Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

MARY POV

Monday morning

I scan my card at the security slot of the WITSEC door with an actual bounce to my step. My God, is this what it feels like to have a full night’s sleep? Please God, let Norah sleep through the night again. Soon! For once I don’t feel as if I’ve been dragged through a knot hole.

My eyes go to my partner’s desk. Marshall isn’t there and his computer isn’t on. WTF. Marshall’s never late. Let me try his middle desk drawer. Maybe he left a note. Actually, I’m hoping to find one of his homemade chocolate truffles. Damn. Locked. Doofus can break into my whiskey stash but doesn’t trust me not to trash his desk? Smart man. Maybe he’s out getting breakfast for us. What a wonderful idea.

What’s Stan looking at? Oh, I ‘m smiling at the thought of breakfast. What’s a matter Stan? I smile. I can smile. Not that I’ve done it much lately. Not a lot to smile about here. Getting a new chief. Sheesh. Chief Marshall? The Mann Chaffee wedding or nuptials as Marshall calls them, are soon. Marshall hasn’t said anything to me but we don’t talk anymore. He knows I despise frou frou wedding stuff. I get enough frou frou talk from Delia on witness visits. Time for coffee. These days I’m stuck with the sludge the office pot produces.

I think I’ll rattle Stanley’s cage and find out where my so-called-used-to be-but isn’t-anymore partner is. I take a sip and wander into Stan’s office. That’s what happens when you leave the door open Stan. I’d better check out that visitor chair. As the seat compresses it makes a farting noise. Stan looks up but returns his attention to the forms on his desk. Hmph. He’s ignoring me. That requisition he’s working on must be damn important. He signs his name with a flourish and finally looks at me. Stan’s desk always seems to be a big slush pile. Except when Allison Pearson is due for a visit. His mouth is pursed as if he just tasted something bad. Wonder why I see that expression so often?

“Where’s Marshall?” Marshall may not be speaking to me, but I’m not about to pass up a chance to rat him out to Stan so I can twit him about shirking work.

Stan looks at me sternly. Well as stern as Stan can. “He’s taking a few days vacation.” He nods, squinting slightly and looks me in the eye. He must be serious. I take another sip, covering my own expression of disdain. “It’s about time,” Stan informs me. “Things have been quiet. There aren’t any transfers or testimony scheduled. He’s got a lot going on these days. He deserves some time away.” He doesn’t say it, but I hear it anyway. Away from you.

“Message received, Chief. When will he be back?” Stan pretends to be scrutinizing a page of figures. “He said he’d let me know next week.” That was different. Marshall planned his time off like he planned his witness transfers – no detail too small, nothing left to chance.

I head for my desk and think about work. Who am I kidding? I’m still thinking about Marshall. He started acting oddly, odd even for Marshall, last Thursday. Someone had derailed his trivia train. Did Abigail cut Chatty Cathy’s cord?

For the last few months we’ve only talked at work about work. I’ve made a concerted effort to shield him from my concerns about Brandi, Jinx and even Norah. I haven’t liaised with any cowboys. I’m not about to tell him about my sexual dry spell. He and his lady love are probably getting it on every night. What is this world coming to when a geek sees more action than a MILF like me? Things must be getting serious between them because Marshall doesn’t talk to me about Abigail. I wasn’t surprised when they moved in together. I wonder if Abigail knows that I picked their home.

It’s time Marshall got off the Shannon merry go round. Jinx has been the least of my concerns lately. She really seems to have gotten her act together, but I can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. She enjoys teaching the little bun topped tulle bottomed darlings, and I’ve seen them mob her like a rock star. Brandi’s gone, but this time I refuse to track her down. Norah is healthy and seems happy in Joanna’s care. I owe that woman big time. But not enough to marry her son, Norah’s father.

Marshall probably booked some romantic ranch B&B to calm the pre-wedding jitters. Why does the thought of the two of them spending all day riding the range and all night riding each other remind me of morning sickness? I hold my marshal’s mug close to my nose, enjoying the smell. Thank god coffee no longer makes me sick. Get it in gear Shannon. Thinking about Marshall won’t get those reports written. It’s just another day for this Albuquerque WITSEC Inspector.

Chapter Text

Previous Thursday WITSEC office

My upcoming wedding has made life so hectic, being at work is actually restful. It’s nice to conduct my routine threat assessments without interruption. Mary and Delia are out on witness visits. Pausing the facial recognition search I grab my cell phone before it vibrates itself off the desk. Whose number is that? Doesn’t matter. Inspectors always answer. “This is Marshall.”

“Marshall? Marshall Mann?” a woman’s reedy voice asks.

“Yes ma’am. How can I help you?” I’m not accustomed to receiving calls from women. Must be something to do with a witness. Some sort of mess to untangle, problem to solve. Helping people make the most of the fresh start in witness protection. I love my job but right now my mind is occupied by the wedding and my pending promotion.

There’s a pause while the caller clears her throat. “Ma’am? Really Marshal? It’s been a few years but I don’t think I qualify as a ma’am yet.”

I’m smacked with memories of my former critical thinking instructor. My work partner may be sexually liberated, but this woman was insatiable. “Dana?” I stutter. “Uh, Dana Collins?” I hope she is married with tons of kids and not calling to rekindle the flames of our passion. “You’re right; it has been a few years. How...how are you?”

The caller’s high pitched chuckle sounds more anxious than humorous. “Yes, it’s still Collins. I know I haven’t kept in touch. For a literature minor I’m not very good at writing.” Dana pauses, trying to smother a cough. “Marshall. I’m in town for a few days and I’d like to see you.”

“Sure, I guess. What is this about?” Why oh why did my mother train me to always be polite? Why didn’t I just say no, I’m busy. I’m getting married.

“About? Actually, Marshall, it’s about time.”

“Excuse me?” What does she mean by that?

“I just mean it’s about time we got together for a talk, a visit. You know old friends and all that.”

I’m not sure what’s going on but I know there has to be more to this call than just reminiscences. I’m with Abigail now, but she has male friends. I’m sure she wouldn’t be surprised that I have female friends.

While I was considering what to say, Dana had continued talking. “I’m not going to be here long. Just a few days. Any chance we could get together tonight? Would that work?”

“Ah, that could work. What time?” Abigail and I have plans for Friday night, but nothing tonight. This morning she said might not be home till late.

“The earlier the better. I’m not much of a night owl these days. Could you make it before six?”

“Maybe.” I shuffle one handed through the documents on my desk checking for anything urgent. I should have time –barring a witness meltdown. My relationship with Dana was unprecedented. We were intimate, but not close. We did share some interests and some crazy fun times. I’ll never forget when Mary caught us making out in the UNM parking lot. Wonder if Dana is calling for a repeat? Nope, absolutely not. I have a fiancé. A live in wife-to-be. I could never cheat on Abigail.

“We could meet at the Two Fools Tavern,” I suggest. Neutral territory. Lots of people. I could keep a respectable distance from her without being impolite.

I hear another cough. Not the conversational kind, a wet teeth rattling cough. “I’m not much of a drinker. To be honest, I don’t go out much. I’m staying at the Hotel Andaluz. Could you come here?”

I see wildly waving red flags. Danger Will Robinson. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with Ms. Nymphomaniac.

“Umm, I don’t know . . . . “

Dana tittered nervously, probably remembering some of our wild couplings. “Oh Marshall, don’t worry. Not that you weren’t a very good lover, but that’s not why I’m here.” Her voice dropped, and her tone turned serious, “Just come. Please. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Good. We won’t be alone. “All right.” Going to her hotel doesn’t seem a lot to ask.

I clear my desk – and lock it. I can’t trust Mary not to prank my desk. God knows what she would do with the wedding invitations if she found them. I had Funyuns with lunch so I hit the breath freshener as I leave the office for the night.

I’m at the Andaluz long before 6. It’s in an old section of downtown Albuquerque. The area had gone from high brow to slum and back again as the city expanded and downtown real estate became valuable. Now the Andaluz was what Mary would call hoity-toity.

Am I really ready to do this? I knock on her door. It’s a suite. The 1939 luxury hotel had modern amenities, but retained its charm. Charm that came with a price tag. Dana must be a tenured professor by now. Professors must make more than I realize. Unless she’s supplementing her income with something illegal or immoral. Sheesh. Been hanging around Mary with her persistent negative view of humanity too long.

While waiting for the door to be answered, I check for exits. My habit of planning alternative routes follows me off the job. Dana opens the door with a tremulous smile and a squeaky “Come in.”

She is thinner than I remember and it seems to take effort for her to stand. Her hair is tied back, and despite the warmth of the hotel, she is wearing a cardigan sweater. She leads me into a living room area. I can see a kitchenette off to the side. Another two rooms open off the living room.

“Would you like something to drink? Have you had dinner? I have some snacks. . . .” she trailed off.

I want to know the reason for this visit, but I don’t mind a brief delay. Dana is nervous and the additional time might help her relax. “Just water. Water would be good. Thank you.”

“Good. Great,” she quickly responds. “I’ve got that.” I hear the patter of her soft soled flats on the kitchenette floor.

Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Sandia Mountains from this elevation. No wonder the seating faces the picture window. I never get tired of the desert and its mountains. Dana interrupts my study of the scenery with a cold bottle of water. She sits in a wing back chair. I take the couch facing the window and kitty-corner from her.

It’s my turn to get this conversation started. “This room has a spectacular view of the Sandia Mountains.” I can name the peaks and canyons. I have ridden many of the trails. But something tells me, Dana wouldn’t be interested.

I get a good look at my hostess and notice a small video screen on the table next to her. I point to the monitor. “Technology has really come a long way.” I lean closer in order to see what is playing.”Is that a nanny cam?”

“Yes,” Dana acknowledges with a bittersweet smile. “But without the nanny.”

“But,” I hesitate, focusing on the screen. I don’t want to call her a liar. “The resolution on this is really good. I ..uh.. I see a woman sitting next to a crib?”

Dana ducks her head revealing a starburst of grey hair and scalp. She takes a deep breath. “She’s not a nanny. She’s a nurse.” She pauses, working up the courage to confess. “She’s my hospice nurse. The doctors wouldn’t allow me to make the trip without her. She doesn’t usually baby sit, but she is helping with my son.”

Oh my God, is that what this is all about? She’s come to say goodbye?

I ignore the fact that Dana has a child. “Hospice? Certainly not you. You look” I stop, realizing she looks far from great. Instead I end with “good.”

Dana titters and blushes. She looks years younger, but only for a minute. “Always the gentleman. You are very kind. Yes,” she admits, “me.” She looks me straight in the eye, and I can see the fine lines around her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. “I was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer 6 months ago. I had to make this trip now.”

Trying to avoid the medical bombshell she’s just unleashed and the presence of her child in the adjoining room, I pick a less serious topic. “Did you have far to travel?”

“Not too far. I’ve been living in Phoenix. My Dad passed two years ago and my mother died last year.” I start to offer my sympathy for her loss, but leave the words unspoken. Her greatest loss is ahead. Dana clasps her hands together to stop them from trembling. “When I get back I’ll be moving into Serenity Hospice. I won’t be there long,” she shook her head wistfully.

Feeling awkward, I offer, “If there’s anything I can do. . . .”

Dana perks up. This is it. What did I get myself into? A genuine smile graces her thin face and I wonder how she can smile with her own death looming. She takes a deep breath. “That’s why I came to Albuquerque. There is something you can do.”

Instead of telling me, Dana heads for the other room. I watch her on the baby monitor. I hear her talking to the nurse but can’t make out the words. Dana goes to the portacrib and rouses the napping child. She must be too weak to pick him up because the nurse lifts him and carries him into the living room.

Dana stops in front of me as the nurse puts the toddler down. He stands on his own, blinking sleepily. He grabs Dana’s leg, hiding. His thumb goes to his mouth. The situation calls for a little self soothing. I wish I could so something as comforting for Dana.

I have to smile at the single blue eye that peeks from behind Dana’s leg. He’s wearing denim overalls and a white short sleeved shirt and socks. He’s just a little taller than Dana’s knee. He must be shy around strangers. My study of the boy is interrupted when Dana clears her throat.

“Marshall,” Dana’s voice wavers. “I’d like you to meet your son, Martin.”

Chapter Text

Marshall POV

“Marshall,” Dana’s voice wavers. “I’d like you to meet your son, Martin.”

“Excuse me?” I thought she said Martin was my son. She’s tired, confused. She must mean her son. The nurse returned to the bedroom. It’s just the three of us. Dana, me and the little boy.

“Martin, this nice man is your father. Remember Mr. Gary?” The toddler nods. “His son is Toby, and Toby’s father is Gary. Just like Gary is Toby’s father, Mr. Marshall is your father.”

She did say my son? My son? I sit back and my head seems too heavy for my neck. For several long minutes all I can do is look at the ceiling and breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the little boy moving to get a better look at this strange man who is passing out in front of him. He doesn’t know what to think. I can relate.

I lean forward, elbows on knees, so I appear smaller, less threatening. “Hi. My name is Marshall. What’s yours?”

The toddler looks at me then retreats behind his mother. Dana crouches down to talk to him, face to face. “Remember I told you about the nice man we would be meeting today?” It’s shocking to see the vibrant vixen I knew as a mom.

The little boy nods, his eyes shift between his mother and me.

“This,” she points to me, “is him.” She tries to reassure him with a smile. He’s still wary. Smart boy.

The boy looks at me then turns to his mom. “Really?” he asks hopefully. It sounds like ‘weawy.’

Dana nods. “Uh huh. I hope you two will be friends.”

“Carolyn,” she calls for the nurse. “Please take Martin to see the fish.” The nurse emerges from the bedroom with a small pair of cowboy boots. I’m entranced by those tiny cowboy boots. My son would choose cowboy boots. She turns to me. “They’ve got an aquarium off the lobby. Martin didn’t get a chance to see it last night.”

Crouching down to Martin she asks, “Do you remember seeing the fishies last night?” The boy nods. “Go with Carolyn and you’ll get to look at them all you want.” She tousles his dark hair and he smiles. “I bet there’s a snack downstairs just for you.” Carolyn helps him with his boots. She seems glad to deal with someone at the beginning of life.

Several shell shocked moments pass as I try to wrap my brain around what just happened. I slow my breathing trying for normal in a world turned upside down.

“When?” I croak, “When did you find out you were pregnant?” My brain is working to retrieve dates, but my voice is barely functioning.

“Almost four months after we had been,” she stops, abandoning the searching for an acceptable euphemism. “I didn’t believe it. I was using birth control. I just couldn’t be pregnant. When I knew I was, I wasn’t sure you were the father. It wasn’t until Martin was born. Once I saw those blue eyes, I knew he was yours.”

If she knew.... “Why didn’t you tell me?” I can barely accept that I have a son, but already I mourn missing his baby days.

Dana ducked her head. She was never shy so she must be tired. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms, Marshall. In my own way, I loved you. When you dumped me....”

“I didn’t dump you!” I protest.

She stares at me, peeved. “No, you just never called and didn’t return my calls.” I had to admit, it was true. Dana frightened me. “I couldn’t,” I admitted. “Your intensity was overwhelming.” Intense, yeah, that’s better than sex crazed. “I wasn’t ready. When you stopped calling I figured you were no longer interested.”

She stands, walks away then turns. “Be honest Marshall. Despite our mutual interests, you couldn’t see spending the rest of your life with me.” Returning to stand in front of me, she continues. “I understood. Even then, I knew there wasn’t an us.” She looks away, peering into the past. “I didn’t realize I wanted you until I couldn’t have you. And if I couldn’t have you, I could have this piece of you. You are a good man.” She looks up, her expression warm. “Martin is all you Marshall. I am thrilled that he is, was, all mine.”

“Why tell me now?” Thoughts of Abigail, the wedding, my promotion, my parents, Abigail’s parents jostle for my attention. But I firmly push them back. My son was my priority. He’s not in the room but his image is imprinted on my mind. This must have been how Mary felt the first time she held Norah. Everything else seems unimportant. More than anything I want to know him.

Dana stops pacing and sits down next to me. “Martin deserves to know he has a father. Every child should know their father.” Mary. Not knowing her father scarred her, damaged her in ways she’s still discovering.

“You won’t be able to take care of him much longer.” I realized. It’s a hurtful but honest thing to say. I look into her face and am startled to see acceptance and peace instead of sadness and bitter finality.

“That’s why I came now. I’ve arranged for Martin to be adopted.” Adopted? He’s my son. He has a father. He doesn’t need to be adopted. “It’s a couple I know and they are willing to take him.”

Willing? Willing? What kind of commitment is that? Willing isn’t good enough. Raising the sweet boy I just met should be a joy, a gift, a treasure.

I hadn’t given it any thought, but the words came spilling out. “What if I want to be involved? What if I want to be there for him? I am his dad. What if I want to be his dad?”

Dana was lost in her own thoughts and didn’t seem to hear me. “When Martin was born they removed a tumor the size of a football from my uterus.” She smiled fondly, remembering. She giggled. “You should have seen me. I was huge! Martin might have been bigger if he had more room.”

“I was kind of the runt of the litter myself. You’re right though. I should have seen you.” Oh God Dana. If I had known I would have been there for you every step of the way.

Dana protested, “I told you. I didn’t know he was yours. And even if I had known before he was born I wouldn’t have told you.”

“Why the hell not?”

She ducked her head. “I was too embarrassed. An educated woman getting pregnant in this day and age? How stupid was I? I didn’t know antibiotics negate the efficacy of birth control. How could I let this happen?”

Dana regained her equanimity and raised her head. “I quit UNM before I started to show and went to live with my parents. They were getting on in years and could use my help. And” she confessed, “I needed theirs.”

The wistful smile returned. “They were thrilled to have a grandson,” she assured me. “No matter how he came to be, he was their future. Their legacy. And now he is mine.”

“Dana, Dana. I am so sorry. This is .....”

“Too much to take in?” she smiled wanly. “I understand.” She did seem to understand.

I put myself in Dana’s shoes. She had given up her career. She gave birth and loved her son only to lose both parents and be diagnosed with a terminal disease. “What do you need? What do you expect from me?” I clarified.

“Honestly? I just wanted you to know you have a son. I hope you will consider adding your name to his birth certificate. After a DNA test, of course.” She expects me to require the test. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My attention wanders. Where can I get a DNA test done? She stopped talking waiting till I’m back. “With your name on the birth certificate, when he’s older, he would know.”

“There’s no father on his birth certificate?”

Dana shook her head sadly.

“Dana, I can’t...”

“It’s okay Marshall. If you don’t want to do it, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not that. I just need time. I need to ....”

“Digest what you’ve just learned?” Dana asked. “I know you. You are careful, methodical. I understand that you need time to come to grips with this. But I don’t have much time, Marshall. I’m leaving on Sunday.” She isn’t pleading, just stating the facts.

That doesn’t give me much time to figure this out. But I already know I want to see Martin again. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Shaken to my core, I leave a dying woman without an answer.
*
*
*
Driving relaxes me. Especially driving in the desert. Minimal traffic. Beautiful scenery. Helps me think through complicated issues, and this is as complicated as it gets. The part of my brain that dealt with traffic and stop lights kept me from crashing. I found myself in the Cibola National Forest. It’s peaceful. I pull into an empty campground and put my head on the steering wheel.

Abigail. How would she take the news? She’s been irritable. Every snag in her plans added to her frustration. Must be pre-wedding jitters. Right? Abigail is dealing with the caterer, renting the hall, getting the bridesmaids dresses, and the flowers. It’s a lot. I’ve tried to help, relieve her of some of the tasks. Her mother wanted to help and so did mine, but Abby insisted on doing it all. How will she feel having one more Martin sized thing added to her plate?

Do all brides get like this? There must be some basis for the Bridezilla moniker.

But it’s not just the wedding hitches that tick her off. I overheard her on the phone berating someone at ABQPD. This isn’t the cheery detective who remembers coworkers names and buys them coffee. She’s even barked at me once or twice. Nothing we couldn’t resolve. Either she apologized or I pretended to forget. I used to depend on her sweet disposition. Now any little deviation from her cast-in-concrete agenda sends her into a tirade.

I remember when she met Mom and Dad. She was sweet as pie, charming, warm. Mom is an enthusiastic hugger. I knew she had doubts when she patted Abigail’s arm instead. Dad behaved as if he was dealing with a subordinate instead of a future daughter in law. I thought he might whip out the FAIL card. Nothing new there. It doesn’t matter what they think. This is my life. Mine and Abigail’s. Mom and Dad will come around.

After staring at the western sky I know what I have to do. Where’s my phone? “Abby? Meet me at home, as soon as you can. It’s urgent.”

“Sure, sugarbritches.” There are a few seconds of silence. She isn’t used to me giving her orders. “I’ll see you in 30.”

Was she upset? I’ve never tell her to do something. Never required immediate compliance. And yet she is coming without question. Of course she’s coming. She loves me.

Chapter Text

MARSHALL POV

Thursday late afternoon/early evening

Marshall & Abigail's

I hear Abigail's keys hit the entryway table a little harder than usual The gun safe opens and closes. Good thing she isn't armed for this discussion. I chuckle. It's ridiculous to think my sweet Texan fiancée would shoot me. That was Mary's style.

"Glad you could get away, hon." I rise to greet her. Her expression is knit with concern.

“When you called I thought I heard passion in your voice. I figured you wanted me home so you could have your way with me.” She put her hands on either side of my face. “But I can see that isn’t the case.”

This isn't the booty call she thought it might be. But under the worry, there's something else. Frustration? Irritation? Surely I'm imagining it. We've postponed the wedding several times and I know she's wary of another delay.

"I got lucky honeybunch. We got the perps. With the case sewed up, I could get out of there."
She puts her arms around me and reaches up to smooth the furrows in my forehead. "You sounded so . . . . It sounded like there was something urgent. Is everyone in your family okay?"

Ah, there's my sweet thoughtful wife-to-be.

They're fine." I put my arms around her and tangle my fingers in her hair. We fit together perfectly."I got some good news today. It will require some changes, some adjustment, but . . . ."

That's a start, and a hell of an understatement. Abigail is immediately on guard. "Marshall, I am not putting off our wedding again! We are going to be married next month come hell or high water."

I certainly hope so.

She looks me in the eye and asks, "Is it Mary?"

I push her away so I could see her face. Is she serious? "No, why would you say that?" For the last few months every time I have to stay at work or there's a problem with the wedding arrangements, she thinks its Mary's fault. Whenever a female witness calls me, she thinks it's Mary. As far as Abigail is concerned every bump in our relationship or the wedding plans is Mary's fault. We've talked about this time and again, but she continues to blame Mary. This close to the wedding she should be sure of my love. Things happen. Not everything is Mary's doing.

"Around the precinct they said . . . ." she stopped. "The detectives said the only time they saw you distraught was when Mary was hurt or in trouble. I thought it had to be something like that for you to want to talk to me so urgently." I can't miss her rueful grimace and eye roll when she says Mary's name.

"No. It isn't Mary." Under my breath I mutter, "Not that I would know."
Evidently I didn't say that as quietly as I thought.

"What do you mean you wouldn't know?" Abigail demanded. "You work together, don't you?"

I sigh wondering how to explain the barrier that had descended between Mary and I. "Since you asked me to," I looked her in the eye, trying to convey the sacrifice I made for her. "I've limited the time I spend with Mary. We work separately. Other than the job, she doesn't even talk to me."

I watch her to see if she appreciates the sacrifice I made. Instead Abigail draws back and gives me a sassy smile. "Your office must be much quieter. I bet it's running much smoother. All the rest of the marshals must appreciate that you finally muzzled the bitch.," she smirked breezily. "Everything that comes out of that woman's mouth is sarcastic, demeaning, bitter or profane."

That used to be true, but not since Norah's birth. Even before Norah I've observed Mary's compassion, quick thinking, good shooting and accurate witness assessments. I miss that. I miss her.

Mary wouldn't mind being called a bitch, but I'm affronted for her. Abigail doesn't notice my grimace of distaste.

"So, if no one is injured, and you seem fine," she looked me over saucily. "Where's the fire?" She puts her small soft hand around my waist and gives an encouraging squeeze. We can resolve this quickly and not delay the wedding. Again.

"C'mon, sugar britches. You look lower than a gopher hole. You know you can tell me anything."

I'm nervous. When I hesitate, trying to figure out where to start her eyes harden to stony points.

"It is Mary." She states it flatly as if she had proof. As if it were fact. "That's why you moan her name in your sleep."

I say her name in my sleep? That is news to me. "Abigail," I exclaim. "You think I'm cheating on you with Mary? How in the hell that could that be construed as 'good news?' Don't you hear anything I say while I'm awake?" Exasperated, I clasp her shoulders and grit my teeth forcing her to look me in the eye. "I told you, I barely see Mary. It would be impossible to have an affair when we are seldom in the same place at the same time." I couldn't help it. My voice rose to a shout. I dial it down to a conversational volume. "I chose you, Abigail," I remind her. "I chose you, after knowing you little more than a year. I chose you over my best friend of the last ten years."

What the hell? Is Abigail that insecure? "How dare you attribute any difficulty in your life to
Mary? She is not the problem here." Despite my efforts, I'm chagrined to find myself shouting
again.

Abigail is shocked at my anger. She reluctantly nods. "Maybe," she half agrees. "So, what is? What on God's green earth besides that she-devil could have you this upset?"

Upset? Before the shouting I was my normal calm persona. She devil? Really? If this woman knew me she would understand how much I owe Mary. Being partnered with Mary has changed me, shaped me into the man and marshal I am today. She's not all rough edges. Her pessimism and my optimism complement each other. Mary's brashness and my follow through have made us a stellar WITSEC team. I could tell her about the real Mary
Shannon, the vulnerable seven year old in a gorgeous womanly body but Mary would shoot me.

She gives me a skeptical look, her brow furrows. She's worried. I had cut Mary out of my life, and it left a painful hole. Putting aside my anger at her accusations, I decide there was no good way to say it, so I took the Mary option and blurted. "A son. I have a son. His name is Martin and he's almost four years old."

"What?" Abigail squeaked. I'd never heard her squeak before. If it wasn't so serious I would have laughed. Disbelief and anger alternate on her face. "What do you mean you have a son? How could you have a son?"

I can tell Abigail thinks this is some mistake. A misunderstanding of terms. She starts talking slowly, quietly as if talking down a jumper on a rooftop. "I know there are many things about your job that you can't tell me, but having a son . . ." She shakes her head. "I thought I knew you.

We shared everything, our past romantic partners, our families, black sheep and all." As the life altering enormity of my son hit her, she shouted. "How could you have forgotten to tell me you have a son?" Her breasts rise and fall quickly in agitation.

I speak softly, hands still on her shoulders to calm her. "Because I just found out today. Because I just found out," I turn my wrist and check my watch," four hours ago."

She's not the only one who has talked someone off a ledge. I drop my hands, take a step back and hold both her hands in mine. "Remember when we talked about starting a family – the sooner the
better?" This really is a good thing. She has to see that. "We've just gotten a head start." I smile, hoping she will return it.

Her skeptical look tells me she's not convinced.

"I have done everything to prove my love for you. You are my first priority." I proclaim earnestly. "I asked my best friend, the woman who has saved my life more times than I can count to release me. And she did. You know that. You need to believe it with all your heart because it's true."

I took a deep breath and pause, letting my words sink in. Abigail had to get off her Mary-go-round and confront the reality of my son. She stood still, quiet but confused. Divergent emotions contorting her face.

"Now I need you to do something for me. Show your love. Accept my son as part of our lives, our family."

Abigail didn't seem to hear me. She was still stuck on the fact that I had a son. "How could you not know? Who's the mother? Why didn't you know? Why are you so damn sure you're the father?"

"One question at a time, love" I objected, forcing a warm calming tone. Despite her hurtful accusations, I can't think of Martin without smiling. "Let's sit." I pull her close to me on the couch.

"Let me begin at the beginning." She wouldn't look at me, but her breathing had slowed. Her arms were crossed and her head is down but she's listening. "Years ago I took a course in critical thinking. You know how I was always taking classes at UNM before we met? The TA and I hit it off, but there are rules about instructors dating students, even adult students. A few years later I ran into her and she," I pause, "Let's just say she was still interested."

"She must have been pretty damn interested if you have a child together." Abigail retorted angrily.

I nod. Describing Dana as interested was like calling the ocean wet.

"We," I stopped, searching for the right word, "uh, dated, briefly. I ended it."

"Ended it? How?" Abigail demanded. She'd dropped her arms, leaning toward me.

"She called, but I didn't call back. Her calls stopped and I thought that it was over." He sat up. "It was over as far as I was concerned, but as it turns out, it was just beginning for Dana."

"Dana," Abigail mouthed her name as if tasting something sour. "You never mentioned a Dana."

"Our relationship was just a blip." I assure her. "She was looking for a good time, nothing serious." And that's what it was. Dana was wild, sexy, unrestrained, inventive and damn scary. She took chances I wasn't willing to take, and the result was Martin.

"She never told you? That's . . . that's unbelievable."

"I know. I find it hard to believe too." Later, when Abigail calms down, I can explain Dana's reasons.

"It's true. She never told me until today." I nodded turning to her.

Like a flash fire Abigail's wonder turns to anger. "Why the hell now? Why the month before our wedding? What kind of slut waits three years to inform the father of her child? Did all the other guys turn her down? Are you the only one to fall for her baby daddy line?" I pull back. Who is this Abigail? Dana didn't deserve this. Once my Southern Methodist grad has the facts, she'll understand.

"Abigail," I implore. "Dana is dying, and she wants to put my name on the boy's birth certificate."

"Dying? Are you sure she isn't lying about that too?" I didn't think it possible for Abigail to be as cynical as Mary.

"She's not lying about Martin. I met him." I stand and look down at her. "My God Abigail, the woman has stage 4 ovarian cancer. Where is your compassion?" I take a few steps back, distracting myself by running my fingers through my hair. I didn't expect this reaction.

"How do you know? Have you acquired a medical degree when I wasn't looking?" She's disdainful as if she's questioning a suspect, not talking to her beloved.

I stop pacing and face her. "I saw her today when I met Martin. You don't travel with a hospice nurse and a trunk full of medication if you're healthy," I yell. "She has cancer," I shout. "It's metastasized. She's already picked a hospice for her last days. You think she's doing that for fun?"

Abigail looks abashed. She may have her doubts, but she should know I'd never lie to her. She crosses her arms again. After a few minutes consideration she looks up at me. "All she wants is your name on his birth certificate?"

"She didn't even ask for that. Dana just said she hoped I would consider doing it. That way if there are any health issues or if Martin decides he wants to know, the information would be there."

Abigail sat back, and let her arms drop. "If he's really your son, I suppose you could do that." she hesitates. "Even if your name is on the birth certificate, no one would need to know. If that's what you want."

"No," I snapped. Doesn't she get it? He's mine. How could I abandon my son? "That's not what I want. He's my son, my SON," I entreat, willing her to understand. "I want people to know he's mine. I want to he take him to school. I want to teach him to ride. You know I've always wanted
children, but a son? He's a gift. I've already missed so much. We've missed so much." Briefly my imagination wanders to riding - a sturdy pony for him and a spirited stallion for me.

I stretch out my hands, enveloping hers in supplication. "We can bring him into this loving relationship we've built," I urged. "We can give him a family, my family, your family, our family. Something he'd never have if it wasn't for us. Something only we can give him."

Abigail pulls her hands from mine. "Did she ask you to do that? She did, didn't she?"

"No Abigail. No." Abigail has never met Dana but she thinks she knows her. "She didn't ask me to, I want to. I have to. He's a Mann." My final argument doesn't make much sense, but it's true.

I stand and start to pace again. Surely once we get to know him, she'll see this will work. "That's what we need to do. I don't want him to be raised by strangers. We're his parents." Abigail pushes herself back and looks at me as if I were the stranger.

My eyes seek hers, but she avoids them. "Honey," I rub my hands up and down her arms. "I understand that you need time to grasp this, but we don't have time. Dana leaves the day after tomorrow. We need to tell her we'll be Martin's parents before she gives him up for adoption. Think about it. I know we can be good parents," I plead. "When we have our own children, we'll have some practice, and they'll have a big brother to look out for them. It's darn near perfect."

"Perfect. Right." Abigail drawls out the last word sarcastically.

"Love isn't finite," I remind her. "The more you have the more you can give. I know you can find it in your heart to love this little boy as much as you will love our own child, as much as you love me. Just come with me tomorrow. Meet him. Please."

Abigail lurches to her feet and grabs her car keys. Without another word, she leaves the house.

Like me, she often drives to put her feelings, her thoughts, in order. And tonight she had a lot to sort through.I return to the couch and gaze at the ceiling praying I know Abigail as well as I think I do.

Chapter Text

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 5 -  Son Upset

Marshall POV

Marshall & Abigail’s home later Thursday night.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know the couch cushions next to me dip. According to my watch Abigail had been gone four hours. But she came back. It was going to be okay. I don’t think I ever raised my voice to her before. My shoulders relax as I realized we would soon be planning for life with a toddler as well as the wedding. 

“Hi,” I envelope her in a hug. She stiffens and doesn’t return the embrace. I scrunch down so I could see her face, “Abby?”

She looks miserable. Her eyes are puffy, red rimmed. It is our first serious fight. I thought I caught a whiff of whiskey. Should she have been driving? 

Abigail got up and moved to the love seat across from me. I study her face trying to discern what she had decided, if she had decided. She is the woman I love. I know her. She will do the right thing. She’s not distancing herself. She just wants to see me face to face.

Abigail twists her hands in her lap and won’t look at me. She realizes her hands had betrayed her and stops, folding her arms over her chest. Before I could say another word, she declared, “Marshall, you can’t take that boy.”

“Why the hell not?” What could she be thinking?

“For one, it will ruin your career.”

“He’s not an it, Abigail. Martin is a sweet lovable toddler, and this is the 21 st century.” I shrug and spread my hands. “Forty percent of all children in the United States are born to unmarried mothers.”

She continues as if I hadn’t said a word. “You know I am proud of you, Marshall. I’m looking forward to being the wife of a Chief Inspector, a fifth generation U.S. Marshal. You should wait. The promotion board is still deciding. Wait until they approve. Don’t do anything rash. How would it look for the Chief to have an illegitimate child?” 

“Believe me, I’m not the first marshal to have a child out of wedlock.” How could she be so naive?

“How can you even consider taking in a three year old? What about the wedding? Were you imagining him as the ring bearer?” She spit out the last question. 

How could I take in a toddler? What about you Abigail? “I won’t be taking in this child. We will. ” 

“That’s just it, Marshall. We are building our careers. It’s not fair to the child,” she declared. “Our jobs are demanding. Children take time and attention. Now’s not the time for you to be losing your focus, just when you are about to reap the rewards of all your years of work. After all, you don’t even know him.”

“And you won’t even meet him,” I accused. I thought Mary was averse to change. She’s not a patch on you. What does my promotion have to do with Martin?

“We can’t wait. Dana has a couple ready to adopt. If we don’t get him now, we will lose him. Custody fights are expensive and messy and damaging for the child. What were you planning on doing when we had kids? Farm them out to boarding school while you ‘build your career?’” 

Abigail shook her head, no. “It would be different with our own child. I’ve already raised three children, my siblings.” 

“Exactly! That’s why you’ll make the perfect mother for Martin.”

“Honey britches, we’re waiting till after the wedding. After your promotion you could put your name on his birth certificate. That’s all Dana asked you to do. I want to marry you. I want to have your children, just ours.”

“Abby, sweetheart. If our situations were reversed, if you had a. . . .a love child, I would love that child as my own, because he or she was part you. Norah isn’t mine, but I love her.”

“Of course you do, because you love Mary.” Is she serious?

 “Of course I love Mary, as my partner, as my friend, but you are the woman I want to share my life.” Abigail remains unconvinced.

“Abby, Abby,” I plead. “Don’t do this. We are perfect for one another. We love each other. We understand the job. We ...” I stuttered searching for the convincing unique fact that ties us together.

“For God’s sake Abigail, we even have matching bullet wounds.” I rubbed the hole in my chest left by Horst’s henchmen. She had gotten her scar when she came to help Mary and I catch the car thieves at Peter’s dealership. “We are meant to be together. How can you not love my child?” 

“So, what is this? Love me love my child?”

At last, she gets it. That’s exactly what it is but I don’t want to force a decision now. I refuse to take the bait.

“Marshall, remember when we talked about adoption? I told you I can’t see myself bonding with someone else’s child. I may have raised my siblings but they were my family. I can’t see caring in the same way for a child who isn’t mine. It just seems,” she paused shaking her head, “wrong. It’s wrong.”

I can’t believe this. She doesn’t mean it. But, why would she say it?

 “Of course you can bond with him. You’ll make a wonderful mother. Abby, just come with me tomorrow. Meet him,” I cajoled. What is she saying? “Wrong? How can it be wrong? This isn’t adoption, although you could adopt Martin. I don’t need to. I’m his father. How can a little boy be wrong?”

Abigail sniffed. Was she crying? Maybe, but she still had a cold glint in her eye. She refused to listen to her heart, assuming she even had one. “Marshall, I raised my siblings. My every action, every decision was second guessed by my parents. They gave me the responsibility but no authority. I’d be in the same situation as Martin’s step mother.”

“But, but,” I spluttered. “It wouldn’t be that way. If you adopt him you’d have full legal custody of Martin. I’ll see to it. Please, please just meet him.”

Drawing a deep breath, her shoulders dropped and she acquiesced.  “Okay, okay. I will meet him. You arrange it and let me know the time.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. This will work out.

*

*

*

Friday - Hotel Andaluz

I had taken the day off. I found out what was needed to add my name to Martin’s birth certificate. I checked into DNA testing and selected a lab. I bought Martin a few of my favorite books, and another train car for his collection.

I also called to arrange a visit with Martin. “Dana? This is Marshall. My fiancé would like to meet you and Martin. May we stop by after lunch? Will Martin be napping then?”

Dana says she will put Martin down for an early nap. He’s been tired ever since coming to Albuquerque. He should be wide awake when we get there. Abigail has arranged for an extended lunch and so have I. I can’t wait for her to meet my very own mini me.

At 1:30 Abigail and I are knocking on the door of Dana’s suite.

Dana’s hand is trembling as she pulls the door open. This is awkward. My former lover and current fiancé in the same room. Is Dana nervous or is this the effect of the drugs she takes to ease her pain? Abigail’s eyes are sharp as she scrutinizes Dana like a suspect. When Dana leaves to get Martin, I point to the view of the mountains, naming a few of the peaks I’ve climbed.

Martin emerges from the bedroom clinging to Dana’s skirt. The nurse is nowhere in sight. 

I crouch down and speak softly, cajoling and friendly. “Hi big guy. Hi Martin. Did you have a nice nap?” He’s rubbing his eyes. Either he was still asleep or he has allergies.

When he sees Abigail Martin freezes. Only his eyes move. He stares at her with the impunity of childhood. After a few long moment, he looks away and focuses on his mother.

This doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. “Why don’t we sit down?” I urge. Bringing Abby and I down to Martin’s level should assuage his fear. Dana and Martin sit scrunched together in the wing back chair. Abby and I sit on the couch.

“Martin? Do you remember me?” His thumb is firmly planted in his mouth. Dana murmurs to him and he nods uncertainly. 

“This is my wife. She and I would like to have you live at our house. I’m your dad and Abigail would be like your mom.” Okay so she’s not my wife, but fiancé is too nuanced for a four year old.

At the mention of ‘mom’ he shakes his head no violently. I should have anticipated his antipathy to that concept. I should have used some other word. Damn!

“Martin, Martin, no sweetie,” Abigail entreats. “No one can replace your mom. But when she can’t be with you I can do the things she does. I can read to you.” I had told Abigail about his love of books. “We can go to the park. We’ll meet other boys for you to play with. You’ll have fun at our house.”

Bless her big as Texas heart. Despite her qualms about his affect on our careers she is trying to get to know my son. 

Martin is still shaking his head. The longer Abigail talks the more he closes his eyes and shakes his head. When she says ‘fun at our house,’ he shouts “No, no, no!” and starts to cry.

Abigail looks at Dana mystified. Dana shrugs. “He’s never done this before although he’s not cuddly with Mike and Molly yet.”

“The couple who are willing to adopt Martin,” I explain to Abigail 

“But he’s never curled up and rocked himself like that. I’m not sure what’s going on. When we get back to Phoenix I’ll take him to Dr. Gonzales. She has been wonderful for him, and me.” Dana is as confused as I am. Martin was fine when it was just me. Yesterday he was a shy little boy.

Dana tries to comfort and distract Martin. She gets him to stand and gets on her knees eye to eye with him. “Martin. Mommy’s going to lie down. You know Mommy needs to take more naps now, right?” Martin nods and whispers, “Yes.” Dana smiles at him. “I’ll be in the next room, okay? While I’m resting why don’t you show Mr. Marshall and Ms. Abigail your train? Bet they’d like to see it. Okay?”

Martin grips her skirt tight. Dana uncurls his hand and leads him to his toy filled back pack before retreating to the bedroom. I had left the stuff I bought in the car. I didn’t want Dana to think we were bribing Martin.

Dana left the nanny cam with us and takes the monitor with her. I adjust the camera so that Martin is front and center.

I sit on the floor and Abigail follows. Abigail lets me do the talking. “What’s in your bag Martin? Your mom said you have a train. Can I see it?” Martin reluctantly stays half way between us and the back pack. He edges closer to the bag and with a brave dash grabs it and pulls it behind the couch. 

I carefully get up to look behind the couch. Martin is in a fetal position, arms wrapped around the backpack rocking and muttering no. Eyes closed he hasn’t looked at us once. He didn’t even look for Dana. He stays and rocks. After a while, Abigail grabs my elbow. “We’re making it worse. Let’s go.” 

What happened to the sweet boy I met yesterday? “Dana – I’ll call you later, okay?” Dana has gotten up to comfort her child and nods without looking at us.

“Not exactly a successful visit,” Abigail grumbles. I had to agree. “Marshall, let’s go home. We need to talk.”“Not exactly a successful visit,” Abigail grumbles. I had to agree. “Marshall, let’s go home. We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 6 – Family Feud
Marshall POV
We were silent on the drive home. I don't know what Abigail was thinking but I was trying to figure out what caused Martin to be so upset. He was a normal little boy yesterday.
Walking into our living room Abigail makes a stunning declaration. "I'm not an expert, but I think Martin is autistic. The repetitive 'no,' the rocking fetal position, the refusal to make eye contact are all behaviors associated with children on the autism spectrum."
I don't bother to sit. Neither does Abigail. "You're right," I reply gruffly. How dare she find fault with my son based having seen him a total of thirty minutes? "You're not an expert. Martin is just shy. He's in a strange place meeting new adults, strangers. He knows his mom is going away. Of course he wants to hang onto her. When I said you could be like a mom to him he reacted. What child wouldn't? It's all my fault. My poor choice of words."
"Marshall," Abigail says firmly. "Don't delude yourself. I've been around autistic children. Martin displays all the signs. I know you don't want to hear this, and I don't blame you. If he was my child I wouldn't want to hear it either."
My fists clench. "I don't believe for a minute that he is autistic. Even if he is, he could be brilliant in other areas. There are programs designed for autistic children. It isn't a death sentence!"
"No," she agrees. "It's a life sentence for us. Autistic children require even more time and attention than normal children. We shouldn't take on that responsibility now. It wouldn't be fair to him or us."
Now she's the one with the medical degree? "I'm calling Dana to see how Martin is doing." When Dana answers I don't hear Martin crying. "Dana? Is Martin okay? What happened? Do you have any idea why he seemed afraid of us?"
She tells me he's tired and new people and places upset him. After a few courteous pleasantries, I thank her and hang up. "Dana says she's never seen Martin act that way. It's simply the new place, new people and the knowledge that his mother will be gone."
Abigail insists, "It's common for autistic behaviors to present at his age. She's his mother. Of course she thinks he's fine. Her friends and his doctor probably know but don't want to add to her suffering."
I get my phone out again. "What are you doing? This is between us, Marshall."
"I'm calling Dana again. I want access to Martin's medical records. If she agrees you'll see he is a normal little boy." I can' t look at her now. "I'm not giving up on him Abigail. He was fine when I met him yesterday. He'll adjust. We just have to give him time."
I turn my back on Abigail while I talk to Dana. I finish, hang up and turn to Abigail. "She says Martin's pediatrician never hinted at autism in any form and she's willing to let me have his medical records." I know Martin is normal. He's in a stressful situation and Abigail and I didn't help.
"Sugarbear." Abigail says sadly. "I know this is hard. You just found out about him and now. . ."
"Dammit Abigail! He's not autistic!"
"How do you know?"
"I will prove it to you." It takes every ounce of concentration to push the correct button on my phone. "Mom?" I relax once I hear her voice. I force myself to sound lighthearted, casual. "Yeah, sorry. I know it's late but you're the only one who knows." Mom is up for playing 20 questions for about to be weds. "Abigail and I were talking about our childhoods. Abigail wants to know what I was like when I was three or four years old. I'm going to put you on speaker, okay?"
Mom pauses and thinks. The she lists the adjectives I expect. Quiet, introspective, attentive, kind. She said at times I seemed to exist in my own world. Unlike my brothers I never wanted to perform for the grownups, or even other kids because my brothers were quick to make fun of me. "Was there ever a time where I stopped talking or rocked myself?"
Mom assures me I was born talking and had yet to stop, although she did recall a time where I refused to speak and did a lot of what she calls self soothing. She thinks it was after I saw my dog get hit by a car and die. She says I'm her sensitive child and she figured it was my way of grieving.
"Thanks Mom." After a loving farewell, I end the call. "Well?" I ask Abigail. "The way Mom describes me isn't so different from what we saw Martin doing today. His mother's impending death is traumatic. He's grieving. Our visit, and my insensitive reference to you doing what his mom does triggered his behavior. The two of us saying he would live with us just made it worse. He understood that his mother would be gone. He didn't know what that meant."
"So, Martin isn't autistic because your mother says so?" Abigail sneers. Sensing her mistake, she pleads instead. "Sugar, I know you've got a big heart, but you need to concentrate on us, getting married and getting ABQ WITSEC in order."
I shake my head, no, no, no, echoing Martin but not saying it out loud. I had tried to correct Abigail's impression of Stan multiple times. She thought he was a pussycat in people clothes. She was sure Stan had left a mess for me to fix. She didn't know Stan was being promoted, and I had hinted but couldn't tell her. Not yet. She thought he was being replaced because he allowed Mary to walk all over him. As if anyone 'allowed' Mary Shannon anything.
"Honey britches, a child needs a lot of time and attention. This boy needs even more." She wraps her hands around my forearms pulling me close. "Albuquerque is just the beginning for us," she looks into my eyes and says softly. "Albuquerque is just a step along the way." This is news to me. Abigail and I are masters of making nice instead of making sense. Abigail was the anti-Mary. Abigail said Mary could raise hell and put a chunk under it, but I always knew what Mary thought.
"This boy needs stability," she continues. "He needs support. He needs programs designed to help him. When we move he'll be uprooted and lost. In a few years I'll ready to take the next step, and when that time comes, I want you with me. I've dreamed of being one of the first female chief of detectives in a major metropolitan city since I was a little girl. Since Daddy explained the job to me. Sugar bear, I'm sure you can see Albuquerque isn't that city."
When we move, not if? Albuquerque is my home. I thought it would be hers. I had no idea Abigail was that ambitious. Does she think being married to me polishes her resume? Am I just a necessary career accoutrement?
"Why am I just hearing about this dream of yours now? You said we had shared everything. Why didn't you share this? What about us Abigail? What about a family?"
"I am focusing on us Marshall, on our future. On what we could be. We can achieve it all, together. No one should stand in our way."
"You never answered my question. Why haven't you told me you want to be Chief of Detectives?"
"Seriously, you want to discuss this now?" she chides.
I nod my head and cross my arms over my chest. Damn straight I want to discuss this now.
"Fine. It should be obvious. You know me. You know how I do my job."
"You are careful, methodical, innovative but by the book. You have an excellent solve rate and the admiration of your peers," I recite.
"Just like you, Marshall. You do everything by the book so you can move up in rank. It took you a while, but here you are, Chief. You're getting the recognition you deserve. It's more difficult for women, and I don't want to wait ten years to take the next step up the ladder. I didn't move from Dallas to stay in Albuquerque. I came. . . "
"For the promotion to detective," I interrupt. There are so many things wrong with her statement about me I don't know where to start. I do my job to the best of my ability because it's the right thing to do. It didn't take me ten years to be promoted. I was where I wanted to be, doing a job I loved.
"Yes. It was the next step toward my ultimate goal. I knew I could do the job, but it wasn't happening in Dallas. I didn't tell you about it because Daddy advised me not to. Men feel threatened by a successful woman. I told one man . . . and he broke up with me. I couldn't lose you too Marshall. In time I know you'll see that Albuquerque is just a beginning for us," she entreated. "And having Martin will put all that on hold. Maybe indefinitely."
Chief of Detectives, really? Isn't there a limit? One Chief per household?
"So you're saying my son is an obstacle?" I'm desperate. "It doesn't have to be that way, Abs." My chance for a loving wife and instant family is circling the drain. Our relationship was built on a foundation that a toddler could crumble.
"Honey britches, you don't even have proof that he is your son." She's back to that? First my son is autistic, now he isn't even my son?
"You heard my mother," I rebut. "He acts like me! Look, look at this photo." I dug a photo out of my back pocket. "I found this in one of the albums mom gave me. "Abigail, sweetheart, that's me at three. Now look at this." I took my phone from between her hands so she could see the picture I had taken of Martin. I smile as I look at him, standing tall in a cowboy hat and boots. "I sent this to my mom. She thought it was me." Just look Abigail, damn you. "He's the spitting image of me. Here's your proof." I push the photo and the phone at her. Oh Abby. There are none so blind as those that will not see.
Abigail looks horrified. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have sent your mom that photo. Did you tell her who it was?"
I hadn't told my mom about Martin, but Abigail didn't need to know that. "Why shouldn't I tell my parents? If even my own mother can see the family resemblance why can't you? He belongs with us."
"Because," Abigail declares, "he doesn't. There is no place for him in our lives now or in the future. The future we've planned. The career accomplishments I've dreamed of all my life. I want children, I want our children, and I want our children to fit in with our families."
"What do our families have to do with it?" To be fair, I was the one who brought my mother into this. "This is our decision, Abigail. My parents would love another grandson. Wouldn't yours?" I got up and paced, my heart pounding. I stop and face Abigail, digesting her last comment. "You think I don't fit in with your family? Is that it?" That hurt. "This is a fine time to bring that up."
"Daddy liked you." she replied softly, looking down, away from the photos.
I stood over her. "Yeah, well my father didn't like you!" Her face fell and I felt awful. "Oh Abby. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"No Marshall. If it's the truth you should." She looks into my eyes. "Is it?" She can tell from my face it is.
"Why doesn't your Dad like me?" Her voice is small and quiet, a huge change from the strident declarations of ambition she'd just made. "Your Mom and I get along fine. They both seem" she pauses wistfully searching for the right word, "happy about the wedding."
I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't hurt her, even now. The truth is neither of my parents thought Abigail was a suitable wife for me. Mom hid it better. I hadn't told Abigail because it would affect her relationship with them. We wouldn't see them that often. A little deception seemed justifiable in pursuit of family harmony.
Despite Abigail's considerable charm, Mom and Dad's decades of dealing with law enforcement families led them to conclude that she wouldn't fight for us, for me, let alone be able to save me. They were wrong about that. Abigail was fighting now, but for only me, not for my son. How can I make her understand it's a package deal?
I ignore her question and focus on her last statement. "Your father liked me? Past tense, as in he no longer likes me?"
"Well," now it's Abigail's turn. "I talked to Daddy last night." Of course she did. And I thought Mary had daddy issues. "We agreed that a child, especially a special needs child does not fit our lives. Especially with your promotion still unconfirmed. Daddy understands our goals, what we want to do with our lives, our careers. He's always advised me, and he wants to help you too." I wonder if it was his idea to bring coffee to a crime scene? Did he 'advise' her to marry a U.S. Marshal?
Wringing her hands she spilled. "I want the whole enchilada Marshall. I want to marry you. I want children with you, our children. I want you to be Chief Inspector and I want to be Chief of Detectives. I want our life together without entanglements."
I was still pacing, shaking my head. Love is the prime entanglement. I stop in front of her. "He understands your goals, Abigail. He doesn't seem to have a clue what I want. You know I want a family. Now, through some twist of fate, I have a son, a normal little boy. Your goal seems to be to marry a man without a son so he doesn't get in the way of your career."
I should have known. All of her friends are younger. They can wait to start their families. I don't want to be the oldest dad at back to school night. None of her friends share my hobbies and interests. I can play a mean game of scrabble and I'm a good listener. With her friends, and they were all her friends, I listened a lot more than I talked. Wouldn't Mary be surprised? I discuss guns and ammo, but I can do that with Mary.
It seems Abigail hadn't really cared about the things that interest me. Mary at least was honest when she dismissed my hobbies.
I stopped pacing and leaned toward Abigail. "Do I need your father's approval before you marry me?" I was pleased to see her shiver when I whisper in her ear. "Where is the independent woman I proposed to?"
I watch her expression harden as she raises her face. "It's not like that Marshall. I make up my own mind, but I've learned that," she looks down and tilts her head, "often, my father does know best." She inhales slowly, trying to project an air of calm. "It's just. . . in this case, neither of us see a place for this child in our lives. Your promotion. . . ."
"My child. You can't see yourself raising my son," I shout. "How will that be different when the child is yours and mine? You'll only care for your half? Hell, Abigail, Norah isn't my daughter, but I love her as if she were my own."
Abigail recoils as if I had struck her. "Have you been sneaking off to see her?" Her accusation catches me off guard. She had once told me that when I held Norah the rest of the world ceased to exist. Even she ceased to exist.
"No, why would you think that? Don't you trust me?" My voice becomes loud again. "You asked me to sever my relationship with Mary. No Mary, no Norah." Mary made sure of that. "You asked me to give up my best friend. And I did," I yell. "Why is raising my son too much to ask? I know he's my son. And when the DNA test comes back, you'll have your damn proof."
Abigail had shrunk back when I started shouting. Now she leans forward and squares her shoulders. "Marshall, you need to choose the life we've planned. The boy might be your son. Putting your name on his birth certificate now could derail all our plans. Just wait."
I gritted my teeth. "I told you. We can't wait. Dana is dying. Her life is measured in days, not months. Martin needs us before his mother is dead." Who is this callous woman? "You're not seriously asking me to choose between you and my son?"
"No," Abigail sobbed. "You need to stay where we are. Pick our future and your career." She drops her eyes and continues, "If he really is your son, he would be proof that you aren't the man I thought you were. You say you love Norah. Maybe that makes you the better person, or maybe it means you love Mary more than me." She looks up, shocked that she had said it out loud. That certainly explains her rants concerning Mary.
"Are you saying you will give up us, all that we've done, our engagement, this house, the months we've spent building a future all because I have a son?"
"I just know," she stood, nose to nose with me, "I can't raise a child who isn't mine. I shouldn't have to."
"Then you're not the woman I thought you were." I grab my jacket and head to the front door. "I'm going to a hotel. I'll stay there until you come to your senses."
Between sobs she yells back, "That will be when hell freezes over. I'd as soon bite a bug," As I slam the front door I hear something small hit it. Something about the size of an engagement ring.

A/N: I know less about autism than Abigail.