A/N: Just saw the latest episode. Soooo much Marshall goodness, how can I not be inspired by that? Things are getting better, folks. I hope we won't need as many Kleenex for this one. Hang in there....

Just when things went right
Doesn't mean they were always wrong
Just take this song and you'll never feel
Left all alone

Take me to your heart
Feel me in your bones
Just one more night
And I'm comin' off this
Long & winding road

I'm on my way
I'm on my way
Home sweet home
Tonight, tonight
I'm on my way
I'm on my way
Home sweet home

~ "Home Sweet Home" - Motley Crue

I.

It was late, but Stan hadn't been in bed long when the doorbell rang. He was still reading in an effort to gear his mind down toward sleep. He had a bad habit of taking his work home with him, staying up into the night trying to shift manpower, money, and messes around so his little kingdom continued to run comfortably for everyone involved, so sometimes sleep was a long time coming.

The three days had been especially horrible. First, Marshall had shown up at his house before Stan could leave for work looking like someone had died and demanding that immediate transfer. Then, the next day, Mary had come in looking for Marshall.... Stan hadn't known even how to start telling her that Marshall was gone. He wasn't sure exactly what it was between the two of them, but he was no fool. He'd been keeping surreptitious tabs on their situation for awhile now, even though he knew they still thought him oblivious. One of the worst moments of his week had been seeing the light die in her eyes when he'd told her Marshall was gone. Then came the third day, today. Stan had not even wanted to go in to work not knowing how many more shoes there were left to drop, but there had been no fireworks, no new mighty revelations. Instead, there had just been Mary, painfully subdued at her desk, staring blindly at Marshall's empty one until she finally just left to go see witnesses. He'd dragged her into the office before she'd had a chance to leave, though....

The doorbell chimed softly again. Stan rose, grabbed a robe to wrap over his striped pajamas, and, with equal casual routine, his gun, and headed for the door. Now what? he wondered. It's just a little too late for Girl Scout Cookies or candygrams, I'm guessing.... He sighed.

Holding the pistol loosely at his side, he looked through his peephole for a moment, then laid the gun on a side table and started opening the locks. Leaning on one hand against the door facing, head down in the golden glow of his porch light, was a worn-looking Marshall Mann.

Marshall looked up and managed a wan smile. He looked absolutely dead on his feet.

"Marshall! What in the world are you doing here?" He swept Marshall into a rough handshake and hug, tremendously happy to see him. "I thought you were in..."

Marshall hugged him in return, slapping him on the back, before cutting him off a little impatiently. "I was. I was. I drove all day to get back here."

Stan looked at him but didn't speak, didn't let his reaction show on his face.. Uh-huh. Saw this coming. A feeling of almost unbearable satisfaction rose inside him. Marshall was still talking.

"Look....the other day when I asked for that transfer, it's just possible that... I....well...maybe...I was a bit precipitous.. that is to say...I was just wondering...well..is there any way that I might be able to...." He fumbled for words, not knowing how to ask for what he wanted. He had a sheepish, weary look on his face and shadows of exhaustion smudged under his eyes.

Stan pulled him into the living room, sat him down on the couch. "Come in, come in. Look, can I get you a drink? Are you hungry?"

Marshall smiled a little and waved away the offer. "No, Stan, I'm good. Really. I can't even think about food right now. All I can think about is that I ...how the other day when I came to see you....I'm just...I was just..."

Stan had wandered across the room to his big briefcase which lay open on the kitchen table where he'd been working earlier. He was rummaging through the contents idly.

"You were just...just what, Marshall? What brought you all the way back here, made you drive what had to be warp-speed across four states for eight straight hours non-stop to show up at my door in the middle of the night looking like hell?" He picked up a folder, peered at it, put it back in the case.

Marshall squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I... was just wondering if there was any way to reverse the transfer. I think I've made a mistake. I think my actions were made in a moment of strong emotion, and Stan, if there's any way possible, I want to come back."

Stan smiled down into the briefcase. Uh-huh. And this is why they pay me the BIG bucks, ladies and gents. He turned around and walked over to Marshall with a folder in his hand, dropped it on the coffee table in front of him. Marshall looked down at it in road-weary astonishment. His name was on the tab in neat computer print. He recognized the folder well. It was the very same one that he'd given Stan three days ago when he'd put in all the documents required for the transfer.... He reached a hand down and flipped the cover of the folder lightly. Inside, all the forms were still there, in rainbow triplicate, no less.

He looked up at Stan who was beaming down at him with a very satisfied smile.

"Let's just say I had a strong feeling it would be in everybody's best interest if got held up in processing for a couple of days...."

Marshall reached out and took Stan's hand, shook it firmly. "Thank you, Stan. Thank you." He leaned against the back of the couch, and for the first time since he'd appeared at Stan's door, the first time in days and days, some of the tension began to leave his body.

Stan sat down in the big leather club chair he'd splurged on for a reading indulgence and put his feet up on the footstool, looked at Marshall for a quiet moment. The younger man was still staring down at the folder full of documents as if it held answers to deep questions, but now that the nervy energy that he'd come in with had left him, he looked as though he might drop at any moment.

"Marshall," Stan said softly, watching his eyes refocus, "you're dead tired. There are things we need to talk about. Big things. But not tonight. Why don't you head on home, get a little sleep, and come see me first thing tomorrow? You're still sort of 'on vacation' as far as the office is concerned, and I will be, tomorrow as well."

Marshall blinked slowly, trying to wrap his brain around an answer that made sense. It was increasingly hard. All he'd been able to think about for so long was reaching Albuquerque, and staying focused on that task and on what, on who, lay at the end of it had driven out fatigue, but now.... "Sure. But I need to see Mary." Owlishly, he peered around the living room looking for a clock before he remembered he was wearing a watch. "It's probably too late tonight to go over..." His voice trailed off.

The corners of Stan's lips turned up in a private little smile. "Yeah. It's too late tonight. Take my word for it. In fact, why don't you just crash here...."

II.

Mary stood looking out at the vista before her. The only sound up here was the sighing of the wind through the trees. The sun was setting, and it was supremely peaceful. Damn. Postcard moments are supposed to feel good. Come on. Enjoy it. She leaned against the wooden porch post a few more minutes, but the serenity of the nature around her did not sink in, gave no soothing balm to her troubled mind. With a softly muttered curse, she pushed off the post and turned to go inside the tidy cabin behind her.

At Stan's dogged insistence, more like stubborn command, really, she thought to herself, she'd come up to this little place he owned in the mountains. She'd been driving for hours and she was tired. Stan swore this place was "good for the soul." He'd also told her point blank that if she didn't get out of the office and take three days of leave at his cabin, he was going to sign her up for mandatory psych sessions with a departmental counselor. Given the choice of a head shrinker or a holiday in the hills, Mary had shot him a venomous look and then beaten a hasty retreat back to her house to pack.

She'd known she looked bad, pale, worn, tired, but she'd caught a glimpse of herself in her bedroom dresser mirror as she was hefting her packed bag to leave, and the reflection had startled her momentarily. God. Maybe Stan is right. Maybe I do need a few days of R&R. She'd paused in the living room near her bookshelves long enough to pull down a couple of paperbacks, bitten back the jagged little cuts of pain that had caused as she realized that the titles her hands fell on were all ones Marshall had recommended or loaned her. She stuffed them in her bag roughly and headed out, throwing her bag in the back of her car with just a little more force than was needed.

She'd cranked the music loud on the drive up, trying to keep her thoughts from turning to Raph, to Marshall, or indeed to anything other than to the eighteen wheelers and potential speed traps ahead of her. She'd grudgingly admitted in the second hour of driving that it did feel good just to be out of ABQ, away from those familiar environs and all the recent horrors associated with them. She'd found herself singing with an old favorite on the radio before she even realized she was doing it, stopped for a moment a little guiltily, then thought what the hell do I have to feel guilty about? She belted out the words to the song in a full and mostly happy voice and pushed her foot down on the accelerator.

Now, inside this small but cozy space, Mary was alone with the silence and her thoughts. They formed an uncomfortable trio. As darkness fell, Mary made herself a sandwich from the food she'd brought up with her, tried to read for a little while, but finally tossed the book down in frustration.

So I wonder where the hell he is. Is he even checking his voice mail these days? Did he abandon that cell? Does he even care that I've ended it with Raph? And don't I just freakin' hate it that I sound like a dress extra on a high school soap opera.... Shit. Why can't it be daylight so I can go outside and shoot something?

She'd been very much hoping that Marshall would call her or give some sign that he'd gotten her message about Raph leaving. She knew she'd not asked him to come back, but she still thought that maybe....

That maybe what? asked that obnoxious, persistent voice in the back of her mind. What did you really think was going to happen? That there was going to be this knock on the door, and there'd he'd be? And in this little fantasy, what was he carrying? His badge to be your partner again or an armload of roses and a heartful of shmoop? Be honest....

Why don't you shut up? she snarled. There was no shmoop of any kind present.

The other voice snickered wickedly.

Okay. Very little. And it wasn't shmoop. It was...very grown-up stuff. Clothes on the ground stuff. Nothing hearts or flowers at all.

You're forgetting I live up here, too, right? That I see it all from the eagle's view? That you can't lie to me about what you really want?

She sighed, toyed with the corners of the paperback. When she'd tossed it down, one or two of the pages had folded slightly. She smoothed them down with her fingertips. Because he hates it when his books get bent.....

Going back to her two-sided conversation with herself, she answered as honestly as she was able since there didn't seem to be any other option or distraction present in this environment. I...don't know...what I really want from him.

The other voice considered, gentled. Are you sure about that?

Well, I want him back as my partner. I...need him to balance me on the job. He's so good with the little personal crap with the wits that I can't handle.

Okay. And....

And...I really miss having him around as my friend. Ever since things got so screwed up and we haven't been able to talk and just do stuff, I've felt...I don't even know how to describe it. I go to pick up the phone ten times a day, and then I remember, he's not going to be on the other end of it, and I feel like hell, like I've lost a goddamn limb or something. It's horrible.

And is that all you want him for? 'Cause I think since we're on a roll, we probably better lay all the cards out on the table....

Jesus. Maybe I do need my head checked...Okay, yeah, so I want him want him, too. A frisson of desire tingled through her despite the emotional and physical fatigue of the past few days. I mean...come on. You were there, right?

Yeah. Yeah. I was, indeed. Enough said. So....

So...

So you want him as a partner, somebody you trust enough to have your back when things get bad and to help you be your best, which, let's face it, you don't do with anybody else, ever. You want him as a friend, somebody you enjoy enough to spend your free time with. You want him as a lover, and we both agree he is imminently qualified for the job. You know what that sounds a whole hell of a lot to me like?

Mary's heart lurched uncomfortably, and she shifted on the couch, turned the book over in her hands again as the realization crystallized in her mind.

"Oh shit. How the hell did I fall in love with Marshall Mann?"

III.

Marshall woke the next morning in Stan's guest room. He had fallen asleep almost before he could get his boots off and had gotten a surprisingly good night's rest, slept deep, and morning light was now filling the room. There was something about just knowing he was back in Albuquerque that made a portion of his aching heart peaceful. Now, he just needed to see Mary....

Stan was already up and about when Marshall finished getting showered and dressed and met him in the kitchen. Knowing his marshals well, he was already pouring a large mug of coffee and placing it on the table as Marshall came through the door.

"Sit. I'll have some food for you in a minute."

Marshall sat down, suddenly a little unsure. He remembered that Stan had told him they needed to have a serious conversation, but right now, all he wanted to do was get to Mary's house. He also knew that whatever Stan had to say wasn't going to be pleasant. He'd been working with him too long not to read the signs, to know the little softening and delaying tactics his boss was using. He wrapped his hands around the mug and took a long fortifying swallow.

The food was soon ready, and Stan pushed a plate piled high in front of Marshall. Marshall was aware of the watchful gaze of his boss and friend as he ate. Worried about me. He's always like a hen with chicks with us. Amusement and fondness flooded through him. It felt good to be back, to be known, to be worried about.....

When the food was gone, Stan leaned back in his chair with his cup of coffee. "Now. You and I are going to get a couple of things straight. This thing between you and Mary? You two are either going to find some way to commit or you're going to quit screwing around with each other on the side. You're killing each other and everybody else in the process. I've turned a blind eye to it for a very long time now because I figured it was your own personal business and you two, both of you being as stubborn as you are, needed to find your own way without anybody else gumming up the works. But you can consider this an order, Inspector. Fix it or quit it, but figure it out before I see the two of you again."

He slid a piece of paper across the tabletop to Marshall. Marshall, who'd been staring at Stan with a look of pole-axed shock on his face, recovered enough to take it and managed to make his addled brain process that it was an address.

"That's my cabin up in the hills. I sent Mary there for three days' R&R because...well, let's just say I was expecting to see you fairly soon, okay? Now get yourself up there to where that woman sits tearing herself into pieces and make it right, one way or the other. Do you understand me?"

Marshall started laughing. "Stan, you take the cake."

It was all too sneaky, underhanded, plotty, and complex. It was all too thought-out to the nth degree underneath and seemingly effortless on the surface. He could not have done it better himself had he been the one making the arrangements. It was all just too, too...Stan. He rose, headed for the guest bedroom to grab his gear bag.

Stan's voice echoed down the hall after him. "But do you understand me?" There was real seriousness in his tone.

Marshall turned back, met Stan's eyes. "I understand you, Stan. No worries. I won't screw it up this time. This time is for keeps."