A/N: Everyone is so kind. Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. I am happy that you're happy. On with the show. (Has anybody else noticed how hard I'm hitting the 80's here on the song lyrics? These are the songs that keep fitting the situation....)

When you make love, do you look in the mirror?
Who do you think of?
Does he look like me?
Do you tell lies?
And say that it's forever?
Do you think twice, or just touch and see?

I don't wanna touch you too much baby
'Cos making love to you might drive me crazy
I know you think that love is the way you make it
So I don't wanna be there when you decide to break it. No!

When I'm with you, are you somewhere else?
Am I gettin' thru or do you please yourself?
When you wake up, will you walk out?
It can't be love if you throw it about
Ooh babe

(Love bites, love bleeds)
It's bringin' me to my knees
(Love lives, love dies)
It's no surprise
(Love begs, love pleads)
It's what I need

"Love Bites" ~ Def Leppard

I.

When he'd finally summoned enough energy to pull himself together enough to roll off her and tug her lightly into his arms, the madness that had possessed him had drained away. So too had the insulating effects of the alcohol he'd consumed. As Mary buried her face in the crook of his neck and made satisfied-sounding noises heading toward slumber, his mind ground ruthlessly over and over what he'd just done, what he'd just said, and a wave of self-disgust such as he'd never felt before almost choked him. He continued to hold her, ran a shaking hand ever-so-lightly down her smooth strong back and waited until her breathing was even and steady. Then he gently slipped out of her grasp and headed for the bathroom.

He hoped that a hot shower would clear his mind, help him figure out what to do now. The water ran over his body, soap and temperature tingling the little puncture wounds here and there left by Mary's nails and making him remember exactly how those marks had gotten there. He ran unsteady hands through his own hair, pulling as if he could extract the memories that were tormenting him.

How could I have treated her that way? How could I have just pushed her up against a wall and.... And that's not all I wanted to do. I was so far over that edge. Oh God, once I got my hands on her, the things I could have done...

A wicked voice in his mind laughed. Didn't seem to mind, though, did she, precisely? I think you could say she sort of enjoyed it.... Lurid splash of images, sounds, Mary's pleasure as he'd touched her, handled her replayed for his mind's eye. Yeah, I think she enjoyed it quite a bit...

His hands tightened on the towel bar, and he muttered, "No. No. That's not the way it should be between us. We shouldn't be together in anger, in hurt. This can't keep happening." Frustration and confusion swept through him. What was the solution? Why couldn't he, the man who could solve problems for so many others, solve the thing most wrong in his own life, in the life of the person he loved most in all the world? Ignoring what was between them and trying to go on as if there were nothing there certainly hadn't worked. They didn't appear to be able to talk about this, either, resolve it with honesty and words. It's a deadlock, a lose-lose situation, both of us balancing on a razor blade and cutting ourselves to ribbons trying to keep the status quo.

He cut off the water and stepped out to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist. As he came back into his room, a beam of light from the bath caught something on the floor near the bedroom door, and he simply froze in his tracks as he realized what it was that he was seeing. With a feeling of nausea, he crossed the short distance, looked down at the tiny object for a moment, and finally forced himself to bend down and scoop it up in the palm of his hand. He stared at it there as if it were a totally new thing never before seen on the face of the world, as if it held the answers to all questions, or as if it were a dangerous and possibly explosive entity that had to be handled with care. Finally he spoke in an almost inaudible whisper.

"It has to end. And since it seems there's no other way to stop it, I will have to be the one to end it. Otherwise, we're just going to keep wounding each other like two wild things in too small a cage."

He looked back at Mary, unconscious, beautiful in her slumber, sprawling in his bed, and felt guilt, sorrow, and love flood through him in a mixture so painful he was light-headed for a moment, swaying on his feet. His hand made a tight fist around the ring, and the three gaudy stones of it cut triple gouges into the palm of his hand. He did not feel them. Other pains were far too acute at the moment to notice those small stings. Later, he'd see them and laugh bitterly at that final irony. For now, he moved silently around the room gathering the things he'd need.

As he finished with his preparations, he crept back into the bedroom and pulled the covers up around her making sure she was warm. Because he could not resist it, and because it was the last time, after all, he brushed his lips against her forehead, her lips softly, softly, and she stirred slightly, murmured something that sounded peaceful, happy even, and rolled over. Finally there was only one thing left to do. He set his bags by the door and grabbed a notepad he kept in the kitchen for shopping lists, tried to find words to tell her what he was doing and why. Complex fugues of words flowed through his head, epistles of such length and magnitude that they would have required multiple volumes and footnotes to be understood, would have puzzled scholars and inspired dissertations. None of these were what he needed to tell her most, though, the crucial thing at this moment. He held the pen over the paper, hesitating, hesitating, and finally, the right words came. What he ultimately had to say filled only a few brief sentences in his precise, elegant handwriting:

There will never be enough apologies for last night or for you waking alone today, but for what it's worth, I hope you know by now I would rather bleed myself than ever cause you any pain. That's why it's time for me to be the one who goes. One of us has to, that's clear, or we're just going to keep hurting each other. I'll take care of all the official end of things. All I ask from you is that you let it go, let me go.

~ Yours, Always, Only, and Ever

He held the little page in his hands a moment thinking. He thought of everything that would alter if he went through with this plan. He thought of the pain of being away from her, the difficulty of the changes he was about to put himself through. He thought about how easy it would be to wad up the note, strip off his clothes and climb back next to her warm, naked body before she woke up and ever knew he had thought about leaving, to pretend that everything was as okay as she'd allow it to be.

It's not too late. I could just go back in there, get back in that bed, and... And what? Do what? Keep living off the crumbs from her table? Go out and get drunk another night, pin her to another wall, really give in to this darkness inside me? Watch her wake up and walk away another day and try to pretend it's all okay? We keep going in circles, vicious horrible circles. I can't go back. No matter how much I might want to.... No. Forward is the way out, and even if it hurts, I have to get out of this cycle some how. For me. For her. For both of us.

With a sigh of finality, he put it down on the counter. He took the hated ring out of his pocket and laid it down in the center of the note, switched on the overhead light above the island so she would be sure to see it when she inevitably came looking to find him, and left. He put on his scarf slowly, slipped on the long wool coat he'd tossed last night, putting her jacket over a chair as he did so, running his hands over the soft leather one final time, and then he turned decisively, grabbed his keys and his gear and slipped out into the cold pre-dawn gloaming without looking back again.

II.

Mary was sitting in Stan's office. Every call she'd sent to his phone had gone directly to voicemail. She'd left several very pointed and rather vulgar messages early in the day and then she'd spent most of the rest of her day off looking for Marshall everywhere to no avail. He was well-hidden wherever the hell he was. She'd combed every hotel and motel in the region. She'd called friends, witnesses, and enemies. She'd staked out his house and spent long hours waiting for him to return to his house. He hadn't and she was thoroughly exhausted. In the still small hours of the night, she'd tried his phone one last time, and when it had gone to voicemail, she'd hung up, anger, fatigue, and worry churning inside her.

She'd come in early today, determined that today he would damn well change his mind, that whatever the problem was, they could at least talk at work, that she'd find some way to force him to listen, but the time to start the day had come and gone, and there was no Marshall. He was never late.

She'd surreptitiously gone over to his desk, glanced down, and she noticed for the first time certain items missing. His personal stuff was gone, all the little precious items and knickknacks that he fiddled with all the time. Only the basic desk supplies and the paperwork lay there, forlorn if neatly organized. What the hell is this? Where is his stuff? Just as she was about to give up the pretense of looking for a file for one of her witnesses, Stan had stuck his head out of his office door and called her name.

Stan was holding a large file folder full of documents when she entered. His face was a serious as she'd ever seen it.

"I sure as hell hope whatever this is manages to be quick, Stan. I've had no sleep, no coffee, and I'm not in the mood to dilly-dally this morning."

He sat down in the chair next to her without responding to her verbal jab. Both things, his choice of seat and his lack of response to her sarcasm alerted her to something very bad coming. Her heart sped up slightly. He smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes at all. Shit. Seen that smile before, haven't I? This is going to be bad. Ohshitohshitohshit....

Stan's voice was gentle when he spoke. "Mary, I'm not going to ask you for any specifics of what's gone on unless you want to give them. It's not my place. I don't pry into the personal lives of my Inspectors. I...am just here...to inform you that as of this morning, Marshall has requested and been granted a transfer. Effective immediately."

She felt as if the entire world had dropped away from under her. Transfer? Going away? Going where? Wait... He's... leaving...really leaving here? Leaving this? Leaving... me? And the words of Marshall's notes came back to her as if they were written in fire along the wall by the hand of God...not "mene, mene, tekel," but the meaning was the same, really: "I'll take care of all the official end of things. All I ask from you is that you let it go, let me go."

Stan was talking, something about caseloads and transferring witnesses to other inspectors, but his words had no meaning to her. All she could think of was the sudden emptiness inside her. Suddenly, she was aware that Stan had stopped talking, and she felt his hand gently pat her arm.

"Where is he? Where did he go?"

Stan looked at her, and he opened his mouth, closed it, looked down at the folders in his hands as if they were suddenly the most important items in the universe.

"I...am... not at liberty to release that information to you, Mary."

"You're what?" Astonishment stormed through her, barely two lengths ahead of anger. It was catching up quickly though.... "What the hell does that mean when it's at home, Stan?"

He sighed heavily, rose, and walked around his desk as if he needed the distance or the symbol of his authority for support as he delivered the next bit of news. "I'm sorry, Mary. It's what he wanted. Look, why don't you just take the rest of the day, okay?" His eyes studied her carefully. She muttered something, stumbled toward the door like a person in a daze, grabbed her coat and headed for the elevator.

III.

She lay facedown in the middle of the bed. The blinds were drawn and all the lights were off. She was completely still and had been since she got home. She had no idea how long she had been in this position, no idea how much time had passed. Her thoughts refused to coalesce. All she could think about was that her best friend, the one person she depended on most always to be there was gone.... And he doesn't want me anymore. He ran away where I can't find him...made Stan do his dirty work....hate him....miss him....Marshall....why? Why would you leave me?....You bastard....come back...

Her phone had rung a few times, and she'd glanced at the caller ID. It had not been Marshall or any of her witnesses, so she'd let it go to voicemail, continued to let her mind drift in its hellish fog. Sometime later, she heard the front door open, heard steps come down the hall, heard the bedroom door swing inward, but she didn't turn her head. She couldn't summon up the energy. Nobody who mattered would be coming through it.

"Mary," Raph's voice was soft. "I've been trying to get you for awhile now. When I came home, I saw your car outside. How long have you been home? Why aren't you answering your phone? What's the matter? Are you okay?" His weight made the bed dip, and she felt his hands gently caress her back, seeking the knots of tension there. A part of her wanted to throw those hands off her. They felt somehow wrong there, too heavy, the wrong shape.... Her mind shied away from those lines of thought, and she turned her head on the bedspread to look at Raph, the action almost more than she could manage.

"Mary. Tell me. You're scaring me. You act like somebody died."

"Marshall," she said, and her voice cracked from disuse. She cleared her throat, licked her lips and tried again. "He's gone. He left."

She felt Raph's hands still on her back, pause for just that infinitesimal moment. His voice, when he spoke again, was a little less soothing. There was something in it that was fighting for understanding, for sympathy.

"What do you mean, 'he left'? Explain it, Mary. Why are you so upset?"

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and he drew her back against him, wrapped his arms around her, and she immediately wanted his arms off, felt claustrophobic, trapped. She took a deep breath.

I'm marrying this man. THIS man. This one who STAYS. It is natural that he holds me this way. NATURAL. It's okay....it's okay...it's okay....

"I...found out today that Marshall is being transferred. He's leaving Albuquerque."

His arms squeezed. She again fought the urge to claw at them, to get away. "Oh, Mary. I'm sorry. I know he's your friend. I know you'll miss him. But it's not like you'll never see him again, right? Wherever it is that he's going, even in your job, surely the two of you will see each other again...." There was something in his voice, something at first that she could not identify.... What is that? You know he almost sounds....

"No, Raph...you don't get it. He's already gone....and...I...we...I'm not going to ever see him again."

Raph went still. "You two had a fight?"

She nodded, laughed miserably. "Yeah. God. I guess you could call it that, sort of."

Raph's hands resumed their gentle massage of her forearms. For a few minutes, they said nothing. Then, "So he's leaving for good?" There it is again. That sounds almost like he's...happy..... She shook her head. God, going crazy and getting paranoid on top of it....

"So I've been told. I'm so pissed about this I can't see straight. He didn't even tell me. He just...disappeared....."

"That doesn't sound much like Marshall....anyway, Mary, look. I'm sure you two will fix whatever this is. In the meantime, let me take you out. I think it's not good for you to keep lying here just staring at the walls." He brushed her hair off her neck and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She felt his whole body jolt, and she felt his fingers brush lightly across a spot on her neck, once, then twice, heard him draw in a deep, shuddering breath, release it slowly.

"Mary," he said in a voice that was low and suddenly unsteady. "Is there something perhaps that you'd like to tell me?"