A/N: Hopefully I make up for the shortness of the last chapter with this one!

XXX

When Marshall arrived twenty minutes later in the maternity ward, it was to find Mary sitting on the bed she had so recently occupied, legs dangled toward the floor. She was bent over just a little, hand resting at the ready in her lap. She looked a little thinner to Marshall, wearing a pair of loose fitting pants and a baggy T-shirt from her younger years. He knew the rubbing still bothered her incision, and she exhausted easily from the trauma her lungs had suffered.

It was really her face that troubled him, though. Through the tiny window, she seemed lost and lonesome. He had expected her to be breaking down the door; she was so anxious to go home. But, she just sat there, fiddling with the bag sitting beside her, twisting her hands in her lap. There was no one else around, which meant her discharge papers had likely been filed. She was free to go.

Pushing through the door, he tried to appear all confidence, despite his vaguely unkempt appearance.

"So, I hear you're on the road back to civilization," he boomed passionately, shoving away everything Stan had tried to pound into him. "Your chariot awaits."

All his silly show earned him was a weak smile. What Marshall more and more considered, 'the old Mary' would've given him a lot of guff for such schmaltz. But, her smile faded quickly and without a word she moved to stand up, using the bed for support.

"Do you need a hand?" Marshall asked gallantly, but in his more natural voice as he stepped to her side and helped her ease slowly to her feet.

"No, I'm good…" she insisted once he already had her forearm. "Thanks," a shuffle as she grabbed her bag from the bed.

She wasn't looking at him. She was examining her nails – the walls, the floor – anything but him. When she could eventually stray nowhere else, those green eyes landed where they belonged. To Marshall's dismay, they looked anything but happy.

"Are you okay?" he asked. It was so nice to try and take care of her; to have her accept. "Do you not feel good; do you not feel like you can manage by yourself? Because, I can talk to somebody…"

"No, Marshall…" Mary cut him off with a tiny laugh, hand floating in his face to halt his words. "I'm fine. I feel fine. As fine as I'm going to feel at this point."

He nodded, waiting for the real reason she seemed so withdrawn and so far from her usual self, even with the alterations that had come about in the past week. She began to gnaw on her thumbnail absentmindedly, eyes on the door now. She sighed and Marshall could feel her weight sink in a little next to him. She was still not a hundred percent.

"I…" her voice came out hushed, even a little bit docile. "I…" another try. "I…I don't feel like I'm supposed to leave."

"Why not?" Marshall pressed immediately, although he was starting to clue in a bit. "You've been cleared. Doctor Schiff gave you the green light, didn't he?"

"Yeah…"

She shifted again, perplexing Marshall further. This softer, sweeter Mary wasn't one he was used to. Granted, she could still throw sarcasm better than anyone he knew, but her mindset had certainly changed since the fire. He wondered if any of it would stick around.

However, he had no time to consider; because Mary's real trepidation was about to revealed.

"Would they let me go to the NICU?" she looked at him now. "I mean, even though I'm not a patient anymore; I'm not running a fever. Am I allowed to just…?"

Marshall had-had a hunch, and his hands want to his sides to avoid patting her shoulder or her arm. He didn't want her to think he'd accepted this newfound image she was projecting if she didn't intend to stay that way. But, his partner's uncertainty had suddenly become perfectly clear. No wonder she didn't want to dash out right away.

"Of course you're allowed in," he told her gently. "You're a mother. We can stop and pay little missy a visit before bread and broth with Jinx."

Mary laughed for real this time, shoving her bag into Marshall's arms; her whole demeanor twenty times more relaxed.

"You've gotta quit calling her that," she teased, but Marshall wondered if perhaps she enjoyed it.

Mary was halfway to the door, fully ready now to leave this empty room behind, when he spotted the bowl of lilacs he'd brought on her third day. They were still on the food tray, but they had wilted; petals were beginning to drop off. Their purple was less blooming, and Marshall realized this a little too late.

"You forgot your…"

His eyes eventually took in the fact that the buds had expired and even though he had moved to pick them up, he backed off, Mary turning slowly from her post at the door to see what he was talking about. As he extracted his hand, he was surprised to see her looking somewhat disappointed.

"I'm sorry; they're dead…" she explained, although it was obvious by this point. "I killed them."

"You didn't kill them…" Marshall insisted, moving away and wondering why he thought she'd feel guilty about a silly vase of flowers; this was Mary they were talking about it. "Don't worry about it."

"Well yeah, but I should've…" she took pause as Marshall joined her at the door; she just wanted him to know she'd appreciated the gesture, even if his gift had withered away. "How hard can it be to keep a dumb plant alive?"

Marshall had a sudden inkling about where this analogy was headed, and decided to get her out of the room while they discussed it. He reached past her, tucking the bag under his arm, and twisted the handle to spill the pair of them out into the hall.

"Flowers do not exactly alert you when they're feeling parched," he hypothesized, seeing his friend up the corridor as they ambled along together. "I can think of a few other beings that would be more than happy to let you know when they need something."

Now Mary got it too, and had no desire to continue. "Come off it. You're such a dweeb," she quipped. "I am not as insecure as you make me out to be. You think I'm going to start bawling about flowers kicking the bucket because it feels like some sort of sign I can't take care of my child?"

Marshall shrugged; listening to Mary's shuffling steps on the linoleum.

"You've thought stranger things."

"Well, this isn't one of them," she claimed.

This might've been true, Marshall thought. But, Mary was a confident enough individual that she wouldn't doubt her abilities to parent too severely. It was more the other parts of motherhood; the less glamorous parts like where they were headed right now. He didn't know how Mary was going to fare with a baby that required so much attention – even more than the average child. She'd had such a hard time at the onset in knowing she was at a disadvantage with her premature problems. He didn't want such things to cloud her acceptance anymore.

They stayed quiet up until they made it to the door of the NICU, and Marshall saw Mary tense slightly. He knew, whatever her claims otherwise, that she worried she'd have no maternal side. Knowing how to take care of the child wasn't the same as loving her.

"In we go…" Marshall sang brightly, thrusting the handle and side-stepping his partner so she could ease in carefully.

Mary was a little more prepared this time as the unit hummed with early morning activity. A few anxious parents lingered, but it was mainly nurses tending to the infants; giving morning bottles to babies the size of kittens. She well remembered where her daughter was stationed at the very back; her own little corner partially offset from everyone else. Mary wondered if that had been on purpose, and contemplated the thought as her feet took her there, Marshall not far behind.

Upon approaching the bed for only the second time, Mary half-hoped the little girl would appear bigger or stronger – more capable. She didn't; not really. She was still very frail and rather red-faced; she slept soundly in her tiny isolette with holes barely big enough for Mary to poke her fingers through. The same wires combed her body; miniscule tubes that went up her nose. The only difference was, there was no ventilation hose protruding from her throat. She wondered if this was a recent development.

Regardless of whatever she saw, Mary was determined and she took the chair Marshall offered her and stationed herself as close as possible. She speculated, vaguely, if Mark had been in here recently. As far as she knew, the only consistent face her child recognized these days was Marshall.

"I told you she's gaining on them…" the man himself proclaimed from above her. "She's put on a couple ounces in the last week."

So that made her – what? Three pounds four ounces? Five? She was not even halfway to another pound. Try as she might, Mary couldn't forget this fact, and it must've shown on her face.

"I know she's small, Mare…" Marshall conceded as the woman wiped sweaty palms on her pants. "She is. Kind of bite-sized. But, she'll get there. She really will."

Logic told Mary this must be true. She reflected on what Marshall had said when she'd first woken up in the hospital – that the baby needed to finish all the growing she was supposed to do while Mary had been pregnant. It took time. Just a lot of time.

"Recreating the womb is tricky business," he finished when Mary didn't respond.

She satisfied this bizarre statement with a nod, just trying to feel at one with this kid the way she was supposed to. She did not feel as upset as she had the first time; she was fairly sure of that. But, it was even harder than she'd anticipated trying to bridge this gap. Her daughter seemed so far away in her cubicle. Was this really the same little girl they'd taken from her uterus? The reason Mary had such a throbbing in her belly?

Marshall watched his best friend, a little vacant and out-of-her-element, and decided to pull up another chair. Mary stirred slightly at the sound of the scraping amongst the beeping monitors, but didn't turn to face him. One thing was on her mind. Marshall, so often able to read her innermost thoughts, had an idea of what it might be.

"Mary…" he murmured lightly, not as a question but as a greeting. "Touch her."

This earned him a glance. And narrowed eyebrows to boot.

"What?"

"Touch her," he repeated with an inviting wave of his hand. "She's yours; you're her mother. A week ago she was still inside you," he pressed on. "Trust me. She'll know who you are."

Mary severely doubted this. It didn't seem possible. She'd never once showed any sign of affection toward pregnancy or the creature growing within. She hadn't even taken care of herself, or heeded doctor's orders the way she should have. Whatever connection Marshall was banking on; she wasn't sure it existed.

Nonetheless, her fingers had a mission all their own. They edged themselves through the empty space and onto the head of this plugging little girl. The holes were actually bigger than she realized, and her whole hand fit inside, resting on the knit. The hat was soft. It was a bit big for her, but it concealed her crown nicely.

"Her skin…" Marshall wasn't fulfilled. "Touch her skin," he implored eagerly.

And without waiting for approval, he actually reached out and nudged Mary's wrist a fraction of an inch so the pads of her fingers brushed the child's cheek. Only, brushing wasn't enough. That first stroke of flesh was magical; it was as though someone had lit a stick of dynamite in Mary's heart. There was a ruckus going off inside her, and its force made her palm sink down completely.

Her hand sat there cupping the cheek, feeling a pulse that was likely a machine but which felt like her daughter's beating heart. And miraculously, the minute she thought as much, the baby cooed behind her perfectly closed mouth. This was more than enough for Mary, until the coo was accompanied by a shift. How a being so small could curl so dramatically was a mystery to the new mother, but that beautiful face found the hand not by sight, but by touch and nestled in. She'd sensed the shelter from the storm and found it.

Mary did not even care that Marshall could see her. She smiled as her finger began to trace the patterns on her baby's face.

"Hey missy…" she whispered, Marshall's goofy nickname the only thing that penetrated.

But he was beaming as well, crouching in beside her to get a better look.

"Mama's back…" he insisted sweetly, and Mary didn't miss the way his eyes lit up around this child. "Been looking for her, haven't you?"

"She's softer than that hat…" was Mary's ludicrous response, and Marshall chuckled.

At that moment, laugher ringing pleasantly, one of the many nurses approached their station. Mary was concerned that it was time for her to be fed, or evaluated, and that they would have to leave. But when she glanced up, the nurse wore features merely lined with curiosity and a hint of a grin. She was young; maybe early thirties, with short dark hair and big brown eyes.

"Are you…Miss Shannon?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah…" Mary replied, keeping her hand where it so desperately wanted to stay.

The nurse's smile became entirely prevalent as Mary confirmed her identity, although she remained puzzled until the next round of explanations.

"I'm Nina," she introduced herself. "We've been waiting for you to be well enough to come and see the baby…" she revealed enthusiastically, a thought that thoroughly shocked Mary. "We've been getting updates between Doctor Schiff and Doctor Wells – he's the one who's been looking in on her…" she indicated the child. "But we weren't sure when you'd get a chance to come down. You're feeling better, then?"

"Uh…yeah…" was all Mary could say, as the anticipation for her arrival suddenly seemed overwhelming. "Going home, actually."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" the nurse proclaimed with ample excitement. "If you want, we can try and set up a quick visit with Doctor Wells so you can get some details on your little one…" she prattled on. "I understand Marshall's been filling you in…"

Mary whirled around to face her partner, who smiled sheepishly. It had been a bit messy as of late with the medical professionals; trying to keep Marshall in the loop, but then adding Mark to the mix. Fortunately, they'd been accommodating and nobody seemed to have asked Mark outright who he was. They both looked like they were getting admittance for now, although judging by this nurse's comments; it was a widespread belief Mary and Marshall were the couple here.

"Yeah, he has…" she finally said. "But, it would be nice to get a prognosis, I guess…"

"Doctor Wells will be in this afternoon," Nina still seemed to be shining. "I'll have someone give you a call."

Mary nodded and expressed her thanks, but had little time to get out any gratitude because their newest companion was on to bigger and better things. It appeared to Mary that she saw the mother's lack-of-presence in the NICU as something truly dreadful; that it was something most mothers would hardly stand for. Now that she was here, it seemed lost time was about to be made up. Mary began to feel grateful she had-had the excuse of being so unwell as a means to explain not visiting. Her aversion likely would've been looked upon as strange.

"Would one of you like to hold her?" Nina asked. "I know you haven't had a chance yet, but we fed her cradle-style last night and she did really well."

All thoughts of this frighteningly positive individual were forgotten. The first thought Mary had was fear – she could drop her, she could hurt her; she might cry or scream; her vitals could go haywire. She was just so tiny. But, all of that washed aside very quickly. If touching her face was this good, how fabulous might actually holding her be?

Immediately though, she turned to Marshall. He nodded eagerly, trying to urge her along, but she had a different idea.

"Why don't you go first?"

She could tell by the look on his face that he was moved. His eyes softened and his smile turned far more sympathetic. He reached out and squeezed her knee before speaking.

"That's awfully generous of you," he whispered while Nina began to dismantle the contraption to which the baby was confined. "But, I couldn't possibly. Not the first time. Unless you really want me to."

He looked skeptical on this at best, and he was right. Mary had wanted to show him how appreciative she was of how he'd looked out for her daughter, not to mention going through the train wreck she'd experienced, but she really didn't want to give up this moment. Having him here was enough, and he could teach her; tell if she did it wrong. Surely he would know. He knew everything.

With this, she nodded; "Okay…" it came out very soft.

Marshall signaled his approval as their perky nurse cautiously lifted the tiny body of Baby Girl Shannon from the blankets she had so recently occupied. Mary nudged herself a little further forward on her chair and held out her arms, waiting for that weedy torso to be amongst her once more.

"She's a fighter, this one…" Nina decided as she lowered her into the crook of her mother's arms. "She keeps churning along; we haven't had any hiccups other than trying to get her lungs to catch up."

But Mary wasn't listening anymore. She was too wrapped up in the feel of her baby's head snuggled right in the bend of her elbow. Too captivated by the way she fit so perfectly in her homemade cradle. There were wrinkles in her skin; her eyelashes were fluttering as she tried to blink and could not. Her fingernails were barely the size of a grain of salt. But, instead of viewing all of this as a weakness, Mary suddenly found it faultless. It was who she was. She was warmth and light and sunshine; all three pounds of her.

"Like mother, like daughter," Marshall was saying in response to the comment about her lungs, and with a simple wave of his hand he was able to bid their nurse farewell.

It was only in her peripheral vision that Mary could see Marshall grinning proudly at her elbow. He even reached out to fix her hat, which had been knocked askew, and to adjust the blankets that had come from the isolette.

"You look good with a kid," he decided. "A natural if ever I saw one."

Mary didn't know about that, but she knew she was enjoying herself. All of her mixed emotions from the past week were gone. She had been missing a piece of herself – a piece of her heart. Now that they were one again, it was as though nothing had been out-of-sync at all.

"Hey girly…" she tried a different approach than before, running the hand that was not supporting the baby's head along her belly. "I guess you're pretty feisty, considering what a little bit of a thing you are."

She was miniscule. Mary still couldn't wrap her brain around it.

"This may not be the best time…" Marshall interjected, reveling in the sweet whimpers that sounded from the tiny one's mouth. "But have you had any thoughts on names since making the big decision?" he altered his tone to sound theatrical at the end, to show he was teasing.

Mary hadn't; hardly at all. Since she hadn't planned on keeping the baby in the first place, names had never factored in. She'd never been one to gush over those she particularly liked; she'd been named after the Virgin Mary, and God only knew where Brandi's title had come from. Her parents hadn't exactly broken out the big books; not when they came with monikers like 'Jinx.'

"Well, if you had your way we'd just call her little missy and have done with it," Mary groused to avoid the subject. "Too bad it isn't that simple," now she began to fiddle with the hat and blankets.

"I did have some on my mind outside of something so generic," he informed her. "But it's not up to me."

"Still though…" Mary needed some suggestions. "Give 'em to me straight. Just be sure to leave out the foreign or trendy ones. She's not gonna be walking around with something French or off one of those daytime shows I've gotten so sick of."

Marshall laughed at this, and the more he watched his partner with the little girl, the more he realized she really did need something to call her own. A name would make her official; it would make the whole thing that much more real – for him and for Mary. Of course, whatever they cooked up they would have to share with Mark, but he was a pretty easygoing guy. As long as it was fairly neutral, he would probably be all right with anything.

"I admit I do like the M theme…" he conceded. "Between you, me, and Mark, we've got quite a trifecta going. Only fair to keep up the tradition."

He wasn't sure Mary would approve of this, but she merely nodded and let him continue.

"Shall I delve into specifics?" he ventured.

"While I'm young, doofus," she couldn't lift her eyes from the baby. "Go for it."

After that, it was like a ping-pong match. Marshall should've seen it coming – should've known she'd have issues with every title he offered up, especially when they all started with the same letter. He feared they would have to switch it up if she didn't cave soon.

"Marie…"

"Nuh-uh…"

"Megan…"

"She'd be like one of twenty-six in her high school – all spelled differently…"

"Margaret…"

"Too long…"

"Mabel…"

"She's not a hundred!"

"Marley?"

"That's a boy's name…"

"Madison…"

"Again with the repetition…"

Then it picked up. Marshall became impatient. He never should've tried to go through this with Mary. She'd pick her own without any help from him.

"Michaela; Macy; Mackenzie…"

"No-no and no…"

"Then that leaves Mallory or Melissa or Molly on my list," he threw up his hands five minutes later; the unnamed still fast asleep. "Unless you want to make it easy and go with Mary Junior."

He expected her to refute this at once, to make a spectacular show of what a horrible idea this was, but she seemed to be thinking. He was still annoyed for having spewed an entire inventory of which she did not approve, and didn't entirely notice the way her brows crept together in concentration.

"What was that one?"

Marshall took pause, "Not Mary Junior."

"No!" she snapped before bringing her voice down to be respectful of the other parents, not to mention infants. "Before that."

"Mallory?"

"After that."

He wracked his brain. He shut his eyes. He went over it again until he found it.

"Melissa?"

The pair of them – they were forever, consistently and constantly of one mind. Mary looked at the baby. Marshall looked at the baby. Their eyes found each other. The words and phrases; the realization sped to the forefront; it was just a matter of who put the pieces together first. It was going to be a tough call, and it was satisfied grins that spread across their faces before the winner spilled out.

It was in unison. It was as one.

"Missy."

XXX

A/N: Was I clever, or is it too cheesy? I hope it's the former!