Author's Note: Here it is! Chapter 15! I apologize for the delay. School caught up with me, and I got buried in work. Fourteen hour days are LONG! Thanks for staying with me, if you're still reading I'm touched and honored! Enjoy, and have fabulous weekends!

Mary was having trouble thinking on the way back to the dorms. Her day playing hooky with Marshall had been fun on the surface, and she was left wondering just exactly what lay beneath. She wasn't dense, and she certainly wasn't stupid. She knew her partner had feelings for her…probably those of the "forever and ever" variety, because he was just the kind of sap that believed in that kind of crap. She'd enjoyed his company. Hell, she always enjoyed his company, but today especially it had been welcome. He'd surprised her at the beach when he'd held her, and she'd continued the trend by surprising herself when she realized that she liked it when he held her. She felt safe. Whole. Content. Things she hadn't felt in far too long. They'd played in the water after her cathartic writing in the sand session, and she knew he'd been watching her all afternoon to see if she ever glanced back at the manuscript she'd carefully inscribed in the wet surf. She had, and she knew he'd seen it. Felt his eyes following her every move. And she'd felt the squeeze he'd given her when she turned her attention back, forehead wrinkled as she attempted to label the emotion currently coursing through her abdomen. He'd dropped a kiss to her wet hair with that half-hug, and she mirrored the facial expression now as she pondered her own reaction to his affections. No elbow to the ribs. No muttered name-calling. No threats to end his life prematurely. Instead she'd leaned into him. Accepted his comfort and compassion. Let his fingers trace water droplets down her arm then curl around her waist to hold her there against him. His cheek replaced his lips against the top of her head, and they'd stayed that way only a moment before the current knocked her off balance and Marshall had reached for her with both arms to anchor them in the sand. She'd ended up pressed against his chest facing him, feet dangling in the water as the undertow tried to drag her toward the shore. He did that for her often, though usually it was more of a metaphorical anchor than a physical one, but the significance wasn't lost.

He'd sensed her growing discomfort at the position and had dunked her quickly to add levity to the situation. She'd come up sputtering and coughing and flinging obscenities with the drops of water she sent his way as she skimmed her open hand across the surface. Still, she'd been grateful for his intuition, and her eyes held no malice as she gasped for air. He'd taken more liberties with her person that afternoon, hands bravely clasped around her bare waist, her rib cage. Grabbed her knees to tackle her or toss her over his shoulder into oncoming waves. He'd hoped he wasn't putting his life and more manly parts in jeopardy by doing this, and the gamble had paid off. She'd gone along with it gamely; had wrapped her own arms, slick from water, around his midsection a time or two, even wrapped herself around his legs beneath the water in attempts to trip him. They'd been gaining speed for a while now, and it warmed him to think about the recent increase in that velocity. She'd slept in his arms for the past two nights, and he had a plan for this one. She confided in him. Sat so close she was almost on top of him sometimes at her house or his. He'd even caught her dozing against him a time or two, her head resting on his shoulder, a sign of her complete trust in him. He wasn't certain if the new-found intimacy could be attributed to him entirely and the history of trust and friendship he had diligently cultivated over the past seven years or if he should be sending Katie a subscription to the wine of the month club as a token of his undying appreciation for her subtle urging.

She was watching him again. He could feel it as he steered the rental car onto a surface street. She'd been boring a hole in the side of his skull for the better part of the last hour. He knew better than to engage her until she was ready. She wasn't ready now. She was fidgety. Shifting in her seat. One hand on the door handle curling and uncurling her fingers. She was wrestling with something, but he wondered how deep it went. He needed her on solid ground before they dove into the conversation he yearned to have. He needed her steady. Grounded. Not teetering on the edge of a self-imposed precipice, denying herself the one thing that she needed. The one thing that kept her going some days was his friendship, and he knew this. He was her constant. Her confidant. She'd alluded to as much one more than one occasion, and he was loathe to rip that rug from under her and send her floundering. At least not until he knew exactly whom she would reach for when he did it. He needed to ensure that she reached only for him. Only for him.

Still, he was hungry. They'd walked a few miles on the beach, and that combined with the unusual amount of sunshine they'd both been exposed to effectively zapped him of his energy and left him feeling famished. He was sure she was equally ravenous, or would be if she ceased attempting telepathy on him and thought about her own physical state. They were both a mess. Hair asunder, tangled and matted. Sunburned. Dressed in an odd assortment of clothing and beach attire. And she'd never looked more beautiful to him.

He spotted a small restaurant sign in a strip mall and changed lanes quickly. "How's Indian?" He tried, knowing what her reaction would be, but asking just to get a rise out of her.

"Sure." She surprised him with a shrug. "Why not? You like it, right?"

"I love it." Now he was stuck. There was no Indian restaurant. Instead he'd found a small southern diner that promised to have excellent regional fare.

"Okay." She sounded resigned, and he wondered again what trail she'd been strolling down before his interruption.

"Marshall?" She blinked and looked from the diner to her partner's face.

"Yes, Mary?" He waited patiently.

"This doesn't look like Indian." She surmised.

"It isn't."

"You said…"

"I lied." He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. "How do you feel about okra and catfish?"

"Okra and what?" She gasped.

"Or something else. Barbeque. Fried chicken. Shrimp. Crab. Whatever."

"You're serious?" Her mouth was agape, but her stomach rumbled at the idea of good crab. It was so hard to get in land-locked New Mexico. The seafood that she usually ate was more of the breaded and frozen variety. Just seemed safer in the middle of the freaking desert.

"I am." He assured her as he climbed out of the car and turned to give her a look that clearly said "hurry up, I'm hungry!"

Mary was distracted over dinner, and Marshall didn't push her. He refrained from engaging her with his brief history of okra. Bit his tongue to keep the origins of barbeque inside. Gnawed on the inside of his cheek until it bled to keep from regaling her with the details of the ecology and habitat of the blue crab, which would have been followed by the plight of sea turtles with the growing light pollution and how temperature affects gender selection in reptiles. She had, in fact, remained so silent for so long that he was actually starting to worry about her. Again.

"You okay, Mare?" He asked around a bite of bread pudding.

"I'm fine." She shot him a tight smile, and he noticed that her eyes looked sad. Tired. Distant.

"You can talk to me." He offered softly, praying she'd agree.

"Really, Marshall. I'm fine."

"Is that why you haven't touched the pudding?" He'd ordered it à la mode because he knew she loved the juxtaposition of cold vanilla and hot pudding. Personally, he preferred to have his ice cream on the side of this particular dessert.

"Just thinking." She shrugged a shoulder and reached out with her spoon to snag a mouthful of goodness.

"You need to bounce anything off someone?" He offered. "I'm told that I'm practically covered in rubber."

Mary snickered at his unintentional double entendre, and Marshall smiled when he caught up.

"I just have a lot on my mind." She deferred again, and took another bite. "I'm really fine." She trailed off, then surprised him after a moment of silence. "Thanks, though. For asking."

He met her eyes, and saw something in them. Darker green inside the poorly lit diner, but full of something other than the usual emerald and fire. A spark of something else, perhaps? Hope may spring eternal, but at this point in their relationship, Marshall merely filed away the look and catalogued it under "Mary's pensive face." He'd gotten his hopes up before, only to have them smashed against boulders into progressively smaller pieces.

"If you change your mind…" He didn't finish because she knew the rest. It was a standing offer. He was always there if she needed something.

She nodded, and then dropped her eyes to her plate. Fiddled with her spoon. Licked the last traces of ice cream off of it unconsciously. Marshall had to avert his gaze. She could drive him wild. And worry him into knots. He was used to spitfire Mary. Ball buster Mary. Kick ass and take names later Mary. Sad, quiet, contemplative Mary always was a cause for concern. It wasn't generally a good thing when Mary retreated into her own head. He knew she tended towards loathing and self-reproach. That she knew she was competent, but doubted her own self-worth. Much as he tried, he worried that his gentle affirmations fell on deaf ears. Ears too well honed to the negative to even allow the positive to penetrate.

"Do you want to head straight back?" Marshall pushed his chair away a few inches and leaned back, stretching in satisfaction.

"Is there anywhere else to go?" She quirked one eyebrow at him, and he warmed a little. Relaxed.

"We're not far from the capital. We take the monuments by moonlight tour." He shrugged. It starts at seven thirty. We have time to make it." His offer was multilayered. He'd always wanted to take that particular tour. Stroll by the Vietnam Memorial and the Washington Monument in the moonlight. Arm in arm with a beautiful woman. So that was pretty much it. He wanted to take a romantic walk with Mary, and she seemed just open enough to let him do it today. Why give up a perfectly good opportunity?

"How much is it?" She queried, concerned that tour prices in the nation's capital would be exorbitant.

"Thirty bucks or so." He had looked at the ticket prices, but he'd honestly forgotten the exact number. "We could just do the walk ourselves. No tickets. I know my way around anyway."

"Yeah?" Sometimes his knowledge of random cities impressed her. Other times she just wondered if he had nothing better to do with his time than sit around staring at maps. This was one of those impressed times.

"Do you want to?"

"Sure. Why not?" It wasn't exactly enthusiastic, but he'd take it. "I'm a mess." She glanced at her attire, her hair curling in its rubber band.

"Slip your jeans back on in the restroom." He knew she'd brought them. She never went anywhere without jeans. "I'll wait."

"My hair is a disaster."

"Put your ball cap back on." He countered.

"You have an answer to everything, don't you?" She chuckled.

"Maybe not everything…" He had to move his feet to avoid her kick.

"We're going to be here day after tomorrow, aren't we?" She questioned as she rose to retrieve her jeans from the car.

"Yup." He nodded affirmatively. "During the day."

"We could stay until dark." She shook her head at him. She was on to his plan.

"We have an early flight Sunday morning. We should get some sleep."

"The flight's not that early." She countered. "And the airport isn't that far away."

"But we have to arrive early, return the rental car, yada yada yada."

"Fine. I'll be back." She held out her hand for the keys and handed him her credit card. "Don't go crazy with the tip!" She hissed as she walked out the door. He just smiled after her as he watched her leave. Like he was going to use her credit card.

Mary changed quickly and promptly returned to find Marshall sipping his refill of sweet tea with a suspicious look on his face.

"What did you do?" She queried.

"Do?"

"Marshall!" She warned.

"Nothing. I paid for dinner. Got a refill. Waited for you." He held up his hands and gave her a goofy look that told her she wouldn't get anything more out of him. He failed to add how he'd used his own money to pay for dinner, but she didn't ask, so he felt no need to inform her of the impromptu change of plans.

"Fine." She put her credit card back in her wallet and closed her purse. "Ready?"

"Sure thing." He lumbered to his feet and followed his partner out to the car, appreciating the view the whole way. There were perks to walking one step behind his partner, and this was one of them.

He drove them to the city, found a place to park, and paused to gaze up at the sky before offering Mary his arm. The gesture was old-fashioned, sure, but his mamma and his grandma brought him up right. He wasn't sure how Mary would react, and his stomach dropped for a second when she hesitated before smiling up at him with a questioning look on her face and accepting his arm. He gripped her tightly to his side like he was afraid she'd disappear, but she didn't say anything. She was used to Marshall being a gentleman around her. Truthfully, he was the only gentleman she could remember meeting. He held doors open for her, opened the twisty beer bottles for her so the sharp metal didn't tear up her hands. When they hiked he climbed up or down anything particularly high or steep first, then turned to help her should she need it. She rarely accepted, but she liked that he did it anyway. Once, a few years ago. When they'd actually been held up at gun point, Marshall had grabbed her arm and moved her behind him before she could react, the act possessive and protective. She'd been irritated, and gave him hell for it; berating him for being chauvinistic and hopped up on testosterone. She'd ranted about how she was competent and could take care of herself, but later that night she'd changed her tone. Alone, in her room in the dark she finally had time to process the situation. Her service weapon hadn't even been drawn yet. They weren't anticipating danger. Marshall was quick, drew first, and shoved her behind him. Took care of her. Would have taken a bullet for her if his ability to read people and talk them down had failed him. She'd quietly dialed 911 from behind the safety of her partner's back, fingertips pressing the keys by memory as she peered around him. He was honorable, this partner of hers. Trustworthy. A true friend.

A long time ago she might have called likened him to Prince Charming, but she didn't believe in fairy tales any more. She raged against the injustice that little girls were promised handsome princes, up on white horses that came riding in to save the day. Rescue them. Mary had long ago quit waiting for anyone to rescue her. She'd done it herself. Saved her baby sister, too, although she wasn't sure she'd done such a good job on that front. She'd done her best, or at least the best a child could do under such circumstances. Katie had turned out better, but then again, Katie had never truly been her responsibility. And she was different than Brandi. Self-reliant. Resilient. Saavy and smart. Perhaps that's the way it goes. You do a better job on things you aren't required to be doing in the first place. Or maybe Katie would have turned out well regardless. Who knows. There were too many variables in Mary's life. Too many what-ifs. Too many if-onlys.

Marshall was talking to her, and as his voice penetrated her thoughts she worried that she'd missed something important. She was trying to pay better attention to him. Really listen when he talked. Be a better friend. She was doing it wrong. Shaking her head, she used her other hand on his chest to urge him to a stop.

"I'm sorry." She apologized, and Marshall stared at her in surprise. "I missed that. Could you say it again?"

He was quiet, but didn't look angry. He just searched her face, looked deep in her eyes, then wrinkled his own forehead. "Mary?" His voice was worried. "Is everything okay?" Not only had she apologized of her own free will, but she admitted that she hadn't been paying attention, then voluntarily submitted – requested even – he repeat himself. And he'd just been talking because he knew she liked it. He had known she wasn't with him. He always knew.

"I'm fine, Marshall." Her practice reply fell off her tongue without even thinking about it, and she remembered Marshall telling her something long ago about muscle memory.

"Sure you are." His voice was soft, and he prayed she wouldn't misinterpret his intention for asking. "You're totally fine. And that's why you haven't heard anything I've said in the last ten minutes. That's why you barely touched your dinner, and why I ate at least three quarters of dessert. You're far from fine, Mary. I know it. You know it. I'm just worried about you."

"Marshall…" She started, but had no reply past his name. A question? A request? She wasn't even sure how to punctuate it.

"Tell me what you need, Mary." His hand encircled her wrist, and he squeezed lightly. Just enough to be reassuring, and nowhere near hard enough to startle her. He knew she hated being bound. Had since the "basement." She only ever called it that, and even then only after a few drinks. He'd pieced the story together, thanks in great part to him always drinking less than her when she was in a mood like this. Staying more sober so he'd remember anything she told him. He hold her secrets close to his heart, but he'd rather hold her.

"I need…" She was at a loss. What did she need? A drink? A man? A good lay, perhaps? All three? "I don't know." She did know. That was a lie. She needed a hug. She needed to feel warm and safe. Loved. Cherished. She also knew she'd never have those things. People like her don't get fairy tale endings, and there was no point in dragging Marshall into her own personal drama.

"Come here." He coaxed her closer to him, instinctively knowing what she needed, tugging on her forearms close to her elbows.

"I…" Her protests died as he wrapped his arms around her. It felt nice; being here like that with him.

The fading heat of the summer day whipped around them gently in the breeze, and Marshall watched as a cloud blew across the moon. She was tense in his arms at first. Ramrod stiff and nervous. His hands were soothing her back, though. Rubbing gently up and down. She relaxed finally. Little by little. Let her head fall against his chest. Let him lay his cheek on it. Let him draw her body against his, and drew relaxing heat from him. Slowly wrapped her arms around his waist, then moved them a little higher. Right beneath his ribs, hands spanning a few levels. Why not, she reasoned. It was Marshall. She was fine. It's just Marshall.

Except it wasn't "just Marshall." It was her partner. Her friend. The only man she trusted implicitly. It was nice in his arms. She liked being here. She couldn't like being here. Could she? She didn't pull away, though. Didn't push at him or chastise him for invading her personal space. Nor did she attempt to convince him that she was perfectly okay. Fine. Fabulous. She wasn't any of those things, and even she knew better than to try to convince him that she was.

"Talk to me, Mare." He pleaded with her, voice muffled a little as he buried his face in her hair. "Tell me about it. What are you thinking?"

"I don't know." She confessed uncharacteristically. She didn't know. But it was unlike her to be so honest about it.

He remained silent, but stroked her hair. Smoothed the curling tendrils from her face. Combed through her tangled pony tail with his fingers gently. It worked the other night; maybe it could now as well.

He felt her take a deep breath, but rather than talk she shoved away from him. Stood a foot or so away and stared first at her feet, then his chest, and then met his gaze uncertainly.

"I missed what you were saying." Diversionary tactics, and he'd know it, but she wasn't ready to broach the subject with him yet. Maybe never. Perhaps she'd just stay where she was; keep him at a distance. It was probably better for both of them that way. There was no reason for Marshall to get dragged into her world any more than he already was. She'd try to make him understand that later.

His heart dropped at her words, and he recognized them for what they were. A change of subject. An awkward, ungraceful segue into territory more familiar to her. A refusal to delve deeper into her own emotions. He was used to her defense mechanisms. Could rattle them off in lists and spot them from forty paces. Tamping down the growing irritation, he softened and gestured at a building she hadn't even noticed until then.

"This is the Jefferson Memorial. It was built in the style of Pantheon in Rome. There are twenty six Corinthian columns. The Pantheon has three rows of eight columns, and was originally dedicated to the twelve Olympian gods for heaven."

She stood and gazed upon the Memorial. Let the history absorb her as she was carried away by her partner's voice. Marshall wondered if she realized she was leaning against him. Resting her head against his shoulder. He continued, though, searching his memory banks for something…anything to talk about. He followed up his history of the architecture of the memorial with the history of the Pantheon. Followed that up with a brief overview of Roman mythology, which segued nicely into a history of the founding of Rome itself. She asked questions, which she didn't always do, and he answered them. Even chanced wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her to him. She did not resist, and he made no effort to move them from that place. Enveloped in darkness and history, he had her relaxed once more. Unaware of her surroundings and unguarded. Interested.

"Can we go closer?" She asked him quietly.

"Of course." He loosened his hold, but did not release her entirely as they made their way up to the steps. The lights of the monument gave it an ethereal glow in the night Marshall made a wish without a star as Mary made no move to push him away as she so often did.

"I like this." She reached out and touched one of the columns. "It stands for something. It's solid."

He contracted internally at her words, but only responded with facts. She could deal with facts right now, but he doubted her ability to wrestle with much else. "The marble of the floor is from a quarry in Tennessee, and the columns are marble from Vermont. The foundation is granite from Georgia."

"There's marble here?" She questioned, surprised. "In the US?"

"There's stone from every state represented in a monument in DC." He nodded, reaching out to stroke the column as well. The stone felt cool under his finger tips, in sharp contrast to the heat under his right hand that came from Mary.

"What's from New Mexico?"

He surprised her with his answer. "I don't know." He paused and took in her shocked look. "But we should find out while we're here."

"Tonight?" She queried, a tad apprehensive.

"Later." He assured her. "Saturday."

"Okay." She relaxed against him again, and he closed his eyes to breathe her in. She was never this open with him. Never let him touch her this long. Hold her.

She pulled away from him and he watched as she wondered around the inside of the monument, bathed in the orange light of the newly installed LEDs. She was a graceful creature by nature, and he liked to watch her move. She glided across the marble floor, not quite as polished as he was certain it had been, shine worn off by millions of feet parading over it in time.

"What else?" She called from across the portico.

"Huh?"

"What else is there? What can we see? I like it here at night. It's…" She trailed off, half ashamed of where she'd planned on the sentence going.

"Almost magical." He agreed, finishing for her on instinct. He understood what she couldn't say.

"Yeah." They strolled the sidewalks. Walked the National Mall, awed by the Washington Monument. Fingered the stones of the Lincoln Memorial, and Marshall quietly quoted the Gettysburg Address, a little surprised, but pleasantly, when Mary chimed in as well.

"There's so much history here." Mary whispered quietly in the night.

"There is, but there's more in New Mexico." He was, of course, referring to the ruins. The petroglyphs and other evidence of cultures ages older than their own.

"I should travel more." Mary stated. "Read more."

"You travel plenty." They both did, just not for pleasure. "And you don't have to read. You have me." He did tend toward the verbose, regaled her with history lessons and random bits of trivia that thrilled him, but she merely tolerated. Or so he thought.

"But you know all this stuff." She frowned a little, and it bewildered him.

"But I tell it to you, and then you know it, too."

She offered a small smile. An acquiescence of sorts that told him he was right. She did learn from his lectures when she listened. She vowed to listen more to this man. This fount of knowledge and the eclectic. He had a thirst for information on any and everything that caught his interest. Dove fully into each subject. Absorbed history and art and random, then recited it to her at intervals she never fully comprehended. She listened sometimes, then thought about it later. Searched for deeper meaning. Sometimes his lectures were parables. Parallels to her own life. Their combined lives. Jobs. Trials and troubles that befell them both by default of their shared realities. Other times it was merely filler. Knowledge he imparted just because she needed something to fill the gaps of silence on long drives or distract her from what was eating her.

"Marshall?" She questioned in a small voice.

"Yeah, Mare?"

She hesitated. Looked around her anxiously, and he knew that whatever came out of her mouth next was by no means what she meant to say. She'd scramble to come up with something else. A cover. Another diversion.

"Do you ever wonder if we're stuck?"

Was he wrong? Could he have underestimated her by that much?

"Stuck how?"

"Do you think…can we ever…can people, anyone…ever…" This was hard. She wished she'd never opened her mouth in the first place. "Never mind."

"Mary, what?" He stepped closer. Not quite in her personal space, but just on the periphery. "Can we what?" He waited, but she just shook her head.

"Mary, what?" He repeated; the look on her face was distressing him. "You can tell me."

She gazed into the distance, eyes sweeping and taking in the view before her before meeting his own eyes briefly, then looking away again. Embarrassed.

"Do you think anyone can ever change their own reality? Be more than their past? Or are we all just products of our upbringings?"

His heart broke for her. She sounded so lost. Broken.

"Mary?" He tried for her attention gently. "Mare?" Screw personal space, he moved to stand in front of her, close enough to feel her breath on his chest. "Mary, you know you already did that, right?"

She didn't respond for a moment, but raised her head to meet his gaze questioningly. "Did what?"

"Mary, look at yourself for a moment through my eyes." If he was going to convince her of anything, he'd have to do it this way. "You raised yourself. You raised your sister. Took care of your alcoholic mother. Graduated high school. Went to college. Finished college. You're employed. You're in law enforcement, hell! You own your own home." He could have continued, but she interrupted him.

"The bank owns my home." She corrected.

"It's in your name, isn't it? You pay your mortgage every month."

He was right. She'd never been late on a payment. Marshall often encouraged her in ways to improve her credit score. She nodded.

"You already changed your reality, Mary."

She made no sound, but moved one corner of her mouth to let him know she was considering his words, then shrugged one shoulder. "I guess."

"I know." He stated it definitely and fought to meet her gaze once more, and failing. He finally reached one hand out to tip her chin up and force her hand. She obliged, but only because it was Marshall. "I know." He repeated firmly, and she almost believed him.

A/N: That's all for now. Possibly for a few more weeks. This rotation is going to kill me, and I'm trying to stay positive. Review at will. :-)