Hidden from Sight by Betty Bokor
Mary/Marshall. Mary wakes up after the shooting and everything starts to change.
Spoilers: All episodes, including Second Season Finale.
Disclaimer: The In Plain Sight original characters belong to USA Network and Universal Media Studios (UMS). This was written strictly for the purpose of entertainment. No attempt at copyright infringement has been made.
Hidden from Sight
Some people spend their lives blind to some obvious truths, simply because they put all their trust in what can be seen and measured. Saint Exupéry once said that we can only see well with our hearts, because the essential things are invisible to the eyes. I'm more in the middle. All my life I've trusted my senses ─in my kind of job, I need to be aware of everything that's going on around me─ but I've also put heavy stock in my instincts, my hunches, my gut feelings… And I've usually been right, at least until now.
Now, I know something that it's keeping me from going back to sleep, in spite of the pain and the fatigue I'm feeling. I can't say that I didn't have a few glimpses of this truth before; I'll just say that probably I didn't want to acknowledge it.
The nurse was back a moment ago and she wasn't happy I was still awake. I promised her I'd rest, but I probably won't. You see… I've decided that I'm going to sort this out right now, no matter how long it takes or how much it hurts.
Given the nature of my job, I can't really talk about all this with anyone, but nothing can stop me from telling the whole story to you, my dear imaginary friend, now that I've found you, undoubtedly thanks to all the painkillers I got since I was shot. I'm sure you could say that I'm too medicated to sort anything out, but I feel surprisingly sharp.
Let's start from the beginning. It all started just a couple of hours ago.
I had just woken up after surgery and I was feeling pretty miserable. "After surgery" is just an expression, because the nurse said I'd slept for almost twenty-four hours after the last surgery. In any case, I didn't feel rested at all.
A young doctor appeared out of nowhere right away and shortly explained that he'd needed more than five hours to repair all the damage the bullet had made, but that he was very happy with the results. I couldn't decide if I should blame his insufferable smug smile on the fact that I had survived the whole ordeal or on his obvious over inflated ego.
As soon as he was done gloating, an older, more reassuring doctor took his place. He seemed to have been involved with my care since I got to the hospital and wanted to perform a few tests to check how I was doing. He didn't say it openly, but I got the impression that he was checking for symptoms of brain damage. I'm not sure if I passed the test, but, as I already said, I'm feeling pretty sharp, so brain damage isn't going to be one of my worries.
Soon after the old man left the room, the nurse let my family in. Jinx, Brandi, and Raph took turns holding my hand and smiling while whispering reassuring words about my recovery. My mother was as melodramatic as always, crying while holding a white handkerchief in her hand, and Raph was as sweet as usual when he kissed me on the forehead.
They all soon left the room, rushed by the bossy nurse, and Stan, Bobby D., Eleanor, and Marshall were allowed to get in. Stan and Bobby smiled and expressed their good wishes. Eleanor made a comment about how much the nurses caring for me would have to go through while I was there and seemed pretty satisfied when I came up with a really witty reply ─if I may say so myself. The three of them added a few more encouraging words and left me alone with my partner.
Marshall had been standing close to the door, leaning against the wall, serious and quiet. After they were all gone, he approached my bed and softly asked how I was feeling. I gave him a dismissive answer and I also called him doofus and numb nuts, just to keep the conversation light.
He didn't smile and he didn't answer back. He just got closer and squeezed my hand.
"You better not die," he said with the most serious face I've ever seen on him.
"I will try not to die, for you," I replied, without knowing exactly where such an answer had come from or why I'd blurted it out without even thinking.
He squeezed my hand again and nodded, as if reassuring himself that I wouldn't break my promise, and a few seconds later he was gone.
Since then, I've remembered where I'd heard that reply before. From his own lips, that dreadful day we spent with Horst, when I was almost certain that I was going to lose Marshall, when I learned that he's one of the strongest men I've ever met. Actually, the strongest… in body and soul.
It's true, I was shot, too, but a few minutes later there was an army of emergency personnel tending to my wounds and I was in the operating room even before my mother made it to the hospital. Marshall was shot and he spent uncountable hours bleeding from his wound, choking, asphyxiating, suffering the pain without the help of a miserable aspirin. And without one complaint, one word of desperation, one gesture of defeat.
But today… Today he looked defeated. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. His hands were shaking slightly.
I recognize those symptoms. That's just how I looked the day after my ordeal in that horrid basement. That's exactly how I looked after I cried for hours while Marshall was in the operating room and we weren't certain whether he'd make it or not.
I don't think I've ever seen Marshall cry. The fact that he'd been crying for me awakened odd feelings inside of me. All of a sudden, hundreds of Marshall's words, gestures, and looks took a different meaning. I can't explain why, but my heart saw something there that my eyes hadn't previously seen. And the revelation filled me with a warmth I hadn't felt before.
Before I continue, I should clearly state that I love Raph. Really. He's a great guy, hard working, honest, caring, and to top it off, so damned good looking. We also have great chemistry in bed and I've never felt disappointed by him. I wouldn't want to hurt him.
Nevertheless, right now, the dream of the white picket fence and the two kids doesn't seem attractive at all. Right now, the only thing I can think of is that I don't want to be far from Marshall. I don't want him to cry because of me. I don't want him to be mad at me. I don't want to disappoint him. I simply don't want him to suffer at all.
I think Marshall is in love with me… Has been for a long while.
I think, maybe, I'm in love with him.
I know I love him, but I need to be sure that there's something more there before I do anything about it. I have to be certain that this is me talking and not the pain meds.
I need to get out of here and figure it out.