A/N: For the 2 of you who are actively reading and reviewing this story - my utmost thanks! To date, this is my favorite fiction that I've written for IPS- and I honestly hope that there are more of you out there that are reading and just not letting me know what you think.
I'm only a couple of chapters ahead of you in writing this one - I do know what the 'endgame' looks like but many of the details are flushed out as I'm writing. So that makes it fun for you and me! This chapter is a little 'lighter' as we explore Marshall's family life. The show didn't really delve into this much. We were told that 1) he had brothers 2) he talked to his mom once a week and 3) he and his father had a complicated relationship and weren't very close (Seth is the only member of the family we got to meet in the episode 'Son of Mann'). One of the questions I always had was: "How did Marshall know French?" That question and others are answered in this chapter as I 'create' his family. Enjoy the break and we'll get back to the action in the next chapter.
Albuquerque Police Station
Interrogation Room 2
"Miss Hogan, do you need me to repeat the question? Why did you ignore Marshall's instructions to avoid Kenny Evans and instead enter his residence at well after midnight on the morning of June 2nd?"
Sugar looked at her manicured fingernails, the perfect picture of boredom. "And I'm beginning to wonder if you can't read, Detective. All of this is in my original statement. I paused when I saw that the door was open-"
"How far open – a crack, a couple of inches?"
Sugar looked shaken for the first time. "Wide open."
Abigail glanced at Sugar's statement. "You didn't say that the first time."
"You didn't ask me."
"Hmm," Abigail murmured as she made a notation and Sugar looked at Delia, her eyes wide in a silent, desperate plea.
Delia took her cue. "How much longer is this going to continue, Detective? Sugar needs to be at work in half an hour and I'd rather her manager not know she was late because she was being questioned by the police."
"Just a few more questions, Delia-"
"No, Abigail, we're done here. Now."
At the sound of Mary's iron voice, all three women's heads swiveled to see Mary standing in the open doorway, with a green officer dancing in the background looking embarrassed and mouthing silent apologies. Abigail waved the youth away and stood so she was eye level with Mary. "This is a private inquiry, Mary. You can't just barge in here-"
"On the contrary, Detective, I can. That's my witness you're questioning and I have every right to be here."
"Fine," Abigail bit the word out through clenched teeth, "But one of you needs to leave." She swung her gaze between Mary and Delia.
Delia gave her sunny smile. "I'm out – I've got other places to be." She passed Mary in the doorway, lowering her voice but Abigail still caught the words she spoke in Mary's ear, "Give her hell, Mer."
Mary grinned wolfishly as she shut the door behind Delia and took the empty seat beside Sugar who welcomed her with a slightly shaky smile.
"So, catch me up. What have I missed?"
Marshall's hospital room
Scott had been scanning Marshall's chart in silence for ten minutes and Marshall was getting restless. "Unless there's something in there that's going to magically restore my memory, I'd really appreciate it if you'd put that down and talk to me. It's rather unnerving having a stranger who is supposed to be my brother standing over me and having no recollection of him."
Scott's head shot up. "What? Oh, sorry." He returned the clipboard to the holder at the foot of the bed. "Where do you want me to start?"
"At the beginning?" Marshall shrugged. "How about mom? I heard she's dead."
Scott started at the blunt statement.
"Sorry, I know that's harsh and Mary tells me that I was very close to her – but right now I just don't remember her," Marshall explained. "So how about we start there? Tell me about our mother."
Scott pulled a folding chair forward, turned it around and straddled it, resting his chin on his hands. "Mom was larger than life, Marshall. She was French – she came over on a student Visa in college and never went back. She met Dad and they fell in love and the rest is history as they say."
"What was her name?"
"Giselle."
Marshall waited for the name to spark something inside but there was nothing. "Was she pretty?"
Scott laughed. "Ascetically she was very pleasing to the eye, yes. She had the typical French look: dark hair and eyes, brooding, and a fiery passionate nature. She loved life and her family and her wine and her cigarettes." The laughter dimmed in his eyes. "That's what killed her in the end."
"It doesn't sound like you or I resemble her very much."
"No, you and I take after Dad, but our other brother Marc is her spitting image."
"Is he going to come see me?"
Scott sighed. "We're not – Marc is the black sheep of the family, Marshall. He didn't even come to Mom's funeral though you extended the olive branch and went to see him to extend a personal invitation – to let him know that he was wanted."
"What happened between us?"
"The rift is mostly between him and Dad – but I was an idiot when I was younger and sided with Dad instead of staying out of it like you did. You've always been the peacemaker of our family – the calm one amid all our passionate tempers." Scott held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I never for a minute thought you didn't feel things as deeply as the rest of us. You just got extremely good at burying your feelings down deep and waiting for what you truly wanted. Exhibit A: Mary Shannon."
Marshall flushed. "How long have I – does everyone know my feelings for her?"
Scott grinned. "Except perhaps Mary herself. I remember the first Christmas you came home after the two of you became partners. All you could talk about was her – I teased you mercilessly until Mama stopped me." He shook his head. "You were always her favorite."
"I was?"
"Oh, I know parents aren't supposed to have favorites among their children, but no one's perfect. You were Mama's pet and I was Dad's slugger."
"And that left Marc-" Marshall didn't finish the sentence.
Scott nodded. "I know – I didn't realize the implications until I was older, of course. I loved having Dad's attention when he was home and you were always with mom. I never really noticed my brother or what he was doing – I should have."
"Scott, is Marc all right?"
"Yes, Marshall, he's fine. Great, actually. He's the only one of the three of us who is married and from all I've heard, his wife is lovely."
"You haven't met her?"
"No, but you have. Marc sent you an invite to the wedding."
Marshall started. "Did I go?"
"Of course. You're the peacemaker, remember?"
"I had just asked Miss Hogan why she entered Kenny Evans' house-"
Mary snorted. "Human curiosity, maybe?"
"But Marshall had specifically told her to stay away from him."
"And do you do everything you're told, Detective? Especially by a man?"
"Why are we debating this point? All I am looking for is her motivation for-"
"It's been two months!" Sugar interrupted. "I honestly don't know why I did it, maybe I was curious, or maybe I thought it was odd that the door was wide open, or maybe Sprinkles- oh!"
"Yes, Miss Hogan?" Abigail pounced, leaning forward. "What about your dog?"
Sugar licked her lips and looked at Mary for guidance, who shrugged slightly in response. "It's nothing – I just remembered that Sprinkles wriggled free of her leash for the second time that night when I came around the corner and I caught up to her on the sidewalk in front of Kenny's house. She was whining and sniffing at a spot on the pavement, but it was dark and I couldn't see what it was. I saw the open door as I clipped the leash back onto Sprinkles' collar and thought it was odd so I decided to go see if Kenny was all right."
Abigail frowned. "None of this is in your original statement, Miss Hogan."
Sugar shifted in her seat. "That's because I didn't want to lose my dog! I've replaced the leash and collar now and she's hasn't gotten away since."
Mary spoke up. "Albuquerque has very strict laws about dogs being off leash except in certain dog parks during daytime hours. Perhaps Sugar didn't want someone to see Sprinkles and call animal control, surely you can understand that, Detective."
"I can, but it makes me wonder what else Sugar has 'forgotten' to mention. Something to protect Marshall, perhaps?"
Mary glanced at her wristwatch. "Well, you can just continue to wonder. We need to leave now if Sugar is going to get to work on time. So unless you are prepared to hold her-" Mary stood and motioned with her right hand, silently signaling Sugar to stand as well.
Abigail gave in with a forced smile. "We're done for now. But I'll be in touch, Miss Hogan."
Marshall looked over his jello at his brother. "Did Mom ever speak French to us?"
Scott laughed. "Every single day! She sang lullabies to us in her native language, taught us childhood songs and games from France, you learned how to make Madeleine cookies and croissants that were better than hers, and you are the only one of us still fluent in French."
"I am?"
"Let's see if your unconscious brain remembers something that your conscious mind has forgotten: 'Parlez-vous francias?'"
"Mais oui." Marshall's spoon clattered to his tray as Scott grinned. "Did I just answer your question in French?"
Scott nodded. "But did you understand me – what did I ask you?"
"I think you asked if I spoke French and I said yes."
"Correct."
"But – how is that possible? I don't even remember my middle name and I can speak French?"
Scott waved his hand, dismissing the question. "Completely different parts of the brain, bro. The brain is organized into compartments and though it works together, it is capable of working independently too."
Marshall grunted. "Well, I wish you would tell mine to get its act together and work as a unit, thank you very much."
"I know you don't want to hear this, but it's going to take a little time. Your brain and body suffered a severe loss of blood and as a result your vital organs shut down to minimum life support – you very nearly died, Marshall. But the fact that you are awake, alert, talking to me, and having flashes of memory is honestly more than I dared to hope for at this point."
"So I need to give myself a break?"
"Yes."
"Under normal circumstances I might be able to do that but I'm under suspicion for murder, Scott. I don't have the luxury of time."
Sugar erupted into speech as soon as they were in the car.
"Thank you so much for coming – but how did you know? Delia said that you were at the hospital with Marshall-"
Mary grimaced as she put the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. "I was – but I checked my phone and Delia had left me a message letting me know what was going on. Good thing too – not that I don't trust her to handle the situation but Abigail is desperate right now to find any loopholes or leads to bring charges against Marshall-"
"I'd never say anything that would hurt Marshall."
Mary darted a sideways glance at Sugar as she pulled out into traffic. "Not intentionally, no. But the police have ways of trapping you, or twisting what you say. You should have never given that initial statement without one of us present."
All the anxiety and fear bubbled up and tears leaked out onto Sugar's cheeks. "I know, I'm sorry. But you and Marshall were both in the hospital at the time and I honestly thought I would be helping him if I told what I knew. I mean, I knew he had nothing to do with it! I heard his truck leave – Kenny must have still been alive then."
Mary shook her head at Sugar's logic. "The problem is, Sugar, there's a scant twenty minutes between you hearing Marshall's truck engine and the recording of your nine one one call. We have no proof that it was his truck you heard – you didn't see it leave and you didn't see Kenny alive with your own eyes. Now do you see how the police and the prosecution will twist it?"
"Prosecution? Oh Mary, you don't think it will come to that, do you? You don't honestly believe that Marshall's guilty?"
"No, I don't. But what I believe and you believe doesn't matter. It's whether or not the police have enough evidence to mount a case against him – that's what matters."
Sugar shivered. "Do you think they have enough for an arrest?"
"I think it's always best to prepare for the worst – that way you can be pleasantly surprised if it doesn't happen."
"That's an awfully pessimistic way to look at the world."
Mary shook her head. "No, it's a realistic one."
Marshall could feel his presence in the room before he opened his eyes, could feel him bending over him, smoothing back a lock of his hair, and then a gravelly voice spoke.
"He still looks so pale."
Someone else laughed, and Marshall recognized the sound as his brother Scott. "What do you expect, Dad? He's been in a coma for two months. He hasn't been outside in fresh air in all that time – being here under all these fluorescent lights, I'm surprised he's not part vampire by now."
"Now's not the time to joke."
"He's going to be all right, Dad."
"How do you know that? He doesn't even remember any of us – not even the woman he loves."
"I thought he called off his wedding to Abigail-"
The gravelly voice snorted. "Shows how smart you are, Slugger. I wasn't talking about the cop."
"Then who- oh. You mean Mary. Actually, the few memory flashes that Marshall has had have all been about her."
Another snort. "Maybe there is a reason to hope after all."
Is this the kind of conversations they had the entire time I was unconscious? Marshall wondered. Talking over my head about my love life as if they knew better than I do who I should be with?
Marshall opened his eyes to meet the piercing gaze of an older version of himself and tried not to groan as there was only one person this man could be.
"Hey Sport, how are you feeling?"
The words echoed in his ears and suddenly he was five years old opening his eyes to see his father bending over him in concern. He could hear his mama swearing in French as she pushed his father out of the way and scooped Marshall into her arms.
"Ah, mon tresor! What happened? Seth, didn't I tell you to be careful, eh? I told you Marshall did not want to play your barbaric American sport but would you listen to me, eh? No! And now look at his face! My poor, poor bebe!" she cooed and cupped his face.
"It's only a black eye, 'Elle – he will have many more. He's a boy, after all. And baseball is not barbaric- right, Sport?"
Marshall grunted. "I'm OK, mom, really."
"Marshall – Marshall!"
He snapped back to the present, shaking the memory of the past away even though he wanted to stay with his mother just a little bit longer. He ignored his father and focused on his brother. "I remembered something when Dad called me Sport."
Scott leaned forward eagerly, pen poised above a notepad. "What is it?"
"I was just a little boy – I got a black eye when Dad was teaching me baseball?" Marshall voiced it as a question and looked at Seth for confirmation.
Seth smiled. "Well, I was trying to teach you how to hit a ball. You wanted to join a Pee Wee team – and your mother was horrified. Anyway, the first pitch I tossed to you hit you in the side of the face and that put an end to your baseball career. Your mother taught you badminton instead – said you couldn't get a black eye-"
"from a shuttlecock," Marshall finished softly. "I remember."
"You do?" Seth tried to keep the hope out of his voice. "Do you remember anything else?"
Marshall shook his head. "No, just the baseball incident and mom teaching me badminton. She-" he swallowed. "I can't believe she's gone."
Seth laid a hand on Marshall's shoulder. "It's been two years, Son, and I still can't believe it. She loved you very much. You were her treasure."
Marshall closed his eyes as the tears flowed for the woman who had given him life and he felt like he had found and lost all over again in a matter of moments.
A/N: Aw, poor Marshall. All the feels - he's beginning to feel like a yo-yo. When will he get his full memory back - and what will it take? Stay tuned. Reviews are LOVE.
