#WalterMarshallFanfic

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The first Wednesday in October was the first day that truly felt like fall had arrived. There was a chill in the air that morning and the fallen leaves had taken on a lovely earthy smell after the rain from the night before had blown them off the trees and pummeled them to the ground. I made a mental note to ask one of the neighbor boys to clean the leaves off the driveway and stone path through the yard so Mom didn’t accidentally slip on them. She’d been so cooped up that summer, I didn’t want anything to be in her way of finally getting to enjoy the weather.

The drive to work was quiet and lovely. The sun warmed my car and when I reached the catering shop where I worked, I sat there for a few minutes, drinking my coffee and soaking up the feeling on my skin. I always got to work early so that I could have those few peaceful moments before the chaos of the day started.

Once inside the shop, I started working with my boss Darcy on filling the boxes for the day's orders. We had two major deliveries that day - a work conference at a hotel, and a training seminar being held in the public library late that afternoon. Other than that, we had our standing order for the homicide unit of the police department. At the beginning of the year, a man had been murdered and according to the news that covered it, there was next to no evidence and the case was sure to go cold. But a couple of the detectives wouldn’t let go and against the odds, they found the murderer and got a full confession out of him. The victim’s wife had been so grateful that she decided to have an ongoing order every Wednesday to buy lunch for the detectives who’d solved the murder, as well as their colleagues. She had received quite a bit of money after her husband’s death and decided to use some of it to pay them back in a small way. That order was always mine. It was fairly small and I could carry it in my car. The detectives were always polite but never tried to make small talk, which I enjoyed. The chatty orders went to Darcy’s nephew Nick, who could hold a conversation with a brick wall and enjoy it. 

Once the boxes for the detectives were filled and loaded into my car, I drove down to the station. I took the dolly from my trunk and strapped down the two insulated containers that had the boxed lunches packed in them. The wind whipped around me as I worked, blowing my hair in my eyes. I pushed it away and held it back with my free hand as I wheeled the food behind me. When I got into the building, an officer went through the containers, as always, to make sure I wasn’t bringing in any weapons, or whatever. The first few times he checked them, I was nervous that he’d find something, knowing full well that there was absolutely nothing illegal in them. Then, once I got to know him a bit, I had considered bringing him a cookie from the shop since I saw him every week, but then the irrational fear that he would think I was trying to bribe him to overlook the non-existent illegal materials I wasn’t trying to smuggle in took over. So, like with everything else in my life, I pushed away any urge, no matter how small, to socially interact with anyone longer than absolutely necessary. That’s why, after delivering there for several weeks, I knew he was Officer Bates (he wore a badge) and I was just ‘Waverly’, as in Waverly Box Catering, my company's name. 

Once Officer Bates checked to make sure everything in my containers was safe, he walked me to the elevator and hit the button for me. Thankfully the elevator was empty so that I wasn’t forced to make small talk with the officers or detectives outside of the homicide unit that always questioned why none of the other units got free lunches. The first few times I’d been asked it was awkward, all the other times after those were both awkward and annoying. 

When I reached the homicide unit floor, I made my way to their break room, where some of the detectives were waiting for me. I started unpacking the boxed lunches, placing them on the table, making sure that the names were clearly visible. As I placed the empty insulated containers back on my dolly, my phone rang. Normally I didn’t take calls on the job, but it was from Mom’s doctor’s office. 

I left the break room and found a quiet hall to answer the phone. It was a nurse called Karen confirming Mom’s appointment the following week. We’d made sure to write it on the calendar to remember it, but I thanked her for the reminder anyway and told her that we’d see her next Wednesday. After hanging up, I went back to the break room to collect my equipment. I was surprised to find that every single box had been claimed but one. I glanced at the name: Detective Marshall. Normally I didn’t keep track of who ordered what after the boxes had been filled and labeled, but I knew Detective Marshall’s order by heart. While every other detective switched their orders up, trying different things on the menu, Detective Marshall’s had remained the same every week. A cuban sandwich - whole, plain chips, and a peanut butter cookie. There were times when I’d be doing mindless tasks - washing the dishes, brushing my teeth, filling Mom’s pill box - when their order would randomly play through my mind, like some strange mantra. It was an odd thing to find calming but it reminded me of one of the exercises my therapist had me do as a teenager when my anxiety attacks would get bad. She had me multiply numbers, or mentally list every detail of my bedroom that I could think of, or recite the alphabet backwards. It was simple, mundane, ground exercises and without ever knowing me, Detective Marshall had become my adult version. 

I was about to leave when a uniformed officer came in. He went to the coffee pot but kept eyeing the box. It was nothing to me, really, if he took it. Detective Marshall could probably handle themselves against a lunch thief, but my gut wouldn’t let me let it go. So instead of leaving, I decided to take the box and hand deliver it.

I left my dolly behind and made my way back down the hall where I’d taken my call earlier. I’d noticed several detectives had private offices there and assumed their office would be there, too. I was right. I found Lieutenant Detective Marshall’s name engraved in a gold name plate mounted on a closed door. I took a deep breath before giving a hard and loud but short knock. 

“Yeah,” a man’s voice called out. 

He didn’t say anything else but I took it as an invitation to open the door. When I did, I was met with my first sight of Detective Marshall: A tall man with a short beard and a head of messy brown curls. He was wearing a forest green sweater, the sleeves pushed up to show his forearms. A gun and badge were clipped to the side of his jeans that hugged his muscular thighs. He was holding a folder, looking at it intently. After a moment, he looked up at me. He must have expected it to be someone he worked with because his expression went from neutral to confused in less than a second. He tilted his head, a crease appearing between his eyes - his beautiful blue eyes - as his brow furrowed. 

“Can I help you?”  

“I, um…” I swallowed hard. “I’m from Waverly Catering. I brought you your lunch,” I said, frozen on the spot at the entrance to his office. 

He looked more confused. “Don’t you usually leave them in the break room?” he asked. He sounded like he had a British accent.  

“Yes. And I did. But you didn’t come to get it. I was about to leave and it was the only one left and an officer came in, eyeing it, I was afraid that they would take it.” I suddenly felt my face get hot as this handsome man stared at me while I mumbled out some weird explanation for why I was interrupting his work. “Sorry,” I said, holding out the box. “Here.”

The slightest hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he walked towards me. “Thank you.” He took the box from my outstretched hand, his fingers lightly brushing mine as he did. I was sure it was an accident and yet it instantly made my pulse race. “I appreciate it.” 

“You’re welcome,” I said, then turned to get out of there before I could embarrass myself further. 

“Do you make the cookies?”

I stopped and looked back at him. “What?”

He held up his box. “Are you the one who makes the cookies in here or do you just deliver?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I make them most of the time.”

He gave me a short lived, closed lip smile. “They’re very good.” 

My brain reacted as if I’d never heard a more flattering compliment in my life and I had to physically restrain myself from giggling. “Thank you,” I managed to say without betraying my giggling brain. “Have a good day.”

I left his office feeling like a teenage girl who’d just said something embarrassing in front of her crush and I couldn’t figure out why. The feeling lasted until I was back in my car. 

“Come on, Fiona, you’re a grown woman,” I whispered to myself, massaging my temples. “Don’t do this. Don’t do this.”

The last thing I needed on top of all of my responsibilities and already emotionally complicated current life situation was an unnecessary crush on a man just because he had pretty eyes and liked my cookies. But good heavens his eyes were pretty.

    _____________________________________

When I got home that afternoon, I found Mom in the living room. She was watching a cooking show. I went and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair was growing back just enough to feel like soft baby hair. I jokingly called it her duck feathers.

“How was your day, sweetie?” she asked.

I sat on the arm of the couch, facing her in the big recliner that swallowed her up. “It was good. Not too busy. I had my delivery to the police station again,” I said, letting myself grin. “I met one of the detectives, too. He was very handsome.” 

She looked at me, her cheeks a pretty pink color. It was such a wonderful sight after months of her being pale and gray. “Oh! What does he look like?” 

“He looks...manly,” I said. She laughed. “He was taller than me, which is always rare and attractive, and he has curly hair, and a beard, which I’m not usually attracted to but it really worked for him.” I sighed. “And his eyes. They were such a lovely blue.”

“Is he single?”

I shrugged and laughed. “I don’t know. I didn’t check for a ring. It wasn’t really that type of interaction,” I said. “I was just giving him his lunch and was surprised by how gorgeous he was.” I stood up. “Oh, and I think he’s English. He sounded like it anyway.”

“Honey, look for a ring next week!” 

“I won’t deliver next week, Nick will. You’ve got your appointment with Dr. Turner,” I reminded her. “I’m going to start dinner. Do you want anything special?”

She pointed at the TV. “They’re making chicken carbonara, it looks awfully tempting.”

I smiled. “I think I might be able to rustle some up for you. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Thank you, Fi.”

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known ~ Chapter 4

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Tag list - @hollydaisy23​​, @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​​, @onlyhenrys​​, @omgkatinka​​, @speakerforthedead0-blog​​, @gearhead66​​,  @thethirstyarchive​, @oddsnendsfanfics​, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira​, @aaescritora​,

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

I woke the next morning ten minutes before my alarm went off. At first I couldn’t figure out why and tried burrowing back into my warm bed to get my last few minutes of sleep back, but then my phone alerted me to a new text and I realized that’s what had woken me up. I sighed. I knew it was Darcy. Sometimes she woke up early with big ideas for her store and texted them to me, asking my opinion. She met me when I was working in interior design and any time she entertained the idea of having a dine in section, she’d send me pictures of what she wanted and ask how feasible it would be. Most of the time they were way too grand to fit into her pre-existing building. Other times she’d talk about a small coffee shop to encourage more people to come in and pick up their own orders and cut back on our deliveries. But I couldn’t see how renovating a portion of the store, buying new equipment and hiring extra employees to run a coffee shop would lower costs just by maybe cutting back on some deliveries. 

I was planning on ignoring the text until after I’d actually gotten up, but when another came through I knew it was best to just go ahead and nip it in the bud before she sent me an entire magazine’s worth of photos. But when I hit the home button on my phone I saw that the texts hadn’t come from Darcy. I had to squint against the brightness of the screen to make sure I saw the name right. Marshall.

I sat up and turned on my lamp, then looked at my phone again, reading the texts from their previews. 

Hey, it’s Marshall. I had a great  time yesterday. Sorry I was falling asleep on you. Can I make it up  to you this weekend?

Sorry. You’re probably sleeping. It might take more than coffee to make it up to you now. Dinner?

I suddenly felt wide awake and was no longer irritated by my few minutes of missed sleep. I would have gladly given up several hours for those texts. I decided not to reply to them right then, though. I wanted to make sure I’d had enough coffee to formulate a comprehensible reply and not look like I was drunk texting him, which I had a history of. My conversations with Darcy at five in the morning were proof of that. 

I got up and went about my morning routine like usual, trying not to wake Mom. When I made my way downstairs, I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. I sipped it, thinking about what to say to Marshall. I wrote and rewrote the text half a dozen times before finally having something I felt okay with, then I sent it.

Hey Marshall. I had a great time, too. You don’t have to make up for anything but I’d still like to have dinner with you. What day did you have in mind?

My heart was thudding from nerves and excitement. I was so focused on trying to calm myself down that I almost didn’t hear Mom when she walked in.

“Morning, sweetie,” she said, grabbing a coffee cup.

“Good morning,” I replied, then jumped slightly as my phone vibrated on the table. I tried not to look too enthusiastic as I grabbed it. 

Does Saturday work for you?

“Darcy again?” Mom asked, pouring coffee for herself. 

“Um...no, actually.” I tried biting back a smile but it didn’t work. “It’s Marshall.”

Her eyes went wide and she smiled back. “He’s writing to you at six in the morning?”

“He actually wrote me earlier. He asked if I wanted to have dinner with him Saturday.”

She sat down at the table beside me. “What did you tell him?”

“I haven’t replied yet. I don’t want him to think I’m just waiting by the phone for him.”

She looked at the phone in my hand. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, though?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t have to know it.”

She laughed then blew on her coffee. “I’m glad this whole texting business wasn’t around when I was dating your father.”

“Even if it was, you’re a lot more forward than I am. You wouldn’t have had a single issue with texting Dad first, or answering him right away,” I said. My phone made another sound, reminding me of my unread text and I finally opened it, then replied. 

Saturday is perfect. What time  would you like to meet? 

“Well, there was only room enough for one coy person in our relationship and Rodger called that role,” Mom said after I put my phone down. 

I laughed. “I don’t think ‘coy’ was the right word for Dad. I think socially awkward was more appropriate.”

“He was too smart to be a social butterfly, too. He had to have a couple of flaws.”

“He couldn’t set the timer for the coffee pot, no matter how many times I showed him, and he thought that the Sharknado movies were amazing. He had his flaws,” I joked.

“This coffee pot is confusing.”

“He was an engineer!”

My phone buzzed in my hand and that time I didn’t wait to open the text. I read it right away. 

Would you let me pick you up  instead? Around six?

“Well, what does he say?” Mom asked.

“He wants to pick me up instead of me meeting him.”

“Are you going to let him?” 

I looked at her and she was smiling at me. I shook my head at her, laughing again. “You want him to come here so that you can see him, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “You keep talking about how handsome he is.”

“He is handsome. And it’s an awfully gentlemanly thing to do…” I bit my lip for a moment, pretending to think it over.

“Just tell him yes. We both know you’re going to.”

I gave another laugh. “Fine.”

I would like that, thank you. And  I’m curious, what does Detective  Marshall eat when he’s not eating a  cuban sandwich and plain chips?

I put my phone on the table. “What are your plans for today?” I asked, then took a sip of my coffee. 

She gave me a cheeky grin. “Changing the subject.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m asking what my mother is going to be doing while I’m out earning the bread for this family,” I joked.

She snorted. “You don’t earn the bread, Fi, you just bake it.” She nodded at my arm. “And burn yourself in the process.”

“That’s the first time I’ve burnt myself in a year and a half. I’d say that’s a pretty good record.”

“That’s true,” she said. “And if you must know, I was thinking of going down to Valley and talking to Georgia about starting music lessons again after the new year. I think by then I’ll have recovered enough to be able to teach at least a few days a week.”

“You’re going to put yourself around snot nosed kids in the dead of flu season?” I asked dryly.

“I’ll be teaching teenagers, not little kids, and I’ll wear a mask,” she said. “I’ll make sure to clean everything between students and have them use hand sanitizer when they come in. I’m not going to be immunocompromised forever, and I’m not going to live in a bubble until then, either.” She gave me a smirk. “Besides, I can’t let you be the only one that earns the bread around here.”

I laughed at her but it was cut short when my phone buzzed again. 

Stuff that’s probably not very  good for him. Like Italian.  How does that sound?

Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more attracted to him, he confessed to liking my favorite type of food. I couldn’t stop my train of thought that went to me one day making an Italian dinner for him as a date. But my mind’s eye set up the imaginary dinner in my old apartment and I knew that would never happen. I let that thought go and took a deep breath, trying to focus my attention on the present moment.

That sounds great. I love  Italian food.

I sent it and sat back in my seat. I tried not to let my mind wander too far down the road with Marshall. I’d been on a lot of first dates in my life with guys that I’d thought were great who turned out to be jerks and I knew what that disappointment felt like. And even though I couldn’t imagine Marshall disappointing me in the same way they had - he’d proven at our coffee date that he was far more respectful, even while he was tired - I wanted to remind myself that I needed to take things one step at a time. 

Perfect. I’ll see you  Saturday at six, then.

I must have looked pretty gooey eyed over the whole thing because Mom reached out and touched my wrist gently. When I looked at her, the teasing tone was gone from her face and she was smiling at me. “I’m happy for you, sweetie. I really am.” 

I was a ball of nerves all Saturday morning and afternoon. More than I’d ever been on the day of a first date. But nothing with Marshall fell into my ‘usual’ category. There was something about him that made him different from any other man I’d gone out with. And maybe that was it: He was a man. Not some boy masquerading as one. He was quiet, and fierce, and protective. He thought before he spoke. And even when delivering a threat - like he had to that creep in the bar - he’d done it calmly and with authority. He exuded confidence, not cockiness, and there was honestly nothing more attractive than that. 

I was nearly ready, just zipping up my boots, when I heard a crash downstairs. I rushed down and found Mom in the kitchen, trying to pick up the broken pieces of one of her giant coffee mugs.

“I’m - I’m not sure what happened,” she said. “I just lost my grip.”

“It’s okay.” I took a step towards her, trying to avoid the pile of porcelain. “Let me clean it up.” 

“I can do it,” she said, sounding flustered.

“I know you can but you’re in socks and I’m wearing boots.”

She stood her ground for a moment, then finally sighed and relented, taking a step back. “Okay. I’ll get you the broom.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get it. Just watch your step.”

I went to grab the broom as she threw away the large chunks of her broken cup that she’d been able to pick up with her hands. I could tell she was frustrated. 

“You know, if you didn’t like that mug, you could have just gotten rid of it, you didn’t have to break it,” I joked, taking the broom and dustpan from the broom closet. “Or were you afraid I wouldn’t take the hint and buy you another one if I thought it just went missing?” 

She gave a small laugh but I could tell she was still embarrassed. “I actually liked that coffee mug a lot.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can -” 

The doorbell rang and she stopped mid-sentence. We both froze, my eyes flicking to the clock on the stove. It was 5:53. Marshall was early. After a moment, Mom took a step towards me, holding out her hand to take the broom from me. I shook my head.

“You’re wearing socks,” I reminded her. “I don’t want you to cut your foot.”

Her eyes grew wide. “So you’re going to clean up after me while I go meet your date?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She brushed her hand over her barely there hair, trying to collect herself, then let out a breath. “Okay, I’ll go let him in.”

“Don’t be too charming. He might have a thing for cougars and I don’t want to have to fight my mom for a guy.”

She smiled for real, the embarrassment of having her daughter clean up after her letting go enough that it was no longer plainly visible. “No promises,” she joked, then left the kitchen to answer the door. 

It didn’t take long to clean up. Even though the cup had shattered pretty good, its bright white color stood out against the dark wood of the floor, making even the tiniest pieces easy to see. After making sure I’d cleaned it all up, I threw away the pieces and put up the broom and dustpan, then went to find Mom and Marshall. 

They were standing in the entryway. Mom was saying something about teaching at Valley and Marshall stood in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back, and a look of sincere focus on his face as she spoke. Mom was a small woman but next to him, she looked comically tiny. 

I paused for a moment, taking him in. His hair looked a bit more controlled than any other time I’d seen him, his curls tighter and not quite as messy. His beard looked like it had been trimmed, giving it a purposeful look instead of the ‘I’m too busy to shave’ vibe that I’d gotten from him previously. He wore a thick blue sweater that made the color of his eyes pop when they drifted over to me. It was brief, maybe less than a second, before concentrating on Mom again. But he had a slight smile and it was enough for her to notice. She turned and looked at me. 

“There she is. I guess I’ll stop talking your ear off and let you two go,” she said. 

Marshall smiled at her, then at me, bigger that time. “I didn’t realize I was early. I apologize.” 

“No, don’t. You’re fine,” I said, moving to grab my coat. “I’m ready, I was just cleaning up a broken cup. I’m basically like Cinderella around here.” 

Mom snorted. “Hardly. Cinderella was made to do chores. You’re the one who won’t let me lift a finger,” she said. “Besides, I think she sang while she worked.”

I raised my eyebrow at her as I put my coat on. “Do you want me to sing?”

She shook her head. “No. No one wants that, sweetie,” she said, making Marshall laugh. She looked at him. “Fi spent a good portion of her teenage years screaming along to music in her room. I didn’t even know you could make ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ sound angry until she proved otherwise. Needless to say, her father and I encouraged her other interests a bit more enthusiastically.”

I grabbed my purse. “I should have let you clean up your own mess and answered the door myself,” I joked before kissing the top of her head. “Bye, Mom.”

Marshall smiled again. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Sparks.”

“Likewise, Detective Marshall. You two have fun.”

We left the house and after a few steps down the walkway, he jabbed his thumb back at the door. “She’s funny.”

“She can be,” I agreed. “She’s a spitfire, though, that’s for sure.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah, I like it, too.”

We walked to his truck and he opened the door for me. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” he said as I got in. 

I felt myself blush instantly, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, closing the door for me. 

We’d only made it to the driveway and my stomach was already doing somersaults. He made me feel like a teenage girl, all giddy and excited, and I loved it.

He went around the front of the truck, then climbed in the driver’s side. I tried to sneak a look at him while he was putting on his seat belt but he caught me. He smiled as I snapped my head straight ahead. 

“Sorry, I just, I was…” I tried to think of an excuse but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound lame. I let out a sigh. “I was checking you out,” I admitted. “I can’t lie. There’s no point. Sorry.”

“That’s the least offensive thing a woman has ever apologized to me for,” he said with a laugh, starting the truck. He leaned forward enough to catch my eye, making me instinctively turn my head towards him. He grinned. “Did you see anything you like?”

My blush deepened and I couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Maybe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, that is a nice sweater.” 

“Oh, so you were checking out my jumper?”

I shrugged. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Does it now?”

“It does. And you have very lovely eyes.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But my daughter bought the jumper, so I can’t take credit for it.”

“She did a good job,” I said, forcing my eyes to look up front as we pulled out of the driveway. Even though I’d already admitted to checking him out, there was a difference between looking and leering and I didn’t want to come off as creepy. “I take it that this wasn’t your weekend to have her?”

“It was supposed to be but she was invited to a Halloween party with some of her friends so she asked to do that instead. She’ll be with me tomorrow.”

“What did she dress as? For the party.”

“A cowgirl.” 

“Does she ride horses or did she just like the costume?” 

“No, she rides. She took lessons when she was a bit younger. And she and I go riding some weekends.” 

“So you’re Detective Marshall during the week and cowboy Marshall on the weekends? Does that ever cross over? Do they have mounted police in the homicide unit?”

He shook his head as he laughed. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Is it now?” he asked, and his tone made me blush all over again.

“I’m actually not going to answer that. I’m going to wait until we get a little further from my house to fully embarrass myself so that when you fake an emergency to get rid of me, my ego doesn’t get too crushed.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?”

“I hope not, but I’ve been excited about having dinner with you, so I’m going to try not to mess it up.”

“I think you’d have to try pretty hard to mess it up,” he said as we stopped at the end of my street. He glanced at me. “And I’ve been excited about it, too.”

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known ~ Chapter 2

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Tag list - @hollydaisy23​, @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​, @onlyhenrys​, @omgkatinka​, @speakerforthedead0-blog​, @gearhead66​

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Two weeks later, I was back at the police station with my delivery. Nick had gone on and on the week before about how much he’d loved covering for me and that two of the detectives had given him tips. He didn’t say how much they were, but emphasized that they were generous. I’d never been tipped before but I wasn’t jealous that Nick had been. He was good at small talk and being outgoing. That got noticed. And there was no ten or twenty dollar tip that was enticing enough for me to put myself through painfully awkward social interactions that I wasn’t good at. I wanted to do my job and do it well and Darcy didn’t hire me for my conversation skills. That was made quite clear when Officer Bates asked about Nick by name while still calling me Waverly. 

Upstairs in the break room, most of the detectives were waiting for me when I arrived. They moved around me, grabbing their boxes as I placed them on the table. When I was done packing up the dolly, only a single box was left. Out of every person who had claimed their order, only a couple had acknowledged me with a thank you. 

As I was leaving, I caught the wheel of my cart on the door frame. It yanked right out of my hands, falling over. I sighed and bent to pick it up. Before I could, a set of hands beat me to it. I swallowed thickly as my eyes followed the hands (with no wedding band) to their source: Detective Marshall. My mouth felt dry when I tried to speak and I had to clear my throat. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, setting it up straight with one hand like it weighed nothing. He looked at me, his brow raised slightly. “You weren’t here last week.” 

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry?” 

“Someone else delivered for you last week.” 

“Um, yeah. I had to take my mom to a doctor’s appointment. My co-worker Nick covered for me.” 

He nodded. “He talks a lot.”

I laughed. “Yes, he does,” I agreed. “It’s a talent that I don’t possess.” 

He gave me a half smile and my stomach flipped at the sight of it. “Me, either,” he said. “Is your mother okay?” 

“Yeah. It was just a check up with her oncologist. She has to go every few weeks.” 

“Does that mean she’s in remission?” 

“It does, yeah. She’s been clear for a few months now.”

“And you care for her?”

“I do. As much as she’ll let me, anyway. My dad died a couple of years back so she asked me to move in with her. She couldn’t bear to sell the house but she couldn’t handle being alone, either,” I said, then smiled. “She had a friend who offered to move in and pay rent but Mom said she was too noisy. Apparently I make a good housemate because I’m not overly talkative.” 

“My daughter thinks I’m a bad housemate because I’m not talkative enough,” he joked. 

I laughed. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen.” 

“You’re just on the cusp, then. My parents were amazing and they still couldn’t do anything right when I was a teenager. But if your daughter’s biggest complaint is that you’re not talkative enough, that’s pretty good.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and raised his eyebrows. “It’s not her biggest complaint, just one of several.” 

“Well, as long as she feels comfortable enough to voice her problems to you, it’s fixable. It’s when they shut down that’s the problem,” I said, then suddenly felt silly for sharing so much with him. The poor man was just being polite and I was keeping him hostage. He’d come for his lunch - not for my life story. “Um, anyway, I should get back to work. Thank you again for helping me.” 

“No problem.”

“Have a good week.”

“You, too.” 

That Saturday, despite every fiber of my being screaming for me to be somewhere else, I found myself at an overpriced bar with my friends Lena and Demi. Demi had gotten a promotion at her job and wanted us to go out to celebrate. I wanted to back out but they wouldn’t let me, so I tagged along knowing full well that it would be the same as always: I wouldn’t drink, I wouldn’t dance, they would get annoyed at me for being a ‘wet blanket’, then they’d meet some guys and ignore me for the rest of the night, except when they’d tell me how much fun I was missing out on. I knew what I was in for, and yet I still hated it when it happened. 

That particular evening, Lena and Demi zeroed in on two guys while we were still at the bar ordering. They introduced themselves and invited them to sit with us. While the four of them chatted, I sat, listening and watching the clock, counting the minutes until I felt I could call it a night without offending Demi. But despite being the third (fifth?) wheel, I was comfortable being on my own. Unfortunately that comfort was kicked square in the teeth when a friend joined the two guys Demi and Lena were talking to. He was a squirrely looking guy with a severely receding hairline and he was several inches shorter than me. But there was an unspoken rule that if your two friends were talking to someone else’s two friends, you were now obligated to talk to each other. I knew that rule well because I’d spent a good portion of my adult life as the quiet third friend to two far more outgoing women.The only time I’d been excused from the rule was when I’d been dating my ex-boyfriend Ezra.  So while they were chatting up guys they were genuinely interested in, I was usually left taking one for the team. I wondered how often they thought about talking to me in the same terms. 

A lot of the times I was lucky and the guy would carry the whole conversation, talking about himself, and I didn’t have to do much more than nod and pretend to be interested. Every once in a while I’d get a guy who was a bit pushy at the end of the night, practically demanding my phone number, or, on rare occasions, something a little more intimate. I was pretty good at turning them down in a way that didn’t escalate the situation, but there were still those few that slipped through that didn’t know that no meant no. That night, unfortunately, was one of those nights. The guy I’d gotten stuck talking to, Adam, had started out self absorbed but otherwise okay, but I guess he took my quiet nodding and occasional ‘Yeahs’ and ‘Wows’ as extreme interest and as time ticked on, he became more bold. His conversation took on a more...personal tone. That’s when I decided to try to wrap it up. I wasn’t spending time with Demi, she and Lena were both dancing, and I wasn’t going to let some guy make me uncomfortable. But when I tried to end the conversation, he wouldn’t let me. 

“Come on, we’re having fun,” he said. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

“I do, actually. I have to work tomorrow,” I lied.

“You could stay for another hour.”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.” 

I moved to stand up and he put his hand on my leg, holding me still. “I think you can.”

“But I’m not, so move your hand.”

Instead of letting go, he squeezed tighter. “You don’t have to play hard to get, you know? It’s not attractive.”

“And neither are you. Now move your hand.”

He swore, calling me a name, but kept gripping me. I was sure he’d leave a bruise. “You’re not pretty enough to be this difficult.” 

I felt a sudden surge of warmth behind me and could feel the presence of someone standing there.

“She told you to let go, I suggest you listen.”

My head snapped up at the sound of the voice. Detective Marshall was standing behind me. His pretty blue eyes were dark like an angry ocean as he glared at Adam, giving his already stern face a menacing look. 

“Who are you?” Adam asked, too stupid to give up.

“Someone who will gladly break your hand if you don’t move it like she asked.” 

Detective Marshall took a few steps forward, putting himself tight to my side. Adam was going to say something, he had his mouth open ready to do so, but Detective Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and Adam’s eyes went to his belt. His sweater had risen to show off his badge and gun clipped at his waist. The sight was enough to shut Adam up. He didn’t say another word. He let go of my leg and left. 

“Are you alright?” Detective Marshall asked.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He looked at me, his face softened. “This doesn’t really look like your scene.” 

I shook my head. “It’s not. I’m here with my friends,” I said. His eyes glanced at the empty chairs around me. I nodded to the dance floor. “They’re over there.”

He looked to where Adam was talking to the two friends he’d come with. They were still with Lena and Demi, and were all staring at me. I was sure that Adam was telling them I was a frigid tease, and they were almost definitely confused by Detective Marshall standing next to me like a bodyguard. 

“What about you?” I asked. “You don’t really look like this is your scene, either.”

He looked down at me. “It’s not. I’m working a case. I was asking the manager about the victim.” He looked at my friends again before letting out a breath. “Are you staying here or would you like me to walk you to your car?”

“No, I’m not staying,” I said. “But I didn’t drive. I rode with them. I was going to get an Uber.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to get into a car with a stranger by yourself at night?”

I nodded as I stood. I liked that I had to look up at him slightly. “It’s usually what happens when I let myself get talked into these stupid nights.”

I watched his face. It was like he had a million thoughts running through his mind at once and his eyes shifted, like he was actively trying to sort through them. After a moment he said, “Would you let me drive you instead?”

“You don’t have to do that. I can usually get an Uber here in about ten minutes.” I gave a faint smile. “You could talk to them before I get in, if you want?”

He shook his head and rubbed his neck. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew you got home safely.” 

So much of me wanted to say no. I had a difficult time accepting help from people, even when I clearly needed it, because I hated the thought of being a burden on someone. But if he was there asking about a victim, there was a chance that they’d been at that bar, maybe even disappeared from there, maybe after taking a ride from someone they thought was legit and was later found dead. Maybe he didn’t want another case, especially with a familiar person, and that’s why he was offering me the ride. That’s what I told myself anyway. That was my excuse for wanting to accept his offer. It wasn’t that I was weirdly attracted to how protected he made me feel. 

“Okay,” I relented. 

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Let me tell my friends I’m leaving.” 

I started walking towards Lena and Demi. They’d been watching me ever since Adam had drawn their attention to me. But before I could reach them, they came to me, meeting me halfway. 

“What is going on, Fiona?” Demi demanded. “That guy you were talking to said you were having a good time and then you just started freaking out and making a scene. He said some guy heard you and threatened him if he didn’t leave you alone.” 

I shook my head. “That’s not how it happened. He was making me uncomfortable so I said I was going to leave. He put his hands on me and I told him to let me go. He wouldn’t and yes, someone did step in, but he wouldn’t have if that perv had just let me go.”

“Why do you do this?” Lena asked. “Anytime a guy shows interest in you, you find some reason to run away.”

“That’s not true. And even if it was, that’s not what happened here,” I said. 

“It is true. And I honestly don’t know why we invite you out anymore. You always make things awkward because you don’t know how to function like an adult woman. You’re like some little girl who’s afraid to even let a boy kiss her,” Demi said. “You need to grow up.”

I bit my tongue. I knew that she’d had a few drinks and that she always got catty right before she tipped over to drunk, but just because she was rude didn’t mean that I had to be, too. The evening had taken all the energy from me and I didn’t have the strength to try to be diplomatic. I chose to ignore her completely instead.

“I’m going home,” I finally said. 

“I’m not taking you,” Lena said. “Not right now.” 

“I don’t need you. Someone else is taking me”

Demi rolled her eyes. “Who?”

I looked at Detective Marshall. He was still standing by our table, waiting. “You guys think I need to get out of my comfort zone, so I am.”

“You’re going home with a man you just met? Do you know how dangerous that is?” Lena asked.

“First of all, you two do it all the time,” I said. “And secondly, I’m not going home with him, he’s taking me home.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Demi said.

“I don’t need you to believe me. I just need you to know that I’m leaving. Whoever I go with, or however I get home, doesn’t matter.”

I walked off, feeling angry heat licking my neck and ears. My hands kept clenching tightly, pushing my fingernails into the palms of my hands. Detective Marshall could obviously tell that something was wrong because he tilted his head at me, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. 

“I have horrible friends, but other than that, everything’s peachy,” I said dryly. 

He didn’t ask any follow up questions but I think he’d observed enough of the situation to not need to. He just nodded and waved for me to follow him.

The air outside was surprisingly cold and made my angrily flushed skin sting from the contrast. But the feeling worked like a grounding sensation, clearing my mind. I let out a breath and followed Detective Marshall to his truck. He went to the passenger’s side and unlocked it, then opened it for me. 

“Thank you,” I said, climbing in. 

He gave me a smile that somehow read more in his eyes than his mouth before closing the door. 

I took my crossbody purse off, holding it in my lap, before pulling on my seatbelt. I watched as he walked around the front of the truck, unlocking his own door and sliding in beside me. He started his truck with one hand while reaching for his seatbelt with the other. As the truck came to life, the radio came on. A ZZ Top song was playing. 

“Sorry,” he said, turning the volume down but leaving the radio itself on.

I noticed the station and smiled. “This is the same station I listen to in my car.” 

He looked over at me, giving me another one of his eye smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Shouting along to eighties rock music is a pretty good stress reliever.” 

“It doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.” 

He asked where I lived and even though I was terrible at explaining directions, I finally gave him enough clues for him to piece it together. He said that his ex-wife had lived in the neighborhood just past mine when they were dating and he remembered seeing the sign for it. Once we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, I took my phone from my purse.

“Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?”

He shook his head. “No, go on.” 

I called Mom but she didn’t answer. I wasn’t worried. She was more than likely watching TV and had her phone in her room again. I decided to leave a message. “Hey Mom, it’s Fi. I was just letting you know that I’m on my way home. You don’t have to call me back when you get this, I’ll just see you when I get there. Love you. Bye.”

I hung up and put the phone away. A few moments passed before Detective Marshall asked, “Is Fi short for something?”

“Yeah. Fiona. When I was a kid my dad used to call me Fi-Fi Bird, then he shortened to Fi when I was a teenager.” 

“When did you lose him?”

“Two years ago. He was hit by a drunk driver.”

“Was your mum ill at the time?”

“No. I mean, she may have had her cancer then but we didn’t know anything about it. They found it at the beginning of the year.” I looked at him. “I’m a little surprised that you remember me telling you about them, to be honest.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve barely spoken and I assume your job is mentaly exhausting, so the fact that you remembered it… I don’t know, I’m just surprised.”

“It is mentally exhausting. But peanut butter cookies help.” He looked at me briefly, giving me a smile that showed his teeth. “And you bring those.”

I laughed and felt my cheeks heat back up, but it wasn’t from anger that time. “And that makes me memorable?” 

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

A few minutes passed quietly, but not uncomfortably, before I stole a glance at him. He really was gorgeous. I had no issues with Demi and Lena thinking that I was leaving with him for reasons other than an innocent ride home. They’d been more than snide about my lack of interest in men since my last boyfriend had broken up with me, never pausing to think that how he’d broken up with me - and more importantly when - had done a lot of damage. 

“I really do appreciate you giving me a ride home,” I said. “I, uh, I don’t have anyone else to call. An Uber would have been my only option.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” he said. “But next time maybe think about driving your own car. I’m not just against Uber; I’m against any rides that require you to get into a car with a stranger. Particularly women. And particularly at that bar.” He pushed his hair back from his face and let out a frustrated breath. “Their security cameras have been down since May.” He swore under his breath. “Sort of defeats the purpose of security cameras.” 

“Does that stall your investigation?”

“Not necessarily. Other businesses in the area may have footage. It just delays things, at least for tonight.” 

“Can I ask how long you’ve been working on it?” 

“It’ll be two weeks tomorrow.”

“Is that long for a murder investigation?”

He didn’t say anything for a while and I thought I’d gone too far. Just as I was about to apologize he said, “They don’t really have typical timelines. It just depends on the case. Some are like a ripple effect and you just have to start in the center and work your way out.” He paused for a moment, licking his lips. “Others are like a pile of rope tangled up. You have to work your way through, trying to untangle it, but sometimes you’re working on a piece that’s a dead end, then you have to start all over again. Those take a bit longer.”

“And this case, it’s one of the tangled ones?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He glanced at me again quickly, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “That’s the job.”

Another wave of silence filled the cab of his truck. I liked that he didn’t talk for the sake of it. He seemed to be at ease in the quiet and his ease spilled over to me. That was the only explanation for me being so calm sitting that close to a man as attractive as him and not having a total meltdown. And we were close enough that the body heat radiating off of him kept me from requesting that the actual heater be turned on, despite the chilly night. He was like a human space heater, but I was far from complaining. And I think the fact that he had been so protective of me fed that feeling of comfort. That night, he had stood up for me more than Ezra ever had in three and a half years. 

“I can’t remember if I thanked you earlier at the bar or not when you helped me with that guy, but  thank you for that, too,” I said. “I’m not usually such a damsel in distress, I promise.” 

“It doesn’t make you a damsel just because I stepped in.” We stopped at a red light and he looked at me. “But if it ever happens again, all you have to do is ask them to move their hand once and if they don’t, take one of their fingers and shove it back towards their wrist. Make sure to break it.” 

I smiled slightly. “Detective Marshall, are you giving me permission to assault someone?”

“It’s not assault if you’re protecting yourself, but yes, I’m giving you permission. Men have a hard time convincing police that their advances were wanted when it results in a broken finger,” he said. “And you don’t have to call me Detective, you can just call me Marshall.”

I smiled wider at that. “Well, Marshall,” I said, trying out the more personal feeling name, “I’ll keep that in mind. Although I think I’m done with nights like tonight. I’m too old to keep putting myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. But maybe I needed this to know that my friends and I really have grown apart. And maybe for the better.”

The light turned green and he looked back to the road again. “I take it you had a falling out over you leaving them?” he asked as we started moving. 

“Not really over me leaving. More like why I was leaving.” I sighed. “Their idea of fun is drinking and dancing and flirting, and at one point, I saw the appeal in that, even though I’ve never been as outgoing as them. But when I lost my dad…” I shook my head. “I’m sure you see people in grief all the time with your job. You see how it changes people. How it can create a division. They never understood that. They thought that there should be a grieving period and then I should get over it and go back to being the same old Fiona. But that’s never going to happen.”

“Grief does change people. It’s natural. And sometimes, it never goes away. You have to adapt to deal with it, but it always follows you,” he said. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I guess when you’ve never experienced it, it’s hard to really understand. I didn’t really understand it until my dad passed. And then when Mom got sick…” I trailed off. “Sorry, I told you that I wasn’t a big talker and I just keep going on about myself.” 

“You’re fine. I promise,” he said softly. 

I smiled at him. “Those peanut butter cookies really do buy me a lot of forgiveness, don’t they?”

He laughed. It was a low, beautiful sound. “They are very good.” 

The rest of the ride home was spent in slow, quiet conversation. I tried not to unload anymore of my personal issues on him, even if he said it was okay. I was a little sad when he pulled onto my street, but I directed him to my house and he stopped in front of the driveway, unable to pull in because of mine and my mom’s cars.

He put the truck in park and turned to me. “I’ll watch you in.”

“Okay.” I unbuckled and grabbed my purse from my lap, slipping it back on. I reached for the door handle but before opening it, I looked at him. “I really do appreciate all of this. You have no idea,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to thank you?”

He twisted his mouth to the side, his eyes doing the thing they’d done earlier where it looked like he was actively sorting through his thoughts. After a moment, he nodded, then gave me a smile that made my heart flutter. “There is, actually,” he said. “Next time you deliver lunch, if I’m not there to get mine before you leave, could you bring it to my office again?”

I smiled back. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do that,” I said. “If you’re not there, do you want me to leave it on your desk?”

“Please.”

“Okay.” I opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. I already missed the heat of being close to him. “Goodnight Det- Goodnight Marshall.”

“Goodnight Fiona.” 

Never in my life had someone saying my name given me instant butterflies until right then. I gave him a small wave and closed the door. I took my house keys from my purse as I walked to the front door, trying not to think about him watching me. After unlocking the door, I fought not to look back at Marshall one last time and slipped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. As I put the chain lock in place, I let my forehead fall against the door and let out a happy sigh. When I was able to gather myself, I went to find Mom. Just as I expected, she was in the living room watching some sort of Hallmark movie. 

“Hey Mom, I’m home,” I said. 

She turned her head to look at me. “Hey, sweetie. How was it? Did you have fun?”

“Not quite.” I joined her, sitting on the arm of the recliner. “I think things are done between Demi, Lena and me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Some things happened and some things were said and I don’t think there’s any going back.”

She patted my knee. “I’m sorry. I hate that for you.” 

“There was a bright side to the whole night, though,” I said, smiling. 

“And what was that?”

“You know the detective that I told you about, Detective Marshall?” I asked. She nodded. “He was there asking the manager about a case he’s working on and noticed that a guy was bothering me so he stepped in to help me. Then he gave me a ride home.”

She looked at me with big eyes. “You got into a car with someone you don’t know?”

“No, I got into a truck with a cop, who I’d met before,” I said. “Look, Lena refused to take me home. I would have had to call for a ride.”

I could tell she disapproved but didn’t say anything else about it. Instead she asked, “What’s this detective like?”

“He’s a little quiet, gentlemanly, has good taste in music, and extremely not married.”

She finally broke down and smiled. “Well, maybe this is the start of something, then. You deserve to be happy.”

“Maybe but I don’t think he’s interested. He offered me a ride to make sure I got home safely; he wasn’t flirting. I just feel less guilty about being attracted to him now that I know he’s single.”

“Your father and I started off as friends first, too, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say that Marshall and I are friends, Mom,” I said, standing up. “But I’m appreciative of him and his handsome face all the same.”

“Oh, so you call him Marshall now? No ‘Detective’?” she teased. “That seems pretty friendly to me.”

I laughed. “If I ever get on a first name basis with him, I might agree. Until then, he’s just an acquaintance. That’s all.”

“One who doesn’t mind you dropping a very earned title.”

“Well, he found out that you call me Fi-Fi, so he probably thought it was fair to let me call him something a little less formal, too.”

“How did he find that out?”

“Because I called and left you a voicemail letting you know that I was on my way home and he asked what Fi was short for. I told him that Dad used to call me Fi-Fi Bird.”

She tilted her head at me like she finally had her answer. “If you’re talking to him about your father, he’s far more than an acquaintance. You barely talk about him to anyone other than me.”

“He’s...it’s…” I sputtered, trying to find the right explanation. I sighed. “Death isn’t a topic that makes him uncomfortable, like other people. He’s a homicide detective. That’s sort of his business. Bringing Dad up didn’t feel weird.”

She held up her hands, almost defensively. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. I think it’s great. I just hope I get to see this handsome Marshall at some point.”

“I’ll talk to Darcy about a Bring Your Mom to Work Day and see if I can’t get you to the station to check him out. And hey, he might not have been flirting with me but you’re a single lady now, maybe you can lock him down. I always wanted a sister and he has a daughter, so it would be kind of perfect.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Love you, Mom,” I said, walking away.

“Love you, too!”