Disclaimer: They're still not mine, which is still good because I'd have made them do stuff like this, and ruined the whole show, by halfway through season one.
WARNINGS: This story contains non-descriptive references to child abuse, including rape. I'm purposely avoiding getting descriptive in the discussion of Mary's past, but it will be mentioned, and referenced, and the related issues will be mentioned, probably frequently. If you think the rating or the warning needs to be changed, please let me know. At this point, we also have a language warning, though it's still somewhat tame compared to the actual show.
We left off with Mary and Marshall camped out on his sofa, after she came over, paced in his yard in the rain, then confessed to having PTSD-style nightmares since she was about eight years old. She started crying, he dragged her into a nice cozy hug, and she shared the story of her newly-single mom's method of keeping the bills paid by bagging a boyfriend, or twenty. Marshall, being not only in law enforcement, but also being one smart cookie, knows that kids are about a zillion times more likely to be abused if mom has a live-in boyfriend, and he puts two and two together pretty quick. Then he and Mary decide they're going to shoot the proverbial elephant in the room, and she orders him to just ask what he wants to ask, and he's in the process of doing just that.
"Oh, Mary... what did your mom's boyfriend do to you?" She wasn't sure if it was Marshall's quiet, worry-laced tone that unnerved her, or the the heart-shattering pain she watched, doing laps in the unshed tears in his eyes, as he asked the question she both yearned and dreaded to hear. Either way, though, now it was she who seemed unable to force out the very words that she'd been so ready to share just a moment ago.
"Damn, this is harder than I thought," she grumbled, and Marshall smiled in spite of the situation. His eyes finally opened, and for the first time since she'd begun crying, the pair made eye contact.
"Mary, we both know already. I think I've suspected for a long time... first time I got a witness who... who'd been through it, after we became partners, I kind of pieced it together. I get that neither of us wants to say it, because that somehow makes it more real, but it's way too late for that. Just spit it out, already, and let's get this part over with."
"Yeah, I keep trying," she muttered, her frustration evident.
"Well, try pretending it's one of your witnesses, and tell me in the third person, just like you were reading it from the file. Or you could do it in sign language... though I guess you'd have to know sign language first. We could write it as a limerick." The pair sat quietly for just a second as Marshall realized how limericks, and the gutter, usually go hand in hand. "Maybe not a limerick," he said. Mary shook her head, agreeing with his assessment. "Would writing it be easier?" he asked, more seriously.
"I'd rather be able to say it. Feels like it's totally in control of me when I can't even say it. But... yeah, writing would be easier."
"Here," he said, twisting in his place to reach for the paper and pen he kept on the end table. "Take a minute to gather your thoughts, get the words just like you want them, and then we can read it together." Mary hesitantly reached for the offered items. "Do you want to move to the recliner, or shall I just close my eyes?"
"I need my space for this one," she said, after a little thought. Marshall didn't like that idea, but he loosened his grip anyway, and she moved to the recliner across the room, sitting sideways, facing away from him. He didn't like that, either, but he understood it. It's easier to tell these kinds of things when you can imagine that you're alone, talking to nobody. He watched as she went through several drafts, angrily crumpling the rejected pages and throwing them aside, before she put the pen down, studying the latest incarnation for several minutes. Marshall observed that it was getting on towards midnight, by this point. While he waited, he quietly picked up his phone and sent a text message to Stan, letting him know that they were dealing with some past issues, and both would be taking a personal day tomorrow. He prayed that it wouldn't come back to haunt him later, as he hit the send button.
Marshall continued to wait a few more agonizing minutes before Mary finally nodded her approval of her work, and got up out of the chair. She set the notepad down, face down, on the coffee table, and then sat down in the middle of the couch. Marshall sat forward, grabbing his partner with one hand and the notepad with the other, drawing both to him. He felt her tense up when she saw he had the paper, but he calmed her by placing it face-down against her body as he pulled her to sit with her back resting against his chest. She folded the page as she accepted the control he so willingly gave her. She treasured the great sacrifice he was making tonight, when all he wanted was to grill her for information, and then storm off on an ass-kicking mission.
"When you're ready, Mary... my idea was that we can read it together, but we can play this any way you want. Just tell me what you need." He sat quietly and listened to her shuddering breaths. It was so frustrating, knowing the end of the whole dramatic evening was just on the other side of the paper she clutched against her stomach, but he had forced himself to be patient with her every day, for a long time now. He could hold out just a little bit longer, for her sake.
Mary, for her part, was mulling the options. There was something to be said for just letting him read the paper for himself... getting to hear the soothing tone of his voice, the way it would change as he absorbed the meaning of each word. But she knew she needed to speak the words for herself. Hmm. She had an idea. She felt silly asking for it, but she supposed it wasn't much sillier than having come to her partner's house over a nightmare, and then having been caught beating the garden wall to death because she was too embarrassed to ring the doorbell. Yep, cool and collected was pretty much gone at this point. Might as well throw the rest of her caution to the wind as well.
"I need you to read it aloud first, because I don't think I can do this. But then I'm going to tell you anyway, because I've never told anybody before, and it'd be nice to have at least some practice before you haul my ass to the nearest therapist and make me tell a complete stranger how I feel about it. Marshall cringed slightly at her terse words, but he had long known this was how she expressed fear and nervousness, and that her willingness to direct it at him was a backward way of telling him she trusted him. Oh sure, she started out trying to use her tactics to push him away before he had the chance to abandon her, but in time it had morphed into something far weirder and more endearing.
"Okay," he replied. Read it aloud. So she wouldn't have to wonder how far along he was, or when he was finished. So she would hear the way his tone would shift from disbelief, to rage, and probably unbearable pain, as a particularly horrifying piece of his best friend's life unfolded before him. And yet, somehow, he knew that hearing Mary speak the words herself would easily rival the night of her shooting, as the hardest thing he'd ever had to live through. Marshall decided to finally put an end to the torment they'd put themselves through for the evening. He took the paper from her hands, though he didn't yet unfold it.
"Mary, before I do this, I want you to know that this knowledge may change the way I interact with you for a little while, as I process the news. I'm sorry if I make you feel overly coddled or anything, during the next few days. But I kind of saw this coming, so... I don't want you to worry that I'm going to look at you differently, or think any less of you. It's just a phase. We will get back to normal pretty quickly. The only thing that's really changing is that you're trusting me with another part of your life... there's one fewer elephant in the room now."
"Yeah, yeah, it's not my fault, it doesn't really change who I am, or how capable I am in life, and you'll always be my bestest girlfriend no matter what, I got it, Doofus, just read already," she shot back. It wasn't the snarky reply that surprised him, it was that she didn't interrupt his little speech in order to deliver it. And that she settled her weight more fully against him as she groused, reaching one hand up to rest it on the arm that wrapped around her. She was adorable when she was nervous. Marshall drew one last breath, unfolded the page, and began to read, deliberately slow.
"Chuckles wouldn't drink, but he bought Mom's alcohol. When she got drunk at night, he would come into my room and molest me. Sometimes he touched inappropriately, sometimes it was sort of appropriate but not coming from him. He waited till I was nine to..." Marshall paused for just a moment, gripping Mary a little tighter as angry tears began to slip down his cheeks. "... till I was nine... to rape me. At first I didn't tell because he said he'd leave Brandi alone. I knew he was lying, but she's my sister. I hoped it was true. Then I didn't tell because he and Mom split up when I was maybe thirteen. Then, it was because it was ancient history. Now, it's because you've never abandoned me, and you've..."
Marshall had been trying to read through the entire thing without skipping ahead, but as the next words came into blurry view around his tears, he had to stop for just a second, processing her words, her fears, and how different they were from the truth. "Oh, Mary..." he muttered, as he took a breath and continued reading. "... you've never abandoned me, and you've even said you love me, and I'm afraid of losing all that to one bastard more than two decades ago." He'd never been one to allow himself to cry around others, but with her, he made an exception, sharing what was on his mind in spite of the embarrassing way his voice broke up around his own sobs.
"Mer, you haven't lost me. I sort of guessed all of this before making the decision to never abandon you, before I even loved you. It's okay to be afraid, but you know somewhere in there, that this particular fear is irrational, right?" Her sobs began anew, and he set the paper down to hold onto her with both arms. After just a minute, he felt her nodding against his chest. Yes, she knew it was irrational. Good, this was good. It didn't make her fear any less real, but at least she knew that much. They sat together for some time, letting their cries of shared grief fill the room for a little while, as Marshall cradled his partner's body, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could somehow cradle and soothe her injured soul.
"Did you still want to tell me what happened?" he asked after they'd had some time to settle down. Mary shivered in apparent fright, but nodded. She began to push away from him, and his first thought was to hang on, to keep her from running away. "What, Mary... what do you need?"
"I need to see your eyes," she answered. "I don't want to get too far away, but I need to see." Marshall turned loose immediately, and she slipped a few inches away from his body, turning to sit on the couch properly, as it was intended, with her knees draped over his leg, feet dangling towards the floor. From this position he could reach out and hold her hand in his, and she could turn her shoulders to face him more fully.
"That better?" he asked, not entirely sure that she was comfortable.
"Well, my feet are going to fall asleep like this, so I guess I need to talk fast," she quipped, smiling in spite of herself. He nodded in agreement, remaining quiet so she could begin. "So... so Chuckles, they met at an AA meeting. He never drank, he was serious about that, but he always bought her booze. Encouraged her to drink, as if she needed encouragement, so she'd pass out and he could do whatever he wanted at night. Then he'd come in my room. He molested me most often, just inappropriate touching... sometimes things that wouldn't be really wrong, except it was him, and I knew he had ulterior motives, so it was just creepy. I never liked it.
"When I was nine, he said he'd waited for sex, so it wouldn't hurt. Except it wasn't sex, it was rape, and it hurt anyway, so I don't... I don't know. He said if I told, the police would take me, and then he'd start doing it to Brandi. I didn't think he was leaving her alone, but she looked at me like I was dumb the one time I asked if he was doing anything nasty to her. Probably because she was all of four or five years old, but I didn't think of that at the time, and he'd already destroyed me anyway... if keeping my mouth shut would keep her safe... well, you know." Mary had said she wanted to see his eyes, but she waited until this moment to look up into them. "Did you want me to go through all of what I wrote..?" she asked.
"I think you wrote all that because it's what you wanted to say aloud," Marshall replied. She took a couple deep breaths, then nodded, this time not looking away.
"So... so at first I didn't tell because I hoped it would keep my sister safe. Then it was because they broke up when I was about thirteen, and he'd stopped raping me maybe two or three months before they split for good. Probably had a new girlfriend who kept him busy, or whatever. And at thirteen, you know, two or three months... that was ancient history. I thought it wouldn't matter anyway. Then when I was about 21, 22 maybe, I realized how much it had affected me, but I didn't tell then because it really was ancient history. It didn't seem to be an important step to healing, and there sure as hell wasn't anybody around who I wanted to share the worst part of my life with. By the time I found somebody I trusted enough to maybe open up about it... I... this is hard." Marshall nodded in reply.
"Yes, but you wrote it because you want it out in the open, and I already know, so there's no risk. You might as well finish the job." She took another deep, cleansing breath.
"By the time I found somebody I trust enough to share it with... you still haven't abandoned me. You even said you love me, when you toasted my engagement, at work... my now-failed engagement. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing that. I'm afraid that if you find out, you'll realize I really was worthless, all along, and you'll ask for a transfer, or something. Even after you've made it clear that I'm being illogical, I'm still afraid."
"Why are you afraid?" Marshall asked, sensing that she was on the verge of something she was desperate to admit.
"What do you mean, why am I afraid, I just told you, I'm afraid you'll figure out I'm worthless."
"No, Mary... what are you really afraid of?" She sat back into the sofa cushions and blinked at her partner, giving him that look, the one that meant she thought he was being an idiot, for just a moment before she burst into tears again. "Because, it sounds to me like those two things mean a whole lot more to you than you've ever let on, and I see that you're afraid of losing something from me, but..."
"When you found out I was engaged," she began, cutting him off before he got too into his foray into her psychology. "That day, you seemed sad. As if you were losing me. And I want to know, before I take one more step down this path, if that was some kind of macho reaction to the idea of having to learn how to be partners with a married woman, or if there was something more."
Crap. Deer in headlights looked less frightened than he did, he knew. But, sweet Jesus... crap. Of all the places she could have gone, he really, truly never saw this one coming. And she'd managed to do it in such a way... there was no way to lie or talk his way out of this one. "I hesitate to answer, Mary," he began, "because I don't want to frighten you, or make you feel uncomfortable."
"Blah blah blah, Marshall, are you in love with me?" If the situation hadn't been so dead serious, he would have snickered at her sharp, sarcastic way. As it was, he could barely breathe, let alone speak. He left her hanging for a moment, taking in all the hope and fear in her eyes, before he simply nodded once. Immediately, Mary's eyes fell to the floor. His first thought was that he shouldn't have confessed, even when asked point-blank. He'd hurt her, she was uncomfortable, it wasn't the answer she... wait. Wasn't the answer she wanted? Since when did Mary ask a question without being reasonably sure she was willing to accept either potential answer? So why was she freaked out? Marshall steeled his nerves and reached out with both hands to capture hers.
"What do you need?" he asked simply.
"Whiskey," came her brutally honest reply. Marshall immediately let go of her hands, and began to get up from the couch. If the lady needed a drink, that was fine by him. Hell, he was pretty sure he needed half the bottle at this point. But before he could make a real move, she had turned to face him again, grabbing him by the arms. "Marshall, wait." He fell still and did as she asked. "Say it yourself, instead of nodding." Oh for the love of all that is holy... why was she torturing him like this? But... but it was Mary, so he couldn't bring himself to refuse.
"Yes, Mary, I am in love with you." Before he got the whole sentence out, she was back to crying, only this time she had flung herself against his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him in the process. Marshall frowned in confusion at this turn of events, just sitting still until his partner grabbed his hands and wrapped them around herself.
"That's what I'm afraid of losing," she whispered after a minute. "I'm so afraid of losing it that I was willing to marry somebody else, to make sure I never let myself experience it in the first place, so it wouldn't hurt to lose it later."
There, hopefully not so much a cliffhanger this time? I was never really fond of them till I saw the way they're used in BuJyo's powerful, phenomenal, awesome story, Don't Speak, which, if you enjoy this, you should go find and read. It's amazing, cliffhangers and all.
I didn't remember until after I wrote this that not only have I given the abuser the same name as Brandi's drug-dealer boyfriend, but I also used the same nickname that Mary called him by, while the pair were held captive. He's actually modeled after the live-in boyfriend who a certain relative brought home from AA, and who made full use of that opportunity to beat the kids up, and... and otherwise abuse the daughter, until I turned 18 and took custody of the children involved (no, no deep psychological reasons there, why my temperament might be so eerily similar to that of a certain fictitious U.S. Marshal...) I've always called the rat-bastard "Chuckles", because Charles, Charlie, and even Chuck all seemed too polite. Anyway, I thought about changing his name once I realized the connection, but it seemed fitting to me that she'd use the same somewhat-derogatory nickname for both dirtbags named Chuck, in her life.
Also, if you've managed to stay with me through all this babble, are my paragraphs too big for y'all? They look great on my computer, but they seemed kind of huge when I saw them on FFN with my margins set like I like them, and they looked like all crap when I saw them on my phone, so now I have paragraph-insecurity.