*** This one was difficult to write...not the words, but the emotions. They knew it would be small steps. ***


I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away
I don't know where my soul is, I don't know where my home is

--- I'm Like a Bird, Nelly Furtado


The night was long and sleep was hard to come by. Mary woke a number of times, either from pain or nightmares, and Marshall seemed to know what she needed each time. He woke to his own demons once or twice, at one point resulting in Mary having to vacate the bed due to his flailing. Despite her assurances, he couldn't apologize enough, and she resorted to flicking him on the nose to make him quit. Mary seemed to finally fall into a deep sleep near dawn, but Marshall was now wide awake, and he disentangled himself from his partner to wander into the kitchen and survey the mess.

He had picked up much of the pieces from the fight, but one of the cabinet doors hung awkwardly on a single hinge and he had missed a few drops of blood near the edge of the tile floor. Staring at the reminders of the violence inflicted on the woman in the other room, Marshall felt another surge of rage at the man responsible…and at himself. It was going to be hard to let go of this feeling of incompetence that had bubbled up inside. How had he missed seeing this happen? Why didn't Raphael ring any of his warning bells? Was it because he tried to ignore the man? Not wanting to see the affection and attention he gave to Mary because it twisted his insides, Marshall had often tuned out their interactions and looked away when they were together. Maybe he should've watched more closely.

Why did he let her go home alone last night? Just because he was stubborn and not wanting to leave the office until he had gone over the very last file, she had suffered. Trying to convince himself that Damien would've just waited for the next opportunity was futile, and Marshall again felt that helplessness he experienced while Mary lay still on the ventilator. He couldn't reverse time for her and make it right, and a tiny part of him birthed a doubt that she may blame him. He knew she would say he got there on time, knew she would thank him…but he also knew it never should've happened.

Stan told him to take a few days off, especially as he was going to be put on short leave anyway until he was cleared in the shooting, so Marshall decided he would spend the time tending to Mary and getting them started on the road to recovery. She wasn't going to want to talk to the shrink, but he found it therapeutic and actually looked forward to making an appointment. He didn't have to filter his thoughts, words or emotions in the small room and sometimes surprised himself as unknown doubts and fears emerged. Mary would have a harder time. Her filters were so ensconced that he doubted she knew how to take them down, and any attempt to circumvent them was viewed as a threat.

Taking a deep breath, Marshall finally spurred himself into action and began to clean the kitchen back to its preferred status. Continuing into the front room, he was glad to have wooden floors. The blood would've been hard to get out of the carpet.

*** *** *** ***

Mary heard the rustling in the hallway and woke with her heart pounding. Eyes wide and focused on the doorway, her breathing was shallow and she felt paralyzed with fear. A state she had not found herself in before. A small, droning noise reached her ears and she suddenly realized it was humming. The quiet voice was recognized as her partner's, and Mary sagged into the bed feeling relieved and defeated. She had woken up too many times in a state of terror last night, and was pretty sure her adrenal glands had run out of juice at this point. Lying quietly as she listened to a slightly off key rendition of a popular song, Mary took stock of herself.

Everything hurt…even her hair this time. Between hitting hard surfaces and being hit, she was covered in bruises big and small, and her left eye didn't seem to open very much. Licking her lips, she felt the small cuts, and her bottom lip was swollen where she must've bitten it. Every breath reminded her of being thrown about, and her abdominal muscles ached with even the thought of movement. A slight shift in the bed confirmed the theory that she would remain where she was for most of the day. Too tired to muster through the pain to walk around. It was a good thing she still had some narcotics left over from the shooting, they would allow her to at least tolerate the hopefully infrequent trips to the restroom. Whatever Marshall was doing must be stirring up dust, because Mary's nose suddenly decided to rebel and she sneezed.

"God damn, son of a bitch!" she yelped as the sneeze was just unkind.

Marshall popped into the doorway, "You called?" he drawled.

Chuckling, he soon sobered as he studied Mary. Her face was bruised with her left eye almost swollen shut. It was scrunched in discomfort right now as she grunted with the force of the sneeze, and as she threw off some of the covers, he could see more bruises on her arms and hands.

Sliding in to sit on the bed next to her, he commented, "I have to tell you, Cowgirl, you look rode hard and put away wet."

"I feel like one of those rodeo clowns that had an unfortunate bull encounter." she slowly rolled onto her back to see him better, "What are you doing out there?"

He shrugged, "Just cleaning up."

Mary dropped her eyes with memories and Marshall tried to change the subject, "Are you hungry? I can make waffles."

Thinking for a minute, she made a face with her reply, "Not really. Just tired and hurting."

"You'll probably want to put something in your stomach if you take any more pain meds." He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face, concerned that she didn't want to eat. That wasn't like her.

She saw his concern and faintly smiled at him, "Well, I could probably nibble on something."

He was up and cooking a minute later and Mary worried about him. He would cater to her every need, she knew, but not take any time to cater to himself. This would be hard on him too. Still frazzled by the shooting, she knew Marshall would blame himself for not being there for her again and over compensate by throwing all his efforts into her recovery. It would only be a matter of time before his walls crashed down and he found himself worn out and depressed, withdrawing into his books and games. Even Mary knew that wasn't a healthy way of dealing with things, although she wasn't any better at it.

"Oh, fuck." she muttered as it dawned on her she would have to see the shrink for this. It was looming from the shooting anyway, and now Stan would completely insist she slog through the full six weeks of treatment. Skipping it wouldn't get her back to work any faster, so Mary actually gave a thought to trying to make it worth something. These new thoughts about Marshall and about relationships could be pretty good fodder, she decided, and she might actually learn something. "Damien must've hit me in the head one too many times," she rationalized, "I'm actually willing to learn something." She'd do it for Marshall.

"Hot off the griddle." he announced as he came back in, and Mary squeaked and jumped in surprise.

Putting her head in her hands in exasperation, she ground out, "This has got to stop. I'm jumping at every noise and shadow. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Just hazarding a guess, but 'traumatized-by-a-crazy-ex-fiance-who-was-actually-a-hit-man-and-beat-the-crap-out-of-you' may be a valid excuse for being a bit skittish right now." His raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

He had a point, she concluded, but she just felt…off. Worse than she had after being trapped in that basement. Remembering a line from one of Marshall's favorite movies, she voiced her thoughts, "I feel like that Bilbo guy told that other short guy he felt when he was hiding at his house."

Marshall's brain took a minute to catch up, then he had to smile at the reference. He had possibly corrupted her.

"You mean where he says he feels like butter spread over too much bread?...thin?"

"Yeah. Thin. Like you can you see through me." Mary turned her hands over in front of her as she studied them.

"Exposed." He sat next to her and put the plate of waffles on the nightstand.

Mary pressed her lips together as tears gathered and she nodded, "I just want to hide. That's not like me and I don't understand it."

He didn't know what to say to make it better, but would've paid someone a million dollars to take the look of distress and loss off of her face. This was not the woman he was used to, and Marshall began to suspect the events of the last twenty four hours were going to have a more far reaching effect than he had first believed.

He toed off his slippers and crawled into the bed to position himself behind her and let her back rest against his chest, the waffles forgotten for now.

"What are you doing, nitwit?" She grumbled as he maneuvered into position, but happy to have his solid warmth behind her and his arms around her.

"They say being held in this position makes the person in front feel the safest than any other position. The orientation of the bodies is reminiscent of being in the womb and you are surrounded by reassuring sensations."

Mary tried to stifle a laugh, "Oh my God, Marshall, if you tell me you think about having a womb I'm going to have to reconsider some of the things I want to do to you." She had to admit to being touched by his gesture to make her feel safe, and it was actually working.

Relaxing back into him as he laughed too, Mary closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of contentment. Marshall was lightly massaging her temples into her hairline and she immediately found herself becoming drowsy. His rhythmic breathing translated through her back and she found her body matching his tempo. She rested her hands on his thighs and purred, "Feels good…"

Smiling at her as he felt her relax into him, he delighted in her warmth. Someday this would be a beginning to a whole other way of stress relief, but today it was solely for her comfort. He knew she had fallen asleep as her breathing deepened, so he shifted slightly to get comfortable and decided to follow her lead.

***

Mary had thought the first day would be the hardest, but even a week after escaping from Damien she was still afraid to stay by herself in Marshall's house, jumping at sudden sounds and especially opening doors. There was one day she had a very hard time walking down his hallway to the back bedroom, limbs trembling as her feet touched the spot where Damien fell. A house that once held such comfort and peace now had too many memories of terror and pain.

She still flinched at being touched or approached suddenly, and hated the fleeting look of hurt on her partner's face before he masked it with understanding or humor. The only time she could tolerate hands on her was at night curled up with Marshall. For some reason, those arms around her felt right. He was avoiding embracing her or indulging in casual caresses, and Mary found she missed them, yet feared them. Didn't want to react badly and push him further away.

The case was closed now, Day being found dead in his house in Cozumel four days ago. They suspected Cruz, but Manuel was just as likely and neither had any interest in Mary from what the CIA could discern. They never told Brandi and Jinx about Raph...it was better to let them just think he got to go home. It was a relief, and the Marshal's stress level deflated to near normal, but even Stan and Eleanor could see Mary was off. She had come into the office with Marshall as he filled out forms and interviewed, but didn't talk much and spent most of her time sitting out on the roof staring at the sky.

Marshall was nearly sick with worry. He knew a week was not a lot of time to regain normalcy, but he had seen her bounce back so much more quickly before, and he had never seen this skittish and uncertain woman who startled at a mere door closing or loud whistle. He couldn't imagine her tolerating the shooting range or a simple witness conflict, and wondered if her return to work would take a lot longer than they had planned.

She was withdrawn, but not cranky or antagonistic…as though her world was gray and bleary and she couldn't muster up the energy to inject any color. He knew there was a depression involved, and was happy when she willingly went to see the shrink on day four. She didn't talk about the visit, and he didn't ask, but she rode home with a furrowed brow as thoughts had obviously come to the forefront.

Marshall wasn't sleeping well, his concern for Mary and his own personal doubts and anxieties keeping him from real rest. He found his temper short with Stan, and even snapped at Mary once while driving to the grocery store. The rest of that outing was undertaken in stony silence, and she retreated to the couch as soon as they got home, vibrating with irritation. They made amends eventually, of course, but there was just this wall of discomfort that continued to loom between them. He didn't know what to do, and that now ate at him too.

She had been in the bedroom for about a half hour while Marshall watched a show on the couch, and he was startled as she came up behind him to bend down and gently kiss the side of his neck.

"I miss you." she whispered as she came around to sit on the other end of the couch crosslegged, staring at him with unshed tears.

He had a bad feeling, and shut off the TV to turn and give her his full attention, "I'm right here…all the time."

Mary cast her eyes about and Marshall knew she wanted to say something and was trying to find the right words, "Mare, don't think about it too much, just say it."

"I have to leave." A few tears fell now and Marshall's heart fell with them as he tried to keep his breathing even.

"What do you mean?"

Mary couldn't hardly look at him as the pain and fear were glaring on his face, "I can't stay here, Marshall. I can't heal here…and you can't heal with me here."

Scooting closer so he could hold her hands, he tried to understand, "What's wrong? Am I not giving you something you need? I'm sorry about snapping at you yesterday." Desperately trying to find out what was driving her away so he could fix it.

"It's not you, Marshall. You're wonderful…I couldn't ask for someone to take better care of me than you have." more tears and she reclaimed a hand to brush them away irritably, "I don't want to leave you, but I can't move forward here. I'm afraid here and I don't want to be afraid anymore. I can still hear him here and see him in shadows…smell him…" Mary trailed off just shaking her head.

"I didn't know." He would never have guessed she was terrified in the very house she was living in. Stuck here because she had nowhere else to go.

He tried a new tactic, gut unclenching slightly as he though she just needed another place to live, "Where do you want to go? We'll find a place that feels safe for you. You know I'd go anywhere with you."

It ripped her apart as she watched him try to remain calm and reasonable. Knowing she was going to cause him pain.

"Marshall," she started, and the words came haltingly, "I'm empty inside and I don't know where I've gone. I don't recognize this woman I've become, and I certainly don't like her. I have to start fresh…have to take away everything to see what I really have left and begin again with just that." his hands were trembling, and Mary couldn't look away from them, "I depend on you too much, lean on you too much, and I find excuses to let you comfort me rather than to face what I need to face. I'm not a very strong person sometimes, but I have to get back to me without someone else doing my heavy lifting."

Marshall wanted to grab her and shake her, somehow make her come to her senses. Didn't she understand he wanted her to depend on him and lean on him? He wanted to do her heavy lifting, wanted to bear the weight off her shoulders. His chest hurt and he started to speak, only to stop and start again as too many words tried to tumble out at once.

"I'm trying to understand what you're telling me, but I'm a little lost," he felt tears on his face now, "Are you trying to say you need a few days away? A week? Or are you trying to say…" he couldn't finish and leaned forward to take her face in his hands and rest his forehead against hers.

"Mare, I don't want you to leave. Please don't leave." he only had a hoarse whisper left.

"I can't stay." her eyes met his and they mirrored his pain.

Marshall sat back and rested his head on the back of the couch as he angrily wiped at his tears, "So you just run?"

She knew it would appear that way, and tried to explain, "Marshall, look at you. You don't sleep, you don't smile, you are focused on me and you're not taking care of yourself. I can't watch that happen to you, can't be the reason you let yourself disappear. You won't heal yourself if I'm here and you know it." She was intent on her words and leaned forward to urge him to listen, "You are the most important person to me on this planet, and I won't sacrifice you for my own needs."

All of his anger fled with her words as he knew she was right. He was worn down, but would keep going and going without attending to himself in order to fight to make her world right. The deep seated rage and self loathing he knew he had to address kept getting pushed deeper and deeper, and Marshall needed to look at it before it clawed its way to the surface to affect Mary.

She had moved over to take his hand and smoothed his hair back from his forehead as the emotions played across his face. Her words were soft and full of affection.

"You said you would fight for me. That at the end of all this you would stand by my side. Do you remember?"

He opened his eyes to look at her and knew what he saw, knew Mary Shannon loved him and was trying to save him…trying to save herself. He didn't know she had heard him that night…didn't know she had remembered.

"I remember."

"Am I still worth that?"

Leaning forward to kiss her softly, "A thousand times that. I would die for you."

Still tracing his face, Mary sadly smiled, "Then wait for me. Heal yourself and wait for me."

Marshall knew she wasn't leaving him, but he still didn't want her to go, didn't want his heart to miss her, "Just tell me what you need."

She sat back slightly and gave a small chuckle, "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I'll help you find a place." Marshall pulled her to him, and they held each other tightly for a long while.

*** *** *** *** ***

Mary didn't care where she went, so long as it was a place to herself and where she would be able to get anything she needed, but she didn't want to stay in Albuquerque. He ached a little more with that knowledge, but she had promised to write to him everyday. He thought that was quaint and she shrugged to say her shrink told her it would help the recovery process. Marshall indulged her, as he always did, and promised to write back just as much. She didn't know how long she'd be gone, and a small part of him wondered if she'd ever come back. Mary must have sensed his doubt, because she promised to come back…she wouldn't leave him.

They were emotionally exhausted by ten, and decided to call it a night and head to bed. He couldn't sleep with the roiling fears and barely muted feelings of panic. This was Mary, he told himself, she did not come to decisions lightly and once her mind was made up there was turning back for her. She said she'd come back…he had to had to believe that.

Sliding out of the bed after one, Marshall padded down to the study and sat in the recliner perusing his books. Not able to even concentrate on a single title, he picked up his phone and sighed. Sometimes, when things were especially hard and confusing, he still had to call her. Still needed that voice of reason and wisdom to set him on the right track.

The phone rang on the other end for a while until a sleepy woman's voice answered, recognizing the caller ID.

Marshall knew she wouldn't mind being awakened, "Hi Mom, it's me."


*** Okay, I cried...anyone else? It's the only way she'll get back to being Mary. Please stay with me...the journey is not ended. This is what I write when I listen to Celtic music :) Please REVIEW!***