A/N: I neglected to mention in all the hoopla with the site not working, that I wondered if anybody would be disappointed Mary and Marshall are still just friends. But, I've never gone that route before and it seemed appropriate for this story.
XXX
December 12th
After two days with Marshall, Mary wondered why on earth he had never stayed at her house before he'd gotten bummed off by his wife. Regardless of whatever disappointment he was feeling, keeping busy seemed to be some of his only solace. He had nowhere to go since Hanson and company weren't expecting him back until the fifteenth and, subsequently, not taking up his old position until after the first of the year with the holidays. This meant that Mary, without even trying, had found herself a new baby-sitter.
Norah was slowly but surely starting to break out of her comfort zone where other individuals were concerned. Her primary go-to was still Mary, but as her head healed, so did her mind-sent. Nonetheless, Marshall couldn't help noticing she skillfully avoided the part of the floor where Mary claimed she had collapsed. For one so young, she had an awfully good memory.
On a Wednesday evening, Mary came home to find her trio – Marshall, Norah, and Oscar – doing some block-building, one of Norah's favorite activities. The tower was teetering precariously high; Mary kept her eye on it while she deposited her tote next to the couch and took her coat off.
"One more might fit…" Marshall teased, Norah standing to place yet another block. "Careful though; you're the giant, you might blow it down…" he adopted a deep tone, which earned a shy smile from Norah, already dressed in pajamas.
"Hey, you two…" Mary greeted them, leaving Oscar out as she approached, surprised to find Norah not shriek her name at the mere opening of the front door.
The sound of her voice did it, however, and her daughter turned with sheer joy at both her creation and her mother being in the room to see it.
"Mama!" there was the squeal. "My's tower…" much gesturing and finger waving accompanied this murky statement, most of which Mary didn't quite catch. "Bocks…" she offered a cube to demonstrate.
"Isn't that nice?" Mary mused, taking the little one around her waist, mindful not to shake the floor and destroy her masterpiece. Immediately, she tucked the child between crossed-legs on the floor, Oscar sniffing curiously nearby. "You didn't have to get her ready for bed Marshall; I could've done it…"
"Ah, it was no problem…" he assured her, looking absurdly striped with the blocks stacked up between them. "Thought we'd get comfy-cozy before becoming architects…" he was wearing basketball-print bottoms of his own.
"Better put that last one on before it falls, Norah…" Mary advised her daughter. "Show me how you do it."
Norah grasped the pitch and unfolded herself from Mary's lap to do as instructed. However, her mother couldn't help noticing the devious grin playing against her little one's cheeks. She was constantly impressed by how much Norah appeared to understand, even at only sixteen months. And right now, she was recalling Marshall's 'you're the giant' story, and also how much Mary loved a good crash.
Without further ado, she did not even bother trying to hide her intentions. She practically threw the remaining block at the skyscraper, knocking the entire thing to ground with a vivacious giggle. Marshall accepted a face of enormous mock-surprise, clapping his hands to his still-bearded cheeks.
"Oh, no!" he crowed dramatically. "It's all gone! Oh, those poor people! They got smashed by the big…" he clawed Norah's ribs and she tried to squirm in next to Mary. "Scary…!" Marshall was too quick and yanked her into his chest. "Giant!"
Norah howled feverishly with excitement, "Uh-oh!" beneath Marshall's tickles.
"Uh-oh is right…" Mary decided, and with help from Oscar's motoring nose, was able to get the blocks back into a pile before Norah tripped once more in retrieval. "Having a giant in this place is tricky business, Bug."
Marshall amused her with his long fingers in just enough time; before she became agitated and overwhelmed. Her sighs were breathless and happy when he stopped tickling and she huddled contentedly in the man's arms. Two days before, she wouldn't have dared go near him, which reminded Mary to do a quick inspection like the mama bear she was.
"Give me a look, my love…" she leaned from where both her and Marshall sat cross-legged and eyed the purple lump, once so spectacular. She was pleased to see it was a shade of yellow now, and shrinking back into smooth skin before her very eyes. "Just about there," she determined.
"Gorgeous either way," Marshall decided while Mary eased back.
One of their more painless silences fell as Oscar dragged himself across the floor to be nearer to Norah, now that he was through with the blocks. Head on his paws, he stationed himself as close as possible, Norah sticking fingers out to lay them on his head. Mary and Marshall weren't the only pair of best friends in the house.
"How was work?" Marshall eventually asked, Norah allowing Oscar to lick her hand. "Anything I can help with?"
"You don't think you're helping enough already?" Mary asked, indicating her child. "You saved my ass by coming back early."
"If only that were the real reason I left the humidity behind," he smiled sadly.
Mary brushed over that and answered the question, "Same old. Delia's trying to plan a Christmas party, but I don't know if I'm gonna be up for it," she busied herself twirling a block in hand.
"Why not?" Marshall wanted to know.
"Just a lot to do…" she shrugged, nudging a foot at Oscar to make sure he was only using his tongue and not his teeth on Norah's flesh. "I still need to buy gifts for Norah, and I haven't gotten anything for Colin yet. What do you even buy for a newborn?"
"Strictly speaking, Colin isn't a newborn anymore," Marshall corrected her. "Nearly four months now, if I properly recall."
"Just the same," Mary nearly spoke over him. "Half the presents you pick up for babies are actually for the parents – all the clothes and the bottles and crap."
Marshall nodded good-naturedly with a genial smirk, but his attention had strayed elsewhere. Norah's brilliantly blonde strands of hair were just begging for a kiss while she allowed herself to be stationed in his lap. Mary was unable to stop herself noticing he took infinite pleasure in the few curly coils at the base of her neck. She reveled in those herself.
"You know you can stay with us through Christmas," she brought up somewhat spontaneously, watching him melt over her daughter. "Not just 'cause you're my baby-wrangler," she wanted to sound more like her old self in hopes it wouldn't bring to the forefront what he was trying to forget.
Unfortunately, it appeared the damage had been done. Without meeting her eyes, he spoke in a voice of forced calm.
"I talked to Abigail yesterday."
Mary buried the need to have it out with him for not mentioning such a thing. There was probably a reason – she was not the most objective person – and she did her damndest to remember that. A neutral question was safest.
"What about?"
He hunched his shoulders, doing a better job of looking right at her, but unable to decide whether he wanted to stroke Norah or Oscar more. His hand kept jumping from one spot to the other in obvious agitation.
"She's back," he offered plainly. "With Cliff. Staying at a place he rents out in Santa Fe."
Mary swallowed very hard in biting back a sarcastic comment, "She felt it was prudent to tell you that?"
"Well, the first part," Marshall sensed her frustration; she could tell. "Just so we can figure out when to divvy up our things from the house; get things cracking. I don't think either of us wants to live in it anymore."
She had no good response to that and troubled herself with a block a second time. Norah snorted through her nose while playing with Oscar. Mary suspected she might be trying to imitate him again with the way he wheezed out his nostrils so loudly.
"Just…going to the house means I'll have to see her…" Marshall continued unexpectedly, shutting his eyes at the thought. "And I really don't want to see her – not now. Not anymore."
"You don't have to," was Mary's immediate response, although she knew this probably was not the case. "Not for awhile anyway. I mean, don't go until you're ready. Don't let her dictate that."
She wondered, vaguely, if that was very sound advice. But, Marshall hadn't done anything wrong and he didn't deserve to be walked all over anymore. He could divorce on his own terms; he didn't have to play by Abigail's rules. Mary also debated whether Abigail was very sorry about what she'd done to him. She couldn't decide, not ever having come into contact with an Abigail that would do something like this.
"You are being startlingly rational about this whole thing," Marshall told her out of nowhere. "Dare I ask what you really think as far as Abigail is concerned?"
"I'm pretty sure hearing something like that would probably make you feel worse," Mary offered him a wily smirk to show it was nothing very kind.
Marshall contemplated that momentarily, lost in his own thoughts. Norah crawled out of the bowl formed by his legs to get at Oscar. She was babbling incoherently, holding up one of her blocks for him to see. He simply sat, never once raising his head, but paying rapt attention to every word – disordered or not. He was her loyal servant, right to the very last note.
"Well, I wouldn't mind listening to how you feel at this point," Marshall eventually conceded. "Two days ago, probably not. But, I think I'm ready to fuel the anger at this point."
"Only if you're sure," Mary quipped tentatively, and he gave a solemn nod.
She knew she only had once chance to get this out to the best of her ability, and so she was extremely quick. She folded onto her knees, cutting into the hardwood, and placed her hands over Norah's ears. She writhed only momentarily before neglecting to notice the change and Mary let it loose.
"I think she's a cruel, cold bitch for what she did to you, and I hope to Christ Cliff bangs some other chick so she knows just how bad you feel right now. Even then, it's not nearly enough."
Satisfied, but a little nervous to see how Marshall was going to react, Mary removed her hands and let Norah go on her merry way. In the back of her mind, she knew they should probably get off the floor, but it didn't seem important right now. In response to her declaration, Marshall whistled low in his throat and seemed oddly impressed – not an emotion Mary could've foreseen.
"How lyrical of you," he reflected with a hint of amusement.
"You asked," Mary reminded him, grousing in an undertone.
"That I did," Marshall wasn't one to back down. "And with your more compassionate nature where all this fits in, I had no idea you felt this strongly. That wasn't just for my benefit, I hope?"
"Why would it be?" Mary snapped her eyes to match his, her peripheral vision catching Norah sprawled on her stomach on the hardwood to get a better look at her canine pal. "Marshall, we're…" a sigh inched its way through. "I thought we were best friends, and…"
"Wait-wait-wait a minute…"
Mary ought to have known one word; one alternation in such an ordinary phrase would catch his attention. She shouldn't have slipped up like that. Now they were going to have to go around the bend, and it would be messy. She hated messy.
"You thought we were best friends?" he targeted as she'd known he would. "Of course we're best friends. Why wouldn't we be?"
He sounded so certain – far more certain than he'd sounded about anything in the past few days. Mary was grateful for that, but didn't relish having to explain her gaffe. There wasn't much to it, and she pondered how to get it out in the most succinct way possible.
"Marshall, I didn't mean…" that was bad; she tried something else, shaking her head as she did so. "I just…" hearing it in plain English was going to sound bizarre. "I don't act like your best friend," she finished softly.
His face told her nothing but the fact that he was truly befuddled. Not one single part of him understood, and the last thing Mary had wanted was to confuse him even more than he already was. He'd been put through the wringer and didn't deserve something else slapped on his pile. Before she could clarify, however, he was voicing his concern.
"Why would you say that?"
He sounded so-so sad, like he was afraid her statement meant he was losing his grip on her – that he was losing her the way he'd lost his wife. Mary intended to disprove that at once.
"I just mean that…" a swallow; so many tense conversations in so few days. "I never realized how much I relied on you until you went down to Mexico. I never told you this, but in that first week, I tried to call you probably sixty times – not kidding – and I'd forgotten every time that you wouldn't pick up," it was uncomfortable to admit, but she had to. "You do a lot for me Marshall, and I really haven't given you much in return."
"That isn't true…" he insisted a little too quickly.
"Oh yeah?" Mary scoffed. "What grand gesture have I made that compares to anything you've done for me?"
"Would you like me to start with saving my life when I was shot and work my way back?" he tried to joke, but Mary wasn't in the mood.
"I'm serious, Marshall," she informed him sharply. "I'm trying to do better; I really am."
He shook his head at this, but Mary hoped he sensed her tone and was going to leave it at that. He knew she was making an effort now; that change was in the works, and had been since his first fateful days across the border. It had been hell being apart, but they were in a different place now. So much had altered since June, and yet Mary thought – at least as far as their friendship was concerned – something had broken as well as improved, nearly simultaneously. She didn't even feel like it was Abigail's infidelity that had caused it. She, Mary, had wised up in her partner's absence. Such a title prompted another question in hopes that they could leave the other in the past.
"You know, Hanson keeps asking me what you're planning on doing come January…" Mary interjected swiftly. "I get the feeling he wants to stick around. Call me crazy, but I think he's gotten fond of me," she put up a well-timed wink to show this was a fib of the largest degree.
"I don't really know…" Marshall sighed, disturbing it with a chuckle upon seeing Norah nearly zonked out next to Oscar on the floor. "I guess I'm technically acting chief; Hanson was just a temp."
"I think a switch could be arranged…" Mary prodded persuasively. "If you're more at ease stepping down."
Marshall didn't miss a beat in each gesture; each raise of her eyebrows. He knew where she was going with such suggestions, and knew she probably didn't want to sway him unnecessarily; she had her dreams too. They hadn't had a lot of time as chief and inspector, and considering his whirlwind of a personal life, he didn't anticipate being the best boss this time around.
"You saying you want to be my partner again?" he ventured cautiously.
"I'm saying you should do what makes you happy," Mary gave quite the diplomatic response.
Marshall sighed, but it was with fatigue rather than uncertainty, and she knew she'd probably have to wait another day or so before she garnered a definitive response out of him. She could wait. She'd waited six months. She could wait a little longer.
"What would make me happy is to get this little missy to bed…" he decided predictably, laughing another time seeing Frick and Frack snoring on the ground. "Sleeping on wood can't be good for that tender head of hers."
"Always on top of things…" Mary stood up with a groan, careful not to slip in her socks while Marshall lifted Norah from her position. Remarkably, she stayed asleep and merely shifted further into his grasp. "I'm gonna get something to eat; I had Chinese a couple hours ago, but it was quick…" she gestured toward the kitchen.
"Sure," Marshall agreed. "I'll join you in a minute."
"Thanks for putting her down," Mary smooched one of those precious cheeks before departure.
"Absolutely," the man gave his final word before heading back to the bedroom.
Mary was halfway to the kitchen once he was gone, running through different foods in her mind, wondering whether there was actually anything in the house she wanted to eat. Instead, she reverted to the counter drawer and started pawing through take-out menus. She could get a pizza and split it with Marshall; that way, she wouldn't have to cook or go out in the cold. Pizza by a shimmering Christmas tree sounded nice.
But, before she could pick up the phone, there was a knock on her front door. Just as perplexed as she'd been two nights before, Mary took pause before striding the length of the room. Once there, she noticed that the frosted glass was still more iced over with the bitterness outdoors, and so she couldn't see the visitor even if she'd wanted to. Unlocking the deadbolt, she pulled and came face-to-face about the last person on earth she wanted to see.
Abigail danced on the spot, a long black overcoat draped around her shoulders; a hunter green scarf hiding her neck. Her reddish-brown curls were shiny under the glimmering stars above; cheeks beautifully pink from the cold. Her eyes had been touched with the lightest bit of shadow, lips strikingly red. Her gloves were fuzzy. She didn't look miserable. She looked styled and stilted and perfect. It made Mary sick.
"What?"
It was all she could muster through tightly gritted teeth. She wished Oscar were there, but knew he was busy keeping his nightly watch on Norah. To make up for it, Mary leaned on the doorframe, wondering why Abigail did not look more abashed. Unlike Marshall, Mary needed no time adjusting to the revulsion this woman had wreaked on the man's life. It had already seeped into her soul and was itching to come out her fists.
"Is Marshall here?" Abigail asked flatly. "I need to speak with him."
That Southern Belle's twang made Mary want to puke. It was so falsely innocent; so deceptively pure. Mary cursed herself for having bought into it as well. They all had. They'd all been wrong.
But, what Mary was forcing herself to remember now was that Marshall had been very clear about one thing. He did not want to see Abigail. She refused to let such a thing happen when he'd been so adamant. She wasn't sure if she would've allowed it even if Marshall had been all right with a conversation. She had opinions too.
"I want to see Marshall," Abigail nearly repeated when Mary didn't say anything.
"Sounds like you want a lot of things," the inspector mused spitefully.
She was about to go on when Abigail stopped her, "Mary, I really want to talk to Marshall, and I really don't care what you think of me."
An idyllic segue. Mary practically salivated at the opportunity.
"That's good," she nodded. "Because I think you're a cruel, cold bitch," her memory was impeccable. "And thanks for asking, when you show up at my door. But no. You can't see Marshall."
Mary had never been more eager to slam a hatch in her entire life.
XXX
A/N: Thank-you all for the many reviews you left on the last chapter; definitely the most I've gotten on this story, and it made me feel better people were reading it when the site was acting up.
Only one to go! Hopefully it doesn't feel like it's ending too abruptly. :(
