A/N: Here's hoping this story is still even slightly interesting. I'm worried the drama turned some people off (understandably so,) or even that the tale just isn't that great. I promise I don't say that to garner any sort of undeserved praise; I have received an ample amount of extremely flattering reviews as the years have gone on, which I cherish. But, some stories are better than others and, personally, I never feel that my work is as great as others have, at times, said that it is. We are our own worst critics, I suppose, so I will continue to be grateful to anyone who is still reading or reviewing.

XXX

As it turned out, Regina Hodges' wish that Mary and Melissa have a relaxing afternoon was one that came true. As neither had eaten lunch, they went through the drive thru at a fast food place and devoured hamburgers and onion rings the whole ride home, so that most of the food was demolished when they made it to the house. Neither one spoke very much, but it was a different kind of silence in that it wasn't as awkward. Missy seemed relatively content munching her burger, ketchup and mustard smeared across her chin. Just to make sure she wasn't too down, Mary entertained her by wearing the onion rings on her fingers and even hanging one from her nose, which resulted in a shower of bready crumbs cascading into her lap.

Something about Melissa's demeanor didn't suggest she was being quiet as a method of avoidance, more that she was enjoying simply being with her mother without the need to discuss the varying changes that had occurred in both their lives. And Mary, who had never been one for a lot of chit-chat, was only too happy to bend to her unspoken request.

Full and heavy from a meal rich in fats, they went home to a still house, the mess in Melissa's room concealed by a closed door. They went back to the master bedroom, and for awhile they both slept, Mary unintentionally, sitting upright with the back of her skull against the headboard. Missy had dozed off while they'd been making idle conversation; her head nestled under Mary's arm. The woman soon followed suit, even though she knew she should get up and make the most of her afternoon off. But, it was pleasant and calming to be sequestered in the bedroom, just her and her little girl, the still-high winds lashing against the house, reminding her that they were safe and warm inside.

Mary woke before her daughter, but neglected to leave her side, working quietly on the bed on various items – the forms for the gifted program, to start, followed by office files. When she'd moved to get a better angle with her pencil, Melissa had fallen from her grasp, but snoozed on, curled on her side without even a pillow to anchor her. The peace created by the scene made Mary feel more in control, more normal, than she had in sometime.

It was around four o'clock that she heard the front door open and close, around the time Missy would typically be getting home from school. At first, Mary was cautious, not knowing who had come to call, but so many people had a key to her house that it wasn't overly alarming. She took a few minutes to finish what she was doing, paper on bended knee, before stuffing everything onto the bedside table to see who her visitor was.

Unfortunately, when she jostled the mattress, Melissa stirred, moaning and rolling over, no doubt unsure where she was or how she'd gotten there. Mary waited, one foot still forward, while she reoriented herself with her surroundings and was then faced with a squinting, disoriented little girl.

"Mom?" she wasn't wearing her glasses; she could've been Brandi, except the stomach was too small.

"Go back to sleep…" Mary whispered, even knowing she'd probably gotten enough to make up for whatever she hadn't gained the night before.

"I'm…hungry…" she squeaked with a big stretch, arms over her head.

"But, I gave you that horribly unhealthy lunch…" the blonde reminded her with a grin. "How can you still be hungry?"

"I don't know…"

But, she laid her head down after asking, like she wasn't sure she really wanted to make the effort to get up and eat. Watching her scoot herself closer to the head of the bed and find a pillow to relax on, Mary seized her opportunity while she had the chance.

"Stay in here and rest…" she instructed softly, not knowing who the guest was, but having a shrewd idea. "If you're really not tired, your book is still on the table…" she pointed toward the chapter novel Melissa had been looking at before crashing out. "I'm gonna go take care of a few things; I'll bring you some pineapple when I'm done, okay?"

Missy yawned, but didn't open her eyes and agreed, "Okay…"

Mary was fairly certain she was going to be asleep again by the time she got back, but that was just as well. She must need to power up if she was going down in the middle of an afternoon when she would usually be at school. It seemed there were many parties who had not caught enough winks in the previously uproarious evening.

Tiptoeing to the door, the woman slipped through the frame and shut it quietly behind her, glad that her daughter had listened to her suggestions and not tagged after her. Because, once she made it down the hall, she saw who was waiting for her and her guess had been right on the money. A peculiar sensation swelled in her belly at seeing him – something between trepidation and glee, with maybe even a dash of relief as well, if one could feel so many things at once.

Marshall was sitting on the couch, presumably trying to look at home; Mary was sure he would've remained standing and not made himself too comfortable if it hadn't been for his leg. Even so, he perched on the very edge of the sofa, his crutches leaning right beside him, almost like he was waiting for an important appointment.

"Hi…" Mary murmured, comforted that she could look at him and not feel at all irate.

"Hi…" he said back. "I…I hope its okay; I let myself in…"

"Yeah, it's fine…" his wife promised. "How'd you get here?"

"Eleanor had to leave the office early, so she gave me a lift. I'm starting to feel like I'm some wealthy individual being chauffeured."

Mary managed a light laugh; glad he was keeping things painless between them, although there was certain unease that still lingered. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other since their raging dispute and while it would be foolish to say either of them was letting it go, both were showing signs that they were committed to toning things down. Mary knew she was; she felt like she had turned over a new leaf, that she could approach the situation with a clearer mindset than she could've done the day before.

To display her readiness to give rational discussion a try, she took another few steps forward so she stood at the corner of the coffee table, but even once she was there she didn't know how to get things started. Though she'd just seen him the night before, it felt like it had been years. So much had happened since, even though twenty-four hours hadn't even passed.

"So…" Marshall ventured, clasping his hands together and nodding sedately at nothing in particular. Inspiration seemed to come to him a few seconds after, "I…I spoke to Stan earlier. He said you brought Melissa home from school. Is she okay?"

Mary wondered if she had ever been asked this question as much as she had in the last week. It was becoming as ordinary as 'hi' and 'how are you.' But, she knew Marshall meant well, and even sat down on the edge of the coffee table farthest from him, perhaps to indicate she wasn't going to run off.

"It's funny, but I'm not sure I know what 'okay' really means anymore," she kept smiling slightly and did what she could not to sound pompous, like his inquiry was dumb. "She's 'okay' in that she's not hurt and 'okay' in that she seems to be doing better than she was earlier. That's a start, huh?"

"Yes, I would say so," Marshall concurred. "What made you decide to pull her out for the day?" he, too, did not sound accusatory, merely wondering.

This was going to have to come up sometime, "Well, since we were none too subtle last night, she got wind of a lot of what we were saying, and it kind of bled over into this morning…"

"Stan mentioned something about that too," he was flexing his fingers now, probably so he'd have something to do with them, to feed what was probably mounting anxiety. "About…you know…" Mary didn't need him to elaborate, but decided she'd let him. "…The whole 'dad' thing."

Oddly enough, the woman was glad he already knew of this development. It saved her the trouble of repeating it and, judging by his face, he wasn't upset about her having disclosed such a monumental part of Melissa's existence to her. She figured it couldn't hurt to make sure, however.

"Are you pissed at me?" not the most poetic way to put it, but Marshall was used to her being crass.

"I suppose there's a time when I would've been…" he said without mention of her word choice. "Especially out of the blue like this was. But, perhaps this is the first time my illness – for lack of a better word – is proving to be a blessing in disguise. If you thought she needed to know about Mark now, then I trust you."

Mary knew he was right, that he would never be so benevolent about her telling Missy who her father was if he were really himself; they had all agreed many years ago that it would be done more delicately, and that was not how it had happened at all. But, she was grateful that she didn't have to win Marshall's approval back, and winged butterflies seemed to have burst into life in her belly at him complimenting her, even minimally.

"It's nice to hear you say that," she murmured, hoping she could return the favor. "That you trust me. It's good to know."

"I never meant for you to think that I didn't," this was as good as an apology; the actual 'I'm sorry' wasn't even necessary. "When it comes to Melissa or anything else – I never intended to imply that I thought I knew better…"

"Maybe you did know better," his wife declared, somehow finding it easy to do so all of a sudden. "I think I just didn't want to hear what you were telling me."

"Well…" Marshall bowed a humble head, modest as ever. "I would never claim to know all the secrets of parenting – even during the time that I actually was a parent," Mary supposed he meant prior to the car wreck. "I think it is fair to say I went overboard during our many battles yesterday."

"You weren't the only one."

"No, but…" a shrug. "…Maybe we need to go to war a few times to get back in our groove – such as it was. I do seem to recall us having some heated fights back in the day; sometimes it cleared the air afterwards…"

"But, I should've listened to you, Marshall…" now that he was here, Mary wanted to make up for everything she'd put him through, and not just because she hoped he would return to their home, but because she knew she'd been in the wrong. "…Even if I thought you were off the mark, I should've respected you enough to give you the time of day. I mean, so many men would've just given up on a child they didn't know they'd fallen into after an accident like yours, and…"

"I would never do that," he interrupted seriously, his blue eyes hard, but tender at the same time. "I don't know what's going to happen with us, but you were my friend first, and I would never walk away from my best friend's child. I hope you know you can count on that."

"Well, I do now," the blonde acknowledged, glad to hear confirmation. "But…" This was where it was going to be hard to sound sincere and not like she was trying to defend her actions. "…I don't want you to think I have an excuse for railing on you the way I did, but do you think I could talk to you…" She should probably say about what, and she swallowed profoundly. "…About where I was coming from? It's tough for me that you don't remember, you don't understand…"

This wasn't all about her, she was well aware, but speaking to Mrs. Hodges that afternoon had reminded her how much the truth could aide appreciation. The only thing she could do was try, if Marshall would consent.

"I'd like to help you understand," she finished. "Not…make you…" reflecting on Stan's wisdom. "But, help you."

Mary was pleased to see him spread his arms, "I'm all ears."

If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right, so instead of staying where she was on the furthest corner of the coffee table, she got up and moved to the couch. She didn't keep her distance on the opposite end either, but nudged herself right up in front of Marshall, her legs tucked under her. He was a mere foot away, his legs protruding over the edge and he leaned in when she came so near, obviously prepared to hear her out.

Mary had not entirely planned what she was going to say, but her time alone with the sleeping Melissa had left her a lot of time to think, and she hoped her jumbled feelings would form into something Marshall could relate to. It was so strange to think of describing something to him that he had lived, but if her goal really was to get him to understand then she needed to get past that.

Interlocking her fingers together, she balanced on the cushions with her fists in her lap, and used those beautiful, sparkling blue eyes to guide her through. That was one thing about Marshall that hadn't changed, and it was this realization that got her started.

"When Melissa was born, something happened to me…" it was surprisingly simple to begin in such a tranquil voice. "…It actually happened before she was born, in the hours before she was delivered. It's like something inside me broke, something I'd been straining to hold together ever since my dad had left…"

She felt almost positive Marshall would comprehend this, as he had known for years the sort of power James had held over her, and he nodded, inviting her to go on.

"I cried about everything and everywhere – all the time. It still amazes me that you never looked sideways at me, because I showed more emotion in that week than I had for the eight years we'd known each other."

Her husband smiled encouragingly here, without his teeth, which Mary read as another appeal to keep going.

"I cried for my mom, I cried for my dad, I cried when Melissa was born, I cried when Jinx came to visit, I cried because, physically, I hurt more than I could possibly describe to you. I cried about the adoption, I cried when I saw Melissa in the NICU for the first time, I cried when I found out Mark was flying in…"

Marshall's eyes widened just as little, like this was hard to believe, but she knew, somehow, that he didn't really doubt her.

"It was like there was this well that just continued to empty more and more by the day – all this sadness I'd had locked up inside from James ditching me…" this was only part of it, Mary knew, and the portion she really wanted the man to grasp was coming up. "But, the sadness went away, and then there was this overwhelming fear – I was afraid like I'd never been afraid before."

"Of what?" he chimed in for the first time.

"I had this three pound baby that could barely breathe, that was going to depend on me for everything – or so I thought," she obliged. "I'd spent my whole life telling myself it was my responsibility to shelter half the world – witnesses, Jinx, Brandi – but this was the only time it was actually true. I also felt this incredible amount of guilt for being in the fire…"

"I think that comes with the territory," Marshall figured.

"I felt like, before she even got here, I'd failed her. I wanted to do everything I could to do right by her in the future, and that included not leaving her when she was sick…"

A second nod followed this account, and Mary felt herself speaking a little faster, almost excited that he would have a handle on things by the time she was done.

"One thing led to another, and simply not abandoning her while she was ill became not abandoning her at all – or ever letting anything harm her the way the first eight weeks of her life did." To explain what she meant, she clarified, "She was in the hospital for almost two months; there was a time when they weren't even sure glasses would help her see, which scared the shit out of me…"

"It would me too."

"But, she grew and grew and grew and I just marveled at her – at how ordinary she was, how you could hardly tell there'd ever been anything wrong with her by the time she was two," a time skip was involved, but the woman didn't want the man to think she was going to go on and on. "Protecting what it had taken so hard to achieve – her being happy and healthy – became everything to me. Everything. And…" She might as well be wholly, totally honest. "I guess it still is."

Her heart told her to keep it up, that the more she said, the more likely it would be that Marshall would see things from her point of view. But, her head chastised her to call it quits, that what she had already laid out was quite enough for him to get the picture. Sitting back slightly so that she wasn't so close to his face, she tried to use her gestures to show him she was through for the moment – giving him the floor, so to speak.

And yet, the air seemed thick once Mary finished talking, not another sound among them, for Melissa was still in the bedroom, and probably still asleep. It was hard to know what to make of Marshall's expression. There was no reading him; his eyes were cool and smooth, blinking every few minutes. He wasn't caressing the new beard on his chin, nor were his eyebrows hunched together in the middle, like he was deep in thought. He looked as plain as could be, like they'd just been having an every day, regular discussion.

"Well, Mary…" he finally began placidly. "You know what's funny?"

This wasn't a question she could've anticipated. Nothing that she'd just told him was remotely amusing, so she wasn't sure where he was going. Nonetheless, he had listened to her, and so now she needed to listen to him – something she had done very little of since they'd begun to butt heads.

"What?" she hummed, waiting for the punch line to the riddle.

"There was a lot for me to forget after hitting my head – I mean, eight years is a long time."

"It is," Mary agreed shortly.

"But, there is something I should've remembered – something I had no excuse for forgetting – and yet I still can't believe I allowed it to slip my mind."

His wife pushed him forth, "And, what's that?"

He didn't mince words once she'd given him the green light, "That you will fight to the death and beyond to guard someone that you love – bury them in your foxhole until the mines stop blowing up, and even then you're the one who sticks your neck out of the ground first."

There was nothing untrue about this, but Marshall was so composed that Mary wasn't sure whether he was going to tell her being the savior wasn't the most important thing in the world, or whether he admired such a quality. There was no way to know, but she was lucky that he didn't make her wait for a verdict for long.

"I should've known that-that sort of mentality could only increase tenfold when it came to your own child."

"Yeah, but I don't know that…" she was going to attempt to show she could change this if necessary, but Marshall was already speaking over her.

"And, there's no reason I should expect or even want for that to be different – after all, it's the part of you I first fell in love with."

What must've been gorgeous, dazzling sparks erupted in Mary's chest, sprinkling her heart with light and a kind of radiance she could never put into words. Marshall might not have said the exact words she had so longed to hear since he'd driven to the brink and been pulled painstakingly back, but they were so close, and they were certainly enough for now. She knew his fondness was real, not uttered to keep the peace or to please her. The embers from the fireworks continued to pop even long after the woman managed to keep a straight face, to not show that she was as excited as she was underneath.

"I, um…I didn't know that…" she whispered, the ashes somehow constricting her throat. "Did…did you know it was actually me that confessed first? I mean, when we finally went down the whole 'love' route. It was me. I never thought it would be – I thought you'd get it out before me."

"Well, I was quite the coward about it for a long time," Marshall smirked. "So, I'm not too surprised. I'm sure at the time I was staggered, to say the least."

"I'm not sure; it's kind of blurry even for me now," this kind of reminiscing felt good, much less painful than when she had recapped the wedding. "We were sitting…"

And, when Mary looked down, she realized they were almost in exactly the same spots they had been in on that fateful August night, warm and muggy with rain not far away. The only difference was that Mary had been on the other end of the sofa, she was the one who was on the mend, and Marshall had been perched where she was now.

"Here…actually…" she pointed to the dents in the cushions between them. "It was my first day home out of the hospital after the fire, and you came to visit me after work. I was bored out of my mind, and frustrated because I was so exhausted even though I'd done absolutely nothing all day."

Marshall chuckled, "That sounds like you."

"And, I was mooning over pictures of my dad – trust me, you don't need details there…" she shook her head and waved an errant hand, casting the notion aside. "…And, I got all upset because all I wanted was to thank you for saving my life – you know, no biggie…"

Her light brand of sarcasm made her husband laugh, and that made her only too glad to go on.

"And…I just…got carried away…" that was the best account she had, still not knowing even now how she had managed to blurt out that fateful phrase. "…I said it…pretty soon you did too; I admit it was hard for me to shut you up once I jumped first."

"Yes, I imagine it would've been," the male inspector chortled. "I probably wanted to do it myself and chickened out."

"Well, it's hard to know how to deal with things like love sometimes…" Mary wasn't the most philosophical person around, but she was pretty sure she knew that much. "Especially when it's new – or, even if it just seems new. You're probably figuring that out when it comes to Melissa."

The smallest of shadows seemed to pass over his face when she mentioned her daughter. Something told her he'd been hoping not to touch on the little girl when things had been going so well. Thus far, anything having to do with Missy had resulted in a knock-out, drag-down fight, and Mary didn't want to go through that anymore than he did. But, righteous man that he was, he did not turn tail and root himself in avoidance. There would be no 'starting over' if he did.

"She is a remarkable girl, Mary…" his tone was deep and serious, his chin tipped downward. "I'm not just saying that; I think she's magnificent…"

She sensed a 'but' coming and opted to head him off instead, "Well, you don't have to say it even if you do mean it. Your actions speak for themselves; no one can say you're not trying…"

"I'm worried that's the problem, though," he sighed. "I wish I were at a point where my efforts weren't so obvious; I think it would be easier for everybody. And, regardless of what I was preaching yesterday…" If possible, he looked even graver as he finished, "…I do trust your judgment; if you think it's better for Melissa to stay in the class she's in and keep her head down, then I'm not one to…"

"No, you are actually," the woman interrupted, realizing how imprudent her method had been when hearing it described in an endless string that way. "I needed the push, I think. When I went to pick Melissa up today, I asked her principal about the gifted program. Looks like she'll be joining in."

Marshall was quick to be dignified, "I hope it's not because of me."

"It's totally because of you," but, she grinned as she said it, showing him she meant it positively. "Because of me too – and Melissa. I think it will do all of us some good – an adjustment, that is."

He tipped his chin up, seemingly looking at her out of one eye, faux-smug in his remark, "That's awfully wise of you, inspector. Astute, some might say."

"And others might say it's a last resort," Mary didn't want his visions of her to be idealistic, better than who she really was underneath. "But, I'm going to try and embrace it, I guess – to not expect results overnight."

"That is a method you have had to adopt more often than not lately," he was referring to the patience she'd had to rely upon when it came to his recovery. "And, it's not as easy as people think."

"Well, 'waiting it out' has never been my strong suit," she admitted. "But, I think it's time to act, one way or another. If this plan doesn't work, I guess we can try another one…"

"One step at a time," Marshall resonated. "Slow and steady wins the race."

It was like an alarm went off in Mary's brain, complete with a flashing red light, squawking so loudly people miles around could hear it. At first, she didn't understand why the old adage would invoke such an extreme reaction in her and she wracked her brains trying to come up with somewhere she'd heard it before in her everyday life.

And then she remembered. Marshall had said it – many-many times – when Melissa had been in the hospital, when she'd been making such sluggish but stable progress day-by-day. Was it possible he had pulled the phrase from some far distant nook in his brain; not knowing it had come into play during his past life? Or, were the memories starting to come back? Mary was afraid to ask and didn't want to get her hopes up, but her face must've given her away.

"What?" Marshall queried, not following why her eyes had grown wild and slightly frenzied.

"No…nothing…" she covered quickly. "Really, it's nothing."

And then, to prove she was not going to let it trouble her any further, she reached out and took his hand. The heart that had previously been sprinkled in the dust of firecrackers suddenly took flight when she realized he was gripping hers back, not because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to. How or why Mary knew the difference, she wasn't sure, but it was part of knowing Marshall.

This Marshall, or the one who had been her partner and then husband for upwards of twenty years, she was dimly beginning to feel that she recognized them both. And, if she was lucky, that they were also becoming one in the same.

XXX

A/N: And, now they start again – hopefully for good this time. :)