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: Many thanks to BuJyo for pointing out that this scene needed to happen! To leave it out would have been utterly remiss!

Thanks also to those still following along. There is yet more to come, and I hope you'll keep reading.

5.

He couldn't get her face out of his mind. The fear, the confusion… it was all so unlike her, an image he couldn't reconcile with the strong, fearless woman he'd always known Mary to be. It was as incomprehensible as it was irrefutable, much like the fact of her death itself.

After he'd stayed in that room with Shannon for as long as the hospital staff would allow, he was taken to another room, where Mary was. The matter became real then, a crushing weight on his heart that nonetheless allowed him to push through the foggy veil of pretending it wasn't happening. It was happening. It had happened.

He sat in the chair that had been provided for him, took her hand in his own, and looked at her still, pale face. It was like seeing an echo of the woman he loved, but at least he wasn't seeing that look of fear any longer. The hand that had clutched desperately at the doctor's sleeve not long ago was slightly cool, a disconcerting feeling he tried not to think about too much, and no longer tense with her fear but relaxed in his grasp. He tried not to think of words like lifeless. Relaxed was better, and he wanted to leave it at that.

"I'm sorry, Mare," he whispered. "I shouldn't have let this happen. I…"

I love you, he wanted to say, but he couldn't; there were no words left in him. He felt like it would be too much like talking to himself. Although hearing himself talk was an activity that Mary had often accused him of enjoying, it now seemed far too lonely a prospect. The realization struck him then that he would never hear her say that, or anything else, to him again, that her voice was gone from his life forever as she was, and it was too much. His throat clenched around the tears he'd tried to swallow, and with a shuddering, choking gasp, the dam broke.

He leaned on her as he cried, his love, his life, his everything; she was his rock, his anchor, his safe harbor, and how did one get through the worst of losses without those things? It was the cruelest of ironies that the moment she was gone was the moment he needed her the most.

Eventually, the tears stopped, and that, too, felt almost cruel, because it left him with nothing, and the idea that he could somehow run out of tears where Mary was concerned felt wrong to him. There was nothing else to do, though. He still couldn't say to her the word he knew he was supposed to, goodbye, and already it was time to go, though no one was forcing him to leave. No time in the world would be enough to say that.

When he exited the room, he found Stan waiting in the hall, head bowed, and as the smaller man looked up, Marshall saw the telltale streaks of fresh tears on his face. Stan pawed at them clumsily, hiding the evidence of his own grief although he had to know Marshall had already seen it. That was just the kind of guy Stan was; he wouldn't want his own emotion to overshadow what Marshall was feeling. He'd want to be strong for the people he cared about.

"I can come back later," Stan offered awkwardly.

"I think I'm done. I just… God, Stan, I can't do this," Marshall replied, his throat closing up once more though no tears followed.

"The nurse told me you named the baby Shannon. I think Mary would have liked it," Stan said gently.

Marshall glanced at Stan then, feeling as though he might somehow manage to cry again after all. "She would have made fun of me for it."

Stan patted him on the shoulder and fought back renewed tears of his own. "Yeah, she would have… but she would have enjoyed every minute of it."

The two men lapsed into awkward silence until at last Marshall spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

"She's not here, Stan," he said. "There are things I have to say but I just can't find her to say them."

"You'll figure it out," Stan replied, though how he knew that, Marshall couldn't begin to guess. "I was going to go look in the nursery window some more. Do you want to come with me?"

"Yeah," Marshall agreed softly, and turning, he followed his boss down the hall.