A/N: Everybody seemed much less angsty after the last chapter, and that made me feel better, too. We're getting there, folks. Just make sure you keep your hands and feet inside the car until the ride comes to a complete stop....and we're not there yet. Oh no. We're not there yet....

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home
My baby just-a wrote me a letter

I don't care how much money I gotta spend
Got to get back to baby again
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home
My baby just-a wrote me a letter

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn't live without me no more
Listen mister, can't you see I got to get back
To my baby once-a more

~ "The Letter" The Box Tops

I.

Marshall's hands flexed on the wheel of the truck as he drove. He'd been in the driver's seat for so many hours yesterday and today that he was stiff with it, but at least he'd gotten good rest and a break at Stan's. He shifted some, stretching his long legs as best he could with the vehicle's cruise set well above the speed limit. He had decided early in the trip that if he got pulled over he could and would flash his marshal's badge and go on. It wasn't normal behavior for him, but well...he needed to be with Mary, needed to fix the mess he'd made if he could so he could have some kind of peace again, and if it took bending a couple of other very minor rules to get there, then he'd find a way to live with that. It wasn't as though he hadn't crossed other lines, after all.... Besides, he smiled just a little at the thought, Mary would undoubtedly approve, right? So far, thankfully, he hadn't been pulled over, so it hadn't become an issue.

He thought again of the recent long drive to that strange town, of his determination to leave Albuquerque and Mary and all the quicksand of the whole situation behind him for both their sakes. The drive itself had been a long blur of agony, a numbness of darkness and cloud-shrouded skies, of windshield wipers clearing rain that gradually had become snow the further north he'd driven. It had matched the confusion and the turmoil in his mind, as if he'd been stricken, in shock after receiving a massive wound. It had felt to some degree the same way he'd felt after he'd been shot, burning pain and his mind separated from everything, desperately trying to make sense of a situation in which there was no logic or order to be had.

His first sight of the place he'd chosen to make his new home had not been filled with promising omens. It had been concrete and asphalt shrouded in ice and snow, and his beauty-loving soul had mourned the loss of nature and color, of open space and largely unobstructed skies. A natural philosopher, he'd tried not to rush to a snap judgment, tried to give this place he was choosing the name of "refuge" instead of the name of "exile." He'd made it as far as the hotel room Stan had booked for him, crashed, exhausted. He wasn't due to report in to his new office for a couple of days, and he'd needed them to try to get his feet under him. He called his new commander, anyway, since he'd known the man already, and they'd exchanged pleasantries.

Marshall had spent that second day looking at newspapers and theorizing about apartments. In reality, though, he'd spent as much time staring at his cellphone on the table, thinking about the voicemails on it, as he had doing any legitimate settling in or moving on. Her first calls after she'd found his letter had been hot enough to peel the soothing ecru paint right off the walls, full of hurt and anger as he'd known they would be. She'd called him a coward for not staying to face her, not staying at least to talk things out, and a not-so-small part of him agreed with her. He'd shuffled uncomfortably at the tiny dinette set in the hotel room when her tone went from angry to lost after she'd talked to Stan, began to understand he was really gone and not coming back. It gave him pain to hurt her, made him begin to doubt for the first time that what he was doing was the right thing.

If I hurt and she hurts, is this really good? I thought this would be a way for us NOT to hurt anymore, but this... this....

And then, then in the middle of his questioning had come her last message. He'd been out getting dinner when it rang, and he didn't check the message until he returned, wanting privacy for whatever bombshell he was sure she was dropping. It was so brief, so lacking detail that it made him want to scream with frustration. What was there, though, made his bleeding heart sit up for one last gasp of hope....Raph was gone, and she'd cared enough to call him and tell him this fact. He knew her well enough to hear what she would not say at the end. He was at the front desk taking care of his bill less than ten minutes later.

II.

Mary surprised herself by sleeping late. She felt more rested than she could remember feeling for a very long time when she woke buried in the warm covers. She lay there a while longer, trying to get used to the feeling of there not being anything she had to get up and do.

Haven't had a vacation in....God, how long has it even been? And of course, last time I took one, I think that was the time I had to go up to Jersey and get Squish out of that jam with that guy named...who was that one?...Oh yeah. Cool Bobby. Fun, fun, fun...

She sighed at that memory and pulled the other pillow over her face for a moment as if to block out all memory of her family. Then she pushed it aside and got up.

Well, I've got a real one now, looks like. I think I'll go enjoy some of it.

She took the time to explore her home for the next few days thoroughly, something she hadn't done when she'd arrived the evening before. Stan's cabin was small but elegant. One stepped up to a wide, deep porch with a glorious view down a sloping yard to a treeline that shielded the entire property from view of the main road. A porch swing on the far end invited visitors to sit and enjoy the silence and peace. It had a living room filled with comfortable furniture, shelves of books, and odd knickknacks that Stan had picked up over the years. There was a nice stereo that would also play music to speakers wired up outside on the back deck, but there was absolutely no TV anywhere in the house. Mary smiled at that. She could understand all too well Stan's desire to get away from current events and news since all too often their job dragged them or those they cared about right into the middle of those events kicking and screaming, or worse, silent and cold.

The kitchen was a small space opening onto both the living room and onto the back deck via sliding glass doors for ease of serving guests in both places. A low bar separated part of the interior spaces from one another, but they were largely unobstructed. A short hallway ran between two bedrooms, the master and the guest, one on either side of the cabin, and the bathroom was at the end of the hall, tidy, comfortable, with a large shower stall and a deep soaking tub. Windows were everywhere taking advantage of the tremendous views, even in the bathroom, where they poured light in from the skylights and through frosted panels that would give privacy but allow some of the vistas still to be seen.

Mary walked and looked, opened drawers and cabinets, took stock, cataloged items mentally. She was impressed with Stan's taste in spite of herself, but she couldn't stop the Marshal in her from coming out. Jesus, Stan. This place is a tactical nightmare. Ever think about trying to defend this place?

She rummaged around in the kitchen, put together a messy omelet for breakfast, took it outside on the neat little back deck to eat it and look at the view. The little space was pleasant. There was a built-in grill that she could just see Stan enjoying fiddling with and cooking on. There was the small neat wooden patio set she was eating her late breakfast at, and built into the far corner where it could be accessed by stepping out from the master bedroom or the living room was a big jacuzzi, tightly covered. Stan had told her to use it if she wanted, but for now it held no interest. The day was a bright, cool winter one. Looking at the hills around her, she decided that the next order of the day after breakfast would be a hike. She took her empty plate back inside and got dressed.

III.

Marshall kicked the back tire of his truck even though he knew such a gesture was childish and futile.

Okay. So that was more like Mary than me, but still.... He sighed. Of all the times for this thing to choose to have a problem.... I swear, I'm starting to feel like a character in a damn Greek tragedy.

He leaned heavily against the bed of the truck, hands braced, head down. This was a delay he could ill-afford, and his patience was fraying. The fuel pump on the truck had gone out, and the garage in this tiny town he'd been towed to didn't have one, wouldn't be able to get one for a couple of days from a dealership in a larger city.

The rather wizened old man who was the only mechanic in this place came out of the glassed-in office into the main bays and peered up at Marshall quizzically through thick glasses, his white hair sticking up at slightly odd angles.

"You okay, son? Know it's frustrating when these beasts don't run like they ought to."

Marshall forced a slight smile for him and nodded, saying, "It surely is. Especially when you have somewhere you really have to be."

The mechanic made an oddly-appealing, muted little braying noise of amusement. "Ah, well, anything other than a hot date will keep, right?"

Marshall laughed a little ruefully at the absurdity of his own situation. "Actually, I was on my way to see somebody important. Not a hot date, exactly. More like a ...hot apology, maybe? Is there such a thing?"

"Hell yes! Been married for forty years, my boy, and if there's one thing I've learned in that time, it's that the apologies better be as urgent as the courtin' ever was...Oh, what a terrible time to have this thing give you difficulties," he said, smacking the hood of the recalcitrant truck lightly.

They stared at the truck for a moment, musing in silence on the whimsical nature of coincidences and machinery and the almighty wrath of women wronged. Then the old man cocked his head sideways and looked at Marshall speculatively.

"Look, son, if you've got a hot apology to make, you need to be gettin' to it, I suspect. Them kind of things spoil quickly when you leave 'em lingering, if you get my drift. Remember this one time I left to go on a business trip when my Francis was angry with me 'cause I was spending all my spare time fishing instead of with her. Didn't stay and get it fixed up before I went, and by the time I'd gotten home, she'd done gone and redecorated the whole damn house. With flowery stuff. Sold my fishing boat to get the money to do it, too. Vicious woman, when she's angry, is Francis...." His voice trailed off as he contemplated the apparent horrors of either the redesign, life without the boat, or Francis riled. Marshall wasn't sure exactly which. Marshall fought the little smile that wanted to tug at the corners of his lips. Suddenly the mechanic shook his head and brought himself back to the present. "Whereabouts did you say it was that you were headed?"

Marshall pulled the piece of paper with Stan's address on it out and showed it to him. The mechanic's face lit up with a smile.

"That's right up in the hills from here! Ain't no distance at all. I could get you there in thirty minutes or so, and maybe, if you play your cards right, your lady friend can help you with your transportation problems from there." He laughed his rusty, cackling little laugh again. "And, shoot, if you can't sweet-talk her, I reckon you could probably walk it back here before night...."

IV.

Mary was feeling loose and relaxed on the way back to the cabin. It had been good to go, good to move, good to walk at nobody's purpose but her own. She'd spent hours up in the hills climbing, following trails, pausing if something interested her, taking time to sit beside a particularly pretty spot she'd found and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd packed for lunch and just enjoy the feeling of the sun raining down on her, warming her legs, her back, her face. She had the crazy notion that she could feel the stress evaporating from her in the winter light. Now, she'd just seen what she thought was a kind of eagle circling, and she'd stood, breathless, watching the large bird glide.

Marshall would know. He'd know exactly what that thing is. He could tell me its wingspan, its nesting habits, and probably how many spots are on its damn eggs, too.... She rubbed a dirty hand over her heart, absently, as if there were an ache there. Marshall. Where the hell are you? I need you here to tell me what this bird is.... I just need you here.... Are you ever coming back?

The pleasure of the hike was suddenly dimmed somewhat, and she continued down the trail, pushing harder to try to clear her mind. Suddenly, Mary stopped to take a drink of water. As she did, she heard a sharp, keening cry. She raised her head, slowly lowering her bottle, and looked up into the branches of a nearby tree to see the bird of prey studying her with huge, alert golden eyes. Her heart raced. For just a moment, the two just stared at one another, neither moving. Then the great raptor lifted gracefully into the sky and was gone. Mary saw something flutter down from the branch where it had been, and she stepped forward to pluck a large bronze-brown feather from the ground. She ran it gently through her fingers, scanned the sky again, and then continued on her way back to the cabin.

V.

When Mary reached the cabin, her first and only thought was getting clean.

Shower now, food after. Maybe even steak. Could maybe even eat a whole cow if I bought one. But first and foremost, clean.

She was stomping the trail dirt out of the treads of her boots as she came onto the stairs of the deck when her eyes fell on the jacuzzi tub.

Amending plan now. Shower first. Then wine and fizzy tub. And maybe snack in fizzy tub. THEN whole cow.

She smiled, sat down on the stairs and pulled the laces of her boots, pulled them off aching feet, and padded across the deck in her socks to take the cover off the jacuzzi and flip on the controls that would set the jets to bubbling. Then she slipped inside and hopped into the big shower stall to power off the dirt and grime of her hike before heading back outside again.

Once she was out of the shower, she didn't bother to dress. Just going to be naked again in a minute, right? She wrapped her robe around her instead, pulled her wet hair out of her face with a clip, and headed to the kitchen. She grabbed a very nice bottle of wine from Stan's personal collection, breathing, "Thank you, Mr. McQueen," and looked around at the food she'd brought in frustration for something quick and easy to take out for a snack. I am NOT going to slice, chop, peel, or even unwrap anything right now, damn it. I just want something fast. I will do the whole cow thing later.... She shrugged and grabbed the sack of doughnut holes and headed for the jacuzzi, pausing long enough to turn on the stereo, choose some Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday from Stan's cds and adjust the system so the outdoor speakers were on as well.

Outside, she slipped the robe off and climbed into the fizzing, bubbling water. A huge sigh of relief escaped her as it swirled around every place that was aching and complaining after her hike. She closed her eyes. The jets worked her neck, her back, her legs, and it wasn't long before the combination of the wine, the water, and the exercise were making her very sleepy indeed. Ella and Billie's voices were purring through the speakers, another inducement to total relaxation.

Gonna need a little sugar boost to help me get enough energy to get out of here, probably. She reached a languid and dripping hand for the bag of doughnut holes, but her fingertips didn't encounter them. A slight frown creased her brow. She walked her hand around on the decking looking for them. Still no bag. Her mouth twisted in irritation, and she swept more broadly. Where the hell is it? Did it get up and walk off? Has Yogi the Bear taken my pick-a-nic basket?.... She opened her eyes and looked around for an explanation.

"Looking for something?"

Sitting in a deck chair not five feet from her, eating her goddamn doughnut holes, and looking absolutely nothing remotely like the picture of innocence was Marshall Mann.