Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long, but I had a LOT to iron out here. We are getting down to the wire, and I PROMISE the next few bits will come fast, since they're mostly done already. Thanks for sticking with me!
I own nothing. Not a thing. Except hope...
"Marshall?" Mary called as she stumbled out of her bedroom the next morning, blinking against the harsh sunlight coming through the windows.
She didn't hear a response. Frowning, she wandered into the kitchen, only to find it empty.
"Marshall?"
Again, there was no answer. Where was he? She looked around the kitchen blearily, and blinked hard when she saw the clock on the stove. 11:21. No, that couldn't be right… She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Still 11:21.
She groaned and sank into a chair at Marshall's kitchen table. No wonder he wasn't around, it was the middle of the day! He was at the office! For almost twenty seconds, she seriously considered going into work herself. But there were two major hang-ups with that idea: 1. Stan would shoot her, and 2. Marshall would shoot her. And since she'd been shot and had no desire to repeat the experience, she opted to do as Marshall suggested and spend a few hours enjoying the privacy, uninterrupted peace and quiet, and no irritation or stress.
For the first time, she noticed a small brown paper bag on the table with a piece of paper underneath it. She pulled both towards her and saw Marshall's neat, tidy scrawl on the paper.
Good morning, Mary!
In light of the fact that you will most certainly not be awake when I have the time to create a breakfast masterpiece for you, I took the liberty of procuring you a Danish that is actually worth eating, as you seemed keen enough to do so with one of a far inferior quality. This particular delight comes from the bakery just down the street, and hopefully will enlighten you on why I choose to consume something so available at any hotel continental spread of my own volition.
I've taken the liberty of having your dress dry-cleaned, I hope you don't mind. Even if you do, it's too late. You're welcome.
Enjoy your time of peace and quiet, and call me if you need anything.
Marshall
Oh, and don't touch the crock-pot on the counter. Tonight's culinary tour de force must remain a surprise. I mean it!
She smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. "Doofus," she murmured fondly, setting aside the note and pulling her pastry out of the bag. Well, it certainly looked better than the Danish she had at the hotel. Shrugging, she took a big bite, and almost groaned. Good Lord, what had they put in this thing? It was one of the most amazing things she had ever eaten! Now if she only had some…
Her eyes caught sight of the coffee machine in the corner, a small post-it note attached to it with only two words written on it: Help yourself.
She grinned. Vacations at Marshall's might become a regular occurrence, if it weren't for the fact that she was feeling very guilty about all of the schlepping around he was doing for her. Getting her flights home in the middle of the night, putting her up while her family used her house, getting her a real Danish, preparing some master meal, taking her dress to the dry-cleaners, for God's sake! She snorted as she fixed herself some coffee. What man does all of that for any woman, let alone one that was just his partner, all because she had a bad experience on a vacation? Even if he was her best friend, it was not a natural thing for a man to do.
Not that she wasn't grateful, because she was; she honestly did not know what she would have done without Marshall. He was her rock in the stormy seas of her life, the one constant, the one she could depend on and turn to. And no matter how messy or messed up her situation might have been, he was always there to help her find a way out of it, or bring a smile out in her, or, if nothing else, give her something else to think about. Marshall always knew what she needed.
Her curiosity was piqued by the crock-pot on the counter. What sort of culinary tour de force did her crazy partner have in mind? She lifted the lid and peeked inside to find a marinara sauce simmering. It smelled amazing.
"Holy crap," she groaned, inhaling deeply. "Whatever you've got up your sleeve, Marshall, I am so game."
She covered the sauce again and went back to the table, picked up her coffee and Danish, and headed for the living room. Maybe there'd be something good on TV. She needed something to distract her from not being at work, from all the crap in her head, and especially from that damned marinara sauce.
Later that night...
"Mary, for the last time, get out of the kitchen."
She scowled at her partner as he blocked her from viewing whatever it was he was creating that smelled so intoxicating. "Come on, Marshall, just let me see what it is!"
"No." He put down the spoon he was using, turned to face her, and then forcibly shooed her out, his blue eyes practically dancing with amusement. "I told you it was going to be a surprise. Now you sit here and patiently anticipate the culinary delights the chef has prepared."
"In a real restaurant, they have wine and appetizers for their starving customers so we don't attack the chef before the meal is done," she grumbled as she took the seat set for her at the table. "And that apron is ridiculous."
He quirked a brow and brushed imaginary wrinkles out of his green apron that had the words "Kiss me, I'm Italian" on it in Italian, and a proud Italian flag emblazoned on the front. "I'll have you know, this is a very festive article of clothing specifically designed to create the proper mood for the art of mastering Italian cuisine. The man who gave it to me is also the one who was the means of providing tonight's feast by crafting the piece de resistance by hand using a recipe handed down to him from generations of Italian chefs. You may want to respect the wearer of said apron."
She pretended to consider it, then shook her head. "I can't respect a man who claims to be Italian only to get some action. Sorry."
He frowned at her, then brought over a basket of hot Italian bread and a plate with some oil and unidentified bits of something or other. "Fine. Appetizers for the ravenous female."
She looked at the plate with a touch of apprehension. "What is it and why is it floating in oil?"
"Oh ye of little faith," Marshall scolded in exasperation. He picked up a slice of the bread and tore off a small piece, dipping into the oil mixture. "Open up."
She reared back. "Huh uh, no way, not until I know what you're shoving into my mouth."
"Trust me."
She met his eyes warily and saw laughter in their blue depths, but sensed some underlying tension in his words, so she obediently opened her mouth and let him pop the bread in. She almost gasped at the delicious flavors she tasted, and Marshall laughed out loud at her expression.
"I'd say I told you so, but this is so much sweeter," he sighed, heading back to the stove.
"Good God," she cried, reaching for another, much larger piece of bread to dip in, "what the hell is this?"
"Your basic Italian bread, dipped in virgin olive oil that is sprinkled with Italian herbs and roasted garlic bits." He looked over his shoulder and gave a half smile. "Are you going to respect the apron now?"
"I bow to the apron. Hell, I'll sleep with the apron if it can do things like this," she managed around a mouthful of bread, tearing off another piece and drenching it in the oil and herbs mixture.
Marshall's smile froze and he stared at her strangely, but she was too occupied with consuming the appetizer to notice. He cleared his throat hastily and brought over their salads, then took his own seat. "Caesar salad, signorina. And don't squander your appetite on the first dish!"
"Whatever, Marshall, I'm making a meal out of this bread."
He sighed and took away the plate of oil and basket of bread, and set them on the counter behind his seat.
"Hey!" she protested, reaching for it.
He batted her hands away. "No. I have worked too hard on this meal for you to ignore the rest of it. Eat your salad or you won't get any more bread later."
"Yes, Mother," she grumbled, moodily shoving her fork into the salad and spearing a crouton. After a few bites of her salad, she looked over at Marshall, who had been watching her. "Ok, so that salad is really good, too. Happy now?"
He shrugged as he chewed his own salad, trying to remain nonchalant, but the small smile on his face gave him away.
"Can I get some wine over here, Chuckles?" she asked, wanting to wipe the smug smile off of his face if for no other reason than because she could.
He nodded and reached for the bottle he'd set out specifically for this occasion, then poured her a glass. "You can attempt to bait me all you want, you know. I refuse to retaliate because I am confident that before the night is over, you will have fallen at the feet of a culinary master, humble, penitent, and begging for my secret."
She let out a bark of laughter and took her wine in hand. "In your dreams, Italian boy. The bread is divine, the salad fresh, and this wine," she paused to take a sip, then smacked her lips thoughtfully, "yeah, the wine is perfect, but we still have the main course to go. Hand crafted or not, you had to prepare it. My doubts may be confirmed yet."
He shook his head, that irritating smile still on his lips. "I was going to let us finish our salads before bringing out the main dish, but you have persuaded me, by your lack of confidence, that the time is now upon us." He rose from his seat with a sardonic lifting of his brow and moved to the stove.
"Victory is mine," she murmured proudly, sitting back and sipping her wine.
"Not so hasty, my dear," Marshall said from behind her, the smile evident in his voice.
In true dramatic fashion, a plate was suddenly placed before her, covered by a pot lid. Mary looked up at him incredulously. "Seriously, Marshall?"
"Prepare to be amazed," he warned, the light in his eyes dancing mischievously. With far too much flourish, he removed the lid and cried "Voila!"
Mary looked down at her plate, her jaw dropping immediately as a multitude of sensations attacked her. The fragrance was beyond intoxicating, the appearance as if it came straight from an Italian café. Her stomach roared its approval as she stared at her meal, dumbfounded.
"The chef's special this evening. Tortellini filled with cheese, covered in a tangy meat and tomato marinara, with a hint of garlic, compliments of Giuseppe, the charming Italian from the market a few blocks away. Oh, I almost forgot!" He vanished from her side, then reappeared with a block of parmesan cheese and a grater. Soon, a few strips of cheese fell onto her plate, looking as if they had been placed by hand for a photo.
She couldn't say anything. Whatever she had thought Marshall would make for them, she never expected this.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" he teased as he took his seat with his own, less artistic plate.
She met his eyes, her mouth still hanging open. She shook her head in awe.
"What?" he laughed.
"I have nothing to say," she breathed, looking at him in almost-confusion.
His grin threatened to split his face. "Well, why don't you try some? I know it's pretty, but it is edible."
Obediently, Mary picked up her fork and took a bite, moaning in delight, and turning back to Marshall. "Holy crap, Marshall!"
He inclined his head. "I shall take that as a compliment."
"Yeah," she said, taking another bite quickly. She closed her eyes as she chewed. "This is the most incredible thing I have ever eaten. Forget going home tomorrow, I'm never leaving this kitchen."
He chuckled as he ate his own. "Well, you are always welcome, but I warn you, I will not cook for you all the time."
"Who cares? I am a firm believer in leftovers." She smiled at him and shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me you could cook?"
He shrugged, looking embarrassed for the first time. "You never really asked, and it wasn't something that ever came up. I don't do it often, obviously, but every once in a while, I enjoy dabbling in the culinary arts."
"Feel free to dabble anytime with me," she offered as she took yet another bite. She froze mid-chew as she replayed those words back to herself, then looked over at him. He had an arrested look on her face and she tried to smile. "That didn't come out right, did it?"
"I don't think so…" he said, trailing off carefully. "Between that and sleeping with my apron, you seem to be on quite a roll this evening."
She replayed that particular phrase back and swore softly. "Let's see how many awkward things Mary can say in one night," she muttered as she snatched up her wine glass and drank deeply.
A genuine smile reappeared on Marshall's face. "Never awkward with you, Mary. Merely ironic. And it makes life a little more interesting, if not entertaining."
She smiled fondly and toasted him, which he returned.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, and the conversation was full of laughter and smiles. It was the most relaxed Mary had been in a long time, and she found herself truly wishing that her vacation would last longer, if more moments like this could be had. When they were finished, Marshall took her plate with his to the sink, but she made it a point to follow with their salads.
"Let me help with the dishes, at least," she begged, coming up beside him.
He shook his head firmly. "No one does dishes on vacation."
"Come on, Marshall, please? You've done so much for me this week. Getting me flights home, forcing Tony out of bed, putting me up in your house, creating this amazing dinner, taking my dress to the freaking dry-cleaners!" She leaned on the counter and looked up at him. "Please, just let me help you with the dishes!"
He looked at her thoughtfully. "Are you keeping score or something?"
"No, but how often to I offer to help with anything, hmm?"
She had him there, and he knew it. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, you can help with the dishes. But only because I know you'll never do this again and I need to see it to believe it."
She laughed triumphantly and ran back to the table for more dishes, then almost gleefully filled up the sink with soapy water, scrubbing the dishes intently.
Marshall smiled as he rolled up his sleeves. "I can't believe you are this excited about dishes."
"Oh, it's not the dishes," she said mysteriously as she handed him a sudsy plate.
Wariness rolled through him, and he glared at her. "You wouldn't—"
With an evil grin, she flicked soapy water at him, dousing a small portion of his blue and white pinstriped shirt. "I so would!"
Not to be out done by his impulsive partner, he set the plate he currently held into the hot water, then grabbed a handful of suds and flung them artfully at her. They landed squarely on her chest and he laughed out loud at her shocked expression. There was a brief moment of silence, and then all hell broke loose.
The next few minutes were chaos as bubbles and water flew in all directions, and very few dishes came close to being cleaned. Towels were dampened and flicked, bubbles smeared on
faces and in hair, and the floor was soon slick enough to cause each of them to lose footing. But eventually, the battle died down and its warriors, drenched and exhilarated, managed to clear away the remains of dinner.
"I should have known it was too good to be true," Marshall laughed as he dried the floor with a towel.
"Hey, we did get the dishes clean, buster," Mary pointed out as she rung out her hair in the sink.
He snorted and looked up at her. "Yeah, but at what cost?"
She grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm perpetually five when bubbles come into play."
He shook his head, smirking. "Why don't you go get changed, and we'll break out the rest of the pie?"
"Sounds good. You'd better get out of that shirt, too. I can count your abs." She cocked her head as she looked him over. "Hmm, not bad at all."
She walked out of the room then, and thus missed the third appearance of a stunned expression on Marshall's face that night. He blew out a gust of air in frustration and took the sopping towel to his laundry room, then headed for his bedroom.
Mary returned a few minutes later to find Marshall not only changed, but holding the remains of the pie and two forks. He cocked his head towards the living room. "Come on. I think it's past time we talked, don't you?"
I'm so mean. Who cliff hangs like that? Seriously... Well, review anyway! More is coming, I PROMISE! =)