Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.
Sonn of Mann – Chapter 25 – Dream a Little Dream
MARSHALL POV
There's no reason to stifle my yawn as I leave the office. Mary, Delia and the rest of the marshals are already gone. I thought this day would never end. The entire afternoon Delia and Mary watched me like a hawk, waiting for signs of concussion, I suppose. I can understand Delia feeling guilty, but why was Mary keeping an eye on me?
My cheek is sore and red where the door hit. With my luck it will be purple when the Regional Director visits. I haven't told the others that we, really me, are to be inspected by Allison Pearson. No reason to stir up the troops before I have to. After all, she might cancel. In my dreams.
If only my dreams - nightmares- were about the Director's visit. Every night Mary stars in the Marshall Mann erotic theater. Why am I dreaming about her? We're just friends, or we were friends. That's all we've ever been. Why now? I'd fallen hard for Mary not long after we were partnered. She was brash, abrasive and amazingly effective as a WITSEC Inspector. Tired of waiting I finally hinted at a future together but she chose that ass wipe Faber. Despite that we remained partners and friends. She still had my back.
Then I found Abigail - or more accurately - she found me. In a curious turn about, I was the one having frequent satisfying sex while Mary was pregnant and celibate. This afternoon the door jarred loose a tendril of memory or dream. I'm lying in bed, my eyes glazed in satiation as a woman skillfully makes love to me. My dream lover knows every sensitive spot, every secret erotic button. She tickles, tastes and teases me till I'm ready to explode. My body remembers and shudders. A horn honks, reminding me that there are other cars on the road.
Why did I think of that when that door hit me? I can still feel her beautifully formed pink tips grazing my chest. My lover was definitely female, and definitely not Abigail. The sweet satisfaction of that moment ended when Mary knelt down to check for damages. My stunned look had her concerned, the same as my dream lover. My dream lover with the green eyes. Since I became Chief Mary has shown only professional interest. She's Inspector Shannon; I'm Chief Mann.
I expected taking orders from me would grate on her nerves, so I don't give her any. Except for the training debacle she doesn't need me to tell her what to do. She knows her job, and does it. If she was talking to me, I might have known about Donny, and maybe she wouldn't have gotten shot.
I've been busy settling in to my position as Chief at work and as a dad at home. It's only now I realize she's avoiding me. She doesn't even bring her own reports to my office to get signed. She sends Delia. When I drop off and pick up Marty, she's all mom. My friend, my partner, my confidante is gone.
When did it change? She was my friend when she tried to get Abigail and me back together. Was it after she dragged me out to drown my sorrows? That night she bought the whiskey and for once she listened. Is she disgusted with me because I was a crying drunk? I know she didn't care for Abigail, but she didn't gloat when Abigail showed her true colors. Does she think I'm weak? I don't remember how I got home, or why I woke up naked.
Too late to explore now. The way to Mary's is ingrained in my brain. I've been on autopilot since leaving the office. As I park in front of her house Joanna is peering out the front window. I'm still on the walkway when she opens the door and hustles past me. "Sorry Marshall. I've got a dentist appointment I've rescheduled twice."
I give her a smile. "Sorry I'm late. I understand." Joanna has been good for Marty and kind to me. Where is Marty? He and Norah usually tackle me as soon as I get out of the car. "Mary's home?"
"Yes," she tosses over her shoulder. "She isn't feeling well. The kids are asleep, so she's resting." She sports a big smile. "I wore them out at the park!"
"Given their energy that is quite an accomplishment."
I am so grateful Joanna offered to watch Marty. Spending the day with Norah and Joanna is the best medicine. He focuses on Norah and not his missing mama. At home he still looks for Dana. Mary's house holds no painful memories.
I close the door softly. The room is littered with toys, evidence of a good day. We can pick up after dinner. I need to see how Mary is feeling. I do the 'mother shuffle' Mary taught me. My feet never leave the floor so I don't step on anything.
In the hallway I can walk normally. I stop at Norah's bedroom door and peek in. Martin is curled up on his sleeping pad. His arm is over his head reaching towards Norah's crib. She's huddled in the corner closest to him. Her hand pokes out between the bars reaching for him in her sleep. Seeing them healthy, smiling even in sleep, brings a lump to my throat.
There's no sign of Mary. Her bedroom door is open, probably so she can listen for the kids. I push it open and walk in. Her room is empty. The bed unmade. Where is she? She wouldn't leave the house with the kids napping.
Her bathroom door is closed. I put my ear on it warily. I've already been hit by a door once today. There's a muffled huk uk huk sound coming from inside. I keep my voice low so as not to wake the kids. "Mare, you okay?" No response. "Mary, answer or I'm coming in." Please God don't let it be complications from her shootings. Getting hit so close to the esophagus can cause nausea and vomiting. Did she pass out again? "Mary, Mare. Talk to me."
"Stay out Marshall," she chokes out. At least she's talking. As usual it's nothing I want to hear. "Did you black out?"
She coughs and answers with a strangled "no," then huffs. "Give me a minute." The toilet flushes and I hear water running. She's sick? She seemed okay at the office.
I'm uncomfortable sitting on her bed invading her inner sanctum. The bathroom lock clicks and the door opens on an exhausted Mary. Her face is pink, her eyes watery and her hair every which way. She's holding her hand close to her mouth, wary of an instant replay. She has a glow that makes me want to check her temperature. She's beautiful.
Before she's through the doorway she makes a u turn. I leap off the bed, grabbing the edge of the door before she can slam it in my face. I'm going to help her even if she doesn't want it.
Ignoring me, she quickly kneels to worship the porcelain. I gather her golden hair and rub her back. I spy a washcloth and a glass for water that she'll need. Mary can be vicious when she's sick. Hell, she's prickly when she's well. I discovered years ago that she's really angry at her body for betraying her. Her bluster and barbs don't mean anything. I've weathered worse.
She flushes and kneels up, drawing in big shuddering breaths. "For God's sake Marshall, can't you let me puke in peace?"
"Mare, you're sick."
"Thanks for the alert numnutz!" She shakes her head to clear it. "I think I figured that out." Her red rimmed eyes glare with less than her usual intensity. She puts her arm on the toilet, attempting to stand. I grab under her arms – just as she braced me this afternoon. She's sweaty and shaky. I steer her to bed where she plops down and flops back.
"Must be something I ate," she croaks to the ceiling. Yeah, right. Mary has a cast iron stomach and prides herself on being able to eat anything that doesn't move too fast. She pushes up on her elbows. "Delia and I went to the deli for lunch. Must be the pastrami 'cause it just came back. Oooo." She lies back moaning and massaging her stomach. She could use that wash cloth and water now.
I'm just over the threshold of the bathroom when my right foot slides out from under me and, I go down. My head just misses the tub, but not the wall. I scrape my scalp along the wall as I fall. It burns. In 2008 twenty one million people were injured in bathrooms. My eyes close as I grimace. At least my memory's intact.
"Marshall, Marshall!" Mary has dragged herself off the bed. I must be unconscious or dreaming because she is straddling me. My heart sinks as the neck of her oversize sweatshirt dips exposing her recent bruise. Awe, do we have matching black and blue marks? Hers is already purple. Wonder if she'll want to compare?
I feel strange, but what I want to feel is right in front of me. On either side of the bruise are the 'girls.' They are round and soft. They generous enough to smother me but what a way to go.
"Did you say something about the girls Doofus?" She sits up, pulls her shirt back so the neckline moves up. The girls are out of sight and I miss them already.
What did she say? That wasn't in my dream. Wait! The bruise wasn't in my dreams either. My eyes are closed as I attempt to figure out what's real and what's not. I feel the warmth of her core through her sweat pants as she straddles my hips and the rest of my anatomy responds. She leans over me, calling my name, caressing my cheek. My hands are reaching for the girls.
Mary bats my hands away and my eyes open wider. Gulp! They were open. This isn't a dream. My pulse races as I'm torn between lust and fear. I want to hold her, hold them and feel their weight, their softness but she'll punch me. To my relief she ignores my attempt to grope her. Guess I get a pass because I'm injured.
"You've hit your head, again. Let me see how bad. Jeeze Marshall, how many hits can your noggin take in a day? How many of me do you see?" She tosses the toy that caused my downfall, a blue oval, into the tub.
I'm light headed but I recognize it. It's the zero from the bath time number set I bought for the kids. I lift my head. Mary's fingers examine my scalp, bringing temptation closer. I bite my lip restraining my desire to lick her sweet pink tips. I feast my eyes remembering how I teased her about the freckle on her right breast.
What! That was in my dream, and yet here's that freckle literally in front of my nose. Are my dreams and memories jumbled from being hit on the head twice in one day? I would remember if Mary and I had made love. Mary would have told me. Wouldn't she? She's never been shy about sex. Right now she's studying me like a paramecium under a microscope. She must not like what she sees because she stiffens and sits up.
She quickly yanks her hand out from behind my head nearly bouncing it on the wall. She scoots down my legs. My body mourns the loss of her heat. She crosses her arms and glares. "You remember." It's not a question. It's a statement, an accusation, but I have no idea what I'm guilty of. Should I apologize?
Instead she does something she never does. She apologizes. "I'm sorry Marshall."
WTF? I squint, trying to ignore the throbbing of my big and little head. "What for?" She's done nothing that warrants an apology. It was my fault I slipped, and what happened just now is my fault too.
She closes her eyes, sighs. "You know. That night." The night she tried to get Abigail and I back together by tricking me into coming into the office? She already apologized for that.
"What night?" Since Abigail left I've had dreams of Mary and me, together, in bed, making love. Having her hovering above me just now triggered a memory of all those detailed, explicit, and x-rated dreams. If it really happened and we actually made love why would she apologize? Lying on her bathroom floor isn't the best place for this, but if it keeps her talking, it's a small price to pay.
"I'm sorry Marshall. That night at the bar . . . . I've never seen you that wasted." She says THAT NIGHT in capital letters, an event of significance. What is going on in that brain of hers? What does she know about that night that I don't? That night I mourned the demise of my engagement by drinking an entire bottle of bourbon.
Mary's looking anywhere but at me. "You were angry and sad and you just kept knocking them back. You wanted a second bottle, but I talked you into going home. You walked out under your own power, so I figured you were okay – other than a hangover the size of Texas the next morning." Still on the floor she scoots against the tub so we aren't touching. "When we got to your house, I got you to bed and took your boots off. When I went to loosen your collar you took my wrist and. . . . you." She smiles wryly and looks at me, her eyes soft. "You know, you are strong for a string bean. I forget just how powerful you are."
Strong? Powerful? How does that fit? I must have hit my head harder than I thought. She isn't making any sense. "Go on." I prompt her. "What happened next?"
Mary voice is tinged with sorrow, and if I didn't know better, fear. "That night you needed a friend, and for once in my life I tried to be that friend. I wanted to give instead of take."
"I grabbed you?" In my dreams Mary came willingly. Did I force her? Is that what she means? I would never ever force myself on any woman, but especially not Mary. The image of a pair of testes on a silver platter cools my ardor quite effectively. In my dreams she took control of our lovemaking, but I was more than okay with that. After all they were only dreams. Right?
"Mare, did I. . . ?"
She shakes her head, knowing that I'd think the worst. If I forced myself on her, why is she apologizing? Was the sex that bad? Oh no. Please, not a pity fuck.
"Far from it cowboy," she reassures me. "It was consensual, and despite the booze, quite a performance. No Viagra necessary." She smirks and looks at me. "You talk, a lot." She shakes her head.
I try to snort dismissively, but it's more of a whimper. How can she be so calm? Guess it's no big deal for her. Figures, my dream of making love to the woman of my dreams comes true and I can't even remember it! She never cared for me, never loved me the way I love her. "You never. . . . You never wanted me." It's sad but true and admitting it is humiliating. My thoughts are going round and round like a hamster in its wheel. Mary never considered me cowboy material.
Mary can see my distress and in typical Mary fashion she gets right to the point. "For once, just once, I wanted to give you what you needed. As usual, I fucked it up. That night we had sex, in your bed, in your house. You and me."
It was real? My mind stutters, and my mouth follows suit. "We, we, we . . . ." I point to her, then to me.
"All the way home, partner," she replies. "This little piggy," she looks at my crotch, "went all the way home." She starts to get up.
"No, no, come 'ere. I can't take this anymore," I pull her down over me. If she let me make love to her that night, I can do so much better now. My hands reach behind her head, capturing her lips. I remember her taste, her scent. I shudder as I run my hands down her ribs to her hips, only to rub them up and under her shirt. I make quick work of her sweat shirt wanting to see that freckle again, to prove to myself this is real. I gently run my finger to the spot, my spot. "Did you draw this to distract your lovers? Cuz It's definitely distracting me." I open my mouth to taste it.
And just like in my dreams, the alarm goes off. But this alarm says "Mama! Mama!" Norah's awake and I hear Martin talking sleepily. Mary is yanked out of my grasp, out of my dream.
"Mare, we have to talk about that night and this."
She rolls her eyes and mutters as she puts the sweatshirt back on. "Only you would rather talk than have sex."
"As if we had time now for either," I groan. We will talk. I'll see to that. Before answering Norah's call, Mary does a quick assessment. "Pupils are even." She holds her hand in front of my face for the second time today.
"Five fingers. Marshall Mann, Chief of the Albuquerue WITSEC office. Yadda yadda."
She rolls her eyes, stands and offers me her hand. The tile floor is cold and the kids are awake. Before I can get up Mary is gone and there's a little face staring down at me.
"Da-ad, um . . . Daddy?" For the second time in as many minutes my heart beats a rapid tattoo. Marty called me Dad! I've been waiting for this moment. It has to be his decision or it doesn't mean anything. He looks worried. "What are you doing on the floor?"
"It's okay, buddy. I fell, but I'm okay." I sit up and open my arms, grateful when he comes for a hug without prompting.