George held out a slim hope that their rescue, which involved a tow truck and the local fire department, would somehow erase his horrible faux pas to Scout. The entire day, which was spent talking to EMTs, doctors, police, and trying, successfully, it turned out, to keep the news out of the papers, was agony of another sort for George as he watched Scout, huddled in blankets, checking to see how she behaved towards him after he'd revealed his monumental stupidity to her. He couldn't see any difference in her behavior towards him, and he hoped that things were okay between them. In the early evening, when the last of the strangers had left and they were finally alone, he was able to approach her and talk to her.

"So, that was quite a crazy day," he said, sitting next to her at the kitchen table.

She gave him a careful, measured smile, nodding, rising as he sat.

His heart broke a little to see the caution on her face.

Shit.

"I'd better get all these cups in the dishwasher," she said casually, motioning to the counter, which was littered with the remains of the day. "You Brits certainly do go through the tea." She began quickly and efficiently to load the dirty dishes.

"No, no," he protested. "I'll get Alfred or Sunil to do it before they go," he assured her. "You don't have to do that, you must be exhausted."

"I told the boys they could go home," Scout told him. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted them to stay." She blinked weary eyes at him. "I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I'm not even their boss, am I? They looked so worn out from all the excitement, you know?" She smiled at him, a beautiful thing.

She swayed as she stood at the counter, George could see. He rose and went to stand next to her. "I'll do this," he said firmly. "You're dropping on your feet, darling."

"Don't be ridiculous, George," Scout responded, continuing to load the dishwasher. "You're just as tired as I am. Look, I'm nearly finished already."

Together they made quick work of the few remaining dishes.

"Have you eaten anything?" George asked her gently.

She nodded. "I had a few 'biscuits', as you guys say," she responded. "I'm not that hungry, honestly. I think I just want a hot bath, and bed, you know?" She stepped away. "I'll just say goodnight now, then," she said formally.

"Oh, okay," he said, trying to hide his disappointment. "Goodnight, Scout, sleep well."

She nodded, and turned and left.

George stood where he was for a minute after she left. He could punch himself in the face for how idiotic he'd been. What, what in the world had made him think she was gay in the first place? He couldn't even remember. He thought back.

He remembered scrolling through the online applications, seeing her name, seeing the grainy, pixelated photograph, thinking it was of a man (first of all, who put their nickname on a CV?). Then, he remembered being shocked to his core when she stepped out of the car that first morning and he'd seen unequivocally that that she was a woman. At that point he'd been so sure she was gay.

Why?

Well, because she was, um, thin. Athletic. She wasn't wearing any make-up. And she hadn't been the way all women were with him.

And how was that?

You know. Flirty. Provocative. Available. Slightly slutty...

Fuck.

George, you utter wanker.

You complete and total knob.

Just because she didn't jump out of the car in a short skirt and act like a trollop, all tarted up, you assumed she was a lesbian?

George sighed and looked around the kitchen as he switched on the dishwasher. He noticed both dogs were staring at him. They'd uncharacteristically stayed behind when Scout left.

"What?" he asked them.

They continued to stare at him. He felt like if they could talk, they'd both be calling him an unflattering name. And maybe laughing at him a little bit.

"Oh, sod off," he said to them.

He was completely depressed, and nowhere near ready for sleep, he realized.

Upstairs, Scout was sinking into a tub of deep, hot scented water. It was blissfully warm, and she felt it to her bones. She found it hard to believe that just twenty-four hours before she'd been so cold she felt like she'd never be warm again.

She put her head under the water for a few seconds, holding her breath, enjoying the feeling of being completely submerged in the fragrant tub before beginning to shampoo her hair and wash her body.

She wasn't offended by the fact that George thought she was gay. Obviously there was nothing wrong with being gay. Just like there was nothing wrong with being a man.

But.

She sighed and continued to cleanse herself.

She was a clever girl, a kind person, a moral, ethical human being, she knew these things about herself. She knew, on an intellectual level, that the world was full of all kinds of people, and that attraction consisted of all kinds of things, a combination physical and emotional things, and that somewhere out there was a person who would respond to her particular combination of things.

She'd thought that Will was one of those people. She thought her body pleased him, her mind, her sense of humor, her intellect, the things that made her who she was. He'd pleased her, too, she thought. In retrospect, the whole thing with Will confused her and made her feel sad. She'd trusted her brain her whole life, and it had never steered her wrong, until that whole mess. It had really let her down. She could no longer trust her mind, she felt.

And now there was George. She was so drawn to him, physically. Well, who wouldn't be? He was damned near perfect, wasn't he? But he was a rock star. How cliche. How embarrassing and dumb. How could she fall for someone so superficial? He'd been married to a Victoria's Secret model, for Christ's sake.

But he wasn't superficial, was he? He'd turned out to be clever, and kind, and funny.

And still in love with his dead wife.

It was so unfair.

Besides, he wasn't attracted to her at all. He was so not attracted to her he thought she was a man.

He thought she was a fucking lesbian.

But.

Last night, on the ledge, Little George had come out to play.

With her. Scout.

Surely that wouldn't have happened if he didn't find her a little attractive? If he really thought of her as a man? Would it?

Scout pondered the implications as she pulled the plug and grabbed the towel. She began to dry herself, and realized as she did that she'd kind of put herself in the mood, thinking about George in the tub, or more specifically, thinking about Little George.

Great.

She was horny. She was horny, and she was going to be sleeping in a bed, twenty feet away from the object of her desire without even a closed door between them.

Fuck.

She sighed and pulled on her undies and pjs, her oldest and softest, shaking out her hair to speed up the drying process. Jesus, it was really getting shaggy. She needed to cut it. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

"You're pathetic," she said to herself. "And you look like a lesbian man." This politically incorrect statement made her laugh out loud. She needed a drink.

She quietly headed downstairs for a glass of wine before bed, noticing that it was already dark. Where had the day gone?

She opened the door to the lounge and stopped.

There was a fire, and Jess and Bandit were sitting in front of it. They raised their heads to smile at her, tails thumping. George turned to look at her in surprise, holding a glass of wine.

"Oh, sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I thought you'd gone to bed." She turned around. "I can go." She felt awkward as fuck.

"No, no, please, come in," George said, smiling. "I thought you wanted to go bed as well?"

Scout gestured to the wine. "I guess we had the same idea," she said with a little shrug.

He poured her a glass and held it out to her, gesturing to the spot next to him. George, who was on his second glass, noticed as she sat down that she smelled absolutely amazing from her bath, and nearly swooned. He also noticed that her pajamas were threadbare and nearly sheer, though that could just have been the wine, and the fact that she was sitting so close, and he found her so charming and dear.

She sat back and took an appreciative sip of the wine, which was another thing George liked about Scout. She really liked wine. She wasn't pretentious about it, but she knew her stuff, there was no fooling her.

They sat and drank in uncomfortable silence for a while. Scout finished a first, then a second, with George wordlessly refilling her glass for her, opening a second bottle from the sideboard. She leaned her head back, inadvertently putting her hair on George's arm where he'd laid it along the back of the couch. She jerked her head up.

"Sorry," she murmured, taking another drink for something to do.

"It's okay," he said, stroking her hair meditatively with his hand, finally pulling her head back down. "Scout, I had my dick pressed into your back for most of last night, I think I can deal with your lovely hair on my arm, you know?"

Scout snarfed her wine.

"I can't believe you said that," she said when she could finally talk.

"It broke the horrible tension between us, didn't it?" he asked, turning to her.

"Look," he continued, setting his glass aside, taking her glass and setting it aside, too. "I never meant to misunderstand anything. I think that, on some level, assuming--what I assumed--made things easier for me," he admitted. He took her hands in his. "I've been living here for the last ten months like a wounded animal in a cave, growling at everyone who got too close, you know?"

He took a deep breath and looked around before letting his eyes land on Scout's. In the firelight, she noticed, his dark blue eyes glowed like sapphires. "When my wife died, I was very unhappy, and I thought I was going to be unhappy for a long time, maybe forever, you know? I thought--I thought that maybe I deserved it, that I'd earned it, somehow.

"Then you came along."

What?

George saw the expression on Scout's face.

"Is that so hard to believe?" he asked softly.

The wine, fatigue, and just plain surprise made Scout tell the truth, and she nodded.

"Why?" George looked at her in intense concentration. "I mean, look at you. You're so clever, and kind, and funny, completely amazing in every way. You speak, like, a million languages, you play the piano, and you're so brave. You've been so plucky about all the weird shit that's been going on since you arrived at the house, and the way you dealt with what happened yesterday, just so plucky, you know?" He let go of her hand so he could brush her nearly dry hair back from her face. "You're just a bloody marvelous girl, Scout Lawson, and hearing that you weren't a lesbian was just about the best news I've ever heard in my entire fucking life, if I'm being perfectly honest."

His words made Scout laugh, so hard she had to release his hand and turn away.

"I'm being serious, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't laugh at me," George said, hurt.

"Okay, so, well, we've established that I'm not a lesbian, so?" She looked at him expectantly.

"So?" He looked back at her and gulped.

"What are we going to do about it?" she asked with a smile.