Author's note: Sorry it's so long between updates. Life. I also have something else in the works. It's long. But hey, better than too short!

Again, pieces of dialogue from Season 5, Episode 6 "Medal of Mary" are used, and not noted when used. If you have any memory of the episode, you will recognize it. It is also altered as I see fit to accommodate this story. Other episode references abound. Self-edited, sorry for any errors.

Marshall arrived at Mark's job site and tried to more thoroughly explain to a bewildered Mark what was going on. Mark didn't understand why the return of Mary's father necessitated he step away from his work for a few days, potentially more. Marshall put on his scary marshal face and managed to convey enough apprehension for their safety that Mark reluctantly set off on the task of tying up the essentials of the few days ahead. After declining Marshall's offer of help on the site, Mark set off to talk to one of his installers and Marshall squeezed in a call to his father.

"Hey Dad. I'm sorry. The situation… has become more complicated. To the point that I can't talk about it."

Seth immediately understood the implication in Marshall's words. "They let James Shannon into Witness Protection?!" he exclaimed disbelievingly, and with a scoff.

"Well like I said, I can't talk about it," Marshall evaded, but the point was clear.

"I know, son. What he has better be worth it," he couldn't help but comment, still judgmental about witness protection.

Marshall, though not taking the bait, felt the need to apologize again. "I'm sorry this is happening during your visit."

"Hey, that's the Marshal Service," Seth replied. He understood absence was always a risk in their work.

"Hopefully we can catch up later this evening," Marshall said, knowing perhaps that was a false promise.

"I'm sure Abigail can entertain me. We'll see you later Marshall."

"See ya, Dad," Marshall replied with a cringe, another reminder he needed to deal with his personal life as soon as possible. As if he could have even forgotten.

Mary was infuriated to find that Mark's job site was her father's house. The drive over had been enough to fire her up, with her father's continued pathetic attempts at reconnecting with her. Discovering her father had weaseled himself into her daughter's life enraged her. She wanted to punch Marshall when he laughed about her father's deceptive use of George C. Parker as his name, punch Mark for buying it, and when O'Connor arrived, slinging insinuations, Mary want to punch him most of all.

She calmed down as she poked around her father's house, letting her thoughts wander. Initially she was stunned, looking at the pieces of a home, the life he had made for himself. When she noticed the photograph of her family on his table, she felt a light wave of nausea, followed by grief. A vision of what he left behind. How dare he look at them every day? She thought about how close he was, and wondered how long he'd been there. Perhaps it was just one of many apartments he kept. He certainly wasn't the type to stay in one place.

She thought about her own choice to move to Albuquerque. At the time it seemed like an impulsive, short-term excursion; a why-the-fuck-not adventure. It didn't take long for her to stop thinking about where to go next and just settle into her new life. Maybe even be able to put her past behind her. She rolled her eyes considering her present predicament. HaHBut she stayed because liked her job, and as much as she could, she liked her partner and boss. Marshall and Stan. Who would have thought the three of them would have made such a great team? She'd never had a boss who truly valued her work and her process. They didn't always get along but she loved working for Stan. And then Marshall. Marshall. She'd never been partnered with someone who accepted her assertive nature, pushed her back, and still, not only wanted to work with her, but also wanted to be her friend. The man that initially drove her crazy became her best friend. He let her be herself but knew how to both challenge her and help her calm down. She instinctively took a deep breath, an action that made her suddenly realize that he was so much a part of her, just thinking of him while she was stressed compelled her to seek his calm. She thought about his lips against hers, to see where that would take her emotions. Just before she could relax in another calming wave, her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as she saw her father's medication on the counter. Just as she picked it up to examine it, the men reappeared ready to leave. She snuck a quick photo to investigate later.

The remaining preparations and meet-up with Finn filled the afternoon. The apparent success of the operation had O'Connor playing nice with her, which only reignited her ire. She escorted her father back to the FBI and reluctantly stayed for the subsequent strategy planning, which ultimately only reinforced her irritation. She tried to mentally escape a few times, by thinking of Marshall, but she realized another reason why she was so mad was that these events with Marshall and her father were occurring at the same time. She couldn't even enjoy what seemed to be developing with Marshall because the dark cloud of her father hung over it. She couldn't escape frustration.

By the time she got home it was after dark and as soon as she got in the door, she started letting Mark have it for letting Norah get close to her father. Marshall was on the phone in the kitchen and could hear Mary laying into Mark. He scrubbed at his face with his free hand in aggravation. One step forward ten steps back with her. But he also couldn't blame her in this situation, which just continued to dismally unfold, like the massive titan arum corpse flower, that smells more like shit with every layer that unfurls.

When he hung up the phone he started walking towards Mary and Mark. He felt bad for Mark, not understanding Mary the way he did. But Mary also needed to step back and be more patient with him. Mark was in her life permanently whether she liked it or not and she needed to accommodate his role. He shook his head as he listened to them as he approached.

"She was in the bjorn the whole time, and I never had her near the actual construction. It's not like I had her up on the roof with a chop saw!" Mark exclaimed.

"No, you had her on a series of play dates with a known fugitive!" Mary countered, slinging the hyperbole.

"It wasn't… I mean, Mary, Mary, can you just be rational for one minute? As far as I knew, it was just an old guy looking to buy solar! Forgive me if I can't be on the lookout every second of every day. I can't be suspect of everyone, like you are," Mark argued, full of frustration, but also sadness.

Marshall figured this was a great moment to interrupt and at least provide an intermission to their battle. "Would you mind, watching Norah?" he asked Mark. "I need her."

Mark nodded and retreated, shaking his head.

"You know what? Don't even start. Okay? Don't defend him. Because if being on the lookout isn't in his skill set, maybe he shouldn't take care of Norah!"

"Yeah," Marshall muttered, like he was just going through the motions of letting her say ridiculous things. Mary knew Marshall was displeased but couldn't stop herself from throwing her remaining barbs in a grand finale. She needed help to calm down and to be able to think more clearly.

"Call me crazy. But when it comes to being a father, I kind of figured having half a goddamn instinct is in the job description!" she continued.

"Resist the urge to draw your weapon," Marshall interrupted her, raising his hands in surrender, ready for this conflict to end. He may have understood why she was feeling and acting the way she was, but he was still frustrated by it.

"Oh, my God," she said as she realized he really was going to defend Mark.

"I…I'm sorry, Mary, but I agree with him." She laughed at the preposterousness of Marshall's defense. "I do."

"Uh-huh," she uttered, ready to dismiss the validity of any agreement in support of Mark.

"And I gotta tell you, someone's got to, finally, you can't keep pushing people away. Your issues with your dad, your mistrust of the world. It will… it will mess up that kid. Don't let Norah lose her father just because, once upon a time, you lost yours." Her mind slowed as she reluctantly absorbed his presumption. She took a deep breath and sighed. His words dampened her fury and she thought about how much she didn't want to hurt her daughter as she had been hurt. She was about to speak, but he continued. "Also, your cell's about to ring."

"What do you mean, my cell's about to ring?" she asked, annoyed about the change in topic. They finally had a moment alone. Suddenly, she felt like she wanted to try to talk to Marshall and release some of the pain of the day. She was also a little concerned about his choice of words: Someone's got to? Finally? They sounded so detached. Had he given up on her?

"O'Connor just called. Sully made contact. The meet is tomorrow night. We posted a detail for you front and back. It's precautionary. But anyway, what I said." He turned and started to walk to her door, resigned to giving her space to reflect and sort her emotions.

"Marshall…" she began, but couldn't conjure up any appropriate words. He turned back to face her again, sadness evident in his eyes. Her phone rang at that moment and she exhaled with frustration. She stood up to retrieve it from the table and Marshall sat down on the couch to wait for her. She took down the necessary details while continuing to think about what he had said. When she was done, she walked around to the other side of the couch and sat down beside him. They were close but not touching, and she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and hands hanging down.

As usual, Marshall had managed to diffuse her anger. At least temporarily. He always knew what to say to reach her and reel her back in a little. His moments of tough love were never aimed to make her feel bad, as her mother would do, but instead to wake her and embrace her, even if with just his words. She knew Marshall was right, but trusting was quite literally the hardest thing for her to do. She didn't know what to say and was hoping Marshall have something to add. After a couple minutes of silence, she knew he was waiting for her, so she slowly started to speak. "I have been trusting with Mark. And his mother. But this just makes me feel like I've made a mistake."

"Mary, there was no way for Mark to know that he was your father."

"You knew that George C. Parker was a fake!" she disputed.

"Did you?" he contended calmly. She replied with a heavy exhale, acknowledging that of course she did not. He let her think about that for a few moments before continuing, then spoke again. "I know you are having a really hard time right now. You are completely justified."

"Marshall, this whole day… this whole day! Has just been so fucking ridiculous. Doesn't conflict of interest mean anything anymore?" He didn't say anything because she was absolutely correct. "I'm just so… so many things, but so… mad."

"I know," he said softly and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands.

Mary thrust herself into the back of the couch and ran her fingers through her hair roughly. "O'Connor still has a hard on for pinning everything on me. My family isn't safe." She sat back up quickly and started angrily gesturing with her hands and arms to emphasize every sentence. "Where the fuck are my mother and sister? I've had to interrogate my father, admit him into WITSEC, play his inspector, participate in his asinine bank robbery conspiracy. He keeps talking like he knows me just because he has kept tabs on us over the years, and he keeps going on about partners, that I'm his little partner, like no fucking time has passed, and he doesn't have a fucking clue what being a partner means!"

Marshall was glad to hear her say fuck a few times, hoping she would start to move into "post-rant relief". Her silence suggested she had. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, hoping she would unconsciously follow him and do the same. She did. He repeated the action and elicited the same response. She was calmer but still obviously upset. She started speaking again, but without the fire. "He told my why he left."

Marshall sat back upright, to better see her face, and nodded to encourage her to continue.

"He said Sully threatened us. Brandi, my mother, and me. He left to protect us. Which is such a crock of shit because he could have kept us safe in the first place by, I don't know, having a normal job and not robbing banks! He even had the nerve to tell me how much he loved the 'bank robbing life'. Apparently, he left Scott and Lauren for the same reason. He thinks if he gets Sully apprehended, he can finally be free." She paused for a few moments then continued. "He's been stalking us for a while. Obviously," she said as she rolled her eyes. "He knows Norah. But he knew about Raph. Brandi and Peter. Carrying on about how much he loved us and how hard it was to leave. Does he even consider how we felt? The disaster left behind? How painful, but also how hollow it all sounds?"

Marshall simply absorbed her words. She didn't need to hear platitudes to feel better. He knew she just needed to be heard. Understood.

He noticed her glance at his hands, looking like she wanted an anchor but unsure of how to reach out for one in this moment. When she looked away again, he unfolded his hands and offered her his left one, palm facing down, on the couch, but the tips of his fingers grazing her thigh so she knew it was there is she wanted it.

She felt his touch and watched herself as she slowly placed her right hand into his, fingertips curled in a tentative hold. He turned slightly towards her and reached over with his right hand to then place on top of hers, giving it a tender squeeze. Marshall spoke softly, but with an undercurrent of fire, and echoed her sentiment, "He doesn't have a fucking clue what being a partner means." So many unspoken things about their partnership were expressed in that statement.

She looked up to his face and saw the intensity in his eyes. Her heart rate accelerated slightly and she could feel a pounding in her chest, but somehow, she also felt a wave of calm roll over her. She nodded subtly in appreciation, then looked back down to the floor. They sat that way, silent, for a minute or two, and he could feel a little bit of the tension in her body relax away. He turned his lower hand so both of his now held hers, and took a risk with his words. "I just want to carry some of your weight sometimes, when you need a break. It's not because I think you are weak. Everyone needs to rest. You carry far more than your fair share." His voice nearly cracked on his last few words. Thinking about what she carried made his chest feel tight.

She nodded, accepting his admission, not quite agreeing to it, but allowing his support. He shifted his weight in order to lean back into the couch without slouching. He released her hand with his top hand but continued to hold it with his bottom one. She sat back with him, shoulders touching. "I've been thinking today. About how you help calm me. You just know what to do, or say." She stopped but he could feel she had more to say. They sat for a few more minutes, him holding her hand, and she eventually continued. "You do help me carry the weight. Sometimes you make the rest of the world just fall away for a little while. Like right now."

"You deserve a little peace."

"I deserve you?" she asked wryly, as if he were peace personified.

He tried to stop himself from smiling wide, which resulted in the left side of his lips curling up into a shy, crooked grin. He squeezed her hand again. "Yeah, actually."

"But do you really deserve this? This shit show?" she asked self-deprecatingly. She was starting to wonder if she was a lost cause. Pushing people away and anger were her only tools.

"Mary…" he began, dismayed she was returning to questioning herself, as well as his role in her life, but he understood. Her tendency to withdraw wasn't going to disappear in a day. And today, it was flying quite high. He hoped he could help bring her back to solid ground. "Today, everything you are going through, it's driving me closer to you. Not further away."

"Remember Tasha?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied, surprised by the apparent change in direction, and not sure where she was going. He would never be able to forget Tasha. He almost let his own arrogance prevent an investigation into Serge, which of course resulted in exposing Serge's sexual exploitations. Even though he eventually gave in to Mary's insistence that something was awry, he still felt guilty that he almost hadn't.

"When we were at her house that day, when she found out about Serge, afterwards, she said to me 'How can someone say 'I love you.' And make you believe? How can anyone ever trust anyone with their heart?'"

Marshall sighed. That poor girl. And what a thing to say to Mary of all people.

Mary continued. "I told her I don't know. And I still don't know, Marshall. Trust? I completely agreed with her. I don't have a fucking clue how. Trust your parent to be a parent? Trust someone else with any important task or detail or to be dependable? Trust someone besides myself with my child's life? Trust someone with my heart? I grew up learning trust was a myth."

"Which leaves a lifelong scar. Jagged and deep," he sympathized.

She cut him off before he could continue. "Marshall, you have to understand that I have never been with someone who I had this much connection, trust, honesty, all of it, with. I literally don't know how to this."

"You find a way. Like you always do. The only thing that matters is that you want it. And I know you do. You have so much to sort through right now. You'll figure out what you need to on your own, and we'll figure anything else out together." He had a point. Her mind felt like it had turned into her own personal Tilt-A-Whirl ride. He shifted again to turn more towards and pulled his bent leg up onto the couch. The hand that had been holding hers let go and moved to rest on the back of the couch, but he retrieved her hand again with his right, to continue holding on. He continued, "I'm here. Take as much time and space as you need. Just keep coming back to me." He squeezed her hand again, wanting to point out she was already doing it, but wondered if recognition would instinctively cause her to retreat.

She took a deep breath and a few moments to consider what he'd said. She knew he was right, and half expected his next words to be: "Be the river."

Marshall took a nervous breath in preparation for a question with a potential answer that he found unsettling. "Do you trust me?"

She looked at him, without speaking, but fear evident on her face.

He continued, "I didn't ask if it scared you. I know that. I asked if you trust me."

She took a slow breath and thought for a moment. She did trust him, but the fear was so strong. "You know there is no one I trust more than you. But… can you still have trust but fear that you shouldn't?"

"Explain," he asked, needing to know how her brain was processing this.

"I'm afraid that trust is misguided because surely you will eventually realize that this is the wrong path."

"What?" asked Marshall, confused. Did she mean them? They were the wrong path?

"Why would you want this? I get angry and lash out at everyone. But I hurt you. I hurt us. I feel like I can't stop it. Abigail is like a ray of light and I am a black cloud."

'Ah, we're still on that' he thought to himself. He figured it was fair for these doubts to not be resolved after the day she'd had. He reached out with his hand that was resting on the back of the couch to stroke her cheek. "Being stuck in a storm doesn't make you the black cloud." She closed her eyes at his touch, picturing herself in his metaphor. He gave her a few moments with that before he continued. "Mare, I can't stop you from thinking that way, but I wish you would. That narrative has been hurting you for decades." He paused, choosing the right words before continuing. "But look. Right now. You are talking about it. To me. In detail. This is so much progress. Nothing changes in a day. But we walk the path together. You ask me why I would want this? Because there is so much under this thick, rough exterior of yours. So much. And I am tantalized by the prospect of slowly uncovering layer after layer."

Marshall sat for a moment, thinking about how different Mary and Abigail truly were. Despite his heartfelt words, Mary interpreted his contemplation for hesitation, so she continued. "You can't have any doubt, Marshall. If you have any doubt, the only way this ends is with you resenting me."

"I do not doubt you. I am scared things won't work out. But I do not doubt what I feel for you, and that I want to try. Would I have been happy with Abigail? Yes. But, well… ultimately, that was conditional on you never loving me back. I know there are some struggles that you will always have. But as long as you keep talking to me, it will be okay. When you let me in, I feel this connection, that I don't feel with anyone else. Like there is this sphere of energy that stretches just so far to encompass both of our hearts. And it makes me feel whole. That's the stuff that matters. What I said about Norah? It goes for you too. Don't push away happiness now because a long time ago someone stole it from you."

She squeezed his hand. His words had finally reached her. "Thank you," she whispered. He moved his leg to lean back into the couch, no longer turned towards her, but now sitting closer to her, side by side. She leaned her head into his shoulder, tentatively at first, then resting its weight fully against him. He waited a few moments to see if she would stay there, and when she did, he wrapped his left arm behind her back, his hand resting on her upper arm gently pulling her into him. They sat for several minutes, appreciating the peacefulness of the moment. Mary eventually turned more towards him so she could reach her arm across his torso, hand resting on his lower ribcage. His hand dropped from her arm to caress her back. She toyed with the fabric, making small folds between her fingers. Several more minutes passed and Marshall realized her small movements had slowed. He looked down to see that her eyes were fluttering shut. His head fell back onto the couch cushion and he closed his own eyes, wishing he could stop time. He let her drift off for a few minutes, so he could let the enjoyment of holding her linger a little bit longer, then eventually started rubbing her back to wake her up. "Hey," he gently called.

She flinched a little, having forgotten where she was, but quickly remembered and relaxed back into him. "Hey," she softly spoke back, blinking her eyes to pull herself back into consciousness.

He continued to slowly stroke her back, reluctant to physically break away. "Believe me," he said, in barely more than a whisper, "I'd rather be right here than absolutely anywhere. But you're exhausted. I'm exhausted. Today has been impossibly long. Tomorrow is fixing to be more of today."

"Yeah. I need to check on Norah," she sighed. "And Mark," she added as she shifted slightly away from his embrace.

He nodded and looked down at her and she turned her eyes to him in return. She looked peaceful and gave him a faint smile. He wanted to kiss her. They had only shared the one, but that one, at the time, was more of an in-case-this-never-happens-again kiss. He wanted affirmation of where they were now, but felt like he was supposed to wait until he ended things with Abigail. So instead, he traced the side of her face with his fingers, then slid them down her neck, longingly studying the invisible lines he made. Welcoming his touch, she placed her left hand on his chest, resting for a moment over his sternum, feeling his heart beat, watching, as if she could see it beat beneath her fingers. She knew he was trying to be respectful, but when he searched for her eyes again, she moved her hand up to the back of his neck to draw him down to a kiss.

It was soft at first, and her thumb came forward to stroke his cheek. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, elated by her initiation. While his left arm was still wrapped around her back, he brought his right arm around to rest on her left hip and kneaded the tissue through her clothing with his thumb. They alternated gently capturing each other's lower lips between their own, both savoring and teasing. After a few moments, his thumb again on the move, snaked up just under her shirt to graze the skin at her waist. She made a quiet contented sound at the contact and he moaned in response, sliding his hand up a little further to place his palm against her skin. He elicited another soft sound from her, but this one held a little more hunger. She gently increased the pressure with which she held the back of his neck to press her lips more firmly into his.

They maintained this level of intensity for a couple minutes; lips slowly exploring, tongues tasting but not devouring. Marshall's hand left her waist to hold the side of her face, and she leaned into it. His lips left her mouth to travel up her other cheek, peppering kisses as he went, then back down her jawline, to return to her lips.

Mary knew he should go. They both desperately needed to try to get some quality sleep tonight. She wanted him to stay; she would much rather prefer being holed up with him over Mark. Holding this information to herself was necessary though, as she didn't want Marshall to feel even worse about the situation. She slowed their already lingering pace and ever so gently gave a nibble to his top lip, which caused him to smile. He gave one last soft kiss to her lower lip before she pulled away, and she couldn't help but to also smile a little in response. They looked into each other's eyes, words coming up short because most things seemed trite. They did not want to part, but knew at least that the conclusion of this kiss felt so much more connected than the first one.

Mary did have something to say, but the words were still difficult to conjure. Unaware, Marshall started to sit up, but she held him down by his knee. Her looked at her questioningly and resettled on the couch. She licked her lips and briefly bit the lower one, then finally opened her mouth to speak. "I love you," she said, very seriously, then suddenly started to laugh and cry at the same time. He instantly took her into his arms and started to laugh a little himself. She was laughing because she was crying, and crying because she was too many emotions at once: nervous, sad, happy, scared. They both were also just losing their minds from exhaustion. He pulled back to hold her face in his hands and kiss her. "I love you," he finally responded, then kissed her again. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, taking a deep breath. "I think my circuit board is fucking shot," she added.

He gave a quick, soft chuckle, then returned to serious with a stroke of her cheek. "How does that feel? To say?" he couldn't stop himself from asking, in regards to her saying 'I love you.' Neither had said it since he left her house a few nights ago. Much to his surprise, she didn't deflect or hesitate in answering.

"Scary... But good," she said slowly with a small smile. His hands left her face to grab her hands and squeeze them lovingly.

"Try to get some rest tonight," he implored. "I'm going to take the morning off and have lunch with my Dad tomorrow. Before we get ready for this Sully showdown. I… I was going to talk to Abigail tonight, but… today... I'm sorry…"

"Don't be sorry. Nothing about today was expected," she sighed.

"I know. I just don't know where to fit it in now."

"Yeah," she responded, acknowledging that he spoke, but not really feeling like it was her place to say anything about it.

"Okay," he said as he stood up. She walked with him to the door, where he gave one last hug and a kiss on her forehead. "As always, call me if you need anything."

"Thanks," she replied, for the first time understanding how much he really meant that, every time he ever said it. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replied as he grabbed her hand, squeezed it again, then was off.

Mary returned to the couch, and after a couple minutes, Mark returned to the room with Norah in his arms.

"Hey," he said, noticing the drastic change to her demeanor from when he was previously in the room.

"Hey," she replied, and reached out for Norah.

"So, I guess Marshall's not engaged after all," he prodded as he passed their baby to her.

"Why do you think that?" She narrowed her eyes as at him.

"Cuz I saw you making out," he said matter-of-factly.

"Mark!" Mary exclaimed, embarrassed, as she rocked Norah. "Can't I get any privacy in my own house?"

"Oh, shut it, Mary. I came to ask you a question and saw. Aren't you glad I didn't interrupt?"

"You're lucky my dad's ex-crime buddy may be trying to kill us, because otherwise I would kick your ass out of here."

"Hey. I'm happy for you. I'm not giving you a hard time. I'm saying, I want nothing more than to see you happy. You deserve it. Marshall's pretty great."

"Thanks," she said, deciding to just accept his well wishes.

"So what about Abigail?" Mark asked.

"Mark!" Mary shouted again.

"Okay, okay, I'll drop it," he said with a laugh. "For now. Let's get Norah fed and to bed."

She got up from the couch with a huff, but was glad to have a diversion from talking about it more right now.

As Marshall climbed into his car, he rang his father. The evening was quickly getting away from him but perhaps there was still time to talk to Abigail. He couldn't do it with his father there. His thought was to call, give him a heads up, and get him to a hotel. His father answered cheerfully after a few rings. "Hey Marshall."

"Hey Dad," he said, knowing he sounded run down. "What are you up to?"

"Abigail is just finishing up preparing dinner. She started late hoping you might end up joining us. Are you on your way home?"

Fuck, Marshall thought, but replied, "Yeah. I'll be there in 10 minutes."

"Great, see you soon." Seth said and hung up the phone.

Marshall tossed his phone into the passenger seat with frustration. He spent the drive trying to figure out how to navigate what was certain to be an uncomfortable evening.