Chapter nine! I think that I only have about six chapters after this (it depends on how I want to split them up and what I send to my beta, ect.) Just to give you guys some sort of estimation on how much longer it will be. Thanks for all your comments and thanks to my beta, ladymars.
"Yes, we can do that. The remains can be transported to the mortuary of your choice. All transportation costs will be covered by the Marshall Service." Mary leaned back in her chair, talking into her phone like she had been for the past two hours. Nancy's mother, Anita, had a lot of questions and Mary wanted to make sure she knew everything. She felt like it was the least she could do.
Finally, after working everything out, she hung up the phone. She rested her elbows on her desk, hiding her face in her hands.
"How did it go with Nancy's mother?" he asked from his desk. He glanced over to her as he spoke but didn't stop what he was doing.
"I was on the phone pushing three hours. How do you think it went?"
"Just because it was long doesn't mean that it went terribly. It took three days to write the constitution."
"It went about as well as a 'hey, where would you like us to ship your daughter' conversation could go." She wrote furiously in a file, hoping that all of her anger would dissipate with the completion of the paperwork. Marshall left her alone knowing that there wasn't anything that she wanted to hear right now. Mary had to let off steam before she would actually volunteer information. His only solution to the problem was suggesting lunch a half hour later.
"I'm not hungry," she insisted. Marshall wasn't fooled.
"You're always hungry. C'mon, I'm paying."
"You can't pay every time I'm in a bad mood."
"I don't. If I did that, I would have been broke a long time ago. I'm hungry and I know you are too but are too stubborn to leave. If I don't give you some sort of incentive, I'd never get you to leave this office."
She moaned and groaned, but followed him despite her complaints. He didn't take her anywhere fancy. Mary ate, but played with her food more than she swallowed it.
"Will you please tell me what you're thinking? It's driving me crazy." Marshall tapped his fork on his plate until, finally, Mary put her hand over his, forcing him to stop.
"Anita wants me to go to the funeral."
"Nancy's funeral?"
"No, the funeral of that other dead daughter she has."
"I feel as if this might be an inappropriate time for your sarcasm." He had finished his own food and reached over to snatch her fries. She didn't even try and stop him, worrying him more. "You're not going are you?"
Mary didn't answer and Marshall cursed under his breath. "Mare, you can't go."
"Why not? I was the last person to see her daughter alive. I'm the only one who can tell her anything about the past year of her daughter's life."
"It's not your responsibility to do that." Her look told him that he wasn't getting anywhere. "You're going anyway."
"I have to do something."
"When do we leave?"
"We? We aren't going anywhere; I'm going to Maine in a week."
"No, we're going to Maine in a week."
"You'll have to use some vacation time."
"I'm not letting you go alone. You're beating yourself up enough as it is and going to this funeral is only going to make it worse." He pushed aside his plate and leaned forward, his hands crossed on the table. "If I'm not there to remind you it wasn't your fault, and that you're still an amazing Marshal, then you're going to be a mess when you get back."
"I'm a mess anyway."
"So imagine what you'd be like if I wasn't around."
"We leave on Friday," she finally conceded.
"As long as we go first class. I am not sitting in coach if I don't have to."
They finished their meal and headed back to the office. Marshall booked them a flight while Mary handled the final arrangements for Nancy's body. Marshall brought her coffee while she finalized all their plans. When they went back to Marshall's house that night, Mary was exhausted. She lay down on the couch.
"Do you want anything?" Marshall asked her. He leaned on the back of the couch, looking down on her.
"A new life? To stop having a conscious?"
"How about a beer?"
"I guess, if that's my only option."
Marshall retrieved her drink and left it on the coffee table. He had a feeling she didn't really want it anyway. He moved to sit down and Mary lifted her feet so he could, then put them back down in his lap.
"You should go to bed."
"I should stop being so nice."
"I could have told you that. But, it's a known fact that, given the choice, most people would be the Good Samaritan."
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "What the hell are you talking about? Nobody knows that."
"Just because you don't know it doesn't mean that other people don't."
"I'm going to take a poll," she answered sleepily. "Of people we don't know so that they don't side with you."
"You should go to bed. We have a long week ahead of us."
She hated when he was right, and hated giving in even more, but the day had been too long to be the usual pain in the ass she was. She stood up to head upstairs. She knew he wouldn't move so when she passed him so she grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs.
When Marshall woke up he felt something warm by his side. He rolled over and barely recognized the mess of blond hair next to him as his partner. He couldn't seen any part of her other that the light tresses that spilled out from under his comforter. He looked over his shoulder, glancing at the clock on his night stand. It was seven-thirty, around the time for him to get up and go to work. He stayed in the bed, gently shaking the form next to him.
There was an incoherent mumble from under the covers. He did it again. This time a mumble with a hand, swatting in his general direction. When he did it a final time, he got an actual coherent answer.
"Marshall, leave me the hell alone."
"It lives."
"It's going to kick your ass if you keep poking me." She pulled the blanket down, exposing her head. "What's so urgent that you have to wake me up anyway?"
"It's seven-thirty on a week day."
"Haven't you ever heard of being late?" she grumbled.
"Nope, never." He smiled at her, receiving a glare for his efforts.
"I can't believe you're a morning person."
"I can't believe you're surprised. Besides, most people who live in the working world wake anywhere from five to seven am. We're up later than the rest of humanity."
Mary's response was to pull the blanket over her ahead again. Marshall just smiled and got up to shower. He knew that she wouldn't leave that bed without some sort of incentive.
"Hey!" she complained.
"What?"
"The bed is cold!"
"You're in my cow PJ pants; how could you possibly be cold?"
"You took all the heat with you, doofus." Despite her words, she moved into the spot he just occupied. He took his shower, heading downstairs to make some coffee. Not long after, he heard the shower start again and then feet slowly stomping down the stairs.
"I wasn't sure that you'd get up all on your own," he said, cracking some eggs into a skillet. "I thought I'd have to get a crow bar."
"The fact that you set your alarm to go off every five minutes and I couldn't figure out how to turn it off is the only reason you're seeing me right now." She sat down at the table as Marshall plopped two eggs and a cup of coffee in front of her. "A girl could get used to this," she said as she dug into her food.
"You say that like I haven't been cooking meals for you for the past three years." He sat down across from her, food in front of him. Breakfast was becoming a habit for them and Marshall was really starting to like the tradition. "Our flight is at two pm tomorrow. We can take my car."
"No way; I'm driving."
"Mary, I'm not sure your Probe will make it to the airport."
"God, it's not that bad."
"Well, at the very least we know it won't get stolen while we're gone." He tried stealing some of her eggs but she swatted him away with her fork. "I'm driving," he reiterated.
"Fine, but I get the window seat on the plane."
They left from work the next day, their bags already packed and in the back of Marshall's car. Mary's knee was bouncing, her nervous energy no longer contained.
"Can I just say again that I think this is a bad idea?" Marshall told her.
"You can say it. That doesn't mean I'm going to listen." Her left knee bounced now instead of her right. Marshall put his hand on her leg, causing the unconscious twitch to stop.
"Stop worrying so much."
The flight was on time and, by two in the afternoon, they were in the air. Mary's nervous energy hadn't dissipated yet. She kept glancing out the window, to the stewardess and then back to the window.
"God damn, how long does it take them to hand out drinks?"
Marshall didn't even look up from his magazine. "Contrary to your belief, there's a system to handing out the drinks that doesn't include giving them to you first."
"There's a system? Why do they need a system? Step one, ask if the person wants the drink. Step two, pour it. What, do they write that down on the inside of their carts?"
"Actually, they go from back to front so that they end at the galley. Unless you're in coach and then they go front to back."
"I can't believe that you know shit like that."
"Ma'am, would you like something to drink?" the stewardess asked, coming up on Marshall's left.
"A glass of scotch on the rocks would be great."
"You're going to drink before a funeral?" Marshall raised an eyebrow
"They funeral is not until tomorrow. I can drink all I want today." She took the cup from the stewardess and swallowed a large mouthful.
"So you're going to be hung-over. I can completely see how that's a better idea."
"Shut up."
They had a layover in Boston, giving them a break from their ten hour trip. Marshall flipped through some books in one of the stands, keeping one eye on the words in front of him and the other on Mary, who was looking at the souvenirs. She picked up a shot glass in her hand, turning it over with a bewildered look on her face. She turned towards Marshall, holding out the bright orange item with "Boston" emblazoned across the front.
"Who the hell would buy this shit? I mean, personally, I don't want the city I've been to written across my cups." She looked up at a mannequin with a pink shirt on, "Boston" also written across it. "Or on my chest for that matter." The woman next to her put down the shirt she was looking at and walked away.
"Impressive. Now you're offending people you don't know without any effort." Marshall took the glass from her hand, putting it back with the other neon colored shot glasses. "Let's try not to get kicked out of the airport before our flight."
"How much longer until it gets here?"
"Assuming it's on time," he looked at his watch, "about another hour."
"What are we supposed to do until then? Continue to look at this crappy merchandise until our eyes bleed?" She reached for a green hat but Marshall stopped her and led her out of the small shop.
"Come on; I'll buy you a drink."
"You're going to get me drunk before a funeral?"
"The funeral isn't until tomorrow," he reminded her.
"So I'm going to be hung over for a funeral. That's a lot better."
"Shut up."