A/N: This note bears absolutely no relevance to this story whatsoever so feel free to skip it!
When I first sat down to write Confessions, I had two ideas (actually, I had a dozen different ideas but only two of them really stuck with me.) The whole premise of confessions was that Schofield, as a character, is almost too perfect. There had to be something hidden and I wanted to work out what that could be. The other ideas ranged from the absurd - perhaps he trained as a professional singer or dancer before joining the marines – to the ridiculous – perhaps he was brought up by homeless gypsies/hippies in some remote country. Not joking, I did consider both those options! But based on my research into the marines, there were two ideas that struck me as plausible.
That he was a single dad. I really liked this idea based off his interactions with the various kids that appear in MR's books. Also, single parents are not allowed to enlist in the armed services in America, hence why it seemed a plausible secret.
That he was gay. I don't think I really need to explain why he would have to stay silent about that.
Obviously, I eventually chose the second option because I felt I had more of a personal connection to that storyline and so would find it easier to write. I did briefly consider combining the two but decided that would be waaaay too soap opera!
At some point, I think I will post at least a one shot of the first option because it still intrigues me. It will be non-slash, a little present for the Schofield/Gant shippers of which there are (naturally) many. I would like to clarify that I definitely do ship Schofield/Gant but her death just opened up a whole realm of possibilities. Oops, spoiler. I hope I'm doing okay tying in their relationship with the relationship dealt with in this story.
However, of late, I must admit I've been pretty troubled and just in a fairly dark place. Writing these last couple of chapters has been really hard. On the brighter side, a new story has been developing in my mind which does combine both of those elements (and two new OC's; one that I really love and another that I love to hate) in a dark and twisted tale which reflects the mindset with which it was written. Pairing wise it will definitely be a Schofield/OMC (the one that I love to hate) and depending on the length, it could even have elements of past Schofield/OFC (the other one, the nice one) and Schofield/Gant, though not simultaneously, as well as a really nice Gant/OFC (Same nice one) friendship. I'll warn you right now, it's dark. Really dark, centred around domestic abuse.
It's not currently listed on my profile because I thought I'd test the waters here and gauge your response before committing myself to writing it. I know I'm a terrible review scab but please do let me know your thoughts because I love to hear them!
Okay, so after that ludicrously long note, here's the actual chapter.
Chapter 16
Slowly but surely, Schofield started handing over the reins of the unit to Jack. The first step was letting him run the exercises and as promised, he had planned something spectacular. Realising that nearly half the unit – Rebound, Book II, Skip and himself - were not HALO qualified, Jack had somehow managed to arrange the three days training and practice jumps required to earn it. High Altitude Low Opening jumps were dangerous, if you were going to die in an accident as a soldier, there was a fairly high chance it would be because of a HALO gone wrong, and so the preparations were rigorous. Since over half of all HALO drops land in water because of its advantages in covert warfare, they started each morning with a gruelling three mile swim in the specially designed deep dive prep pool that mimicked the conditions they might expect to encounter in the event of a sea landing.
By which they meant it was a battle against the nigh on impossible currents and fucking freezing.
As well as the physical training to prepare their bodies – they had spent all of the previous afternoon jumping off a six meter high tower onto crash mats to learn proper landing techniques and how to avoid crush injuries from impact – there were also many obstacles to overcome in preparing mentally to throw oneself out of a plane with the ground below you as little more than a speck and in altitudes so high that a single unassisted breath of the surrounding air could kill you. The day before that, they had spent in practice thirty-thirty jumps; which involved jumping without a parachute from a helicopter flying at thirty knots only thirty feet above sea level. While it sure as hell wasn't the same, the rush of adrenaline still helped.
And then of course, they all had to learn or relearn how to properly use the life-sustaining equipment that would allow them to free fall at terminal velocity in an unbreathable atmosphere at temperatures of less than minus fifty below Fahrenheit.
There was the pre-breather that they would need to breathe for up to forty-five minutes before the jump – 100 per cent pure oxygen to remove all trace of nitrogen from the bloodstream.
There was the oxygen tank and mask itself to breath during the drop – obviously if those weren't damn perfect, they were in deep shit.
And then there was trying to change between them without allowing the return of any nitrogen into the bloodstream causing decompression sickness and potential death.
All just a walk in the park really.
They debated the advantages and disadvantages of jumping in polypropylene wetsuits – more likely to get frostbite – versus jumping in as many warm clothes as was safe – more likely to drown. In addition, they were strictly sworn off alcohol, cigarettes and any medication they might be on which could lead to hypoxia. Although they weren't necessarily happy about it, especially the alcohol, you didn't need to be a genius to realise that falling unconscious at thirty thousand feet would be fatal. So they returned home each night tired and grumpy but excited as all hell for the upcoming final jump.
All that is, except for Shane and Jack.
Whilst the need for secrecy was inspiring in them an impressive creativity, running on the excitement of a new relationship and the adrenaline of keeping it a secret, they were also becoming reckless. At first they had been clever, either sneaking out whilst everyone else was distracted or asleep. Once, they even managed to leave - together – in plain sight. Schofield said he was going out for the evening and Jack had piped up that he needed to go into town as well, could he grab a lift?
Shane was impressed – even if he did say so himself – with what an accomplished set of actors they were becoming. The question was phrased with appropriate nonchalance and Schofield had paused whilst pulling on his jacket, as though thinking hard about the answer.
"Sure," he said gruffly, indicating towards the door. "I'm leaving now so you'd better hurry."
Schofield was both amused and only slightly concerned as Book kept shooting him knowing glances as they walked out the door. After all, the man was smart and, Schofield recalled, he knew he was seeing someone and how he felt about Jack. It wouldn't take much to put two and two together. Perhaps they weren't being as clever as they thought they were. They were only three feet away from the barracks when his phone had buzzed with a message from Book II.
Have a nice night, it read
and don't let your bf see you with another bloke.
They had to run after that, afraid that someone would see the way they were hanging on to each other, laughing too hard.
Sometimes, when they were feeling particularly brave or careless, they even managed to steal moments in dark and quiet corners under the pretence of trying to organise a unit.
Because after all, everybody knows that the best kept secrets exist in the open.
The morning of the jump itself, was a real wake-up call however, of the very real dangers of getting caught. It was breakfast, the only time of the day when they could reliably spend some time together alone without elaborate schemes or sneaking about. Courtesy of an unexpected cold snap – which was almost certainly going to complicate the jump – Schofield was attempting to cook a hot breakfast consisting of oatmeal and little else. Not helped by the fact that Jack's warm body was currently pressed flush against his back, his hands on his waist and his lips on his neck.
He did try to slap him with the wooden spoon he was using to stir the pot when he felt Jack's lips graze at his favourite spot on Schofield's collarbone but that proved completely ineffective.
"Oi," Shane cried with mock irritation, "I'm gonna burn it if you're not more careful."
But he was laughing when Jack spun him round and pushed him dangerously close to the lighted stove, their faces only inches apart.
"That's okay," he replied with a naughty grin plastered from ear to ear, "I can think of other ways to warm up."
They were fairly well wrapped up in each other, crashing hands and hips and lips together with a sense of urgency brought on by the fact that anybody could just walk in and it would be all over right then, that the sound of the rarely used doorbell sent them both flying in opposite directions across the room, breathing heavily with identical expressions of shock.
Shane was the first to recover when, instead of the door opening, a stack of mail tumbled messily through the slot.
"Holy shit," he said with a snort, as he looked out the window quickly and saw the retreating back of the postman, "That was too close."
He reached out and managed to twine several of his fingers through the loops of Jack's belt, who still looked like a deer caught in headlights and pulled him close again.
"It's okay," Schofield said as he brushed his lips quickly against Jack's jawline. "It's fine, he didn't see anything."
"Now be a doll and go get that," he added with a grin, pushing Jack towards the mail lying in a heap on the floor.
Jack let out a reluctant 'humph' as he picked the scattered pile up and began to sort it into the pigeonholes beside the door. Nobody wanted to be in the barracks at mail time because nobody wanted the god-awful job of sorting up but they all felt obliged to if it was still just lying there.
"Hey," he said after a moment, "there's something here for you."
He shoved the remaining envelopes into their owner's slots before ambling over to where Schofield was setting a couple of steaming bowls of oatmeal – dusted with liberal amounts of brown sugar – on the table, trying not to drop them. Wiping slightly messy hands on his trousers, he took the envelope from Jack's outstretched hand, looking at it curiously.
He recognised it instantly, only one person he knew sent letters in genuine silk envelopes complete with tasteful red ribbon and seal. He was pondering it with a slight frown – he really hadn't thought he'd be getting one of these this year – when Jack's voice cut across his thoughts.
"Well wouldn't you know," he sounded surprised enough to cause Schofield to tear his gaze away from the letter and up to him. "This is actually quite good," he said, looking back at Shane with bright eyes and a cheeky grin, using his spoon to point at the breakfast.
Shane didn't know whether to hit him or kiss him.