replied. "Let me just get out of your way!" Marshall kicked one of Norah's toys to the corner of the room so she wouldn't trip on her way out and closed the door behind him, allowing her privacy.
He grabbed a few bottles of water from the refrigerator, pouring a couple into an icy water bottle for his wife and sliding them into his lunch cooler.
"Hey Mare?!" He yelled from the kitchen. "Do you want carrot sticks or grapes for your mid- morning snack?"
"French Fries?" she called from the hallway, brushing her hair out as she waddled her toward him. They both knew she was joking, or Marshall at least hoped that much.
He looked up to roll his eyes, smiling when he caught sight of what she was wearing. She was sporting a red maternity top, accenting her protrusion nicely and a pair of dress pants Marshall had shamelessly purchased a week ago after Mary had complained nothing fit her anymore. After many different ways of claiming she was horse, he couldn't bare it any longer. Once she had fallen asleep on the sofa (a normal occurrence these days) he snuck off to the nearest department store in search of Mary friendly maternity attire. He got lucky, finding just a few pairs of professional work pants along with some blouses. He came home with a fair amount of bags for such a rushed and spontaneous trip. It was worth the scolding.
"No fried foods… hypertension Mary, hypertension" he warned.
"Yeah yeah, save me the depressing medical spiel and let's get moving!" Mary rested her two hands where her hips were supposed to be, rubbing at what Marshall figured was her most tender areas on her lower back. He noted it in his mind for later this evening.
"After you." He smirked, gesturing toward the door.
As they were walking out, he wasn't expecting her to go tumbling down to the floor. "MARY!?" But it was too late, before he had a chance to drop their things and grab her she was on the ground, sprawling and struggling to reach her feet again.
"Jesus Christ!" she howled. "How the hell did a toy get way the hell over here!?" She still wasn't upright and Marshall was in too much shock to move just yet. "Hey doofus! Wanna give me some help down here!?" She looked up at him accusingly, why he felt guilty for her tripping over one of Norah's play things he hadn't a clue. He felt guilty for a lot recently. Her swollen ankles, her racing heart, her increased body temperature and the seemingly unbearable backaches felt like all his fault. She wouldn't share the blame until their little girl was safe and sound in her arms. He knew that. Everything had changed when Norah was born, this baby would be no different. Mary would pretend for as long as she could that nothing would change until the day their daughter came into this world.
"Are you okay?" He asked, trying to resist the urge to hold her tight as he lifted her into his arms to steady her.
"I'm fine! Why her goddamn blocks are near the doorway I'll never know. Mark didn't even have the courtesy to pick them up?!" She rubbed at her side. "Ah crap, now she won't stop moving!"
"Don't get too riled up. If you calm down so will the baby. Take some deep breaths."He suggested softly.
Mary shot him a glare.
"I'm not in labor, I tripped. Ease up Marshall, God!" She scooped her bag from the floor that he had dropped in the process of getting her back to her feet and stomped out to the car.
He took the deep breath even though he wasn't the one who needed it.
The entire car ride had Mary flustered. First, the radio was all static and the station going in and out several times had her cussing. Once she was done spouting hateful remarks about Marshall's stereo system, she went to the uncharacteristic traffic clogging the streets just a few miles from the Sunshine Building. "How is this even possible?" she hollered. "Where are these people even coming from?! Get the hell outta my town!" She complained put the cracked window of SUV.
"This isn't your town, you come for New Jersey." He teased, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Yeah well, it's been my town long enough! Look at these boneheads.. Clogging my streets with their car wrecks and irresponsibility!"
He couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. "Did you knock your head with that fall this morning?" he questioned.
"No. Jeez Marshall, can't I vent to you?" she complained. "I could be telling you how it reeks of gym socks in this crap mobile, but instead I've picked a topic much to your interest! This shit is political; we're a hell hole now that what's his face has been you know for this long."
He bit his tongue. No use correcting her, she gave it the good ole' mediocre Mary Shannon try.
"I'm not really in the mood to discuss political tastes with you right now." He said kindly, clenching the steering wheel with both hands. She knew he got all riled up when he was caught up in any discussions on government. The usually mellow Marshall Mann was passionate and then some about the country he was indebted to, and the city he dwelled in. She was egging him on and she knew it.
"Damn, uptight much?" She scoffed, crossing her arms angrily.
Marshall couldn't take it any longer. "Excuse me for trying to keep you calm! You know very well I am praying for anything but a repeat of Norah's birth. Why can't you just work with me?" He hadn't meant for his words to be so crudely said, but he couldn't help the fear turning into anger because of her nonchalance and collected attitude toward something he thought to be so serious. "I don't understand how you can be so ignorant of the facts right in front of you!" He continued through gritted teeth, his eyes staring straight ahead at the back bumper of the vehicle in front of them.
It was quiet for an excruciatingly painful amount of time. It seemed like forever for the both of them before she had the courage to say what she had to say. "I'm scared to death." She answered with a whisper, her eyes teary and sad. "This morning I- I was so afraid to start the day I sat on the bathroom floor for twenty minutes. Afraid to move… to breathe even." Mary replied in a low voice, breathy and terrified. "I mean, what if today is just like Norah's birthday? What if that happens again? It isn't such a ridiculous notion, that's the job. That's what I do." She was looking down in what used to be her lap. "I cried." She admitted. "This morning, while you were waiting, I cried." Mary sighed, clearly struggling to begin again. "I don't know why either… and when I fell, I almost did then too." She looked over at him, her expression pleading and her legs restless.
Marshall softened his gaze and looked her in the eye. "I've told you a million times. Everything is going to be fine."
"Yeah, and I'm sick of hearing it!" Her voice grew louder, not quite a yell. "You can't promise me things like that. You know better." She said adamantly, breaking the stare between them.
"Mare, what happened the day Norah came into this world was nothing but a freak accident. You know the job just as well as I do. It's dangerous. That's why both of us are behind a desk today. Stan said if you get restless I can take you as far as the outskirts of Albuquerque to do updates with our model witnesses. No real adventures, no real action." He soothed. "Just give the desk job a couple of weeks. Delia is learning the ropes with your cases, and Charlie is… trying with mine. Needless to say, Stan will need to help him along with a few, but there is no need to worry." He rested his hand on her knee. "Now, I'm going to say this one final time. Mary Shannon, you are thirty two weeks along, there are two whole months before we get to meet our baby. Got it?" He asked softly.
"Got it." She wiped at her face and then her expression hardened when the sound of a car horn pierced their ear drums, startling the both of them. "C'mon Marshall, don't be that dick that holds up the whole line!" she scolded, gesturing to the empty car links nearly a mile ahead of them. "Christ, how am I going to show my face in the morning commute ever again?" she questioned sarcastically.
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