Author's Note: Yay! Christmas is over. It was fun when I was a kid, but now it's just stressful. As obligatory gift-buying holidays go, this one wasn't too bad. I'm on surgery rotation now. The first week or so were rough. There were thoughts of quitting med school, finding a nice ranch and working there for the rest of my life, but I think surg and I have reconciled for now. I even had fun the last few days (step back!) My doc let me close a few days ago, and I got to open yesterday. So it's okay that I don't have a future in surgery, but I am at least enjoying it for now. So, without further ado, let's get down to chapter 19! Thanks for still reading!
Mary was bored. And her feet hurt. Damn heels didn't make for a comfortable day of standing, and her ability to pretend she was interested was waning. Marshall had warned her to wear some form of comfortable footwear, and she had rolled her eyes at him and glared. After six straight hours at the Smithsonian, however, she was more than just uncomfortable; she was in actual physical pain.
Marshall was in heaven, she observed, and she vowed to keep her discomfort to herself. The blister she was sporting on her heel was making things difficult, but she could do it. The rapt look on her partner's face, and his childlike gasps of pleasure and awe were enough to drive her into silence. They had been in the Sackler gallery at the Smithsonian for a good three hours already, having already spent another hour at the Postal Museum and two at National Design Museum. Mary had nearly had an aneurism when he'd announced the Postal Museum was their first stop.
"You've got to be kidding me." She deadpanned. "A Postal Museum? Stamps? There's a whole museum to stamps?"
Marshall hadn't responded, just nodded knowingly and led her into the atrium. She had grudgingly admitted to having a good time. The museum had contained more than merely stamps, and she'd laughed when she'd seen the metal stars the postal workers used to wear. The sleds had brought an appreciative "glad I don't have to ride in that."
She hadn't enjoyed the Design Museum, and she knew that Marshall was trying to make things interesting for her. She knew her interests were not as widespread as her partner's, but was enjoying the current gallery. Marshall's pursuit of origami mastery had propelled him into a gallery filled with Asian art, and his exuberance was nothing short of contagious. They were pursuing a gallery of ancient Chinese jades and bronzes, and she was surprised to find that the items were beautiful.
"Mary!" She heard him exclaim breathlessly as they stood in the doorway leading from one gallery to another.
"What?" She whispered back unconsciously.
"Look!" He pointed to something, but she wasn't sure what it was.
"What am I looking at?" Still whispering.
"The painting. Look at that painting!"
She followed his gaze and her eyes rested on a painting of unknown origin.
"What about it?" She whispered, but realized too late that he was no longer beside her.
"Look at it!" He wasn't giving anything away, and she was having trouble guessing.
Rather than wait for him to explain, she paused, and looked at the painting, read the information on the wall beside it, and studied it again. It was Persian, and was opaque watercolor and gold on paper from a manuscript that she didn't recognize.
"It's beautiful." She admitted quietly, not wanting to disturb his reverent silence. Perhaps this day wouldn't be terrible after all.
"It is." He agreed, then noticed her shifting from foot to foot. "Are you okay?" He knew the telltale signs of Mary when her feet hurt.
"I'm fine." She stopped fidgeting instantly.
"You're feet are killing you, and you're about to fall over or find a spot on the floor and sit until I carry you out of here kicking and screaming at me to put you down." He observed.
"No!" She frowned at him for knowing her too well as she protested weakly. Her feet really did hurt. "I'm fine. Really."
"Uh huh." He didn't believe her for a minute. "Come on." He leaned toward her and clasped his hand around her hipbone and drew her toward him.
"Wait just a minute!" She resisted, planting her feet and refusing to budge. "Where are we going?"
"Your feet hurt." He was staring at her like she'd grown a second head.
"My feet are fine." She snapped back, regretting instantly the acid in her voice.
"Let's get your other shoes." Marshall insisted. He'd been watching her for a few hours now, and he knew the signs of Mary when her feet hurt. She could be crabby when her feet hurt, and he saw no reason to deal with crabby Mary when he could just fix the problem.
"I'm not buying new shoes, Doofus." She swatted his hand off her hip as she backed away from him.
"Not new ones, Mare." He followed her retreat. "Your sandals are in the car."
"My sandals." She repeated. "Are in the car?"
"And your running shoes." He nodded. "And your boots, because I know you like to have options."
She glanced down at her shoes, then her jeans. The three inch heels were making her feet hurt, and her back was likewise protesting.
"I don't have socks." She wouldn't be Mary if she didn't argue.
"I brought socks for you." He grinned. "Gym socks for running shoes, and boot socks for…"
Mary wondered about how he had managed to slip her footwear into the vehicle without her noticing.
"Come on." He urged, hand curling around her waist one more as he pulled her toward him once more. "Let's go get your shoes, then we can come back in. You can pick the next gallery." He dangled the carrot in front of her, but knew it was a soggy incentive at best.
"When did you steal my shoes?" She asked quietly as she limped her way back to the car.
"Last night." He shrugged. "I knew you'd pick the heels, and I didn't figure you'd notice if I moved the other ones."
He was right. He'd tidied up the room the night before, and she had assumed that anything she couldn't find was due to him moving them to a neater location. He knew her too well.
She peeled her heels off, grimacing as the blisters caught and tore. Reaching for the socks he held out to her, hid her bleeding feet from him. It didn't work. She never got anything past her partner.
"You're bleeding." He tossed the socks behind her and squatted down to examine her wounds.
"I'm fine." She leaned back and retrieved her socks. Bending one leg up to slip the cotton garment on, her breath caught in her chest when Marshall snagged her foot and held it fast.
"You're not fine. You're bleeding." He held her foot carefully, not noticing the daggers she was sending him or the funny looks he got from passers-by. The blister on her heel was nothing compared to the one on the ball of her foot. Her smallest toe was dripping still from the when the blister popped.
"Why do you wear these things?" He asked in amazement as he inspected the damage. Her foot was placed carefully down, and he ensured it was left dangling while he retrieved the first aid kit he carried. Mary had given him plenty of hell for bringing the backpack, but he found himself grateful as he rummaged for bacitracin and bandaids, but he feared the latter wouldn't stick, so he grabbed a roll of Vet Wrap and carefully wrapped it around her gauze-encased foot.
Mary held her tongue as she watched him with curiosity.
"Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?" His voice was soft as he settled next to her on the back bumper as she laced up her shoes. "We could have done this hours ago, and you wouldn't have blisters the size of Rhode Island."
She shrugged, and waited before responding. "If they're just the size of Rhode Island, then I'd say I'm lucky. Montana-sized would be troubling, but I can handle Rhode Island. Or one of those other little states back east. Connecticut. Or maybe Delaware. "
"So why didn't you tell me?" He pushed again, feeling guilty that she would go through this much pain for his enjoyment at a museum. That should tell him something about her devotion to him, shouldn't it?
Mary shrugged, but responded anyway. "I knew you'd turn right around and drive back to Quantico."
She was right. He would. The fact that she knew that he would do that for her warmed him inside. Perhaps she was getting it.
"Or just let you change your shoes."
"I didn't know they were in the car."
"Mare." Nothing. He had nothing else to add. He wondered if he should have told her about the shoes. Seemingly insignificant bits of information that become so important in hindsight. Save her from pain; hadn't that been his mantra the past few years? Pain, both physical and emotional, had been something he'd tried so hard to shield her from, as he supposed she'd had enough of both for a dozen lifetimes.
"What?" Mary interrupted his flogging.
"What?" He countered, painting his best impression of innocence across his face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" She wasn't sure if she liked the way he was looking at her; his face a mixture of sadness and longing.
"Can you walk?" Maybe changing the subject would work. "Are you in too much pain?"
"I'm fine." She pushed to her feet and jumped up and down to prove she could walk. "Let's go back to the gallery and let you finish gawking at the cranes."
Marshall closed the trunk and locked the car, then jogged to catch up with Mary.
"There's more than just cranes in Japanese art, you know." He started to begin a commentary on the proper way to view classic Japanese paintings, but thought better of it. "You know, let's just go back to the gallery and I'll show you."
"Whatever, Pikachu." She elbowed him in the ribs and grinned.
Marshall watched Mary closely for any more signs of discomfort as they strolled around the galleries, but found little to none. She walked gingerly, and possibly wouldn't be up to a footrace to chase down a criminal, but she did seem fine. She let him pick the food for lunch, and ended up eating Korean food from a food cart.
"What is this?" She sniffed her food and wrinkled her nose.
"Bibimbap." He pointed to her dish. "And bulgogi. And kimbap."
"Looks like sushi." She shrugged.
"Sort of, except it's all cooked. Try it." He urged. "I really think you'll like it."
"And what's that?" She pointed back at her entrée, but was thwarted from further comment by Marshall shoving a piece of kimbap in her mouth."
"Chew." He ordered. "You'll like it."
She did as she was told, and was pleasantly surprised at the flavors that greeted her taste buds.
"You trust me?" He asked when it became clear that she wasn't going to hit him or spit out the food at him.
She nodded in assent.
"Then eat your food." He pushed it closer to her on the park bench. "I wouldn't order something I don't think you'd like." He took a bite of his lunch, and finished. "And if you hate yours, you can eat mine." He paused. "Or I'll get you a burger or something."
She carefully took a bite, and was pleased to admit that Marshall was right. He knew her, and the food was delicious. She made a note to add Korean to her list of foods that she liked.
"Good, huh?" Marshall asked around a bite.
"Mmm hmm." She snagged another piece of kimbap and popped it in her mouth.
"Want some?" He held his Styrofoam container out to her and smiled when she grabbed her chopsticks and tested his lunch as well.
They ate their lunch in relative silence, until Mary grew irritated.
"I liked that museum." She broke in.
"Yeah?" Marshall's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"You don't have to sound so shocked." She muttered.
"I'm not shocked, Mary." He consoled. I'm…glad. That's all. I wasn't sure it was your kind of museum."
"And yet you dragged me into it, and spent four and a half hours scouring its every nook and cranny." She retorted.
"It was closer to four hours."
"Fine, four hours and twenty eight minutes."
"Four hours and eight minutes, maybe, but why were you counting if you liked it so much?"
"I wasn't counting; I just like to keep tabs on what time it is."
"Ahh. Mary Shannon. Human timepiece."
"You're a loon." She chuckled as she tried to shove him off the bench. She wasn't counting on him shoving back, so she was unprepared for his counter push that had her landing in a heap on her rear.
"You pushed me!" She exclaimed from the ground. "I can't believe you pushed me off the bench!"
"I'm sorry!" He was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. "Here! Let me help you." He offered her his hand, but they were both overcome with laughter and he could barely pull her off the ground.
Once Mary was safely settled on the park bench once again, Marshall continued his apologizing, only to be cut off by Mary stuffing another piece of kimbap in his mouth.
"Hush." She admonished firmly but warmly. "I'm fine. I know you didn't mean to. I'm fine."
Marshall mumbled something unintelligible around his bite that Mary took to mean he was glad she's okay. In an uncharacteristic move, she leaned over and kissed him quickly on the cheek.
"What was that for?" He asked after he swallowed a few times to get the kim out of his teeth.
Mary shrugged. "Nothing." She blushed and Marshall found it endearing. "Just forget it."
Marshall was beaming, and he hoped she didn't notice his poorly concealed grin. "Do you have a preference for the next activity?"
Mary had to think about it. She might be museumed out, but she had an inkling that her partner was not.
"Want to walk around a little and then hit the Indian museum or the Holocaust one?" That sounded like a reasonable compromise.
"The American Indian Museum?" Marshall corrected gently, familiar with her refusal to do anything that might be considered politically correct.
She glared at him in response, and Marshall canned the urge to kiss her on the lips…or more.
They strolled along the National Mall, stopped at the Lincoln Memorial again. Reflected in the pool of water in front of the Washington Monument. It was getting late when they were through at the museum, and Mary's head was so full of facts about the indigenous people of North America that she thought it just might explode. Marshall, she realized fifteen minutes into their tour, was a far more interesting tour guide than the one leading the group in front of them around. She grabbed his hand and pulled him the opposite direction, and was treated to his solitary commentary on the history of the Lakota Sioux.
"Dinner?" Mary was famished, and she figured that her bottomless pit of a partner was as well.
"Somewhere nice?" He'd done some research before this outing, and he knew just the place he wanted to take her.
"I'm in jeans and sneakers." She pointed out. "And you're in cowboy boots."
"So?"
"I'm not and sweaty." She paused. "And windblown."
"You look beautiful, and we're never going to see any of these people again. What does it matter how we're dressed?"
He glossed over the compliment so quickly that Mary wasn't even certain she'd heard him correctly.
"But if you're concerned, we can always go somewhere more casual." He didn't want her to be uncomfortable, and there were nice places in New Mexico that he could take her if the relationship continued to progress.
"Casual would be good."
They had Greek food, and Mary rediscovered baklava.
"God, this is heavenly." She bit into a flaky piece of pastry, and Marshall felt his abdomen tighten as he watched her eyes roll back in ecstasy. "You can't get this in Albuquerque." She licked her lips, and Marshall glanced around warily looking for an exit. "I forgot how much I missed it."
A slow sip of coffee did nothing to quell Marshall's tension. She took another bite and moaned. "Okay, you seriously have to stop that." He said quietly, but in a tone that let her know he wasn't joking.
"Stop what?" He wasn't joking, but she wasn't certain of what he was referring.
"Stop eating like that. Just…eat your baklava and stop…that."
Mary stared at him briefly while her brain caught up, then she blushed again. Marshall found her blush just as endearing the second time.
"Sorry." She mumbled, embarrassed. She definitely needed to talk to Katie.
A/N: Yeah. So, remember how I'm on a surgery rotation now? Uh huh. I'm exhausted, and I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to go season the guacamole (trust me, that's saying something. I LOVE guacamole, and mine is amazing). ANYway…here's chapter 19. I only own Katie and the typos. I hope there aren't too many typos, but kindly ignore (or gently inform me of such). Hugs to you all if you read this far! Take care.