Abby
Title: Abby
Author: tilley_girl
Pairings/Characters: Mary/Marshall
Rating: PG
Summary: Written for the Finale Fix Fic Challenge. Abby reflects on her day after witnessing a scene at the hospital.
Abigail Chaffee paused outside the door of the private room adjacent to the NICU, her lips compressing at the scene in front of her. She stepped back slightly, keeping herself out of the direct line of sight of the room's three occupants: Mary, Marshall, the child. A hint of unease had been an unwelcome companion the last few weeks, since Marshall had drug his feet on committing to the lovely Prairie style house they had perused. The unease had ratcheted up to a maelstrom of emotion over the last 48 hours.
She observed the room's occupants, reluctantly acknowledging the two adults shared an ease of companionship, a blanket of comfortableness that she simply didn't share with Marshall. Marshall enjoyed being with her Abby knew, he certainly enjoyed being in her bed, but there was a slight misalignment, like new asphalt poured over only one lane of a street. Don't pay attention and swerve slightly, a tire runs off and jolts the driver into awareness. Abby was feeling that jolt. There was enough of an age difference that they didn't share the same cultural references. He would refer to an event that happened when she was a child. She would reference some new band and receive a blank look. They were still feeling each other out. Trying not to step on each others toes. She felt a flare of jealousy. Marshall and Mary had worked all that out a long time ago. They would never talk over each other at a witness visit. They were attuned to each other on a physical, mental and emotional level.
Each time Abby had tried to initiate more serious conversation about their relationship, Marshall had redirected. She had been so happy when he suggested moving in together. Would seem that perhaps that was a spur of the moment invitation, initiated by observing how happy Brandi and Peter were at the ghost walk. And look how that turned out, she thought darkly.
Abby rolled her neck, suddenly conscious she was still wearing her dress from the wedding. It was the end of a very, very long day. A day that began with the previous cycle of sunrise and sunset and simply hadn't ended yet. A day full of small irritations and larger hurts. Adrenaline pumping situations and sheer terror. She flashed back to the sniper shooting out the windows of the courthouse. Everyone hitting the floor. Marshall crawling over to Mary without so much as a glance her way. Marshall covering Mary's body as glass and debris rained down. Even when they got up to escape the room, he hadn't said a word to her. And afterward, he hadn't come to her. She had been forced to look for him, worry gnawing at her gut. He hadn't put his arms around her. He hadn't even asked if she was hurt. He had flinched at her touch. And it wasn't because he was a baby about removing the glass shards. When she had asked him about his reaction, he had looked at her full of confusion. Of course he protected Mary. His tone indicated this was an obvious thing. She was his partner, she was pregnant, it was instinct. Abby had looked into those amazing blue eyes and felt a knot forming in her stomach.
“I get it. I do.” She laid her hand on his arm. He nodded and Abby knew he thought she was indicating understanding about his instinctual protection of his partner,. But what Abby was starting to understand was her position in the pecking order of Marshall's affections.
The day that had progressed to an assault in the tunnels under the courthouse. An assault that was stopped by Mary. Eight months pregnant Mary. Magical Mary. Savior Mary. Abigail had become aware of the red laser dot on her person just a millisecond before Mary had shot the bastard. She knew her life was owed to the partner of her boyfriend. She also knew Mary wasn't supposed to be there in those tunnels. The looks Marshall and Stan had thrown her spoke volumes. For once, Abigail was grateful the firecracker marshal seemed incapable of following orders.
The day that had moved on to watching the two marshals talking underneath the wedding chuppah. Comfortable. Side by side. Under the arch that symbolized union. Love. Clearly sad, but able to share that sadness. From her distance she couldn't hear what was being said, but she could read Marshall's body language well enough to know when whatever Mary was saying became important. She called out to him in that moment, not wanting Mary to have that opportunity. Abigail didn't waste time trying to analyze why she should feel that need. She just did. Even then, Marshall had hesitated, waited for permission from Mary before he started walking towards her, attention still on Mary. And then the cry of pain, Marshall's rush to Mary's side, the panic in his face as he tossed Abby his cell phone. The murmured words of reassurance.
And it was Marshall that Mary had wanted. Marshall she had called out for. Marshall in the ambulance. Marshall in the delivery room, when despite all efforts to halt it, the blonde went into labor. Marshall every step of the way.
The day that had progressed to waiting for news. Pacing the confines of the small waiting room. Pulling out her phone to see if Marshall had sent a text. Waiting for word of Mary. A tiny frisson of fear had traveled up her spine and lodged in her heart when she heard the words placental abruption from the nurse sent down to talk to Jinx. Marshall would never be the same if something happened to Mary. The near hysterical mother had finally been calmed by the father of Mary's child, who interestingly enough, wasn't in the delivery room with Mary. Marshall was. Abby had watched Mark, an exercise in escapism for her agitated mind. She wondered how he felt, being relegated to the waiting room. Of course, from what Abby could ascertain, he'd been little more than a sperm donor. Mary hadn't even told him about the baby.
And now. The day had brought her here. She had waited through the night in vain for Marshall to call her. It became necessary to pull rank and flash her badge to get here. To witness this. She closed her eyes against the unexpected pain. Mary was holding the baby cradled against her chest, Marshall standing by the bed. He was still in his suit pants and white dress shirt, his jacket and tie discarded. Long, sensitive fingers gently stroked the tiny head , then moved up to stroke Mary's cheek. Mary looked up at him, the most open expression Abby had ever seen on her face. She was clearly exhausted. Too tired to hide. Feelings laid bare. Abby felt her stomach dropping as she watched Mary's face, the woman she had never been jealous of as she clearly had no designs on Marshall. That wan, pale visage told a different story now.
“It's for the best Marshall,” his partner murmured. A pained expression crossed his face. “Do you want to hold him?” She extended the baby out slightly from her body. “They'll be back soon to take him to the nursery.”
Marshall took the child gingerly and brought him close to his chest, his thumb rubbing softly on downy skin. Abby's chest constricted. This was what she wanted. A child with this man. She wanted him to look at her like he looked at Mary, to gaze at their child adoringly. The swaddled infant fit just right in the crook of his arm.
“Hey there little guy. I'm your Uncle Marshall.” The small head turned towards him and tiny eyes fluttered open to stare up at him.
“He recognizes your voice,” Mary said softly, “he's been hearing it for eight months.” Marshall smiled and kissed the smooth forehead.
“He's so tiny,” he murmured, taking in each perfect, miniscule feature. “Is everything okay?” Marshall looked anxiously at his partner.
Mary nodded. “He's almost five pounds. Lungs are developed. They just want to keep a close eye on him for a few days. Doctor said he should be fine, was just a little early. Impatient, like me, to get going. ” She smiled sadly.
“Are you sure?” His gaze shifted to the woman in the bed. The words were thick and his arms tightened protectively around the small bundle. Abigail felt almost physical pain, watching him hold the baby. Knowing he would give his life to protect that child.
“It will be an open adoption. The Templetons are generous. I'll be able to see him.” She paused a moment. “You can too.” Her voice dropped. “He deserves more than I can give him. He deserves a father. I know how harmful it is not to have that.” She looked away.
“I can...I mean I could... Mary, I'm willing...” Marshall stuttered and Mary laid her hand on his arm. The sheer pain in his face, the rawness of his voice was like a thousand tiny pricks to Abby's heart. Apparently to Mary's too, from the expression on her face,
“I know Marshall. And you would be a wonderful dad. It's just I can't do this now. This is better.” Abby heard the note of insecurity, saw the furtive glance to his face. If Marshall had doubts, perhaps she should too. No, Abby thought, looking at his face, he didn't doubt her decision. It was just that he already loved the child. Mary's child. And it was so hard to give up something one loved.
Marshall gazed down at the small miracle in his arms. “I love you little guy,” he whispered. He sat down on the bed beside his partner and leaned over to kiss her cheek, the infant held between them. The trio that was complete, that admitted no room for another. Abby felt the color drain from her face. This was the source of her vague uneasiness, the undefinable something that she sensed was a block in her relationship with Marshall. He was already in love. And it wasn't with her.
The End
Author: tilley_girl
Pairings/Characters: Mary/Marshall
Rating: PG
Summary: Written for the Finale Fix Fic Challenge. Abby reflects on her day after witnessing a scene at the hospital.
Abigail Chaffee paused outside the door of the private room adjacent to the NICU, her lips compressing at the scene in front of her. She stepped back slightly, keeping herself out of the direct line of sight of the room's three occupants: Mary, Marshall, the child. A hint of unease had been an unwelcome companion the last few weeks, since Marshall had drug his feet on committing to the lovely Prairie style house they had perused. The unease had ratcheted up to a maelstrom of emotion over the last 48 hours.
She observed the room's occupants, reluctantly acknowledging the two adults shared an ease of companionship, a blanket of comfortableness that she simply didn't share with Marshall. Marshall enjoyed being with her Abby knew, he certainly enjoyed being in her bed, but there was a slight misalignment, like new asphalt poured over only one lane of a street. Don't pay attention and swerve slightly, a tire runs off and jolts the driver into awareness. Abby was feeling that jolt. There was enough of an age difference that they didn't share the same cultural references. He would refer to an event that happened when she was a child. She would reference some new band and receive a blank look. They were still feeling each other out. Trying not to step on each others toes. She felt a flare of jealousy. Marshall and Mary had worked all that out a long time ago. They would never talk over each other at a witness visit. They were attuned to each other on a physical, mental and emotional level.
Each time Abby had tried to initiate more serious conversation about their relationship, Marshall had redirected. She had been so happy when he suggested moving in together. Would seem that perhaps that was a spur of the moment invitation, initiated by observing how happy Brandi and Peter were at the ghost walk. And look how that turned out, she thought darkly.
Abby rolled her neck, suddenly conscious she was still wearing her dress from the wedding. It was the end of a very, very long day. A day that began with the previous cycle of sunrise and sunset and simply hadn't ended yet. A day full of small irritations and larger hurts. Adrenaline pumping situations and sheer terror. She flashed back to the sniper shooting out the windows of the courthouse. Everyone hitting the floor. Marshall crawling over to Mary without so much as a glance her way. Marshall covering Mary's body as glass and debris rained down. Even when they got up to escape the room, he hadn't said a word to her. And afterward, he hadn't come to her. She had been forced to look for him, worry gnawing at her gut. He hadn't put his arms around her. He hadn't even asked if she was hurt. He had flinched at her touch. And it wasn't because he was a baby about removing the glass shards. When she had asked him about his reaction, he had looked at her full of confusion. Of course he protected Mary. His tone indicated this was an obvious thing. She was his partner, she was pregnant, it was instinct. Abby had looked into those amazing blue eyes and felt a knot forming in her stomach.
“I get it. I do.” She laid her hand on his arm. He nodded and Abby knew he thought she was indicating understanding about his instinctual protection of his partner,. But what Abby was starting to understand was her position in the pecking order of Marshall's affections.
The day that had progressed to an assault in the tunnels under the courthouse. An assault that was stopped by Mary. Eight months pregnant Mary. Magical Mary. Savior Mary. Abigail had become aware of the red laser dot on her person just a millisecond before Mary had shot the bastard. She knew her life was owed to the partner of her boyfriend. She also knew Mary wasn't supposed to be there in those tunnels. The looks Marshall and Stan had thrown her spoke volumes. For once, Abigail was grateful the firecracker marshal seemed incapable of following orders.
The day that had moved on to watching the two marshals talking underneath the wedding chuppah. Comfortable. Side by side. Under the arch that symbolized union. Love. Clearly sad, but able to share that sadness. From her distance she couldn't hear what was being said, but she could read Marshall's body language well enough to know when whatever Mary was saying became important. She called out to him in that moment, not wanting Mary to have that opportunity. Abigail didn't waste time trying to analyze why she should feel that need. She just did. Even then, Marshall had hesitated, waited for permission from Mary before he started walking towards her, attention still on Mary. And then the cry of pain, Marshall's rush to Mary's side, the panic in his face as he tossed Abby his cell phone. The murmured words of reassurance.
And it was Marshall that Mary had wanted. Marshall she had called out for. Marshall in the ambulance. Marshall in the delivery room, when despite all efforts to halt it, the blonde went into labor. Marshall every step of the way.
The day that had progressed to waiting for news. Pacing the confines of the small waiting room. Pulling out her phone to see if Marshall had sent a text. Waiting for word of Mary. A tiny frisson of fear had traveled up her spine and lodged in her heart when she heard the words placental abruption from the nurse sent down to talk to Jinx. Marshall would never be the same if something happened to Mary. The near hysterical mother had finally been calmed by the father of Mary's child, who interestingly enough, wasn't in the delivery room with Mary. Marshall was. Abby had watched Mark, an exercise in escapism for her agitated mind. She wondered how he felt, being relegated to the waiting room. Of course, from what Abby could ascertain, he'd been little more than a sperm donor. Mary hadn't even told him about the baby.
And now. The day had brought her here. She had waited through the night in vain for Marshall to call her. It became necessary to pull rank and flash her badge to get here. To witness this. She closed her eyes against the unexpected pain. Mary was holding the baby cradled against her chest, Marshall standing by the bed. He was still in his suit pants and white dress shirt, his jacket and tie discarded. Long, sensitive fingers gently stroked the tiny head , then moved up to stroke Mary's cheek. Mary looked up at him, the most open expression Abby had ever seen on her face. She was clearly exhausted. Too tired to hide. Feelings laid bare. Abby felt her stomach dropping as she watched Mary's face, the woman she had never been jealous of as she clearly had no designs on Marshall. That wan, pale visage told a different story now.
“It's for the best Marshall,” his partner murmured. A pained expression crossed his face. “Do you want to hold him?” She extended the baby out slightly from her body. “They'll be back soon to take him to the nursery.”
Marshall took the child gingerly and brought him close to his chest, his thumb rubbing softly on downy skin. Abby's chest constricted. This was what she wanted. A child with this man. She wanted him to look at her like he looked at Mary, to gaze at their child adoringly. The swaddled infant fit just right in the crook of his arm.
“Hey there little guy. I'm your Uncle Marshall.” The small head turned towards him and tiny eyes fluttered open to stare up at him.
“He recognizes your voice,” Mary said softly, “he's been hearing it for eight months.” Marshall smiled and kissed the smooth forehead.
“He's so tiny,” he murmured, taking in each perfect, miniscule feature. “Is everything okay?” Marshall looked anxiously at his partner.
Mary nodded. “He's almost five pounds. Lungs are developed. They just want to keep a close eye on him for a few days. Doctor said he should be fine, was just a little early. Impatient, like me, to get going. ” She smiled sadly.
“Are you sure?” His gaze shifted to the woman in the bed. The words were thick and his arms tightened protectively around the small bundle. Abigail felt almost physical pain, watching him hold the baby. Knowing he would give his life to protect that child.
“It will be an open adoption. The Templetons are generous. I'll be able to see him.” She paused a moment. “You can too.” Her voice dropped. “He deserves more than I can give him. He deserves a father. I know how harmful it is not to have that.” She looked away.
“I can...I mean I could... Mary, I'm willing...” Marshall stuttered and Mary laid her hand on his arm. The sheer pain in his face, the rawness of his voice was like a thousand tiny pricks to Abby's heart. Apparently to Mary's too, from the expression on her face,
“I know Marshall. And you would be a wonderful dad. It's just I can't do this now. This is better.” Abby heard the note of insecurity, saw the furtive glance to his face. If Marshall had doubts, perhaps she should too. No, Abby thought, looking at his face, he didn't doubt her decision. It was just that he already loved the child. Mary's child. And it was so hard to give up something one loved.
Marshall gazed down at the small miracle in his arms. “I love you little guy,” he whispered. He sat down on the bed beside his partner and leaned over to kiss her cheek, the infant held between them. The trio that was complete, that admitted no room for another. Abby felt the color drain from her face. This was the source of her vague uneasiness, the undefinable something that she sensed was a block in her relationship with Marshall. He was already in love. And it wasn't with her.
The End