A/N: This chapter is for Soda and Darkhunter, currently two of my favourite people on the planet. Your reviews keep me going guys so thanks majorly! And Soda, I don't recognise the terminology "uke" and "seme" but I think I got the general gist and honestly, I've been wondering that myself. Your thoughts – and anybody else's - on the matter would be greatly appreciated! :P

A quick note on how I've portrayed the three of them when they are perhaps not as sober as they would normally be. Book II is a methodical and cautious kinda guy, he thinks through everything before he says/does it but alcohol slows down those processing pathways, so he appears perhaps just a little bit slow. Mother on the other hand, has a mischievous streak to begin with and combined with drinking means that whatever bit of her brain which reminds her that this is probably not a good idea, just stops functioning. And Schofield, I don't think he would drink all that often, at least, not a lot because he's always in control and alcohol takes that from you. So when he is a touch on the tipsy side, everything that he's trying to repress slips through and he does stuff he'd never normally do. That's just how I thought they would be though, if you reckon otherwise, happy to hear it! Hmm, maybe not as quick a note as I thought it would be…

Chapter 6

Schofield allowed Mother's massive hands to drag him to his feet. As they made their way through the not so crowded anymore dance floor, he noticed something strange. "Mother," he said, "they're all staring at us." Indeed, they were attracting many an odd look and sidelong glance from the other patrons.

"I think dancing with a girl might be against the rules," Mother whispered back theatrically as she looked around with mock concern. His own eyes followed the pattern of hers, only with genuine concern. She just rolled her eyes at him.

"Boy, do you need to loosen up a bit," she said as she swung a hand around to clip him on the head again. This time, he successfully ducked it, bringing his hands up to protect himself, which she gleefully grabbed and pulled him into a lively somewhat-rhythm that very nearly matched the beat of the music.

One might have been forgiven for thinking that years of training in agility, speed and reflexes might translate into at least a vague sense of coordination on the dance floor – and in Scarecrow's case at least, it did – Mother was a whole different story; but they were having fun.

It was when Mother's huge size nine foot had connected once again with his own slightly smaller feet that Schofield, wincing, had felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He spun round in surprise to find himself looking at an incredibly handsome man standing there, smiling at him.

"Mind if I cut in?" The stranger asked smoothly. His accent was precise, educated, all east-coast charm.

"She's all yours," Schofield replied, "just watch out for any vital body parts."

The stranger threw his head back and laughed, revealing gleaming white teeth. Behind him, Schofield was pretty sure he heard the sound of Mother's hand connecting with her face in exasperation. "Actually, I was rather hoping you would dance with me," He clarified.

The surprise was evident on Schofield's face, with both eye brows raised and a finger pointed at himself in question. "Me?" He said.

"Yes you," the stranger replied, managing to display every one of his perfect teeth. "I don't see any other mysteriously attractive men in the immediate vicinity. You are gay I hope?"

"Yeah," Schofield said quietly as he could manage whilst still trying to sound casual. He nodded his head slightly as he said it whilst slipping his hands into his pockets and looking at the floor.

"Well then, what about that dance?"

All of a sudden, the walls seemed very close to him and the air was uncomfortably warm. He could feel Mother's eyes on the back of his neck. "Think I might need another drink first," he said softly, mostly to himself.

"Then let me buy it for you." If nothing else, the bloke was persistent at least.

"I can't," Shane replied after a moment, trying to explain. "I'm really just here with friends."

"Right," the stranger said, practically pursing his lips. He turned his attention just over Schofield's shoulder to where Mother was standing. "Do you mind if I borrow him?" He asked her.

"Not at all," She replied, giving Schofield a little nudge in the back. "He's all yours, just bring him back in one piece." She winked, and disappeared. Schofield turned around and called out to her, "oi!" but she'd already disappeared.

He was left with no choice but to turn back to the handsome stranger who had extended one elegant hand. Shane looked at it for a minute, took a deep breath and said, "What the heck," before accepting it.

"And what might your name be?" He asked as he led Schofield through to the very middle of the floor.

"Shane," he replied. The name felt slightly odd on his tongue, he rarely used it after all.

"Shane," the other man repeated, "I'm Keith." He supplied. "And you've never been here before have you Shane?"

"That obvious?"

"Painfully."

"So," Schofield said as they stood there. With one hand on the back of his neck and looking slightly confused, "Who leads?"

When Mother arrived back, alone, at the table, Book II was immediately concerned.
"What have you done with Scarecrow?" He asked her.

"Oh shush," Mother said, turning around to scan the dance floor. "He's fine. I left him dancing with Brad Pitt."

"What?" Book was confused. "What the hell is Brad Pitt doing in a gay bar in downtown Washington D.C.?"

Mother turned around and just looked at him. "Sometimes, you are too much like your father," she said. "The guy could've been Brad Pitt for how fucking gorgeous he was. If he wasn't gay and I wasn't married…" She trailed off wistfully.

"God I hope he kisses him." She added after a moment. Book II continued to look at her, still confused.
"What?" She said indignantly, looking back at him, "One of us ought to."

It was nigh on twenty minutes later before Shane managed to find his way back to the table.

"One of these days, I'm going to kill you," he said tersely to Mother as he sunk down into the only available chair and grabbed the closest glass with some alcohol left in it, not particularly caring that it was Book's. Try as they might to make him elaborate some – any – details of what had happened, Schofield resolutely downed the glass and announced simply, "think I'm gonna need something stronger."

It was a bottle of bourbon, several more beers and far too many shots later that the three of them managed to stagger out of the bar and back to Mother's place on base. The next morning, who – if any of them – it was that made the sensible decision not to drive back, they wouldn't remember. Nor would they remember quite where they'd left the car to begin with, which in all fairness could have contributed significantly to that decision.

"Think you two should stay here tonight," Mother had said as they'd straggled in through the front door of her place. Having considerably more bodyweight than either Schofield or Book II, she had a significant advantage over both of them when it came to drinking and was consequently, the most sober of the trio.

They tripped and clung to each other and laughed their way up the hall to the longue room. Thankfully, Ralph managed to sleep through the whole commotion. Having already driven to Greensborough North Carolina and back, he was out like a light. Mother frequently said that a freight train could come through the bedroom window and Ralph would sleep through it, a skill which comes in handy when three drunken marines are traipsing through your house.

When they eventually found the longue room, Book tripped over the end of his couch and fell face forwards onto it. Schofield managed, only slightly more gracefully, to flop onto the other. His glasses clattered to the floor and he passed his hands in front of his eyes.

"How come yurnot slurring," Book II said to him after he had managed to turn himself clumsily onto his side. "S'not fair."

Schofield, lying on his couch with his hands still covering his eyes, replied, "I've had an awful lot more practice with hard liquor than you."

"But don't worry too much," he added as Mother left the room to attempt to find her bedroom and sleeping husband. "The room won't stop spinning." He didn't remember anything after that because he was asleep as soon as his eyes closed.

He woke up only several hours later, whilst it was still dark, with a pounding headache and a throat like sandpaper. He tried to work out what it was that had woken him only to get a shock when he found Book II kneeling beside his couch, one hand outstretched as though he'd just removed it from Schofield's shoulder.

"Whoa!" Both men said in unison, jumping a little.

"Sorry," Book II said, "you were having a nightmare, thrashing about and yelling, so I thought I should wake you."

"Thanks," Schofield said, breathing hard but immensely glad that it was still dark enough and Book was still drunk enough not to notice he was painfully aroused.

"Was it Serbia?" Book continued to press.

"Something like that," he said as he shook his head to himself, trying to clear it of images of Jack.

As Book returned to his own couch on the other side of the room, Schofield tried to force himself upright and to remain steady. Eventually, he found his way to his feet and stumbled across the room.
"Where're you going?" Book whispered at him.

"Bathroom," he hissed back.

Before he fell back to sleep, Book II thought heard a dull 'thunk' and a muffled "ow" from the direction of the bathroom.