Sleep Well

He had a cushy job teaching various kids baseball in the park on weekday afternoons. It was the summer and so he enjoyed gazing up into the warm pink sky, at the lamb tails streaked across it like an artist's brush stroke against a new canvas.

It had been more than a year since Joe had died and he hated thinking about it. And it was strange because he had seen so many of his friends die when they were fighting; Liam, Thierry…but Joey's death had somehow seemed worse

Yes Thierry had died from having the back of his skull shot out from one of Red sniper's bullets was…mortifying to see to say the least, and seeing Liam get stabbed in the back by Red spy made Scout threaten to leave the team forever. But that single bullet lodged in Mark's shoulder devastated Scout to the point that he almost…

He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, "Nice swing Billy, remember to follow it through next time!" He liked the kids he taught, they were pretty hard working and always eager to play against other teams. He sighed as he thought of the RED and BLUE team, damn teams nearly ruined his life…twenty years old and he still had nightmares. Like the ones that Joey always complained about.

His cell rung and he dug into his pocket, "Hello?" he murmured into the receiver. The voice on the other end had a hint of an Australian twang to it he noticed as the man began talking, "Good afternoon Mr. Scoot I am Doctor. Chase…we have taken your mother in and well…she's not doing well, would it be possible for you to come down to St James's hospital...we need to talk about her condition."

Mark flipped his phone shut with a dry mouth, "Jesus…ok guys!" he called over the kids, "practice is over for today…" he smiled trying to keep his composure, "see you guys tomorrow." Some of the kids whooped and some groaned but all of them wandered off back to either their parents or back home presumably.

He grabbed his baseball cap and slamming the Impala's door, he set off in a slow jog to the entrance of the hospital. "Heya. Yeah I'm here to see my ma… Betty Scoot." The receptionist smiled, her plastic bubble gum coloured lip stretched none too nicely over her teeth. "Yes, the doctor is expecting you down there…if you just like to sign here…" he scrawled his signature across a dotted line, "And it's room 483."

Mark rapped on the door with his knuckled before entering at the call of a, "Come in," from Dr. Chase. He closed the door quietly and settled down in a chair, "Look…Mr. Scoot…it's never easy to tell people these things but…she may not make it past tonight in her condition." Mark sighed and took off his cap running a hand through his hair, it had been a clean buzz cut style a year ago but now was grown out into dark brown tuffs.

"I know she's got that problem with her liver doc but…" he looked up, his face broken between anguish and pain, "The last doctor we saw assured us that there would be donors!" Dr. Chase ran a hand over some paper work on his desk, "it turns out the family of the liver donor…decided they would prefer to bury their father with, his liver."

"I wanna see her…and please don't tell my brothers…" He rubbed his elbow tentatively, "They've been through enough this past year." The doctor nodded and ushered him into the next room. Mark stared down at his ma. She had a drip attached to her and… some sort of breathing apparatus. He chuckled weakly, guess all those cigarettes finally caught up on her.

He leant down and brushed a hand over her brow, "Ma?" Betty opened an eye before smiling and opening the other, "Mark…don't stand theyah gawpin'! Scootch up a chair, and will someone turn on a heater, fawking chilleh in heyah!" Mark smiled, same old ma. Back in the base his team mate considered his accent thick for a Bostonian; they should hear his ma's.

He brought up a chair and started to protest as Betty brought his head to lay on her bosom. He tried to scrabble away but Betty merely laughed her soft tinkling laugh and held him still, straightening out his hair, "No one is lookin' Mark, don't be sawch a babeh!" Mark sighed and reluctantly settled down on his mother's chest.

He started to drift off as she stroked a hand over his hair, "Who in the hell let mah babeh's hair grow aht so bad?" Mark laughed,

"That would be me ma…I like it this way." Betty scoffed and patted it flat to his head,

"your father would never have approved…straight back and sides is what he wudda' said!" Mark huffed and picked a small bit of cotton on the hospital sheets.

"Ma?" Betty smiled down at her son,

"Yes Mark?" The brown haired man laced his fingers together and sighed,

"I know about you sleepin' with Jacque…" Betty nodded and pushed up her black bob which even now at the age of forty seven didn't hinder even a mention of a grey hair. "I'm sorry Mark…its strange though isn't it, your father died because of war, you nearly died because of war and…well… Jacque was a coward and ran away from war and died in the process yet I, am dying of a silly old liver problem."

She laughed at Scout's face, "Common Mark, we both know I'm not going to survive." Mark screwed up his face as his mother touched the back of his head, "You can cry now if you want..." the brunette sobbed into the bed sheets until his eyes burned and his throat was dry. Betty kissed his forehead, "It's alright Mark…now…go on, they gave me some pills half an hour ago and they're kicking in." Mark wavered in getting up but finally stood up still holding his mom's hand.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Betty shook her head,

"No Mark…" Mark bowed his head and walked out slowly rubbing at his red puffy eyes. He passed a few nurses who looked at him questionably but didn't pry, they knew when to leave people be.

"Mr Scoot…you need to sign out!" called the woman from the reception desk. Mark nodded and shuffled over to her, "Sure…" He scanned down the list of patients trying to find his mom's name and instead his eyes froze upon one name;

Joseph Lay.