Author's Note: I apologize again for the delay in this chapter. I have been sick for six weeks straight, and I'm exhausted. Lost my voice for an entire week – which make seeing patients interesting since the youngest are 70 years old. I think I'm finally getting better. My doc gave me a half day off this week, and I've done nothing but sleep on my time off for weeks. Here's hoping I am actually getting well!
The revelation nearly knocked Mary on her ass. She held her breath as she contemplated the implications of her new knowledge. He had tried to tell her. Many times. He'd offered himself to her more times than she could count, and she had turned him down, cut him off, and mocked him for his tendency towards the sappy. Messy. He'd offered her messy, but that was something he could never be. Marshall wasn't messy. Nothing he did was messy. His house was perfectly in order at all times, just like the rest of his life. Her life was chaos. It had been for almost as long as she could remember, and still he wanted to be with her. It was chilling. Terrifying. And confusing as hell. She wasn't romantic, girlfriend material, and he knew that. What the hell was he thinking?
Mary found herself irritated with her partner. She couldn't be what he needed. What he wanted. She wasn't into the schmoopy, dopey, lovey-dovey, girly, romantic crap that most girls loved. That Marshall loved. She took one step back, and stopped, looking intently at her partner's face in the darkness of the chilly room. Clean lines. Strong jaw. A kind face. Kind blue eyes that never judged her. A sweet, caring smile when she needed it. Strong arms that held her when she needed a hug, even if she'd never admit it. Ears that listened to her rant about her inane family members, and never failed to try to make her feel better when she needed. And he always knew when she needed it. She reached an index finger out to trace along his jaw. The hollow under his cheek bones. Forehead. This man was too good for her.
He stirred when he felt her touch, already awake, but sensing some turmoil in his partner as she jerked her hand away.
"Mare?" He croaked, voice dry from exhaustion and thirst. His eyes focused on her face, and instantly recognized the terror he saw there. She was going to run. Again. He'd made a mistake by laying it all on the table a few months ago. He bared his heart in the office, and she'd run. Bolted to Mexico with another man. His ego was bruised, but he'd learned from that mistake. Misstep. He'd not dally there again.
Before she could react, Marshall had snaked an arm around her waist. "Come back to bed."
She never even saw it coming, but she found herself lifted off the ground and rolled over the top of her partner's long form. He was tucking the blankets in around her by the time the room stopped spinning.
"You'll catch a cold out there." His voice was low in her ear, and she wondered if it always sounded so sexy. Had she really never noticed?
"You don't actually catch a cold from being cold, Doofus." She parroted back a speech he'd given her years ago. "Prolonged cold temperatures may induce hypothermia or a state of decreased immune function, but it does not, in fact, make you sick. It just might make you more susceptible to getting sick."
"You listened!" He exclaimed, face lighting up with a wide smile. He remembered the conversation. It had been an unseasonably cold day in Albuquerque, and Mary had been new to the state. New to their partnership. She'd forgotten a coat, and was badgering Marshall to give her his, but her logic was flawed, and Marshall had informed her of such. She'd scowled and punched him in the arm, but she had dropped the topic. Twenty minutes later, her chattering teeth finally made Marshall feel sorry for her, and he wrapped his coat around her shoulders. Then he grabbed his spare jacket out of the trunk and put it on. She had thanked him with a glare, but her thanks were genuine four hours later when she handed him back the coat. It had smelled like her, and he hadn't washed it for a few more days until the scent wore off, even though she'd spilled coffee on the left sleeve.
"I didn't have a choice." She retorted dryly. "I was trapped in a freezing car with you for five hours."
"Yeah, but you remembered." He sounded elated at this revelation.
"Go to sleep, Gladys." She sounded annoyed, but truthfully, she was very, very comfortable. Tucked against her warm partner, two blankets wrapped around them both. He smelled clean and fresh from the shower, that manly scent that she had grown to associate with her partner.
"Is everything okay?" It was risky, but sometimes a little risk is worth it.
She hesitated, and he wondered if she would tell him what she meant when she uttered her whispered discovery a few minutes ago.
"Just had to pee, Marshall." She sounded different. Unsettled.
"If you…"
She cut him off before he could get any farther. She was used to this, and the realization floored her. "I'm fine. Go to sleep."
Sleep, though, would be elusive for both of them.
Marshall continued his mental cataloging of just exactly what it felt like to hold Mary in his arms all night. The way she smelled. The curve of her hip as it pressed against him. The softness of any skin in reach that he could stroke without putting his life in jeopardy. It was a ritual he'd repeated the night before, but felt the need to continue just in case. Just in case he was never granted this opportunity again. She was preoccupied with something, and Marshall was taking full advantage. Sort of. His mother brought him up right, so fingers never strayed to anywhere she might find personally offensive.
Mary barely even registered his gentle touch as her brain scrambled to make sense of this new information. She didn't notice the gentle fingers winding their way through her long hair. Feather light fingertips trace her jaw or down the side of her face. The soft skin of her arm was thoroughly explored before he moved to ribs. Still covered in soft tee shirt, he traced each delicate bone around until he felt it unsafe to do so any longer. Sharp jut of her hip bone. Marshall Mann was a man in heaven – or as close to it as he ever dreamed he'd come.
Brain working in overtime, Mary tried to remember when Marshall had become more than just her goofy partner. The guy who occupied the other office chair. Who fixed her computer and brought her coffee and ran interference when she was ballistic. Somehow, he'd become her friend, and she had accepted that. It was nice to have a friend. She'd let herself grow dependent upon him, and that, miraculously, had been okay, too. Only now she was more than dependent. She was attached. Mary Shannon didn't do attachments. Not emotional ones, anyway. She didn't trust anyone enough to waste the potential heartache. She still remembered the mental flagellations she'd engaged in when she thought he was leaving three years ago. Scolding herself for her lapse in self preservation. For thinking she needed him. For the pain she knew she'd feel when he finally did leave. But then he hadn't left. He'd stayed. For her. And she'd flung crap and insults just like before, but she watched him more closely now. That fear was still fresh, and coupled with the discovery from earlier, it was a heady thing to wrestle.
Katie said Marshall loved her, and she was generally right about these things. The girl had an insight into humanity that Mary alternately envied and mocked. The reason her shorter cousin had insisted on inviting him for dinner nearly every night was suddenly very obvious. Mary had been blind, so very, very blind. Katie wasn't interested in Marshall herself. She'd been telling the truth. She was subtly pushing Mary towards her partner. Gentle nudging with food and time alone after the cook and instigator of these "dates" retired to the bedroom on the pretense of needing to study. Marshall stayed because he enjoyed her company, and Mary found herself wondering if perhaps he was in on the plan as well. Had the two of them discussed this? Conspired to draw Mary's head out of her figurative ass and shove the two of them together. Towards what? Years of wedded bliss? Mary scoffed.
Marshall mistook the scoff for coughing or shivering, and his arms tightened.
"You okay?" His voice sounded too worried, Mary noticed. "Need some water? Are you cold?"
"I'm okay."
"Sure?" Those long fingers had resumed their stroking. Face. Hair. It was all fair game.
"I'm sure." She didn't chastise him, though. Or push his fingers away from her face. Actually, she moved a twinge closer; tilted her face into his exploration.
"Okay." His sounded uncertain.
"Sorry I woke you." She hadn't realized that he'd been wide awake.
"You didn't." Her mental preoccupations had prevented her from noticing the gentle ministrations.
"You're tense." Marshall observed.
"No I'm not." Her inclination towards obstinacy ran deep.
"You are." Marshall quietly protested. "Something's bothering you."
She couldn't decide if she hated him for know her that well or if it was sweet. Either way she had to give him hell for it. Otherwise she just wouldn't be Mary.
"I thought you'd lost your membership to the Psychic Friends Network." She retorted, happy to fall back on their usual banter and parry.
"Just Miss Cleo." He chuckled. "She really should have seen it coming, though."
Mary groaned at the bad joke, but smiled anyway. It was dark, and he wouldn't be able to see it.
"What's got you all riled up and awake at this time of night?" Her partner's voice was soft as it cut through the darkness.
"Nothing, Nancy."
"Nosy Nancy?" He got the reference instantly; a shared private joke between the two of them.
"Anyone ever tell you you're a pain in the ass?"
Marshall laughed before answering. "Just you. And every girl I've ever dated."
Mary had no reply for that one. She was busy trying to figure out why any girl who managed to land a guy like Marshall would say something that hurtful to him. Then again, she'd said it, too. She said a lot of hurtful things to him on a daily basis, and he rarely fired back. When he did, it was never that mean. Never hurt her. He never hurt her. That was sobering. Mary was used to being hurt. She was used to guarding and watching and being ever vigilant to protect herself against the many weapons a man could fire her way. She had, over the years, discovered that she didn't been to be so watchful around his unusual man.
But Marshall. He shouldn't ever be used to being hurt. He was sweet and kind. Caring. Tender. Mary had wondered from time to time what kind of woman Marshall liked. She imagined him with a tiny homemaker; adorable and peppy. The kind of woman who made Wonder Woman look lazy as she balanced three beautiful children and a lovely household and probably volunteer work at the church. Only a guy like Marshall could have a life like that. He deserved it, too, Mary had to admit. He was perfect. The perfect guy. As close to Prince freaking Charming as a girl could get. The kind of guy Mary knew she'd never have. She scowled, rolled over a little, and took a deep, shaky breath. Life was unfair.
She was being lulled to sleep, though, without realizing it. Marshall had a secret weapon in his arsenal of ways to relax Mary, and he was using it. Gentle fingers in her hair took her to that sweet place of rest, and Marshall actually managed to follow.
Marshall woke before Mary the next morning. He needed to pee, but there was something preventing him from doing that. Mary was asleep, and laying mostly on top of him. Her face was buried in his neck, and one arm was curled around his head, fingers tangled in his hair. One leg was between his, and Marshall realized she was tantalizingly close to parts of his anatomy that were currently saluting. Should she awaken, she would likely pummel him into smithereens. If he stayed here much longer, though, he'd need dry pants. And she would likely pummel him to smithereens. He weighed his options, and opted on staying put for a few minutes more. He didn't want to wake her, for one. She'd had precious little sleep the past few weeks. Work had been hell for a while, and with her ongoing personal drama, he knew she'd spent many sleepless nights of late. Plus, he was comfortable. Why fix something that isn't broken?
He finally was driven from the bed by the urgency of his full bladder. Easing himself from underneath his stunning sleeping companion, he hurried to the bathroom, saddened that he had to leave the comfortable nest. The light on his watch told him it was only 0523. They didn't need to be up for a few hours yet. He sighed and ran his hand over his face, glancing in the mirror as he flipped on the light. He looked tired. And old. Life was getting away from him, and he needed to do something about it before there wasn't any life left to live. He was closer than ever to finally getting somewhere with Mary. God help him, he needed this to work. This week away from witnesses and drama and her ever insipid family members (save for Katie) had been a vacation for both of them in more ways than one.
They'd grown closer at friends and partners, and possibly something more. He tried to not get his hopes up too high. He'd been disappointed before, and he honestly worried another shootdown would be more than he could handle. Still, he had to try. He owed it to himself. He owed it to Mary. The goddamn universe owed it to Mary. He sighed as he washed his hands and examined his tired face more closely. His eyes were red, and the dark lines under them would prompt Mary to ask him if his someone beat the crap out of him, no doubt. They'd stayed out late; leisurely strolling around the Capitol until they found a small, independent coffee shop. They'd stopped in for coffee and desert, and sat in a seat by the window for hours talking and laughing. Mary had stolen bites of his pie, and he'd snuck forkfuls of her triple chocolate cake. It was like a date. And he'd loved it.
He'd made her laugh with stories of the antics of four little boys in the Texas countryside. Mischievous little boys got into everything from blowing up bottles behind the barn to attempting real life cow-tipping with the livestock in the back forty. Mary had mocked him when he said the phrase "back forty," and she asked him if his first date was named Bessie. He told her about the traveling he'd done. Three months in Europe between high school and university. He'd spent hours in the Reading Room and the British Library. Practiced his French in bohemian cafés in Rive Gauche on the banks of the Seine. Amused horror at his discovery of what the real Red Light District was in Amsterdam. Mary razzed him a little for not partaking in the local color there, but he just smiled knowingly and told her he'd gone to the Van Gogh museum while he was there.
Mary asked questions. Real questions, and he was happy to answer.
"Were you scared by yourself in Europe?"
He'd thought about it for a minute before answering. "No, not really. I spoke enough French, German, and Spanish to get by. I think I was too young to know enough to be scared."
"Yeah?" She grew quiet and contemplative for a while.
"Did you go to Ireland?" She asked after some silence.
"Yeah." He answered quietly, sensing there was something to question more than just geography.
"I've always wanted to go there." She sounded wistful, and Marshall's throat constricted somewhat.
"How come?" He queried.
"My Grandma." Her eyes were far away. "She immigrated here from Ireland. She had this amazing accent, and she was so sweet. I'd just like to hear someone that sounds like her again."
Marshall reached across the table and clasped her hand in his. "We can go." He suggested hesitantly. "We can take vacation and go."
"I can't up and go to freaking Ireland, Marshall. Be realistic."
"Why not?" He shrugged. "You have a passport. I have a passport. If it's a luggage issue, we can easily remedy that. Stan would give us time off if we asked. Why not?"
She hadn't responded, but he could tell she'd been thinking about it.
Flipping the light off before he opened the door, Marshall took a moment to allow his vision to adjust to the dark before heading back to bed. Mary hadn't moved from where he'd left her, and he carefully slid back under the covers.
"Mmmshhhhll." Mary mumbled as she snuggled back up against him and buried her face in his shoulder again.
Marshall closed his eyes and kissed her forehead. It was his name she muttered in her sleep as she reached for him. She reached for him. He knew he wouldn't be falling back asleep. It was his name she said in her sleep.
A/N: I'm tired. I need another nap. I would, however, wake up to read reviews. Happy holidays, everyone! Build a snowman for me if you live in snowy weather!