Author's Note: Yay. Reviews. I love reviews. Thank you! Here's chapter 14. Not much else to report. Enjoy. And don't sue. No one's getting paid here!
Mary awoke feeling marginally worse than she'd felt when she fell asleep. Her back was hurting again, but it was pressed against Marshall, and he was keeping it warm. Keeping her warm. Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, and she tightened her lips when she remembered telling her partner about one of the worst parts of her past. He hadn't responded much verbally. He'd asked a few questions, pried only centimeters deeper. Digging wasn't really required since she'd already sliced herself open for her to see. He had held her close all night long kept her covered with the blankets, and murmured quiet things in languages she couldn't identify in her haze of almost-sleep. Now she wondered what he'd said. What secret things had he whispered to her?
Contemplating their present positions nearly brought on a panic attack. She didn't like to cuddle. Didn't like feeling confined by a man. Held down. Tangled. But Marshall wasn't just a man. He wasn't any man. He was her friend. Her confidant. Her partner. The man who knew her, really saw her, and still he came back. He still had her back. Rubbed her back when it hurt. Brought her coffee when she was tired. Tossed her granola bars during stakeouts just because he knew she liked the ones with chocolate chips. He watched her favorite movies with her. Drank her favorite beer. He knew her shoe size. Her greatest fears. Her daddy issues. Her tendencies toward violence and anger. And he still waited with a gentle smile and arms that would comfort her if she needed it.
Her back was flush against his chest, both of his arms wrapped around her. His breath tickled the back of her neck with each exhale. She tensed immediately on instinct, then breathed out slowly as the tension abated. It was Marshall. She was fine. Confused, but fine. Content, and fine. She stayed where she was, and tried to learn to enjoy the sensation of warm intimacy. This wasn't about sex, which made it different than almost every other morning that she'd awakened to find herself in bed with a man. Well, except Raph, but the thrill of that relationship had ended long before the relationship itself took a nose dive. This was more intimate, somehow, and she was not a woman used to true intimacy. This was about temperature, friendship, and probably something else, but she wasn't thinking about that right now. She wondered if she could get used to the feeling of being pressed tight against her partner in the morning. Warm arms felt nice around her. Physical comfort from another person felt a little foreign to her. Marshall hugged her sometimes, and it was always nice, but this was different. She wasn't upset. No fear. No tears. No real reason for her to be laying here, enjoying the warm, manly scent of him. Intimacy without sexual gratification. A man she could share all the scary, ugly parts of her life to and not worry about his response. She had to get out of here.
Mary struggled to find a way out of her partner's arms, only to be thwarted by him tightening them even more. She pushed against him, and he pulled her closer and relaxed his grip once she was settled where he wanted her. He murmured something she doubted was English into her hair, and Mary decided that she could get used to this man holding her if he always spoke to her in foreign languages in his sleep.
"Mare?"
She felt his lips move against her hair. "Hmm?"
"Do you need up?"
"No." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could censor it. Damn. Just a moment ago she'd been looking for an escape.
"Mmkay." He hummed, relieved to have her still beside him. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, because he was half convinced that once he did she'd disappear like vapor. The physical proof of her proximity beneath his hands was comforting. She felt warm. Soft. Like a woman. She smelled like Mary. Some combination of her laundry detergent, soap, and what he assumed was the fading reminiscence of her body wash and citrus lotion. Clean. Fresh. Not too girly, but girly enough.
He brushed her hair gently off her face, and fingered the strands to their ends.
"Marshall?" She finally gathered her wits about her and spoke.
"Mmmhmm?"
"What are we doing here?" She wasn't sure she actually wanted him to answer.
"Staying warm." It wasn't the whole truth, but he figured she'd prefer it to the alternative.
"Staying warm?"
"Are you cold?" His eyes were open now, and he reminded himself to imprint this moment on his memory should the situation never repeat itself.
"Umm. No?" Not really a question, but not a statement, either.
"Success." His eyes slid shut again, and shifted her against him.
"That's it?"
"How's your back?" He ignored her question, and slid his hand down her side softly to rest on her waist.
"Better." She nodded, liking the way his hands felt on her despite herself. Marshall was not her usual type. He was not what she thought she'd been looking for. He was thin and lanky where she preferred muscular. He was nerdy and sweet where she generally sought out brainless jerks. He was supportive and gentle when she needed it, but she tended to gravitate towards caustic and tough. He was tough and understanding when the men she dragged home never stayed long enough for her to find out what they were. He stood up to her, challenged her, and then picked her back up when she stumbled, and she trusted him enough to be standing there beside her when she fell without ever having to glance over her shoulder to assure herself of his presence. He was Marshall, and he'd grown on her quietly. Organically. Without her even noticing it, he had made himself the person upon whom she could depend. The person she didn't even know she needed. The person she didn't want to be without lest she chance a misstep and skin her already scarred knees.
But they could nary afford to embark on this journey that she was considering. She would ruin it. She would ruin him. She would use him up and turn him into an empty shell of the man she wanted to wake up next to tomorrow morning. And the day after. She would hurt him. Fail him. And he would find her lacking.
"Stop thinking whatever it is that you're thinking." Marshall murmured quietly into her hair, voice lower and thickened with sleep. "You're tensing up. Just relax. Be."
"Be what?" Mary didn't do poetry. She never understood symbolism. For her, the sky was just blue. Linking verbs were exactly that…links. Not subject and verb.
"Just be. Exist. Accept."
"You need to buy a vowel." Mary ribbed him, but tried to force herself to relax anywhere just because he asked it of her.
"I don't need anything." She felt his head shake a negative, and shivered at the implications. He mistook her shiver for cold and moved his hand from her hip to tuck their layered blankets closer to her.
"Better?"
"Everything's fine, thanks."
They'd have to get up soon. Time would not suspend, the earth would continue spinning on its axis. It would revolve around the sun just as the moon revolved around it. And Marshall's world would continue to revolve around Mary while she revolved around pain, loss, and abandonment, and continued rushing headlong down her self-destructive path. Marshall pondered the mathematical implications of two objects inexorably tied together. Was it possible for two objects to orbit only each other? Become the center of their collective universe? What if there were outside forces acting on those objects? What became of them then?
The alarm went off loudly on Marshall's phone, and Mary groaned and his heart flipped inside his ribcage. Was it the sound she made or the end of his fantasy? He wasn't sure. She reached out to grab the phone, and Marshall wondered if she'd fling it against the wall. He was having thoughts of doing just that right now, but she only silenced it and set it back down.
"We have to get up."
He didn't want to. Reality was as unwelcome in his life today as would be a barrel of poisonous scorpions loosed in his house. Maybe he'd prefer the scorpions. Then he'd have an excuse to show up at Mary's house and sheepishly request to stay with her. Forever.
The phone beeped again, and Marshall reached across her to grab it and shut it off.
"Wanna shower first?" He murmured into her hair.
"I'll hurry." She hadn't moved yet. "Do you want to grab breakfast after?" They were up in time to eat if they both hurried.
"And coffee." He agreed. "So scoot." Levity might make the morning less awkward.
Mary was out of the shower in six minutes flat, and Marshall had to hurry into the bathroom to hide his reaction to the sight of her, still dripping with water, wrapped in a blue terrycloth robe that didn't come down to her knees.
"Your turn." She grabbed her lotion off the window sill and Marshall smothered a groan and decided that he wanted to be the one to smear it all over her.
"Out in a sec!" He called as he shut the door, leaning against it with eyes closed. Maybe he should have let her go back to her own room. But they were getting closer. Mary had directly asked him about something from his childhood last night. She's shared without provocation something painful about hers. She'd slept peacefully in his embrace, and she'd stayed there when she'd awakened. There were days, and this was going to be one of them, that he ached to take her pain away. Erase it from her memory, and shower her in love and honesty and happiness. She'd been through too much, and had borne it alone for far too long.
Mary heard the water switch off and grabbed her shirt, shoving it over her head hurriedly. Marshall emerged a few minutes later in jeans and his undershirt. Mary appreciated her partner from the corner of her eye as she combed through her wet hair and squeezed out the excess water with her towel.
"You need long?" Marshall was pulling on his boots already.
"Two minutes." She hurried around, pulled her wet hair into a ponytail, then took it down and slid the elastic band on her wrist. A little moisturizer on her face, and she was done. Notebook. Pen. Check.
"Ready."
They hit up the breakfast buffet in the back of the conference room, and Mary laughed when her partner got excited about grits.
"You don't understand, Mare." He was dishing ladle after ladle into a bowl. "You can't get these in New Mexico. My mom made this for breakfast every Sunday."
"Why?" She eyed the yellow lumpy mixture warily. "I thought your mom liked you?"
"It's good. Trust me." He promised her, sprinkling in bacon bits. "You have to try it."
"I…okay." She agreed, and her stomach turned. She loaded up on fruit salad and grabbed a pastry.
They sat in their usual location toward the back, and she sat her plate on the chair. "Coffee?"
"You know it." Marshall was busy dumping pats of butter and adding salt and pepper to his unappetizing-looking breakfast concoction.
"It probably tastes like ass." She informed him as she handed him the cup. "It smells like it."
"My favorite." He said humorlessly. "Just the way I like it."
"Yeah." She wrinkled her nose and took a sip. "It's hot and caffeinated."
"Here." Mary turned and found Marshall holding out his spoon to her. "Try it."
"You're kidding me?" She wasn't the type to let a man feed her.
"It's good. I promise."
"It looks like…"
"Fine, it's okay. They're instant grits, so not the best. But I'll buy some real ones, take 'em back, and make you the good stuff when we get home."
"Try it." He urged, not at all surprised when she grabbed the spoon from him rather than just leaning forward and taking a bite.
She chewed thoughtfully, and met his eyes. The texture was not unlike cream of wheat, but it was savory and…good.
"You like?"
"Not bad." Mary shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly.
"I can make better." He assured her.
"Alright, sports fans!" The overly infantilizing speaker interrupted their meal, and Marshall smiled at Mary's quiet "Kill!"
"Down, girl." He whispered in her ear with a grin. "Too many witnesses."
Mary was amazed at how easily they slipped into their "we just work together" roles. She took notes. He doodled on the side of her notes. They played tic-tac-toe again. At the first break, Marshall grabbed her arm and led her out of the conference room.
"Let's play hooky." He urged.
Mary fixed him with a glare and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you ill?"
"No. I'm bored. Let's play hooky."
"And do what, exactly?"
"Whatever." He shrugged. "You wanted to see the ocean. Let's go." It was the perfect compromise. Beach today, capitol Saturday.
"No."
"No? Mare? Why?"
"The exam is tomorrow."
"I'll study with you." He compromised.
"And the material from today?"
"Mary, is there really anything that's been said this week that you didn't already know? That we don't already know?"
There was not. Or at least, there wasn't much. Having Marshall the walking encyclopedia for a partner had advantages.
"Then let's get out of here." He tried a different tactic. "You know how you said you'd never really tried at school? I've never played hooky. Play hooky with me."
"How far is it to the beach?"
"Depends." He shrugged. "Is Chesapeake Bay sufficient, or do you want Atlantic? Because it's two and a half hours to the Bay, and three and a half to the ocean. You pick."
"What's the Bay like?"
"Nice." He shrugged. "But you want the real thing. Come on."
"I need to change clothes." She protested.
"Me, too." He handed her the room key. "I'll be right there." He wanted to hit up a vending machine before they headed out.
Mary grabbed shorts, running shoes, a sports bra. She should have thought ahead and brought sandals or something. And a swim suit. Not that she really wanted to be in a swim suit around her partner.
Marshall came in and smiled at Mary. "You ready?"
"I don't have sunscreen." She frowned. "Or a hat."
"We can stop along the way." He reasoned. "Pick up what we need."
"Towels. We don't have beach towels."
"We'll get 'em." This was a good idea. Mary was beaming. Radiating excitement.
He drove the three and a half hours to Rehoboth Beach and she let him. They stopped at a store in town and bought suits, towels, and sunscreen. Mary bought sandals and hats for each of them. She laughed at Marshall's bright green swim trunks, and he told her they were the same color as her eyes. She blushed, and hoped she looked okay in the suit she'd purchased. It was well past noon when they finally made it to the beach. He stripped off his tee shirt and toed off his shoes, burying his toes in the warm sand. The beach was mostly deserted at this time of year; school had reopened already. Grabbing the sunscreen from the shopping bag, he rubbed it on his face, arms, and chest. The last thing he needed was a major burn, and the sun was bright and hot overhead.
Mary was just standing. Still. Staring at the ocean with an indiscernible look on her face. He had too much sunblock on his hands, so he reached out and took one of her arms, rubbing the extra into it. Extra care on her shoulder. A little more sunblock, and he continued with the other arm. She had yet to acknowledge him or his efforts.
"Mare?" He was behind her, hands on her shoulders.
"I didn't think I'd remember." Her whisper was nearly carried away on the sea breeze that blew her hair gently.
"Didn't think you'd remember what?"
"Everything."
"Tell me." He urged, then tapped one finger on the hem of her tank top. "I'll put sunscreen on your back for you." She was pale. Blonde. Had a tendency to burn easily. She woodenly took her tank off and tossed it on his beach towel.
"Tell me." He asked again as he moved her hair across her shoulder and worked the lotion into the soft, smooth skin of her back.
"We used to get this rental place in Jersey sometimes." Her voice was far away. "Summers sometimes, but usually in the off-season. Daddy said it was because he liked the beach when it was quiet, but I think it was because we couldn't afford it otherwise."
He noticed she called him "Daddy." She never did that.
"We'd walk along the shore in the morning and pick up sea glass and shells. He'd tell me stories or I'd ride on his shoulders. It was before Brandi was born, and once after, but she was only a few months old. He left not long after we got back." Her voice was heavy with emotion that she hadn't planned on feeling.
Marshall was content that her back wouldn't burn, and moved to stand right behind her. Almost touching, but just not. She'd know he was there if she needed him.
"I haven't been to the Ocean since."
"What about Mexico?" He asked through clenched teeth.
"Pacific." She shrugged. "It's different. Here, it's…I don't know. Familiar." Strange. She'd never been to this beach before, but the small beach houses, the old dunes covered in sea oats. It was all the same. Deserted.
"It's the salt." Marshall supplied in her ear.
"Salt?"
"From the ocean. It's in the air. The smell. Scent is the strongest sense tied to memory. It takes you back."
"It's the salt." She agreed quietly and inhaled with closed eyes, then tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder. She knew he was there.
"I'm sorry." She murmured.
"Sorry for what?" He grabbed her arms and wrapped them around her stomach, his on top of hers. It made the gesture more acceptable.
"You brought me all the way out here, and now I'm…"
"Remembering." He added when she faltered.
"Yeah." He was sticky and a little slimy from the lotion, but chances were pretty good that she was, too. Rivulets of sweat ran down her back – or his chest – where they were touching. His sweat or hers? The distinction hardly mattered.
"You're allowed to remember."
"I don't want to." She shook her head. "I'm tired of remembering."
"Tell me what you need." He tightened his arms around her.
"I need to let him go."
Marshall nodded, but said nothing. He hadn't figured the conversation would lead here, and he had no wisdom to offer. This was something she needed to work through in her own way.
"I don't know how." She said after a few minutes of quiet.
"I have an idea."
"Yeah?"
"More symbolic than anything, but the act itself may carry a degree of catharsis."
"Just tell me." She turned in his arms, and he let go, then gripped her upper arms.
"Write what you want to say in the sand. Let the tide wash it away." Let the tide was the pain away.
"Will it work?" So like Mary to want a guarantee. A promise.
"It's a start."
"So there's more?" She tipped her face and tilted her neck to look at him with a frown.
"I'm sure there will be more." Her eyes were brilliant green in the sunshine. "You can't just walk away from memories. But you can decide to not let them define you anymore."
"That simple?"
"Nothing worth doing is ever simple." He tugged her toward him and let her cheek fall against his bare chest. "But you don't have to do it alone."
"Then what do I do?" She liked the way he held her.
"Then you tell me when you need a friend, and we'll figure the rest out together."
She nodded, and her head bumped the underside of his chin.
"Sorry." She smiled sheepishly up at him.
"Ready?"
"Got a stick?"
He glanced around them, then walked a few yards away. "How's this?" He held up a piece of shell.
"That'll do." She walked toward the surf and knelt in the moist sand. Marshall sat on his towel and watched, leaving her in privacy to write out her pain. It took a while. She wrote half a novel before she stood and turned to watch the waves lap on the sand. She spun around after a few minutes and marched back to the towels. Marshall had spread hers out already, and she plopped down on it unceremoniously.
"Sunscreen?" She held out her hand, and he dropped the bottle in her open palm. "Thanks." She stripped her shorts off carefully; tried to not take the bottoms off with them, and made sure the front of her didn't burn as well. She fashioned her ponytail into more of a bun, and put her ball cap on to protect her face.
"Wanna swim?"
"You don't want to watch?" He gestured to the words she'd etched in the sand.
"Nope. I want to move on." She stood and tossed her sunglasses on the towel. "And I want to swim."
"Okay." Mary's words gave him hope. Mary in that swimsuit gave him something else entirely.
Mary dove headlong into a wave, as graceful as a dolphin. The water was still warm, and Marshall waded in not quite as in love with the water as his mermaid of a partner. She stood and faced him.
"Come on!" She looked ten years younger dripping with water and grinning ear to ear. "Body surf?"
"Race you?" No one challenged Mary Shannon and expected her to back down.
Marshall had more fun playing like a child in the ocean that day than he could remember having in recent years. Combined. Mary was carefree. Affectionate. She grabbed his hand, climbed on his back and tried to dunk him. She splashed him and laughed heartily when he splashed her right back. He lifted her easily and tossed her into the deeper surf, then patted her back when she choked on water from laughing too hard. Her nose was getting red. So were her cheeks and her shoulders. It was time to dry off for a minute.
"You need sunscreen." He pointed to her shoulder. "You're going to burn."
"You, too." She tapped his nose with her index finger, and he felt the familiar warmth of sunburn.
They toweled off, reapplied, and lounged for a few minutes until Marshall's stomach grumbled in protest of lack of food.
"Feed me!" He squealed in a comic voice, and Mary laughed.
"Lunch?" She glanced around the boardwalk and found a diner. "There?"
"Before I die? Yes. My stomach's saying howdy to my backbone." He slipped his shirt on and shoved the hat she got him on his head backwards.
"God, you dork." Mary tipped the hat off by the brim. "Not a look you can pull off."
He grinned at her and settled the hat on right. She slipped on her shorts and sandals, but didn't bother with her top.
They ate burgers and split fries and a chocolate milkshake.
"Oh, here." Marshall grabbed one of the shopping bags and pulled out the bag of M&Ms he'd bought at the vending machine earlier. "Split 'em with you?"
They split the half-melted candy, and Marshall laughed when Mary arranged them in piles by color and number; then slowly ate them down from most to least. Just like he did. She squeezed one between her thumb and forefinger just to watch the chocolate squish out, then licked her finger clean completely aware of Marshall's eyes focused on her mouth. Hey. She could flirt, too.
"Do you want to head back or walk around?" Marshall was leaning back in the booth nibbling on chocolate candies.
"It's up to you." She was good. Having fun for the first time in forever. He was right about writing things on the sand. The tide came in, washed them away, and carried off some of her pain. Some of it. It was a start.
"Wanna walk around?" He wasn't sure he wanted the day to end yet. They were still close, almost like they'd been last night. This morning. But better. Happier. He held her, and she let him. She hugged him in the ocean. He'd started to ask why, but she shook her head tightly, and he refrained. Things were changing between them. They were changing. He vowed to just let it happen. Go with it. Be the proverbial river.
They walked, barefoot, carrying their shoes.
"How many nieces and nephews do you have?" She'd vowed to ask him more questions. Learn about him.
"Nine." He chuckled.
"Nine?"
"We're a prolific bunch." He smiled.
"Three brothers?" She clarified.
"Yup. All older." He paused, and rattled off their names. "Ben, Anthony, and Colin. Oldest to youngest."
"Then you."
"Yeah." He smiled at her. "Ben is married to Jill. They have two kids. Becca and Ben, Jr. Anthony is married to Lynn, and they have four kids. Joe, Travis, Chris, and Mae. Colin, married to Christine. Three kids. His, hers, and theirs. Jack, Beth, and Jonathon. In that order."
"That's a lot of kids." She observed.
"Do they live in Texas?"
"Colin and Christine do." He nodded. "Ben and Jill are in Huntsville, and Anthony and Lynn live in Kansas City."
"What do they do?" Mary felt a little outclassed.
"Ben's a cop. Houston PD. Anthony's a chemist. He works at a plant doing quality control or something. Colin is a vet. He and his wife, are. Large animal."
Mary nodded as she memorized facts, and then asked more questions. "Are you and your brothers close?"
"Not really." He admitted. They're all older. And different. We don't really have much in common."
"No?"
"You know me, Mare." He grinned. "They were all athletes, and I was on the chess team."
"You ran cross-country." She looked up, puzzled.
"And track, but that's different."
"They picked on you." She observed. "Because you were smarter."
"No, they're all bright." He assured her. "They were just…more like our father. He wanted me to be tougher. Harder. More like him. I never was."
"I'm glad." Mary admitted quietly. "I like you better."
He knew she meant that she liked him better than she liked his father, and his heart warmed. She didn't usually make admissions of affection out loud like that.
"What about…Ben? The cop? You two aren't close?" She figured they'd have the most in common.
"No. I'm closer to Colin than the others."
"The vet?" Mary tried.
"Yeah. He's closest to my age. We used to go riding together all the time. Do science experiments in the basement."
"Yeah?" Mary raised one eyebrow at him.
"We might have almost blown up the basement a time or two." He admitted with a hearty chuckle.
"So I'm not the only one with "pyro" tendencies." Mary referred to the incident setting the lawn on fire and nudged him with her hip, and he sidestepped into the water.
"Not by a long shot." Marshall bumped her shoulder with his. "We used to shoot targets in the back, too."
"Back?"
"Of the property." He corrected. "We had twenty or so acres then."
"Your grandma's farm?"
"No. Ours." He shook his head. "Not really a farm. Just land. My mom had a vegetable garden, and we stabled some horses, pasture. A few goats. A dog. Barn cats. That's all."
"That's all?" It sounded like something out of a fairy tale to Mary. One of those silly stories she stopped believing in long ago.
"You had a horse?"
"Got my first pony when I was four." He remembered. "Named her Butterscotch."
"You had a pony?"
"Yeah." He admitted, the awe in her voice not lost on him. This was why he'd never told her. He hated to bring up the disparities between their childhoods. He'd had a pony to play with, and she'd had a baby and a drunk to care for.
"I'd pay money to see pictures of you on that pony." Her words surprised him. He hadn't expected mirth.
"Wait till you see the ones of me in the bathtub." He joked, and loved the way her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped.
"Naked baby pictures?" She finally managed. "This I have to see."
"I never said they were baby pictures." The shocked look was back, and Marshall congratulated himself mentally for rendering her speechless twice in as many minutes.
Author's Note: That's all for now. Now I study. And fill out forms. Lots and lots of forms. I hate paperwork. I need someone I can shame into doing it for me.