A/N: Ahhhhhh. I love this chapter a little bit. I hope you will too. ;)
XXX
Mary was having the oddest, most bizarre dream. Only, it wasn't a dream at all. It had actually happened to her, some seven years previously.
Her subconscious had taken her back to her last OBGYN appointment before she'd delivered Sam. It was the worst doctor's meeting she'd ever had, nine days before her due date and three before she'd actually gone into labor. Brandi was getting married just twenty-four hours later and Mary had a thousand things to do at work before her maternity leave, not to mention her maid-of-honor duties. The whole thing had made her very irritable.
Why would her mind go there?
"I'm a US Marshal for Christ's sake…" Mary hissed at Marshall from her spot on the bed, wiggling her feet awkwardly in the stirrups. "I can get out of anything if I really want to…"
"Being a US Marshal doesn't make you, say, I don't know…God," he shrugged unconcernedly. "Or the president."
"I'm supposed to think there's a difference?" Mary quipped.
Marshall had really taken things well lately. Her mood had flown off the chart; she was annoyed all the time and never hesitated to share it. She'd never felt more uncomfortable in her whole life. Her back had been killing her for about a week straight and she was having awful Braxton Hicks contractions.
It was a combination of these things that caused Marshall to speak up when Doctor Reese entered the room, and Mary could've hit him then and there if not for the witness.
"I'll just do the ultrasound to start," Doctor Reese reported, setting things up. "Then we can take a look at the rest, but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. The ninth month is hard on plenty of women."
Navigating her wand smoothly and swiftly across Mary's rotund figure, Mary herself began to feel a little conspicuous. Although she and Marshall had been 'together' (whatever that meant) for nearly three months now, they hadn't exactly taken the proverbial plunge into the realms of consummation. Mary doubted whether she'd ever feel remotely sexy again.
Fortunately, he was an intelligent man and stayed casual, taking interest in the posters on the walls, the brochures on the counter, sneaking glances when he thought he could chance it.
"Everything looks good," Doctor Reese chimed in minutes later as the image of the baby flickered onto the screen. "I'd say you're close to sixty percent effaced…" she transferred her hand to Mary's stomach, sliding her palm back and forth which Mary did not appreciate.
"Have you been feeling him drop at all?" the woman continued.
"I guess…" Mary shrugged, blasé but when she wasn't looking, Doctor Reese glanced at Marshall, who nodded behind her back.
"Look at him; he's huge!" Marshall remarked excitedly to distract Mary from the gesture, referring to the image of their son.
"Careful…" Mary grumbled. "He may wet his pants…"
"So…" Doctor Reese proceeded with a chuckle as she concluded the ultrasound and started unhooking everything. "What else has been going on? You been having really bad back pain, Mary? And Marshall mentioned Braxton Hicks?"
The woman scowled at her husband-to-be.
Evidently her look did the trick, prompting a full-scale examination to take place – blood pressure cuffs and heart monitors and stethoscopes. None of it hurt, but it was the principle behind it. Here Mary was, exposed for all to see on the tiniest of tables and this woman expected her to lean forward so she could check her heartbeat? Through her back? What could she possibly expect to feel that way?
That DID hurt, and she remembered it well. Hunching over her enormous stomach about put her into agony, her back throbbed so badly. It was the last position she would've chosen, having had it bother her so much lately. The cold, unyielding touch of the stethoscope did nothing to improve her mood either.
"Exhale for me Mary…" Doctor Reese instructed.
She did it, very begrudgingly, seeing as how she could hardly breathe these days anyway. She didn't stop herself in time to catch the wince that came from another painful twinge to her back. If she didn't sit up soon…
Fortunately, Marshall saw this one and squeezed her shoulder before she was finally allowed to resume her previous stance.
"Mary, I don't think this is anything to be overly concerned about," Doctor Reese said after she'd finally finished. "But you're definitely high-risk because of your age…"
Why did people keep reminding her how old she was?
"Your back and the Braxton Hicks aren't the problem," she went on. "It's your blood pressure."
Mary wanted to pose a question at this, but the woman just prattled on.
"I projected your due date at the fifteenth, which was on the later side," she reminded them, consulting a clipboard. "To be safe, if you haven't delivered by then I'm going to schedule an induction. You're at a much greater threat in developing hypertension; I don't want him going over."
Induction had not clicked with her. She'd never heard of it before. She cast her gaze to Marshall, who answered at once.
"They'd give you a drug called Pitocin, which would make you have contractions," he explained. "It basically forces you into labor."
Marshall, usually so delicate with his words, had not made her feel any better.
"Mary, it's entirely possible you could go into labor naturally before then so I wouldn't concern yourself."
Not concern herself? Was she crazy?
Unfortunately, it appeared she didn't care whether she was crazy or not. Leaving the patient to change back into her clothes and Marshall stepping into the hall to take a call from the office, Mary was left alone with her thoughts of being strained into the throes of contractions and delivery with no consent. She didn't understand the point. It was her kid – her body. Didn't they trust her to know when the time was right?
She'd never believed in taking the leap before the stars aligned. She always ran through the fire when she was certain, but why make mistakes in forcing when you'd just do better to wait it out?
Marshall returned just as she was trying to shift her shirt back into place, which wasn't going well.
"Damn it…" she cursed, her back to the door, unable to get the seams straight.
Marshall stepped over to her and corrected the mistake, which she resented rather than appreciated but decided not to voice it this time.
"You okay?" he asked as he pocketed his phone.
"Shouldn't I be?" she shot back.
"You don't want to be induced?" he guessed.
"Would you?" she responded quickly.
"You don't want to overcook him, Mare," he rationalized.
"You know – not really a fan of the oven analogy," she informed him snidely.
"Then try this on for size," Marshall offered. "The longer he stays in, the bigger he's gonna get which is going to make you infinitely more uncomfortable."
It was bad news all over today.
"The whole thing is ridiculous," she decided. "Why can't they just wait until I'm ready? Until I make the strides myself? Isn't that better than being shoved in headfirst?"
To not fly until you grew the wings – to always take the risk, but never when it didn't matter. Don't waste a second if the time if the time is now.
If the time is now…
But don't sprint too soon if it just isn't time.
If it just isn't time…
"It may not even be necessary," Marshall was saying. "I'm sorry about your back," he apologized to cut across this subject. "Leaning up like that could not have been fun."
She shrugged, tired of feeling…tired.
Marshall took this to mean exactly as she'd hoped and extended gentle fingers against her cramped muscles.
"Jesus Mare…" he kneaded harder. "You've got all these knots; it's no wonder you hurt."
It felt good. It felt really-really good.
"I'm not taking you back to the office like this; you're not gonna sit at that desk…"
"Marshall, come on…"
But she couldn't hear him so well now. Something else was invading her trip down memory lane.
"No; forget it," he was firm. "You can work from the house. You're going home."
"What?" she spat.
Even though she had said that exact word, it seemed she was speaking it for an entirely different reason as well – because she couldn't quite make out the phrases.
"You're going home."
"What?"
"You're going home…"
Mary woke up feeling confused and disoriented. Why the hell had she been dreaming about doctor's appointments? About putting her feet in the water headfirst? What on earth?
She then realized her own addled brain had not woken her. It was her cell phone – erupting in a fit of buzzing on the nightstand, its glow cutting through the pitch black of her bedroom. Groping inattentively, she squinted at the clock before answering and saw that it was fifteen minutes shy of four o'clock in the morning.
And the trepidation sunk in. The name on the display was Carolyn's and the time of the day combined with where her mother-in-law was spending the night about did her in. There was no reason she would call if not to tell her that something had happened to Marshall.
Something far-far worse than her head could contemplate.
With shaking fingers, she hit the talk button and put the Blackberry to her ear.
"What happened?" she croaked without even saying hello.
The breathless tears on the other end convinced her it was even more epic – epically horrible – than she could've imagined.
He hadn't…he couldn't…
It wasn't time.
"Carolyn, what happened?" she demanded before the other woman could find time to respond.
"Mary…" she finally said. "Oh honey…"
Don't say it – please don't say it.
"He's awake."
But…
Wait…
Hang on…
Slow down…
"What?" Mary whispered.
She was still dreaming. She was caught in limbo between fantasy and reality.
She had to be.
"He's awake! Marshall's awake!"
And something about hearing it twice put it into motion.
She was dreaming, in an entirely different, more fantastic way.
"WHAT?" a much dissimilar 'what' this time as she sprung up in her sheets.
"He just…" tears of joy. "I was sitting here with him…" more blubbering. "And his monitors started going off – I thought there was something wrong but they came in and…"
A pause to let it take effect.
"Before they even got here…" beside herself with glee. "Mary, I saw his eyes. I can see them right now."
Beautiful blue eyes.
And now his wife was sobbing too – mixed tears of bliss, of rain to wash away the hurt, of knowing this nightmare had ended.
"Is he okay?" she bawled, hand over her mouth in hopes of promoting comprehension.
"He's fine…" her mother-in-law reported. "He was supposed to come off the ventilator tomorrow but about thirty minutes after he came to they tried weaning him out and he's okay," that word again. "Can't talk very well – his poor vocal chords – but whispers here and there."
How Mary longed to hear them as she wept unashamedly in the darkness.
"Mary, he's him. He was ready now."
If you're ready now. Why wait if you're ready now?
Even as the sights and sounds, the colors and pictures of her husband – alive, breathing, awake, and ready to live a new day – told stories in her mind, only one thought forced its way through and it was mutual with Carolyn.
Mary didn't want to cut her off, not at this monumental moment.
She couldn't ask her to share.
But she understood, and one word did the trick.
"Go."
She didn't need telling twice.
"SAM!"
The phone was thrown from her ear as she leapt out of bed, as she flew down the hall, as she crashed through the door of his bedroom.
"SAM!"
He joined her slowly, blearily, elbowing up on his pillow. He peered uncertainly through the darkness, unsure why he was being forced into consciousness at such an hour.
"What's going on?" he murmured, rubbing his eye with his fist.
And now it was Mary's turn to change the world. It was her turn to say the words – to make everything all right. It was her turn to make her son's dreams come true. She found herself beaming, somehow managing not to shed tears. If you could feel a smile, this was what it must be like. Stretched so wide your ears hurt.
Mary looked right into Sam's eyes and they prompted delight.
"Dad's awake!"
It took him absolutely no time at all. But she shouldn't be surprised. Someone had made him a believer.
"He's awake?"
Sam clambered and stood on his mattress, just wanting to make sure.
All Mary could do was nod in response – waiting to hear the words she was certain were on their way.
"I knew it!"
He stumbled his way across the fabric, nearly tripping himself in his blankets and sheets as he bolted for her.
"I knew it! I told you he would! I told you he would…!"
He jumped sky high from the bed like he'd come off springs, forcing Mary to catch him and to laugh as he landed in her arms. The phone was tossed to the toy box at the foot, still connected to her mother-in-law.
"I knew it…" he said it over and over again, inches from her ear and she nodded fervently.
He felt so good pressed against her – warm, snuggly, trembling from joy rather than sorrow. His hair was soft and so were his flannel pajamas. She kissed his waves countless times, unable to stop herself. The exact color of maple syrup and molasses.
"You're brilliant…" she whispered, dampening his locks now. "You're brilliant; you're a genius…"
Mary wasn't sure she had ever said those words to anyone. And if now was the time for spouting phrases…
"I love you Sam…" his legs wound around her, head-to-head, cheek-to-cheek. "I love you so much."
She loved that he had Mark's hair and her father's eyes. She loved the way he grinned like Brandi when he was feeling mischievous, the silly distant glance reminiscent of Jinx when he wasn't paying attention. The way he longed to be tough like his mother when underneath he was sweet and sensitive like his father.
She loved that he was smart like Marshall – that he giggled like Marshall and was polite like Marshall. He was kind like Marshall, daring like Marshall, and when he got excited, when something thrilled him to the limit, he even looked like Marshall.
"I know," her son interrupted in response to her declaration, and she adored that too.
He always knew when the time was right – even before he had walked the earth, he had known. Some intuition had taught him what the exact moment was to spread your wings and fly.
Mary's heartbeat was strong against his own, fingers clutching and gripping, unable to let go. She couldn't stop the steady breathing against the night – the sound of her own gasps, the tightness of Sam's fingers on her neck kept her convinced this was a reality she had longed for as she fought through each day and night.
His voice was sweet beside her ear.
"Mama?" Sam whispered.
He hadn't called her 'mama' in ages. She was surprised by how gorgeous it sounded.
"Yeah Sam."
There was a pause as he managed to pull himself free and look into her eyes.
"You can call me sheriff if you want," he told her. "And Smush. If you want," he said again.
As if her heart could take any more good news. She smiled broadly, hardly daring to believe she'd been holding him so long. He was a big guy, after all. But she didn't want to put him down.
"It's over Smush," she said in a hushed voice. "It's over…he's okay…" closing her eyes. "He's gonna be okay…"
It was after several minutes of this goofy, fruitless beaming and hugging that Mary remembered Carolyn. She had to have hung up by now, so when Mary let Sam stand atop the toy box to grab her cell, she was shocked to find she was still there.
"We'll be there soon…" she wiped her eyes and Sam nodded positively feverishly from his post.
"Okay," Mary could hear the grin even through the speaker.
Even knowing what she'd been told before – about Marshall's low ability to articulate – she couldn't help wondering. It had been so long.
"Did he say anything?"
The smile preceded the letters this time.
"Just four words," Carolyn reported. "'Hi mom…'"
Mary grinned softly, her hand on Sam's shoulder as though to steady herself. And yet, how could she expect to be prepared for the final two?
"'Where's Mary?'"
Of greener grass, and four leaf clovers and sunshine bursts through the clouds; of fighting hard and waiting it out, of taking the dive in knowing the time is right. Mary wept boldly as the world righted itself again.
A/N: It is my hope that the minor connection between Mary's flashback and Marshall's return to life is not too hard to parallel – the whole, 'when it's time, it's time' business. Those of you who have been kind enough to read the previous stories know that Mary, of course, did not have to be induced. She knew when the time was right or rather, Sam did. ;)
Anyway, I can't stop saying it but thank-you bunches for reviewing. Mary and Sam made it. :)