Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, so don't sue me for that or any other reason, please! =P

Warning / Author's Note: The rating bump is at hand, and that is for sexual content. I truly appreciated all of your responses to the question, should they or shouldn't they, and each and every one of them had a factor in how this played out. What I've written here is not simply smut for the sake of smut; I hope there is much more depth to it than that. The teenage landscape is one fraught with peril and occasional lapses in judgment, and sex is a language of intimacy; I attempted to capture both of these concepts in this chapter. That said, I hope you enjoy it for what it is. I've been deliberately vague about whether Mary and Marshall are 17 or 18 at this point; an assumption of age-appropriateness for wherever you are is greatly appreciated. =)

Fish Out of Water

Chapter 15

"What?" Marshall said blankly. The myriad thoughts that had been bouncing around in his head since he'd climbed into bed beside Mary, hell, since she'd told him she wanted to spend the night again, ground to a halt in an instant. He tried to sort out what she'd just said to him but his brain was only delivering white noise.

"I said, I want you to sleep with me," Mary replied quietly.

"I thought that's what we were already doing," he stalled lamely as he struggled to process.

"Don't give me that," she murmured. "You know what I meant."

Marshall stared at the ceiling, at the numerous little stuck-on constellations glowing above him. All he could think in that moment was how stupid Mary probably thought they were. He knew it wasn't the right thought for the occasion, that there were certainly things of far more pressing importance that demanded his attention, but all he could focus on were those damned glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Why?" he finally asked after he cleared his throat, tearing his gaze from the ceiling to look at her again.

"What do you mean, 'why'? You're a guy. Do you even need a reason?" she asked incredulously.

"After everything that happened last night… yes," he replied.

"So, what? I almost get raped and suddenly I can't decide anything for myself?" she snapped defensively, stifling a sense of panic that rose in her as she felt rejection was imminent.

Marshall flinched slightly at the violence of the word as she uttered it; it brought to mind the reality of what had almost happened to her, a fate only narrowly avoided, the escape from which had been too close for comfort.

"I need to understand why you want this," he whispered, "and why you want this now, and why you want this from me."

Mary hesitated, drawing in a nervous breath. This was more explanation than she had counted on. She had expected that he would just go along with it. From what she'd seen of men, at least the men Jinx had been with, she had simply assumed they were all willing to have sex at the drop of a hat. Marshall's questions threw her off guard, and certainly, she didn't want to have to explain her motivations to him. She didn't even want to explain her motivations to herself.

"Talk to me, Mary," he prodded gently.

"I don't want someone else to decide for me," she replied, the words coming slowly. "That asshole Mark… those men… they would have been my first. I mean, I've never… you know."

Marshall's eyebrows rose in surprise. He had been under the impression that she'd had sex before; she'd certainly been amused enough to learn that he hadn't. Apparently that was just one more layer in the defensive front she put up to the world, part of her tough-girl image, and she sold it so well that no one questioned it… including me, Marshall thought with a faint pang of guilt. As much as he cared for her, he realized he'd bought into that interpretation of her nature because of her background.

"I know, it's weird, right?" she responded to his disbelieving look. "That a girl like me with a mom like mine isn't a total slut? I mean, I've done some things with guys, but… not that."

"I didn't think you were a slut," he corrected. "I just didn't think you were a… you know." A blush that had begun to suggest itself already now blazed across his face.

"You can't even say 'virgin' without blushing? That's so you," she scoffed, feeling a little more at ease. She was starting to sense that he wasn't rejecting her outright, but was acting more out of concern for her.

Marshall's blush deepened as he mumbled his reply. "I can say it… it's just… weird."

"Your parents never talk about sex?" she asked.

"God, no. Not to me, anyway… though I did overhear something really disturbing about a hot tub when they were leaving yesterday." Had that been only yesterday? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Huh," she nodded thoughtfully. "It makes sense. You sorta lose that sensitivity after the first time you've walked in on your mom and some guy on the kitchen table."

"Ugh," he grunted in disgust at the mental image. "Thanks for sharing that."

They laid together in silence for a few minutes more before Mary spoke up again. "I just didn't want to be like her, you know? And last night… I mean, it would have been horrible either way, but all I could think was that whoever it was that went first, that was that. It would always be that guy, and there wouldn't be anything I could do about it."

Marshall's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer against his side. His jaw was set, tense with anger as he thought about the men who had intended to hurt her. He almost regretted not having shot at least one of them; the thought occurred to him that if he'd arrived any later, while it was happening or after the fact, he wouldn't have been able to hold back like he had.

"Can you even imagine, if someone asked me who my first was, what kind of bullshit I'd have to make up?" she laughed humorlessly. "I'd never be able to tell the truth about that, not without other people's pity and judgment. Either they'd treat me like some helpless victim, or they'd take one look at me and my family and they'd assume I did something to deserve it."

"You could never deserve it," he said forcefully. "No one deserves that. Don't even think it."

"When you showed up, and saved me, it was like…" she trailed off, trying to order her feelings into words. "It was like suddenly having the chance to make that choice for myself seemed so important. And the reality is that I could get that choice taken away again and… I don't want to risk that."

"Mary…" Marshall rolled to face her. "There will be time. You don't have to decide this right now. You'll have the same choices tomorrow, or a week after that, as you do right now. You don't have to make this decision as if you're going to be in danger of losing your choices every single day."

"It's not just that," she whispered. "When school ends, you'll be gone… we don't have forever. We only have right now. You're my best friend and the only guy who's ever really cared. I could do worse than my best friend… a lot worse. It has to be you." And then, I'll always have that, even when you're gone, she added silently.

"I don't have to leave," he murmured earnestly. "I can go to college here and stay with you."

"No, you can't. I don't know when, or if, I'll want a relationship with a guy. I've always had my hands way too full with Brandi and Jinx. I can't be your girlfriend right now and you can't stay here for me. But we can have this."

"It'll always be ours," he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. "Mary, I don't have condoms or anything. I didn't think this would happen."

She rolled away, leaning over the side of the bed and digging through the bag she'd packed at home. When she rolled back to face him, she held a square wrapper in her hand.

"I stole some from Jinx," she declared, an almost prideful smirk on her face.

"Won't she notice?" he asked, eyeing the purloined rubber nervously.

"You've seen how drunk she gets," Mary scoffed. "She'll think she screwed a guy while she was drunk and forgot about it. She worries less about missing condoms and more if she gets blackout drunk and ends up with the same amount."

"Okay…"

"You know, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," she spoke hesitantly, offering him an out if he was looking for one. "It's okay if you don't want to."

She began to pull back, but Marshall gripped her wrist gently, her skin warm against his fingers. "No…" he whispered, drawing her back to him. "I want this, too."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it might not be the best idea. It was probably a downright bad one. Sex complicated things, or so he'd always heard, and in his head his parents' voices chimed in, demanding to have their say: When you've met a nice girl and you want to spend the rest of your life with her, when you're married, when you want children, his mother chirped dreamily, enraptured in her own plans for his eventual marriage and production of grandchildren… If you even think of doing it without a ring, it's your ass, his father added sternly. He wasn't completely certain either of those conversations had ever actually happened, but his parents were definitely thinking it. How could they not?

His mother had started planning her grand ambitions for him from the moment just after his birth when she'd first looked into his eyes, sweet, baby-blue eyes in which she never in her wildest imaginings expected to see a trace of defiance. That illusion had begun to crumble at the moment he'd stated, with the unbridled enthusiasm of childhood, that he wanted to be a marshal just like Daddy, the clumsy crayon drawing in his hands proof that her ambitions for him would one day be so much dishwater down the drain; and yet, she had persisted, forcing her dreams down his throat. College, perhaps Cornell; a career, hopefully in some enriching, fulfilling field like teaching; marriage, and a family; your potential, Marshall, never, ever forget your potential…

And Seth, dear God. A childhood of contrast and compare, do better, try harder, and for God's sake keep your mother happy; a lifetime of you're too soft, you're not good enough, not for this; and ever-present, the undertone of step out of line even once, and earn my disapproval and my wrath. And Marshall had walked that line, had tried to be perfect, had struggled to gain the approval of the man who was all that he desperately wanted to be. A childhood of stay, Daddy, play with me, please, I love you, and ever a retreating back in a business suit, because there was always a fugitive to apprehend, somewhere; and somewhere, in the back of his mind, Marshall wondered if he would be lost in his father's footsteps for all of his life, his own small child's-shadow vanished in the shadow of the man as he walked away.

And tonight, nothing was the same. A scant twenty-four hours ago he'd held three men at gunpoint, holy shit, I really did that, and he wasn't the same person he'd been before. He was off the rails, in uncharted waters, and apparently in no condition to keep a metaphor straight, either. And she was with him in this unexplored territory, the girl who had started it all, the girl who smoked in the bathroom and wore ill-fitting clothes, who raised her own sister and whose drunk mother couldn't even manage to be a mother to save anyone's life; this girl, who hung by a thread every day of her life and who brought her troubles to his doorstep without meaning to or wanting to… Marriage, children, he didn't know about that, but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to be by her side always, in whatever capacity she would allow, and now she was asking him to give her that one thing that was solely his to give, only he realized with sudden, undeniable certainty that it was his to give no longer, but hers to take, and had been since he knew not when.

And if they were separated, what then? She was right; if that happened, they would always have this. This couldn't be taken back. This would always be theirs, and his parents and her mother be damned along with the entire world that didn't want to give them a chance. Like Romeo and Juliet, his mind added pedantically, how appropriate. They had that, at least, before the end. True enough, that scene was a consolation prize if ever there was one.

And then time was catching up, a few moments' contemplations halted by her lips working clumsily at his throat, the sensation traveling swiftly to his groin, already well-suffused with lust, and he gasped softly as hands, fairly large for a girl, and strong, slipped under his shirt and fumbled nervously over his chest. His hands were on her waist and she was straddling his hips - when had that happened? - and the heat of her body against his flesh, straining hard at the cloth of his pajama pants, threatened to undo him. As if sensing the subject of his thoughts, she rolled her hips and a groan escaped his throat as he tightened his grip and stilled her movements.

She leaned back, her eyes filled with anxious want, and pulled the shirt she'd borrowed over her head. Moonlight from the window cascaded over her body, defining her taut belly, the full rounds of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples, and the hollow of her throat, and back to the eyes, her eyes which held him spellbound…

His shirt was gone before he'd consciously thought to remove it and he sat up, hands sliding up her back as he kissed her in the moonlight. Her tongue caressed his and her skin was warm against his bare chest in the chill of the night; one hand found its place between her shoulder blades and pressed her to him as the other knotted in her hair, tilting her head back and exposing her throat to his lips. It was instinct that was driving him now, some primal urge that had him lapping and sucking at her neck as she moaned and writhed against him, because all he could think was how beautiful she was, and that he wanted her.

She arced back as his lips moved lower, bringing her breasts within reach, and he obliged her unspoken request; his mouth captured the stiffened bud of her nipple and he sucked delicately, at first, and then with increasing pressure as her breathless cries spurred him on. She ground against his firm length, tantalizingly, frustratingly, as his head dipped to her other breast; as his lips and tongue repeated their actions on the second pebble-hard peak, her entire body tensed and she thrust against him more firmly. Her cries were replaced by a strangled groan, and as she shuddered against him, he realized with a shock that she was coming. He held her tightly, gently working her nipple in his mouth as her thrusts against him slowed, until she finally pulled his head away.

His gaze met hers; the need in her eyes matched the dull ache in his cock, and in his heart. He wanted her, needed her, loved her with all that he was, and he would give her anything. Pajama bottoms and undergarments were abandoned and in a heartbeat he found himself nestled between her thighs, her hand at the back of his neck pulling him down on top of her. She trembled slightly, nervous like he was, but she kissed him, determined to press on. Her legs wrapped around his and urged him forward, and he submitted to her, the condom left on the nightstand beside the bed, forgotten now that the moment was at hand.

There was resistance; he'd heard about it, of course, but nothing really prepared him for the experience. Her tightness was unbearable at first, almost painful, and as he pressed forward, oh so slowly, he felt her begin to come apart around him. She whimpered, her voice sharp with discomfort, and he stopped, filled with concern. He whispered soft words in her ear, that they didn't have to do this, but she shook her head, her voice quavering slightly as she told him to keep going. He held her tightly as he pushed further, pausing now and again to let her adjust, and as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye he stroked her hair and kissed it away.

At last he filled her completely, and there he waited for her to catch up, to signal him to continue, and she did; he set a slow pace, and after a time Mary found that it hurt less, though still a little, but it was beginning to feel a little bit good as well. It built, a little more and a little more, until eventually the good feeling began to drown out the pain. Marshall was surprised when she began to move with him, her hips encouraging him to set a faster pace. He gave himself over to her, allowing the sensation of being inside her to overwhelm him, able to throw himself into the experience now that she was enjoying it too.

Her cries filled his ears and he felt his release building, a coiling tightness in his guts and in his loins, and suddenly she was there with him, that guttural moan issuing from her throat once more as she tightened around him. The tension building in him broke over him like a wave, and he spilled into her with a cry of his own.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and feeling emotionally raw, stripped bare and vulnerable. She was his world; she was his everything, and he needed her like air to breathe. He held her, both of them trembling, and remained inside of her until he was no longer physically able. He whispered her name, Mary, Mary, Mary, knowing he couldn't say I love you because that would be more than she could take. His breath shuddered; he was so overwhelmed that tears threatened, and when she breathed his name in return, Marshall, he pressed his face to the pillow as they broke from him.

She held him, they held each other, and together, after a time, naked before the world, they slept.

Reality came crashing back a few heartbeats after Marshall slipped back into wakefulness. He rolled over and found the bed empty, save for himself and a dark-colored towel that he hadn't remembered putting down the night before, though it had apparently been a sound idea because there was blood, not a large amount but more than he'd expected. He looked around, panicked; she might have bolted after all, and oh God, there was a note. He snatched it up, hands trembling as he read it, and he let out a breath. It wasn't a note saying so long, I hope I never see you again as he had feared it would be; rather, it simply explained why she wasn't there.

Marshall,

I'm sorry about leaving while you were asleep, but you were exhausted and I didn't want to wake you up. I have to go get Brandi and you know it won't be a good thing if I'm still there when your parents come home. I hope you wake up before they get there because it's going to be really awkward if you don't. I set your alarm just in case. See you at school tomorrow.

- Mary

P.S. - Wash the sheets and the towel in cold water and they should be fine.

Marshall smiled faintly; it wasn't quite an endearment in conventional terms, but he had a feeling that the fact she'd left a note at all, and wanted to see him again, was as close as Mary could come to one at present. He started when his alarm went off; he'd woken up right on time, it seemed, and she'd allowed enough time for him to get everything back in order before his parents arrived.

As he reached for the alarm clock, his hand brushed something unfamiliar on his nightstand. His brow furrowed as he grasped at the object; he realized what it was as he lifted it up to see. Sure enough, there it was in his fingers: the condom, still in its wrapper, unused. He stared at it in horror, his alarm clock blaring insistently at the edge of his consciousness.

Fuck.

He pressed his palms to his face before running his fingers through his hair and causing it to stick up at odd angles, still holding the condom between a forefinger and a thumb. He looked at the offending object again.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He shot a glare at his obnoxiously nagging alarm clock, slapping at the off button as he gave voice to the curse that was repeating itself in his head.

"Fuck!" he shouted, giving the alarm clock an extra smack and sending it clattering to the floor.

He was an idiot, he decided, because who but a world-class idiot would sleep with his best friend and forget to use a condom, particularly after having made a point of having one out and ready in the first place?

"Damn it all," he muttered as he fumbled for his boxers and pulled them on. The least he could do, for the moment, was avoid getting caught by his parents; he stripped the bed down and lugged the wadded up sheets and towel to the laundry room.