A/N: Warning for any males who may be reading this story: this chapter contains discussion of feelings! Don't worry, Scarecrow is just as uncomfortable with it as you are.

Also, please note that this is the second chapter this day! It's amazing how much reviews motivate you to get off your ass and keep writing! Not that I'm shamelessly asking for reviews here...

Chapter 7

Ralph woke early. He had a long haul drive to achieve today and he was planning on setting off as early as he possibly could. The blinking red light of his alarm clock told him it was 4:17 in the morning. He figured that was as good a time as any. Careful not to wake Gena, who was snoring peacefully next to him, he rolled out of his side of the bed and reached for the overalls he was sure he'd dropped just there. As he was searching for them, his foot connected unexpectedly with the edge of the bed frame.
"Oof, ow;" he grunted, holding his now throbbing toe.

Suddenly, he sat up straighter and stilled. Maybe his ears were playing tricks on him but he was fairly sure that the old house echoed the sound back at him.

"Ow," the echo said. Only, it didn't sound like his voice.

No, he could definitely hear the sound of someone moving cautiously through the hallway.

He reached instinctively for the baseball bat that always lay an arm's length away from the bed. Ralph didn't mess around with guns. He left that sort of shit to Gena. Besides, he found it was far more satisfying to thump the bastard sneaking around his house around the head with a large blunt object and watch them squirm.

He stepped out into the hallway, bat raised. He could see a shadowy, yet dishevelled looking figure, with one hand braced against the wall to steady themself. Ralph reached out one hand slowly and flicked on the light switch. The figure cried out in pain and instantly threw a hand up to cover his eyes from the blinding light.

"Jesus, Scarecrow," he exclaimed as he lowered the bat, "What d'ya think you're doing? I could'a killed you."

Even wincing, Schofield managed a small laugh. "I doubt it," he said.

Temporarily, both men forgot they weren't currently friends. Ralph chuckled too as he replied, with the bat now down around his knees, "Reckon I could take you in that state, you look like shit."

Schofield tried to lower his hand a little, the one not holding him up against the wall, but the light was still playing havoc with his head.
"That would be a fairly accurate summation of how I'm feeling," he managed. "Could you remind me where the living room is?"

Ralph jerked his head towards a door just behind Schofield; somehow he'd managed to overshoot it. Likewise, Schofield inclined his own head in thanks. As they entered, he was about to comment on how blissfully dark the room was when Ralph hit another light switch, causing Book II to wake up from his not all that peaceful sleep and emit a sort of strangled cry of pain. Ralph just looked at the pair of them.
"Am I about to find out why Mother's been out all night?" He asked.

"Never mind," he said gruffly, "I don't wanna know."

Which was fortunate really, because neither Schofield nor Book was really capable of explaining exactly what they had got up to that night without mentioning that it happened to be a gay bar they went to, given that they weren't sure Ralph would take all that well if his reaction to Schofield's revelation in the first place had been anything to go by.

Ralph just looked at the pair of them as they slowly both collapsed back on their respective couches. They were a fairly sorry picture. Book II rolled onto his stomach – almost falling off the couch in the process – whilst Schofield grabbed the cushion he'd been using as a pillow and held it over his face.

"You know what," Ralph said, "I'm just gonna leave you three to stew in it."

As he made to leave, two muffled voices called out from behind him in unison, "Turn the damn light off."

Thank god it was Sunday, as the three of them did not finally emerge from sleep for quite a bit longer. Eventually, the smell of very strong coffee wafting from the kitchen was enough to tempt Book and Schofield off the couches and into the land of the living. They shuffled into the kitchen, having slept in whatever they were wearing the night previously, making for a rather scruffy pair.

Mother was already waiting for them. She'd already got one mug down and was considerably brighter for it. Wordlessly, she passed another couple of mugs full of the still steaming coffee to the pair of them. Her eyes lingered on Schofield however, as he accepted it gratefully.

"What?" He eventually asked her.

A smirk formed on her lips.
"How did you get that bruise on your forehead?"

His hand flew up to his head, where sure enough, the skin felt rather tender. There was no way of beating about the bush here, so he decided honesty was the best policy and let them laugh if they would.
"Walked into your bathroom door," he said matter of factly.

Sure enough, both Mother and Book II snorted into their coffees. Schofield just kept on drinking his in what he hoped was dignified silence.

As Mother finished her second cup, she figured she felt reasonably able to cook some breakfast without burning the kitchen down. So she shoved half a dozen – on second thoughts, make that a dozen – slices of bread into her heavy duty toaster and joined the boys at the rarely used table.

"You know," she said slyly as she sat down, "you never did tell us what happened with that bloke last night. Please tell me you at least locked tongues with him."

She looked at him expectantly for a few minutes whilst he resolutely ignored her. Of the two of them though, it was clear who was the more stubborn. Eventually, he gave in and shook his head a little.

"Dammit," she yelled, bringing her hand down and slapping the table so hard the legs shook. "I just don't understand you, we take you to a gay bar, find you an absolute hunk of a bloke and you do nothing! You're clueless. It's like the whole situation with Jack, if you'd just try-"

Then it was Shane's turn to splutter into his coffee as memories of the nights dreams surged over him again. Thankfully, he had retrieved his glasses from the floor because they at least served to cover his eyes and a little bit of the warm pink tinge that he could feel creeping across his cheeks but they did nothing to hide that dratted stupid little smile he couldn't stop whenever Jack's name was mentioned, or Jack was present, or really anything even vaguely related to Jack at all.

After all, that guy he'd danced with had been seriously attractive but the details Shane had noticed most was that he was probably within an inch of Jack in height, although his eyes weren't nearly as bright a blue and his hair was far too blonde; but if he squinted a little, he could almost imagine that it was Jack's callused hand resting in the small of his back, Jack's broad shoulder he was gripping, Jack dancing with him.

Pull yourself together, he thought to himself, you're the Scarecrow, not some stupid lovesick school-girl.

lovesick

lovesick

shit!

Book II's voice dragged him back to reality and he blushed even harder.
"She's right you know," he was saying. "He's really funny and nice and he's Australian so that just makes him cool. If you'd just give him a chance I'm sure-"

Schofield tuned him out. He was far more concerned with the look of dawning comprehension on Mother's face. His nerves intensified significantly as she started to smile the wicked sort of smile that only Mother could and which he knew, always preceded trouble – usually for him.

"You're blushing -" she said, cutting Book II off.

"-And Smiling!" She added as she seized his face, forcing him to look at her.

Her mouth fell open in surprise and her expression was gleeful.
"You rotten little shit!" She roared, "You could've bloody well told us before we took you out to find someone that you've already fucking found him."

She had fortunately let go of his head, so he took the opportunity to bury it in his hands.

He heard Book's voice, "Am I missing something?"

From behind his hands, he replied, "yes, and I'd really prefer it if it stayed that way."

"Oh like hell," Mother piped up, "He's in love with him."

He just groaned out loud as he heard Book ask, "Who?"

"Jack, you idiot," Mother's voice boomed over his bowed head, when suddenly, it dawned on him what she'd actually said.

"Whoa, wait-" he said, flinging his head up, "-who said anything about love?"

Mother just looked at him with fond exasperation.
"Oh come on," she teased gently, "your face is as red as that bloody awful carpet over there and you're grinning like a fool. You really trying to tell me that he doesn't make your mouth go dry and your blood go south, your brain stops functioning but your heart beats faster and you feel all funny but in a way you never want to end. Tell me – truthfully - he doesn't make you feel like that."

All that and more, he thought disparagingly but aloud he said, "Well, Maybe – but that doesn't make it love."

"Bullshit," she replied but before she could continue, he interrupted her.

"Mother," he said quickly and sharply, "I can't be in love with him. I don't want to be in love with him. I'm not ready for it. OK?"

He knew the outburst had sounded a little harsher than he'd intended. Book at least, had recoiled in shock and Mother looked fairly stunned as well, so he continued a little gentler.
"What I meant was, it's difficult enough dealing with all this out and proud shit. I'm not ready to walk down a street holding hands with a guy, or kiss anyone in public. It's all a little too much, too soon. I just want to be able to deal with myself before adding a boyfriend into the mix."

Mother leant forward and placed her hands on the table, surveying him in silence for now. But that never lasts. When she spoke, it was unusually gentle but with a hint of amusement.
"Honey, I think it's time for another lesson in control: You can't control everything," she said. "A lot of people wait a long time to feel that way about anybody. If you've got it, you got to fight for it."

"Well there's no point fighting for it here anyway," he retorted, "Jack's straight, of that I'm certain."

"Yeah and everybody who knew you was certain you were straight," she quipped back.

Book II, who thus far had been quiet, decided now to interject his thoughts.
"You should tell him how you feel," he said softly but firmly.

Schofield shook his head equally as firmly. "No," he said, "I've just got to deal with him for another month and then forget all about this."

Neither Book II nor Mother wanted to point out to him that unless he was planning on just abandoning all his friends in the unit, it was highly likely that he'd still be seeing Jack on quite a regular basis even after he'd left the marines. Mother opened her mouth to speak but Book II's stomach decided at that point, to make its thoughts heard. They had long ago forgotten about the now cold toast and it was not satisfied with the situation. It let out a long, low growl that managed to completely stop conversation as both Mother and Schofield laughed at him.

"Sorry," Book II said sheepishly.

They fell into a relaxed sort of silence.

"Well," Shane said eventually, "I'd say I think I need a drink only after last night I'm not sure I could stomach it. Who's for going out and getting some food?"

Book II readily agreed. Now they only had to find the car…