A/N: It is amazing what sparks reader's interests; I love it when I am surprised by what lines or moments my reviewers found particularly gripping. Several of you commented on the final lines in the last chapter, which was a surprise to me. Frankly, I was worried they would sound too much like what the witness in the final episode of the series said to Mary when she was in the hospital, "I don't know if you're a mom or not, but I bet you'd make a really great one" or something to that effect. I wasn't consciously thinking of that episode when I wrote Tripp's line, but I don't feel I can take all the credit just the same. ;)

XXX

Mary went home around late afternoon, at which point she was definitely starting to feel sluggish and achy. The discomfort in her tummy since the amnio had never really gone away, but she'd been able to push it to the rear of her mind in favor of giving Tripp her undivided attention. She was used to being tired, but she felt abnormally listless as she maneuvered herself out of her car in the driveway. Willing to chalk it up to having been jabbed with a needle early in the morning, Mary plodded to the front door, looking forward to a quiet evening with Beatrix, out of the sticky August humidity.

But, when she inserted her key in the lock, she almost ran smack into Brandi, who appeared to be coming through. Ordinarily, she would've been highly annoyed that her sister would be in her house when she wasn't home, but today she could only be mildly bothered. After soothing Tripp all afternoon, she was drained of more than just vigor.

"Oh, hi Mare…" Brandi stuttered sideways so she wouldn't bombard herself right into Mary's protruding stomach. "Sorry. Mom just dropped me off for a bit to look at the nursery, but she'll be back soon," that explained why there was no car in the drive. "The painters got started today. I promise it looks great, but no peeking!"

"Spectacular…" she drawled, for once not caring what sort of decoration went up in the spare room. "Can you move? I'd like to get out of the heat."

"Oh…" Brandi jumped aside. "Right."

When Mary said nothing to her thoughtlessness, merely brushed past her and into the living room, dropping her tote near the couch, Brandi decided to stay behind, shutting the door behind her.

"How come you left the house?" the younger asked curiously, standing with her hand on the wood and eyeing Mary stealthily. "I thought Marshall said you needed to rest after the amnio."

"Work emergency," Mary replied dully. "I talked it over with Marshall, and he was fine with it."

Her aloof attitude must not have fooled Brandi completely. Leaving her post at the door, she moseyed over to the older of the siblings. Mary sincerely hoped she was not planning a cross-examination. She was sleepy and her stomach hurt. She would've loved to just go to bed and forget all about Tripp's hangdog, if only she thought she could actually catch a catnap.

"Well, mom said things went good at the doctor," Brandi nudged politely.

"Well."

"What?" the shorter wrinkled her nose.

"Things went 'well' not 'good.''" Mary sniped on her grammar. "But, more or less that's still true."

Brandi waved this away with her spindly fingers, "Are you okay? You look like you're trying to straddle a pony."

Though it had not even been a week since Mary's daughter had submerged herself firmly between her mother's massive thighs, the woman had rather gotten used to having to walk all bow-legged. Apparently, Brandi had not taken notice until now, or else it was more pronounced today because Mary was wearing thin.

"Just…baby stuff," the older sister muttered vaguely. "On top of work. You know how it is," although Brandi didn't.

"Nothing happened at work?" little sister pushed while Mary thudded very clumsily onto the sofa, swinging her feet onto the armrest at the opposite end. "I mean, I know you can't talk about it, but you seem sort of…" she shrugged. "I don't know. Down."

Mary considered while muddled versions of her usual mockery whirled in her brain, but none of them seemed to solidify. It was too much work to lash out at Brandi for trying to be her ear. Her mind was with Tripp. Was he alone right now? Did he have a friend to stay with him? Had Billy and Gretel been made aware of their mother's passing? Were they all together, like the dysfunctional family they'd always been? She wished she could've stayed with him, but it had been pointless after several hours; leaving him to his thoughts and his siblings, once they arrived, was best.

"Mare?" Brandi injected herself into her internal dialogue when she received no response. "It's not the babies, is it? You didn't get any bad news since the appointment?"

Given that they'd just been through the fact that the amnio had gone 'well,' Mary sighed at having to speak about it again.

"No. It has nothing to do with the kids."

The shorter just nodded from her place at the other end of the sofa, clearly unsure how deep she should dig for more information. It was always reckless in pushing the envelope where Mary was concerned, and given the pregnancy, any sort of altercation a very bad idea.

"Well, maybe you want to be alone…" Brandi advocated cagily, demonstrating in every word of cautiousness that she was against her own suggestion.

Mary decided she could do this ambiguously, "No…I just…" she rubbed her temples with her thumb and index finger, hoping she didn't have a headache coming on. "I had a friend – a work friend – and they…" it didn't matter what she said; Brandi wasn't astute enough to fish for more. "Well, their mother passed away and it's going to be hard for them. That's all."

Hearing this, Brandi slipped off the armrest and onto the cushions, looking interested without being snoopy, which was a new color on her. She tucked her legs up underneath her, like she was planning to stay; Mary couldn't truthfully appreciate this, but at least her sister wasn't acting nosy.

"Did you know the person who died?" she asked plainly.

This wouldn't give away too much, "Yeah, but it's really the people she left behind that I'm worried about."

Brandi nodded glumly, "That's sad. Was she young?"

Again, Mary felt she could supply without bringing WITSEC into it, "Yeah. It was an accident," although she wouldn't really define drunk driving as an accident; simply a consequence of a very negligent choice, but Maureen had been no stranger to that.

"What happened?" the other woman wanted to know, but Mary knew this was going too far.

Drunk driving mishaps were sometimes on the news, and so no good could come from giving Brandi the gory details. While she still doubted that her sister would care enough to put the pieces together, you didn't take chances in witness protection. Mary had known for years what was enough to placate her family and what was crossing the line.

"I can't tell you, Squish."

But, it seemed Brandi knew she wasn't being slighted this time; to busy herself, she shoved her hair behind her ears, thinking it was safe to keep talking.

"You look like you're feeling pretty low," she observed, very neutral. "Death's no fun."

Mary chuckled darkly, "Well, that was profound."

Brandi managed a giggle too, "Sorry. I guess I was just trying to understand. I don't want you to think I don't care, even when I know you can't tell me everything."

The older sister was willing to admit she was fairly stunned by this view. She so often monitored Brandi as nothing more than a self-centered twit; someone who always put themselves above everyone else. She was obsessed with superficial things like baby clothes, wedding dresses, and having expensive cheese in her fridge now that she was married to Peter and could afford it. At crucial moments, she'd mostly disappointed; Mary thought less than fondly of Brandi's reaction to the miscarriage.

But, here she was. Although she might want credit for her efforts, a bigger part of her was simply concerned that her big sister, ordinarily so tough and so rugged, didn't have the heart to appear detached and rude like she always did. Thinking this through enabled Mary not to ward Brandi away at the first sign of her sniffing for more thorough elements of Mary's persona.

"I never said you didn't care," the taller defended herself nonetheless, still massaging her head, for it was beginning to pound along with her feet. "I know that you do."

Brandi raised her eyebrows, "Really?"

Mary shrugged, not in the mood to be sentimental, "Well, sometimes I think you're just being a gossipy fishwife, but I do have a kind of radar for sincerity," it was what made her such an expert at her job.

Brandi rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "I guess I'll take that as a compliment. If you ever do feel like talking or if you can talk…" a hand extended in front of her, indicating Mary had the floor. "I mean, I don't mind listening."

There was only one good reply to this, and Mary gave it, "Thanks, Squish." Then, because she was feeling worn out from all-things-Maureen, "So, the nursery's going well then? Marshall mentioned that it was Seth who finally figured something out."

"His dad?" Brandi inquired to be certain. "Yeah, he did. He called mom and gave her a whole bunch of ideas. He is so charming Mary; if you and Marshall get married he'll be such a great dad."

Mary frowned, unsure what her sister meant, "A great grandfather, you mean?" but it was doubtful, considering Seth would be a grandpa whether her and Marshall were married or not.

"No, I mean a dad – for you," the shorter nodded innocently, not aware of how this would rub Mary the wrong way. "It's not like we've ever had one, and Hal is okay…" Hal was Peter's father. "But, nothing like Seth. He's crazy about you."

It was true that Seth had gotten very partial to Mary since the news of impending grandchildren had reached him and Laura, Marshall's mother, but she was still flabbergasted to think that Brandi was envisioning him as some replacement for James. Although he wasn't exactly hard to replace, given his track record, it still gave Mary a funny feeling – like accepting he was never coming home, though she'd known as much for a long time.

"Well, but Brandi…" if she hadn't been so tired, she would've definitely sparred with her sister over this, but the mentioned had lucked out. "He's not my father. He's Marshall's father. Like it or not, we did have one once upon a time…"

"Well, I don't remember," she shrugged this off much easier than the older would. "You're lucky to have someone like Seth. Dad pales in comparison next to him."

Again, Mary's stomach squirmed, and she didn't need to give it any additional reason to purge itself. It made her uncomfortable that Brandi could be so convincingly aloof about James. It wasn't an act like the one Mary put on for people like Marshall. Between this conversation and slogging through Jinx-memories with Tripp all afternoon, it was no guarantee she wouldn't lose her lunch.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," Mary declared in hopes of getting off this subject. "Marshall and I aren't getting married, but Seth is still going to be the twins' grandfather."

At this, Brandi pouted in disappointment, "Why don't you just have a wedding?" she whined childishly. "It'd be so fun, and you can't tell me that Marshall is against it – I don't believe you!"

"Believe it," Mary tried to shut her up before she got going. "This isn't any of your business anyway, Squish. Marshall doesn't want to. End of story."

Nonetheless, phrasing it in such a final way made Mary's blood run cold. She feared what she'd just said was only too true, though Marshall had denied it just a few nights before. But, she'd told herself over and over again that she was not going to harangue him to tie the knot if he found it pointless. He'd done so much for her already, and even the possibility that he would marry her purely out of mercy was enough to have her running for the hills.

"Did he tell you that?" Brandi goaded when Mary turned vacant.

He'd said just the opposite, but Brandi didn't need to know that.

"He doesn't have to tell me," the pregnant one decreed forcefully, but knowing it was a very weak argument on its own. "I know Marshall well enough to know what he wants."

Brandi snorted contemptuously, "You're kidding yourself. Marshall would die to marry you. If he's holding back, it's only because he thinks you don't want to. He'd buy you the Bahamas and a hut at the water's edge if you asked for it."

This was a stupid remark, and Mary rolled her eyes, not enjoying hearing herself painted as some spoiled mistress. Brandi's husband was the one with the money – with the fame and fortune. She was the one with the man who gave funds to the children's hospital because he had so much to spare; they lived in the mansion with the housekeeper, not Mary. What did Brandi think she was playing at, making an accusation like that?

"Well, then it's auspicious for him that I don't ask for shit like the ocean," even the ridiculousness of that statement had Mary scoffing. "Isn't that your department?"

Brandi gave no indication she'd heard the question, "Auspicious," she repeated sneeringly. "You even sound like each other. You are so meant to be."

"Meant to be is not in my dictionary," she criticized this term a lot. "And, if you don't mind, I'm tired," all her sister's compassion concerning the unnamed Tripp seemed to have escaped Mary quickly. "So, hit the road unless there's something else."

With Brandi, there was always plenty, but she just smirked and stood up. Mary hated when she acted so high-and-mighty, like she had a secret big sister didn't know. Furtively, Mary wondered if she behaved as such so often because she found it annoying that such a large part of the older's life was kept undercover. She wanted to prove she held clandestine treasures too.

"Fine, I'll go…" a hoarse laugh emitted from the woman who was leaving. "Mom just texted me anyway; she'll be here any minute," waggling her phone. "But, don't let Marshall and his chivalry keep you from getting a ring, Mare," as if she knew all about it. "If you want to get married, you should just tell him."

"Get out," she jutted a finger at the door from her place on the couch. "Now."

But, Brandi had said her piece and could now leave with the knowledge that she'd pushed Mary's buttons to the point where she might take her advice. She was not yet angry enough to ignore her completely.

Before departure, she stepped to the far end of the sofa and dropped a kiss on Mary's head.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Brandi said kindly. "Talk to you soon. Take it easy, okay?"

"I certainly won't forget to with everyone reminding me twenty-four-seven," Mary shot back. "See you later."

"Bye…" and Brandi waved over her shoulder, sashaying to the door and disappearing through it before Mary could wave back.

The quiet seemed to settle heavily with Brandi's departure; the slamming of the door ringing in her wake. Brandi always created a kind of circus-effect, the way she bounced off the walls and never stopped talking. When she left, it reminded Mary of the end of an action movie in the theater; the silence left behind was palpable, and the reality matured profoundly, almost crudely.

Try as she might, Mary couldn't keep her mind from Tripp. If she'd been in any shape to do so – and it didn't break about fifty WITSEC rules – she'd have stayed the night with him, Billy, and Gretel. But, the thought alone was depressing and Marshall would never stand for it. He would insist that he, or else Delia, be the guard at the grieving door.

Stationary on the couch, it wasn't long before the inspector was joined by Beatrix, who had probably been sniffing out the smell of paint in the work-in-progress nursery. The cat leapt onto her master's lap – or what was left of it, anyway – and scrambled over the bump to say hello. Mary grinned and scratched her ears; glad to know she wasn't going to spend the night completely alone. She had a hunch that Marshall would be getting in late, given everything happening with Maureen.

"Hey Bean Brain…" the woman greeted her companion with affection, despite the moniker. "Are you checking out Frick and Frack for me?" as she was motoring around the bulge. "You'd probably do a better job than that quack I had this morning, and that's saying something."

Beatrix gave an indignant meow at nothing in particular, likely due to being cooped up with the likes of Jinx and Brandi once Mary had left for the Sullivans.

"I hope you won't mind the sort of treatment you're gonna get when these kids show up," she continued, enjoying the softness of the beast's fur on her fingers. "Whether you like it or not, you're getting the shaft, mangy. Better get used to it now."

A benign blink followed this pronouncement, but then Beatrix resumed the grooming she'd started on her paws once she'd lost interest in Mary's belly.

"And if we get Brandi going on this marriage kick, then you're really off to the curb," she predicted churlishly. "As if Marshall really wants to be stuck with an old broad like me for all eternity."

Even though there was no one around to hear her, Mary didn't like how heartless that forecast sounded. She took pause in trying to avoid the scrabbling of the animal's claws near her fingers and thought it over more carefully.

"It has nothing to do with him," she corrected herself, as if Beatrix really knew the difference. "It's me. I lured him into my network of nonsense…" whatever that meant. "Between Jamie, and Jinx's and Brandi's problems, he couldn't stay away. It's the pitfalls of playing the hero all the time. It's who he is."

Of this, Mary was certain. Marshall's compass pointed so far north he was constantly angled toward the upper pole. He'd been her best friend for so long, that it was only a matter of time before he had to rescue her from herself. Whether or not it had developed into more, as he claimed, she couldn't be sure. Circumventing, 'I love you' at every turn made it hard to tell.

"I'm just pissed I turned into that girl that needs saving," she informed Beatrix with raised eyebrows. "Damsel in distress and all. It's pretty sick."

The cat seemed rather bored with her babbling and took to examining her rumpled grey fur a little more closely, perhaps so she wouldn't have to listen.

"But, I guess it wouldn't matter how tough I tried to look. Toting these two around…" she palmed the side of her tummy for emphasis. "The men think you can't even walk without breaking a nail."

Beatrix, who probably couldn't break a nail even if she tried given how sharp they were, mewed and rearranged herself at Mary's side, likely to go to sleep. She spent half her life sleeping. Mary wished she could be so fortunate.

"Of course I'm one to talk," she reminisced. "Breaking out in hives every time I have cramps. I'm ready for these kids to show their faces, B," shortening Beatrix's name. "Can you speed up the time and get me to thirty-seven weeks, say…tomorrow?"

Mary heard a snuffle, like a sneeze, sound from where Beatrix had curled herself into a ball, squashed between Mary's stomach and the couch cushions.

"I guess that means no," she figured. "Well, you can't promise me a wedding ring either, so what good are you?"

What she said out loud be damned, Mary still told herself ad nauseam that she absolutely did not need to dress up in a gown – just the thought was enough to gag her – and walk down an aisle in front of a weeping Jinx and a giddy Brandi. She didn't care if some ceremony held more weight underneath – if it was about more than bouquets of flowers and a big reception. It was that 'more' that she refused to force Marshall into. She'd said no, and so had he. She was not a woman who went back on her word.

"We have each other; you and me, right?" Mary murmured, a spacey timbre to her tone. "You, me, Marshall, and the twins. Pieces of paper don't mean anything. Marshall obviously knows that," she nodded; though Beatrix had her head fully buried in the throw pillows and wasn't watching. "And so do I."

Nothing else to mull over, Mary contended herself with rubbing the portion of Beatrix's head that was not concealed, and thinking as the setting sun slunk through the shades. It cast long shadows in its ginger beams; it reminded her of spokes on a spinning wheel the way it sloped through the blinds. After awhile, it would've been prudent to get up and turn on the light, but she became lost in her musings, mind turning with thoughts of Maureen bleeding to death in a trench, Tripp sobbing with his brother and sister – squalling twins with tubes up their noses and sparkling diamond stones on bare fingers.

As a result of her contemplation, she was stationed in almost total blackness when Marshall finally came home, which wasn't until after nine o'clock. It wasn't hard to see how she'd slipped into the shadows, given that she'd begun to doze off along with Beatrix. It was one of those nights where she was so done-in that the pain didn't keep her from catching a few winks.

It was only when Mary heard the key in the door that she stirred, finding a dull, grayish hue seeping into the room. She blinked among the patchy, dusky, purple tinge over the furniture, trying to get her bearings, wondering whether she'd managed to roll right over and crush Beatrix in the process.

Marshall flipped the lamp on the end table on before Mary could sit up all the way. She didn't want to think about how she looked in natural light after having drooled off unintentionally.

"Hi…" her partner whispered, and he looked a little worse for wear himself; the quills of charcoal on his chin were particularly evident. "Why were you just sitting here in the dark?"

"I fell asleep…" she gave up the ghost right away. "Have you been at the Sullivans all this time?" adjusting her top as she spoke.

"More or less," Marshall immediately removed his shoes and tossed them into the alcove by the front door, depositing his keys and sunglasses on the same table as the lamp. "Tripp asked if Delia and I would hang out at least until Gretel went to sleep. She's pretty torn up."

"Christ…" Mary moaned with a shake of her head, extracting the cat from her knees and dumping her unceremoniously on the ground. "This has got to be their worst nightmare."

"Yes, I would imagine," Marshall picked up the slack and slumped over to the sofa to join Mary. Letting out a theatrical sigh as he parked himself, "Fortunately for us, Stan really got things cracking. We're already looking at a funeral on Thursday."

"You're kidding…" arrangements that fast were quite the wonder. "That soon?"

"Like I said, Stan pulled out all the stops. He really wants to get this tied down before you and I have to hit the road," he too pushed Beatrix to the rug when she tried to jump up beside him, not in the mood for entertaining the being. "He knows how important Tripp is to you."

Mary was reveling in the ordinary nature of this discussion – free of twins and surgeries and amnio needles – but she rolled her eyes nonetheless.

"I wish everyone would quit talking about the two of us like we're some sort of couple…"

"On the contrary," he held up a floppy finger to talk her down. "It is more like mother and son…"

"Don't say that," Mary snapped, probably surprising him with the sharpness of her voice, but it rang a very loud bell to Maureen's greatest peeve where her WITSEC inspectors were concerned. "I am not his mother. I was never his mother. I shouldn't have to explain that to anyone."

Indeed, Marshall did look rather taken aback, and it wasn't really him Mary was provoked by, but herself. She hadn't liked Maureen in the least – she'd been an immature sympathy-hound that wanted to parent her children only when it was fashionable or if she had nothing better to do. But, she was still Tripp's mom, and as Mary had told Tripp himself, no one could replace that.

Just as Seth could not replace James. Just as the twins could not replace Jamie

Marshall mostly disregarded her tetchy temperament and took his time brushing a few eyelashes out of his gorgeous, azure orbs. They were greyer than normal tonight – fading fast with everything that had been heaped on his desk in addition to Mary's pregnancy burdens.

"I was not implying you were a reserve for Maureen. You're more like an addition," he turned his phrases around quite neatly. "Something along the lines of joint custody, but not…"

"You bet not."

"Mary, tonight is not an advisable one to hash this out," Marshall suddenly mashed any glimmer of a fight about something so trivial. "Both of us are beat, and you have had a particularly long day," it was hard to believe the amnio had only been that morning. "What happened to Maureen was ill-fated in the worst possible way. Trampling on what either of us did in her lifetime is irrelevant. The focus now should be her kids – not to mention yours and mine."

There was little chance of Mary disproving such a well-worded testimony. The here and now was the only thing they could be centered on. The past was in the past. Mary wondered if she would ever learn that.

"I hated telling Tripp…" she admitted brusquely. "I mean, I wanted to be the one to do it, but still…" in her mind, she could see those sad eyes of his all over again; full of disbelief and despair. "It's so unfair. I might as well have just ripped his heart right out."

"Ah…" Marshall gave a gentle sigh, leaning his head in his hand, glad to be away from regrets about Maureen. "You were just the messenger. I know you, inspector. I know you did the best with what you were given."

"Same goes," Mary inclined her head at him. "I'm sure it was no picnic being there when Billy and Gretel found out."

Marshall swallowed, "Billy did pretty well, and Tripp was determined not to go to pieces, but Gretel was beside herself."

"Tripp thought she would be."

"I would give anything for them not to be relocated in the midst of this," he swapped gears momentarily. "But, Stan's not sure it's going to fly. He's tried contacting Gretel's father and he's already come up with several possible matches. I can't see how they're going to be allowed to stay here much beyond the funeral. If this guy comes into the picture and stays, they're out of here."

A sudden hole seemed to form in the middle of Mary's stomach. It was concave and gaping, like a fist had sunk straight into her gut. She knew this scenario was not about her. Her feelings, well-being, selfish wants and desires, had nothing to do with Tripp or his family. He couldn't stay in Albuquerque, in danger, just because she thought she needed him to. He was a grown man, now with a ready-made family to support. Mary missing him, or whatever this puncture was, was beside the point.

Whether it mattered or not, she must've looked slightly dazed after receiving Marshall's take on the situation, because his gaze softened almost at once.

"We don't know anything for sure," he said, a little too sensitively to appear remote. "But, if they are transferred…"

"It's what's best for them," Mary interrupted harshly, unable to reconcile this right now. "For all of them. They can't be in New Mexico if there's any kind of threat level. Please," she worked out a jeer. "You and I both know that."

"Yes, we do…" Marshall granted her that, holding firm. "But, here in the southwest or in the northeast…"

"Forget it, Marshall."

Mary made to stand up, but was so slow that her man got his piece in anyway.

"Mary, no matter where Tripp is, he'll always love you for what you've done for him."

And Mary could barely contain a gasp at hearing that little word spoken out loud – half because she'd never considered the possibility that Tripp felt anything but amusement toward her and her antics, and half for another, much bigger reason.

She'd always thought that when Marshall finally said that single syllable phrase to the open air, he'd be professing his own feelings – not claiming the affection of a boy about to be shipped halfway across the country.

XXX

A/N: I promised Marshall and he was here – with Brandi thrown in! Lots of you have been annoyed by Brandi in this story, and you were supposed to be to an extent (especially given how I wrote her in 'Empty Arms'). But, hopefully she's making a little bit of sense too. ;)