A/N: I wish I had a more original way to say thank-you, but as it is, thank-you!

XXX

Going to bed in a cheerful mood was a rarity for Mary, but she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy it, even if her version of 'cheerful' would only pass for 'slightly less morose' on the rest of the population. Her fettuccini, which she'd wolfed down the second it had arrived at the table, had been very tasty, and she'd eaten almost her entire weight in biscuits, which meant that Marshall didn't get hardly any. He was used to not receiving his fair share, however, and let her devour the complimentary bread without complaint.

The female inspector was beginning to feel like she might finally have gotten caught up on sleep, as she and Marshall hadn't had as far to travel the past few days. Nonetheless, she crashed out once they were back at the hotel, the only topic on her mind that of how to weasel Marshall into not visiting his brother on their way through Indiana the next day. This bothered her a little, especially since she'd pictured the faceless Mango running around with Marshall's nieces, but she didn't want to create any more bitterness between her and the elder Mann if she didn't have to. The best way to accomplish that was to stay away.

Excess of rest aside, Mary still woke up in the middle of the night, as she was more apt to doing these days since her bladder overloaded so quickly. Cursing herself for drinking three glasses of Diet Coke at dinner, she rolled over to squint at the clock through the darkness and saw that it was just after three. However, when she leaned on her side she faced the other bed in the room, and even amidst the shadows she could tell that Marshall wasn't in it.

Groaning, because she didn't want to get up, but knowing she would have to if she didn't want to pee the bed, Mary rearranged her sheets while she waited for her partner to emerge from the bathroom. She assumed that was where he must be; she could even see the light sneaking under the space where the door didn't meet the floor. After several minutes, though, when Marshall didn't come out, she began to get frantic trying to 'hold it' and knew she would have to lumber to her feet and tell him to hurry the hell up.

But, the closer she got to the restroom, the more her ears discerned that there was a funny noise coming from behind the door. It was an irregular sort of choking sound, almost like a hacking cough, but it was muffled so it was hard to say if it was anything close to that. Tentatively, she approached and pressed her lobe against the heavy hatch, trying to figure out if it was safe to enter. What was Marshall doing? Was he talking to somebody – having some sort of private conversation with Abigail out of her earshot?

A few seconds of this told her that wasn't the case. Whatever was coming out of Marshall's mouth, it wasn't words, but there was definitely something weird about the noises he was making. Tired and desperate to empty her bladder before it exploded, Mary rapped her knuckles on the door to find out what was up.

"Marshall?" she called from the other side. "Can you finish up in there? I really need to pee."

Trying to be tolerant, but with only thoughts of rivers and streams and brooks to occupy her, Mary couldn't hold on for very long when she didn't get a response.

"Come on, open up…" a second knock, and with more force this time. "I won't be long."

Probably noting her necessity, but obviously unable to quell whatever was keeping him, Marshall finally managed a few words, but they were barely distinguishable through the door.

"You…can come in…"

He was breathy and his speech was staggered, like it was taking a great deal of effort for him to utter anything at all. There was a hesitancy in his invitation to let her inside as well, but now that she'd been asked, Mary wasn't going to say no. Something bizarre was going on anyway, and she wasn't going to find out what it was just standing around.

Turning the handle, she gazed cautiously around the frame, her bare feet slapping onto the cold linoleum below. Scrunching her eyes against the harsh lighting that illuminated the room, she stumbled upon a disquieting image, one that didn't inspire confidence in the least.

Marshall was slumped on the floor, his arms around the lower half of the toilet like it was the only thing keeping him upright. This was concerning enough on its own, as he was already sitting down, and it was a little forbidding to think he felt badly enough that he couldn't even handle being off his feet. All that aside, he looked nothing short of terrible – a ghost of who he had been at dinner just hours before. His skin was waxen and pale, sweat running down his cheeks around eyes that were only half open. The way he kept hugging the porcelain throne worried his partner and she was swift to question his sudden ailing health.

"What's going on?" she murmured, for some reason keeping her voice down. Leaning on the counter and squinting down at him, "You look awful," she was brash even in unflattering moments.

With a gulp, "I don't feel so good…" Marshall drawled.

If Mary hadn't known better, she would've thought he was drunk with the way his words were slurring together and his head kept drooping. As it was, her mind immediately jumped to the fact that he must be ill, which would make getting home an even longer process. Feeling guilty for immediately considering the inconvenience to herself, Mary got on with her cross-examination, wanting to make sure she hadn't overlooked anything.

"Are you sick?" she tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, the better to see him. "Maybe you have the flu…"

"I don't think…"

It wasn't so far-fetched to think he was going to correct her somehow, but the nitty gritty details were going to have to wait. With an untimely burp that made his whole face look green under the garish fluorescent lighting, Marshall arched onto his haunches and before Mary could plug her ears he'd thrown up quite spectacularly. The revolting splatter it made inside the toilet bowl almost made Mary puke too, just from the sound alone, but she swallowed her queasiness, not going to let her stomach sensitivity allow her to join Marshall in his misery.

Instead, she knelt down beside him without pondering the later repercussions, thinking it was quite a trick that she was able to get so low to the ground in her condition at all. The floor was hard against her knees, and her back certainly didn't take kindly to it either, but she ignored the twinges and waited for Marshall to pull his head out so she could talk to him.

When he did, he was more pallid than before, gasping for air and rubbing his ribcage, which told her that throwing up had given his chest a work out. But his first concern, apparently, was not for himself, but for the pregnant woman stooping at his elbow.

"Oh no…" he moaned gutturally. "No, get up…" he waved shaking fingers over his head. "You don't need to be down here; it'll give you such bad back pain…"

"It already is," Mary informed him, her heart twanging rhythmically at the idea that he could be fretting about her during a time like this. "But, I don't care. I'm used to it. What's wrong with you? You look sick to me…"

"Alas, no…" he breathed huskily, shutting his eyes once more. "No fever…"

"Let me see…"

Solely because she didn't believe him and not because she was looking to be affectionate, Mary slipped her palm onto his forehead, his damp bangs fluttering down on top of her knuckles. After turning her hand back-to-front she realized he was right – his skin wasn't hot at all, but pleasantly lukewarm and very moist thanks to his perspiring. There was definitely no fever raging within, but if that wasn't the problem, then what was?

"Told you so…" Marshall still managed a grim sense of humor, ascertaining that the blonde was discouraged not to have found a concrete reason for his sudden barfing spell. "I am not unwell, at least not in the influenza-like sense…"

"But, you look like death…"

Undoubtedly because it was tiring him to be witty while he could barely hold his own head up, Marshall cut to the chase.

"It's food poisoning."

"What? From what?" Mary inquired, her mind racing on rewind over the last few days, trying to find a spot where Marshall might've eaten something she'd deem suspicious.

It took the man a few seconds before he was able to reply this time, and several more swallows, which made his partner squeamish all over again because she knew the taste in his mouth had to be horrible.

"I told you to stay away from the oysters…" he murmured, eyes slipping closed again. "Who knew listening to me could pay off?"

"But, I thought they were only hazardous to me and my spawn," she pointed out.

"They're hazardous to everyone if they're undercooked…" now he seemed to slipping further down, like he might lie down right there on the floor, which made Mary fling out her hands, easing him upward with a gentle push. "Guess I got a bad batch…"

"Are you sure?" she didn't see how he possibly could be, but this was Marshall they were talking about. Even in his stupor, he was as intelligent as they came. "Maybe you just…I don't know, caught a twenty-four-hour thing…"

But, it didn't really matter where the origin of the sluggishness was coming from; because Marshall's digestive system was spinning into reverse either way. Trying to work on getting him to lean against her so he wouldn't have to slump onto the toilet so much, Mary was just guiding his head against her chest when he wiggled free. That same belching sound she'd heard before hiccupped out of his throat, and she knew he was preparing for round two of losing his dinner.

"Can I get you anything?"

Asking at this juncture was really quite stupid of Mary, because it became clear within seconds that Marshall was in no shape to answer. He heaved over the bowl for a second time, in which his partner felt all the color drain from her face as she clamped down hard on her own compulsion to do the same. The pregnancy had made her more susceptible to unpleasant noises and smells, and she was receiving an onslaught of both at the moment. The last thing they needed was for the pair of them to become a duet of hurling.

Marshall was still coughing even once he was finished, looking weaker and more bedraggled by the minute. Glad he couldn't see her attempt to rise; Mary managed to push herself off the floor a lot less quickly than she'd lowered herself onto it. The act of getting to her feet made the blood rush to her head and she felt momentarily dizzy before it passed, happy that the man missed that as well.

Trudging to the sink while Marshall mopped his brow with his sleeve, she located a paper cup, which she practically had to force out of the plastic hotel wrapping, and filled it with water. It was her faint hope that the sickly one would be able to get the drink down without immediately puking again.

"Here, take a sip…" Mary arched her back and passed the cup into his fingers, which appeared to be shaking. "Don't go too fast," her tone was as neutral as it had been in a long time. "Believe you me, I'd want to rinse my mouth as fast as possible, but you're asking for trouble if you chug that thing."

Following her directions without comment, he nipped delicately around the rim, taking in tiny droplets of liquid without once pushing his luck. When he'd had all he could take, he blinked drearily up at his friend out of hooded eyes. All the sparkle they normally had was gone, which made Mary uncharacteristically sad.

"You do know this is a coffee cup, right?" he schooled hoarsely. "Not a drinking glass…"

Why he cared about this was a mystery, but the mind did funny things to you when you didn't feel well. Mary could only bank on him not becoming delirious, and she took a closer look at what he was drinking from. Indeed, it did appear to be a sort of Styrofoam contraption, and a quick glance to the counter showed another stack of little Dixie cups, thus proving his theory.

"Well, a shot of caffeine would do you some good, huh?" she joked. "I could brew you a mug if you're in the mood."

"I don't think so…" for the fifth or sixth time, his lids fluttered and shut, probably because the lighting was so dreadful; it highlighted the stubble on his chin, making him look more worn than he already did. "You really don't have to stay in here…" he muttered nobly, now shielding his eyes with his hand. "You don't want to watch me vomit; it's disgusting…"

"Not as disgusting as if I were the one doing it," Mary claimed spiritedly. "And, you think I'm going to be able to sleep with you choking up the remnants of oysters in here? Please."

"Charming…"

"I'm here to make sure you don't pass out," and at the moment that was looking like a very real possibility. "Someone will have to call the medics, right?"

"So charitable of you…"

"Drink some more water," Mary ordered, seeing the cup go slack in his hand. "You're supposed to keep hydrated when you're sick."

He did as told, grumbling, "Very insightful of you."

"Yeah, you know our world has turned upside-down when I'm the insightful one."

Try as he might to keep up with her banter, to appear he wasn't as weak as he looked, Marshall just didn't have the stamina to manage. His skin looked like it was hanging off his bones, and if the pasty quality didn't give him away then nothing would. To Mary, he was embodying a strange kind of innocence that she'd never seen on him before. He always maintained a steadfast grip of control on his life, and without even trying. This was a far cry from the woman herself, who battled every day not to lose her power and only considered her hours accomplished if she'd managed to come out on top.

But, here was Marshall, not wanting to throw in the towel, but sinking fast with every ragged breath he allowed to escape.

"Oh, this is just excellent timing on my part…" he stated lethargically in order to fill the silence, Mary still towering above him, shadowing his hunched form. "We aren't going to make it to Indiana tomorrow if I'm still flopped over this way…"

This reminded Mary that she hadn't wanted to stop in the Hoosier state anyway, but she couldn't very well tell him that now, not when he was obviously planning on it.

"I can drive," was what she said instead. "They haven't started banning pregnant gals from getting behind the wheel yet."

"You shouldn't have to do that…"

"Come on, why not?" Mary tried to sound logical and not exasperated that he didn't believe she was capable of motoring around in the car. "You've clocked every single mile on this trip. It's high time I did my part, don't you think?"

"Well, I never thought I'd live to see the day…"

He was in for a few more surprises if that was his current attitude, because apparently he wasn't done regurgitating what sounded like everything that had been in his stomach for the past three days, even if the oysters were the real culprit. This time, however, he cut painfully right into Mary's ribs because she watched him sigh in exhaustion before he hoisted himself up to ensure he would hit the toilet when the time came. For someone who spent his whole life watching out for her, it was only right that she could do the same for him once in awhile.

Ignoring the splashing sounds that were ensuing once more, she arched over halfway and patted his back. For all she knew, it wasn't helping at all; she might even be making him expel more than he had to with her heavy-handed movements. Unsure, she switched to rubbing, pinching his muscles tightly between her fingers, careful not to press too hard. It was impossible to tell if Marshall even registered that she was touching him – and voluntarily at that – and she felt so awkward and out of place initiating any kind of contact that she was sure it must feel prickly to him, not comforting.

Gasping for air when his face met the ball lights shining above once more, Mary saw that he was drenched in sweat, not unlike she had been when they'd had dinner in Providence. He looked wretched, strung out beyond endurance, and she felt a pang of pity as well as admiration for him because he wasn't coming unglued. If it were her, she'd have been cursing a blue streak if anyone dared watch, and probably crying pathetically if she were alone.

"You okay?" she ventured, working to keep her speech low and not give him a headache to contend with.

"…Will be…" each word ran together as he didn't even complete his sentence. "…No picnic…"

"I've been there, pal," she didn't mean to make it all about herself, but she could definitely relate these days. "This fits right in with that pregnancy fetish I was talking about earlier. If you want to know how it feels to be with child, I guess you're getting your chance."

Though she was teasing as she usually did, there was a noticeable softness in Mary's speech that didn't usually reside there. That was why Marshall smiled wanly, barely visible beneath his sunken cheeks. The sight was such a heartbreaking one that the woman's mouth got way ahead of her mind, shooting off without considering how she would look or how Marshall would perceive her. If she'd been thinking anything at all, she would've realized that her ramshackle processing was really the least of his worries.

"Here…hang on…"

Obviously not going anywhere without a hand, Marshall stayed stationed on the linoleum, his own back probably beginning to feel the effects by now, and waited while the blonde ran the water in the sink a second time. Within seconds, she had returned with a damp washcloth she'd snatched off the hook on the wall. Through slitted eyes, he saw that the fabric was sopping wet, which meant Mary probably hadn't even bothered to wring it out. The fact that it was dripping was soon set aside, because he saw it zooming in toward his face like an oncoming train, a vision that was likely distorted due to his fragility.

"How does that feel? Is it too wet?"

Marshall must be dreaming. Something weird was going on. Mary seemed to be pressing the washcloth to his forehead, dabbing from side-to-side to catch the beads of perspiration that had settled there. It was official. He had fainted from becoming so dehydrated and he was imagining that she was playing nursemaid. That had to be what was going on.

And yet, as he sat there, the shapes and colors and sounds blurry and unfocused so that he couldn't tell the mirror from the shiny floor below, he began to think he might not be hallucinating at all. Mary, above all else, was very solid – the only object that was in his otherwise hazy trance. After all, if he was losing his marbles then pseudo-Mary probably wouldn't be in pajamas, and they wouldn't be in the bathroom. They'd be elsewhere. 'Dreaming' about a sleepy, ballooned, worrisome Mary didn't really constitute 'dreaming' did it?

But really, the reality was so much sweeter even though he was miserable. Mary's hands were light, her fingers long as they brushed his bangs aside and she applied the backside of the washcloth to soak in more of his sweat.

"Give it here…" he found himself saying in a voice that didn't really belong to him, like it was on an echo. His hand traveled skyward to grab the fabric, even if he didn't really want to, but his friend held firm.

"I've got it," she insisted. "I don't mind. Do you want to try going back to bed?"

Bed. Covers. Blankets and cool pillows. It sounded nice, but it also sounded very far away, and while Marshall thought he might be finished purging his seafood, he also couldn't be sure he would make it to salvation alone. Would otherworldly Mary be able to accompany him? Would her compassion stretch that far?

His immediate reaction was, 'yes.' Of course she would. Mary might bristle on the surface, but her fierce loyalty and need to protect others always won out. It was the obligation and most dazzling feature of a little girl abandoned by her father. It was all so clear now, in a moment when it should've been smokier than ever.

"Marshall?" it must have been taking him awhile to get out what he was thinking. "Are you good, or do you want to stay for another few minutes?"

Anything to get off the ground. Marshall would do anything, but just calculating the amount of energy it would take to get up made him tired. He had to have nodded though, because Mary wadded up the towel she'd been using and thrust out a hand, which couldn't have been a clearer signal that she was going to help him.

"Lift with your legs…" he hummed, knowing he was going to have to pull as much of his own weight as possible. "Honest…careful…"

"I know the drill," she'd been told to watch her step often enough. "It'll be a joint effort, all right? On three…"

The counts pounded steadily into Marshall's brain, although he couldn't really remember saying the beats himself because he was concentrating his efforts on standing. His head swam once it was nearer to the lights, but he was up and that was a step in the right direction. He also felt himself being guided by his elbow back into the darkened hotel room, which was a glaring contrast from the bathroom, but he was glad for the dimness. Mary's voice seemed to be pushing him along more than her hands were; it acted as a stimulant, a tiny breeze blowing him gently forward.

"Take it slow…I'm not going to let you fall…although I'd probably flatten you if I did…"

Even now, she kept her sense of humor. Marshall appreciated that. Unfortunately, he seemed to become too caught up in appreciating it, because he swayed in step and Mary had to throw out an arm to anchor him.

"Whoa…" her hand tightened on the small of his back and he found his bearings, squeezing her shoulder. "You got me? You're like rubber, I swear…"

It was an apt description, especially since his legs were wobbling so badly it was hard for him to walk even with assistance. But, in due time, they made it to his bed like they were entrants in some bizarre three-legged race. Marshall eased himself down; only vaguely aware of doing so, Mary nudging his knees so he'd swing them along in the wake of his body. Thankfully, because he wasn't actually sick, the comforter was simply a welcome cover and neither too hot or too cold. His partner helped him to settle in, arranging the blankets around his chest, and then he assumed she would be on her way to sleep as well.

But, a moment later and with the sound of running water trickling in the background once more, she was back and detouring around his bed to the empty side, climbing up next to him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered groggily, barely able to see now that the bathroom light had been put out. "I…I can't…"

She was more a voice than a figure, but then she became a pair of hands as the washcloth was pushed onto his forehead even as he reclined. The texture was nubby, causing the sweat to cling inside the stitching without effort. But, it didn't just stay there; slight side-to-side movements indicated Mary was splotching lightly, just as she'd done in the bathroom.

Wonderful and soothing though it was, Marshall's chivalry didn't take a vacation.

"Thank-you…" gratitude was important to express first. "But, really…" it made his temples throb when he spoke. "You need to sleep…"

"Hush," Mary admonished tenderly, as tenderly as she ever said anything. "Be quiet and try to rest."

Though her words were the same as they ever were – frank and to the point – there was no denying they were uttered with a completely different inflection. Her tone acted as a warm breath, a tiny flicker that shone bright in the darkness like the glow of a candle; cozy, it wrapped him in a cocoon.

"…Wish you…didn't have to see that…"

Replaying the scenes in his mind made them look fuzzy and jittery, but still he didn't want anyone to have to view him in such a disheveled condition, least of all Mary.

"Too late now," she reminded him with a little chuckle. "Don't worry about it. If you're lucky, it's over now and neither one of us will have to see or feel anything else."

Indeed, Marshall could make that his goal, as his insides didn't seem to be churning so furiously anymore, although he still felt nauseated. He just hoped that he would be well enough by the morning to travel, even if he wasn't able to be behind the wheel. Whatever she said, he knew Mary was anxious to get home, tired of spending every day locked up in the SUV, missing her duties at WITSEC and her normal routine.

"Shouldn't have eaten the oysters…should've taken my own advice…" he slurred, uncertain why he was bothering because he needed to conk out so the woman could do the same. "…Not immortal…"

"Well, there goes my whole belief system," Mary joked in response to the 'immortal' comment. "Here I thought if I sliced a sword straight through your gut it wouldn't even leave a scratch."

"Mmm…"

"Do you want me to stop?" not able to tell if the hum was one of content or discomfort, she stalled with the washcloth. "You're soaked, but I thought it might keep the sweat out of your eyes…"

"No, it's nice…"

This was code for 'don't stop now' but sounding over eager would only get him into trouble, ill or not. But, his sequence of thoughts was obviously shot, because if he thought that demanding Mary keep going would send up a red flag, then he didn't know what he thought his next words would do. Apparently, the fogginess from having thrown up so many times made him a little reckless and braver as well.

"You're good at this…"

"Hmm? What?" the 'hmm' indicated she was getting drowsy, and so Marshall tried to rush to his point.

"…Very nurturing…"

Oh yes, nurturing was exactly what it was, and it was high time Mary knew, he suddenly decided. Why pretend she wasn't talented when she was? So silly.

"Well, you thinking I'm some kind of fostering, nesting mama lion is clearly delirium," no doubt she would defame herself. "And, any skill I do have comes from years of practice."

Marshall wasn't following, "…Practice?"

"I learned how to clean up, cover up, and nurse back to health an ailing Jinx by the time I was five," there was a dash of pride to go with hidden melancholy in this announcement. "Two aspirin, a tall glass of water – no ice – and a room with shades on it. Add in the washcloth to make it look like the shine is coming from some sort of internal flush…" a scoff. "And you have the perfect cure for a hangover, or anything resembling a hangover."

This all fit, certainly, and as Marshall found himself beginning to drift away, shadows and supple fingers tempting him to let it go, he created a likeness of that young Mary in his mind. She wasn't so dissimilar from the one sitting next to him at this very moment – businesslike, yet efficient. Direct in her expression, but soft. Consoling without turning everything into a production. Flawless. Flawless when it came to hangovers, a friend in need, witnesses run amok, and little ones like Brianna who just needed that extra shot of encouragement mixed with honesty.

"…Works on people besides drunks you know…" was his way of articulating his conjecture, not ready to succumb quite yet.

"I guess so," Mary agreed, and Marshall felt her give his skin one last dab before removing the washcloth and folding it in two, for he opened his eyes when her touch vanished. "I'm kind of working without a net, you know. But, you make it easier than Jinx did; you don't scream at me to stop talking so loudly or to close the curtains."

"…A baby wouldn't do that either…"

What made him say it; he would never be fully aware, because his mind had so clearly turned to mush. And, if he wasn't unwell, rambling an unintelligible series of phrases, then he knew Mary would be whacking him into next Tuesday. But, perhaps it wasn't entirely his condition that was helping her to hold off. Even though the blackness obscured her face, he could see her green eyes standing out as she pondered his statement, blinking benignly and shaking her head – not because she was refuting him, but because she was refuting herself.

"I don't have a baby, Marshall. I have a Mango. Someone else is going to have a baby."

"They don't have to…"

"Please don't do this now," she knew she was cornered and the high pitch of her voice indicated it. "I just want you to feel better; I don't like seeing you in pain; I'm just doing what any decent friend would do; it doesn't mean anything…"

'Methinks thou doth protest too much' was what jumbled through the man's brain, but he didn't say that.

"Not everyone has the gift of being maternal…" this sounded more like English, broken though it was. "You had it at five years old…"

"I had it because I was made to," now she was pleading. "Maybe I want to do this for you, but I didn't want to do it for Jinx, just like I don't want to do it for this kid…"

"…You need him; you want to protect him in the way only you know how…"

"But, he doesn't need me," Mary whispered. "He needs a family that can give him better than ten hours shifts at the office and evenings that go away every time the phone rings and it's some wayward witness. He needs a father that doesn't live thousands of miles away…"

"Subjective…" a single term seemed sufficient; Marshall was beginning to feel loopy, and still it was like he wasn't even sick anymore; the blonde was actually listening to him, even if she didn't agree, and not shooting him down at every turn. "All subjective…a child needs love…you can give him love…"

"Even if I could, I don't want to."

"Why?"

Successfully stumped, Marshall thought as his veins mingled with satisfaction and listlessness. The outline of his friend's face told him she had opened her mouth to respond, and yet could think of nothing to say. There was something to be said for knowing right from wrong even if you couldn't back it up, and with instincts like Mary's, he wouldn't be the first one to doubt that. But, something about this had definitely caught her off guard. She'd been claiming for nine months that she didn't want to or couldn't become a mother. And why? She'd never asked herself why.

"…Don't do it for me…" Marshall wanted to make one thing clear, cloudy as he spoke through Mary's silence. "…Not because I told you to…" as if she ever would. "Do it for you…for him…"

"No…" but it was nothing like the 'no's' of days past; it was reluctant, and that was growth. "No…not with my mother…my sloshed mother…" even though that wasn't the case anymore. "Not with my sister and her inclination for running…" this, too, had gone by the wayside; the excuses were feebler by the minute. "…And not with Mark in New Jersey; he won't live like that. He will not be subjected to the hell that I was growing up; I won't let him…"

Marshall's hand hovered on top of the comforter and crept onto Mary's lap, her fingers still holding the now-cold washcloth. She started when she felt his fingers creeping along like that of a many-legged spider, and while she resisted and pulled away initially, she didn't go far, and allowed his hand to rest beside hers, if not within it.

"You can make it better for him than all that…"

It was taking all of his strength just to keep talking, to keep breathing, but Mary's touch against his beaten body had surged new life into him, even if it was just for a few minutes.

"…This is his story, not yours…"

"Marshall, not with my family…it's a disaster waiting to happen…"

"Then with me."

It seemed like the next logical thing to say; Marshall hadn't thought twice about it, or what it meant to either one of them. He could tell by Mary's furrowed brows that he had confused her, but for some reason it didn't make him nervous, nor did it cause a flush to rise in his cheeks. His intentions had been innocent in this chapter, even if they weren't underneath.

"What…I don't…I don't know what you mean…" she stammered, suddenly looking hungrily at her own bed as a method of escape.

"I would help you…" that should prove he wasn't talking about anything so intimate, not tonight. "We could mold him together…"

"I'm…Marshall you have a life…" as if he didn't know. "You can't give it up – Abigail, work – to be my live-in nanny."

Pleased she was taking his offer as a gesture of friendship, but also disappointed she had seen it as nothing more than that, Marshall slid down beneath the covers, sensing when it was time to call it quits.

"Too bad…" he could crack a little sarcasm even now. "A boy with a rip-roaring mom and her loveable sidekick…" just the image alone was enough to send him off to fantasyland. "That's a kid I'd sure like to know."

That, or a pampered prince with the Harmons? Which would Mary prefer?

She didn't even have to think, and yet that was all she did for the remainder of the night as Marshall slipped off to sleep.

XXX

A/N: Ah, a sickly Marshall…perfect to bring them closer together! ;)