Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue!

Author's Note: Another magical update, as promised! It's Prom Night! Now the question is whether anything in teenage Mary's life can happen without drama... well, that remains to be seen...

Fish Out of Water

Chapter 18

She was gorgeous, Marshall thought as he stepped from the cab and found her waiting for him on her front stoop. Mary was swathed in a dress that fit her to near-perfection, strawberry red and what Marshall assumed was a current style. Her hair was pulled back from her face and secured by a clip, hanging in ringlets; she had either curled it, or someone had curled it for her. He glanced sideways to see Brandi watching eagerly from the window, and behind her, Jinx.

The older woman wore an odd expression on her face, a kind of forced-neutral-covering-bitterness that made Marshall feel unsettled. He supposed that kind of thing might be somewhat natural; he'd heard speculation that there was often friction between mothers and teenage daughters because the mother had a difficult time accepting her daughter as a woman, one who looked like a younger, often prettier version of herself, and that sounded like the kind of neurosis Jinx was likely to harbor.

"Hey," he breathed softly as he came to a stop in front of Mary. "I got this for you." He held up a box with a corsage in it; he'd had no idea what she was going to wear, so he'd chosen a white rose, thinking it would go with anything. She took the box from his hand and held it open for him as he drew the flowered ornament out and carefully affixed it to her dress.

"It's beautiful, Marshall," she murmured, a faint blush making her face glow.

A match flared behind the glass as Jinx lit a cigarette; she sucked on it for a moment, watching Marshall with narrowed eyes before turning from the window and retreating to the depths of the house.

"Are you sure you don't need my dad to watch Brandi?" Marshall asked tentatively.

"Jinx is home," Mary replied. "She says she can handle Squish for tonight."

Marshall nodded his hesitant acceptance, brushing his misgivings aside. Mary knew better than he did what Jinx could and couldn't be trusted with, he supposed. He met Mary's gaze with a grin.

"Your carriage awaits," he gestured to the cab. She laughed, tucked the box behind the potted plant on the porch, and took his hand, letting him lead her to the car.

"So, what's the deal, you couldn't afford a limo?" she smirked as she stepped into the backseat.

"No, I could. I just didn't want you to know that," he replied humorously.

"Seriously," she swatted at him playfully as they settled into the back and the cab pulled away from the curb.

"Did you want to go to prom in a limo?" he asked, eyeing her pointedly.

"Hell no."

"Well, there you go."

She laughed again, her hand still in his, and impulsively he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Mary faltered and looked away, taken aback by the suddenness of his action and the heat that had flared in his eyes, if only for a moment. A jolt of excitement had shot through her at that look; she did her best to quell the chaos that brimmed within her. The last thing she needed now was to complicate things any further.

"Where are we going for dinner?" she asked, a handy deflection since she was, in fact, hungry.

"You'll see," he smirked. "Don't worry, you'll like it."

His words proved true, for dinner was all Mary could have dreamed of. The menu was filled with untold treasures - or they would have been untold, except each item had a mouth-watering description printed next to it, and each dish sounded more delicious that the last. There was something odd about the menu though; it lacked certain information that, to Mary, seemed more than a little pertinent.

"Marshall," she hissed, "there are no prices on this. How am I supposed to order?"

"Well, you tell the waiter what you want, and then he brings it to you. Unless the waiter is a waitress, in which case you tell her what you want, and she brings it to you."

"That's not what I mean!" her tone grew slightly desperate. "How am I supposed to order something cheap if I don't know what it costs?"

"I'll give you a hint, Mare: nothing here is what you would consider cheap, but I don't care if you order the most expensive thing on the menu. It's covered, especially since we didn't waste money on a limo."

"The real reason you went with a cab is because you knew I'd break your food budget?" she asked, aghast.

"The real reason I went with a cab is because I knew you wouldn't care, and I wanted you to be able to order whatever you felt like having. And I'd feel stupid rolling up in a limo anyway, the same as you."

Their server approached the table and asked if they were ready to order, and Mary stared at Marshall helplessly.

"We'll start with the artichoke dip appetizer," Marshall addressed the man, "then I'm going to have the chicken Kiev."

"And for the lady?"

Mary remained frozen like a deer in headlights.

"The lady," Marshall spoke up again, his eyes showing obvious amusement at calling Mary by that title, "will have the New York strip steak, rare, and the lobster tails."

"Very good, sir," the waiter replied before scuttling away.

"Marshall!" Mary hissed again. "You can't order that for me after you ordered chicken! Chicken is, like, always the cheapest thing on the menu! Steak and lobster tails? I don't even want to think about how expensive that is!"

"I ordered chicken because I like chicken, and I've heard the chicken Kiev here is excellent. Also, I'm planning on eating one of your lobster tails, too."

"Oh, really?" Mary glared at him. "We'll just see about that!"

Marshall chuckled softly. "That's my girl."

They caught another cab to the dance itself, and Mary settled at a table while Marshall went to find them something to drink. Dinner had been amazing, and she had indeed surrendered one of her lobster tails to Marshall after she saw how big they were; she had no idea lobsters could get that big, and she briefly wondered what they'd been fed before deciding she really didn't want to know. Now that she was at the dance, though, she was having misgivings once more. She didn't want to dance and she knew she'd eventually have to - there was no avoiding it, really, because it was exactly the kind of sappy crap Marshall would be into, and she didn't want to ruin the night for him. He'd done so much for her already, and she wanted to give something back before they were forced to go their separate ways.

Then there was the fact that as much as she kept trying to convince herself that she didn't want to be here, that she was only doing him a favor, it didn't quite ring true in her heart. Certainly, she felt awkward, wearing a dress too beautiful for her and surrounded by people she barely knew and most definitely didn't like, Marshall being the one exception. She didn't want to understand how his presence alone could make her want to be here; those were feelings that had to be denied if she would ever be able to move on once he was gone.

She glanced down at the corsage he'd given her, remembering how his hand had trembled slightly as he'd affixed it just above her breast. He would get all nervous about something like that. Undoubtedly, he'd hoped she wouldn't notice, and she'd pretended she hadn't accordingly. The corsage really was beautiful. After a quick look around to make sure no one was paying attention, she ducked her head and sniffed it. She smiled; a rose by any other name really did smell as sweetly. Did I really just think that? she chastised herself, feeling amused nonetheless. Marshall was a terrible influence on her in some ways, mainly academically. She'd learned things over the school year that she had never intended to know.

She'd felt things she had never intended to feel.

"Is everything alright?" Marshall asked as he sat next to her and handed her a glass of punch.

"I'm fine," she replied, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

Marshall's brow furrowed slightly as she sipped. She hadn't noticed him coming back, and he'd caught her looking pensive. Perhaps expecting her to enjoy herself in a dress had been too much to ask. He hoped asking her to prom hadn't been a mistake; he knew she had likely accepted out of a sense of obligation, but he'd genuinely hoped she would have a good time, as well.

"Maybe we should get in line for pictures soon, get it out of the way," he offered. He knew she wouldn't enjoy that part of the night particularly, but his mother would very likely skin him alive if he didn't get photos to commemorate the event, and afterward he'd have the rest of the evening to coax Mary into enjoying herself.

Perhaps, then, she'd think there was something between them that was worth fighting for.

"What's with that, anyway?" she asked, her tone curious. "Your mom seems like she'd be the type to want me to come over and take a bunch of pictures before we even left. Did you sneak out or something?"

"She wanted to, but you got lucky. My aunt had to have surgery unexpectedly. It's nothing too serious, but she needs a little extra help so my mom's staying with her for a week or two. She took off yesterday."

"Huh," Mary grunted, nodding slowly. "Okay, let's take your pictures so your mom doesn't flip her shit on you when she gets back."

A short while later, Mary found herself being coached into an awkwardly faux-intimate pose with Marshall by a photographer who was likely, she decided, some kind of a pervert; he kept telling Marshall to put his hands here or there, to cozy up to her in ways that made her cringe with the knowledge that this picture would likely end up on display in Marshall's parents' home for anyone to see, and with every adjustment she became more stiff and awkward, making the process all the more tedious.

She wanted to simply relax and get it over with, but she couldn't. Every time Marshall moved closer, every time she felt his hands move as the pervert-photographer instructed, she flashed back to the night they'd spent together. A heated blush flooded her face, growing worse with each moment and certainly not hidden by the light make-up she wore. When she felt Marshall's hands on her bare arms, she nearly jumped out of her skin; she hadn't been expecting it because the photographer hadn't given that particular direction.

"Try to relax," he murmured, rubbing her arms slowly. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

"It's taking forever," she hissed, turning to glare at him when he chuckled softly.

"It's been barely more than a minute," he replied, smiling in amusement at her exaggeration. "If you hate it that much, I won't make you do it."

She was tempted, ever so tempted, to take him up on his offer… but she knew his mother would be disappointed, and she was unwilling to subject him to that in order to save herself some minor inconvenience and embarrassment.

"No, I can do it," she murmured quietly. "I just wish that pervert would quit posing us around like he's been doing. I think he's enjoying the show a little too much."

Marshall pulled her back against him, sliding his arms around her midsection and holding her snugly. Taken by surprise, her hands fluttered involuntarily to his wrists to push him away; she froze as he nuzzled her ear over her shoulder.

"Just go with it," he whispered, and after a moment, she relaxed into his arms. "Now think about me trying to ice-skate."

A smile blossomed across her face.

"That's a nice face," the photographer remarked. "Now, slide your right hand a little to the left…"

"Just take the damn picture," Marshall ordered, grinning over Mary's shoulder as he tightened his hold on her slightly.

A short flash of light later, the ordeal was over and done. Mary pulled away, and Marshall let her go reluctantly, following her to the buffet table. The pair loitered there for a while as Mary snacked and complained intermittently about the lacking quality, quantity, and variety of the food, spoiled by the dishes she'd had at dinner. Marshall kept thinking of how she had felt against him when they'd taken the picture. She felt like he remembered; warm and soft, though not too soft, and just tense enough that she felt like Mary, and while she'd been irritated by having her picture taken, when he'd held her, he had felt genuinely happy.

"So," she mumbled around a mouthful of food, her hand coming to her mouth to prevent crumbs from escaping, "do you want to dance now, or what?"

Marshall's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I quite literally thought you would never ask."

"Well, I know you're going to want to," she continued chewing as she spoke. "So I thought I might as well get it over with. It's like ripping off a band-aid."

"I'd be honored," he replied, "but do you think you can swallow first?"

Mary rolled her eyes and held up a finger indicating that he should wait a moment. She chewed hurriedly, then swallowed and downed her glass of punch.

"Okay, how about now?" she asked, smirking.

He smiled and held out his arm for her; she rolled her eyes again, linked her arm through his, and followed him onto the dance floor. The two of them bounced around in the midst of the other dancers. They had no particular idea what it was they were doing, but no one else seemed to have a clue either. The current song gave way to one with a much slower pace. Marshall pulled Mary to him before she could get away; he'd seen her ready to bolt when the music changed.

"Come on, Mare. You have to slow-dance at least once; it's prom," he murmured, playing it off as a joke while his heart was pounding with the hope that she would stay.

"Hmph. Fine," she agreed, with far less resistance than either of them had expected.

If Mary was being honest with herself, she found the prospect of dancing with Marshall more than a little appealing. She allowed him to draw her close, nestling against him with her head against his chest.

"This can be our song," he teased.

"Don't push your luck. 'Take My Breath Away' will be our song over my dead body," she snapped. "Who the hell is this DJ, anyway?"

She was rewarded with Marshall's soft laughter, rumbling through his chest and into her ear along with the steady beating of his heart.

"Your heart's pounding," she commented, sliding her hand down his chest to rest over the pulsing beat. "I can hear it."

"Of course you can," he murmured. "It's right there."

Mary looked up at him, and as she did, meeting his stare with her own, his breath hitched and she felt the pounding under her palm intensify for a moment. His body was pressed close to hers, and he leaned in, letting his eyes fall closed as he brushed a feather-light kiss over her lips.

It was Mary's turn; her heart raced as he pulled back just far enough to look at her again. His eyes were filled with want and unspoken promises, and she felt like she needed to run… but under that feeling, there was another urge, the urge to let herself drown in him.

She felt his fingertips on her cheek; they trailed slowly over her blushing skin and down her neck, coming to rest just above her cleavage over her heart. A smile teased at the edges of Marshall's lips as his hand hovered there.

"Your heart's pounding too," he whispered.

"It's you," Mary replied softly, without even thinking of what she was confessing. "It always does that around you."

"I make your heard pound?"

"Yes," the word tumbled breathlessly from her lips.

"Mary, I…" Marshall began to speak, but hesitated as something changed in her expression; she was no longer looking at him, but past him. He turned to see what had caught her attention.

A pair of uniformed police officers were talking to one of the teachers chaperoning the dance. The teacher searched the crowd for a moment before pointing the officers in his and Mary's direction.

"Oh no," she breathed, a tone of panic overtaking her voice.

Marshall couldn't blame her; whatever the police were here for, it was unlikely to be anything good, and there was every chance they'd found out about the night at the bowling alley… There was nothing to do but to face it, but that didn't have to be done in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He led her off, heading in the direction of the officers, her hand gripped firmly in his.

"Mary Shannon?" one of the approaching officers addressed her. Mary could only nod numbly in response. In spite of the fact that Marshall had gotten her away from the majority of their classmates, a few people were already beginning to stare and point.

"May I ask what this is all about?" Marshall asked, hoping the officers would come to the point before they had the attention of the entire prom.

"You're the daughter of Jinx Shannon?"

"Yes," Mary replied, finally finding her voice. "Did something happen?"

"There's been an accident. You're going to need to come with us."

"No," she whispered, eyes widened in shock. "No, that's not possible. Jinx is at home watching my sister."

The officer checked his notepad. "Your sister is Brandi Shannon?"

Mary nodded, her heart in her throat as one tear slipped loose and tracked down her cheek.

"Your sister was also involved in the accident. Your mother is being charged with vehicular manslaughter. We really need you to come with us."

"Is my sister okay?" Mary whimpered, trembling slightly. The officer looked over his notes again.

"I'm sorry, I don't have that information. We can get this sorted out down at the station."

"I'm coming too," Marshall stepped in, gripping Mary by the arm. She looked like she was going to fall over, and she'd gone stark white. Marshall didn't imagine he looked much better. Surely the officers couldn't be telling them that Brandi was dead…

Marshall led Mary outside behind the officers, barely holding both her and himself together as he pulled her into the back of the police cruiser after him. She was shaking in his arms, and he held her tightly all the way to the police station, feeling that he was hardly able to breathe.

A/N: Cliffhangers: can't seem to lay off 'em! Trust the muses, dear readers! They seem to actually know what they're doing for once, so be sure to stick around for tomorrow's update! And please review! I love reading your thoughts as much as you love reading my stories! =D