A/N: Trying my hand at some IPS fan-fiction. I own nothing related to the show – all characters and whatnot are property of their respective owners. I think I picked up most of the storyline correctly, and tried my best to get the legal jargon correct, but forgive me if there are any mistakes.

The elevator made its telltale "ding" as Marshall and Stan slowly stepped out, staring into the glass doors that separated them from the office. There was Mary, sitting sedately at her desk – well, as sedately as Mary ever sat – hunched over a piece of paper on which she was writing. Marshall knew, even at this distance, that her free hand was on her stomach. He always thought it was funny the way she kept it there, as if constantly checking to make sure the baby was still inside. Almost nine months in, and the idea of being pregnant was still an enormous shock to her. Even when it was over, Marshall wondered whether she'd succumb to the fact that it had really happened.

Knowing he must've gone vacant, he turned to Stan and swallowed once. This should not be this hard. Relocations, findings, trappings, surprises, lost loved ones found…it was his life. He breathed it every single day. It was almost the routine that made it so exciting for Marshall. Each day was so similar, and yet so vastly different all at the same time. It was a moment before he realized he was staring at Stan.

"You have to tell her, Marshall," he said seriously.

"I know," Marshall replied tartly. "I said I would."

"We agreed that would be best," Stan reminded him. It was probably a good thing he had. "I don't want her getting worked up – not when she's this far along. It's going to upset her, but less coming from you. You know that Marshall."

The inspector was silent, gazing through the glass at Mary, wondering how he could possibly reveal something of this magnitude.

"Marshall?" Stan repeated, pulling him back to the present.

"Yeah…sorry," he muttered, shaking his head. "I know. You're right. She's in her third trimester and she's high-risk; giving her news like this could send her over the edge. I'll be careful."

"Good man," Stan reinforced the point with a hearty clap on Marshall's shoulder and marched forward, raising his hand to swipe his badge. He paused before doing so, taking the time to glance back at Marshall. "You ready?"

Marshall gulped again, and then nodded forcefully.

"Yeah. Let's go."

With a click and a beep, Stan ran his card through the slot and the door unlocked to admit them. They strode inside, all purpose, Marshall trying his very hardest to act ordinary. Mary was very astute. She'd pick up on something funny in an instant.

"Morning Mary," Stan said comfortably. She raised her hand in an irritable greeting, not looking up.

"How are you today?" Marshall said, so stiffly it was almost comical and he knew instantly it was a mistake. For blowing their secret before the time was right, no, but asking Mary how she was in her state was, at this point, pretty much a death wish.

Confirming his suspicions, Stan shot him a look but it was nothing compared to the one Mary gave him.

"How am I?" she repeated, eyes narrowed. Marshall smirked, trying to play their usual game.

"Well, let's see. I discovered this morning that I'm so knocked-up I can't see my feet anymore; I am roughly the size of a killer whale, and peeing like a drunken sailor every twenty minutes. How would you be, doofus?"

"Uh…sorry. My mistake," he muttered, still with half a smirk on his face.

"Then you're right where you should be," Stan said cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Chained to your desk."

Mary threw him a look of deepest loathing and even Marshall had to admit Stan was showing quite a bit of nerve, especially considering what was to come.

"By the way," Mary continued, capping her pen and standing up, her chair sliding out underneath her. "Albuquerque PD keeps calling but they won't tell me why. They keep asking for one of you two bozos and if they're going to call ten thousand times in one morning they could at least cough up. You know what this is about?"

She said it so casually, so effortlessly, but it seared Marshall like a knife. He hadn't expected this to come up so quickly. And what the hell was wrong with everyone at ABQ PD? Where was Bobby D. with his discretion when you needed him?

Marshall and Stan exchanged a look, one that did not go unnoticed by Mary.

"What?" she prompted immediately, walking around and in front of her desk. "After sitting through that ringing phone for the last hour, I think I have a right to know on this one Stan."

She appealed to her boss, shaking her head slightly when neither one of them responded. Marshall knew Stan was waiting for him to take charge, but he'd tensed up unexpectedly.

"Come on, what?" she demanded, louder this time. She looked from one to the other, and then locked in on Marshall.

He knew then, he couldn't hide much longer.

"Marshall?"

She was staring at him now, eyes boring into his. She had been schooled to expect the truth from him, above anyone else, whether she admitted it or not.

"Mary…" he began his voice as calm and even as he could make it. "I think…we should go out on the terrace and…talk."

Stan nodded; he was already turning to retreat into his office.

"Talk? About what? Come on – Stan!" she called after him, and he turned briefly.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," he said quietly.

His door shut with a thud, leaving Marshall and Mary standing there, Marshall fighting every urge to take her arm and lead her outside as gently as he could. She hated any kind of coddling; she always had.

"All right, Mr. Wikipedia; what is it?"

Marshall stole away with the opportunity without even thinking.

"Actually, Wikipedia is a website that allows anyone to edit it, therefore making it an unreliable source and as I look strictly for only solid-based fact…"

"Jesus Marshall!" Mary interrupted. "Not before ten A.M."

She shook her head, annoyed as usual with his fountain of information.

"Encyclopedia or even dictionary would be more appropriate," he finished with some hesitation.

"Whatever," she snarled, but before he knew what was happening she had seized his arm and was dragging him out to the terrace with surprising speed considering her size at the moment.

The exterior door shut with a snap and the only sound was the whir of the box fans set into the wall. Mary shoved Marshall into the only chair at the spindly little black table in the corner. She remained standing, hands on her hips in rising agitation. Marshall suddenly remembered his promise to Stan about not getting her riled.

"What are you doing?" he found himself saying, his hands out, his palms up.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" she spat. "You know, I can beat this out of you if you want. If this is about a witness, you better spit it out now. And why did you want to talk out here? What are we bugged or something?"

All of this fell off her lips very quickly. Marshall was zeroing in on them, somehow, and then upon the rest of her. She had on a red and black striped top; it was so long is almost reached her knees. Her hips were hugged in a pair of black leggings, topped off with her usual pair of boots. He could not understand, with all the complaining she did about how much her feet hurt, why she was still donning this particular item of clothing.

He knew he had to stop all these pointless ramblings going on inside his head. He needed to focus. Now was the time to do that. He had to be totally and completely present. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully.

"Mary, I want you to sit," he was not even halfway out of the chair before he heard her exasperated sigh. She had whirled around, hands going to her hair in frustration.

"God! What? What is it?" she ordered. "Don't do this to me, Marshall; you know I hate this! I don't want to sit; I don't want to have some discussion just -."

But Marshall cut her off. He wanted his intentions – his expectations – to be perfectly clear.

"Mary," he said sharply, taking her elbow in his hand as she tried to turn away again. She jerked around to face him. "I'm serious."

Though she clearly didn't like it, the tone in his voice must have suggested he wasn't fooling around in any way, shape, or form. She sighed loudly again, but wrenched her arm out of his grip and threw herself down in the chair.

"There," she said childishly. "I'm sitting. Now what?"

Marshall wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and took a step toward her. He slowly knelt down so they were face-to-face, and placed one hand on her knee. Her eyes were narrowing into slits. He should really act fast at his point to avoid her giving up on him, but he wanted to do this delicately.

"Mary…" he began. "Albuquerque PD was calling Stan and I because of a…case we helped them out with last night."

"So?" Mary snapped immediately. "This is earth-shattering because…?"

"They brought in a man who is a very high-security prisoner; he's been on the America's Most Wanted list for almost thirty years."

He wanted to stop, wanted to see if she could figure this out for herself before he got in too far, but he knew now that he'd started he had to keep going.

"He was in Albuquerque to…to visit someone and I guess he let his guard down…"

The realization was starting to hit her. He could see it in her eyes; they were widening with comprehension as he continued in his usual, matter-of-fact tone. But Mary wasn't just some witness. She was…

"He was picked up for his crimes of multiple bank robberies throughout the country; he had a fake ID on him but his photo matched the one in records and he's-,"

"Marshall!" the bite to her voice was gut-wrenching. He closed his eyes, resigned, and pulled the report from his jacket pocket and felt it pass from his fingers into hers.

"Oh sweet Jesus…" she whispered, so quietly he barely heard.

"He's…" Marshall swallowed. "James Wiley Shannon. Fugitive."

He let himself be enveloped in silence, pulling back from her slightly, his hand sliding from her knee. She was gazing, her mouth partially open, at the police file in her hands; brand new mug-shot, the signatures of people who had seen him just eight hours ago. After what he considered an appropriate amount of time, he ventured a word or two.

"Mary?" he said softly.

"He's here?" she responded, quicker than Marshall was expecting. "In…in Albuquerque?" her voice was hushed, her eyes darting up to meet Marshall's.

"Yes," Marshall replied. "He's in custody at the county jail awaiting trial."

"Awaiting trial," Mary scoffed, shaking her head from side-to-side. The josh appeared more to herself than to Marshall. "Who knows about this?" she recovered quickly, flashing the report in his face.

"A couple people at Albuquerque PD, me, and Stan. Nobody else; Stan and I worked very hard to keep this quiet until we could talk to you."

She looked into his eyes. He was so earnest; his desire to hold everything under wraps just for her was endearing to say the least. But there were more pressing matters on her mind right now.

"Does Nancy Drew know?"

"Who?" Marshall furrowed his brow.

"Abigail" Mary sighed, rolling her eyes.

Marshall hesitated only for a second, casting his gaze to the cement very briefly before looking back up.

"Yes. Abigail knows."

Mary didn't know what she was supposed to think about that. She wasn't sure rationale would catch up with her senses; the fact that Marshall had-had to talk to somebody at the police department and he had chosen the one he trusted the most. That was tactful on some level.

"Why is he here?" Mary continued, all of this rattling through her brain at breakneck speed.

Marshall allowed his hand to crawl back onto her leg. To his surprise, she didn't knock it out of the way. This act of tolerance encouraged him to squeeze briefly before relaxing against her leggings.

"Do you remember…I said he came to visit someone. At least, that's what he told the detective who brought him in."

He stared, hard, into her face, willing her to understand her father's purpose for being here. She shook her head again, her breathing growing louder and more shallow. This was passing quickly into dangerous waters.

"Mary…" Marshall ventured, but she didn't let him continue.

"That could be Jinx or Brandi – maybe he's looking for them…" she offered.

"I don't think so," Marshall said quickly, trying to sabotage the thought before it formed.

"How do you know?" the anger was definitely surfacing now; was there any stopping it?

"Mary, he has been trekking cross-country for almost four months…"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes and…"

"You saw him?"

She'd jumped up; Marshall followed suit, determined to at least keep her within range if she did anything unwise.

"I wanted to find out what was going on. I needed to talk to him. For you," he emphasized. He was very distinct; unwavering.

Mary was breathing fast now; Marshall wasn't sure she'd even heard him.

"I'm gonna have to tell Brandi and Jinx – mom is going to lose her mind – I-I-I can't believe he's – after all these years…"

She was cutting through it now; her eyes had fallen from Marshall's. She seemed to have forgotten he was there. He was determined to fix that, however.

"Mary, calm down," he implored. He'd been afraid of this.

"I'm…I'm dizzy…Marshall, I'm dizzy…" and she actually swayed where she stood; one hand grabbed the brick wall to try and steady herself, but her knees wobbled dangerously.

"Okay, sit down. Please – sit down," he yanked the chair from the table and offered it to her, but she sunk straight to the ground, sweeping her hair out of her face. This was strangely familiar. It reminded him forcefully of her PTSD-induced episodes after she had been abducted. He crouched next to her, just as he had done on that day.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed. "You do not need to do anything. Stan and I will talk to Brandi and your mom. The only thing you need to do is relax; this kind of stress could be very bad for the baby."

She was breathing deeply all right; he was scared she might hyperventilate.

"Slow down…slow down," he said softly. "You're all right."

He waited patiently while her heaving started to subside. Hesitantly, he reached over and started rubbing her back in neat circles. After several moments, he saw her swallow and shake her head as though to clear it.

"Better?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah," she gulped, nodding. "Yes. Would you get me a glass of water?"

"Yes," Marshall said immediately, jumping to his feet. "I'll be right back; sit tight."

He bolted back through the door and jogged to the sink. There were no glasses in the cupboard, he soon found as he started to rummage above in the cabinets. He glanced low to see who was in the conference room – Delia was doing paperwork with a witness. He looked into Stan's office and found that Stan was looking at him as well. He stuck his head in, just in case the other man had anything to say.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Not well," Marshall answered truthfully. "But as can be expected I suppose. Do you have any glasses? I need to get Mary some water."

"Yeah, sure," Stan stood and pulled a mug from inside his desk drawer. It was navy blue and had the US Marshal Logo painted on it in gold.

"Thanks," Marshall told him. He turned to go, but Stan's voice called him back.

"Marshall," he said. The inspector turned. "Remember, this isn't about doing it right. It wasn't going to be easy; we both knew that. It's about doing our best."

Marshall nodded and left the room. After filling the mug with water, he headed back to the terrace. Mary was standing now, her arms splayed across the cement wall that separated them from the ground. Marshall approached her cautiously.

"Here," he said, stepping in next to her. "Drink up."

She took the mug, but didn't drink. She didn't look at him either. She was staring at something beyond – something he couldn't see.

"Why now?" she suddenly turned to him. "It's been thirty years…why now?"

Marshall leaned in beside her, bracing himself for what came next.

"Mary, I think he knows that you're pregnant," his voice was staccato and exact.

She stepped back, looking at him quizzically, her eyebrows narrowed and a strange smile playing on her face. There was nothing happy about that smile.

"You think?"

"He knows," Marshall corrected himself. "He knows you're pregnant."

"How could he possibly know that?" she shot back.

"You said he's found a way of keeping tabs on you; the man is a highly-skilled felon; he…"

"Pregnant, but not an expectant mother!" Mary spat. "Did you tell him that?"

"I didn't think it was my place."

It seemed she didn't know what to say to that, but she moved onto something else.

"Why would that matter anyway?" she wondered aloud. "He didn't raise me or Brandi or…Scott or Lauren or whatever the hell my other supposed-sister's name is! Now he thinks he's gonna be a papa or a grandfather or some role model to this kid?"

"I don't know," Marshall said honestly. "I really don't. Drink. You'll get dehydrated."

Out of habit, due to spending so much time obeying Marshall, she took a sip. The drink seemed to surge more life into her, but in a different way. Strange, the way water could light a fire in her heart.

"I don't understand!" she burst, droplets of water flying. Marshall extended a hand to try and quiet her, but this time it was shoved away. He should've known that gesture would only get by one time.

"How did he manage this? How the hell did he manage to slink his way back into my life during this time!" she gestured emphatically toward her stomach, growing rounder by the day.

"Mary, the man has avoided capture by the federal government for nearly three decades; this could hardly be considered surprising…"

"Marshall I…" she started to cut him off, but then had no idea what to say. She backed away from him, shaking her head still, one hand running frantically through her hair. Marshall knew it wasn't smart to let her get this agitated. He stepped slowly her direction.

"I need to tell you this now, and then it's all out in the open."

"Jesus – what next?" she raged, throwing up her hands.

"Relax. Just stay with me, okay?"

There was a pause, his palms poised in front of him while he waited for her understanding. She finally nodded, but let her hands fall to her back where he knew it was aching her lately. He wanted to ask again if she'd be more comfortable sitting, but it was probably best to continue at this point.

"James has been a wanted fugitive since at least the early eighties…"

"Yeah, you mentioned," Mary snarked.

"As such, he is heavily guarded and cannot have visitors."

There was a definite raise of her eyebrow at these words, but Marshall plowed on through.

"Stan and I pulled some strings. If you want to see him," he emphasized this on purpose. "We can call and Abigail will set it up for you and Jinx and Brandi, but it has to be done before Friday. They're going to have to transfer him before his trial."

Mary sighed and closed her eyes. Marshall, scrutinizing closely, noticed her wince.

"Are you okay?" he asked, fairly certain this didn't have to do with the situation at hand.

"Yeah, fine," she muttered. "It's my Goddamn back; I swear to you, this kid is going to come out backwards. It'll be the slasher movie of the year."

She sounded so like herself, and this should've eased Marshall's mind, but it just frightened him. Her entire life seemed to be defined by her father's abandonment. Now, he was here. Thirty years without him, of waiting and wondering, of wishing and hoping, and she was reverting back into the same old Mary.

"Did you hear what I said?" he risked asking.

She nodded; she seemed to be considering, her eyes vacant and journeying skyward as though asking for help.

"Friday?" she said quietly.

"Before then would be preferable," Marshall answered. "Listen to me Mary…"

He was closer now, close enough to touch her. In fact, now that he came to chance a look, he was touching her – the very tip of her round belly at least. She didn't flinch or seem to mind. She was looking at him as though he could explain everything away, as though he could make everything better. It was only advice that he gave, however.

"I know this choice is going to be hard for you," he started. "Whether you see him or you don't see him, I know it'll be whatever is best for you. But I want you to think about what you want here – not Brandi, not Jinx, not even James. You have another hard decision right around the corner, and you do not need the added stress."

Her eyes followed his, probing slowly back and forth like some dim spotlight. The consideration he gave her was so admirable.

"I…want to help you," apparently he wasn't finished being matter-of-fact. "And I know you can't stand it when people coddle you; that's not what I'm doing."

"So what are you doing?" Mary asked. She was curious more than anything else.

"I just know how you must be feeling and I want to…" he was growing stiffer with every word that escaped him. He shouldn't be the one getting so emotional.

"Want to what, Marshall?" Mary prompted.

Her stomach brushed between them and this spurred Marshall on. Ironically, he stepped back and slowly extended his arms out in front of him. It took her less than a second – much quicker than Marshall could've ever anticipated. She fell into his grasp, lost in his grip and his touch. She didn't shed a tear, but Marshall could feel how tense she was all over. That is, until she heaved an enormous sigh, her hair falling in waves down her back. All the tension vanished as she patted his shoulder with her hand and let her head relax into his chest.

"Thank-you Marshall," she said quietly.

He returned her pat with a squeeze of her nearest shoulder.

"No problem," he assured her.

When he cast his eyes to the window, he saw Stan give him the thumbs up from inside his office.

A/N: Sorry chapter one is so long! The others aren't so novelistic. Please review – would love the feedback!