a/n: My husband, who thinks I'm the silliest of gooses for writing fan fiction, bought me a laptop for Christmas so that I don't have to be tied to the old, crappy, hard computer chair when I want to write. So, he a) doesn't really think I'm that crazy or b) is trying to get me committed and figures this will foster the insanity. But, I love him anyway! Please excuse my long absence from the story. The last few weeks have been nothing but the flu that never ends being passed around my house. I'm finally coherent enough to focus on what I'm trying to type. I think…

Chapter Thirteen

Mary rolled onto her back, turning her head slightly to see the alarm clock. She groaned as her eyes focused on the red numbers, the time reading almost noon. Carefully getting out of bed, she made her way down the hallway to the bathroom. Mary splashed some cold water over her face. It didn't help with the pain building behind her eyes, but it momentarily calmed the wave of nausea floating over her body. Slowly, she made her way into the kitchen, taking a deep breath as her sister's chipper voice pierced the air.

"Well, good morning, Sleepy Head." Brandi smiled as Mary grumbled her way into the kitchen and sat at the table. "One glass of ice-cold water, two ibuprofen." Brandi set the items on the table in front of Mary and sat down. "How are you feeling today?" she asked with a wide smile.

"I feel like throwing up would be the most blessed thing to ever happen to me," Mary answered. She picked up the ibuprofen and put them in her mouth. "Thanks, Squish."

"So, you and Marshall…" she shrugged.

"What about us?"

"Are you…?"

"Are we what?"

"Do you remember what the two of you were doing when you came home last night?" Brandi asked, eyebrow raised.

"Of course I remember," Mary answered, refusing to look at her sister.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"Mary," Brandi groaned. "Come on. When are you going to see that the two of you are in love?"

"Wow. Could I maybe get past my hangover before you start drilling me about being in love?" Mary took a small drink of the water. "I am not in love with Marshall."

"That's not what you told me last night."

"I was drunk. People say stupid things when they're drunk," she shrugged.

"Well, judging by the way the two of you were kissing…There was some definite heat there, Mary."

"We were drunk. People do stupid things when they're drunk," she shrugged again.

"Mary." Brandi shook her head.

"Look, Brandi, we went out for drinks, as we have done on many, many occasions in the past." Mary closed her hands over the glass. "It's not like this is the first time we've been a little less than sober."

"A little less," Brandi laughed. "Have you ended other nights with a hot and heavy kiss?"

"No."

"Hmm."

"What the hell, Squish? 'Hmm.' What does that mean?"

"Here's an interesting question." Brandi bent her leg, bringing her foot onto the edge of the chair as she ignored Mary's inquiry. She rested her chin on her knee and smiled. "How far would you have gone if I hadn't interrupted?"

Mary shuffled through the papers on her desk with a sigh. She rested her temple against her fist. Her head hurt and, as much as she wished the pain stemmed from a three-day hangover, she knew the cause was seriously over-thinking the kiss she shared with Marshall. People did do stupid things when they were intoxicated; she had a couple of drunken tumbles under her belt that served to prove her point.

But, Mary and Marshall, together, did not do those kinds of things.

Mary looked across the desks at her partner. Marshall understood her disdain for chivalry. Even when her hands were full, he flat-out refused to open the door for her until she asked him to do so. Walking her to the front door was another thing he did only when asked. Once, and, only once, had Mary asked. It was a night just a month after her kidnapping. Mary sensed the change in Marshall's demeanor as the cab had approached her house. She knew he needed to be certain she was safe, if nothing else but for his own sanity, so she allowed his company. There was no reason for Marshall to follow her to her door this time. Unless…

"It's your incessant need to one-up me that keeps the conversation going. I've always wondered how far you'd go, Mare."

Mary shook her head. He was playing her, wasn't he?

"Your turn, Mare. How much provocation do you need?"

She had seized the opportunity with words, issuing a challenge she had been certain he would not take. But…

"Don't say provo-" Marshall's mouth closed over hers again, asking with a dangerous persistence, deliberately slow and thorough, for permission to continue.

…she had been wrong.

"You have to tell me, Mary," he said quietly, his eyes still focused on her mouth. "You have to tell me if you want me to stop." He ran the tip of his finger over her mouth and down along her chin with gentle pressure, parting her lips as he leaned in to kiss her again.

She quickly turned her eyes away from his desk. Marshall spent the morning clearly uncomfortable around her; the teen-age embarrassment thick between the two. Had Marshall followed her to…had he wanted to kiss her?

"Hey," Marshall said quietly from in front of her desk. "Um…Are-are you ready to, uh, go?"

"Yeah," Mary answered. "Let me, uh…" She reached to the floor for her bag then pushed back her chair and stood. "Yeah." She followed Marshall to the door, both reaching for the handle at the same time and quickly pulling back as their hands met. "Sorry," she offered, looking at the floor.

"Sorry." He opened the door. "Um, yeah." Marshall walked through the door, Mary following.

^m*m^

"You have to tell me if you want me to stop."

Why didn't she stop him? Mary bit her bottom lip as she stared out the window. She hadn't been looking for it to happen. She was rather surprised it had occurred. But, once it started, there was no part of her screaming 'stop'. She welcomed the action as though it was perfectly natural for Marshall to be kissing her. Even now, three days later, Mary couldn't say that it had been a mistake. In all of her mulling, she never second-guessed it.

"So…How's it been with Brandi…staying at your…your house?" Mary looked at him.

"Uh, good. Good." She nodded absently and turned her gaze back to the window, the silence once, again, descending over them.

"What color?" Marshall asked after a few minutes.

"What?"

"Of siding?"

"Oh, uh, dark green," Mary answered, looking at her hands. "Brown trim."

"Sounds lovely," he replied, his eyes steadily focused on the road.

"Yeah." Mary dared a quick look at her partner. How many times had Peter and Brandi, Jinx and even Mark told her what she failed to see? Was it really so obvious to everyone? Was she really that oblivious? No, not oblivious. She was scared. And, 'scared' meant denying the signs others pointed out, denying the signs she herself saw. Mary took a slow breath, allowing a sober and proper admittance of the truth to herself. She was indeed in love with Marshall.

"Well, here we are," Marshall announced. His shoulders relaxed a bit, relieved to be leaving the uncouth calm of the SUV. He pulled the key from the ignition, his hands dropping to his lap.

"Right." Mary grabbed the door handle, but did not pull, simply staring at her fingers. She didn't move; he didn't move. "Marshall?" she asked quietly. He reached towards her, gently folding his fingers over her free hand.

"If you're all right, we're all right," he assured her quietly. She met his eyes.

"Okay. For now?" Marshall tilted his head in askance. "I-I mean until we can…you know…about all of this later," she explained.

"Right," he nodded. "Later." He released her hand, but continued to hold her eyes. "There has to be a talk this time, Mare."

"I know. There will be."

"Okay," he said softly, nodding again. "Let's go." They exited the SUV and crossed the street. "Surprise visits," he smiled, trying to lighten the mood as they moved along the sidewalk towards the small, yellow house. "I love 'em." Mary smiled softly.

"Yeah, me, too." They climbed the four-step flight of creaky wooden stairs and crossed the small porch to the front door. Marshall knocked lightly as he watched Mary. Her eyes focused downward as she gently kicked the planks of the floor with the toe of her heeled boots.

"Marshall, Mary," greeted a nervous voice. "I wasn't…expecting you."

"Good morning to you, too, Krista. May we come in?" Marshall asked.

"Uh, it's really not a good time…"

"Wrong answer," Mary said, pushing into the house. "Is there something wrong?" she asked as Marshall closed the door behind them.

"No, of course not. Everything is peachy." Krista offered a non-convincing smile. "How-how are the two of you?"

"No time for chit chat, Krista. What's going on?" Krista moved to the middle of the living room, the marshals following.

"Nothing," she answered, turning to face them. Marshall caught her eyes as she uneasily glanced from them to the front door. He moved to the picture window next to the door, pulling the sheer white curtains back just an inch. He reached for his side, fingers wrapping around his firearm, as he saw a man dressed in a black leather jacket approach the house.

"We have company," he said quietly.

"Okay, Krista. Who is it?"

"No one. J-just a friend." Mary watched as Krista's hands met, fingers nervously entwining.

"A friend?" She kept her eyes on Krista but directed her question over her shoulder. "Marshall? Do you panic when your friends come to visit?"

"Only when it's you," he replied calmly, eyes still trained through the glass.

"Jackass." Mary turned back to their witness. "You remember the drill right?" She pointed to herself. "Cousin Mary Miller." She pointed to her partner. "And, her asshole of a husband, Marshall." Krista nodded. "What have you been doing?"

"Gun!" Marshall yelled before Krista could answer Mary's question. He immediately drew his firearm, breaking the glass and returning the shots the man was suddenly sending through the front door. Mary threw her arms around Krista, pulling their bodies to the floor. Marshall watched the man trip over the bottom stair, stilling as his body slid to a slump on the sidewalk. He reached for his phone as he cautiously opened the front door. "Stan, it's Marshall. I need an ambulance and an emergency relocation." Marshall, his gun still trained on the visitor, descended the first two stairs and surveyed the barren front yard and the empty street. "Yeah, Mary can bring her back. I'll stay here." He shoved the phone into his pocket. Satisfied there would be no more surprises, Marshall kicked at the man's hand, receiving no reaction. He reached for his neck, no pulse. Marshall holstered his gun and returned to the house. "He's out, Mary. We're clear."

"Great," Mary said, rolling off Krista with a groan. Marshall knelt on the floor next to Krista. She lay on her back, arm bent to cover the tears flowing from her eyes. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm fine."

"Who was that?" he asked sternly.

"My boyfriend." Krista's hand fell from her eyes and she looked coldly at Marshall. "You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Considering he was prepared to turn you into Swiss cheese…you're welcome." Krista rolled onto her stomach as she tried to rise and Marshall's eyes went wide at the sight of blood on her back.

"Don't move." He pushed her back onto the floor. "Where are you hit?" he asked, reaching to lift up her shirt.

"I'm not," she spat, trying to keep him away from her clothes.

"I forgot, Marshall," Mary hissed from her place on the floor.

"Forgot what, Mare?" he asked, examining Krista's back. Finding no injuries, Marshall sat straight and slowly looked at Mary.

"I forgot…how much it hurts," she answered. He crawled over Krista, dropping his phone by her hand.

"No, no. Mary?" Marshall tugged on Mary's arm, rolling her onto her back. His eyes caught the angry red color soaking into her shirt and he quickly scrambled to remove his suit coat. "Krista, call 911! Tell them we need a second ambulance, officer down." Marshall fumbled with the buttons of his dark blue shirt; certain in his haste that he was ripping the delicate length of thread that secured them to the fabric.

"Mother fucker," Mary whispered.

"It's all right, Mare. The ambulance is on its way." He lifted the hem of Mary's shirt, quickly assessing her injury before pressing his balled shirt against her abdomen. "It's all right."

"Marshall?"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, brushing her hair from her face. "Save your energy, Mare."

"Tell…tell Norah that I-I love her."

"No." Mary met Marshall's eyes and frowned in confusion. "I'm not going to tell her because you're going to do it yourself. Do you hear me? You're going to tell her."

"Marshall…" She lifted her hand to his arm, briefly tightening her fingers. "I lo…I-l…" He felt her hold loosen, her hand fall away. Marshall watched as Mary's eyes rolled and her eyelids fluttered closed.

"No, Mary. Open your eyes." He gently slapped her cheek. "Mary? Damn it! Open your eyes!"

^m*m^

"Oh, Jesus." Marshall ran quickly, catching up to the gurney as the nurses wheeled it through the hallway. He leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Mary's temple; her skin cold beneath his lips. "You need to hang around for a while," he told her. "It's not time to go, yet. Okay? We're going to fix you up."

"Marshall?" He turned towards the scared voice. "Oh, God." Brandi covered her mouth with her hand, tears falling as she noticed the large patch of blood that soaked the lower half of his white t-shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said, gesturing towards his clothing. "I didn't have…" Marshall ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. His shoulders dropped.

"It's okay," she said quietly, walking towards him. "Are you all right? Were you…you hurt?"

"No," he whispered. Brandi lifted her hand to his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For getting my sister to the hospital."

"You know," Marshall started, changing the subject with a clearing of his throat. "You know, we can talk now…"

"Mm-hmm." Mary turned away from him.

"Or we can talk later."

"Mm-hmm," she repeated.

"But, a talk is a-coming."

"I'm fine," she said, meeting his eyes. He sighed loudly, calling her line of bull. "Okay," she conceded. "It's just…When you got shot…" she trailed off.

"Uh-huh," he said, urging her to continue.

"I mean, you probably felt the same way. You know, like you were stuck inside," Mary explained. "Like you couldn't move out of what happened." Marshall watched as her eyes took on a far-away look. "You know, you see it over and over in your head, but none of it makes sense. None of it helps. And, then, the more you think about it, the less clear it gets, so the more you think about it." She looked up at him. "You know?"

"No," Marshall shook his head. "None of that."

"Not a bit?"

"Reason being," he said softly, "when I got shot, my best friend was there for me. Yours wasn't."

"Marshall," Mary scolded.

"My best friend caught the shooter," he continued. "Yours didn't."

"Brandi," Marshall started with a shake of his head. "I don't know…I can't promise that she's…"

"I know." She wrapped her arms around his, slipping her fingers into his hand. "When she comes of out surgery…When," she reiterated. "You need to go talk to her." Marshall frowned as he looked at Brandi. "Do you know what she told me? The first time she was…was shot?" He shook his head. "She told me she could hear you talking to her. And, she had to wake up so she could…" Brandi looked away. "How did she put it? Oh! So she could smack you and stop your 'spewing of useless shit'." Marshall laughed and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, careful not get blood on her clothing.

"Useless shit," he smiled, though sadly. "I can do that."

"Marshall? How's my daughter?" Jinx stopped a few feet away from him, as taken aback by the blood as Brandi had been.

"She's in surgery. That's all I know right now." She took a deep breath before closing the distance between them.

"Were you hurt?" she asked, taking the hand Brandi was not holding.

"No." Silence filled the room, everyone looking at the floor, no one knowing what to say. Marshall wanted anything but the silence, anything to keep his mind from concocting the worst of scenarios, from remembering the past.

"Excuse me. Are you the family of Mary Shannon?" Dr. Bronstein asked as he entered the room.

"Yes," Jinx answered. "I'm her mother."

"Please, sit down." Dr. Bronstein took a seat as everyone else sat. "Ms. Shannon, your daughter suffered significant loss of blood as the result of a gunshot wound to the abdomen. She was in full cardiac arrest when they brought her in." He took a breath. "We did manage to shock her heart back into a somewhat regular sinus rhythm. And, I've clamped off all the bleeding that I can." Marshall turned his head away, fighting back a strong rush of nausea. "But, before we can attempt any further surgery, we've got to get her blood volume back up to an acceptable level and get that heart stabilized."

"But you can do that, right?" Brandi asked through tears.

"We hope so."

"Is there any way to know if there's been permanent damage?" Jinx asked. "I mean, her brain, is she…"

"It's really too early to tell. She's on a ventilator for now. We'll check her condition in a few hours and see if we can continue."

"What if you can't?" Marshall tightly closed his eyes at Brandi's question. She was the only one brave enough to ask the question tearing through all of their hearts.

^m*m^

"Marshall?" Stan said quietly as he approached his inspector. "Here." He handed Marshall a small backpack. "Some clothes. And, a word?" He followed Stan into the hallway. "Delia and Charlie have Krista secured and are making the transfer."

"She had a…Some guy came to the house," Marshall said, staring at the floor. "He opened fire before he'd reached the front door."

"Mitch Andre," Stan nodded. "We checked his records. He has multiple arrests for domestic violence, a few DUIs. But, he has no ties to Krista's past. It looks like boyfriend gone bad."

"And, Mary pays the price," Marshall spat.

"How is she?"

"Still in surgery. No one has news." Stan placed a hand on Marshall's shoulder.

"How are you?"

"I can't do this, again, Stan. I can't."

"Why don't you change, grab a soda or a coffee and, uh, try to relax a little, okay?" Marshall nodded and headed through the hallway towards the restrooms. Stan sighed and entered the waiting room, greeted by the red, tear-stained eyes of Mary's mother.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked.

"No, I'm sorry I haven't." He placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the nearest chair. "Can I get anything for you?"

"No, thank you," Jinx smiled softly as they sat. "Just my daughter in good health."

"It was a bad neighborhood," Marshall said through clenched teeth. "A bad situation from the get-go. The witness should never have been allowed to move there. Mary should never have been put in that position." Stan nodded. "Managing a witness over whom she had no authority."

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have allowed it," Stan said quietly.

"I should have stayed." Marshall took a deep breath. "I saw what was going on there. It just didn't occur to me."

"Why should it?" Stan asked. "It's Mary. She's like…" He sighed. "I don't know."

"I know." He wiped away his tears.

"Fierce, you know?" Stan said after a moment. "Like she's always going to be the toughest dog in the fight." He offered a small but proud smile.

"Boxers call it the air of invincibility."

"That's exactly it."

"All great fighters have it."

"Yeah."

"Right up to the minute they're beaten." Stan watched helplessly as Marshall broke into tears again.

Stan took a deep breath. He looked around the room. Brandi and Peter sat quietly across from him, Brandi holding her son. Mark sat on the other side of Jinx, reading quietly to Norah. He thought about how much Mary's relationship with these people had changed in the years since her first shooting, how strong and loving the bonds had grown to be. He thought about how lost they would all be without her.

"Marshall was with Mary when it happened," Stan said quietly. "I know he took good care of her. And, there are good doctors in this hospital," he continued.

"You okay?" Stan asked as he met Mary in the middle of the street.

"I'm fine," she sighed. "Stan, it's Marshall." Mary glanced towards the SUV with watery eyes. "It's bad. It's really bad." Stan put a supporting hand on Mary's arm.

"Okay. Well, you got him here alive and they can do amazing things," he comforted. "Okay?"

"They can do amazing things."

^m*m^

"Here she is," the nurse announced happily as she wheeled the bassinet into a small room off the nursery. "This is a big day, huh?" she smiled.

"Yeah," Mary answered. "I haven't been able to hold her yet." The nurse moved the bassinet to the side of Mary's chair and carefully picked up Norah. "I'm a little nervous."

"You'll do just fine," she assured as she placed the little girl in Mary's arms. "How does it feel?"

"It feels…incredible," Mary answered with a smile.

"She was just fed so she'll probably be sleepy. If you have any questions or need any help, give me a holler. I'll be right in the next room." As the nurse left, Mary sat back in the rocking chair, holding Norah close to her chest.

"Hi, Bug," she said softly. "It's nice of you to finally spend some time with me." Mary put her index finger in Norah's hand, eyes tearing as the little fingers tightened around her own. "I've done a lot of thinking over the last few months. I'm not sure how to do this, how to be your mother. But, I'm going to do my best." She watched Norah's lips pucker into a soft 'ooh' and frowned when she felt a wet warmth soak through her sleeve. "Seriously?" Mary said with a shake of her head. "You peed on me."

"Holy fuck," Mary whispered with a hoarse voice. She opened her eyes squinting through the bright lights above her. She shifted trying to get more comfortable in her somewhat up-right position. Her vision slowly came into focus on the man standing next to the bed. He lowered the metal clipboard, allowing her a better view of his face.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Dr. Bronstein smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Christ," she mumbled. "Are you going to be here every time I get shot?"

"How many times are you planning on this happening?" he asked curiously.

"Third time's the charm, right, Doc?" she smiled weakly.

"And, there's that Shannon humor I've come to love so much." Dr. Bronstein rolled his eyes. "Are you in pain?" Mary gingerly shook her head.

"Not much." He reached over her head, bringing down a long, grey cord.

"Here's the morphine drip," he said, placing the button in her hand. "You know the drill."

"How bad am I?"

"Not as bad as last time. The bullet entered here," he started, pointing to a spot just above his right hip. "And, exited here." He turned his back to her, pointing to his side. "The entry and exit wounds are clean so scaring to the epidermis should be superficial. The projectile pierced the subcutaneous layer of cellulite as well as the external abdominal oblique. Though muscular damage was minimal." Dr. Bronstein brought his clip board to his chest and crossed his arms over the object. "A quarter of an inch to the left and we would have been looking at possible kidney or liver damage." Mary stared blankly at him. "In English?" he smirked.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"It went right through the fat."

"Please tell me you didn't use those words around Marshall," she grumbled.

"No, uh, actually, he used those words."

"Perfect," Mary coughed. Dr. Bronstein handed her a Styrofoam cup of water, waiting patiently as she took a slow drink.

"I'll be back in a little bit to check on you. The nurses will be in and out." He set the cup on the table and gently placed his hand over hers. "Why don't you go back to sleep for a little bit. I'm going to let your family know you're awake."

"Is Marshall here?"

"He was the last time I spoke to everyone."

"Can I see him?"

"Sure. But, not too long of a visit, all right?"

^m*m^

"Mare?" Marshall called quietly as he closed the door and approached the bed.

"Hey, Doofus," she smiled softly. "You look like hell."

"Yeah, well." He leaned the heels of his palms on the edge of the bed, tilting his head as he looked down at her. He forced down the sick feeling in his stomach as he took in the paleness of her skin. He reminded himself that she was alive and awake and in much better condition than during her previous shooting. "You ruined my new blue shirt."

"Did I bleed on you?" she asked, a sparkle of mischief in her tired eyes.

"You and I were supposed to have a talk. This…" He frowned and motioned to her stomach. "This is going a little too far to get out of that talk, don't you think?"

"I considered shooting you," she said, tilting her head to the side. "But, that's a lot of paperwork I don't want to do." Marshall smiled. "Where's Norah?"

"She's at Mark's. He brought her in to see you just a little bit ago."

"Wasn't awake yet."

"I know. I'm sorry. Mark didn't think it would be good for her to sleep here all night," he explained. "Once we knew you were going to be all right, Mark and Peter left with the kids." Mary nodded.

"Krista?"

"Relocated," he answered. "We had cameos in a bad episode of 'When Boyfriends Attack'."

"Seriously? I got shot because of some douche bag boyfriend?" Marshall nodded. "Wonderful." She took a slow breath. "Are Mom and Brandi still here?"

"Yeah. They've agreed not to visit you until tomorrow as long as they get a good report from me," he smiled.

"Thank you," she said, meeting his eyes. "I want to see them but…" Mary sighed. "I just don't know if I can handle it right now."

"Tired?" His fingers trailed softly across her forehead, brushing the stray wisps away from her face.

"Nah. Feel like I could run a marathon." Marshall laughed.

"Don't do this, again," he said quietly.

"No promises." Marshall smiled gently and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers.