A/N: This chapter is a tad longer. And, I'm not sure why, but I like it. I hope you will too.

XXX

The daybreak of August beating against the glass windowpanes the next morning did not encourage Mary to leave her bed. She'd spent most of the night throwing her sheets and blankets at Marshall, and when she couldn't sleep – whether from heat or kicking twins – she left the mattress to fiddle with the thermostat. The outcome was that she found Marshall wearing a scarf and fingerless gloves while he perused the morning paper at the kitchen table. Beneath his fleece pullover, he was already dressed for work, and seemed to be under the impression that Mary would not be tagging along.

"What are you doing?" she asked, somewhat chagrined that Marshall appeared so casual below his many layers.

His eyes crossed upward, pausing mid-sip of his coffee.

"Catching up on events from various countries and continents around the world," he informed her pretentiously, raising a corner of the paper. "You?"

"What do I look like I'm doing?" Mary rebutted, which was nothing at all.

For a woman who wanted to go to work, or at least stop by Tripp's, she wasn't making a very good case for herself. She was still in her pajamas, though she'd sweated through the tank-top she was accustomed to wearing. If she were able to stomach a T-shirt, she would've, because her upper arms and neck were so flabby it was embarrassing. But, it was so hot Marshall was lucky she didn't just go to bed naked.

"You look like you are getting an easy, unhurried start to the morning," he answered her inquisition. "I commend you."

Mary wasn't interested in him polishing off her surly attitude by twisting the circumstances. She'd overslept – or, she would've, had she slept at all – and Marshall was going to leave her at home because he thought work was too strenuous for her. It was as simple as that.

"Why are you wearing that?" his woman flicked her fingers at his ensemble, though there was really no need to question him.

"What, exactly?"

"That – all of it."

"Well…" Marshall swallowed another gulp of coffee, obviously sensing he should tread lightly. It was one of 'those' days for his treasured partner; she was proving that right off the bat. Why or how could be explained later; it was essential at the moment to keep from stimulating the creature within that longed to bite his head off. "It is a steamy day, I cannot deny. But, for those of us not expecting a bushel of babies, it is a trifle chilly in here."

Mary knew she should be appreciative that Marshall was so accommodating toward her weird pregnancy habits. Indeed, she could feel the coolness lingering on her bare arms, but it seemed to evaporate almost on contact to make way for the scalding surrounding air. There was no telling how frozen Marshall was, but at the moment she didn't care.

She'd woken up petulant from lack of sleep, and crabby because she was going to have to let go of Tripp sooner rather than later – not to mention her sister's fixation on marriage, which was likely the real culprit of her bad mood. It was hard to forget how easily Marshall side-stepped, 'I love you.'

"Bushel of babies…" Mary snarked because she had nothing better to say; she tramped off to the fridge to pour herself a glass of juice. "Well, that puts me off bananas for the morning."

"That would be a non-starter anyway," Marshall rotated in his seat to face her. "The smell bothers you too much."

Mary rolled her eyes where he couldn't see her, "How could it slip my mind that you know everything about me before I've even done it?"

She wasn't sure what the man was doing on the other side of the refrigerator door, but she busied herself shifting containers and jugs aside looking for apple juice. If they were out, it would only enhance her poor mind-set. Sometimes, she drank milk but she usually preferred it with cereal and she wasn't hungry enough to eat yet. Orange juice, her old favorite, now made her gag because of the pulp.

It seemed Marshall was going to ignore her sarcasm about their reciprocal ESP on each other's thoughts, "Can I help you find something?"

Mary pulled her head out to address him, "Where's the apple juice?"

"Try the door."

She let out a huff as she saw it sitting there, feeling dopey for not having thought to look in that spot. Marshall, in his usual chivalry, didn't comment on her absentmindedness, but he did fold his paper up, like he was planning to talk to her. He really should've known better, even as she glared at him from where she unscrewed the cap and plunked the liquid into a glass. Maybe he thought he could proceed deftly enough that it wouldn't trouble her.

"Why don't we cut to the chase here?" he opined clearly. "Are you upset with me or is it something else?"

"I'm not upset with you," Mary nearly spoke over him, coming off shiftier than she would've liked. "Why would I be?"

Well, this was a dangerous question; Marshall had learned that very quickly in the last nine months. Breathing and blinking could bother Mary these days. He seemed to make many mistakes he didn't even know he'd made until she brought them to his attention. This could very well be one of those times.

"Then we'll go with the, 'something else' category," he adjusted his scarf. "Is this about Tripp?"

Mary decided she'd seize the opportunity while she had it, "Were you planning on taking me to work with you?"

Marshall had thought this might be it, but he still had the strong suspicion he had done something he was unaware of. He could nose around about that later in the day if Mary mellowed out. While he didn't want to appear dubious, he doubted there was a very good reaction to her allegation if he was planning on being frank.

"Not right away…" he started off obliging, but it only gained him an exasperated tutting noise. "I figured you could hang out here for awhile, and then perhaps Tripp could come over here this afternoon if he wants."

Mary's eyebrows tapered inward. Her cup went slack in her hand. This was new.

"Come over here?" she repeated slowly, sure she'd misunderstood. "Have you lost your mind? He's a witness; he can't come to our house."

"Given the mitigating whirlwind he is in right now, and the high probability that all three of them will be relocated, I do not see much harm in him stopping by," Marshall rationalized. "He's a good kid – there is no impending danger. He's not going to give us away."

Mary was annoyed that he had worked his way out of her argument so quickly and she stuck a hand on her hip.

"Well, maybe I don't want him to come here."

Marshall was surprised, but did his best to sound unbiased, "And why is that?"

The honest answer was, 'Because if he's leaving, I might as well let go right now,' but she wasn't going to open that can of worms with Marshall. She was an irate woman, swollen all over and looking to avoid any sort of chat about feelings at all costs – be it hers about Tripp, or Marshall's about Mary herself. It felt good to be crotchety. She felt like her old self.

"Because his mother just died and he doesn't need a touchy sad sack like me infringing on his misery."

Marshall was a little bowled over by his partner's not-so-high opinion of herself, but decided he wouldn't show it.

"But, Mary he likes you."

At this, she abandoned her juice all together, dumping the glass loudly into the sink so she wouldn't have to look Marshall in the eye. He must've known he'd committed a gaffe the night before in saying Tripp loved her, because it was a little too coincidental that he had altered his terminology this time.

"Nobody likes me," she grumped over the clattering of forks in the sink.

Marshall was incapable of letting this go, "Now, don't be silly," he worked to sound humorous, like it was all in fun. She heard his chair scrape against the linoleum, meaning he was going to join her, "I like you very…very much." Two hands tickled their way onto her waist from behind, "And so does Tripp."

Mary absolutely refused to turn around, as she was not going to be enticed into his sensual mind games. She clattered around among the dirty dishes to pass up having an exchange like this so early in the morning.

"Tripp would like me a lot better if I'd gotten his mother a ride like he asked me to."

Mary had no earthly idea what made her say such a thing. She hadn't felt accountable for Maureen's dim-witted decision – no more so than Tripp. If she was being candid, there had been no room for dwelling on Maureen's choice to drink and drive among all the other things she had to stew about. But, was it feasible that it had been lurking in the dustiest corners of her brain? Back there with Jamie and her father and all the other crap she couldn't let go of?

Marshall squeezed against her sides, resting his chin on her shoulder, "You know that he doesn't blame you," his breath was very warm in her ear. He smelled wonderful; like freshly laundered clothes – perhaps from the scarf – and the merest whiff of smoked bacon. "Neither do I. You have a plethora of distress on your plate without adding Maureen to the pile."

His partner closed her eyes against the rising sun outside the window, inhaling the combination of soap and heavenly fragrant breakfast that was just him. He was so talented to be able to abate her grouchiness like clockwork; like a phenom. She was about to shift sideways and allow his arms to wrap her up when she heard the droning hum from across the room.

Thus, Mary curved for a different reason to locate the source of the buzz, but Marshall was already on it. He left his post and loped back to the kitchen table, retrieving her phone that she'd left out the night before.

"It's your cell…" he announced, before taking the liberty and answering it himself. "Hello?"

There was the usual pause while Mary leaned against the counter, watching him listen, almost grateful for the opportunity to duck out of going over Maureen, Tripp, and anything else worrisome. That was until she heard Marshall's response to the person on the other end of the line.

"Yes, this is Marshall…" odd, since it was not his phone. But then, "Yes, she's right here. One second…" Pulling the cell from his ear, he held it out to Mary, "For you. It's Doctor Reese's office."

It was beneficial, for Mary's sake, that she had yet to ingest a meal, because she felt as though a rock had dropped into her stomach. It fit right beside the space that had formed the night before when she'd learned how likely it was that Tripp would be leaving the state. Even with her absolute hurricane of events, the virtual tornado she'd been sucked into in the last week, Mary could scarcely believe she'd forgotten already.

The amniocentesis results. Incredibly, Maureen's death had pushed them completely from her mind.

Marshall seemed to extend the phone toward Mary's hand for several minutes before she registered that she was supposed to take it. He was looking slightly apprehensive, but it couldn't have been more apparent that he wished to remain calm. She needn't act as though their entire lives hinged on this. Just the twins' lives.

And without them, you could pretty much kiss Mary's existence goodbye as well.

"Right…" she finally slipped her Blackberry away from him, her voice rather tight. "Thanks."

To Marshall's credit, he did not implore her to keep her cool. Once she palmed the cell, he went back to his breakfast dishes, gathering his own dirty plates to stack in the sink. Mary sidled toward the living room so he could reach the faucet – and so she could whirl back around and avoid him seeing her features.

"This is Mary."

They were fine. They were just fine. Even if they weren't, she'd felt perfectly healthy – whatever comprised 'perfectly healthy' at eight months pregnant. This was not the be-all, end-all. It was not.

"Hi Mary, this is Emily. I'm calling to report the results of the amniocentesis you had yesterday morning?"

Why had this girl placed a question mark on the end? It made her sound amateurish – unsure. Could Mary trust her to give the correct diagnosis? Fortunately, almost as soon as the thought entered her mind, it was brushed away by the flighty receptionist.

"I have Doctor Reese on call waiting; she wants to give you the figures herself."

Figures? Mary didn't know what to make of that, but let it go.

"Okay."

"All right, just hold on a moment…"

There was a loud, shrieking sort of beep in the inspector's ear as the call was transferred. While she waited it out, Mary thought it would probably be a good idea if she sat down, but she couldn't make herself do so. Instead, she tapped her foot and bit her lower lip nervously, fighting every itch to go back to the kitchen and stand with Marshall so they could do this together.

Despite every better suggestion speeding through her overloaded brain, she stayed where she was. It seemed hours before Doctor Reese finally came on the line.

"Mary?"

"Yeah…" she confirmed. "Hi."

"Good morning," Doctor Reese modified her speech now that she was sure she had the correct patient. "I'm sorry to call so early; I hope I didn't wake you."

It was almost nine o'clock, but Mary felt no need to point this out.

"No, it's fine."

Just say it. Why couldn't she just say it? Was there any point in dillydallying around? Mary knew there wasn't. There was no changing whatever was written on the wall. Pleasantries were meaningless.

"Well, I wanted to get the results of the amnio back to you right away, so we can decide where to go from here," the physician affirmed, a methodical attribute to her voice. "I was told the procedure went off very smoothly."

"Yeah…" Mary said hastily; all of her veins seemed to be jangling against her bones. "But, that's not really the point, is it?"

This was her way of praying audibly that she wished Doctor Reese would get on with it. To her relief, it seemed her restlessness could not be missed, because the other woman took it upon herself to get down to business.

"No, I suppose you're right," Doctor Reese amended. "Mary…"

She knew that tone. Nobody ever said your name that way when they planned on giving you good news. Unless Doctor Reese was pulling her leg, she knew there was absolutely nothing coming that she wanted to hear. Suddenly, Mary was struck with the impulse to have delayed the inevitable a little longer. She'd wanted it all laid out seconds before. Now she longed for the doctor to hold back.

Why had she thought thirty-three-week-old twins just over three pounds had any chance of mature lungs? Had she really fooled herself into believing that? This was why she never allowed herself to have expectations. The dissatisfaction was so much worse.

"I'm sorry, but the results for lung maturity came back negative on the baby who was tested – the male."

Mary's throat had gone very dry. The sun out the front window was blinding her. She couldn't see. She couldn't think.

Negative? Why didn't she just say that he'd failed? It would be just as barren and just as bleak.

"There's really no need to test the female now that we know," Doctor Reese went on while Mary worked to swallow past the cottony feeling that was preventing her from speaking. "We'll just have to keep an eye out, monitor your blood pressure closely, and try to keep those babies in utero as long as we can."

Mary had heard all this before. It wasn't easier the second time – or the third or the fourth. She'd begun to lose track. Didn't everyone think she was doing everything she could to hold her children in the womb? What more could they ask for?

She had an impetuous premonition.

"So…I mean…" each letter was an effort; between trying to keep the call from Marshall and elude crying, it was hard work. "Is this…I mean…bed rest?" jumbled and barely a whisper, she'd be astounded if Doctor Reese understood her.

She couldn't go on bed rest. What about Tripp? Things were different now. He needed her. Could she really discard him when he'd just lost his mother? The injustice of it all was tormenting Mary. A choice like this was so vastly unfair.

"Doctor Abbott took your blood pressure when you were at the hospital yesterday," Doctor Reese described. "And, it is continuing to rise," no concrete numbers were given. "I think you'll be all right for the remainder of the week…"

Well, at least there was that.

"But, we'll get another read when you come in for your thirty-four-week appointment on Friday. I wouldn't be surprised if you head into the weekend chained to your bed," she finished grimly. "We'll have to see, but I won't hesitate to order you to keep your feet up permanently at that point." And then, perhaps to placate the woman, "You've made it a nice long stretch, Mary. The final month including bed rest is not uncommon with twins at all."

It didn't matter how you sliced it. To Mary, three weeks was an eternity, and everyone in her inner circle knew she was going to strive to make it even longer, to extend herself all the way to forty, no matter how exceptional that might be with multiples.

Still, the real insult to injury here was the results on her son's lungs. She'd done it all – lost sleep, been sick, agonized hour after hour – for nothing. Marshall could say whatever he wanted in terms of feeling improved about being in the loop, but she didn't buy a word of it. She was no better off now than she'd been before the amnio. All she'd learned was that at least one of her kids wouldn't be able to breathe on their own if they were to come this very moment.

She wasn't sure any sort of obsessing or exhaustive report was worth knowing that.

"Okay…" Mary made herself rejoin the conversation, not a clue how she was going to repeat this entire account to Marshall, as she'd done a decent job concealing it from him from across the room. "Well, I…thanks for the update…" she had nothing else to contribute. "Unless there's something else."

"Just the usual," Doctor Reese concluded. "Be aware. Watch yourself for any signs of high blood pressure or premature labor. Any dizziness, headaches, consistent contractions…" she rattled off the list. "Don't hesitate to call the office."

"Right," Mary nodded, wanting to be rid of her now. "I know."

"All right," the other woman segued. "I'll see you on Friday then, Mary. Take care of yourself."

"Yeah…thanks…" she said far more courteously than she felt. "I will."

Once again, it seemed a long time before Mary hung up the phone. Blindly, she tried to slip it into her pocket as she usually did, then she remembered she was wearing her elastic pants, and they didn't have a pouch. This left her standing with it in her hand, staring out the window, mesmerized by the heat waves warbling over the crunchy desert grass. There were chunks of mud near the gutter from where it had rained Sunday night. Mary could gawk for hours if it meant she didn't have to face the never-ending drama ahead.

It was the sound of clinking glasses behind her that alerted her to the fact that Marshall was waiting. She couldn't tell him. She'd failed. Hadn't she? Somebody had, but it couldn't be her little boy. It wasn't his fault his lungs didn't work right. Didn't that mean it was Mary's?

It was a slow turn to the kitchen. Marshall was still at the sink, but he held no visible interest in the plates and silverware. His eyes were transfixed on her.

Mary did not know how she appeared to him, but she knew any other man would've asked a thousand questions to get to the core – to get to the one simple facet he really wanted to know. Not Marshall. He knew her inside and out, and she could've been grinning to beat the band – he'd have known it was a farce.

As it was, Mary knew she was not smiling, and this was enough for Marshall as well.

"No sale?"

Mary loved him for not interviewing her about the whole thing. She blinked back the tears, focusing on the carpet to aide with this task. Painstakingly, she shook her head.

This was all he needed. He left his dishtowels and stained milk glasses in an instant, striding the length of the room to offer his condolences. What else could you call them? He knew the best thing to do would be for them to commiserate together.

When he reached her, it was with a well-timed, sensitive sigh.

"Oh, Mary…"

Without preamble, he hugged her, finishing the one he'd tried to worm his way into over by the sink. She stood blankly, arms at her sides, reveling in his compassion and enjoying just being with him. Little, if anything, was better than him.

"You must be so disappointed," he promised nothing, and his partner was forever grateful. "I'm sorry."

It was such an unoriginal avowal – the required 'I'm sorry.' No matter how cliché it was, however, Mary found herself repeating it.

"I'm sorry too."

Marshall was smart enough to know that the woman did not mean in general – she was not apologetic for the challenge they found themselves in, but for her part in the ordeal. Mary's desperate need for control had her believing she held the power over her children's well-being. It had been the same song and dance with Jamie – underneath all her insecurity, she still detained herself in highest esteem. The sun and the earth rotated on her every command. It was one of the things Marshall loved most about her.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," he assured her, glad to feel a hand float onto his back so the embrace was not so one-sided. "You didn't do anything."

Mary groaned, "That's for sure."

Marshall's answer was a pat on the shoulder, "Come on. You know that's not what I meant."

She closed her eyes, yearning to go back to ten minutes prior, when she'd been thrilled just to soak in his scent and his long, lean body. Those minutes where she could escape the pressures of work, the pressures of babies and nursery patterns were few and far between. Marshall was the only one who could give her that getaway, but right now it didn't seem to have the same effect. She felt like he was containing her rather than whisking her away.

Clutching him once a little tighter, vowing not to let her emotions get the better of her, Mary pawed away, uncertain how they'd gone from zero to a hundred in less than thirty minutes.

"I just need some time with it," she declared, which was not all together true; seconds passing wouldn't recover the letdown. "That's all."

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, feeling the strands tickling her retinas, but even once she cleared the space, she knew it was more than curls bothering her eyes. Tresses didn't cause that acute burning sensation that meant an overflow was on its way.

"Mary, we aren't out of options," Marshall watched her shrink inward, watched her for signs of how she usually dealt with hassles, which was to run away. "I'm guessing bed rest is coming?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Probably by the end of the week."

Marshall was heartened by this information, "That's good. We'll be able to see Tripp through the funeral. It'll give you some time to make amends with him…"

"We didn't have a fight," Mary interrupted.

"Poor choice of words," he admitted, and this was a rare occurrence indeed; Marshall was often so eloquent. "It'll give you time to explain to him what's going on – as much or as little as you see fit – and turn him, Billy, and Gretel over to Delia and Stan. He'll understand, Mary. He will."

She didn't generally mistrust the poise in Marshall's convictions, but on this occasion, she couldn't help feeling cynical. Tripp was one thing. He might sail off into the sunset relatively smoothly, but what about Mary? This wasn't just about the boy. She was losing him as much as he was losing her. She wouldn't put her children in jeopardy for anything, but having to let Tripp go so directly was as physically painful as any of those contractions she'd struggled through in the last eight months.

"I just…I don't…" what was going to come out of Mary's mouth was so selfish that she couldn't begin to contemplate how Marshall was going to react. "I…I don't want to be pregnant anymore," her tone was meek, downright docile. "It…I'm just…"

She grabbed hold of anything that did not put her face-to-face with Marshall. She felt ashamed to have admitted to such a thing, that being with child was getting in the way of her life. After Jamie, how could she resent having one baby, let alone two? She remembered the agony of losing him and felt even worse. In the grand scheme, was having to step down at work really so awful if the result was healthy twins?

"I don't know," Mary finished lamely.

Marshall grabbed her hand from where it swung at her side and squeezed it, "Don't beat yourself up," he advised amiably. "Like I said before, you're entitled to be a little sullen. There's a reason men aren't the ones who procreate, my lady."

Mary couldn't help the quavering giggle that erupted, "Why is that?"

"It is not a job for the fainthearted. It requires nurture the likes of which I cannot foresee; you have to house and care for a being – beings in our case – which you cannot even see or touch. You put everything aside for the sanctity of a beating heart and nothing more."

Although Marshall's idealistic expressions typically elicited disdain in Mary, this time was different. She was further startled when his elegant fingers found their way to the bump, a place to which they never strayed. Mary was very particular about who could fondle her stomach, and in most cases it included only herself.

"Think about all you're sheltering besides the kids," Marshall went on with an air of awe. "Lungs – yes. But also two hearts, four legs, four arms, two heads, twenty fingers, and twenty toes." He shrugged, eyes on the round, "I'd say that if only the lungs are malfunctioning, you're doing pretty well. And I don't know of any man that could do all that so selflessly."

Well, Mary could think of one – and he was standing right in front of her – but that was quite beside the point. He could see that his elaborate speech was having the desired effect on her and her raging hormones. He was taking advantage of her.

"I don't see what being a woman has to do with it," she objected in order to stall.

Marshall just smiled, "Then I guess you'll have to take my word for it."

Her partner's word was as good as the gospel, even if he didn't utter the three she needed to hear the most. Did it really matter? He was here, wasn't he? He'd just placed her on a pedestal because she bore his children. He was wearing a scarf and gloves in August for Christ's sake. Did the words themselves really make any difference?

After all, her father had claimed over and over that he adored her, and it had meant nothing. Nothing at all.

"I admit I'd be getting quite the laugh if you were pregnant," Mary left professions of love aside. "I'll…do my best with Tripp and see how far I get."

Marshall nodded, visibly pleased that they weren't going to hash out the details of the amnio, at least not right now.

"That's an excellent plan…"

But, before he could worship her any further, the front door swung open and Jinx, of all people, walked through it. Marshall stepped backward, from where Mary had been sure he was about to kiss her, and pasted on a smile, like everything was peaches and cream. Mary knew her mask was going to have to present itself as well.

"Hi…!" Marshall waved, and Mary suddenly wished she'd taken the time to get dressed now that they had company.

"Hello dears!" Jinx sang, waggling her fingers exuberantly. And then, "Ooh…my!" she shivered, rubbing her arms at once, for she was wearing a sleeveless, flowery top. It was perfect for the weather outdoors, but for the icebox that was Mary's house, it was nothing if not skimpy. "I'll have to get my sweater out of the car…"

"We like to keep things frigid here on Mann Island," Marshall proclaimed as the brunette flounced over to the pair of them.

Jinx laughed as she spotted his fleece jacket and outerwear, "Look at you…" stroking the fabric with her pink-tipped fingers. "You're such a gem, Marshall…" everyone in the vicinity knew James never would've catered to Jinx any such way. "Hi sweetheart…"

She stretched her neck to give Mary her complimentary kiss on the cheek, and her daughter took it in stride, appreciative of anything that kept her from disclosing the amnio results.

"Don't you have a class this morning, mom?" Mary asked, genuinely curious as she wondered about the little dancers at the studio.

"Not until eleven," the other woman said. "But, the painters and the decorator will be here at nine thirty and I wanted to see them get started."

Marshall gathered this cue in both hands, knowing his partner well enough to realize that keeping Jinx occupied with baby garland and ribbons was a surefire way to leave Doctor Reese's phone call in the rearview.

"We're gonna have to get started too," he returned. "Mary and I are off to work here in a bit."

Mary and I, he had said. She was going to get to go with him. She was going to oversee what was happening with Tripp. She got to be a Marshal, if only for four more days.

If that wasn't love, what was?

XXX

A/N: As I said up-top, I'm not sure why I'm partial to this chapter; there's not a ton going on, but we get some information (or, Mary and Marshall do). Hope you're sticking with me!