Chapter 5: Jumping the Gun

"I panicked," he sighed, slumping back against the SUV.

"You panicked," she repeated slowly. "Okay, I'm gonna need a little bit more than that, Marshall."

"I saw you with Dershowitz, being all cute and flirty, and I just kind of lost it," he added, as if that explained everything.

Which it totally did not.

"And?" she prompted, hoping for something a little more illuminating this time.

"And..." He paused, making a face. "I probably should have thought this through a little bit better..."

"Did you think it through even just a little bit?" she asked, the ghost of a smile on her face.

"No, I didn't," he admitted. "I was definitely better prepared the last couple of times I tried to do this," he added distractedly, almost as an afterthought.

She blinked hard, processing what he'd just said.

The last couple of times I tried to do this...

Jesus... How many times had he tried to talk to her? And how many times had she not been listening?

She struggled to focus her attention back on her partner, vowing not to fail him this time. She was going to listen to whatever he had to say, no matter how difficult it might be. He deserved at least that much from her...

"Still," he continued, unaware of her inner turmoil, "it shouldn't be that hard, should it? I mean, I know why I did it. I should be able to just say it..."

"Marshall-"

"I know, I know..." he said, running his hand through his hair again. "I'm babbling... Trying to delay the inevitable... Just give me some time to work my way up to it, okay?"

She nodded mutely, growing increasingly uneasy. Her partner was not usually one to beat around the bush. When he wanted to say something, he just said it. He did not dawdle; he did not 'work his way up' to things; and he certainly did not babble. This was definitely not the Marshall she knew...

There was one other time, her subconscious piped in, unsolicited. One other time when he wouldn't meet your eyes, wouldn't answer your questions...

Shaking her head, she pushed away the memories of the hours spent in that abandoned gas station, watching him bleed out into a half-empty water bottle, not knowing whether he was going to live or die...

"What do you see when you look at me?"

"Wh-what?" she stuttered, jarred back to reality by the sudden change in topics. "I don't understand what that has to do with-"

"I promise I have a point. Just... Tell me what you see..."

"All right..." She paused, trying to organize her thoughts. "I see a U.S Marshal, one of the very best out there; I see someone who has my back, no matter what; I see the the smartest, kindest, most loyal person I've ever known."

She stole a glance at him, trying to determine if she was giving him the answers he needed, but his expression gave nothing away.

"I see my best friend," she added, her tone softening.

"But you don't see a lover, do you? You don't see someone you'd want to share a life with?"

"That's what this is all about?" she asked, relief coursing through her. "You want to have sex with me?"

Sex was no big deal; sex she could deal with...

"That's not-"

"It's okay," she said, cutting him off. "We're both adults. We can deal with this. It's just sex," she added, shrugging. "Besides, it not like I've never thought about it..."

Which was true enough. She wasn't blind; she had noticed her partner was – for lack of a better word – hot. Granted, he could be geeky at times, and he did drive her up the wall with the never-ending trivia more often than not, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate how good he looked in a worn t-shirt or how well he filled out a pair of jeans.

Or a pair of airplane pajamas, for that matter.

There had been a time, early on in their partnership, when she had seriously considered bedding him. It wasn't like he was going to stick around very long, she'd reasoned - her partners never did – so she might as well enjoy the ride.

No pun intended.

But then a funny thing had happened; they'd become friends. She'd finally found a guy she could have a conversation with that didn't revolve around who was going to be on top; someone who didn't back down when she got pushy; someone who could dish it out as good as she could.

An equal.

And that, she had decided, was worth much more than a few weeks of fun, no matter how great the sex might have been. She had resolutely brushed aside all thoughts of a sexual relationship, knowing that what they had was far more precious. Lovers were easy enough to come by, but there was only one Marshall...

Not that she wasn't willing to revisit the issue, mind you, if that was what her partner needed for things to get back to normal. By the time she was done with him, he wouldn't remember his own name, let alone whatever else might be bothering him. She might be a complete failure when it came to connecting emotionally with a guy, but she was very good at dealing with the more physical aspects of a relationship...

She tugged at his shirt, idly wondering how roomy the SUV was, trying to work out the logistics. While she didn't mind the occasional acrobatic maneuver, she didn't really feel like having the emergency brake dig into her ass or bashing the back of her head against the windshield. Maybe renting a room was a better option. After all, she wasn't in high-school anymore...

She was about to ask her partner where he stood on the car-sex-versus-motel-sex issue when she noticed him staring at her, an alarmed expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

She cocked her head at him, wondering what was wrong. Had she been thinking out loud and freaked him out somehow?

"Sorry," she apologized. "I got a little sidetracked. But it's okay, really. We can fix this," she assured him, reaching for his belt buckle. "We can just-"

"Whoa!" he yelped, slapping her hands away from their intended destination. "Have you gone totally insane?!"

"You're right," she agreed, shaking her head. "A motel room would be much better. I don't know what I was thinking. I really am getting too old for car sex..."

"Mary, you're not listening to me-"

"I-"

"It's not about sex!" he shouted at her, exasperated.

"Uh?"

"It's not about sex," he repeated slowly, in a more controlled voice.

"But you said-"

"I know what I said."

"I don't understand... It's not about sex?" she asked again, thoroughly confused now.

He shook his head.

"You don't want to be with me," she added in a small voice, surprised at how hurt she felt.

"Jesus, Mare... "

She kept silent, pretty sure she couldn't say anything even if she wanted to.

"Okay," he acknowledged, his voice shaky. "Yes, it is partly about sex. I may be in love with you, but I'm still a guy, so sex with you, yeah, it's definitely on the list of things I want. It's pretty high on the list, to be honest, but it's not the most important thing..."

She stared at him, aware that he was still talking – still babbling – but not hearing a single word. He just went on, blissfully unaware of what he'd just said, of the secret he'd just given away...

Her partner didn't just want to have sex with her.

Her partner was in love with her.

Aw, crap...