A/N: So sorry I had to keep you dangling with a little cliffhanger! But, I can only hope that this reads well and seems plausible. Mary's beginning to spin… ;)
XXX
Mary was lucky she knew the path to Mesa Ridge almost by heart, and equally lucky she was a US Marshal and could go fifteen miles over the speed limit, wending her car this way and that. She was in a total and inconsolable panic; jerking the steering wheel around in hopes that she could get to the site before she flung the car off the road and landed herself in a ditch.
Horrible pictures, the likes of which she'd never allowed to enter her mind before, were hurling themselves to the forefront of her brain. Marshall, lying on the ground with blood oozing from his chest and covered in dirt. She suspected this one formed due to a burning recollection of when he'd been shot. Marshall, crumpled up and twitching, clasping crimson rags to various injuries on his body. Marshall shouting for help; Marshall needing her; Marshall relying on a partner who hadn't been there when a dagger had pierced his flesh…
Mary drove faster.
She was quivering from head to foot, her mind a whirling vortex of illustrations she couldn't pack away. She whimpered and made no effort to get a grip as she saw her best friend in various states, but also Jamie, whose not-so-dreamlike presence had made her late for this ordeal in the first place. She attempted, fruitfully, to remember if she had forgotten anything else in her rush to get out of the house. Beatrix had still been locked in the laundry room when she'd emerged from her bedroom, but in her teeming commiseration, she'd let her out to roam for the day before leaving. She was sure she'd regret it that night.
When Mary hit dirt roads, she knew she was getting close, and it wouldn't have mattered if she'd misplaced the location anyway. She could hear the sirens now, and spotted their lights splashing red and blue over the dust near a cluster of houses similar the ones she'd been stationed in with Francesca two years before.
At the far end of the cul-de-sac, she saw two ambulances and three police cars; thankfully, no fire trucks. Yellow caution tape was swung around a large expanse, and she could hear radios blaring information. Several thugs were handcuffed and were being questioned before cops shoved them into squad cars. Preceding the yellow tape, Mary recognized Marshall's SUV parked a good distance from all the action and nearby, Stan's pick-up truck. Despite how fast she'd driven, her boss had beaten her there.
Jamming her foot on the brake, she parked her own car across the road from theirs, knowing she would have to run a good distance to get to the activity. She didn't especially care; in fact, it would help her to feel more alive, more alert to sprint. She somehow thought, absurdly, that she would be quicker without the weight of the car. In any case, she also knew stationing her vehicle too close a crime scene was invitation for being kicked out.
And so, Mary leapt from the driver's seat, slammed the door, and ran flat-out, bolting blindly toward the sirens like her life depended on it. With each stride, her face stinging and wet, she reminded herself that her life did depend on it. Everything about her existence hinged on Marshall. He was her life.
The caution tape posed no threat to her; she barely stopped to lift it aside and ducked underneath it, to angry shouts from several of the policemen.
"Ma'am! Ma'am; get back! This is a crime scene!"
They were about to close in on her, though she paid them no mind, and suddenly she heard a voice in the distance she recognized.
"Stand down; it's okay! She's his partner…"
From what Mary could glean on the outer edges of her eyes, this didn't subdue the cops, but Stan's professional tone went another step.
"Inspector Mann – that's his partner."
This, she supposed, had them backing off, but she only had eyes for one now. There was a searing pain in her gut from where she had run so fast, and she petered to a jog as one of the ambulances came into view. It was parked sideways, blocking several of the houses, its back cabin spilling the inhabitants toward the mouth of the cul-de-sac. But, sitting on the edge, legs dangling, perfectly upright actually talking was Marshall.
Mary came to a very ungraceful halt, panting, winded and tearstained, much to the apparent surprise of her best friend, who was not alone. Abigail was kneeling behind him, scratching the top of his head with her nails.
"Mary…" he commented, a note of carelessness in his tone. "Hey, partner. What's going on?"
She couldn't answer; she couldn't breathe. Her huffing sounded loud, even among all the other activity. She was assessing Marshall's state of being. A large, thick piece of cloth that used to be white was now stained a deep red; Marshall was pressing it tight against the inside of his arm between his wrist and his elbow. Feeling bile in her throat at the sight, she took in the rest of his injuries. He held himself a little stiffly over his middle, but otherwise his forearm seemed to be his only wound.
"What…what happened?" she finally gasped. "I…I'm…" she'd been about to apologize, but the words got lost somewhere on the way out.
Marshall recognized her dilemma, "Oh, the situation just escalated unexpectedly. All quiet now…" he even smiled, giving the briefest glance to his arm to see how it was doing. "The fire's out."
"But…but…" Mary's visions of a dying Marshall weren't equating to the one sitting and speaking right in front of her. "Abigail – Stan said you were knifed."
And it was Abigail who answered, not Marshall, "Took one for the team, he did," she declared in a chipper voice, alerting Mary to the fact that she was there. "It was just a fast swipe; not enough hands on deck…"
Mary's heart sank. Her sense of culpability increased tenfold. She was supposed to have been here. She was supposed to be his second set of hands.
"Only a flesh wound," Marshall joked, starting to pick up on Mary's anxious features, which hadn't diminished. "I'll need some heavy duty stitches, but I made it out fairly unscathed, and we apprehended Thomas too," he raised his eyebrows significantly at Mary, but she couldn't garner anything from the gesture.
She was so relieved he was all right; so glad it wasn't anything worse, but it was manifesting exactly the opposite of the manner one would expect. All she could think about was what could've gone wrong with her asleep in her bed. She could've cost him his life. He couldn't trust her at all anymore; he had Abigail for reliability.
"I just…I…" she was babbling without even thinking, without considering what else might expel. "I…I thought…" to say the words would be too theatrical, but she was covering that with all her blubbering. "I…Stan said you were knifed…"
Repetition and then the tears; they poured from her eyes; a stream she couldn't stem. This wasn't sadness; this was fright. She'd been so afraid and couldn't shake off the sensation. She covered her mouth with both her hands to try and muffle the cries, but it was to little avail. Abigail was staring at her like she was sick, lost for words, and she was freaking Marshall out, who had more than enough to be going on with.
"Mary, I…" his eyes skirted left to right, bewildered by the fact that she was crying so openly without a care. "I'm fine; why don't you…?"
In a brief flash, she saw him extend his good arm, but he pulled at back at once. At first, she was worried he found her somehow revolting, but no; he was being considerate.
"Ab, go get an update from Detective Peterson, would you please?" he asked in an undertone. "I'll make sure they let you know before the ambulance takes off; we can ride over together."
Abigail took the hint, Mary still flowing freely, and she had to watch him kiss his cheek as she climbed over the hatch and onto the street. The inspector felt faint at such a display.
"For sure, sugar bug…" she crooned. "My hero."
Marshall smiled tiredly for her benefit and Abigail clip-clopped away, giving Mary an offhand look as she went. The man, however, was clearly glad that they were now alone and beckoned his partner again, this time leaving his working arm suspended until she came over.
"Mary, come here…" he whispered in a timbre that was both surprised and tender, slightly higher than his normal voice. "Come here; come sit down…"
This was a decent offer, as Mary felt her legs might give way any moment. She slid into the open ambulance and next to Marshall while he glimpsed his injury another time. Even without the use of both arms, he guided her in next to him, hugging her as well as he could, so that their heads knocked together. Tears fell with a plop into her lap and ran, creating roads all over her shirt.
"Mary, what's wrong?" he pleaded sweetly, nudging his wrist against her back. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you, but I'm really fine…" he insisted. "I was actually starting to get concerned when you didn't show up. Did something keep you?"
There was not the merest hint of accusation in his voice, and this made Mary want to cry harder. Why did he put up with her? How on earth could she keep going on like this?
"No…" she said, still constricted. "I feel terrible; I overslept…"
"Oh, well…" Marshall didn't even contemplate and patted her knee, working his arm out from behind her back. "That's no problem; that happens…"
"It is a problem," she had to keep herself from truly wailing. "You could've really gotten hurt; I promised I'd come…"
"Mary, it was just an accident…"
That word 'accident' again.
"You don't know that you could've stopped that lowlife whipping out his knife; it happened too fast."
"But, you're my partner; it's my job to look after you…" Mary reminded him soulfully. "If I'd been here, I…"
Marshall didn't let her finish, "Well, I really shouldn't have asked you to come in the first place," he lamented. "You tried to tell me last week that you weren't up to the big guns, and I could tell how tired you were yesterday…"
"Don't blame yourself!" Mary hollered almost hysterically, unable to believe he could make her sound so perfect when she was such a madcap. "This is my fault – all my fault…!"
"Mary…" Marshall pressed urgently, definitely distressed now; the tears were flying and she was red in the face, clearly completely off-the-handle with fear. "You have got to slow down and think; look at yourself…" he leaned even closer to her so that he was whispering in her ear. "You trying to be guilty for everything has come up way too often since the baby…"
Now she knew why he'd spoken in such dulcet, low tones; there was no telling when Abigail would be back, and he certainly didn't want to make her more upset than she already was. His breath was very warm in her ear.
"You don't have the power to spin the earth on its axis, partner," he asserted, still craning his neck while she sniffled. "The sun doesn't rise and set with your every action, although you are doing a damn good job trying to convince me otherwise," he added spiritedly.
Mary nodded, knowing he was right, but also completely unsure of how to persuade herself otherwise. Her strong and unyielding grip on control was fading and it was fading fast. Instead of being able to simply roll with the punches, she'd taken the universe's chaos as a personal insult and started to lose her mind.
Marshall, however, seemed glad she was nodding and shifted further away, eyes on his girlfriend to make sure she wasn't on her way over.
"Try to breathe…" he encouraged, giving her thigh a quick squeeze before pressing the cloth back into his wound to staunch the bleeding. "Take a deep breath. I promise I'm going to be okay. I've been through way worse than this…" he jerked his head at the spot where he'd been stabbed.
"Did it hurt?" Mary found herself wondering childishly, sounding six years old. She blinked and several stray tears dripped from her lashes while she exhaled. "Was there someone there to help you…?"
"Well, it was hardly pleasant," Marshall admitted, aloof and shrugging. "But, I am rather proud of my reflexes; I was able to duck under and seize the knife before the blade penetrated too far…"
He saw Mary shudder at his description and he quickly decided to change the subject.
"Let's talk about something else," he offered, still with an awfully cheerful smile for a man that had just had his arm sliced open. "I'm going to have to get to the hospital once they're through with the questioning, and then I probably won't see you for a bit."
Mary couldn't fathom what else there was to talk about, but she knew Marshall was trying to keep things light and impartial. At the very least, he wanted her to quit worrying about him. She still found it completely unbelievable that he was the one who'd had his life threatened, and he was still the one consoling her.
She shook her head, watching the storm clouds swirl above so she wouldn't have to eye Marshall's blood-soaked rag. She didn't especially want to discuss the weather, and fortunately her friend found another topic.
"Hey…!" he suddenly barked excitedly, startling Mary into taking her waterlogged gaze off the sky. "How's Beatrix? How did she do in the laundry room all day?"
Beatrix seemed like she was in a different world right now; one to which Mary had belonged to yesterday, but one she couldn't seem to mold into today. Nonetheless, mention of such a simple being was enough to have her longing for that kind of ease. Thoroughly stunning Marshall, she was sure, she grabbed hold of that first emotion and let him know what she was feeling.
"She did great…" she revealed murkily, vowing that she would not shed more tears over a cat. "You were right; she is sweet," suddenly, Mary wanted to hold her and had to work much harder to keep the wetness on the inside. "Thank-you for giving her to me."
If Marshall was at all flabbergasted, he didn't show it. He smiled widely and Mary tried to do the same to show she was grateful and not weepy.
"Of course," he compressed her shoulder with his palm, relieved to see the grin. "I'm so glad you're enjoying her. I'm happy I could help."
Still, Mary concentrated her energies on breathing, as Marshall had beseeched her. It seemed a much harder task than usual. She felt like she was watching herself from afar; a different woman than she usually was. A woman who was no longer humiliated by her own sorrow; the dread she'd felt about Marshall being injured had far eclipsed that. One day soon though, she knew she'd wake up and want to escape this episode and forget she had ever let it occur.
"That sounds better…" Marshall observed listening to her air. "That's it…"
With an internal leap of amazement, Mary realized he sounded as he had in her dream, cajoling Jamie to ride his bike. Quickly, she pushed this away, knowing it would prompt a second flow of tears.
"Just a little scare…" he jostled her shoulders as well as he was able with only one arm, and Mary distinctly saw Abigail approaching. "Nothing to lose sleep over," referencing the deep cut in his skin.
Vaguely, his partner wondered if he had used this analogy on purpose; if he had guessed her sleep was so disturbed that it was causing her to miss her – non-existent – alarm. She didn't have a chance to dwell on it now; she'd shown quite enough to Abigail for one day.
"Well, Inspector Mann…" the brunette drawled cheekily with a playful smirk, practically prancing her way into the ambulance. "They say we're ready to take off to get you all sewed up."
She swooped down, kneeling beside Marshall, and laid another kiss on his stubbly cheeks. Her boyfriend smiled, but was much more sheepish than he had just displayed in front of Mary. As she slipped aside so Abigail could get through, she noticed him go rather pink.
"Sounds like that's my cue," he responded. "I wonder if my badge will get me through the ER faster. What do you think, Mare?" he posed, obviously not wanting her to feel left out in front of Abigail.
However, she just didn't have the vigor to play along, "Maybe. I hope so."
Abigail seemed to sense she had perhaps been a little short with Mary before, especially when she'd been so distraught, and shook off the persona of ignoring her. Instead, she flashed her a beaming smile that Mary certainly couldn't have been wearing had Marshall been her boyfriend and she'd seen him knifed.
"Sorry about the lack of details before you got down here, Mary," she chirped breezily. "It was a little hectic, but our Marshall's lookin' good, isn't he?"
Amid her remorse, she suddenly felt ill watching Abigail hang her arms all over Marshall, swooping kisses from cheek-to-cheek. And she wanted to shout suddenly, 'He is not our Marshall! He's my Marshall! I had him first!' But, there was no telling how ridiculous that sounded after the scene she'd just caused, so she buttoned up and kept it simple.
"I'm sure he took care of everyone," she voiced blankly. "He…he's good at that," she finished in a stutter.
She took some satisfaction in seeing she'd moved Marshall unexpectedly with the compliment, and it was his turn to vocalize appreciation.
"Thank-you, Mary."
Wanting to apologize again, but knowing she couldn't in front of Abigail, Mary knew it was time for her to leave. The paramedics had returned and were climbing into the front seat; a stray clambered in with Marshall and Abigail to escort them to the hospital. Remembering the detective's words from earlier, she knew they would be going in as a pair.
"I should get going…" she said very quietly, almost indistinguishable over the noise all around them. She looked right at Marshall, "You'll…let me know…if it's something serious with your arm?" she tried to make it sound like a question, but really she wanted to force him to give her specifics.
Luckily, he ascertained her performance of forced-calm and nodded in kind, "I'm sure sutures are all I need, but I definitely will," he swore. "I'll give you a call when they release me anyway, okay?"
Mary swallowed hard, "Yeah, thanks."
At the onset of Marshall mentioning he'd phone her, Mary distinctly saw Abigail take up his working hand and hold it in her own, topping it off with about the tenth kiss – this one on his lips. Mary was bewildered to think the Texan thought she needed to create this spectacle; to show the inspector to whom Marshall belonged. It was a blatant show of ownership, but the blonde was so drained she didn't even care.
And with a half-hearted wave that Marshall returned, she set off across the dirt, back through the yellow caution tape, and on to her car, still parked in its strange swerve on the side of the road.
But, once she climbed inside, she made no move to drive anywhere. Keys still in her cup holder, she folded her arms over the steering wheel and began to cry in earnest; so forcefully her whole body shook with the tremors. It felt good to let it out where no one would hear or bother her. She was far enough from the crime scene that officials would pay no attention.
She had never felt worse in her entire life. Feeling responsible for losing Jamie was one thing, but Marshall? How on earth could she have been so careless; so absentminded? She'd never remembered doing anything like this before; never recalled any tragedy that had taken hold of her so strongly. She was putting others at risk because of her mania for a baby that was long gone.
Mary did not know how long she sat there, crying herself into silence. She hardly considered it a meltdown; just a release of strain that she would not impart on anyone else. That was how she analyzed it before she heard a rapping noise on her window.
Looking up, uncombed hair tumbling around her face, she saw Stan looking sternly through the glass of her dirty window. He was visibly unhappy, but with her or with the situation, she didn't know. She could be certain, however, that he'd seen her lose it with Marshall and now on her own. She wasn't going to be able to keep it from him, and she managed to spill herself back into the outdoors, patches of red blazing in her cheeks.
Leaning against her car, she waited for Stan to say something, but it definitely took him a moment. Mary was in no hurry.
"You all right?" he finally inquired in a decidedly neutral voice that didn't entirely mask a bigger issue at stake.
Though she knew he'd never buy it, Mary nodded anyway, tucking her hair behind her ears, which probably wasn't the best idea. It put Stan in plain view of her sticky face.
"I'm…" now was the time to beg forgiveness. "I'm sorry Stan; I'm so sorry…"
It made her voice fog up and she let out a quaking sigh of regret in her effort to stay in one piece.
"I…I'm…I blew it for everyone…" she went on when her boss didn't say anything, simply stared. "Marshall got hurt…the police involved…they could've breached security…" the more she spoke, the shoddier it sounded. "I-I-I'm…I'll take care of all the paperwork back at the office if you want…"
It was the only thing Mary could put forward that seemed to go anywhere toward patching this up, and it was weak at best. And still, Stan wouldn't respond. It was making her more and more uneasy. Could this have cost her-her job?
"Tell me what you really think of what I did…" she implored miserably, her eyes limp with tiredness. "Please; I know you've gotta be pissed…"
She needed something concrete, even if it was something she wouldn't like. She chased anything that put her feet back on the ground, and Stan berating her might trick her into thinking she could get her old life back.
Stan eventually bore the request, "The truth, inspector?"
Mary nodded as boldly as she could, willing both herself and Stan to believe it. Then, she braced herself.
"The whole truth is that yes, I am frustrated with you…" he began steadily. "You know we can't afford inspectors who oversleep or forget things…" somehow, Mary didn't think he was really mad, and this kept her from sobbing once more. "But, I also know you just made a mistake. We all make mistakes; there's no sense in my holding it against you – or you holding it against you," he added almost threateningly.
Mary gulped, clinging to Stan's rationale, but apparently he wasn't done.
"I'm not angry with you," he insisted, proving her theory. "What I am, Mary, is worried," his voice definitely dropped to something much more somber. "In light of everything that's happened, you seem to have gone around the bend a little bit…"
His employee knew he did not mean this as an insult, but it still stung her ego severely. She'd been awful at concealing herself lately.
"I am really starting to get concerned, inspector…" he said softly, and Mary forced herself to focus on the shiny diamond pattern in his maroon tie to avoid looking at him. "This isn't like you, and I really don't want to diminish this…this thing with the baby…" now he fumbled. "And I know it's only been a few days; it's not fair to you…"
Mary tried to remember to breathe again.
"But, I think we need to talk about a few things," he finally reached his point. "I don't want to make you nervous; it's nothing that should upset you…" he clarified quickly. "Just some things we should discuss."
She sensed it was her turn to speak, though she had no idea what to say.
"Here?" she whispered lamely, afraid he was going to make her spew all her secrets into the open air. "Now?"
Stan shook his head slowly, "Come back to the office; we can chat there."
Mary nodded, knowing she had no other choice, "Okay."
"Okay…" Stan repeated, and he cuffed her shoulder paternally, dropping his professional chief demeanor for a moment. "Are you okay to drive? You want me to call your mom or anybody?"
"No…" she refuted, both of them knowing full well she couldn't have Jinx drop her off in front of the Sunshine Building. "I'll be fine. I'll see you in a bit."
Stan accepted this and strolled off to his truck, leaving Mary in his wake. She didn't have a clue what he wanted to talk about and she was going to try to do as he said and not be jumpy, but she knew she had come to a crossroads. There was a decision to be made.
She couldn't go on endangering other lives. Not now. Not anymore.
XXX
A/N: I've brought my dear Mary pretty far from her original self – losing it (partially,) in front of Abigail, oversleeping; answering to Stan…hopefully it all seems believable in light of the circumstances. At the same time, I don't want it to seem like I think everyone who suffers a miscarriage automatically goes into an inconsolable tailspin. I'm sure everyone reacts differently – as I said at the start of the tale, my intent is never to offend! Anyway, enough of my chatter. Thank-you so much for the reviews! They're so kind!