A/N: The most difficult part of writing a slash story is keeping track of the pronouns! Mind you, given that most of the characters in this story are male anyway, that was already kind of an issue. You might have to pay quite close attention to work out which "he" is being referred to at which point. But just to confuse you further, there are moments where it is intentionally ambiguous which "he" is thinking what. You can choose which one you reckon it might be.

And I really love the image of Schofield in his pyjamas and sunglasses. I think it epitomises the character I'm trying to create – the hero as a real person.

Finally, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. And Soda – I couldn't reply personally to you but you should most definitely read Scarecrow and the Army of Thieves. I finished it for the third time yesterday…

I'd particularly love feedback on the sexual tension in this chapter. I've never written anything like that before.

Chapter 4

It took a week. The first morning when he'd stumbled down the stairs to find Jack sitting – alone – at the small kitchen island that doubled as a table, he'd contemplated going back to bed. At first it had been awkward but they had since developed a comfortable but unspoken ritual. Schofield would appear, usually still in whatever he'd slept in, to find Jack already sitting there with a bowl of cereal. Jack would pass Shane the box. They'd nod at each other which somehow conveyed both "good morning, how are you?" and "thank you – you're welcome." Then eat their breakfast in what seemed like companionable silence before retreating for a shower and a shave to be ready for the day.

This day, however, Jack had obviously decided he was going to upset that ritual. When Shane appeared, clad in pyjamas and sunglasses, he found Jack leaning up against the counter clutching a steaming cup of coffee, whilst an already filled cereal bowl was set out waiting for him.

Jack looked up to see a startled Shane enter the room.
"Morning," he said simply. Then, nodding his head at the laid out breakfast, he added "I noticed you don't have milk with that."

"Yeah," Shane replied, forcing his brain to function, "been allergic to it since I was a little kid."

"Thanks," he said slightly cautiously, as he sat down to eat.

"No problem." They eyed each other carefully,

Despite the unusual beginning, Schofield hoped that perhaps Jack would just let him return to his normal quiet breakfast in peace.

He was wrong.

"Why don't you eat in the mess?" He asked quietly, breaking into Schofield's thoughts.

The hands holding the coffee cup had caught Shane's attention and he had been trying desperately not to recall the way those hands had ghosted over his skin in his dreams.

"Why don't you?" He replied.

If Jack was put off by Schofield's evasive answer, he didn't show it. Instead, he just laughed.
"I've eaten road kill that tasted better than the food they serve in there."

Schofield laughed too. Although he'd spent a fair amount of time avoiding Jack's presence over the past week, he was finding out that he was in fact funny and easy to be around, traits which were fast making him friends with the rest of the unit.

Relaxed by the comforting attempt at friendliness, Shane found the answer to the original question slipping out of his mouth. "I don't like the way they look at me in there," he said truthfully.

Jack looked confused as he sat down opposite Schofield. "Whataya mean?" He asked.

"Don't act like you don't know," Schofield retorted defensively, the anger in his tone rising slightly. He could handle outright dislike, but subtle teasing really irritated him.

"Hey," Jack replied with his hands raised in the air in mock surrender, "I'm just a simple country boy from beyond the back of Woop Woop. There's a lot of things I don't know."

It was Shane's turn to be confused then but a quick glance up at Jack confirmed that the other man was telling the truth, he really didn't know the full picture. That made him very reluctant to continue speaking. This was hardly the way he pictured Jack finding out about why he was here.

"Okay," Schofield said slowly after a moment. They sat in silence for a moment as Shane thought about how to put this, whilst Jack waited patiently for the answer.

When he spoke up, it was thoughtful, every word weighed. "I said something I shouldn't have, then I did something stupid and then I got thrown out. End of story."

The playful look on Jack's face vanished rapidly. "I'm sorry," he said, "they didn't tell me that. They just told me they had a marine who was leaving that they needed to replace quickly and would I like a job. I was pretty keen to get out of my miserable little town so I jumped at the opportunity."

The silence resumed.

But then Jack broke it again.

"Why are you living in the barracks then?"

"You been waiting all week to question me or something?" Schofield retorted with a bite of humour in his tone.

"Maybe," Jack replied with a cheeky smile. "Just answer the question."

"I dunno," Schofield said, "the corp probably just wanted to keep an eye on me until they could be rid of me." There was a dark sort of humour in his voice and Jack found he wanted nothing more than to be able to see his eyes, too see whatever it was he was trying to hide behind the reflective silver lenses. Perhaps Shane sensed the others gaze because he looked up sharply at Jack and flicked the question back at him.
"You?"

"I've been in this country all of about two weeks, so I didn't really have anyplace else to go. The corp said I could stay here til I find a place of my own," Jack replied. He was pleased that he'd managed to get the elusive Scarecrow to actually talk to him and he figured he might as well push his luck with one more.

"What's with the sunglasses?"

"A story for another time," Schofield said as he stood up with his empty breakfast bowl and made to wash it up.

As Schofield was about to find out, Jack was an insatiably curious being and the evasive answer, combined with the general enigmatic aura Scarecrow and his silver glasses seemed to exude, did nothing to dissuade him. From behind Shane, Jack piped up once again.
"Can I ask one more then?"

Schofield, elbow deep in soapy water was tempted to fling some suds at him but decided that would be altogether too immature and flirtatious. Instead, he settled for teasingly conceding with evident exasperation but the hint of a smile, "I think technically you already did, but you may ask one more."

"So you don't really want to leave then?"

"No, not really," Schofield replied shortly, drying his hands and turning to face Jack with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"From what I've heard about you, you don't give up without a fight. So why aren't you fighting now?"

The atmosphere in the room instantly turned serious. If Jack could have seen Shane's eyes, he was sure he would have seen a pair of shutters pop up inside them but then again, the glasses did that pretty effectively as well.

"And that's another question. Excuse me." Schofield answered brusquely as he pushed past Jack and left the room to go and dress.

Left alone in the kitchenette, Jack was satisfied for the time being. It was a start at least. He couldn't help but wonder if the Scarecrow was anywhere near as curious about him as he was about the Scarecrow.

Closing the door carefully behind him, Schofield took his time to dress even though he was wearing the same thing he wore virtually every day – loose khaki camouflage pants and an olive green T-shirt – regulation marine utility uniform. He waited until he heard the clatter of the other marines returning from breakfast before he went back downstairs. Although the morning had been both enjoyable and only slightly unnerving, he thought it perhaps unwise to subjugate himself to too much of Jack's presence alone.

He had planned a fairly epic – if he did say so himself – training exercise for the day and he didn't want to be distracted.

Running lightly down the stairs, he found the majority of the unit hanging around in the common room. He beckoned silently for them to follow. Out in the courtyard they were joined by Book II and Mother, who had been lazily enjoying the early morning sunshine. Neither of them knew what Schofield had organised either.

Like a band of merry men, they followed their amused leader to one of the furthest and most elaborate mock battlefields. Complete with trenches and raised platforms, nets and bushes, tunnels and concealed sniper slits behind half walls, it was a veritable maze. At complete odds with the wild terrain was a neatly laid out table with five of the latest M7 submachine guns, compact but powerful. Beside them lay a pile of small coloured boxes.

Schofield grabbed a few at a time and threw them to his excited looking colleagues.
"Somebody asked me if my team would like to put these through their paces," he said, tilting his head towards the guns.

He smiled a wicked smile at them, enthusiasm getting the better of him as well. "What you're holding in your hands is simulated ammunition. Don't even think about trying to pretend you aren't hit because believe me, this stuff will make it pretty clear. It packs one hell of a punch but it should wash out and leave nothing but some impressive bruises. Obviously, there aren't enough guns to go around so we'll have to take turns. Let's make this interesting; Ladies vs Gentlemen – if we can find any present."

"Mother, Skip – suit up against Astro and Pancho," he called as he tossed them each a gun.

Rebound was practically jumping up and down, clearly itching to get a hand on one of those weapons. So naturally Sanchez couldn't resist running his hands up and down the barrel in admiration and saying with ample snark, "Careful kid, don't wet yourself."

Schofield quickly intervened in the developing situation by saying loudly, "Remember, this is an exercise in tactics. I want to see you out-think your opponent. So," he looked pointedly at Skip, "I don't want to see any shots to the balls and no wasted ammunition, kill with your first shot or you'll wind up dead yourself."

Whilst the two teams made themselves scarce in the maze, Schofield and the remainder of the unit made their way up to the viewing platform. When none of the four could be seen, Schofield flicked a switch and a large green light flashed above their heads, signalling that they could engage.

He saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye as Skip ran at a half crouch, staring through her sights, pressing her body against the walls to try and conceal herself. Meanwhile, a larger shadowy figure rested on her haunches in one of the nearby tunnels.

From up on the platform, Schofield smiled. He could read the plan fairly easily. Skip was acting as bait, hoping to draw the boys out and when they did, Mother would catch them in the crosshairs. He hoped Skip had excellent reflexes because it was a plan that – if it had been real – would have put her life at considerable risk. It might not have been stylish but, he couldn't deny, it had balls.

And it was working.

Across the other side of the field, two figures could be seen advancing through the maze at either extremity. They were making for a pair of tunnels that would give them enough cover to sneak up behind Skip in a perfect pincer movement.

At least, it would have been perfect had it not been exactly what she wanted them to do.

All of a sudden it seemed, the mock battle was over. Half a dozen shots had blared out at the same time and Skip took the brunt of it. Two to the chest, one halfway up her thigh and another between her shoulder blades. She doubled over, wincing. The shots to her chest had left her winded. Had it been a real situation, she would have been a bloody macabre mess by now.

But her assailants would have equally as dead, silenced by two precise headshots from Mother. They stood there now, a sorry picture with bright blue paint dripping off their face masks, wondering how their perfect plan had been foiled.

Mother meanwhile, had emerged from her tunnel with her gun held aloft.
"Fucking A," She yelled gleefully, "It's like paintballs awesome big brother!"

Schofield leaned casually over the railing and called down at her, "Nicely done but if you could avoid killing your entire team next time, that would be better."

At the base of the ladder leading up to the viewing platform, even though she was ten feet below them, she still cut a mean figure. Followed by Skip whose uniform was now multi-coloured, she began to climb. "Fine buster," She called back at him as her head popped up through the hole, still gripping the gun, "How's about you show us how it's done then?"

"Fine," he said with mischievous defiance. He plucked the gun from her hands but then extended it out, butt first, towards Jack. "Let's see what you've got."

With a wide smile of his own, Jack accepted the gun.
"You're on," he said, "I believe payback is long overdue."

As Skip emerged onto the platform to the general laughter of all at her new look, Shane slid his sunglasses off and tossed them casually onto the table holding the guns.

He looked up when he felt the heat of someone else's gaze on his neck. He looked up and straight into the eyes of Jack, who he realised, was seeing his eyes for the first time.

The gaze was intense, shocked even, and Shane found it uncomfortable to hold. There was a reason he always wore those damn glasses because they prevented exactly this issue. His eyes flickered downwards, fixing themselves instead on Jacks lips which were slightly parted in surprise.

He wondered briefly what those lips would feel like – would they be as soft as Libby's? How the inside of that mouth would taste, if that tongue would battle his.
He wrenched his eyes back up to meet Jack's gaze again. It was decidedly less dangerous.

He felt a faint heat creep into his cheeks and he hoped like hell it wasn't showing. Quickly, he grabbed one of the protective face masks on, covering his eyes again.

He stood his ground beside the table, hoping that it came off as defiant bravado when in reality, he felt rooted to the spot. He knew Jack would have to reach across him to grab a mask but when he did – god, they were so close he could practically feel the warmth of his body – and he knew it was a bad idea.

Grabbing a gun and pushing past Jack, he swung himself down the hall and slid quickly down the ladder. His boots his the ground hard as he took off into the maze.