Disclaimer: I don't own IPS or any of the characters.
Warning: Rated M for character death, adult themes, and angst. If those will upset you, don't read.
Author's Note: I think we all know what's coming. This is going to be one of the more sad chapters in the story. Fair warning given! Thanks so much to those of you still reading this. Hang in there.
3.
That night would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Her hand gripping his arm roused him from a sound sleep. At first, from the sound of her panicked breathing, he thought she'd woken from a nightmare, perhaps that recurrent one wherein he wrestled with a giant bunny which he'd some to think of as her generic-something-bad-happens-to-Marshall anxiety dream. It happened sometimes, either because she was worried about him for some reason or because she was worried about something else and her mind felt compelled to add him to her ever-growing heap of concerns. The moment he heard her voice, however, he knew that wasn't the case.
"Marshall, something's wrong."
Her voice was pleading. She was afraid, and instantly so was he; fear was not something Mary Shannon expressed under normal circumstances. His phone was in his hand, 911 already dialing as he turned to her.
"Talk to me, Mare."
"Hurts," she whimpered, her hand clenched on her belly, her face drained of color.
When the 911 operator came on the line, he gave his badge number and described what he was seeing, what Mary was telling him. This was not normal labor, he knew, though at three weeks from her due date that would not have been unlikely. The paramedics arrived shortly and as they prepped her for transport he called Stan, told him something was wrong and to meet them at the hospital because he didn't know what Mary might need and he wanted to be prepared. Then they were on the move; he rode in the ambulance with her and held her hand the entire way.
She was checked in as a major trauma and whisked away from him almost too quickly for him to murmur I love you and drop a kiss in her hair; she answered him not with words but with a look that was as clear as any words could have been, and the last thing he heard her say as they pushed her through the doors was to the doctor as she gripped the man's sleeve, nearly begging, also very unlike Mary Shannon.
"Please save my baby."
Then the doors swung closed and Marshall was left alone with his own fear and impatience; he paced and he worried and he pressed his balled fist to his mouth as he resisted the urge to vent his terror and frustration by punching a hole in the wall.
As it turned out, he didn't have long to wait. Someone, a nurse or a doctor, he was too addled to note which, came through the doors and called his name, approaching him when he looked up and proffering a consent form. There were words, too, words he struggled to comprehend, words that meant he would never see Mary again.
Marshall stumbled, fell, and landed ass-first on the floor; not bothering to get up, he held his head in his hands, trying to force order from the chaos tumbling through his mind and failing.
Stan entered the waiting room just in time to see Marshall fall. He made quick strides to his inspector's side and made to help him up, but he froze as he heard the words the nurse was saying to the apparently incoherent man.
"Mr. Mann, she won't be saved. An emergency Cesarean section must be performed in order to save the baby. We can't do that until you sign the form."
Marshall could only stare blankly as Stan grabbed the pen and shoved it into Marshall's hand, which he then held to the paper so Marshall could sign it.