A/N: Sorry, I know this note is really long but it has important information in it.
When I was writing this chapter I realised that Scarecrow comes off a lot younger than in the books. Because it wasn't going to cause any major disruptions plot line wise and doesn't really affect cannon as his age is pretty irrelevant in the books I decided to leave it as is and have this scarecrow a bit younger.
So, for informative purposes, you can join the US military at 18, 17 in some circumstances. Majority of Marines earn their commission whilst completing the last two years of college. Let's assume Scarecrow took this path, making him probably 23, accounting for the time spent in basic training and flight school, by the time he was serving on H.M.A.S. Wasp and in Bosnia. Following the accident, another 10 weeks OCS to retrain as a ground marine and a year or so after that, he's a lieutenant being posted to an obscure ice station in Antarctica at 24 and a bit. The books are all set a year apart other than hell island, which we think occurs between 4-6 months after scarecrow. This story is set only shortly after hell island, making him 27 at most. I think this age is better suited to his close friendship with Book II who we know is quite young, and the oddly maternal way that Mother does look out for him. Okay, that was long and complicated but hopefully it makes sense and is helpful. :D
One last thing, this chapter is dedicated to Maddie Sparrow, my first reviewer, who inspired me to get off my ass and finish this chapter. Electronic cookies for her!
Chapter 2
As Book II disappeared into the throng of people crowding Mothers small living room, Schofield felt panic creep back into the edges of his mind. The four walls were stifling. The babble of conversations was surely hostile or mocking, and he was most definitely exposed. Has his stance changed in the few minutes he'd been outside? Should he start swinging his hips and sipping cocktails to make it that little bit more obvious because surely he has Gay tattooed to his forehead in flashing neon lights.
Somebody sidled over to him and a female voice attempted to strike up some inane conversation about favourite holiday destinations. 'Damn, this felt familiar,' Shane thought as he wrestled with his thoughts and tried to keep his cool. Thankfully, Book II chose that moment to reappear with the drinks and rescue him. Shane noted that his friend seemed far too mirthful than his own panicked temperament could appreciate. Book had been watching his friend struggling to politely rebuff the unsuspecting girl's advances and found a brand new humour to the situation. He pushed a beer into Schofield's still slightly shaking hands and breathed quietly at him to relax.
But Schofield just couldn't.
If the thought that everyone present might know was frightening, then the realisation that they didn't provoked pure terror. He had thought he could just tell someone, just say it once and maybe it would all be okay but the second he'd walked back into the room he was as trapped in that fucking closet as before. He'd got one toe out the door and he couldn't back down now, but the weight of how much he still had in front of him was crushing. Totally overwhelmed, he downed the rest of the drink, thrust the bottle back at a perplexed Book II and fled the packed, noisy party. Unaware that another set of eyes followed his every unusual move.
Mother pushed her sizable frame through the crowd towards Book II and smacked him, hard on the shoulder. "What the hell was that?" She boomed. "Boy couldn't have looked more out of sorts if you'd locked him in a submarine full of Frenchmen."
"Dunno," Book shrugged unconvincingly.
"Oh no you don't," Mother growled menacingly as he turned away from her. "You're gonna stay right here with me until I know what's going on."
"Can't tell you what I don't know," he insisted untruthfully in his slow steady drawl.
"Like hell you don't." Mother towered over Book II, at 6'4 she had nearly half a head on him and used it to great advantage. "You can't get by me, I saw you're cosy little chat in the garden. Now, I wants to know what in the name of sweet Mary is such a mother fucking problem!"
Book paused for a moment as though contemplating his reply. When it came, it was soft and calm. "If you know everything than you certainly don't need me to tell you. Now, 'scuse me."
He tried to leave but felt a firm hand grip his shoulder and steer him towards the kitchen. When the door clicked shut behind them, Mother spun him around so they were face to face and said with an unusually sombre expression, "Last time he looked like that I had to wrestle his gun away from his head and I sure as shit don't want a repeat performance. Tell me, so I can help him." Book II might have thought that she was pleading if he didn't know that Mother never pleads.
Buck Riley Junior always thought before he spoke, a trait he had inherited from his father, but right now he was a man conflicted. On one hand, Mother was a notorious gossip and the information he held was gossip of a highly volatile quality. On the other, she had a heart of gold and cared deeply for Scarecrow behind her brusque exterior. Surely she wouldn't. His mind resolved he said slowly and carefully, "Okay."
Outside, Schofield reached the end of Mother's street and stopped. The cool night air served to cool his wild and worried mind. Normally, he valued emotions. Found them intuitive and informative but right now, they were controlling him. He willed himself to think calmly and logically. He'd told Book II and his world hadn't imploded. Therefore, it would probably not self-destruct if other people knew. Maybe it would be awkward in the change rooms. Maybe he'd lose a few friends, cop a few jokes. At worst, he'd lose his job. But truthfully, these weren't really the heart of the problem. He'd handled so much more and he could cope with those eventualities. The real root of the problem, the real reason he was much deeper. Maybe the real reason he didn't want anybody else to know was that he wasn't sure he wanted to know himself.
In middle school when his friends has spent lunchtimes pouring over stolen playboys, he told himself it was the boobs and not the huddle of aroused boys that did it for him.
In high school, he'd played football for a while and tried to convince himself he only admired the quarterback's athletic ability. He'd been pretty good as well, but gave it up all too soon.
He'd become a marine and laughed as hard as anyone else in basic training when the instructors had labelled those that lagged behind as faggots.
He'd dated girls. Hell, he'd slept with girls. Libby had been stunning; beautiful, funny and as good a soldier as any of the boys and she had wanted him. He told himself that he could want her too, that he should want her too.
He'd convinced himself that 'Don't ask, Don't tell' didn't matter, didn't hurt, because there was nothing to tell.
And somewhere along the line, his secret had become so entrenched that he had become afraid of it.
It wasn't going to be easy, this evening had proven that, but as Mother had once told him, he wasn't like other guys. He was the scarecrow, the fucking scarecrow and he could do it.
He started back towards Mother's. The lease on his apartment was up a few weeks ago and Mother had offered him her couch until he found a new place. By the time he returned the party was beginning to wind down. He grabbed some of the now empty plates and headed towards the kitchen to begin the clean-up. He paused at the door though, when he heard muffled voices from inside.
"You might not believe me," Book suddenly understood Schofield's dilemma. How the hell was he supposed to explain this, "And I don't think there's any immediate need to confiscate his bowie knife." He said as he slowly paced the small room, stopping in front of the small window and staring into the pitch black sky.
He turned away from the kitchen window and faced Mother. "He's gay."
The only thing he wasn't prepared for was Mother's laughter. "Don't be stupid," she said between snorts, "he's the scarecrow. He's as straight as they come."
Book II merely quirked an eyebrow in return and watched as the laughter died on Mother's face and quickly turned into an expression of shock. "You're not serious? But Libby… and… and…" Her voice faltered. There was nothing else to complete that sentence with. Her mind raced, there were no pin-up babes in his locker and she'd never heard him partake in the dirty banter that frequented soldier's lips. And, with the exception of Libby, no one had ever seen him within 5 miles of a girl. She'd put it all down to a quiet, serious and perhaps even a little shy temperament. But if he just wasn't interested, in women at least, that certainly fit the bill as well. Other than the fact that he'd never outright confirmed it, but if Book said he just had, well, that changed the picture considerably.
Book watched the comprehension dawn on her face and when she managed to stutter our "Since when?" He replied, "I don't bloody well know, you'd have to ask him."
"Wait, Don't!" He exclaimed as Mother turned to go, possibly to go and find Schofield and do exactly that, "He'd kill me if he knew I'd told you."
Leaning against the door, Schofield wished he hasn't listened. Anger coursed through him in powerful waves as he shoved the door open and said "well he's certainly thinking about it."
"You bastard" he hissed at Books stunned face. Without meeting Mother's eye, he turned and fled the house for the second time that night.
