*** Well, my friends, the round-up is over and the sun sets on our adventure. After all the excitement...all the worry, gut wrenching decisions and action...it's just time to go home. Lives have been changed...ended...begun, and the people who were supposed to walk away have managed to do so. And what will become of our budding marshal romance? Read on!

I spent my whole life not knowing what I want out of it, just chasing my tail. Now for the first time I know exactly what I want and who... that's the damnable misery of it.

– Tombstone

-o-o-

You must pay for everything in this world, one way and another. There is nothing free except the grace of God.

– True Grit

Mary felt like shit.

Her body ached, the Sandman and a few friends had had an orgy on her eyeballs, and her lungs burned as if she was running the perpetual marathon from hell. To top it off, her memories of the events inside Sheryl's house were sketchy at best. Her repeated attempts to recall details only frustrated her, giving her a pounding headache to keep beat with the throbbing in the rest of her joints.

A small, secret cavalry had quietly extracted the marshals and their charges from the river after being alerted by the equally discrete deputy sheriff. Mary and Sheryl had insisted they were fine, but Marshall overruled the pair, stressed the need for the children to receive medical care and had all four of them admitted to a small hospital in the town of Santa Rosa. Away from the hotbed of activity in Tucumcari, and with a plausible cover story to keep questions and gossip to a bare minimum.

Mary had felt a sense of relief upon hearing that the kids were given a clean bill of health, attempted to protest the doctor's orders of overnight observation and medication for her and Sheryl, but was promptly stared into glaring submission by Marshall. He deferred to her irritation by staying with her for a few hours and filling her in on the action at the barn. Eliot's involvement had surprised her. Her partner wasn't one to take outsiders under his wing on an operation, ever cautious and usually by-the-book, and she had to admit to a growing respect for the wrangler with a bullet in his thigh. The wrangler who would be left in the dark and likely mourning a loss contrived to keep him safe. The sometimes twisted nature of their profession had placed her into a foul mood, and she had dismissed Marshall with the pretense of sleep.

Now fully dressed and sitting on the end of the bed in a hospital room brightly lit by the morning sun, Mary half-listened to the nurse's discharge instructions, her mood unimproved. Twelve hours of suffering through medical ministrations had left her cleaner than the day before, but the stark confines of the hospital room only induced a sense of anxiety that had kept her up most of the night. She was exhausted, and just wanted to pack up her witness and head back to Albuquerque. Sort out the details another day.

She winced as the nurse now removed the IV from her forearm and quickly applied a band-aid to hide the insult. A sense of déjà vu enveloped her as she focused on her bruised and bandaged wrists. Years faded away into memory.

She sat in a blurry haze of light and sound, unable to fully focus on any one thing. Her body had run out of adrenaline, and like a balloon with a slow leak, she could feel herself deflating; unable to retain shape or substance despite a desperate need to exert some sort of control. A quiet darkness beckoned.

"Stan!" The loud, familiar voice made her jerk in surprise, snapping her back to reality.

Marshall was standing in front her as she sat on the back end of the ambulance, his expression dark and fierce, and she flinched when he captured her shoulders to keep her from falling over. Stan appeared next to him and she blinked up at them both.

"Why are these goddamn chains still on her wrists?" Marshall barked. "Get me some bolt cutters."

Mary peered down at the offending accessories, feeling strangely separated from her own body while she studied the bloodied links. Jesus, she was tired.

"Are you going to pass out on me?" Marshall asked quietly, one hand grasping her chin and raising her face so he could look at her. She thought he looked…scared.

"I really wish you'd go to the hospital, Mare. You were down there too long."

She thought of all the things that had happened – had almost happened – and shook her head yet again. "No."

Marshall sighed in frustration, stretched his neck and looked around at the activity on the street in front of the small house. Mary watched him and wondered what internal battle he was fighting. Finally, he looked back at her, serious.

"I really need to know that you're okay. No bullshit, Mary. Are you all right?"

She swallowed nervously, trapped by his intense blue stare. There was a depth of concern and affection in that gaze that she had never experienced before. This man had just killed another human being for her, and she knew, if given further reason, that he would hunt down another for the same purpose. For her.

With clarity came uncertainty, and Mary stuffed the revelation far into a mental corner to keep herself from wanting to examine it further. No good would come from it right now.

"Mary…Mary? Are you all right?"

Mary gave herself a mental shake and dragged her tired mind back to the present as her nurse tried to get her attention.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, sitting up straight. She really just wanted to get the hell out of here. "Are we done?"

"I just need you to sign the discharge papers, then you're free to go when your ride gets here."

"And your chariot has arrived," Marshall announced theatrically as he appeared in the doorway. "Impeccable timing, as always."

Mary looked over at him, expression momentarily unguarded, and he wondered at the mixture of relief and fear that flashed across her features before she decided to scowl at him.

"Don't pretend like you weren't sleeping on a chair in the hallway just waiting for a chance to make your appearance," she said as the nurse disappeared through the doorway.

"I did not sleep on a chair in the hallway," he argued, looking around to see that Mary had already packed her things. He turned back to her to see a grin tug at the corner of her mouth.

"No, you slept in a chair in the waiting room," she announced, confident.

Marshall surrendered. "The lobby, actually. The place is too small to have an official waiting room."

"Jesus, Marshall, why didn't you go back to the hotel with John?" she asked, referring to the other marshal.

He gave her a flat stare and she grimaced before answering her own question. "Because I'm in no condition to guard my own witness and there's still two primaries on the loose who know our faces."

"And I thank you for confirming my hypothesis that smoke inhalation and forced sedation would cloud your judgment for the next twenty-four hours or so," he drawled.

"Can it, Einstein," she muttered, slowly pushing herself into a standing position with a groan. "Even I will admit that I'm not running on all cylinders right now."

Marshall had walked over to the window and now stood staring out at the parking lot with his hands in his pockets. Mary could tell he was assessing while he observed. On guard. She walked over and stood beside him to share the view, able to see their faint reflection in the glass with the desert landscape a blurry background. They had stood in too many hospital rooms too many times, she thought. Life, or death, dictating their presence in a place filled with too many faked smiles and false promises; dancing around the truth and afraid to ask the real questions.

"I'm not going to run, Marshall." She could feel his questioning stare. "Part of you is wondering what's going to happen to us now that the case is over and we have to go back to our real lives. Whether I'm going to pretend that whatever happened didn't happen. But you won't ask, so I thought I'd just give you the answer and save you the headache." The long speech made her lungs burn again and she began to cough.

He rested a hand on her back until she caught her breath, then turned her gently so he could look at her. It was the same look from her memories. She forced herself to keep breathing.

"Thank you," he said, reaching up to stroke his fingers along the side of her neck. He was surprised at his overwhelming sense of relief, and her unexpected insight. "And I won't give you reason to."

Mary seemed strangely transfixed and, taking advantage of the moment, Marshall leaned down to capture a kiss. The moment stretched into minutes, and Mary ended up wrapped against his chest, head tucked under his chin. Her hair stilled harbored the faint smell of smoke and it bothered him; another reminder of too many close calls. His fingers tightened reflexively across her back and he grinned when her nearly inaudible hum of pleasure vibrated through his chest.

"Mary," he began, but was rendered silent as she abruptly stepped backwards out of his grasp and held up a warning finger. Raised one eyebrow at his puzzled expression.

"No waxing, remember?"

She turned to walk over to her belongings and threw him an exasperated look while she zipped up her bag.

"Stop standing there like an idiot and carry this damn bag for me. I'm sure Stan is expecting us back by sundown."

Marshall sighed and heeded her disguised plea for escape. One of these days, he promised himself, one of these days when she couldn't escape, he would wax. He ushered her out the doorway with a knowing smile as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

-o-o-o-o-

Sheryl met them in the hallway outside the hospital room she had been allowed to share with her children. She made sure the kids were settled on one of the beds watching a favorite cartoon on the TV, and had adjusted the volume to assure that the adults wouldn't be overheard. A nurses' aide walked by, and Marshall studied Sheryl as she watched the young woman disappear around the corner. She looked as he would expect: nervous, tired and worn around the edges. He gazed flicked over to his partner. Both women looked as though they could use more than a few days of solid sleep.

"How are you doing?" he broke the silence and directed the question towards Sheryl. "How are the kids holding up?"

She glanced back into the room before answering. "It's too early to tell for sure, but they seem to be okay. I think the hard part is yet to come…for all of us."

"We have some very good child psychologists in Albuquerque who work with us," Marshall said. "I'll make sure to get you in as soon as possible after you're settled."

Sheryl still looked unsure.

"Children are very resilient, especially when they get effective counseling following traumatic events," he added.

"It's not just that," she began hesitantly, studying something behind him in the hallway. "I worry that Albuquerque is too close to home. I had read that witnesses usually don't get relocated within their home state, and I was just wondering…" she trailed off, then quickly looked at Mary. "Are you sure we'll be safe? Really sure?"

Mary smiled gently and reached out to squeeze Sheryl's shoulder. "No one outside of Tucumcari knows who you are, and everyone in the town, plus those involved in the deal, now think you're all dead. They won't be looking for you, and no one in Albuquerque will think twice about a new Native family moving into the neighborhood. It's all about blending into your environment. And if at anytime we think it's no longer safe for you there, we'll move you."

Marshall chimed in, thinking Sheryl's grimace of distress was still related to the choice of city, "It's very likely that after the trial you'll no longer need to stay in the program, and you'll be free to move to wherever you'd like. But that depends on a lot of things, and it's a far ways off."

The woman's dark eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. "No one thinks we survived the fire? No one?"

He realized the woman hadn't heard anything past that fact.

"Right now, only the marshals involved in the case - " Mary broke off her reply as Marshall nudged her arm with his elbow and cast her a meaningful sideways look.

"I'm sorry, Sheryl," he said softly. "No one can know…as painful as that can be."

The trio stood silently for a few minutes while Mary chewed on her lip and cast him worried glances. He gently tapped her wrist with his fingers to grant her patience. Sheryl wiped at her eyes and tried to regain her composure, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders as the kids broke into giggles in the room. She nodded slowly before turning her attention back to her marshals.

"I understand. It's probably better this way anyway." She didn't leave them anytime to ponder the statement. "So when do we leave?"

Marshall wondered how long the sadness would linger in the woman's eyes. "Inspector McAuley will be here with the car in about twenty minutes. We'll head out then."

-o-o-o-o-

Mary felt her eyelids growing heavy as the car tires hummed along the highway. They had left Santa Rosa about thirty minutes ago, and she had no delusions that she would stay awake for the two hour drive ahead of them. Marshall had gotten everyone breakfast at the 7-11 just outside of town, and even with an extra large coffee burning in her gut she wasn't able to fight the siren song of sleep. A high pitched squeal of displeasure catapulted her back into wakefulness, dispelling any thoughts of slumber.

"What the - " her curse was cut short as a minor turf war broke out in the back seat. Apparently Leanne had encroached on Tyler's "side." Mary shared a pained look with Marshall before turning her attention to the back seat occupants. Sheryl was already disciplining the kids with a few sharp words and apologizing to the marshals.

"Sorry. They've never been on a long car trip. They're just not used to sitting still for this long without something to do."

Mary was trying to remember one of the stupid car games Marshall often forced her to play when her partner took the reins.

"Hey kids," he asked excitedly. "See the group of rocks over there?" Both kids craned their necks to peer in the direction he pointed.

"That's called Dead Man's Fortress. It's a very famous landmark."

Liar, Mary mouthed at him, knowing there was no such place, and he wrinkled his nose at her in return.

"What's a fortress?" asked Tyler.

"It's a castle, dummy," his sister informed him, then leaned forward to question Marshall.

"Why is it called that? Are there dead people in there? It doesn't look like a castle."

Marshall glanced over at Mary with a grin and wink, then adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Leanne. She knew that look and leaned back into her seat with a tortured sigh. He was about to launch into a long, likely boring, story.

"It's a pretty long story about many battles between cowboys and Indians and all the ghosts left behind. Do you want to hear it?"

"Do the Indians win?" Tyler asked.

"The Indians never win, Tyler." Leanne rolled her eyes dramatically at her brother's ignorance.

"Actually," Marshall corrected her, "in these parts the Indians won most of the time. This story is about one of those times."

Leanne looked skeptical. "Yeah? I never heard a story about the Indians winning." She settled back into her seat and crossed her arms. "Okay. I guess you can tell it if you want."

That was the most Mary had ever heard Leanne say in one go, the girl having been abnormally quiet up until now. She rolled her head to one side in order to watch the back seat occupants in the mirror. Leanne's eyes were glued to the back of Marshall's head as he began to spin his tale, and her brother pressed his nose to the window to watch the fabled landmark grow closer. A world of adventure awaited them, both in fiction and in reality; lives forever changed by a second chance outside their making. Mary sincerely wished for their new life to be better than the old.

Her gaze drifted over to Sheryl. The woman stared out the side window as she absent-mindedly stroked her daughter's hair, the action probably soothed her more than it did the child. Mary had no doubts that Sheryl would survive, but she wondered if the woman had left more than her old life behind. It was excruciating painful to watch someone walk away with a piece of your heart, she knew that all too well, but she had never really considered it from the other side. Never wanted to think about the reasons because she hated to admit there could be a reason.

The kids laughed at some joke in the story and Sheryl smiled briefly in response. Two reasons, Mary reconsidered.

She was interrupted from her own thoughts as her partner tapped her arm with a pack of gum, offering her a piece as he continued to recite his epic. She stared at the long fingers attached to the small blue box, her mind still traveling down melancholy lane, and suddenly wondered if she would be able to walk away from Marshall. If there could ever be a reason to force that decision. The mental exercise quickly depressed her, and she felt another pang of sadness for her witness.

Missed chances were often never recaptured, and only the truly lucky got a second go at it. She hoped Sheryl's luck hadn't run out.

*** I cannot thank you all enough for reading! And for your support! Of course, I wait hopefully for your comments, thoughts, concerns and REVIEWS! ***

***Do we need an epilogue? Let me know! ***