Fic: Phases of the Moon (2/7)
Title: Phases of the Moon
Summary, Rating, etc., as before.
Also, Disclaimer: I don't own this show.
~
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Mary was not surprised to find herself curled up at the foot of her bed the following morning, shivering in the air conditioning inside her room. Quickly, she pulled her t-shirt on and went over to close the door that was still cracked open, wincing as she felt a sore spot on her left side when she stood up. It felt like she must have gotten kicked in the ribs at some point last night. When she walked into the bathroom to look in the mirror, her guess was confirmed: there was a large, deep purple bruise on her ribcage.
Mary frowned, trying to remember what had happened while she was transformed last night. But after a few moments of fruitless casting back, during which all she recalled was a feeling like she had to get away from ... something, she gave up.
Taking a deep breath, she went back out into her bedroom and grabbed her change of clothes. A shower would probably feel like heaven. Then she noticed the clock on her bedside table and nearly dropped what she was carrying. Jesus, it's late! Why didn't Marshall wake me up sooner?
Deciding she would wait to ask him after she'd showered - it wasn't so late that they were in trouble, but they had lost all the cushion time that her partner liked to build into their schedule - Mary dashed into the shower. Her aching body would have preferred a much longer time under the hot water, but she couldn't afford it at this point.
When she was finally ready, Mary headed over to Marshall's room - only to be brought up short by the sight of the door, slightly open. “Marshall?” she called, putting her hand to her weapon.
There was a groan from inside, and then a mumbled, “Hmm?”
Sighing in relief, but still confused at this uncharacteristic lack of basic security, Mary pushed open the door. “What are you doing leaving your door open, doofus? Was it that way all night?”
Marshall only grumbled an incoherent reply. Mary stopped and stared at him. He was still in bed? And was that a jean-clad leg poking out from under the sheets? “Marshall, are you all right?”
He rolled over onto his side, immediately groaning again and putting a hand to his head. “Oh, God, my head hurts.”
Even through her concern, Mary couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. “Now, Marshall, you know the USMS frowns on getting drunk while on duty.”
“Didn't drink,” Marshall replied. He coughed and blinked. “I think ... concussion.”
All traces of her amusement vanished. “Concussion? From what, Marshall, what happened?” She had pulled out her phone before she even finished talking.
“No,” Marshall said quickly, holding out a hand toward her phone. “I wasn't attacked. At least ... I don't think so. I can't really remember all that well, I guess.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Well, how else would you have gotten hit on the head?”
He blinked a few more times and then tried to sit up. Quickly, Mary went to help him do so, biting her lip at the obvious pain the action caused him. “I ... I have this weird idea that I went outside last night to check on something,” he said slowly, after taking several deep breaths. “But if I'd fallen down the stairs, I would have hurt more than my head. And if I'd been attacked, then I don't think I would have made it back to my room - and I remember coming back and taking off my shoes.”
“That's a good point,” Mary admitted, trying to ignore her sudden horrified suspicion regarding the source of his injuries. She took a breath. “Well, I'm going to call Stan anyway and tell him we're going to be late getting back, and we should at least find the nearest clinic to give you a checkup before we get out of town.”
Marshall nodded faintly. “Yeah.”
Mary turned away to make the call to Stan, not noticing that her wince as the motion pulled at the bruise on her ribs had been noticed by her groggy partner.
~
Mary turned to look at her partner once more, relieved to see that he appeared to be resting as comfortably as possible for someone sitting in the passenger seat of a car. The clinic had examined him thoroughly, confirmed his diagnosis of a concussion, and prescribed pain medicine and rest. Fortunately, it was not a serious concussion. The doctors had said that he should be up and around by the next day, though they recommended that he not return to active duty for a few days.
Stan had been concerned when Mary called to tell him what had happened. “You take as long as he needs to get back, Inspector,” the man had told her. “And let me know if either of you need anything else, all right?”
Marshall had been asleep since about two minutes after they'd pulled out of the clinic's parking lot. The heavy painkillers were no doubt responsible.
Meanwhile, Mary was drowning in guilt. She was sure now that Marshall had come outside last night to check on her. There was the fact that his t-shirt this morning had what looked distinctly like paw prints on the front. She remembered now that she hadn't closed her door after herself when she'd left her room - of course she hadn't, because why would a wolf care about those kinds of details? - and she also vaguely recalled seeing someone who was very familiar to the small part of her mind that remained human while she was transformed. She had been appalled that she'd jumped at him and knocked him to the ground. She couldn't recall anything else after that, but it was enough.
She rubbed a hand across her face. The only good thing about this whole mess was that the blow to the head had made her partner forget seeing a wolf - or at least he'd forgotten it for now. And the exam hadn't revealed any other injuries, so at least she hadn't bitten him.
But is all that really a good thing? Mary thought, ashamed. If he'd known about this before last night, he wouldn't have gotten hurt at all. Of course... if he'd known about this, he'd...
What? What would Marshall do if he knew? Mary honestly had very little idea, beyond guessing that he would have a hard time believing it. Hell, she still had a hard time believing it, and she'd experienced it first hand, for going on two months.
She just hoped they could make it back to Albuquerque before it got too late today, while still making sure Marshall had all the breaks he needed. She estimated a five-hour drive at this point, and it was only a little past eleven, so it was possible.
“God,” Mary sighed quietly. What am I supposed to do?
She knew she was a danger to everyone around her these two nights out of the month - and sooner or later, she would be in the middle of her WITSEC duties on those days, rather than just finishing them up. There was nothing to prevent her from attacking a witness, or her partner. Again.
Mary bit back tears, letting her anger at the injustice of this situation fill her instead. This job was her life, and Marshall was her best friend. What had she done to deserve this ... condition that threatened to take her away from both of them?
They drove in silence for about an hour. Mary was starving, and she figured Marshall would be when he woke up, so she pulled off at the next sign advertising meal options.
As the car slowed from freeway speed, Marshall stirred and opened his eyes.
“Hey,” Mary said softly. “You feeling all right?”
He turned his head stiffly. “Mm. Yeah. Lunchtime?”
“Yep. Which option do you want: fast food, or the local pizza joint?” She shrugged ruefully. “The selection is a little limited, I know, but I'm starving and I figured you would be, too, seeing as how our little clinic expedition meant you didn't get any breakfast.”
Marshall sat up with care. “That, and the fact that I was too nauseated to want anything,” he pointed out. “Which is not the case now. I think I could go for some pizza.”
“Good.” She gave him a smile, and he returned it.
When they pulled into the parking lot of the quaint-looking restaurant, Mary couldn't restrain a groan as she unfolded herself from the seat. The drive seemed to have stiffened up every muscle in her body that hadn't already been injured the night before. She went around to make sure her partner could get out all right, and he gave her a piercing look. “You all right, Mary?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied breezily. “Just stiff from the long drive, that's all.”
Marshall didn't pursue it, but when they were seated at a booth near the back of Louisa's Pizza House waiting for their orders, he pinned her with his gaze again. “Mary, something's been bothering you for a few days now, and you keep telling me it's nothing. Are you sure you want to stick with that answer?”
“You mean, is that my final answer?” Mary shot back, not meeting his eyes. “What are you, Regis Philbin?”
He wasn't put off. “Well?”
She was silent for a while. She knew he was not going to give up on this - not unless she blew it up into a knock-down, drag-out fight between them, which she really didn't want to do. Not after she'd already given him a concussion last night. Taking a breath, she was just beginning to think of how to begin when the waiter arrived with their 12-inch pizzas.
Mary sighed in relief. It smelled amazing. “Oh, that looks fantastic.”
Marshall looked at her reproachfully.
“Look, I'll tell you later,” she promised, avoiding his gaze again. He deserved to know what kind of hazard he was working with now, after all. “I just want to eat right now, okay?”
He inhaled the scent of the pizza, and an almost beatific look came over his face. “All right. But only because you happened to choose this exit, where this restaurant with this pizza exists.”
Mary smirked, and dug in to her own meal.
~
There was a traffic jam on Interstate 40.
They had been making excellent time, and Marshall had been looking and acting more like his usual self as the day had passed. He hadn't pressed her to tell him what was wrong at dinner - which was partially because he volunteered the fact that he'd like to get back to Albuquerque as soon as possible, so he would be okay with a Dairy Queen drive-through. He had then fallen into a light doze while they were still an hour and a half away from home ... and then traffic all but stopped ahead of them.
Mary cursed under her breath as she looked out at the darkening sky. At this rate, there was no way she was going to be able to get to her house before the change struck. Hell, she'd be lucky to be able to get off the road, if she didn't do so now.
She turned on her right turn signal and yanked a hard right into the space in front of the car in the next lane, ignoring the driver's outraged honking and (thankfully unintelligible) yells. Marshall awoke and stretched, blinking at the mass of cars around them.
“What's going on?” he asked sleepily.
“I'm exiting,” she said tersely. “I-- Let's just say it would be a very bad thing if we were still stuck in this car in an hour or so - and at the rate this damn traffic is going, or not going, that's very likely.”
Marshall's eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Mary tried and failed to take a deep breath as she looked ahead to the impossible distance to the next exit. She had the sinking feeling that it would take very little provocation for her to start freaking out completely ... and she was never one to control herself well during traffic jams during the best of circumstances. This was bad. This was very, very bad...
“Mer.”
His sharp tone made her turn to look at him.
“Mer, you've got to breathe,” he said, gently but firmly, leaning toward her in his seat. “Traffic may not be moving much, but if you pass out, it'll still cause some logistical problems for getting off the road.”
She managed a small wry smile and one slow breath in and out. “No 'be the river' this time?”
“Hey, if that helps, I'm not saying no.” He kept her gaze for a second, and then turned toward the windshield again. “So, does this very bad thing have anything to do with what you haven't been telling me?”
Mary nodded, not trusting herself to say anything else.
Silence fell for some minutes. The car inched forward. The sky continued to get darker. Mary remembered to breathe, although it wasn't as easy as she would have liked.
Marshall broke the silence as Mary once again tried to loosen her grip on the steering wheel. “I think I remember more of what happened last night.”
Oh, crap. Mary shot him a glance, but looked away quickly. “Really?” She tried to sound interested and calm.
“Yeah. Some pretty crazy stuff - hard to believe. In fact, I thought at first that I hallucinated it, but not all of it happened after I hit my head.”
He paused again, and for Mary the pause seemed interminable. “Jesus, Marshall,” she said in a low, strained voice as she stared fixedly at the rear license plate of the minivan in front of them. “Please don't drag this out. If you have figured it out, just-- just say so.”
She heard him draw in a breath. “Sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely contrite. “I didn't mean to drag it out. I'm just still trying to wrap my mind around it.”
“You and me both,” Mary said. She laughed bitterly. “Believe me.”
He shifted so he was closer to her again, but she still didn't turn toward him. “So ... how many months has it been since you were bitten?”
Mary swallowed and closed her eyes for an instant. He knows. He really does know. Her most overwhelming feeling at the moment was, curiously, relief. “This is the second month,” she replied, after she had found her voice. “It, um, it seems to last for two nights, starting with the night of the full moon.”
Marshall's next question was, “Do you know how it happened?”
“I've tried to figure that out,” Mary said, allowing her frustration to color her tone. “I mean, I can't think of anything I did last month - or the previous month - that would have put me at risk of being bitten by a freaking werewolf!” She glanced at him and then inched the car forward. “But there is ... a mark. I can't remember what day exactly I first noticed it, but I think it was somewhere at the end of March.” The wound was on her calf, and it didn't seem to be healing very fast.
Marshall nodded, looking thoughtful and serious. “Well,” he said slowly, “if you hadn't mentioned a bite, I might have asked you if you'd slept outside under the full moon a month ago, or put on a suit or belt made of wolf skin - since those are both common methods recorded in legends of becoming a werewolf. But I can't see why you would have done either of those things.”
Mary gave him a look. “No. I definitely didn't. I'm very sure of that.” Of course his encyclopedic trivia knowledge would include the topic of werewolves. She wondered briefly what else he'd read, but she decided now was not the time to ask, if ever.
“Oh my God,” Marshall exclaimed suddenly, causing Mary to turn toward him in concern.
“What? What's wrong?” she demanded, shifting immediately back to near-panic.
Marshall shook his head. “No, I just realized...” He looked at her, guilt written across his face. “I just remembered that I clobbered you in the side with my gun last night. God, Mary, I'm sorry! No wonder you're so sore today.”
Mary returned his gaze, raising her eyebrows. “Marshall,” she pointed out, trying to be amused at his guilt but only succeeding in sinking back into her own, “I knocked you over, caused your concussion, and might have gone on to do something worse if you hadn't stopped me.” She looked away again. “So I'm hardly going to cry foul.”
She was almost glad that he didn't try to comfort her with some nice lie - like, “Oh, you couldn't possibly have been a danger to me!” or something. Instead, after a short period of silence, he merely continued his calm questions.
“How much do you remember from while you're in wolf form?”
She glanced up at the darkening sky again. “Not too much. It's like only part of my human mind is still there. So from last night, all I remember is recognizing you at least somewhat, but then I wasn't able to stop myself from attacking.” She winced, thinking of how out of it her partner had been this morning and imagining just how much worse it could have been. “I don't even remember you hitting me. After I knocked you to the ground, the only other thing I can recall is knowing that I had to...” She trailed off. That I had to get away from you before I hurt you again. The sentiment was still true. She was endangering her partner's life just by being near him.
“Had to what?” Marshall pressed quietly.
She swallowed. “I think I still knew somehow that I was going to ... attack you again,” she told him, keeping her gaze on the road. “And I didn't want to. So I had to get away.”
Marshall didn't reply, although she could feel his eyes on her. Just then, the lane in front of them began to open up. “Hallelujah,” she muttered, and stepped on the gas. The exit was rapidly approaching. “Okay, Marshall, you call Stan and tell him we can't get back tonight. I'll find a motel.”
~
Author's Note 2: This is not a WIP - it is (just about) all written, not all edited yet. I'll be posting it as I can.