Fic - What Almost Was (Mary Shannon) pg, 1/1
Title: What Almost Was
Summary: There are things she will remember and things she won’t.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 745 words. Definite Mary/Marshall undertones because that is who I choose to be. Set immediately after and carries specific spoilers for 4x13, Something Borrowed, Something Blew Up. Everything else is speculation. Written for the finale fix-it challenge over at mary_marshall. It's been years since I've written in this fandom, so con-crit is both welcome and appreciated.
There are things she will remember and things she won’t.
After, she will find herself haunted by the gut-wrenching memories of the fear that had consumed her, of the moment when she closed her eyes and prayed to a god she never really believed in for this baby to be okay, for her baby to be okay. She’ll remember the moment she made a promise to herself - to the child fighting for their life inside her - to do better, to be better.
Mary will forever remember the moment when she finally admits to herself: I can do this. I can be good at this only to have it all slip away a moment later.
She won’t remember the pain, exactly, because the body is trained not to in an effort to survive, to persevere, but she’ll remember the bright light and the stale green of the hospital walls.
The way Doctor’s voice had cut through the haze and the drugs will plague her for eternity, the way he talked about hysterectomies and blood loss like she wasn’t even there, like she couldn’t possibly comprehend, like she didn’t even have a choice in the mater. Mary will remember Marshall’s pale face, his brow knotted with fear and worry and all the love she has never allowed him to show. All the love she never allowed him to even admit he felt flickering in his eyes and across his handsome features as she begged him not to let them take any possibility of a second chance away from her, as she squeezed his hand and made him promise, made him swear on the badge he wears so proudly.
“Mary,” he starts, and there are nurses are trying to usher him out of the room. The haze gets thicker around her as his face starts to blur around those perfect edges. He shakes his head, squeezes her hand. He says, “I promise,” just as the word fades to a lovely shade of black around her.
She sleeps.
Mary sleeps for hours that feel like days, her body and mind numb to their surrounds, her fingers perpetually curled into fists around the soft blankets at her side.
When she wakes, the monitors play their very own lament in the darkening room. The sun is setting outside, the sky above Albuquerque lighting the room in a hue of oranges and reds. She blinks against the sudden influx of dying light, her whole body stiff and aching.
Mary feels it immediately.
She reaches down to her stomach, just where her underbelly starts to swell and places her aching palm flat against the stretched skin. Her breath hitches, that mother’s intuition she would never admit existed before this kicking in as she is overcome with the sadness and loss. The feelings intermix and clutch at her heart and her insides that have been torn open and spread bare for the world to see.
For a moment she can’t breathe, can’t think. Her whole word closes in around her and she presses her eyes shut so tightly she sees stars. Counts to five backwards and forward before even thinking about opening them again, and feels a hand reach out for hers out of nowhere, just in time to save her from herself.
The fingers intertwining with her own are strong, thin, and warm. She knows that it is Marshall because of the callous on his trigger finger, because of the way he squeezes with just the right amount of pressure - his way of letting her know he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere.
When she looks at him, when her eyes finally slide open and catch his, she knows the truth without either of them saying a word.
Mary can see it in his eyes. She can feel it in the way he holds her hands between his and doesn’t let go, the way his body leans into her completely, offering an unwavering amount of strength and comfort that she gladly takes until there is none left.
The tears are silent as they slip down her cheeks.
Outside, the sky turns dark, the starts shining brightly as her left hand traces the edges of the bandage on her stomach, the gauze and tape masking the stitches holding her together. The stitches that would one day become just another scar to carry, another memory to hold on to.
Her left hand remains securely in Marshall’s grasp.
Mary stares at their intertwined hands long after her fingers go numb.
Summary: There are things she will remember and things she won’t.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 745 words. Definite Mary/Marshall undertones because that is who I choose to be. Set immediately after and carries specific spoilers for 4x13, Something Borrowed, Something Blew Up. Everything else is speculation. Written for the finale fix-it challenge over at mary_marshall. It's been years since I've written in this fandom, so con-crit is both welcome and appreciated.
There are things she will remember and things she won’t.
After, she will find herself haunted by the gut-wrenching memories of the fear that had consumed her, of the moment when she closed her eyes and prayed to a god she never really believed in for this baby to be okay, for her baby to be okay. She’ll remember the moment she made a promise to herself - to the child fighting for their life inside her - to do better, to be better.
Mary will forever remember the moment when she finally admits to herself: I can do this. I can be good at this only to have it all slip away a moment later.
She won’t remember the pain, exactly, because the body is trained not to in an effort to survive, to persevere, but she’ll remember the bright light and the stale green of the hospital walls.
The way Doctor’s voice had cut through the haze and the drugs will plague her for eternity, the way he talked about hysterectomies and blood loss like she wasn’t even there, like she couldn’t possibly comprehend, like she didn’t even have a choice in the mater. Mary will remember Marshall’s pale face, his brow knotted with fear and worry and all the love she has never allowed him to show. All the love she never allowed him to even admit he felt flickering in his eyes and across his handsome features as she begged him not to let them take any possibility of a second chance away from her, as she squeezed his hand and made him promise, made him swear on the badge he wears so proudly.
“Mary,” he starts, and there are nurses are trying to usher him out of the room. The haze gets thicker around her as his face starts to blur around those perfect edges. He shakes his head, squeezes her hand. He says, “I promise,” just as the word fades to a lovely shade of black around her.
She sleeps.
Mary sleeps for hours that feel like days, her body and mind numb to their surrounds, her fingers perpetually curled into fists around the soft blankets at her side.
When she wakes, the monitors play their very own lament in the darkening room. The sun is setting outside, the sky above Albuquerque lighting the room in a hue of oranges and reds. She blinks against the sudden influx of dying light, her whole body stiff and aching.
Mary feels it immediately.
She reaches down to her stomach, just where her underbelly starts to swell and places her aching palm flat against the stretched skin. Her breath hitches, that mother’s intuition she would never admit existed before this kicking in as she is overcome with the sadness and loss. The feelings intermix and clutch at her heart and her insides that have been torn open and spread bare for the world to see.
For a moment she can’t breathe, can’t think. Her whole word closes in around her and she presses her eyes shut so tightly she sees stars. Counts to five backwards and forward before even thinking about opening them again, and feels a hand reach out for hers out of nowhere, just in time to save her from herself.
The fingers intertwining with her own are strong, thin, and warm. She knows that it is Marshall because of the callous on his trigger finger, because of the way he squeezes with just the right amount of pressure - his way of letting her know he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere.
When she looks at him, when her eyes finally slide open and catch his, she knows the truth without either of them saying a word.
Mary can see it in his eyes. She can feel it in the way he holds her hands between his and doesn’t let go, the way his body leans into her completely, offering an unwavering amount of strength and comfort that she gladly takes until there is none left.
The tears are silent as they slip down her cheeks.
Outside, the sky turns dark, the starts shining brightly as her left hand traces the edges of the bandage on her stomach, the gauze and tape masking the stitches holding her together. The stitches that would one day become just another scar to carry, another memory to hold on to.
Her left hand remains securely in Marshall’s grasp.
Mary stares at their intertwined hands long after her fingers go numb.