Chapter 8

Marshall groaned, fighting to open his eyes. He felt like he had been hit by a truck. He sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes slowly and slowly taking in the scene around him. God damn it, he had been hit by a truck. Damn. No wonder he hurt. And….Mary.

In a complete and utter panic, Marshall discovered that he could move, turning suddenly toward the passenger seat.

Mary was sitting there, still strapped into her seat, but unconscious. The swell of her pregnant belly underneath her shirt, the blood in her beautiful wheat-colored hair, and her left arm sticking out at an unnatural angle. Seeing her, Marshall wanted to cry.

But Marshall was a U.S. Marshal, as much good as that did him in this fucking situation. He would not panic, and he would not cry. Not yet at least. He would do everything in his power to see that Mary was okay.

His first thought was to call 911, but glancing at the SUV that had hit them, he saw the pale-faced other driver speaking frantically into her cell phone. He heard sirens in the distance and knew that help was on the way.

Marshall stretched over to reach Mary, but couldn't. Frantically, he undid his seatbelt, opened the door and walked around the door. Opening the passenger side door, Marshall reached in carefully and felt for the pulse in Mary's neck.

For one infinitely long, heart-wrenching second, Marshall felt nothing. But then there it was, thrumming steadily under his fingertips. Marshall could've dropped to his knees right then and there to thank any higher being there was for not taking Mary away from him quite yet.

But her eyes were opening slightly. Those beautiful blue-gray eyes were looking up at Marshall and he put aside his thoughts or thanking a higher power. He could do that later. Right now he needed to talk to Mary.

"Hey, Mare. Talk to me, partner."

Mary swallowed uncomfortably. "Marshall, I think there's a problem. I don't think that the baby is going to be okay. Marshall," Mary drifted off mid-sentence, her eyelids closing again.

Marshall had never been more scared in his life. Not even when Mary had taken two bullets in the vest that time in Iowa or the time when she had been almost pushed off of a building on that witness trip to Idaho. Both of those times, Mary had been up and swearing up a storm within five seconds of going down. Both of those times, Mary had yelled at him for even suggesting that she get a doctor, even when she clearly needed to go to the hospital.

This time was different. For one, Mary hadn't sworn at all. She had been calm, almost peaceful when she spoke. It was like she knew that this time was different. That this time she might not be okay. She said that she thought that there was a problem with the baby, but Marshall suspected that she knew that she might have sustained serious injuries as well.

"Open your eyes, Mare," Marshall pleaded to no avail. "Please, Mare, please."

What if she died now, right in front of him? What if he couldn't save her? What if he lost her right now, on this hot, dusty Albuquerque day on this god-forsaken road in the middle of this god-forsaken year. He couldn't lose Mary, he just couldn't. Especially right now, when she was barely talking to him.

"God damn it all, Mare, for Christ's sake open your eyes!" Marshall yelled in a panic, unable to damn up his worry any longer.

Miraculously, Mary's eyes opened once more. "I'm not dead yet, numb-nuts. But it would really help if you could find an ambulance for me pretty soon," she mumbled.

"They're just about here, Mare. Can't you hear them?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I can hear them. Marshall, don't call Jinx or Brandi for a while, okay? They don't have to know about this right away, okay?" Mary said, with a hint of pleading in her voice.

Marshall understood what Mary wasn't saying. She didn't want to worry her family about her health and that of the baby. She didn't want them to have to come to the hospital and worry about whether or not she…they…would make it. Mary would rather have her family come when she was in the clear, or when she was dead. She was trying to save her family from the pain and the agony of the waiting. She hadn't been able to prevent their worry and their hours at the hospital when she got shot, so she'd try to protect them now.

Marshall's heart panged again for the selflessness of his brash, annoying, wonderful partner and for the events that had made her have to be so. How many times would she have to do this for them before they realized how truly wonderful Mary was?

Marshall nodded, saying huskily, "Okay, Mare, okay."

She smiled slightly. "I've got you well trained, Mann. Will you...never mind."

Frowning, Marshall asked, "What?"

"Will you stay with me? Please?"

Marshall's heart just about broke in two. Had they really drifted this far apart? How could Mary even feel the need ask this question? My God, how could she not know. She would always be there for him, so how could she not see that he would always be there for her? He wanted to scream and to punch his hand through what remained of the windshield, but he knew that wouldn't help Mary right now.

"Always, Mary. Always."

In response, Mary smiled that small, sad smile that she wore when people said things that she wished she could believe, but wasn't sure she could. Mary put her unbroken right arm gently on the swell of her belly and rubbed it slowly.

"Mary…" began Marshall, but Mary interrupted Marshall.

"I love you, Marshall."

And before Marshall could even tell Mary that he loved her too, a swarm of emergency personnel were around Mary, working to extricate her from the car and transfer her to a gurney.

Marshall took advantage of the moment to dial Stan.

"McQueen here."

"Stan…there's been an accident," began Marshall.

"Are you okay, Marshall?" inquired Stan, concerned because of Marshall's strange tone.

"I was with Mary," Marshall said, shaking off paramedics trying to examine his superficial injuries. "She's injured…and the baby….I just don't know Stan. God, I don't know."

"Go with her. I'll meet you at the hospital," said Stan curtly. And then he hung up.

Marshall turned around to see Mary being carefully loaded in the ambulance, clearly in pain, but her eyes were watchful and aware. Looking for someone. Looking for him.

"I'm coming, Mare," he shouted, sprinting to the ambulance and hopping in. The doors shut behind him.

As he sat down, his hand found its way into Mary's. Their eyes met, and he knew that he was never going to let her even try to push him away again.