A/N: I'm having so much fun writing this one - and I hope that the few of you reading are enjoying it too. It's going to be taking a dark turn in the next chapter, though, and that's where the M rating comes in. I just want you all to be prepared.


Marshall's hospital room

The next time Marshall opened his eyes, there was another stranger in the room, a man. He was balding on the top of his head, but he had a warm smile and a twinkle in his eyes and the sight of him brought up warm feelings that Marshall couldn't explain.

"Are you my father?"

The stranger coughed, waiting for the punchline but then frowned. "You're not kidding?" He swore under his breath. "Mary said there was some memory loss but she might have- sorry," he apologized. "No, I'm not your father, though I have always looked on you as a son. I'm your boss, Stan McQueen."

"Nice to meet you." He nodded. "What is it I do, exactly?"

Stan flinched but pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down. "You are Marshal Marshall Mann, a fifth generation Marshal, specifically working in Witness Protection. I have had the honor and privilege of working with you for the past fifteen years – well, until three months ago when I was promoted and moved to DC. That was when you were also promoted to Chief of the Albuquerque office, my old job."

His head spun with all this information. "Have all my family members worked in Witness Protection?"

Stan shook his head. "I don't believe so – though I can't be positive since it is a highly secretive job – we aren't even allowed to tell our family what we do for their own safety. Your father is in the FTF: fugitive task force. His name is Seth."

"And my mother?"

Stan sighed. "I'm sorry, Marshall, but she died two years ago – you were very close to her."

He shook his head. "I don't – I can't remember her."

Stan laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't force it – your memory will come back."

"Do I have any other family?"

"Two brothers, both younger. Scott, a neurosurgeon, has been consulting with Dr. Fledgling on your case. He's on his way here now. Your other brother, Marcus, is a tax lawyer in Boston."

"Neither of them went into the Marshal Service."

Stan shook his head. "No, and from what you've told me, your mother named you Marshall in the hopes that you wouldn't – but she was very proud of you, Son. Very proud."

Marshall rubbed his forehead. "Can I see a mirror? I don't know what I look like-"

Stan went and asked for a hand mirror from the nurses' station and returned, handing it to him without saying anything.

"It's silly but I'm nervous – do I have any hideous scars or disfigurements?"

Stan chuckled. "No. You had some small cuts from the glass – the windshield collapsed in on you during the accident but they've healed now. You do have a small scar on the left side of your neck from a large piece of glass. But otherwise, you look fine. Pale – but fine."

Marshall lifted the mirror and looked at his reflection for the first time. He didn't know what he had expected – that seeing his reflected image would spark memories and unlock the doors to his missing self? But nothing happened. Instead he saw a lean, chiseled face with blue eyes and dark brown hair. There was a small one inch scar slightly off center on his neck dangerously close to his jugular but otherwise his face was smooth and pale. He set the mirror down on the coverlet.

"Tell me about the accident – I've had no details."

Stan cleared his throat. "I don't think I can talk to you about the murder-"

Marshall shook his head. "Then don't – just tell me about the accident that landed me in here."

Stan nodded. "Well, you were driving back to your house around two o'clock in the morning when a drunk driver ran a red light and hit your truck on the driver's side as you were crossing the intersection. Mary was the one who found you and called 911, did she tell you that?"

Marshall shook his head. "Did she see the accident happen?"

Stan bowed his head. "Yes. She was coming from the opposite direction and if she'd been a minute or two earlier, it would have been a three car instead of a two car accident."

"Dear God," Marshall breathed the words softly.

"She tried to get you out through the passenger side but you were wedged and all she could do was wait for the paramedics. They had to use the Jaws of Life to get the two vehicles separated and then you out of the truck – the other driver was already dead. You barely had a pulse and had lost a lot of blood from the glass shard in your neck – the doctors told us later that it had nicked the jugular and you had nearly bled out at the scene yourself."

For several minutes, neither man spoke. Stan was watching Marshall carefully to see if his words had sparked any memory but so far, Marshall just seemed to be reeling from the news of the accident. When he did finally speak, it wasn't the words Stan expected to hear.

"Stan, what exactly is the nature of my relationship with Mary?"

Stan grinned. "That's a question for Mary, not me."

"I asked her and all she said was it's complicated."

"That's a good description."

"Am I in love with her?"

"What does your gut say?"

"I don't remember who I am – and you want me to trust what my gut is telling me?"

Stan nodded. "You're an excellent reader of people, Marshall. You've already picked up on the fact that the two of you have a connection even though you can't remember your relationship at all. So yes, I'm asking you to trust your gut. Are you in love with her?"

He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of her hands on his arms, her lips on his brow, her promise to be back, and smiled. "I think it's complicated."

Stan chuckled. "And I don't think there's anything wrong with your memory as far as Mary's concerned."


Before he opened his eyes, he knew she was there.

He wondered if their connection had always been this strong, or if it was only something that had developed since he had been asleep. He could suddenly remember her voice calling to him as he lay in this very bed, pleading with him to wake up, that she couldn't do this without him, that she needed him, that he couldn't leave her now – not now that he had finally told her how he felt.

His eyes flew open and met her cool green ones. "Good morning, Doofus. We thought you were never going to wake up."

"We?" His gaze flitted to the left and landed on the baby in her arms and his breath caught in his throat. She was a beautiful child with golden ringlets and dark brown eyes but the rest of her features were definitely Mary's. "Who's this?"

Mary smiled but he could see the pain in her eyes as she answered, "This is Norah."

"Is she mine?"

This time it was Mary's breath that caught in her throat as Norah nearly tumbled out of her arms reaching for Marshall. "Sha-Sha!"

She kept a tight hold on her daughter as she shook her head. "No, she's mine – but you're her godfather, guardian, and honorary uncle."

"Whoa, that's a lot of titles for one person," he chuckled.

"SHA-SHA!" Norah wailed, wriggling and squirming to be free.

"I think she wants something."

Mary shook her head. "Not some-thing, someone. You. Sha-Sha is her name for you, Marshall."

He swallowed. "Am I good with kids?"

She smiled. "The best – want to hold her?"

"I guess so-" he held out his hands and Norah half fell, half threw herself into him, babbling all the time. She cuddled into his chest and Marshall instantly relaxed. "Hello, Ladybug, how's my girl?"

Norah babbled and cooed and Mary teared up at the sight. Marshall looked to see her swiping at tears.

"Did I say something-?"

She waved his words away. "You have to stop questioning yourself, Marshall. These are happy tears. You have called Norah 'ladybug' since the very first time you held her in your arms – which, by the way, was one minute after she was born. To hear you call her that when you don't remember much of anything right now, means so much."

He stared down at the little girl in his arms. "I didn't think – it just popped out." He shook his head. "So, I was with you in the delivery room?"

She nodded. "You were my coach – right up until my doctor discovered that the cord was wrapped around Norah's neck and I had a cesarean instead. But you stayed with me the whole time."

"Where was the father?"

"Mark was out of town on a job – Norah came three weeks early, mostly because of job stress."

"Ah, you didn't stop working-"

"Why should I? The witnesses needed me."

"Your daughter needs you more."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Some things never change, memory or no."

Marshall began to hum softly and Norah's eyes grew heavy.

Mary snickered. "How do you do that? Brandi said Norah didn't sleep much last night and so I've been trying to get her down for over an hour and she's back in your arms for five minutes and she's nearly out."

He shrugged. "I guess I am good with babies."

"Brandi calls you the baby whisperer."

"Who's Brandi?"

Mary's smile faded. Just for a moment it had been like old times and she had had her friend back. But now, reality had come crashing back in. "Brandi is my younger sister. She lives with me and helps take care of Bug – Norah. She's also eight months pregnant. I'm sure she'll be along to see you just as soon as she can waddle her way in here."

"Why?"

"You and Brandi have developed a big brother-little sister relationship over the years, especially since she came home knocked up from Florida. You've taken her under your wing, gone baby shopping with her and offered to be her coach as well but then the accident happened so-" Mary swallowed.

Marshall looked down at the now sleeping Norah. "It sounds like I'm close to her as well as you."

Mary nodded. "You are. Brandi and Norah would come and sit with you during the day while I was at work. I think Norah was confused why you were sleeping so much and not waking up to play with her. Anyway, when the visits started to upset Norah, Brandi didn't come as often but she still called the nurses' station every day for an update on your condition."

"And how often did you come?"

"Every day – sometimes at night, depending on how long work kept me – why?"

"When did you sleep?"

Mary snorted. "Sleep is overrated."

"Mary-" he shifted Norah to the side, lying her next to him on the bed. "Stan told me you witnessed the accident, that you tried to get me out of the truck-"

She stood up and walked to the window. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I need to talk about it, Mary. You're the only one who can give me the answers I'm looking for. I woke up handcuffed to this bed, suspected of murder – of killing someone you were dating. I need you to tell me why. What happened that night?"

"I'm not going to talk about it with my fifteen month old daughter in the room-"

"She's asleep, Mary-"

"And you think you can't hear things in your sleep?"

"She's too young to understand."

"I don't want her to hear these things, Marshall! I want to keep my daughter away from the ugliness as long as possible – is that so hard to understand?"

"Mary? What's wrong?"

Both of them turned to see a heavily pregnant woman waddle into the room.

"Squish, can you take Norah for a little walk while I talk to Marshall about – that night?" Mary pleaded as she scooped her sleeping daughter into her arms.

"She fell asleep? How?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "How do you think?"

Brandi grinned at Marshall. "The baby whisperer strikes again. Great to see you back in action. I'll come talk to you later, Marshall." She waddled out the door with a sleeping Norah in her arms.

Mary shut the door and leaned her forehead against the wood, keeping her back to Marshall. "You have no idea how hard this is – to tell you something that part of you already knows and not get the support of my best friend that I so desperately need. Because that's something you always used to ask me: 'what do you need?' – I need you, Marshall: my best friend, my partner, the man that I've grown to lean on, rely on for ten years."

"I'm still here, Mary."

She whirled around in a fury. "NO, you're not. You're a stranger masquerading in my best friend's body. I don't know who you are – this man looking at me out of Marshall's eyes, so formal and distant. Where's the trivia? Where's the dry, witty sense of humor? Where's the man who calls me 'Mer' and 'Sunshine' – a name I threaten to knock his block off every time he uses but secretly love."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, ignoring how the room spun at the movement and took a step before falling to his knees. Mary was beside him in an instant, her hands and arms supporting him back to the side of the bed.

"What the hell was that, Marshall? Are you trying to-"

His hands gripped her shoulders and she stilled under his touch. "I'm trying, Mer. I'm trying to remember me, and you, and us – and you have to understand that as frustrating as this is for you, it's twenty times more frustrating for me. Deep down I have this feeling that you and I were on the cusp of-"

"Don't say cusp."

He grinned. "Why not? There's nothing wrong with cusp – it's a perfectly good word."

She knocked his hands off her shoulders, her nerves frayed by his closeness. "There wasn't an us."

"Wasn't there?"

She licked her lips. "No, not yet."

He nodded his head slowly. "See, 'cusp' is a perfectly appropriate word."

She growled and invaded his personal space this time. "Do you want to talk about that night, or not?"

He reached out and took one of her hands in his and gently sat both of them down on the bed. "Talk to me."

Mary took a deep breath. "You asked me earlier why the APD think you killed Kenny, remember?"

Marshall nodded.

She tried to free her hand but his grip tightened and in the end she left her hand where it was, setting her gaze on their joined hands. "It's because Kenny physically and sexually assaulted me that night."

She felt the jolt go through his body and she didn't dare look at him as she waited for the words – the same words that he uttered that night. "Did he rape you?"

Mary flinched and tried to curl into a ball but Marshall didn't let her. With his free hand, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted until her eyes met his stormy ones.

"Did he rape you?"

She shook under his gaze. "No – but it wasn't for a lack of trying."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means-" she licked her lips. "It means he came close, Marshall. He came too damn close."

She lifted her hands and covered her face as Marshall tenderly wrapped an arm around her, drawing her into his chest. Mary closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to forget for the next few minutes that this was a stranger and not her best friend who but for the cruel hand of Fate could have been more.


A/N: Up next, what happened to Mary on that night three months ago. Was it enough to cause Marshall to commit murder? Stay tuned. Reviews are LOVE.