A/N: So...that last little bit wasn't what most people were expecting, apparently. What was it you all thought they'd be doing in one of my stories? I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.... LOL..... One more before the weekend officially ends.

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me

~ "Kiss Me" Sixpence None the Richer

Marshall tossed the beer into the trash in the hall as he went. He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Movement felt good, felt necessary. The idea of being caged into the tiny box of it was temporarily intolerable. At least with walking he could make forward progress. There was none to be had in the room he'd just left, the situation he'd just left. Once he got to the lobby, he headed for the great old-fashioned glass doors. He needed to clear his mind and the fury that gripped him. His long legs ate up ground. He took a turn around the town square, went around again, still feeling the sting of Mary's words chasing him.

Does she really believe that I'm capable of turning my back on duty to run after a woman, no, a child, like that? Does she really not know me at all?

He kicked a stray pebble in the street in front of him, watched it skitter down the empty pavement and disappear.

No. She can't really believe that. Not after all these years. But somehow it's even worse that she can say it not believing it. Damn, she knows how to go for the soft underbelly better than anybody I've ever known. It's like some kind of inborn thing.

He thought about her, about the way she behaved, about her family and her upbringing.

Maybe it's not inborn. Maybe it's a survival skill she had to pick up in that house full of misery. I don't know, but I sure wish she wouldn't turn those sharp teeth and claws on me. They go right down to the bone....

His eyes turned back to the hotel. The cool of autumn was in the air, and he was really actually very tired after a night of dancing and drama. It was late. He didn't want to walk any more, but he wasn't ready to go back to the room. He could see the light was still on in their window. He knew which one was theirs just as he knew which already-darkened one was Maribel and Ruben's. It was what he did.

He turned his steps toward the little package store on the corner. Think I need that beer after all. Maybe even something a little stronger.....

---

Two hours later, he was sitting in the darkness by the hotel's little pool in an huge old-fashioned metal double sunchair finishing the fourth beer in the six pack he'd bought. He had, after it was all said and done, refused the temptation to buy anything more potent. The man behind the counter had looked him up and down, taken in the wedding band he was wearing and the fact that he'd walked over from the hotel alone at this hour and with the gloomy expression he was currently wearing, and made some sympathetic comment about women. Marshall had only been able to smile, nod in agreement, and throw down some cash. He really didn't want to talk about it with Mary, and he certainly didn't want to get into it with some shlub at the package store in the middle of the night.

He looked at the luminescent dial on his watch. Two a.m. He sighed. The beer had relaxed him as had sitting in the chair and staring up into the night sky looking for constellations, something he enjoyed doing at home. The raw edges of his hurt and anger were gone, and he felt like he could probably go back upstairs and endure whatever type of Mary lay in wait for him.

Because really, the only other option is spending the night in this chair, he thought, as it creaked and groaned as he shifted his weight to rise. The green-and-white striped cushion on it wasn't made for an allnighter. And I don't think I much like the idea of somebody having to pop every joint in my body back into place for me in the morning if I do.....

Still, maybe just a little more time down here won't kill me. Across the sky were streaking irregular little trails of fire from a meteor shower, and his imagination and his active curiosity were captured by them. He stared up into the darkness above him and marveled.

---

Which is just how Mary found him, arms and legs pulled up, chin on knees, staring upward into the canopy of stars above him with a look of weary wonder. She leaned against the doorway of the hotel lobby that led out into the darkened courtyard where the pool was for a moment, just watching him watch the world. The last of the anger she'd come downstairs with evaporated, and she felt her lips curl ever so slightly at the image of her partner sitting there surrounded by empty beer bottles looking at the stars. He looked just a little bit lost there so alone, and it tugged at her heart that he was out here because of her, because of their argument earlier.

She'd gotten undressed earlier, actually laid down and tried to sleep, but when he hadn't come back, she'd risen, paced, cursed, sworn she wasn't going to look for him, flopped back down, thrashed around under the covers, and finally thrown on her jeans and her shoes along with her pajama top and robe and headed downstairs to the front desk. The woman there had smiled the smile of a person who has seen everything twice and told her that she'd seen Marshall head out to the pool area several hours ago. No further curiosity had been expressed as she'd gone back to typing away at her reservations terminal.

Mary crossed the cracked concrete of the pool apron silently, but even with four beers in him, Marshall was a U.S. Marshal. Instincts honed to keep himself and others alive registered her approach automatically. He turned his head toward her, taking in her mixture of clothing without comment. He didn't even raise that mobile and mocking brow. She paused at the edge of the chair, waiting for an invitation. He continued to look at her for a moment, and he sighed and slid over to one side, resumed his vigil of the sky above. She sat down next to him, pulled her feet up, followed the direction of his gaze.

For a long while, they were silent. She spoke first.

"Gonna tell me what the hell it is I'm looking at here?" Her voice was soft. "'Cause all I see is a bunch of little tiny lights, you know...."

His mouth quirked, almost as if against his will. He still didn't look at her. "Doesn't have to mean they're not enjoyable that way, too." He fell quiet again, his hands rubbing his arms gently to ward off the cold of night. He recognized the opening for what it was, her peace offering, her invitation to him to share his knowledge, something she rarely did without snark, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out and take it yet.

She tore her gaze down from the ceiling of stars and fixed it on him. "Marshall, about...about earlier...."

I don't want to have this conversation with her. I don't want to keep having this same damn conversation over and over and over.... Why can't we just stop? Why can't something about it just change? It just makes me so tired....

About that time, a streak of fire brighter than any he'd seen so far during the night blazed across the sky, a true shooting star. He tracked it with his eyes, and he heard Mary's indrawn breath. She grabbed his arm in startled reflex.

"Did you see that? What was that one? Was that a shooting star? That was...beautiful."

He turned to look at her, at the excitement on her face as she peered now into the sky, and something in him relented. He couldn't keep her away, couldn't shut her out even though that would be the smart thing to do tonight when all his defenses were low and when his own emotions were in such conflict over their argument earlier. He couldn't look into the face of the woman he loved and deny her. It was, he knew, the flaw that would one day come back and devour whatever was left of his soul...

So be it. If she can reach out, so can I.

"That was a meteorite. At this time of year, the Earth is moving through a belt of them, so we get sort of a free light show in the night sky."

At the sound of his voice, she turned her head and looked at him, glad to hear him speak at last. "So no wishes off a meteorite, then, huh?" She searched his face, his eyes, for signs that things could be okay, that they could be okay.

"Sure, go ahead and wish. They're what most people call shooting stars, anyway." He waved a hand magnanimously. "Do you find yourself in need of a wish, Mare?" He uncurled from the little ball he'd been in, lay back against the sunchair, stretched out, stared up at the sky. "What would you wish for if you had one?" His eyes sought hers in the semi-darkness.

She looked down at him from her seated position. "What? I only get one?"

He laughed softly. "Greedy. Okay. In all the stories and myths, I think the customary number is three. I hereby give you three. What would you wish for, Mary Shannon? Wish wisely and well."

She hesitated a moment, and then she stretched out beside him so she, too, could look up at the stars. He held his breath as she nestled herself next to him, the smell of her shampoo assaulting him as she tucked herself into the side of his body in a motion that had been as natural to them as breathing until very recently.

Put it aside. Don't go there. Don't remember. Don't yearn. So there's stars and talk of wishes and you're a little tipsy. You don't have to go there, Marshall.....

He surreptitiously tucked her closer to him anyway. She didn't seem to notice.

"Hmm..." He felt the vibration of her voice like the purr of very large cat vibrating through him. "What would I wish for?" The sky above them glittered like a curtain of diamonds as she pondered. "Well, first, I'd wish for my family to get their collective acts together and out of my damn house, I guess."

Marshall snorted. "Might take more than a handful of stardust to accomplish that one. Next."

She grinned. "Well, you didn't say we had to limit this to the realm of the possible.... Okay. Next. I would wish that...oh, I don't know...um...that Eleanor had to undergo some kind of personality transplant so she'd be tolerable, oh, oh, and that she'd have to like bring me coffee every morning just the way I like it and call me Mary, Queen of the Universe, too....."

He laughed outright briefly. "Now, come on. You're throwing them away. What about world peace? Global warming? On a smaller and more personal note, your car? Those holes in your wall?"

She waved a dismissive hand. Her smile faded. "You're right. None of those things are what I'd really wish for. You said I only got one anyway. You want to know what I really wish, Marshall?" She rolled her head over on the striped cushion and looked at him.

He matched her motion to meet her gaze, his little grin still lingering but starting to fade as he realized whatever it was she was about to say was something serious. He tried to forestall it. He didn't want to do any more serious tonight. He was happy just like they were, her warm and content for once next to his side, the world a little softer and a little fuzzier thanks to the alcohol he'd consumed. "What would you wish for? No, wait. Let me guess. You want the moon. I'll go get it for you. You want a handful of those stars. Be right back. I think I saw a ladder over there in those bushes...." He made as if to get up and she pushed him back down.

"Sometimes you are not just an idiot, you are their sovereign king." He blinked up at her, grinning. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. "I would wish that I never had that stupid argument with you tonight, Marshall. I would wish that I never said those horrible things to you and made you run out here to the cold darkness and the starlight. I would wish that you and I could go back to that moment when everything was good between us and start things again...."

"Mare," he said, trying to stop her, trying to keep words from being spoken that would shatter him, would cut grooves into his heart that he would never be able to fill.

She would not be deterred, though, and she placed her finger lightly over his lips. "Just listen to me, okay, just listen. This is important to me. Let me do it. I need to do this. You were right. I won't say that again, so revel in it. I was...what you said I was. And when you left, I started thinking about why. I didn't like seeing that ridiculous Latina Barbie with her hands all over you. It made me want to rip her hair right out of her head and beat the living hell out of her. When I realized that, it scared me. And you know I don't do scared well...."

His heart was racing, but he smiled against that finger still against his lips. No. She doesn't.

She removed her finger from his lips, and she lay back down beside him. He didn't know what to do or what to say now. He shifted slightly on the cushion, uncertain now about...everything.... He tried to shape words, to get some kind of answer together for what she'd just told him, but his mind refused to cooperate. Thoughts danced like the shimmering lights above him; ideally, they should be fixed points, but....

Then her voice came to him softly again. "Marshall..."

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Could I possibly stop you if I tried?"

She snorted, swatted at him lightly. "Do you ever....think about...Texas?"

How the hell do I even begin to start to try to answer that question? I'm right back in the minefield. What kind of answer does she want? Is this a part of going back to the time when everything was good? Does she want me to say, "No, never," and then we both perform an act of deliberate lying to each other and ourselves about it here under the stars? Or is she asking me for the truth? Oh, Mare, some topics were probably better left alone, especially when I've been on this rollercoaster one too many times tonight....

He tried to dodge. "Do I ever think what about Texas? That it's the Lone Star State, that it's the home of the Alamo, that it's the largest in the lower continental United States, that..."

"Marshall..." Her voice carried the slightest tone of irritation lacing through the amusement. It was such a familiar sound to him.

He sighed deeply and stalled, "I...What kind of answer are you looking for here, Mare? I don't know what to say to you. I don't want us to fight anymore tonight, and this has that potential written all over it....."

She rolled her head to look at him. She was so close to him. She was too close to him for them to be talking about this.

"No more fights. I promise. I want the truth from you about this. That's all I ever want."

He studied her for a moment. What the hell, right? She's asking for the truth, and I think I've had just enough to let her have what she wants. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free....

"I...yes. Yes, then. I do think about it. I think about kissing you. Okay? This may not be what you were hoping to hear, but it's the truth. I think about what it was like to touch you, to be with you. I think about it all the time if I don't stop myself." His heart was pounding in his ears when he finished. He could actually hear it. Adrenaline rushed through him, preparing him for some primitive fight or flight response.

Something flared in her eyes, something unexpected and bright. She flopped back down beside him and was absolutely still for a long moment. He was cursing himself mentally for actually telling her the truth when he heard her whisper it.

"Me, too. All the time."

---

Five words. Five words were all it took to unhinge his mind. Five words softly whispered into the chilly darkness of the star-shot air. The portion of his soul that loved her seized them like a mad creature with a treasured object and clutched them to itself, bared teeth, threw back its head and howled savagely. She thinks about it too, she thinks about it too, she thinks about kissing me, and touching me, and...and....

She shifted beside him, looked over at him, and he saw again that brilliant light in her eyes shimmering also there with a question. Alcohol, months of stringent denial in the face of constant stimulation and temptation, and those five whispered words shredded every doubt, every fiber of self-control, and every good intention he might ever have been able to muster in other circumstances. He rolled to his side, stroked her hair back away from her face lightly and left his hand resting lightly against her cheek when the motion of his hand was done.

"So you think about all of it all the time, do you, Mare?" he whispered.

She nodded, smile appearing briefly as she recognized his reference to that other night, her comment that had started the events that changed their relationship for better or for worse, for good. She brought her own hand up to cup the back of his neck.

"I do, yeah," she murmured, angling her head in invitation.

He smiled and he brought his mouth down to meet hers gently, gently, a feather brush when what he wanted was to devour her whole in a rush of heat and desire. Her fingers slipped into his hair as he softly tasted her.

He pulled away slightly, looked into her eyes again, all traces of the smile gone. "So what sorts of things do you think about when you think about it all the time, Mare?" He stayed there, just above her, a breath away only separating them. Choose, Mary. Choose. But I'm not getting up and walking away tonight. No more running away. No more martyrdom of denial. You want me, too. You think about all of it all the time... and oh God, so do I....

She saw it all in his eyes, understood what he was saying, understood, as she always did with this man, this pause. He saw determination and something else that made him tingle all over flash hot in her eyes. Look, another shooting star.... Her hand tightened in his hair. Doesn't that mean I get a wish? "Let me show you." She tugged him down. Guess so....

Try not to throw things. Review instead! I'll make it up to you next time. Promise.