A/N: I am so glad I didn't make anyone too angry with the last chapter LOL! I probably worry unnecessarily about such things!

XXX

Marshall's calculated routine brought him no solace come Tuesday morning, something that made him feel strangely empty. After over a week on the road, forgoing timetables and watches based on when they needed to leave a hotel, he had hoped being in his own house once more would promote serenity found in everyday habits. Out of the shower at 7:32, munching toast and eggs at 7:43, and out the door at 8:10 – every portion was there; all the motions fell right into place. And yet, Marshall felt nothing but dismay.

Maybe it was the pictures of him and Abigail that he still had plastered to his refrigerator door. He risked disrupting his coveted schedule to take them down in lieu of reading the newspaper, and the faces staring back at him seemed like strangers. Abigail read as little more than a colleague at this point; Marshall had made no effort to see her since returning to New Mexico; their break had been clean while he'd been on the road. His own features bursting out of the frames seemed phony, like his relationship with the perky detective had all been for show, devoid of any real substance. The thing that truly depressed him, however, was the loveable mug of Oscar; for all he knew, the mutt was still bunking with his now-ex-girlfriend, and it was likely to stay that way.

The toast was dry even though Marshall spread copious amounts of butter on each piece; he couldn't taste it. His eggs were rubbery, tough to chew and even tougher to swallow. His milk had expired while he had been away and so he drank water instead, which only added to the bland quality of the rest of his meal.

But, even the funk of returning to normalcy, the harsh illustrations of his former girlfriend at every corner, and the insipid eminence of his breakfast couldn't have dejected Marshall as much as his silent cell phone, black and dark on the table beside the salt shaker. All night as he tossed and turned, relived his foolish words, and saw his partner's furious face, he had hoped the telltale buzz would sound. Even if she didn't feel the way he did, even if they couldn't stand under an arch of their own and recite vows, she might come around. She might broaden her mind; she might concede they could still be acquaintances even after such a terrible showdown. Marshall was willing to try, even if it meant settling; he ached to take back what he had said as he'd stormed out about no longer wanting to be her friend. What he'd meant, of course, was that he didn't want to just be her friend, but the time for explanations had passed. God only knew what Mary was thinking now.

And, as Marshall pondered his upcoming day at the Sunshine Building, with or without his better half, his phone stayed quiet, a silent, yet brutal reminder of what he had crushed the night before. As he picked up his newspaper to skim the headlines before walking out the door, he knew he was going to have to accept it.

Mary wasn't calling. She wasn't going to talk to him. Not now – maybe not even ever again.

X

If speaking were an attainable goal, Mary would've strove for it like a dog with a bone. She'd have hunted it obsessively, in hot pursuit of a task that used to be so simple, a task she took for granted. Unfortunately, opening her mouth and uttering comprehensible vocabulary had become a thing of the past. Words had been replaced with anything from sobs to moans to screams depending upon how much she cared to fight. And, as the sun rose outside her bedroom, a pinkish tinge sailing neatly through the white net curtains on her window, her will to wrestle became less and less pronounced.

She was a woman in great distress. For one thing, there was her broken heart, which was probably the real source of the crying she had done since the minute Marshall had left until now. But, for another, there was her cramping belly which had become a volatile mixture of light, uncomfortable squeezes, progressing to a vicious, terrible binding sensation that made Mary feel faint every time it happened. Sleep, like speaking, had been nothing short of impossible. Awake for hours on end, she had paced her floors, hands poised on her lower back, stopping every six or seven minutes to keel over and wait for the danger to pass.

It was a debilitating, frightening cycle. Rationally, she knew what was happening and yet she pushed it to the rear of her mind for as long as possible. The altercation with Marshall meant that the physical ailments of what had to be early labor were really child's play by comparison, though that didn't stop Mary from vocalizing just how much pain she was in. The concept of breathing was a lost cause; she'd tried for awhile, gasping and grunting like some sort of cow, but when it made her dizzy enough that it hindered rather than helped, she gave up. Every time she failed, she thought of how Marshall was supposed to be guiding her, how he'd promised to be her coach, and she had spoiled that dream along with so many others.

And now, exhausted from being up for a solid twenty-four hours and with excruciating contractions to boot, Mary could no longer walk around to relieve herself. Curled on her bed, knees hunched, the release of tension she experienced by shouting all manner of profanity every time she was slammed – "Jesus!" "Shit!" "Goddamn it!" – was gone. The wicked, unforgiving constrictions of her uterus that only mounted with each hour that passed meant talking at all was unachievable. Yet another place where she had fallen short.

While Mary squirmed on her mattress, seeking out any position that might be even marginally more comfortable, she tried to brace herself for what she knew was coming. Stressed though it made her, she had taken to timing her contractions for the last two hours, and knew that by nine or ten o'clock they were going to be five minutes apart. She hadn't forgotten what Marshall had said about when it was time to go to the hospital, and that time was fast approaching. Being by herself all night had been bad enough, but at least she was in her own home, safe and sheltered from anyone seeing how defeated she looked and felt. But, the hospital posed another hurdle – a big one. She was going to have to go it alone, just as she had planned all those weeks ago in Doctor Reese's office.

Mark was on a plane back to New Jersey, Brandi was splashing in the ocean tide of Aruba, Jinx was in a studio pirouetting around with perfect, unspoiled little girls. And Marshall – he'd promised and, noble man that he was, would probably put aside being discarded to hold her hand, but Mary wasn't going to make him.

Why hadn't she confessed when she'd had the chance? Why had the panic become so enormous that she couldn't kick it aside as she would anything else? Why couldn't she pick up the phone right now and tell Marshall, who she loved more than life itself, that she needed him more than ever before?

Because she'd used and hurt him enough. She couldn't talk to him. Not now – maybe not even ever again.

X

Mary's empty desk stood out incredibly crassly when Marshall stepped off the elevator at the Sunshine Building. He knew he was reading far too much into the barrenness, for his partner was often late for work and, prior to becoming pregnant, would go out into the field before ever coming to the office. But, seeing it today, papers heaped and piled on top just as they had been before the two of them had left for Philadelphia – it was like she'd died. Marshall had the sinking suspicion that she wouldn't be coming in at all, which told him so much about how she'd taken their confrontation after the wedding. Mary could root herself in dissent better than anyone the man knew, but if she was too humiliated or stunned to even attempt that, he knew he'd really gone too far.

Sighing and stopping at his own desk to boot up his computer, Marshall adjusted his cup of pencils and realigned all his stray file folders, both of which seemed to have been scattered since he'd last been in the office. Sipping the scalding coffee he'd brought with him from the drive thru, he wasn't alone for long before Stan emerged from his office. He appeared to be in good spirits, probably due to the fact that the Sunshine Building was full again, all his inspectors back under one roof, but he was in for a surprise.

"Inspector!" the boss called, strolling across the linoleum and right up to his employee. "So good to have you back with us!" proving Marshall's theory correct. "Delia and I were getting pretty lonesome without our gruesome twosome."

Marshall could only rub one of his bloodshot, tired eyes in response. Something seemed to have happened to him when he'd spilled all his secrets to Mary. Though she had accused his professed love as being bogus, it was really the life he'd been living for the past eight years that was a sham. Why pretend any longer?

"Whoa…" Stan chuckled, spotting his pale skin, stubble-ridden cheeks, and dull eyes that wouldn't meet his. "You look a little worse for wear this morning. Too much to drink last night?"

"Oh…no…" Marshall managed to choke out, wagging his head lazily. "I just had a glass or two of champagne…"

"You look like you had about six," the older observed, tipping forward onto his toes and gazing up into the younger's haggard face. "You're conning me, Marshall."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, then what's the problem?" Stan took his word for it this time. "You stay up too late talking to Mary? I didn't get to bed until midnight and I left the house a little after ten."

It seemed everyone had been too hopped up to snuggle under their covers and rest, even Stan; any minute now, Delia was probably going to appear to offer them all a shot more of caffeine to boost their energy levels. But, the chief's supposed lethargy was absolutely nothing compared to Marshall's, and his came from sorrow as well as weakness. He wondered if the shorter could pinpoint the difference.

"Yeah, just uh…trying to get back into the right time zone…" he murmured absently. And then, clutching his mention of the female inspector in a last ditch attempt at optimism, "Where is Mary? She hasn't come in?"

"Ah…" Stan waved a nonchalant hand and shrugged his shoulders casually. "I left her a message last night – told her not to worry about getting here until the afternoon, if that," he winked, probably because the Mary he knew would never stand for being told to stay home. "She'll have to start backing away soon, anyway, what with the baby on the way…" Marshall's stomach did a nasty somersault at the reminder. "This will get her into a different groove, and she's gotta be running on empty after last night; why not let her sleep in?"

And, it seemed Mary had actually taken Stan's advice to heart – adhered to his directions as the perfect excuse to bypass her job and avoid Marshall in the process. But, what would happen come tomorrow? The next day? Would she become so used to life without him, too embarrassed to try again, that she would disappear completely? Find a new job – make a whole new existence, starting with Mango?

The thought sent chills racing up and down Marshall's spine, and Stan must've noticed the electric-like-charge appear on his face, because his brow suddenly furrowed in concern.

"Maybe I should've given you the morning off too…"

"No-no…" he sought to cover up. "I…I'm good."

"Yeah, but you don't look it," Stan insisted. "Is something going on? Did you need Mary for something?"

His choice of words was startling, but Marshall shook his head, "No. No, I don't."

When he busied himself in his documents on his desk, keeping his speech so quick and to the point, Stan knew that something was up. With his guard down, Marshall wasn't as successful at keeping his clandestine cravings to himself, and anybody who knew him well enough knew that he never said no to the chance to elaborate during a conversation. Him cutting Stan off and trying to sidle away was like an alarm sounding.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on?" the older man pressed, reading Marshall's deliberate, stony movements like an open book. "You and Mary didn't get into it, did you?" in a manner of speaking. "So much time spent in close quarters like that…" he meant the road trip. "The blood starts to boil…"

"No…" Marshall articulated curtly. "It's nothing…" and yet it had never felt less like nothing. "I told Mary something she wasn't interested in hearing. That's it."

What a tasteless, ordinary label to put on something so epic, the taller reflected. If he was going to start treating his feelings like they were pointless, however, he was going to have to act like it, and this was step one. The wrenching, ripping sensation that seemed to be tearing through his heart would just have to be buried.

Stan, however, looked unconvinced, and needled him further. Just like the father figure he had always been, he wasn't going to step aside when he sensed one of his 'kids' in trouble.

"What exactly did you tell her?"

"It doesn't matter."

That one hurt worse. It mattered so much it was killing him.

"Forget it."

There, that one was more neutral, and a lot less agonizing. Forgetting it was the only way to move on.

"I'll have a tough time sidestepping anything between you two if it means you can't work together," Stan brought up a logical point. "I've watched you both try and handle witnesses when you're battling and it is no fun being the referee. So, can you forget it?"

It was unclear to Marshall how much his chief was guessing here. He was a brilliant man, and sometimes even more astute than he was smart. But, if Mary hadn't been able to guess Marshall's harboring worship all these years, how could he expect Stan to? Then again, Mary had as much as said that she had noticed her partner's feelings, she'd just ignored them. There was a difference.

But, when the inspector forced himself to glance up and saw his boss' wise, swirling brown eyes blinking back at him, he knew there was an hunch hidden somewhere in there. He was simply waiting – waiting, as Marshall had done, and trying to be patient. For all that had gotten him.

"Marshall…" he whispered suddenly, gently placing a hand on his forearm in his most paternal manner. "What did you say to her?"

He was not going to lose his marbles at work, Marshall vowed. This was a place of business; he needed to be professional and upstanding, and yet Stan's solemn face was encouraging him to break down by the second. He had to know – he must. Why else would he be treating his inspector so delicately? But, Marshall had thought a lot of things about Mary that had been abruptly invalidated the night before, and so there was no sense in making assumptions this time.

"I…I just tried to tell her that I…" he couldn't go through this all over again; it would sever him in half. "That I…well…that she…that she means a lot to me…" it had been far more than that, but the abridgement would have to do. "…And over the past week or so, with the trip and everything, I thought that she and I might…" swallowing so hard he could feel the lump in his chest. "That we might…"

Stan's fingers patted his jacket as his voice petered out into nothingness. With a weary exhale, he finished the admission all on his own.

"Oh, inspector…" the renewed use of his formal title was heartening in a strange way. "You are a brave man. You waited such a long time…"

So he did know. Well, at least somebody besides Marshall did. That was something.

"She bolted, didn't she?"

The pair of them, above everyone else, even above Jinx and Brandi, could estimate the movements of Mary in a heartbeat. It would probably shame her to know she was so predictable, but the truth was that her reactions to uncomfortable situations were that of the lather, rinse, repeat variety. Anytime someone defied her wishes and tried to wiggle into her inner circle, she tore off, screaming for the hills every step of the way. Marshall had just thought, after all they'd been through in their time together, topping it off with such an intimate journey from one end of the country to the other, that she might finally be ready to settle down.

And, for as livid as he had been with her attitude, he must love her, because Stan's inference was met with a defense on her behalf.

"She didn't bolt…" not according to Mary, she hadn't. "She was honest. She wants to be my friend. She doesn't want anything else."

Stan's face might be impassive, but his tone was scandalized, "Marshall, she's bluffing. You scared her, and she's bluffing. I guarantee it; you go back to the well and you tell her…"

"I'm not going back to the well," he interrupted sharply. "I'm not. You would've been petrified too if you'd seen how unhinged I was being…"

"I don't buy that for a second…"

"Stan, this isn't something I can bully her into," he insisted, holding a yellow pencil clenched tight in his fist. "If she doesn't feel anything, she doesn't feel anything…"

"She does! Marshall, take it from someone who has watched you two like a hawk for the past eight years! Whatever she told you, she is making it up!"

"I don't care if she is!" he blurted out, shocking himself for shouting at his boss, but he had been provoked into it. "I'm not putting myself though this another time – last night was hellish beyond words. She has more than herself to worry about now; I'm not going to get in the way of her and her child, and that's a promise."

X

"Hey Mary. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about coming in too early tomorrow. You've had a long couple of days and its tough work being the sister of the bride. Rest up and we'll see you when we see you."

"Hi, this is Brandi! Can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message at the beep!"

"Hello, you've reached Jinx Shannon. Leave me your number and I'll call back as soon as I can."

"Hey, this is Mark! Leave me a message or try me at home!"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Flinching at the ear-splitting sounds that warbled through her ear every time she picked up her cell phone, Mary began to feel disgraced that she had really thought anybody would be able to come to her rescue. Stan's voicemail said he wasn't expecting her at work, and so would not worry about what had become of her when she didn't show up. Calling Brandi had been useless. Not only wouldn't she answer because she was probably sexing it up in the sand with Peter, there was no way for her to be by her side with her cruising around the Caribbean. Jinx, she was well aware, was in the middle of back-to-back dance sessions, and probably wouldn't check her phone for another two hours, at least. And Mark, very last choice though he was, was back in New Jersey or still on a plane.

There were other things the laboring expectant mother could do, of course. She could call the studio and reach Jinx that way. She could phone Doctor Reese to see if what was going on was anything to be worked up about at all. Or, were she a much bigger, better, and more generous person, she would fall on her sword and find Marshall. It was supposed to be him; it never should've come to this, and yet Mary was draped in isolation from all sides. Dialing in every number she could think of had really been to remind herself that she could depend on no one but herself. If she was going to do this alone, now was the time to start.

Dragging herself out of bed was an ordeal all by itself. Staying mobile might have helped overnight, but now her labor – or what she assumed was labor – had progressed enough that it wore her out an instant, her ankles weighed down, her back throbbing in protest, her belly unable to hack the intensity. Drowning and drowning fast, Mary knew the moment of truth was upon her. Reaching out to her supposed loved ones and receiving not so much as Morse code in return had told her she was going to have to buck up and muddle through her toughest skirmish yet.

Clinging to the refuge that was her outside counter, slumped over like a hunchbacked old woman, Mary just prayed she wouldn't suffer another contraction while she was on the phone. Punching in the number for her OBGYN's office, she waited with bated breath, or what little breath she had left from all the hoarse panting she'd put herself through. Someone answered on the second ring.

"Women's Clinic," said a cheerful, floating voice that couldn't know the sort of basket case that resided on the other end. "How can I help you?"

Remembering her fight with speaking, Mary closed her eyes and swallowed, the whites of the orbs stinging violently with tiredness and the tears that had been submerged in them.

"Is…is Doctor Reese there – can she talk?"

Every word that escaped was pinched, pulled painstakingly from within as Mary steeled herself for the next round of beatings she was likely to receive. A few droplets of water leaked onto her cheeks, her nerves at an all-time high.

"I'm not sure, but I'll put you on hold; give me a second to check."

Deciding she could detour around saying thank-you, Mary winced as the fifth beep of the morning squawked from inside the speaker. In the quiet, when no one would hear her, she inhaled and exhaled in an almost cavernous matter, massaging her belly as if hoping Mango might get the message to hang on a little longer, to wait until his mother figured out her messy life.

The voice she heard next was one she recognized, and while the physician might not be Mary's favorite person, after spending the night chained up on her own and being tortured, she could covet contact with the outside world.

"Raquel Reese."

The breath she let out at this was so loud it created a breeze in the speaker, but she was too busy trying to figure out how to present her dilemma without continuing to howl to really notice.

"H-hi…" Mary's greeting was stammered, like her vocal chords weren't working right. "Hi…it's Mary…" Gathering still more gumption, "Mary Shannon…"

Now that this was out of the way, Doctor Reese clued in, "Mary…" and with pleasant surprise. "What happened last week?" this would be first on her list, the fact that her patient had missed a scheduled appointment, but she'd been somewhere between Saint Louis and Indianapolis during that time. "You were a no-show; we should really reschedule just so I can make sure everything's still in order…"

So much for that. Everything about Mary right now was disorderly; it was just uttering it that was going to be hard. But, she hadn't quite collected all of her courage yet, her face tearstained from every angle, her knees about to give way from standing up for all of five minutes. White-knuckling the counter, feeling the slight twinge from her lower belly that meant the worst was yet to come in a few seconds time, she knew she was going to have to hurry, but Raquel got there first.

"Mary, are you still there?" she wanted to know. "What was it that you needed?"

Forgetting the postponement of their original get-together was exactly what the woman needed, as was the question that would lead her to her doom.

"I…I think I might…" she began to quiver, knowing that keeping the tears at bay was going to be all for naught. "I…I think I might be in labor…"

The timid, trembling quality to her persona suddenly made sense to the good doctor, and Mary felt a little freer in flowing so much moisture. She knew Doctor Reese could hear everything, could hear what a shambles she was in, but at least she would be sympathetic. She did this for a living, after all.

"Okay…" the professional got right down to business. "You're having contractions, then?"

"Yes…" she sounded like she was suffocating, but Doctor Reese paid her no mind.

"For how long? Have you timed them?"

For most patients, this might be a very essential question – a way to refute and tear down all those false labor scares most expectant moms were likely to experience in their excitement. Doctor Reese might not know Mary very well, but she knew she treated her pregnancy far differently than most women. She would know that if she was resorting to calling in the big guns that she was at the end of her tether.

"Yes…yesterday morning…" she scrambled not at all elegantly. "I…I was having what I thought were contractions; they were more painful than usual and they lasted awhile…" such a long sentence made her winded and she had to stop for a second, but Raquel was patient. "But…they were irregular…"

Describing them that way made Mary think of Marshall, which would only increase her hysteria, but she prodded herself to finish.

"And…they did go away eventually, so I didn't think it was anything…" another swallow. "But then, last night like…around nine, I don't know…" if only she could remember the exact moment when Marshall had barreled away after she'd battered his psyche. "They came back, and they haven't gone away since. They were seven minutes apart for…for awhile…" she couldn't remember how long. "But, now it's more like five…"

Realizing that this was really taking it out of a woman who already had much more to tackle down the road, Doctor Reese broke in now that she'd gotten the information she needed.

"How long have they been five minutes apart?"

"Only a half hour or something…" a loud sniffle.

"Did your water break?"

This was another inquiry best left for Marshall, but he wasn't here now, and he wasn't going to be.

"No…" she croaked, becoming still more emotional because she was embarrassed not to know. "I…I don't think so; I'm not sure…"

"All right, Mary, listen close for me," she was tender, but firm, probably so the blonde wouldn't disentangle any further. "It sounds like this is it, okay?" no beating around the bush. "You're four weeks early, but I don't want you to worry," until now, Mary hadn't even considered the prematurity of her child, which only added to her unease. "The last time I saw you, everything looked fine; thirty-six-weekers are almost always viable…"

"What…what should I do?" she was displaying her ignorance everywhere, but Doctor Reese was happy to oblige.

"Stay calm, remember to breathe…" worthless advice. "Gather a few things for the hospital and then find your way over there. I'll meet you as soon as I can." A third thought suddenly occurred to her, as if recalling the individuality of this particular patient, "Is there someone who can drive you?"

"No…"

"Do you want me to send an ambulance?"

Mary's first thought was, absolutely not, but she didn't have a choice. Arriving in that squealing white box with its lights flashing red and blue was not at all how she had pictured this event, and still it was where she had landed. Again, her hunger for Marshall grew tenfold, but after demoralizing him the way she had, she wasn't going to run back to him now. He deserved better. He always had.

"Mary, are you sure there's no one who can bring you?"

"There…there's not…"

"Where's your mom? What about your sister?" she was harking back to those silly forms, which would be of no help now.

"I don't know where my mother is, and my sister is on her honeymoon," a sob dribbled out, because Mary knew if she suggested Marshall she was going to disintegrate into a million pieces, then and there.

Fortunately, the other knew when to hold back, "Then I'll call for an ambulance. Please promise me you'll keep trying to call someone to come and sit with you."

Raquel had been right all along. She'd said all those who claimed they could survive the perils of childbirth on their own ended up in ruins in the end, and she was right. Now, more than ever, Mary needed and wanted a hand to hold, but there was no one left to reach for. Assembling whatever smidgen of her old self she still had left, she ignored Doctor Reese's proposal and took the reins herself.

"It's just me, and that's all I need. That's a promise."

XXX

A/N: It's baby-time! And, fear not! I won't make our favorite duo suffer alone for long. ;)