|The Demise of Abigail Chaffee
Author: tilleygirl PM
Title speaks for itself. Written before S5 for Dispatchvampire, after a conversation expressing a certain wish.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort - Marshall M. & Mary S. - Words: 1,086 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 1 - Published: 10-27-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8647720
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I wrote this some time ago for Dispatchvampire, based on an expressed desire for a certain outcome. We had some fun with it, but I never intended to post it, because it's rather mean spirited. I just came across it, and after what happened in the finale...well, I don't care if it is mean spirited. Set before S5, before pregnancies, before engagements, before awful balcony conversations.
The Demise of Abigail Chaffee
Mary looked up in mild surprise as Stan opened his door and grimly motioned Marshall to come in. The Chief gave her a look she couldn't decipher and firmly shut the door. Mary peered into the office through the slatted blinds with unadulterated curiosity. She grew alarmed when Stan placed a hand on Marshall's shoulder and leaned down, speaking earnestly to him. Marshall's face blanched and he stood up abruptly, fumbling for the doorknob, Stan vainly trying to draw him back.
Mary was already standing up when Marshall rushed past her and out the secure door to access the elevators. She looked at Stan in confusion, her gut tightening in apprehension.
"Go with him," he said flatly, "don't leave him and don't ask any questions." Mary was already on her way to the door as Stan finished speaking.
She caught up to her partner as he opened the door to his truck. "Marshall!" He didn't even look over at her, totally focused on trying to get the key in the ignition, his shaking hands making a chore of the simple task.
"Marshall!" Louder this time, finally getting him to look at her. One glance at his face had her heart in her throat. Whatever had happened, it was bad. She held out her hand. "Give me the keys," she said quietly, "and tell me where you need to go."
His bottom lip quivering, Marshall whispered "Mesa General" and scooted over at Mary's nudge, to occupy the passenger seat.
Mary bit her lip during the short drive to the hospital, refraining from asking any questions, much as she wanted to - Marshall's stricken face kept her in line. Her stomach roiled as she thought about his parents. But it was a local hospital...she frowned trying to come up with a scenario that made sense. Stan's stern warning kept her tongue quiet each time she wanted to question her friend. Worried glances told her he was unlikely to hear anything she may say to him anyway. His blank stare out the side window concerned her, in truth she was starting to feel scared.
They arrived at the hospital and Marshall was out the door before Mary had stopped the truck. She hurriedly parked illegally in a fire zone and ran into the lobby, just catching a glimpse of her partner's head weaving down the hallway towards the ER.
Mary arrived breathless at the reception desk in the ER area and looked around frantically for Marshall. Her head whipped around as she heard his anguished voice. Trotting over to a curtained off area, she had her badge pulled to ward off any nursing staff overly concerned with HIPAA. Stepping around the curtain she pulled up short, shock making her immobile.
Abigail. Marshall's girlfriend had never entered Mary's mind. Abigail. Of course. Mary mentally berated herself. She took in the still body, the blood splattered clothes. Marshall was tightly holding her hand, whispering in her ear. Mary saw the weak squeeze Abby gave his hand, the unnaturally large eyes staring up at him. Pale skin made the red hair framing her face even more vivid. But something was desperately wrong.
"So sorry, sugarbug," Abby whispered, her eyes fluttering shut and the heart monitor flat lining. Medical personnel pushed Marshall out of the way and began CPR, but it became evident after several minutes, it was to no avail.
"Abigail." The heartbroken croak almost broke Mary's heart. She turned away, heading out to find the attending physician. Marshall wouldn't want her there with him right now. He needed some time alone. All Mary could do was try to get some answers.
Cornering the prepubescent attending, she got the details of the accident and tried to process the incredible chain of events. The cheerleader had been standing on a street corner, talking with a fellow detective when a shout from a panicked woman caught her attention. She had turned to see a toddler walking out into the street.
Apparently, Abby had rushed into the street after the child and didn't see the city bus coming towards her. The driver had slammed on the brakes but couldn't stop. The child was fine; the detective, not so much.
Mary took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Going back into the cubicle, she touched Marshall's arm. He was staring straight ahead, non-responsive. Mary slipped her hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved his phone. Scrolling through, she found the number for Abby's parents and stepped aside. Doing what she always did, taking care of those around her, sparing her best friend the pain of having to make this call. After finishing the call, she called ABQ PD and spoke to Abby's captain, then she called Stan. Then she called Seth Mann.
The morgue attendant came up to whisk Abby away and Mary gently steered Marshall out of the hospital and back to his truck. She drove him home, guided him into the house, and sat him down on the sofa. The house was full of Abby's taste in furnishings, in home decor. Looking around Mary thought it odd she didn't see more of Marshall's hobbies and interests in evidence. She realized with a shock, she had never been over to the home Marshall shared with Abby. Mary had begged off with an excuse the night of the housewarming and hadn't been able to make herself spend an evening in the perky company of Abby since then.
Oscar came over, sniffed at Marshall, then trotted over to the door, looking at it expectantly. Marshall started to sob softly. "She's not coming home, boy," he hiccuped. Oscar looked at him puzzled, then walked over and laid his head in Mary's lap.
"I'm so sorry Marshall," she said, drawing his head down on her shoulder. His arms came around her and he cried.
"At least it wasn't you," he mumbled through his tears.