A/N: I made it to my vacation destination, and here I am! A little late, granted, but here nonetheless! I hope you enjoy!

XXX

Mary's sullenness persisted long after she and Marshall began zooming along the slick, slimy highway toward Philadelphia, although for the first hour he didn't push her for details. That was probably because he seemed to have something on his mind as well, but once he got over his own troubles, he transitioned to his partner and her obvious woes. It was the first time in a long time that Mary's anguish was just that – obvious – although anguished was a tad dramatic. She was already getting tired of having to answer to Marshall on every morning that she wasn't jolly; they'd gone through this same song and dance on Saturday in the diner.

On this occasion, however, Mary had more to worry about than her failed meeting with Ted and her indecision regarding the adoption. Lack of sleep and stress, or so she hoped, was making the throbbing in her stomach quite painful. Not so bad that she was crying out, but bad enough that she could scarcely sit still, it was undoubtedly this that caused Marshall to finally speak up. There was no ignoring the way she kept cringing, breathing pathetically through her nose as if she knew anything about the action.

"You really do not look well," the man was also more blunt than usual, but perhaps that was the result of life with Ted. "Why don't you tell me what's going on? I promise I won't call the ambulance until you collapse and lose consciousness," a joke.

If he could counted on to be serious regarding the bit about the ambulance, because Mary had no intentions of getting checked out, she would spill.

"I just…" she had to pause to take a more measured exhale, which did help for a second or two. "I hurt, all right?" short and sweet.

Marshall was on it, "Where?"

"My lower belly – and down across my back."

"Has it been constant or does it stop now and again and then come back?"

She wasn't going to waste time repeating his phrasing, "The second one."

"Okay…" whatever suspicions he was cooking up, they seemed to have been confirmed, although he didn't appear alarmed which put Mary at ease. "I'm sure you're having Braxton Hicks contractions; your little moan and wiggle routine over there has absolutely no pattern from what I've observed…"

"You observe my patterns?" the blonde reiterated, unable to believe Marshall would do such a thing. "You really need to get a life…"

"The point is, they're contractions but they're irregular and so you're in the clear," he finished. "Your best chance at relief is trying to relax – oh, and drink," lifting her bottle of water out of the cup holder, she yanked it out of his hand while still glowering at his diagnosis. "You are probably dehydrated if all you had this morning was that orange juice."

Not interested in the specifics, but willing to believe him if it meant she could dispense with being so uncomfortable, Mary unscrewed the cap and began to down the beverage. If it was a choice between having to pee every thirty minutes and dealing with such gut-wrenching pain, she would take the former every time. She was going to be a real treat by the time she went into labor for real.

Marshall concentrated on the road for a few minutes while Mary drank like she was in the middle of the desert, not realizing just how thirsty she was until she had the liquid in her mouth. Her stomach continued to cramp up, although it wasn't nearly as wrenching if she inhaled and exhaled around it and leaned a little to the left, which meant she got a good view of Marshall and his driving.

Such a position meant that she saw just how woebegone he appeared underneath. It might be hard to spot for most people, but for his trusted partner it was a piece of cake. His gorgeous periwinkle eyes didn't have the same spark, and that alone was enough of a clue to the fact that something was bothering him. Remembering how he had stood up for her with Ted and knowing he had wanted the trip to yield more favorable results, Mary suddenly felt the coercion to show a little gratitude. It wasn't often that such a feeling struck her, but when it did she ran with it.

"Hey, Marshall?"

"Hmm?"

"Look, I'm…" blinking and shaking her head, reminding herself that anything heartfelt didn't have to be a big deal. "I'm sorry that I botched things with your brother; we got off on the wrong foot with my playing into Bri's demands and he's obviously not crazy about me now…"

"Ah, don't you beat yourself up," Marshall was casual, willing to forgive her at once because she was being so self-aware about her gaffe, if that was even what it was. "You shouldn't expend any energy on whether or not Ted likes you. Ted doesn't like anybody."

Oddly, this didn't soothe Mary, "Is that what you tell people about me when I can't get along with anyone who crosses my path?"

What had made her say such a thing? Here she'd been trying to give Marshall a little credit, to show that she hadn't intended to ruin his reunion, and she'd thrown it all down the drain by assuming he would be so crass. Hadn't she heard the way he'd put her up on a pedestal when he'd been talking to Ted? That wasn't proof enough he believed the best of her, even when her behavior didn't merit it?

As it was, Marshall did seem a little ruffled by his partner's question, if not entirely insulted.

"Well…no…" he muttered, sounding sad and confused, which made Mary feel even worse. "I…I admit I hoped for better with Ted, but none of what went down is your fault. I don't look at you the same way I look at him; for one, you don't judge people under a microscope like he does…"

Mary interrupted – anything to get that lost puppy look off his face.

"Marshall, I'm an idiot," she insisted, wanting to sit up a little higher so she could seem more alert, but not willing to risk the discomfort in her belly returning. "You always stick by me – you even stick by Ted whether he deserves it or not. Forget what I said. All I meant to say was that I was sorry."

"But, you have nothing to be sorry about," the taller sounded adamant. "Ted is the way he is with everybody; you can't take it personally."

"Well, I do," Mary snapped, acting out of character by revealing so many emotions all at once, but she was achy and irritable. "I am sick of everybody assuming that I don't care what people think about me. I do care. So, sue me."

Marshall was rightfully thrown off the mark by the woman leaping from contrite to snippy in a matter of seconds, but trying to 'man-up' and admit to her errors was paramount for her. You couldn't expect her not to be a little touchy. Instead of commenting on this, it was probably better to focus on what she had just told him, rather than where her helter-skelter hormones came from.

"I am guilty of believing that you are less than fretful about how the general public views you," this was not a lie; he had thought for many years that Mary could brush off another's opinions with the slightest breeze. "But, it's not fair. Of course you care what people think of you, good or bad. I just hope you're not using my brother as a yardstick for everyone's attitude toward you, because it would be inaccurate."

"You are a filthy, rotten liar," she barked in spite of his own admission. "You name one person who hasn't had reservations about me from the start. Even you did."

"Yes, I did," Marshall conceded. "You're a tough one to figure out, but unless someone is interfering with your work – as you imagined I was back in the dark ages – you can be perfectly pleasant if you make the effort. I know that you were with Ted, and it's his own damn fault that he was too worried about bedtimes to see how wonderful you are."

"Oh…" tetchiness abruptly erased by the accolade, Mary felt her cheeks burn at the praise, fully intending to tell him it wasn't necessary, but that wasn't what came out her mouth. "I…I don't think 'wonderful' is being very truthful, Marshall. You know how I am. Hell, I know how I am. I can't just expect everyone to overlook that I'm a real bitch nine times out of ten."

"Mary," there was no mistaking how flabbergasted he was at her describing herself in such a manner; in fact, he was in danger of driving right off the road just so he could look her in her heavy eyes. "What sort of assessment is that?"

"The honest one…"

"No, it isn't," it was like he was reprimanding her. "I don't like you talking about yourself that way. Too many people make the mistake of trying to defame themselves in hopes of appearing more humble or humane in the eyes of others. You shouldn't fall into that trap. It is beneath you."

It was bizarre to have Marshall be so forthright with her; normally, Stan took over that role because, although the inspector certainly knew how to handle his partner, he very rarely took her to task on any of their cases. Their chief was forever enlisted to break up any power struggles, which meant that Marshall didn't have to get bossy with her. But, the notion that he was so worked up about her displaying any smidgen of low self-esteem was unprecedented. Perhaps because she always projected the utmost poise, it was hard to believe she could ever feel insecure.

"I think you're overselling me, Marshall," she couldn't let go of her attempted modesty completely. And then, deciding it was foolish to continue pretending, "I'm not the only one you've tried to oversell me to this morning."

The taller did not need to crack this code; she could tell by the sigh that made his shoulders slump and the way he set his vision on the streets before him, rain-washed and icky though they were. Mary began to feel a little badly that she'd blown his cover, just as another spasm graced her midsection. But Marshall, with his eyes forward, didn't see her wince.

"So, you heard, did you?" he guessed. "It was pretty dumb of both of us to think that you couldn't," referring to he and Ted.

"It's not like he said anything to you that I couldn't guess from the way he was acting. He didn't take pot shots at me or anything."

"Yeah, but…" Marshall shook his head. "My conversation with him just confirmed that he thinks his demeanor toward you is perfectly acceptable, and that's not something I'd enjoy listening in on. You tried. He didn't."

"Did you tell him to?" the pregnant one suddenly wondered. "You know, like you told me to buck up and be civil?"

Marshall considered, but not for very long, "No," he eventually stated. "I didn't think it would get me anywhere. Are you trying to excuse him?" there was definite distrust in his voice. "Trying to give him an out just because I didn't remind him to 'be good?'"

"Me?" Mary's eyebrows flew up in response to her friend thinking she would cut anybody any slack, let alone someone like Ted. "No. I just think that…you know…" it was hard to articulate what she meant when she couldn't even be sure of why she felt the way she did. "I wanted to get along with him. For you. I just don't think he saw the need for creating any kind of a connection between us. And, why would he? Unless he really does think I'm your girlfriend."

The tips of Marshall's ears turned an interesting shade of red, for he had obviously forgotten the 'girlfriend' part of his quarrel with Ted. Mary brought it up very casually; she even smirked on the tail end, but something told her that the younger brother didn't find it so funny. It was lucky for her, really, that he was so humiliated, because it kept him from noticing that she'd mentioned her intentions to make nice with Ted were to help him out. She didn't need him reading too much into that, making her out to be a sentimental sap who sought to mend fences between brothers.

"I…I think it's the girls who are a little bit…unsure about our relationship…" this came with a lot of throat-clearing from Marshall, which indicated he might be making things up as he went along, although Mary wasn't convinced. "I mean, June is old enough to understand that we're just close friends, but you know how little girls are…" waving it all away as a princess and the frog story. "They romanticize things…"

"These little girls?" the blonde wouldn't buy this. "Do you mean to tell me that Ted and Leann have been reciting fairytales to them since the day they came over from China?" making light of Bri's story. "Doesn't really seem their type."

"But, even without the exposure…" Marshall wouldn't give up on his little scenario, although his lobes were turning more crimson by the minute. "They just…you know, they don't see me often enough to know anything about my love life. The first woman they see, they just assume. That's all. Trust me; I've talked to them on Skype about it plenty of times. They know we're friends. Ted was just being a jerk, trying to catch me off guard."

The 'jerk' part was certainly believable, and if the Manns knew as little as Marshall claimed about anything involving his personal life, the rest of the puzzle slid into place as well. Still, Mary wasn't sure she liked being envisioned as some significant other when she was the furthest thing from – especially when Marshall already had one.

"Do you plan on setting the record straight?" finally, she felt like she could move out of her slumped position, for her stomach had quit constricting so brutally.

"I…what?" Marshall had the feeling he was missing something, and any sort of back-and-forth with Mary about feelings was hazardous territory. "I've told them plenty of times that you and I…"

"Calm down, doofus," he really was getting edgy with the way she was interrogating him, and so she decided to back off in order to make good on her promise of going out of her way just for him. "I just mean, do you ever see yourself introducing Abigail to them? That would show them I'm nothing more than your snarky old partner."

Mary's proposition being wholly innocent made the man loosen up just slightly, but the idea of Abigail coming face-to-face with his family produced a more dissimilar reaction. These past few days on the road he had felt very distant from his actual girlfriend, although had touched base with her every chance he got, which wasn't often between the driving and being so fatigued at night. They'd communicated mainly by e-mail, but he'd never once pictured her in the same situation that Mary had been thrown into – handshakes with June and Avery, pleasantries with Leann, walking on eggshells with Ted, and bargaining with Brianna.

Although she was far more cheerful and infinitely more optimistic than Mary, more willing to make the best of a bad situation, Marshall still couldn't see Abigail in that big old house. It was hard to see anyone there, especially when the result of newcomers was Ted in a frenzy. But, Mary had dealt – she had dealt exactly as Marshall had hoped, with grace under pressure and a hint of her usual sarcasm. Abigail would've been putting on the ritz, pulling out all the stops, killing them with kindness and everything in-between. Usually, Marshall enjoyed her enthusiasm, but it might've been a total flop with his relatives.

Or, he thought guiltily, Ted might actually get along with Abigail because they were both detectives, and she would praise his fondness for proper protocol, something Mary would never do. The thought of them bonding was actually more frightening than them being at odds. Why was that?

"I mean…Abigail hasn't really had the opportunity to meet them," he eventually stuttered, trying to collect his thoughts so Mary wouldn't see how lost in them he had become. "But, you know, if we keep rolling along the way we have been, I see no reason why she wouldn't in the future."

Hard to say what 'rolling along' really meant when one half of the courtship was driving further and further away from the other. There was only one way to find out how Marshall was categorizing that.

"Things are going good with you guys, then?" Mary prodded evenly. "Even though you've been away for four days and are working on fourteen?"

"You know it won't be that long," he reminded her. "And, I suppose so – as well as can be expected, given the distance. I look forward to her daily e-mails; she keeps me updated on all the happenings at home."

"Lovely…" the woman mused half-heartedly.

"In her last, she was particularly buoyant; it seems she ran into an old friend. Vincent something-or-other; I don't recall his last name."

Something clicked so fast in Mary's supposedly mushy brain that she completely forgot her temperamental insides and even more temperamental visit with Ted. Her partner might not be familiar with 'Vincent something-or-other' but her Marshal-mind had just kicked into overdrive. It was like she had a little calendar in the very furthest alcove of her brain, one that spun like a rolodex when important facets needed to be pulled to the apex. Like an old roll of film jittering in black and white, she saw a Wednesday, a desk heaped with papers, and a passionate-as-ever Delia at her elbow.

"What…were they engaged?"

"More than that. Made it to the church and everything – until she left Vincent at the altar. But, you didn't hear that from me, inspector."

Vincent. Vincent. Wells, maybe? That sounded right. Abigail's one-time fiancée, the one she had hung out to dry – the last boyfriend she'd had before turning up in Albuquerque. Wasn't he supposed to be in Texas? What was she doing running into him? But, more to the point, it was clear that Marshall had absolutely no idea who this guy was, and his obliviousness was both shattering and fury-inducing.

Abigail was lying – by omission, maybe, but lying nonetheless. Mary felt like punching her.

But instead, she played it as cool as possible, knowing that if she was going to reveal anything, she wasn't going to be able to look vindictive and have Marshall believe her.

"Who's Vincent?" she inquired harmlessly. "Did she say?"

"Not explicitly, no," Marshall shrugged. "Just a friend – from her Texas days, I gather, but no more than that."

There might have been 'no more' that Abigail had told him, but there was certainly more to the story if Delia was to be trusted. Did Mary dare risk admitting that she had behaved like some gossipy high school girl just to get the dirt on the prom queen? Worse still, would she put her friendship with Marshall in peril by hinting that she believed Delia's claims to be true? Her stomach began to feel funny again.

"You, um…has Abigail mentioned bumping into old friends frequently?" this was a very poor way of ferreting to the core, but it was the best Mary could come up with on the fly, remembering that the detective also used to have a reputation as a party girl. "Does she seem…well-connected or anything?"

"Not especially…" Marshall's eyes did a definite shift sideways, which meant that he saw right through Mary's less-than-cunning approach. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," she was starting to sound defensive, which was always a giveaway. "I mean this Vincent-somebody obviously lit a fire under her; I just wondered who he was, if he was somebody special – special enough to mention him to you," the whole sad, sorry tale was going to come spewing out any second if she did not learn to shut up. "But, how could I have forgotten that everybody is special to Abigail? The next door neighbor is her gal pal; the highway patrol is her best buddy. She's a philanthropist that way."

"That may be, but I don't think that's why you're so interested all of a sudden," Marshall declared shrewdly. "What's going on? I saw your face when I said that guy's name. Do you know him?"

Cursing her downtrodden physical state for making her so vulnerable, Mary knew that telling the truth didn't have to be telling the whole truth. She could omit certain parts – like the fact that she had gone to Delia practically begging for a scoop on Nancy Drew. Also, faking that she doubted the authenticity of the gossip was a must, though she absolutely believed Abigail had been through her share of men.

Shifting so that her back was against the seat once more, Mary gave a nonchalant hunch of her shoulder blades and the most abbreviated version of her knowledge that she possessed.

"No, I don't know him…" still, she kept right on shrugging, as if this would aide in helping the words escape. "It was…Delia who mentioned him in passing…" not really in passing, but specifics were unnecessary. "Because of Abigail, you know; she was aware that they knew each other…"

"How? Why?" so far, Marshall seemed to think this was a bee sting.

"He's a private investigator; I guess Abigail worked with him back in Texas, so you were right about that."

"But, is there something I wasn't right about?" his spidey-senses were still tingling. "Was he seeing her or something?"

Close, but no cigar. And, try as she might to stay mum, Mary just couldn't help herself.

"More like…engaged to her."

The whole bit about her leaving Vincent at the altar could be left out, because the look of bafflement and disorientation in Marshall's features was enough to make Mary believe that this had not been a game at all. No, Abigail wasn't her favorite person and she didn't think she was right for Marshall, but he had obviously been holding a good thought for the future, and this put a definite damper on it. He couldn't hide that he had been totally ignorant of this facet in his girlfriend's past, and now he was embarrassed as well as in denial.

"Delia told you this?" his normally smooth voice came out in a croak.

"Yeah…"

"When?"

"Last week before we left."

"And you didn't feel the need to say anything to me until now?"

Marshall wasn't mad, but a definite sharpness had crept into his voice, though it was probably by accident. Very-very rarely was he ever truly angry with Mary, and it didn't look like he had guessed that she had been the one rooting around for the information. Had he known that, she might've given him very good reason to blow his top.

"I…I mean, I wasn't sure if you knew," nothing false about that. "And, I didn't want to tell you like I was – well, like I knew something you didn't, like I was throwing it in your face," she rationalized. "Is it really my business anyway?" there was the lie; she'd made it her business.

"You weren't keeping it from me on purpose?"

"No," she told him quickly. "I kind of forgot about it once Delia said something."

"Right…" he murmured dully. "Last I heard, you weren't much for swapping stories under the bleachers with the other cheerleaders."

This was meant to tease her, and Mary took it as such when Marshall emitted a nervous, shaky laugh as if to prove he was not at all hurt by Abigail's deception. The real question was: why was he so hung up on the fact that Mary had stayed silent, and not the girlfriend he claimed to love?

XXX

A/N: I couldn't forget about Abigail, although I am sure some of you wanted me to! ;)