A/N: Onward and upward we go!

XXX

When Mary and Marshall stopped for dinner that night, both seemed to have come to a silent agreement not to discuss Abigail, or even the impending adoption. While Mary couldn't help feeling mutely gleeful that Abigail might soon be out of their lives, she knew that Marshall was a man who would work until the bitter end to mend a shaky relationship, even if he claimed that he didn't want to make the effort. Therefore, she worked at not operating under the assumption that Nancy Drew was about to be exiled. Her endeavors earned her nary a word about the Harmons, the Templetons, or Mrs. Anders, but that didn't mean that pregnancy was off-limits.

"You know, I've been turning something over in my brain for about a week now; I was wondering if I could have a word with you about it," Marshall informed Mary from behind his menu where they sat across from each other in an upholstered booth. Peering out over the top, "It is not designed to spike your blood pressure, I promise."

"Something tells me that you saying that is pretty much a guarantee that-that is exactly what will happen," conversations that started out with conditions were always cause for mistrust. "And don't think I won't report you to Stan when you give me hypertension. You'd be benched for that and then Delia and I would have to run the show."

"A frightening thought, since one of you is banned from the field," he reminded her carelessly. "Therefore, I will proceed delicately. Do bear in mind that my intent is not to annoy you."

"It never is, and yet, somehow…"

"All right, all right," Marshall nodded in an amused sort of way, still browsing through his menu while Mary had hers spread out on the table, using her finger to choose between entrees. "Can I just finish? You can beat me around the head later if it proves necessary."

"Count on that."

"Okay…" he seemed to be bracing himself; his eyes even strayed from his meal options so he could zone in directly on his partner. "Before we left on our little expedition, I was wicked enough to accompany you to the OBGYN's office without telling you…"

"Don't think I've forgotten about that," she pointed an unyielding finger. "Wicked is not a strong enough word. You were being a sneaky little eavesdrop; taking a leaf right out of Jinx's and Brandi's books…"

"Well, if you thought that on that occasion then you're really going to love what's coming next…" although his sarcasm was quite evident, indicating that Mary was absolutely going to hate whatever he had up his sleeve. "I couldn't help noticing that Doctor Reese was really pushing for you to have someone with you when you go into labor…"

That trip to the doctor's seemed ages ago to Mary – practically from a different lifetime in which her biggest problem had been exactly what Marshall had just articulated. Being taken back to that era wasn't something Mary relished, especially on this side of the appointment, because labor and delivery seemed a lot closer now that their trip was heading downhill. Frankly, she'd been fine with her decision to brave the experience alone, but it was apparent that Marshall felt differently.

"And, I got myself kicked out before I could really hear who you chose, but…"

"But, what?" the woman barked irritably, narrowing her eyes and folding her hands somewhat menacingly on the tabletop. "Don't tell me that you're lobbying to…"

"I just want you to know that I wouldn't mind," he rattled off in a rush, and Mary could've sworn she saw him flinch, like he expected his partner to reach across the booth and slap him then and there. "I don't see you welcoming Jinx and Brandi when the time comes, and we could practice together before the big event…"

"Practice?" Mary was incredulous. "Practice what?"

"Well…" something seemed to have gone wrong with his voice; it was constricted, no doubt because he was nervous about the thumping Mary was going to give him any minute. "Breathing techniques…there's the Bradley method, better known as Lamaze…" The murderous look he was getting didn't encourage him to go on, but he persevered. "Or if you want pain meds; epidurals work wonders if you're not really…"

But, she'd heard enough, "Ugh, for God's sake, Marshall," she scrunched her nose and shook her head, even sticking her tongue out for good measure, spluttering dramatically. "You want to talk about this when we're about to eat?"

And so they were. Before Marshall could offer any justifications for his out-of-the-blue compulsion to be her labor partner, their waitress arrived ready to take their orders. What with the taller inspector's beating around the bush, Mary hadn't thought to look at her menu very closely and signaled to Marshall that he should go first.

"What can I get you guys?" the waitress was chewing gum and tapped her pen on her pad quite a bit, but she had gotten their drinks quickly, which meant she would get their food quickly, and that was all Mary cared about. "Do you need a few more minutes?"

"No, I think we're all set…" even though they weren't, Marshall said so anyway because he knew the woman was hungry. "I think I'll try the oysters; it has been awhile since I dipped my toe in the deep sea."

He folded his menu and smiled almost smugly. The waitress shot him an offhand look, for which Mary didn't blame her, but wrote down his request without saying anything. She then turned to the dinner companion, waiting for her pleasure.

Purely because she didn't want to waste anymore time looking and because it had been awhile since she, too, had sampled any seafood, Mary went with what was easiest.

"Just give me the same," she declared, casting her menu aside without a second thought. "If you could bring me another Diet Coke on your way back through too, that would be great."

With a nod, the waitress had already finished penning their orders and was collecting their menus under her arm when Marshall suddenly threw out a hand, Mary sipping from her nearly-empty beverage.

"No, wait – hold on," he'd obviously had a realization, clamping his fingers around one of the menus so the waitress couldn't take it away. "You're getting oysters?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You can't have oysters; you're pregnant."

Flummoxed, Mary raised her eyebrows, "What? Are you kidding? Is this on the off chance they might still be alive and could eat their way through my digestive system to the baby? Because in that case, I guess chicken and turkey and ground beef are a no-go too…"

Without a word to their server, he slipped a menu out of her grip and slid it back across the table.

"It has to do with the algae-related infections that are brought on by the red tides," he spouted off, and all of a sudden their waitress looked impressed and a little daunted against her will. "Oysters are shellfish; you're really supposed to avoid them when you're pregnant…"

"You worry too much…" Mary shoved the menu back at him, not going to go over it again, but he wouldn't let it die.

"Get something else," he almost ordered, looking oddly serious. "Honestly, it's safer. You don't want to take the risk."

There were very few areas in life in which Mary did not embrace a little bit of danger, but she didn't want to continue haggling with Marshall, nor did she want the waitress to hear any more of their conversation. So, she resentfully ordered a plate of fettuccini instead, accidentally shooting the waitress dark looks the entire time, as though she had something to do with her not being able to eat fish.

And, if she thought their dispute over her dinner was going to make Marshall forget anything connected to labor and delivery, she was wrong. He could be very persistent when he wanted to be, always up for the possibility of antagonizing Mary if he deemed his points important enough.

"So, how about that delivery room cohort then?" he shook a packet of sugar into the ice tea he'd ordered and began stirring it around absently. "You want to stage a vote? I guarantee if Jinx, Brandi, and I are the only choices on the ballot and you're the only one selecting the appointment, I would win by a landslide every time…"

"Why do you want to do this anyway?" Mary wondered aloud; she knew that she and Marshall were close, but this was a new level of intimacy, one she wasn't sure she wanted to cross. "There are some things that I don't have open for the general public to view that are inevitably going to be on display when this kid comes shooting out, and I don't fancy…"

"I wouldn't have to look," her partner interrupted deftly. "That isn't what I was getting at in the least. My craving has nothing to do with the scientific nature of childbirth."

"Really?" she would remain cynical until he gave her a better reason for why he felt the sudden need to accompany her during such raw moments. "Because, I figure with your pregnancy fetish that you'd be into that sort of thing. If that's your deal, then you can find another broad down the hall from me to do your research on."

"That's not the point," Marshall chuckled this time, probably at Mary's suggestion that he barge in on a stranger just so he could play doctor. "Cross my heart; I don't want in just to get a peek at the action."

"Yeah, 'cause that wouldn't be weird at all…"

"Look, we're friends, aren't we?"

"Last time I checked," she groused, chewing on the straw that was protruding out of her glass.

"Friends do things for each other, don't they?" it was like he was speaking to a five-year-old, laying the groundwork for what might be a complex discussion down the pike that Mary would have trouble grasping. "Wouldn't you say?"

"I would, but I didn't ask you to do anything for me," she reminded him almost snootily. "I didn't ask anyone to bear witness to something I know I sure as hell wouldn't want to watch. And, I don't need anyone holding my hand and teaching me how to pant like a dog through the whole ordeal. For all you know, I could plan on having them cut me open right off the top and that would save me a whole lot of trouble…"

Marshall frowned, "I wouldn't count on a C-section," he advised in his usual intelligent way. "I'm not saying it couldn't happen, but banking on it beforehand is asking to be blindsided."

"Listen, Marshall…" the woman could see that she was going to have to be more direct if she wanted him to get off her back. Sliding her drink to the side until the waitress returned with a refill, she peered directly forward, locking Marshall's intent stare with hers. "I appreciate the offer. I do," this wasn't really true, but if she wanted to get rid of him then she needed to be nice. "But, I'm not scared. Really, I'm not. Figuring out where Mango is going to end up scares me a hell of a lot more than contractions. That's a promise."

Leaking any sort of fear out into the open was a big step for Mary, one that Marshall knew he couldn't acknowledge at this moment because then she might not ever be so forthcoming with him again. Plus, he knew she didn't want to talk about the adoption right now even though she'd inadvertently broached the subject herself. Fortunately, she wasn't yelling at him yet when it came to the birth, and so he assumed it was okay to keep prodding her about it – at least for another minute or two.

"If you're saying no because you're self-conscious, then that's one thing," Marshall would give her a little bit of flexibility there. "I respect that, and I am not going to pressure you if it makes you uncomfortable."

At this point, the blonde knew it was unlikely that she could tell her partner that she was mortified at the possibility of him seeing her in such a state and have him believe her. That was why she swilled the last of her Diet Coke with her crunched up straw, the ice melting and crackling in the bottom of the glass.

"But, if you're warding me off because you want to look tough and like you don't need anybody by your side, then I would strongly urge you to reconsider," the phrasing was so professional sounding, like he had been reading Doctor Reese's notes by night. "You don't have to play that game with me, and I want you to know you can rely on me when the situation arises."

A sigh that was impossible to quench eked out of Mary's mouth and her grip on her straw tightened. She wished their server would hurry up and bring her that refill, because her mouth seemed to be growing dryer by the minute. In another five, she was going to be dangerously close to wetting her pants, which wouldn't bode well if she was trying to have a serious discussion.

"It's one day out of my life…" she tried to rationalize, but she knew she sounded pleading, like she simply didn't want to think about it. "One day. It's not like we won't be friends anymore if you aren't there for the crowning moment…"

The taller saw his advantage and seized it, "Well, maybe one day."

Immediately, Mary halted her swirling with her straw, "What?"

"When you factor in early labor contractions – often disguised as Braxton Hicks – and combine that with active labor and then the pushing stage, it can sometimes take over twenty-four hours for a baby to born," Marshall recited casually, now squeezing a lemon into his tea. "Every delivery is different though. First babies do tend to take longer."

The blasé nature of his voice was too much for Mary. What in the world was he playing at? Twenty-four hours? Or more? Was he trying to frighten her, to bully her into thinking that she would be lost without a partner during such a turbulent time? Fooling with her emotions wasn't really Marshall's style, and so Mary tried to believe he was just being straight with her, but it wasn't easy. What else didn't she know about this whole birthing process? She was going to be thrown for one big loop when the hour was upon her.

But, it was imperative that she not show her hand too early, although it was likely that she hadn't been able to keep her shock off her face.

"Twenty-four hours seems a little on the dramatic side," at least, that was what she hoped. "I was thinking something along the lines of seven or eight, and then call it a day."

"One of the many magical facets of birth is its wondrous unpredictability," Marshall proclaimed with a small smirk. "But, I would say you'd be lucky to get out in eight hours."

"You don't think I'll be the exception to the rule?"

"One never knows," he shrugged. "But, I do suppose I was being a little theatrical with that estimate. Hospitals usually won't even admit a woman in labor until her contractions are five minutes apart, in which case you would spend a lot of time at home during the bearable portions. That's good news, huh?"

Mary could feel herself growing sweaty, the way she had when she'd been at the Harmon's house and vowed instantly that she was not going to come undone like that again. Once had been more than enough.

"And if I do let you anywhere near me when I'm howling in pain, am I supposed to call you at four in the morning if that's when the miniature spasms start?"

"Night or day," Marshall was really grinning now, obviously slightly jovial that he'd been able to get Mary to entertain the idea of having a coach. "You know my number. Although, my guess is that you won't even recognize it as labor at first. Early labor lasts quite awhile; you'll probably just be uncomfortable before the real show begins."

If there was any time to panic, then it was now. Could something as brutal as contractions really sneak up on you like that? What if one minute Mary felt perfectly fine and the next the baby was about to drop onto the floor? She didn't even know what she was supposed to be looking for. She'd felt contractions before, of course, but they'd be a nuisance and nothing more. How was she to tell the difference between those that were merely pesky and those that were the real deal?

It clearly wasn't going to happen unless she had Marshall in her corner.

But, before she could break down, concede defeat, and allow him along for the ride, he obviously caught sight of her weary face. While he wasn't able to stop smiling at the fact that he knew he was getting what he wanted, he did appear repentant, especially since he spotted the pregnant one fanning her shirt open at the neck in agitation.

"Okay, look; I'm sorry, this isn't funny…" there was no way to tell it by looking at him, but she knew he was sincere. "I shouldn't have gone about it this way; freaking you out wasn't my goal. I just want you to be prepared."

"And you can prepare me?" Mary inquired just for something to say, to appear to be on her mark. "Is that it?"

"We'd work together," this man was nothing if not cooperative. "Figuratively speaking, of course, because the arm of support can hardly compare to the exertion that labor provides; they call it as such for a reason, after all…"

"So, what are you saying?" she mused, now fiddling with her napkin because she had done all she could with her cup. "When I kill myself trying to push out something that is definitely not a mango but more like a watermelon, you want to be there snapping pictures? You're into that sort of thing?"

"I thought, and correct me if I'm wrong, that I just went through that," Marshall reiterated patiently. "This isn't a voyage calculated to hone my technical expertise."

"Then what is it?"

Leave it to Marshall to have a perfectly honest, chaste, sweetened and genuine response. The glittering that seemed to beam out of his temperate, oceanic eyes always told Mary that he was everything that was authentic and nothing that was suspect. Try as she might to paint him as having ulterior motives like she believed everyone else on the planet to have, it never equated with Marshall. Corny as it was, he was as pure as the driven snow.

"I don't like to think of you going through something as life-changing as this by yourself," he said softly beneath the lamp dangling between their heads. "I don't say that to sound philosophical, but this will change you – for better or worse, with motherhood on the horizon or not. I think you're underestimating the experience. I care about you, and I want to do everything I can to help you through it. Is that really so bad?"

Knowing that she would look like the world's most heartless bitch if she didn't at least throw him a bone, Mary forced a would-be-kind smile that seemed to get across fairly well.

"Well, I still think you're being pretty melodramatic when it comes to what this all will mean to me," she wasn't going to go down without feeling that she was partially right. "But, I'll give it some thought, okay?"

"You're serious? You're not just saying that?"

"No, really," Mary tried to mean it, tried to figure out if she would indeed be able to carve out some time to consider the possibility. "I will. You're not completely insane, because I absolutely can't fathom having my mother or my sister anywhere near me when I'm ready to strangle the nurses for not shooting me up with morphine fast enough."

"That might put you in a coma…" her partner surmised, satisfied that she had at least told him she would mull over his offer. "Not likely you'd be able to feel a mango descending, let alone that watermelon you talked about," at this, he raised his now-stirred-to-perfection iced tea in a toast and drank. "If you get much bigger, you could enter this supposed melon into a contest."

"What, like at the county fair?" Mary quipped, remembering the Farmer's Market they'd visited when they'd traveled through the Midwest. "I can see the National Enquirer headline now, 'Knocked Up Marshal Gives Birth to Cantaloupe – Stuns Doctors Across Albuquerque.'"

Marshall chuckled, which made his already bright blue eyes still bluer, like the cloudless sky on a perfect summer day.

"You could win a blue ribbon," he was still chortling when he managed a few words. "And a cash prize. I hear those in the pumpkin business are the ones who really make a killing on that stuff though."

"Aren't pumpkins vegetables?"

"Who's being picky?" a hunch of his shoulders. "And, with the way you're growing, I'm not so sure little 'Mango' isn't working on his stem by now."

"This is getting gross," Mary commented, but soon found that she was laughing too just trying to picture it. "Instead of an umbilical cord, I've got a kid with a stem? That'd get me into the Guinness Book of World records."

"That's if your prize-winning pumpkin didn't already land you there," always quick with a retort, Marshall was right there to bat it back, glad they were talking about something a little lighter than everything else they'd beaten to death as of late. "Be sure to take a good, hard look when Mango is born to see that he doesn't have an orange tint to him."

"Ew…" she couldn't stop herself from wrinkling her nose, but the grin was as evident as ever, glad as he was that they could giggle about something so silly. "That's no guarantee he'd be a pumpkin or a mango – maybe a carrot, huh?"

And Marshall lifted his glass another time, "Too skinny for whatever's residing in there," inclining the cup toward his partner's belly beneath the table.

"Hey, a girl can dream about not popping out a fourteen pound kid, right?"

Because his beverage was still held aloft, Mary snatched hers without thinking even though it was empty, and knocked it together with his, giving him the final word in finishing their toast.

"I will drink to that, my friend."

XXX

A/N: Admittedly, I have never felt that I write humor especially well, but I do what I can!