A/N: I don't know if this will be worth the wait – but I hope so!

XXX

Mary was empty through dinner, the sound of the children enjoying their pizza just a distant buzz. Brandi seemed pretty quiet as well, but Mary made no effort to get her to open up. She was busy enough just trying to get rid of Marshall, whose haranguing had picked up another rung.

She knew it was because they hadn't seen much of each other during the day; he'd gotten caught up with the mourners while she'd been busy hiding in the back of the kitchen. He wanted to make up for lost time, unable to forget the subject they had nearly broached that morning – James, the letters, Jinx and her understanding, or lack thereof.

But, she was basically a zombie anymore; tuned out and anywhere but earth. She'd healed the kids and their wounds, even Max's. Brandi was coming around, despite her subdued nature. She'd made nice with people she'd long since wished to forget. So, why couldn't she fix herself? Why couldn't she just tell herself, even if it was a lie, that whatever she felt for her father made no difference? That Jinx's opinion about the whole thing, good or bad, was immaterial anymore?

Because she couldn't. She just couldn't. There was no answer, and that was something Mary hated more than ever.

After Peter and Brandi finally left with Robyn and Max, she retreated to the bedroom to change out of her funeral outfit, the heels beginning to cut into her feet. It was something of a simple pleasure to remove the skirt and feminine sweater and replace them with her baggy drawstring pants and jacket that zipped up the middle. However, she didn't expect to see the house completely devoid of children when she reemerged, only Marshall sitting at the island.

Thinking she'd finally lost it, she inquired from halfway across the room, "Where are the girls?"

Marshall raised his eyes to find her somewhat open-mouthed and disoriented, like she'd stepped into some otherworld – changed her surroundings along with her clothes.

"Well, you asked Mark if he'd take Norah tonight," he reminded her. "You remember?"

"Yeah, I remember that…" Mary assured him, exerting no energy to step any closer, keeping her distance. "But, what about Alice?"

Marshall wiped his mouth on his napkin as he finished the last of his pizza. Mary could see that he was preparing for an event that might have an adverse effect on Mary's attitude.

"When she saw that Norah was going with Mark, she asked if she could go too," he explained warily. "I queried if she was sure, but she seemed all a twitter about the idea. I think she wanted to stay with her sister," he adopted a softer approach, trying to butter his wife up. "They were pretty sweet today."

The image of them huddled together in the pew, clinging to each other, flashed through Mary's mind. Instead of thawing her out, it just made her miserable when she stopped and thought about it. She was done in – exhausted. A decision that had been made without her consent – something that should've made her angry – simply washed over the surface and faded, seemingly of no importance. She didn't care anymore.

"Is that okay?" Marshall probed when she didn't say anything or move any closer. "I thought it would give us a nice, quiet night," he presented vigilantly. "He said he'd take them for pancakes tomorrow morning before they go back to school."

Pancakes sounded good to Mary. Warm, buttery, with syrup oozing over the sides; the dough flaky and moist in her mouth. She suddenly wished she were going too. Deep down, she knew she yearned for such a thing because it meant she'd be somewhere other than here.

"Yeah, it's fine."

Marshall nodded slowly, "Okay."

He set his plate aside, eyeing her in that mystical way that made Mary feel like he must be seeing all her insides. He seemed so far away from where she was rooted to the spot in the living room.

"Why don't you come sit with me a bit?" he kicked out the extra barstool as an indicator. "Try to relax."

Did he honestly think she expected him to let her relax? She knew him far too well to be fooled by such an offer. He was going to hassle her; run through the day; run through her emotions; every little facet, every little detail. She wasn't up for it. She knew she was going to make him crazy with the way she withheld, but he'd known what he was getting in this deal. He knew what he'd married.

"You know I'm…" she rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her head on her shoulders; she was stiff all over. "I think I may go lie down for a bit. I've got a headache…"

Well, she wasn't lying. All of her ached. And surely Marshall, of all people, would not say no to her doing something as sensible as taking a load off – with or without him.

"Can I get you something?" he brought up, not about to waste his gentlemanly skills. "Would you like me to come with you?"

It was kind of him to ask instead of demand, but he was practically begging anyway. Mary simply shook her head and tried to feed him a loveable, warm smile, but knew it was half-hearted at best.

"I won't be long," she promised. "I still have some of that pizza to finish. I just need the dark for awhile."

It was that word; 'need' that captured Marshall's interest. He was forever asking Mary what she needed, and here she was telling him – point-blank. He didn't agree, after so many days of letting her run as far as possible, but figured he could wait a little longer. He would put his foot down eventually. He would make her talk. The day of Jinx's funeral wasn't the best time.

"I'll come check on you in a bit?" he ventured.

Fortunately, this earned him a resigned, but nonetheless comforted nod and she retreated as soon as she was given the leeway. Marshall watched her shuffle on, never once doubting his adoration for her in spite of how she made his blood pressure spike on occasion.

Back in the bedroom, Mary considered unearthing her own collection of letters from her closet – comparing them with the ones James had written to Jinx. Even at the onset of the thought, she knew it was absurd. How was she going to get over this asinine longing and obsession if she kept feeding it? It was time to forget James. It was time to forget what Jinx had or hadn't thought. Neither one of them were there to confirm either way. It was pointless and petty and stupid.

Therefore, she left the letters where they belonged and flopped down her mattress. Even though she'd told Marshall she wanted it shadowy, she left the bedside lamp on. Lying there, staring at the wall, she reflected how bizarre it suddenly was to have the house empty. They weren't just lacking the guests, but now the kids. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spent a night in this house without at least one of the girls, particularly Alice. It made her uncomfortable and unsettled, whatever she told Marshall.

Mary sat there so long, trying to forget the dominating fears circling in her brain that her eyes began to ease shut. She chastised herself, wrenching awake every few minutes to repeat that it was barely 7:30. She could not go to sleep. Who was she anymore?

But, the events of the day took their toll; the softness of the bed and the need to escape overtook her dilapidated form. It was too much, and she was carried quite swiftly into darkness.

"We need an ambulance…"

The blood was dark red; deeper than crimson and brighter than the early morning sun. It was staining her hands. She didn't know how she'd ever wash it off.

"What the hell are you doing here, Shannon?"

"Get a Goddamn ambulance!"

Her voice was so needy it surprised even her. She sounded more desperate than she had in ages. This wasn't about her job or her career or her future. This was about her daddy, who was slowly withering away, right here in her arms.

"…You had a suitcase with flowers…"

Mary pulled his hands apart so they would not be crunched against his chest in the handcuffs. She groaned and felt the droplets of blood trickle down her wrists.

"We never did…get to take that trip…"

She was weeping freely; she did not even care who could see. She was terrified. She was terrified that this man she had spent her entire life waiting for was leaving her again. He couldn't go. He'd just gotten here.

"It's okay, daddy. I'm here with you now, okay?"

She wanted, desperately, for him to feel safe. She had to show him she could live up to his expectations. He had promised her that if she'd worn her necklace and kept her chin up she could protect everyone. She'd lost the necklace, and that was why he was falling apart; shattered to pieces and bleeding to death in her arms.

"I'm not going anywhere…"

As quickly as it had come, the desert and dirt-ridden ground spun in a cloud of smoke and was gone, despite what Mary had said to James. She was spinning round-and-round through nothing but grayness; nothing but black. She didn't know where she was going and kept her hands clutched together, trying fruitlessly to drag James into a future where he no longer belonged.

"Jinx is dead!"

"What?!"

There was Mark. He looked worried – distraught, actually. Why was he here? What had he done with James? And what about Marshall, hadn't he been there too?

"Her liver failed!"

Once again, her voice took on that same relentlessly distressed quality. Why didn't anyone see how horrific this all was? She wanted to grab Mark; wanted to make him really understand this unbearable pain instead of simply having that sympathetic look on his face.

"I need Jinx…"

And she was sick. She was sick and she was hot and she was going to throw up and Jinx wasn't there. She couldn't wipe her face or dry her tears. She couldn't bring her soup or make her drink out of a glass with a straw. Who was going to do that now that she had no mother?

"Because you're sick?"

Yes! Yes-yes-yes! Why was he even asking? Shouldn't Mark know that?

There was no time to ask. He vanished just as her father had, leaving the living room and the bleak outdoors behind. Mary couldn't feel her feet underneath her. She was floating aimlessly; no left, no right, no forward or back. If Jinx or James were there, they would pull her back. They would make sure she stayed out of harm's way.

"You are such a colossal bitch! It is no wonder you have no friends!"

The pain was palpable. Mary could see Jinx standing there; furious and red-faced in her old pink sweater. That feeling of self-defense was still rattling through Mary's limbs; she'd been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours.

Brandi just sat there crying while she tried to process what her mother had just uttered. She didn't really think that. She was drunk. She was worried. She was half-out-of-her-mind. Was Mary really that bad-bad girl everybody said she was?

Her eye caught the papers strewn all over the coffee table, and one sentence in particular sent a hurtful, too-hot warmth rushing through her chest. It almost choked her, but she swallowed hard; willing it to stay trapped where she could hang on.

"Stay sweet and kind and warm…"

No, she was not bad. James had said so. If he were here, he would tell her.

If he were here.

The bits and pieces swirled faster now. There was no time to touch them; no time to watch. They just piled onto her psyche; confusing her, making her jump and reach to cling for nothing that was allowing her to grasp.

"My little girl is finally getting everything she ever wanted…"

"Everything that you became, through nothing that I gave you…"

"I couldn't fit into this pretty world; it's not for me…"

"Monkey bars at the playground on Fairview…"

"You are addicted to this identity – this little girl…"

"It's the medal of Mary…"

"Abandoned by her father…"

"Your blessed mother. You wear it…"

"Until you let that go, you will never let anyone in…!"

"You keep everyone safe."

Mary woke in tears. They were just streaming down her face, behind eyes that were still pinched shut from having gone under unintentionally. She was a wreck; she couldn't stop them for anything, and she wasn't even trying. Her face was burning; her cheeks were soaking and so was her pillow. She was making those God awful noises Brandi had made all week. She knew she could not have been asleep very long, but it was long enough.

And she knew, without doubt, that she was through. There was no more hiding. She was already too far gone and too confused to bury herself any deeper. The uncontrollable sobs proved that it was over. The guilt had eaten her alive. She'd lost.

Slowly, and still leaking, she got off the bed and stumbled her way across the room. She opened the door with a hand that didn't even seem to be her own. It was darker in the hallway, but she could tell the light in the kitchen was still on. And the further she walked; she saw exactly what she was looking for.

Marshall was right where she'd left him. He was sitting at the island, scribbling on a piece of paper. It wasn't relief that flooded her body, but that desperation; so substantial in her dreams. But, seeing him so solidly present just made her cry harder. Why did he put up with her when she was like this? The tears flowed.

"Marshall?"

It came out croaky and pathetic, but it got the job done. He glanced up and saw her standing there, his blue eyes perfectly neutral. He couldn't quite tell, in the dark of the living room, what had driven her out here.

"Yeah?"

Hanging on wasn't working. Mary sniveled and sniffled and those unsightly sounds escaped out her mouth; escaped as more wetness. She put up a hand to quench them, but knew it wouldn't make any difference. The suffering eked out around the edges of her fingers; it sounded loud in the otherwise empty house.

"Mary?"

She couldn't move. Here, in front of the coffee table, was far enough. He'd come to her.

He did. He was speedy and efficient, abandoning his dinner and his notes. The steps were quick, but not critical. He was ready.

He was in front of her faster than Mary could blink, and her vision was too clouded for her to be able to see anyway. He loomed above her; a long, lofty body. A soaring form of a sanctuary she'd spent a week resisting.

"Mary…" it was no longer a question; it was exact and grave. He extended a hand and curled his fingers around her wrist, carefully pulling the shield apart from her lips. He could see her quivering underneath; could see the tears flooding a face that was nothing short of devastated. "What is it?" the tone was soft. "Tell me now."

The demand was less than an order and more than a request. Mary recognized it, somewhere in the depths of her submerged brain. It was a plea without the imploring.

"Mare, it's time…" he guided her on, holding that hand he'd removed, caressing the fingers. "It's time; let it go…" never once raising his level; always steady, but resolute.

She just stood there, heaving against the gate that was her heart; her breaths were cascading and crashing against the bars. There was a willingness to break through; a need; a desire, if only she could release the key. She was trapped. She was suffocating. She wanted out if only someone would unbolt the lock. The fence was splintering with the force of her injuries.

And then, with his piercing, sky blue eyes – the compressing of her hand.

"Come on, love."

The gate burst. The dam released. The flood surged forth.

"I really…" speaking was overcome with the power of giving in, and the flood of water on her cheeks made her unintelligible.

The need to try again overpowered the hurt, "I really wish my dad were here…"

The runoff of emotions was exhilarating and terrifying all at once at finally having it out. But, Mary was too muzzy to recognize every single one. The tears were pouring from her eyes; she could barely talk. But Marshall, God love him, sighed and expressed the relief she couldn't.

It was not an exhale of exasperation, but of understanding – of recognition. Of intuition.

One word amidst the breath, "Yeah," and a hand on her shoulder.

He knew. He always knew.

"I just keep thinking about the way this was supposed to work, the way it's supposed to happen…" her urgency made the words stumble over one another, but on she went. "One parent dies and the other is there to help, to take care of everything, to be the…the adult…"

Mary gulped hard and fast, and saw that Marshall was merely nodding. He looked sad, but he just rubbed her shoulder and let her spill.

"When daddy died I had to do it all, because Jinx and Brandi weren't here…" she recalled miserably, somewhat surprised in her stupor that she managed to pull it from her past. "And now with Jinx…"

She had to stop to make way for some more of those revolting blubbering sounds. Her nose was running down her face. She felt like Alice must when she had a tantrum.

"He should be here; he should be the one getting me through…" she wanted to sound certain, but her condition prevented it. "If he were a normal father he would be; if he hadn't run off; if he hadn't gotten himself killed while I had to stand there and watch…"

Marshall finally found it buried within his calmness to speak, and it was with complete awe, "God Mare, how on earth did you keep this in?"

She barely heard him, but it wasn't staying in much longer. It was spewing all over everything; it was messy and it was hideous and she wasn't even done yet.

Ignoring Marshall's brand of admiration, "Jinx would hate me…"

He came to faster, determined not to let that one slide, "What?" her husband didn't wait for clarification. "No-no…"

His hand floated off her shoulder to hover in front of her tearstained face; a gesture to halt her assumptions, but now that she'd started there was no stopping. He'd wanted her to open up. This was as open as she would ever be.

"What would she have thought if she knew how much I wanted him here?" it was strident and penetrating disbelief. "And, I don't even really want him! I want…I want…"

The droplets dribbled down her face when the phrase tapered away. It was more than hysteria now. It was sadness; wretched gloom and the awful hole in the middle of Mary's heart. She ended the prayer, knowing to say it would make no difference. But Marshall, in his infinite wisdom, pushed her the rest of the way.

Staring directly down into her watery green eyes, "What do you want?"

He didn't have to ask. As had already been discovered, he knew. But Mary couldn't bring herself to say the name any more. Giving in the last time meant she threw it all to the wolves.

And as the tears ran, "My mom."

The trembling tone carried her – shoved her – into Marshall's waiting arms. She collapsed hard against his chest, burying her face against his shirt. The sobs, to him, must've been magnified and muffled all at once; dampened in the fabric of the tie she'd secured for him that morning. She cried ugly; she sobbed without tact; she bawled until she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. She wasn't Mary Shannon with the tortured past. She was Mary Shannon – the little girl who wanted her mother.

And all the while, Marshall held her tight and rubbed neat, gentle circles on her back. He kissed her hair several times, letting her pour it all out. When she finally quieted even marginally, he started reeling in the hope.

"You want a parent…" he emphasized in that intelligent, brilliant way of his, still unable to see her face. "You want someone who is in charge, in control, and there to kiss you goodnight and make it all better when it hurts."

Mary did. That was exactly what she wanted.

"Losing Jinx has turned James into one of those dads who is just a dad," he continued to rationalize from above. "He was the only father you had, and while you may think you're idealizing him, you're creating him as well."

Had he been saving the speech for just this moment?

"You're creating the image of a father that is there to step in for his daughter when she suffers a loss and a tragedy," he explained further. And then, "There is nothing – absolutely nothing – odd or strange about desiring something like that. And there is nothing wrong with it."

The way he punctuated 'nothing' almost made Mary believe it, but he wasn't quite through.

"It does not matter that James is what you want," he concluded soundly. "In the end, it's the father that you want – or the mother. It's the parent. The parent you lost or else the parent you never had."

Mary was too busy seeping in his strength to really listen to everything Marshall was saying, but a small portion of her clarity was starting to come back. Right or wrong, it was over now. Somebody besides her knew of the agony she'd been inflicting upon herself, and there was maybe a way out. Slowly, she lifted her head a fraction of an inch so it rested on Marshall's ribcage, her eyes peeking through the gap in his arm to see the outside world.

"I was so proud of Jinx…"

She reverberated in a bizarre warble with the cottony feeling in her throat.

"…For getting it together…"

"Of course you were," Marshall assumed, kissing the top of her head in reassurance. "I was too."

"I never told her…"

The moisture threatened to return; her eyes burned and stung from everything expelled thus far. Her nose started to run again.

"How could I have never said anything – after all those times she said she was proud of me?" she could see the teardrops soaking Marshall's shirt, running in rivulets around the buttons. He was so strong when he held her close. "…Said she was proud of the kids?"

Marshall contemplated only for a moment, clearly just reveling in the fact that he was able to embrace his wife and help her when she needed it the most. Mary was fully encircled within his arms; a total cocoon to shield her from whatever harm might come their way.

"Mary…" he whispered. "Sometimes it's what you do and not what you say."

Hadn't he mentioned something similar that very morning?

"And, I've seen plenty," he accentuated for effect, still not letting her go. "Plenty that told both me and her you were ecstatic about how far she came."

Mary wanted to ask for an example, but she was too tired; too worn-out from putting everything on the line. She felt like there was some sort of new dawn approaching on the horizon. It was hazy and cloudy right now, but the sun might inch over the mountains if she gave it long enough.

"You think so?"

It was a childish confirmation that slipped from Mary's lips.

"I really do," he finished. "See, I knew this churlish, surly girl once…"

A lightness and ease slipped into the room as though on wings; as though Marshall's voice had carried them there by the most miniscule, petite bird. They snuck in without warning, bringing a breeze and comfort that help might be on its way.

"She liked to tell me she thought I was obnoxious and tiresome – and too intellectual for my own good…"

Mary would've smiled if she'd remembered how.

"But, that same surly girl also liked to show me a lot more than ever came out her mouth…"

He stroked her hair tenderly while the tears began to dry on her lids; to linger for another day.

"She showed me she could fight to the death. She showed me she could save my life. She showed me she trusted me with the stars, the sun, the moon, and her children…"

Interjection, back to reality, "I love you Marshall."

The most effortless, magnificent giggle.

"And I adore you, my surly girl."

XXX

A/N: Well, one way or another I enjoy writing emotional scenes between Mary and Marshall, and now she's on her way to recovery. ;)