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: We're getting very near the end now. Only two more chapters after this to go. Thanks for reading!
9.
When Marshall entered the nursery, he found Seth Mann already there, clad in a cotton undershirt and plaid pajama pants, his three-month-old granddaughter in his arms. Marshall hesitated in the doorway and as he watched them he wondered how it was that he had never realized this side of his father existed. He also wondered if he would ever be able to hold his infant daughter the way his father did, with the ease and comfort of experience. Seth looked up after a moment, and had undoubtedly known Marshall was there all along; though retired, the man had lived and breathed as a marshal for nearly the entirety of his adult life, and sneaking up on him was simply not possible.
"Good, you're up," he grunted as he handed the infant over. "She wants you."
"How does she know?" Marshall asked softly in wonder as Shannon quieted in his arms.
Seth shrugged. "Babies are just like that. They want what they want."
Marshall nodded as his father left the room. He couldn't decide whether Seth's response had been unnecessarily cryptic or unbelievably straightforward. It reminded him of something Mary used to say: the heart wants what it wants. There were some things that simply defied explanation.
He looked around the room. It had once been his home office, but had been converted months in advance in preparation for the new life that would inhabit it. The walls were painted a calming, natural shade of green at Mary's insistence; no daughter of hers would be raised with froofy pink everything forced upon her. Various pieces of baby furniture, wood with a dark walnut finish, were his contribution. The room reflected the tastes of both parents, the result of their combined efforts to welcome their offspring. A teddy bear given to Mary by Brandi long before the birth and dubbed 'Biscuit II' sat in the crib; Shannon did not like to be without it, and it had already begun to look rather loved.
His eyes came to rest on the photo of Mary and himself that Brandi had taken. It hung over the crib, fastened securely so it wouldn't fall and pose a risk to Shannon. It completed the room in a way he hadn't expected, because until he'd put it up he hadn't realized the room was missing anything.
"Why did you have to leave, Mare?" he whispered as he looked at the picture, speaking softly so as not to reawaken the baby that now slept in his arms. "Is that a question that has no answer?"
Of course, no one answered him. He chewed on his lip, struggling to rein in the sense of loss that had hit him yet again, and arranged Shannon in her crib. He turned out the light on his way back to the hall, and found his father there waiting for him.
He felt the dam breaking; he didn't want to cry in front of his father, he wanted to be stronger than this, but he no longer knew how, and he wasn't even sure he had ever known. To his surprise, the older man pulled him into a hug, and Marshall clung to him like he was once more a small child himself, crying into his father's shoulder over something that hurt so much more than a skinned knee. Mute sobs wracked him, and Seth's shirt stuck to his face as the older man brought a callused, comforting hand to the back of his neck.
An hour later, the two sat in the kitchen. After Marshall had cried himself out, something he hadn't done in front of his father since earliest childhood, and even then not that he could recall clearly, Seth had put on a pot of coffee. To Marshall's surprise, his father also pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard and added a belt to each mug before handing one to him.
"Seriously, Dad? It's four in the morning," Marshall remarked, eyebrows raised over red-rimmed, puffy eyelids.
"Just one won't hurt, and the situation calls for it. There're worse ways to start the day," Seth replied, eyeing Marshall pointedly. "You were already awake when Shannon started crying, weren't you?"
Marshall nodded slowly.
"Let me guess: nightmares."
"How did you know?" Marshall asked softly.
"Do you honestly think that after a lifetime as a marshal, and losing my wife of forty-three years, that I haven't gotten to know that haunted look of yours from looking in my own damn mirror?"
Marshall looked down at the table's surface for a moment, then gulped some of the spiked coffee and looked at his father.
"Was it like this with Mom?"
Seth sighed. "Now, that was different. And not in the way you're thinking," he added, raising a hand to forestall the argument he saw on his son's face.
"Your mother and I had a lot of years together," he continued. "We should have had more, and God knows I wasn't planning on spending my retirement alone. But we raised three sons together, and we had more in each other than some ever have. On the other hand, you met the woman you'll love forever, and she's gone. You got screwed, Marshall, plain and simple."
Marshall felt the lump in his throat forming again, and he swallowed another mouthful of coffee around it.
"Does it ever get better?" he whispered roughly.
"It's been four years since your mother died," Seth replied, "and I still don't have an answer to that question. I think, after a time, you get used to carrying it around with you, but it will always be there, and sometimes it will hit you all over again and you'll feel like it happened yesterday."
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to move on," Marshall added, his voice betraying his weariness.
"Son, everyone's different. You'll move on in your own time, if you even decide you want to. If you don't, if you just want to hold onto her forever, that's your choice. Your mother was the only woman for me, and I'd certainly understand if you felt the same about Mary."
"I really don't know how to do this alone," he sighed.
"You may not have Mary," Seth replied, taking a long, slow sip of his coffee, "but you're not alone. You've got me, at least. I'll stay as long as you need. And there's that girl, Brandi. Speaking of, I asked her to come by and watch Shannon for a few hours tomorrow."
"What? Dad, you can't just make her watch Shannon! Brandi's got a life with her fiancé to think about. She doesn't need to be stuck here picking up my slack."
"Marshall, this didn't just happen to you. That girl lost her sister, too. Shannon is family to her, and it sounds as if she's got precious little family to begin with. Besides, you need to get out some. I thought we could see that Degas exhibit at the art museum before it closes."
"You hate art museums," Marshall stated, eyeing his dad suspiciously. "And you wouldn't know a Degas if it bit you on the ass."
"The point is, you don't hate them. It won't hurt me any to spend a day doing something you like. And it makes me think of your mother." Seth saw his son blanch at those words. "Trust me, there will come a time when doing things that remind you of her will feel good instead of reopening the wound. There's no rush. Just take it one day at a time. And today, that means museums and all that crap."
"Dad?" Marshall asked. Seth looked up at his questioning tone. "What if I never stop needing you here?"
He shrugged. "Then I'll stay. The house is too big for me now that your mother's gone. I was going to sell it to your brother and get a condo."
"You'd hate a condo."
Seth sipped his coffee in silence as he regarded his son.
"I could convert the guest room. You're already almost living in it anyway." Marshall hesitated before adding, "I think I'd like it if you stayed."
Seth nodded, a small smile briefly crossing his lips.
"As long as you need me."