Dear Readers,

I figured I'd try something new. Perhaps you could give it a chance? I could really enjoy writing this, and I'm sure you have ever seen anything quite like it on this fandom! Please read and review. I have written this out of pure inspiration- it is short, but I sure hope you like it!

-Hannanball13

*NOTE* - Long, italicized passages are memories. Bold, italicized phrases are inner thoughts.

XXX

"Ghosts are a metaphor for memory and remembrance and metaphorically connect our world to the world we wish we could have had with them."

-Leslie What (Modified)

Marshall shook his head violently, trying to knock the sight in front of him from existence. "No… NO!" He hollered at the apparition standing before him. "NO!" His large hands covered his eyes and the tears streaked his face. What is happening?

The shots were like exhalations of a fatigued asthmatic screeching breathily across his face and skimming his collar and his cheek, but never smacking him directly. His fingers were intertwined tightly around hers. Mary was a few steps ahead dragging them away from the open fire. It was one second- and the grip on his knuckles was gone and the resounding 'thud' echoed through the parking garage and Marshall toppled over. He closed his eyes, waiting for that familiar, mind-numbing sensation of lead lodged in an appendage, but in time he realized everything had become still. The bullets were no longer flying from every direction, the danger was gone and the moment seemed to calm.

Marshall Mann lay there, groping for her, wondering where she had run off to. Until, he felt the warmness soaking into his jacket the moment was foggy, nothing was clear and the darkness surrounding him was enough to faze him from realization. His eyes widened, feeling the clammy flesh and tangled hair in his fingertips underneath him. He had stumbled over something, that's what had caused his fall, something had pushed his feet from underneath him. Not something, someone.

He was sick now, his eyes finally adjusting to the blackness. The crimson pooled around her head and her chest. The quiet, soft and precise respiration of Mary Shannon had come to a halt and she lay there limply, unmoving even in his grasp. His cell phone screamed no service on his home screen. "Mary, you listen!" He ordered. "You can hear me! God, I know you can hear me!" He covered the spewing wounds with his shaking hands. "You're gonna be just fine." He reassured, you will!"

She's gone. He thought, compressing her chest several more times. I've lost her. He blew into her throat, watching her chest fill with air and deflate. It was long before anyone showed, longer before an ambulance arrived, even if it was only minutes. It was forever when he laid her head in his lap, coming to the conclusion that he could only wait. The weak and labored thumping of her heart faded in and out, her lungs croaked and screamed for air and by the time that emergency vehicle showed, Marshall had made her so many promises- so many he should've made her a long time ago.

The waiting room was torture, more than it had been the time before. Because the time before he hadn't been covered in her volume, sputtering for words and utterances of kindness and caring like he was now. It came easy in a clean shirt, a voice and no memory of the horror and tragedy that had ensued those few years ago.

" 'No' what, Poindexter?" The image laughed her hands on her hips. "You look like you've just seen a ghost or something."

He searched the room for another bystander, Jinx, Brandi, Peter, Mark even Stan, but everyone else had left. He was alone in this empty space, "M-Mar- Mar—

"Spit it out!" She ordered, taking a step forward. He found himself tripping backward in response, attempting to maintain the distance from his partner. "What has gotten into you?" Mary questioned. "Christ, Marshall quit your belly aching!" She reached for him as he clawed across the beige carpeting of the waiting room.

"Mary!?" He answered bewildered, the sweat pants issued as Witsec training garb stuck to him as the perspiration trickled from every pore and crevice on his body.

"Yeah?" She shrugged, sitting in a chair. "I have one goddamn headache." She added.

"Yo- I- wh—

"And your uncharacteristic gibberish isn't giving me any relief! Do you have any aspirin?"

"You- You're not real!" He hopped up, chewing on his bottom lip, shoving the door open to the private waiting area, leaving the disheveled, lived in space and all too real specter behind. Or so he thought.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She wondered from beside him. He jumped. "Not real, Marshall? Are you taking some kind of crazy pills?"

"I- Mare… you're—you're…. a figment." He gulped. "Of my imagination. This is simply my reaction to a traumatic loss." Marshall stated shakily to the confused materialization.

"Traumatic loss? What in the fuck are you babbling on about?" She picked at her teeth and scratched at her collarbone, recoiling in discomfort.

He faced her sullenly and tiredly. "Mary…" He whispered. "You're gone." Marshall shuddered.

"Gone? Marshall, I'm right here." She smiled a goofy smile. "Did you get conked in that big ol' brain of yours?" She chuckled for a moment, her brow furrowing at the glum seriousness in his features. "I can't be. I'm standing, right here!" She grabbed for his arm, but found no lively, warm Marshall in her grip, just nothingness where he should have been.

He watched her terrified. "STOP IT!" He growled. "JUST STOP!"

"Marshall…"

"NO!" He repeated over and over. "NO! YOU'RE NOT MY MARY!"

"Of course I am… this has to be- hey…" She attempted a reassuring grasp once more, finding the same feeling of empty space.

"GET AWAY!"

"Listen, I don't know what's going on…"

"YOU'RE DEAD!" He cried. "YOU DIED TODAY!" He crumpled to the floor.
"I'm sorry…" He whimpered on the ground. "I'm soooo sorry…" He was rocking now, back and forth- a mess, thanking God for the lack of population in this wing of the hospital. Marshall felt like a spectacle. He looked back up. "Mary?"

But, she was gone.