And
all the games we played as children
To fight against the dark
Red,
Red Rover, four-leafed clover
Ashes, ashes all fall down, all fall
down
All fall down…
He felt humiliated, hurt, and wrong. They were the only prominent emotions he could grab onto at the present time. The glass stung his foot, piercing into the flesh like the knife he felt Mary had stuck in his back. He'd always been overly ambitious, but never had he thought his ambition, his drive, would be his downfall. He shouldn't have pushed her, shouldn't have cared, and shouldn't have loved her. Because now he'd lost her. And once lost, he knew he'd never find Mary again.
He sat on the edge of the tub of the adjoining bathroom, wincing as he pried the sliver of glass out of his foot, mesmerized as blood oozed from the wound. He probably deserved it.
Mary didn't like grand gestures; didn't like being proposed to with a diamond ring covered with sticky icing lodged in a cupcake, or coaxed to a fancy restaurant on the pretense that a waiter had brought out two dinners by accident. And he wasn't one to do such things either; grand gestures were for those that didn't feel worthy enough to be themselves in such a situation.
He submerged his foot into the cool running water, watching the blood swirl down the drain. How had it all gone to hell so fast? All was not fair in love and war.
Mary delicately picked up the scattered glass pieces from the floor, every so often feeling the rough edged angles bite at her shaking hands. She deserved it. She was a horrible tease. Marshall didn't have to say it; she'd seen it in his confusion.
Her body said yes, while her head had told him no. Her heart had taken the sidelines, and now it sat on a barbed wire fence between the two answers.
Say yes, and be separated, be awkward in the office, be too afraid of ruining anything you had before, be alone.
Say no, and forget him as a friend, as a confidant, as a lover…and be alone.
She knew it was how she always ended up anyway. Her boyfriend had taken up with his therapist and now with her troublesome little sister. All because she wasn't there. Emotionally, physically, literally…and why? Because she valued her job more. Because she didn't trust herself with anyone. No one could have that part of her heart. Alone with her thoughts—and with what was currently occupying them, she was simply alone.
She'd remembered one of Marshall's casual observations, when she'd forgotten Raph's physical therapy appointment. You must be such a good girlfriend.
She'd brought it all upon herself. She'd asked—no, pleaded—with Brandi to take Raph to therapy. How was it Brandi's fault she'd fallen for Raph? It was an opportunity Mary had eagerly bestowed upon her sister. But why would Marshall, even knowing how attentive she wasn't to her boyfriend, or even he himself, want her? The most self destructive person in the world?
Now that was a question she knew she needed an answer to. Now. She dropped the pieces of glass she'd collected, standing instead to find him.
The water in the bathroom was running, so she entered through his bedroom. He'd have to come out eventually. Maybe. Then again, his house. He could sleep in the bathtub if he wanted. She paced absently in front of the door, trying to form her question as non-committal as possible. Perfect words were hard to find though.
Mary paced on.
He didn't want to shut off the water. Didn't want to leave the small, safe confines of the bathroom. He didn't want to see her. He never should have brought her into his space. It was better when she remained oblivious to how he felt, better when he was on his own, better her being his friend. He hadn't heard her leave, no slamming of the doors, no yelling, and he knew she wouldn't leave…well…quietly.
Finally he turned the knob of the faucet. No more blood seeped from his injury, and his water bill would be obnoxiously high if he continued his rebellious tirade. He pulled a band aid from the box on his sink; carefully making his way to the sink to splash more water on his face.
He'd failed. Maybe that was what hurt the most.
If you love something, set it free…
Damn that expression too. Whoever had said that load of bull had never had to set anything free—especially a wild animal like his partner. And wild animals rarely, if ever, came back once let go. He'd lost more than he had ever thought he would.
He opened the door connecting the bathroom to the bedroom, surprised to find the object of his thoughts standing resolutely in front of him. He was confused, to say the least.
"Well, I figured you hadn't left," he said flatly. She tilted her head to the side in question—a signature move of hers that he typically found alluring. "Nothing is broken and the doors are still intact."
She looked at the floor. That was fair. She sighed, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "I come in peace," she mumbled timidly.
His eyes narrowed, then widened in astonishment. "Mary…what?" He grabbed her hands in his, flipping them palms up and forcing her closer. She flinched. She'd forgotten the numbness in her hands from the glass shards. The small slashes looked like clusters of mad, deep paper cuts. And they were still bleeding.
"It's nothing. I tried to clean up the frame," she said quietly, trying to pull them back. He wouldn't let her, instead tightening his grip, gently, not painfully, and pulled her back into the bathroom.
She stared at his profile. His concern outweighed his present anger, and she smiled to herself at that revelation.
Marshall went about finding Neosporin and a few band aids while she stood idly watching.
Why didn't she want this? This caring man, who dealt with her crap and her names and her horrible teasing nature on a daily basis? He was too good for her. He knew how to push her buttons, knew how to calm her down and when to back off, put her back on her feet, keep her from throwing herself off a cliff when her family as particularly irritating, keep her from the brink of insanity, all while he quietly loved her. Was that what was stopping her? That he would realize his mistake, and leave her alone, like her father had left her mother?
All she did was take and all he did was give. And that had to stop. She had to give something of herself for once. She had to see.
He put her hands under the tap water, gently running his thumbs over her wrists. He was concentrated on her palms, startled when she stilled his hand with one of hers. Marshall glanced over.
"You're too good for me," she stated abruptly. "And I don't want you to regret me, later, knowing you could have had someone better. Someone who actually understands Back to the Future and likes Russian Literature and doesn't have to steal Pride & Prejudice from you. Someone that won't tease you mercilessly and has to be in control all the time and wants all of those mushy, crappy, pseudo romantic grand gestures. Because I can't change who I am."
The water was long forgotten, as was the Neosporin and the band aids. She swallowed thickly, trying not to look away as she continued.
"Is it too late to apologize? Is it too late to take it back?" Mary got out, as her voice cracked. She didn't want to cry.
He faced her, placing his damp hands on her upper arms. He pulled her in, trying to comfort his friend, first and foremost.
"Depends on what you want to really take back," Marshall whispered into her ear. She gave a choked laugh.
"Mary, I love you just the way you are."
She tensed again, at the odd admittance that she knew, but that had never been spoken aloud. But he wouldn't let her go this time.
So, like her mother had told her, she listened. Really listened.
"I get that you're scared that this will change us, and that being with someone in the forever kind of way will change you. But I don't think anyone could do that, and anyone who tries is missing out on something that isn't broken in the first place."
She smiled almost shyly, feeling unnaturally self conscious at his words and under his penetrating gaze.
"And who says you're not good enough? Who makes that call? No one ever thinks they'll measure up to someone else's expectations, but that hasn't stopped anyone," he queried. "And if you understood everything—like Back to the Future—what use would I be? I wouldn't have anyone to ignore my attempts at the explanation of time travel…and I wouldn't have a reason to tell you all of the useless information I've collected."
She gave a quick of a half smile. "Yeah, heaven forbid, all of that information rolling around up their and no one to tell may cause your head to explode," Mary replied. She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about earlier."
"Me too. I shouldn't have just…sprang all of that on you."
She shook her head. "No, I think you needed to. I think it had to be done, when I couldn't run away," she said thoughtfully, then chose her next words ever so carefully. "I don't know if I can say it yet. But I want too, and I feel it, and I will. Someday. There are a lot of reasons I can't right now…it's there, though. All I can do is try Marshall."
He nodded. "You wouldn't be you otherwise Mary."
"Marshall?"
"Yes?"
"I think I'm in like with you," she whispered cheekily. He grinned at the schoolgirl expression.
"That's a pretty good start," he whispered back, half-serious. Her own witty smile faded, leaning into him. Her lips hovered a breath apart from his. "You know, I'm going to need my clothes back."
His voice was joking; his eyes were screaming something far different. Darker blue and clouded with emotion.
She kissed him, chastely, quickly, before pulling back, and then kissing him again. She was teasing him, he knew—a different, unspoken teasing. When she tried to pull back again, he held her face to his in retaliation. He could play her game. He'd been playing for years. His arms held her solidly, and she gave in.
She gave into his non-grand gesture, gave into his caring words, his idea of loving her imperfections. Fear was what they grappled with everyday, and she was sick of it taking over her life and making her decisions for her. She gave in, and kissed him with her whole heart.
They stood in the doorway to his room, taking each other in, exploring their newfound territory. He'd kissed his way down her neck again, and she shivered, his hand pressed flatly on her back, under his borrowed shirt.
She placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. He looked at her questioningly, suddenly afraid again. She gave another cheeky smile.
"If you want them, you'll have to take them."
He laughed, startled and fascinated by her at the same time. "So that's how it's going to be?"
"That's how it's going to be," she repeated, dropping the hand that separated them and holding her arms up. He pushed his shirt off of her slowly, then pulled her back in…this time not letting go.
She'd never felt as safe as she did in that moment, with him, in his house.
In his home.
The End & The Beginning
Thank you for keeping my story in mind! I'm working on another idea already, especially after seeing the previews for next Sunday. Keep watching for more in a few days!