A/N: Thanks to those who are reading! I appreciate any feedback I can get!

XXX

Mary was back to languishing by the time Marshall arrived home from work, which was at a far later hour than she was expecting him. Starving, and barely able to keep herself from gnashing her teeth as she fought not to leave her bed for sustenance, she sincerely hoped she wasn't going to have to resort to phoning Jinx about dinner. She had seen quite enough of both her mother and her sister for one day, although she knew she'd better make her peace with it; they were going to be around a lot more with only Marshall holding down the fort at the office until his own leave of absence.

Mary was playing with the apps on her phone when he finally showed up, throwing his jacket onto the end of the bed and looking as though he'd come bolting through the door. By the look on his face, you'd have thought Mary had been bellowing out his name for the last hour, and while this had been a distinct possibility given her hunger, no such wailing had occurred.

"Hi…" he greeted her breathlessly, dumping his briefcase onto the ground and immediately starting to unbutton his work shirt.

"Hey," Mary knew she sounded less than enthused, discarding her phone regardless. "What kept you?"

"I know; I'm sorry I'm late," he'd likely just been getting around to that. "Not that anyone blames you for not being able to come back to work, but it was a bit of a scramble getting things organized today. Fortunately, Delia's new partner came in and I was able to spend the afternoon getting some cases squared away with Stan, since I'm not long for the Sunshine Building myself."

Mary had no idea when Marshall had planned on suspending his duties at the office, since they had no timeframe on when the twins were going to arrive. If he was holding out hope for thirty-seven weeks gestation, Mary had the feeling he was going to be sorely disappointed. After one premature labor scare, she didn't imagine the kids were going to hold firm for another twenty-one days. It had been one of the topics on her mind while she'd stewed by herself all morning.

"Anyway, we got there in the end, but it required some extra hours – as you undeniably noticed," Marshall extended a hand, palm-up to the clock on the bedside table, which told them both it was just after seven. "But, like I said, I'm sorry for the delay."

Mary was not in a real morale-boosting frame of mind, and spewed without thinking, "Well, I'm sorry I became useless overnight."

"Hey," Marshall's tone was sharper and more surprised than she was expecting; he turned from his place at the dresser drawer and gave her a politely rankled sort of look. "Why would you say that about yourself? You know what happened isn't your fault…" But, he took pause and carefully removed a pair of socks before questioning, "Don't you?"

Mary hunched her shoulders, fiddling absently with the humongous old T-shirt she'd been wearing all day. She'd been awfully downtrodden when the day had only just started, given that she wasn't going to work and she was bolted to her bed. But, combine that with Brandi's soppy marriage talk and now Marshall's not-so-routine lateness, and the man was really just lucky Mary was bummed out rather than cross.

"I know that if I'd quit my job a long time ago, I never would've had to take that excursion to the hospital yesterday," she eventually hit to him blandly.

Marshall exhaled as he set his tie on top of the dresser so he'd remember to iron it, "I don't believe that was ever proven. And, nobody is quitting their jobs – unless you know something I don't."

"We're as good as quitting."

"Well, for a woman who is being such a mother hen before her children have even walked the earth, I would think you'd feel beholden to something as authorized as maternity leave."

Mary shook her head at the blanket, "Just not three or six or however many weeks it is now…ahead of schedule."

Marshall's head was now buried in the bottom drawer, likely looking for his plaid pajama pants, "They would like everyone to believe babies come on a schedule, but the reality is – they come when they're ready. And with two, the odds of that just double."

Mary did not know what to say to this bleak thought, and so she kept silent, chewing on her lip as she watched Marshall unzip his jeans and jump into his own drawstring pants. It seemed he'd been dying to unwind after his apparently very arduous day dealing with all the slack Mary had left behind. She was perfectly aware that her partner was not trying to make it sound like she'd left them all out to dry, but she couldn't help feeling that way. This only encouraged her to keep her mouth shut.

"Ah…much better," Marshall declared, but he didn't join Mary on his side of the bed. "Now, if you have followed the rules to the letter, I would be left to assume that you have not been able to make yourself supper yet…"

Mary blinked slowly, pursing her lips as a nonverbal response.

"I will take that as a 'yes,'" the man figured, waving a pointed finger around, and totally not reading Mary's soundless signals that she was not in a buoyant mood. "I was going to treat you even before I was tardy coming home, but after seeing just how behind I was upon getting in the car, I knew I could only pick up the best for my girl…"

He'd roamed to where Mary was slumped in her pillows and tweaked her cheek with his last statement, which was definitely pushing his luck. The blonde could not even say for sure what was fueling her tolerance; she was irked, but hardly irate. The sorrow seemed to be overpowering anything else, and even the heartache was difficult to discern.

"Maybe you should pick up the pace," Mary pressed a hand into the mattress, the better to sit up. "Because, word has it I'm kind of on a clock," she drew a ring around her belly, harking back to Marshall's comments about babies and their agendas, or lack thereof.

"At your service," Marshall gave a mock-bow, producing a coy, half-annoyed, half-amused smile from Mary. "I shall return…"

And he shimmied off to the door, spinning through the hatch like some dancing waiter. Mary could hear him bustling around in the living room as he went about his business – lots of crackling, squeaking, and crunching accompanied a merry song he was humming under his breath. There was little chance he'd present her with anything that would really improve her surliness about being incarcerated, but it was sweet of him to try.

The smell preceded the visual. The scent of garlic and basil; pure Italian wafting out of a carton, fanning and sailing it's steam right up Mary's nose. And, for once, she did not experience the beginnings of morning sickness – or evening sickness, or whatever it was she had at all hours of the day and night. This food was bliss in a box; she didn't have to see it to know what it was, nor did she have to kiss Marshall to show him how grateful she was.

Holding a Styrofoam container, a plate, and a drink in an oversized cup, Marshall waltzed in with his bequest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Sensitive stomach that you have, I knew pickles and jalapeños were out of the question…"

Mary's eager grin turned to one of disgrace. He was so good to her and she could be such a brat.

"But, do you remember when we first found out you were pregnant and I took you to that high-class Italian bistro downtown?"

Mary did remember. She had been flat-out against the idea of celebrating the event, the same way she was against baby showers and weddings. What man could love a woman like that?

"Yeah, I remember…" she whispered, trying not to let too much of her indignity show. "You ordered for me while I was peeing in the bathroom, like some guy out of the seventies."

"Ah, well…" Marshall shrugged, climbing seductively onto the bed, inching on his knees with his rations and cutlery. "My father taught me a little too well, I suppose."

Funny, Seth had said almost the same thing when Mary had spoken to him the week before – which right now seemed like an eternity ago. Had that ridiculous improvised shower with blankets and muffins really only happened seven days before? She felt like she'd traveled miles since that moment; it was dramatically ironic how she'd thought an amnio was the height of her misgivings. How very wrong she was. Mary's perspective was becoming more and more skewed by the day.

"While I may have stepped on some toes selecting a meal for my date, you and I both agreed that night that I did a spectacular job picking the entrée," and Marshall popped the top on the package, revealing a scorching heap of linguini slathered in marinara sauce, parmesan cheese slowing disintegrating it's powder in the very center.

Mary, truthfully and in an absolutely passé effect, was speechless. Marshall had obviously put some thought into this, and after such a long day at the office too. Her digestive system was indeed extremely finicky; that could not be denied. There were very few foods she could abide without feeling at least a little green around the gills, even if she didn't puke. But, this dish was a sure thing – it had been since the night Mary had first tasted it, when she'd learned her life was about to change in the most fantastic way since she'd lost Jamie.

"Only my woman would prefer quality sustenance over something more intimate," Marshall presented with much wiggling of his eyebrows. "Not that I'm suggesting anything."

Mary snorted, ending her hush, "As if. I'd like to see any man bag me at this size. I think I'm up to four-fifty now."

"Sex is too stress-inducing, anyway," Marshall rationalized, perfectly relaxed; an observation that made Mary giggle against her will; only Marshall would turn down sex for medical reasons.

"You are a trip," she was faux-accusatory, slipping the contents from his hand and digging in his lap for a fork with which to devour them. "But, I…"

The stop mid-sentence came without Mary's consent. She'd been about to say, 'But, I love you' and she didn't know where she'd gotten the notion that she could just blurt out something like that, given all the excruciations over whether Marshall felt the same way. Why had the phrase tried to come so automatically all of a sudden? Normally, it was not even a conscious effort not to say it; for Mary, the reflex was keeping the emotion to herself, not the other way around.

But, Marshall had heard something, displaying a package of garlic bread for Mary to see, "You what?"

Even ailing, Mary was still pretty quick, "I…nothing. You're a trip, but I can't say I'm complaining."

And he grinned, buying into every word, "Well, there's a first, inspector."

Indeed it was. And, unsure how Marshall could think she'd keep talking when there was eatable cooking present, she burrowed her fork through the noodles, twisting them around the teeth in a flourish. In one bite, she was gone; she almost forgot she was pregnant with how scintillatingly delicious the meal was. Even foods she could stomach didn't promote this level of sheer delectability – where she wanted to eat and eat until she popped. That was saying something, considering how close to 'popping' she truly was.

"Oh my holy God…" Mary moaned in appreciation, wondering if Marshall had a napkin nearby because she had the feeling she was smearing sauce across her lips. "Marshall, this is…" there were not appropriate ways to describe this level of paradise; it really was the simple things. "Just…forget everything scathing I've ever said to you."

Marshall laughed, knowing this would change in a matter of days, if not hours, but Mary meant every word. Ecstasy was mingling unpleasantly with growing dishonor; ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her head didn't mean it went away. It was becoming more and more evident that Brandi's guess on why Marshall and Mary were not husband and wife was because Marshall was just too good for latter. She never gave him anything close to the sort of treatment he dropped in her lap. The spaghetti was proof.

"You are blinded by love of pasta," Marshall assumed, not a clue what was going on in Mary's head. "But, I'll take the accolade while I can get it."

"Mark today on your calendar," Mary managed between mouthfuls, cool as a cucumber, playing her role to a T. "Along with all the other days you've catered to me. Speaking of, do you mind…?" she wiggled her fingers behind her. "Being in bed all day, my back's taken a beating…"

"Finally going to accept that massage are you?" the man pretended to roll up his sleeves. "It would be an honor. You'll have to scoot up though, so I can sit behind you…"

Mary did as she was told, though with some complexity. She was considerably stiffer than she was used to, having been sprawled around for most of the day. But, she managed eventually, Mary propelling herself on her butt to the center of the mattress. Once there, Marshall dug right in, using the pads of his fingers to loosen the woman's muscles – pressing, but temperate; he went right to the edge without going over, without pushing into discomfort. It was hard for Mary decide which was more heavenly – her dinner or the rubdown.

"So…" she finally choked something out, once she got over the initial attraction that would not die at Marshall being such a generous lover. "Talk to me about work," still shoveling in linguini. "You know I'm gonna need every last waking detail until you stop going too, and then we'll have to rely on Stan and Delia. And I've gotta tell you, I am not looking forward to that – you can't ever count on on Delia's sugarcoated version of events."

A chuckle sounded from behind her, "Well, now that you mention it, Delia is indeed raring to go. I have surmised that she understands how hard it is for you to be away, but she's eager to do her part. That can't be all bad."

"Depends on your point of view," Mary groused.

"I suppose," Marshall was somewhat steadfast on this. "But, it's nice to know there are people waiting in the wings to help us. Delia, for all her perkiness, does know how to do her job. Stan wouldn't have hired her otherwise."

Actually, Stan had hired her to get Mary's goat after she'd mixed business and pleasure, but that was beside the point.

"But anyway, I suppose the witness you really want to know about is Tripp. Am I right?"

Something like a very weighted stone dropped into Mary's stomach at his name. Deep down, yes, she wanted to know everything about Tripp and how he'd fared at his mother's funeral without her. In truth, she had convinced herself that he had already been moved to another state, because the plan had been to stick all three Sullivans on a plane that very morning. This might very well explain her otherwise mysterious moroseness – never laying eyes on the boy who was like her son was enough to take it out of anybody.

Pausing for the first time with her fork halfway to her mouth, "I…I hadn't thought too much about it," absolutely a bald-faced lie. "I figured he'd be off to the Dakotas or something by now."

"No, he's still here."

Mary nearly got whiplash she turned around so fast. Marshall had taken a hiatus as well, hands poised on her shoulders. But, his face was impassive and unaffected.

"You didn't think Stan would let him get away before you had a chance to say goodbye, did you?"

Well, this was cynical Mary they were talking about, so she had thought that very thing. Her faith in others was severely lacking, but she always told herself there was a good reason for it. James had inadvertently taught her to be very suspect of anyone who came too close.

"I just thought…" it was awkward talking behind her like this. "I mean…he needs to be safe…"

"He is," Marshall swore. "Stan has a detail on the house; all three kids are there. They're leaving Sunday morning." And, before Mary could ask, "I told Tripp he could stop by here tomorrow. It's all arranged, so don't tell me it's a non-starter."

This generated a puckered brow from Mary, but she said nothing, too caught up in what it would be like to have Tripp walking her floors, looking around her bedroom, possibly sitting right where she was now. The image didn't entirely add up. She'd never had a witness at her house before, unless you counted Sam Garfinkel, the rabbi who had come knocking and scared her out of her wits. That had been three years ago now, and even he hadn't come inside.

"He'll be…here?" she mused stupidly, given that Marshall had just covered the plan.

"Well, as you can't leave the horizontal position, that would be the only way to orchestrate a last meeting," Marshall explained, resuming his attempts to dull the ache in his woman's back.

But, Mary couldn't feel it as well now, nor could she taste the richness of her noodles, both of which were disappointing. But, news of Tripp and his unknown future whereabouts put a serious damper on her already crotchety manner. How was she to go about sending him on his way? She felt she should have something to offer, given that the guy was coming all the way out to her home just to see her. In hindsight, she couldn't imagine just how many WITSEC rules this was breaking. Stan must really trust Tripp.

"Where's he going?" she asked, not breaking her reverie and no longer eating.

"When he's relocated?" Marshall queried. "We don't make that call; you remember?" it was kind of him to act so offhand about Mary ignoring a rule that had been in place since the first day of training. "But, my guess would be further east, considering they came from the California-side of the ocean."

"Yeah…" Mary's eyes were fixed on the dresser across the room; she might be memorizing all the designs in the handles. "Right."

Tripp in South Carolina? Maybe Arkansas or even Maine? How could she picture him moving on with his life if she didn't know where he'd be setting up shop? She'd never felt this sort of emptiness from a witness leaving before. Then again, she'd never had a witness quite like Tripp.

Marshall must've noticed she'd lost her appetite, "Mary?"

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you hungry anymore?"

Staring down at the remnants of her spaghetti, she saw that there was little left to demolish, but just the same; she still had the bread and a few swirls of pasta just sitting there. Her craving was not exactly gone; something about the appeal had been lost. This meal didn't seem like such a novelty anymore; the world had blurred in favor of Mary bidding Tripp farewell.

"I…I'm almost done…" she nodded, picturing Marshall viewing the back of her head from his spot on the pillows; his rubbing had slowed trying to dig a hole to the root of her up-and-down mind-set.

"Mary…" using her name again. "There's nothing wrong with missing Tripp. Nothing at all."

He knew her like the back of his hand. So, why didn't Mary know him the same way? She knew his quirks and his eccentricities, but the bottomless, cavernous depths were the ones she couldn't seem to plumb. If she could, she'd find out whether he loved her, even if he never said so. And more importantly, why he cared about her at all when she gave him nothing but angst.

"He'll be fine," she stated starkly, taking another bite of dinner for something to do. "It's what needs to be done."

"That may be so…" Marshall was feeling brave because he didn't have to look her in the eye. "But, it doesn't negate the feeling that you wish he could stay, which I'm sure you are experiencing."

"I…I…it doesn't matter what I think," shaking her head now. "Rules are rules."

"Mary…"

He had to be stopped from repeating her moniker at every turn; it inspired the idea that she might be up for a serious talk, and she wasn't. Unfortunately, Mary's mind was so full of mush that it didn't completely squash the concept of grim discussion. When she interrupted, it was with an even more dismal tale.

"He was there the day that Jamie died."

Marshall suspended his act for a second time, the pads of his long fingers resting softly on Mary's shoulders. She did not know what made her say it, not when she was so adamantly gawking at the contents of the half-open closet, flowed and baggy maternity tops spilling out on hangers; a few pairs of boots scattered on the floor. Focusing so intently on something so trivial did not seem to block out the real issue.

"Sorry?" Marshall tried to shed light on her proclamation, but Mary knew he'd heard perfectly well. "Tripp was…where?"

"At the office…" she sounded like a robot. "He came by to talk about buying a new laptop," she hadn't even known she'd retained this memory until now. "And about ten minutes after he left…" a tough swallow. "You…you took me…"

Why was she doing this to herself? She couldn't even finish the story. Marshall had to do it for her.

"I remember that now," he chimed in semi-helpfully. "I mean, I'd forgotten but…you're right," the massage might as well have been over. "He was there."

Mary knew this was minor and inconsequential. Tripp and Jamie were two completely separate people; from two polarizing parts of Mary's life. One had nothing to do with the other. But, she'd only started becoming close with Tripp after she'd miscarried. True, that soft spot for him had persisted even before that, but it was different post-Jamie. He had been, until now, the son she'd never had.

"Marshall…" following his lead with coining him by his title. "Would you get me a napkin?" random, but essential.

There was a distinct pause, but her partner opted not to prod her any further, "Yeah, sure. Give me just a second."

There was no telling why Marshall had decided to leave her poor stance aside, but he was more intelligent than his initially optimistic attitude would indicate. He knew Mary had been confined to the bed all day, which was enough to set her off in and of itself. Sadness was a walk in the park compared to other emotions he could otherwise be earning.

And Mary spared him a, "Thanks" before he slid off the mattress and out the open door in search of a handkerchief of some kind, before Beatrix could come in and lap up all the stray marinara inside the to-go-carton.

New insight into why she might've cast her iron hold onto Tripp had Mary migrating back to the headboard once Marshall disappeared – to opening the bedside drawer, to searching its boundaries for that very special ultrasound photo of her one and only Jamie. She looked at it sometimes just for a reminder, whether joyful or gloomy, that despite all the inconveniences that came from being pregnant with twins, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Only, the picture wasn't there. Relatively unconcerned at first, and still brooding over Tripp's impending departure, Mary assumed she must've overlooked that tiny, slick piece of paper. It was uncomfortable, after all, trying to paw through the contents of the drawer leaning way over like she was to avoid leaving the bed.

But, the longer she looked – shifted papers aside, upended ancient jewelry and tore through stacks of old bills, she was forced to come to the conclusion that made her panicky and break out in a cold sweat. The picture was gone. Mary never moved it from that one sacred location, although she'd often considered keeping it in the tin in her closet with her father's letters, but she'd never acted on it. Where was it? Had someone taken it? But who? Who else knew it was in the drawer besides Marshall?

This was not any old picture, like losing some memory of her and Brandi playing in the park as little girls. She had dozens of pictures of her and Brandi that would ease the sting from misplacing that one. She only had one, revered snapshot of her beloved Jamie, and there was no getting it back if it had been mislaid. It was this realization that made Mary riffle like a madwoman through the drawer for a third time, stopping herself only just in time from standing up and turning the table upside-down.

When Marshall returned, he did not primarily take in that Mary was in a frenzy; her napkin floated onto the bed, and he went back to his side, taking note of the coloring books on his table that Brandi had left behind from her visit earlier.

"My-my…" he remarked casually, Mary's broad back the only thing facing him. "Have we been sketching during the day…?"

But, he lost his bemused smile when Mary whipped around, intending to get to the bottom of this if it killed her. Marshall blinked and frowned simultaneously at how quickly her funk had evaporated, to be replaced by this brewing fury.

"Where is my picture of Jamie?"

The frown did not leave Marshall's face, but his eyes seemed to brighten in a way that said to Mary he was not totally clueless where this was concerned. Her rage only built at this gesture.

"I…what?"

Mary's endurance was shot, "My picture of Jamie – the sonogram photo! It's not in the drawer! Where is it?"

Marshall fumbled at the harsh tone in her voice, not to mention the manic light to her green orbs, "I…I don't know…"

Mary watched as he left the bed a second time and flurried around to where the blonde was searching, but one half-hearted shuffle of the nearly empty drawer showed Mary that he knew – or at least had a hunch – exactly where her adored image had gotten to. And, she was in no mood for games, no matter how well-intentioned; she knew she was frightening Marshall with her hyperactive reaction, and she was glad.

"Why…why did you want it…?"

And Mary blew her top, "Marshall, if you don't fess up right now, I am getting out of this bed and I am tearing the house apart until I find it! The choice is yours!" she knew he'd do anything to keep her off her feet. "Tell me! Where is my picture?"

Seeing her clenched jaw, the way she fisted the sheets and sat poised, ready to pounce on either him or every nook and cranny of the house, Marshall knew this was not a Mary to be tampered with. How could he have forgotten how she flipped on a dime these days? She went from dreary to seething in no time flat.

Unfortunately, he still waited a second too long and her bellow made him jump, "MARSHALL!"

This was one of the few times he had to scramble for words, "I…Jinx has it," with a sigh and closing his eyes.

Her disposition was not improved, "Why? Why would my mother have it? What is she doing with it?"

Marshall dropped all pretense in hopes that Mary would simmer down, "She wanted some more pictures for the nursery – you remember when she brought that shoebox over a few nights ago?" Mary gave no indication that she recalled, but Marshall commenced anyway, "I thought there were some in there…" pointing to the open, ransacked drawer. "And, the one of Jamie must've been in the stack. I forgot that's where you kept it; I'm sorry…"

The fact that he was tripping all over himself and looked distinctly afraid because Mary had yelled so noisily did abate her anger slightly. Still, the alarm wouldn't leave her bones. What if Jinx didn't notice the oddity among the pile? What if she lost it without even realizing?

Mary was sick of her life being shrouded in obscurity. The twins were coming, but no one knew when. She was at risk for preeclampsia and premature labor, but there was no telling just how much she could take before either came to fruition. Tripp was leaving and she didn't know where he was going, and she was positive she'd never see him again. Her relic of Jamie was missing and that damn nursery was going to be hush-hush until the kids were six months old if Jinx and Brandi had their way.

"I…I really; I wasn't thinking. It's my fault."

Marshall was still doing everything he could to apologize and get the dour look off Mary's face, and she abided, but only reluctantly.

"Call her tomorrow and tell her to find it and bring it back," she ordered boorishly, but she distinctly saw Marshall sink into acceptance.

"Of course," willing to agree to anything as long as Mary calmed down. "I really am sorry. I…I'm sure Jinx didn't throw it away or anything. She wouldn't do that; if she knew what it was, she'd know…"

"Forget it," Mary interjected without warning, not interested in hearing about all the courtesy her mother was going to extend. "You didn't do it on purpose," though she still sounded quite loud for someone who was trying to be forgiving. "I just…I want it back. That's all."

But, it seemed that whatever Mary really wanted back was something desperately unattainable – the ability to walk, to go to work, to feel useful, to be a mother to someone other than Beatrix. And, come tomorrow afternoon, she was going to be yearning for Tripp's return as well, and that was a guaranteed dark horse if ever she'd seen one.

XXX

A/N: You know Mary's liable to be depressed as well as testy – her current predicament puts her in a bit of a knot. Hope you guys are still enjoying!