A/N: Hope you enjoy the back story that I have created for Marshall here!

XXX

All the color might have drained right out of Mary's face. An icy, bone-chilling cold seeped in the most unforgiving manner possible right into her intestines, spreading to her chest and lungs in no time flat. It wasn't just the story that was causing her such horror but the fact that, in eight years of knowing him, Marshall had never once mentioned that he'd lost a partner – a partner just like her.

Knowing that she needed to leave the way he had slighted her for later and offer condolences, Mary shook her head and relied on the respect for others she did have ingrained somewhere deep within.

"I'm…so sorry," she croaked feebly at Mrs. Walters, like death was embarrassing. "You…you think about those things, being in the law enforcement game and all, but it always seems to come as a shock when that nightmare comes true."

She didn't mean to be so frank, but there was nothing false about her conjecture. It was exactly how Mary had felt when Marshall had been shot; the knowledge that either one or both of them might one day lose their lives to their profession had always loomed, but they'd never actually believed it would happen. When Marshall had lay bleeding in the dirt, sweat dripping from his forehead, her white shirt stained crimson against his chest, she had originally forced herself to think it wasn't happening. Marshall was invincible. Nothing could harm him.

And, apparently, he had-had more close shaves than Mary had ever realized.

"Lucas was very proud to be in that line of work – he was very young when it happened," Mrs. Walters continued. "It could've been any of our boys at the academy…"

Like Marshall?

"But, everything happens for a reason," she claimed, suddenly philosophical, although Mary couldn't think for a minute what the reasoning behind gunning down an officer in training would be. "Luke always wanted to work for the police – wanted to be like his daddy. It wasn't up to me to take that away from him."

Wasn't that a heartbreakingly generous way to look at it? Badges and bullets had killed this woman's son, and still she was able to stand here over two decades after the fact and say that she was unwilling to pull that child from his life's dream, the desire he'd had as a little boy. Mary didn't know if she could be so liberal if someone she cared about was in the line of fire, Marshall notwithstanding.

"I'm sure you understand that rush you get from being in the field," Camille aimed this presumption at Mary. "Luke loved it. You must too, or you wouldn't be standing side-by-side with this guy," indicating Marshall.

"I…I do…" Mary was honest. "Although, my duck-and-cover days are pretty limited at the moment," she was hoping to lighten the mood by referring to Mango, and Camille did acknowledge the bulge, but only with her eyes; there wasn't much you could say to a stranger that was expecting.

"Well, I'm…I'm glad to hear that you're doing so well, Marshall," Mrs. Walters was clearly picking up on the sort of memories their run-in was invoking, and decided to wrap things up. "You were always so bright and energetic; that's obviously being put to good use."

The man knew a response was anticipated this time, "I do what I can," and he was unpretentious too. "Thanks to Lucas, I know what it means to have your partner's back. I'd say he taught me a lesson I'll never forget."

This was cryptic, and Camille must've thought so too, because she replaced her fingers to Marshall's forearm a second time in a way that said she was placating him.

"It was such a long time ago, dear. I hope you're not still carrying any of that guilt around," though by her eyes, she clearly thought he might be. "I'm certainly not. There was no one to blame, and least of all you."

Marshall could only nod at this, but he neither contradicted nor agreed with the woman's assessment of things, Mary standing idly by, unsure if she should split or sit down or let them finish their goodbyes in peace. Fortunately for her, she didn't have to make that decision because the farewells came into play just seconds later, as Marshall seemed keen to escape this very painful part of his past.

"If you see Mr. Walters sometime soon, please tell him I say hello," the inspector requested. "And, take care."

"You too, Marshall." She stepped back, fluttering her eyelashes in a quizzical sort of way, and disappeared with nothing heartfelt or poignant, "It was nice to meet you, Mary."

"You too…"

But, the bereaved had turned her back and walked away before the blonde could be certain that she had heard her reciprocate. She headed straight for the exit and early morning sunshine, out into the street without ever once looking over her shoulder; Mary frozen to the spot as her speck vanished in the distance. Eventually, the blinding sun rays captured her form, carrying her into oblivion, into the sunrise, into the future – away from Marshall, haunting memories of her son, and the not-so-new partner that had taken the place of Luke.

Once she was gone, Mary wasted no time turning to the man at her left; positively dumbfounded at all she had learned in just ten minutes. What were the odds of even running into Mrs. Walters if they had known each other back in Indiana? Although, Marshall had seemed to know that Camille and Paul had relocated somewhere back east after Luke's death, so it stood to reason one of them would crop up in a courthouse with their background in law enforcement. Still, the ironies were coming fast and furious, and this was still the least of Mary's worries.

She wasn't even mad; she was confused, and maybe slightly hurt, although the final emotion was dulled beneath her disorientation. Marshall had been an open book for as long as she'd known him, but first the secrecy about his relationship with Ted, and now this? They were supposed to be best friends. Did he not trust her with something as tragic as this, or was he simply so torn up about it that it was easier to leave it behind?

There was only one way to find out.

"Marshall…" his name came out in a single breath, but all he did was sigh and drop back down on the bench, though his face told her that he knew what was coming. "Why on earth wouldn't you tell me about this?"

"Mary, please…" he was begging, but she paid him no mind.

"You lost a partner? Were you there? Were you with him?"

"I do not talk about this," his voice was stern, if a little shaky. "I don't. It's private. There are some aspects of my existence that I prefer to keep to myself and this is one of them. It's how I cope."

"By hiding?" settling herself beside him, sitting down once more. "You're always telling me not to run away, but look at what you're doing…"

"I was twenty-one years old!" the reference came out in something resembling a snarl, which was such a harsh feature on Marshall that it made Mary want to back away. "I was nothing but a kid, and Lucas was just a few years older than me. I wasn't always in complete control of my sense of right and wrong. I packed up. I left. Yes, I ran."

"Marshall, I'm not trying to make you feel badly, but this was a huge chunk of your life; you might not have come to Albuquerque if it hadn't happened, and you sure as hell wouldn't have met me…"

"Well, I will tell you that it took me a long time to see any benefit to everything I went through, but I suppose you just fed it to me," he conceded dismally. "When I learned to rebuild my life, I figured out how to help other people rebuild too."

WITSEC. That was why he was in WITSEC. Of course, Mary had known as much all along; he had told her the first time they'd met that he savored watching the change that could come about in people who started over. It was exactly what he had done; it was how he had become such an expert at guiding other people through the process. His own, brutal brush with catastrophe meant he could mold witnesses into the best of themselves like nobody else could.

The faster this realization came to Mary, the more she recognized that there were so many other facets running below the surface in Marshall's veins that began to connect as well. There was his frosty relationship with Ted, for starters. If Marshall had fled Indiana after losing his partner, then his bond with his brothers had to have suffered, which explained why he was so adamant in the here and now to patch things up whether Ted was receptive or not. And then there was Seth. Mary had only met him the one time, but his contempt for Marshall's approach toward a tough case spoke volumes.

And, if Seth and Paul had known each other and driven their sons into the Service, then there was still something missing here.

"Marshall, I…" the woman tried to be gentle; she tried to sound understanding, sympathetic even. "I…would you please…?" softness was hard when she was usually so gung-ho, but she was getting there. "I mean…I really wish you would tell me what happened. I get that it's not something you want to think about, but…"

"But, what? Why do you need to know?" he was so woebegone, his long-fingered hand running up and down his cheek in agitation.

The truthful answer here was one that was far kinder than Mary usually gave, but kindness was in order right now.

"Well…because you're my friend," she reminded him, quietly and evenly. "I…I care about you. Something bad happened to you, and it's obviously still really hard to deal with, and if I can help then…" a shrug. "I mean…don't I kind of owe you for all the times you've helped me?"

"Friends aren't supposed to owe each other," maybe he hadn't always been so profound, but he certainly was now. "It is give and take, yes, but you don't do things to settle the score…"

"But, that's what I'm saying," Mary cut in. "I want to help. I do. That may be hard to believe, but I do. I shouldn't have called it 'owing…'"

Her voice petered out and Marshall exhaled slowly, his hand still roaming up and down his face and feeling the stubble that presided there. He was usually a very careful shaver, from what Mary had noticed in all their time together, but after four days of living out of hotels and missing their alarm that morning, he hadn't been so precise. A beard was starting to sneak onto his smooth flesh, combing the bare space between his ears and chin. This, combined with the depression he had been sporting since Mrs. Walters' arrival, made him look more aged than ever.

He might need a little bit of a nudge but, unlike Mary; he wouldn't turn tail and bolt if she tried to coax him to open up. The push was used for good in this case, rather than evil.

"Marshall?" she peered low, dipping her chin to catch his vacant eyes. "Please?"

His likening toward sharing the whole messy affair didn't increase, but Mary's unquestionable desperation to have the truth – to help or to feed her curiosity, he wasn't entirely sure – could not be denied. While some might think it would be perplexing to see her in such a different light, Marshall felt otherwise. It was like a sweeter, more feminine Mary had come out to play, her hard-edged persona docking in the background until she was through getting to the bottom of his issues.

"Can I give you the abbreviated version?"

A slow nod, "Sure."

The leeway to begin seemed to act as a stimulant. Wary though Marshall might be of drudging up so many unresolved emotions, there had to be some degree of relief involved at finally telling the story to his best friend.

"Luke and I were partners for around five years, like his mom just told you, but we were still working through basic training for the entire duration," he explained gradually, deliberately. "Kind of like a doctor's internship – you get to practice under the more experienced eye, but you are still right in the fire."

"Right," Mary knew this from her own occurrence in New Jersey.

"Well, Luke and I actually grew up together, but we weren't that close. He was a few years older than I was, and we didn't hang around with the same crowd. Ted…" bringing his big brother into the mix stalled him momentarily, but Mary remained patient. "Ted…he was actually closer to him than I was, for a time, anyway."

And the enlightening of Ted's attitude toward Marshall only grew.

"While we went through training and whatnot, we were based under my dad and Luke's dad – Paul," he barreled on, seemingly unable to quit now that he had gotten started. "It was a mistake; it was a massive-massive mistake to combine family with business like that, but at the time we thought it was a good idea. My mom and Camille used to joke all the time that the two of us had been switched at birth because Paul was so soft-spoken and easygoing…"

"Like you," Mary whispered.

"And of course, my dad is…" words weren't even needed. "Well, you saw how he is. And Luke was a tough guy too, although certainly not to the extent that my dad was. It seemed to work, though. The two of us had a mentor other than our own father to keep things on an even plane. For awhile."

Raking his fingers through his hair, shifting in his seat, Marshall took a breath before going on, and Mary knew that the incident in question was about to be regurgitated – a poisonous parasite, the deadliest, creepiest skeleton in the closet.

"Anyway, um…" a second inhale and exhale topped this off. "Five years into the stint, Luke and I were progressing through the ranks and were getting to go out on our own more often. My dad was on standard duty filling in for someone on a Saturday night, not his usual Operation Falcon gig…"

The whole thing was eerie – picturing the scene of a young Marshall and the currently faceless Luke sitting around the police station, getting a call, being excited to bust up some bad guys with no idea what fate had in store.

"And…someone phoned in a robbery at a convenience store, so off we went…" he wasn't looking at Mary anymore, but staring straight ahead, probably reliving the entire ordeal piece-by-piece. "Me, my dad, and Luke."

Mary was pretty sure she could've guessed what happened next, but the man threw her with a twist she never could've seen coming.

"We pulled up out front and…I can see the guy with the gun standing in front of the counter, and the cashier with money spread out all over from the register…a few customers are on the ground with their hands over their head…" this was coming in a disjointed mumble, so unlike Marshall's normal speaking voice. "And…I'm just glad because it doesn't look like he's shot anybody; nobody's hurt…"

Logical, yes. But, clearly not so simple.

"I was riding in the back of the car. My dad and Luke were up front," he detailed. "They got out first, but I was so eager to help that I elbowed past Luke on the passenger side to get onto the curb…" if Mary's eyesight could be counted on, she almost thought she could see Marshall's elbow twitching in the here and now. "I was supposed to be in front of him anyway; that was how we always flanked one another, and so I didn't think it would be that big of a deal. Only…I tripped."

A sprawling, equally as long and lanky Marshall as the one sitting next to her right now, flashed through Mary's brain – all arms and legs heading for the cold concrete.

"Luke didn't stop. He wasn't supposed to. You never stop – and it isn't like I was hurt," he defended his friend. "But, because I'd thrown him off balance, he didn't have time to pull his gun out, and when he and my dad crashed through the doors he was unarmed. The robber got spooked, I guess, and he didn't have any way of knowing that we were the police. He turned and shot Luke at point blank range."

Now cannon blasts and spurts of blood exploded amidst the picture of Marshall lying helpless on the ground. No sirens, no flashes of red and blue – just screams. Ugly, mangled, anguished screams.

"But, what did I do?" his shoulders were beginning to tremble, and Mary wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he could stop and she'd heard enough, but the words wouldn't come. "Do I apprehend the punk who did it? This was my chance to be in charge; dad was supposed to be back-up…" lost in the memory, he finally wended his way to the end. "No. I sit there with the body, hollering and sobbing while my dad takes care of everything until the real back-up shows up. He watched me abandon my post, saw that I couldn't handle the pressure, and wasted no time telling me once all was said and done. He didn't blame me but…he didn't have to," bitterness prevailed. "Twenty-three years of being told, 'it's a rough world, you're not a rough guy' is blame enough."

There were so many things Mary could've said once he was finished, so many words of wisdom or comfort that she could've offered, but they all seemed so barren – empty and unforgiving. Nothing she could say would take away what had happened, nor would it erase the fallout that had occurred from one blunder-ridden night. Too many things had suddenly been clarified, too many particulars of Marshall's personality as well as his bonds, or lack thereof, with his family. It all made sense in the saddest of ways.

"My best friend caught the shooter, yours didn't."

When Mary had been gunned down and Marshall had not been present, and his manic obsession in the aftermath to find and punish the shooter; everything about his behavior in those days was suddenly explained. Of course, it was an easy oversight to make, as Marshall's natural chivalry might've been causing it, but now it was clear as day. He was not going to have another 'Luke' on his hands.

And Seth. At the time, Mary had-had a conversation that she had considered to be quite bizarre. For Marshall's father to think he didn't have the right temperament or wasn't thick-skinned enough to be a Marshal had seemed insane. Did he not know him at all? How could he not see what Mary did? She hadn't understood, and now she did. Seth placed all stock in that one instance, when Marshall had put the priority of friendship over that of the law – to sit with his dying friend and not cuff the man who had caused him to bleed out in the first place.

And, finally, there was Ted. Hard-wired rigid he might've already been, especially with someone as controlling as Seth at the helm, but to lose a childhood friend and then have his brother bolt from the premises as though he'd had a hand in it? It was a sad state of affairs indeed.

But, all of this was too much to articulate, and Mary wasn't going to overload Marshall's brain with every realization she was coming to. The weepy, haggard look on his face was enough to cleave her heart straight in two. She had said she wanted to help. That was what she needed to do.

"I think your dad is wrong," Mary was never shy about designating people with traits she deemed less than flattering. "I think if someone busted a cap in my ass and you strolled right over to read them the Miranda while my heartbeat tapered into nothingness, I'd have dumped you as a partner ages ago."

Marshall was not as touched as she had hoped he might be, "You're lying," and he was stark too. "You know the job comes first. You knew it when I got shot and you sure didn't waste time worrying about me; you got rid of the perpetrators and then you took care of me."

"Actually, I did take care of you first," she replied coolly. "I thought you would've noticed by now."

"What do you mean?"

"I swerved the car around to cover your body."

"But, that was taking charge…"

"Marshall, every circumstance is different," she didn't like hearing him talk so poorly about himself. "Your instinct takes over. You falling apart with Luke doesn't mean anything – it means that you were terrified, and rightfully so. You had someone there to handle the rest, and that was your dad. Deep down, your body knows that. It's the whole 'fight or flight' thing…"

"Yeah, and I went for flight…"

"No, you didn't," Mary insisted. "If it had been just the two of you, I have every confidence you would've kicked that lowlife on his ass no matter how scared you were. You did it for me when we were in the desert. I was about to take a bullet in the head and you stood up and blasted that guy. You don't think that counts for anything?"

"Maybe it does," he admitted begrudgingly. "It doesn't change that I was a wuss twenty years ago and that my father never let me forget it."

Seeing that this wasn't going to be resolved today, and there was no reason to argue with him over a problem he had been struggling with for so long, Mary harked back to how he had craved that point of contact the night before. Being close to her had always meant so much to him, and all she did was give him as little freedom as possible.

His hand was resting on his knee and Mary, wondering what was happening to her brain now that she was with child, flung out her own fingers and rested them on top of his.

"Well, you may not be your dad's wuss," she concluded, knowing he would appreciate her dark sense of humor even in spite of being down in the dumps. "But, you'll always be mine."

XXX

A/N: Outside of kids, I am always wary of crafting too many new characters, even if they are characters you don't see, because they aren't the ones we fell in love with on the show. But, hopefully Luke's story intrigued you!