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Marshall
She ran again. He stood there, hands on her desk, and laid it out. Well, at least implied, heavily. And what did she do? Did she buy a clue, did she take the hint? No. She took a vacation. With fucking Faber. So he was in no mood when he got the call from APD, that one of Mary's witnesses had been picked up and could he come down. It would have been different if Bobby D wasn't off in Chicago, doing whatever he did these days. They'd clear it up and then go for beers.
And then he met her. She's sweet and sassy, and not at all bitter. She isn't pissed off, she isn't out to take the hard road, the one that requires crawling over broken glass. And when they have things straightened out, and she suggests going for a Shiner Bock, his intrest has nothing to do with getting a new partner for pick up basketball. Marshall Mann has never been a man out for the quick rebound, but your can't rebound from something you never had, right?
There are things that remind him of Mary. She's not afraid to go balls to the wall, to get dirty and dangerous for the job. But she's a charm and smiles girl, with that thick auburn hair and that winning grin. That's distinctly her. And she's fearless with him. None of this emotional baggage bull shit he's been wading through for three years. Nothing but warm open arms and a warm open heart, and very little to fix.
But part of him needs the fix. He knows that from the minute he attacks Scalavino. Because he knows he would let Abigail fight for herself. Or Delia. But not Mary. He needs to cover Mary, protect Mary, in a fierce and primal way. That night, he holds Abigail extra tight, and tells himself he'll feel that way about her at somepoint. That he'll love the one he's with.
Mary
This is all Marshall's fault. That's the thought that goes through her mind, over and over and over, as she stares at the third little plastic stick, which has the same stupid plus sign as the last two fucking stupid plastic sticks. Damn him. He had to go and say something. Didn't he know she wasn't ready? That he couldn't push her on this, that she would go running to other direction? Or do something stupid and self-destructive?
Because he said something, she didn't even get to enjoy cheap and easy sex with Faber. Instead, she spent the time playing therapist, and sent him home to his wife. In those rare moments of alone time, by the pool or on the beach, she couldn't close her eyes without hearing his voice. 'I get that you don't like messy, but maybe messy is what you need. Maybe instead of just anyone, you should be looking for someone. Someone who challenges you, who calls you on your BS, gets in your face and makes you think...'
And then she comes home, ready to lay it on the line, and there she is. And the shittiest thing is, she likes Abigail. In a way she knows Marshall never liked Rafe or Faber. She's sassy and funny and tough as nails, and Mary likes her. Hell, she even respects her. And its like a knife everytime she sees them together. And then Mark walks back in.
Mark, whom she was very good at fucking, once upon a time. Mark, who she nearly fucked her life up for. And sitting there, watching him charm her partner and the women he's making love to, she can't help but think about letting him back in to fuck her world up all over again. Because if she can't be with the one she wants...
Mary looks at the stick again, and thinks about transference. This was not the time, this was not the man, but here she is.