Task Force 141

Price knew how complicated the military could be. He knew the PTSD that came with working in the military, and he knew how it could change someone’s perspective. He had felt it himself, and he had watched as so many other recruits went through the same thing. Not his recruits, but recruits regardless.

{User} was one of those recruits. {{sub}} had joined weeks prior, but had plenty of experience under {{poss}} belt. That’s what made {{obj}} reliable. But Task Force 141 was a more extreme military–it focused on national security and relied on long days with brutal interactions. It would take a toll on anyone. He simply hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

When it did, though, it became clear. Gaz mentioned seeing {{obj}} rock in place, Soap reported seeing {{obj}} procrastinate on work until the last minute, and Ghost was...well, Ghost was the reason Price really noticed anything. He was the one who had taken {User}’s yearly psych exam, and it was certainly worse than the previous year. Not bad enough to be discharged, but bad enough to grow some concerns. Price, although, didn’t go up to {{obj}} and start interrogating {{obj}}. He just watched. He noticed things he hadn’t before; like a ring {{sub}} always wore that {{sub}} fidgeted with.

And although Price knew it wasn’t smart to put {{obj}} out on the fields, he still did. He didn’t want to draw concern or pull {{obj}} out of routine, so he put {{obj}} right back in it. Sent off with Gaz, it was about a week before Nikolai brought the two back. {User} already looked worn down. Gaz looked tired. And while {User} was the first to scurry back to the showering areas, Gaz was the first to get out of them.

Within an hour, Price went looking for {User}. He hadn’t expected {{obj}} to still be in the shower, but he heard the water running clear as day.

“It’s been an hour,” he had grumbled as he closed the door behind him. “What the fuck are you still doing? Swimming?”

He wasn’t disrespectful, but it came out that way. He waited for a response, but when he didn’t get any, his fingers slid behind the curtain–the lazy excuse for a showering door–and peered down at {User}. Disgustingly enough, {User} was sitting on the floor. What startled Price the most, though, was watching the steam erupt from the water as {{poss}} skin turned red under the heat.

“Hey.” This time, his voice was softer. “Come on. Get out of there.”

It made him want to crawl into a pit, but Price reached forward and turned the water down quite a bit. The water soaked into his sleeve, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He simply crouched down to {{poss}} level. “Come on. Your fingers are wrinkling; it’s been an hour. Let’s get you out of there and talk for a bit, yeah?”

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He had seen it happen so many times before, it had become his own sixth sense. It just clicked when he noticed it; like a puzzle finally coming together. And Ghost sucked at puzzles.

When it came to people, Ghost could read them like a book. He could get what he wanted with enough effort to scare them without actually doing any harm. It’s what made him good at his job. At the same time, it was also what made him a menacing figure—and an unreliable support system. Not that Ghost wanted to get all emotional with people, but he did like being relied on for personal things. Friendship wasn’t in the manual, but it was a nice thing to experience every once in a while.

Now, {User} wasn’t exactly a friend. A close acquaintance, if he really had to give it a name. But he also noticed the small things that a friend would notice; like how the psych exam came out worse than last year’s. He even overheard Gaz mentioning to Price about a new rocking habit, and Soap had seen {{sub}} procrastinate on work more than once. While concerning, Ghost didn’t make mention towards it. If {User} was really struggling, {{sub}} would speak up.

Well, those assumptions were wrong.

Usually, Ghost could figure out if something was wrong or not, but not here. {User} seemed to hide it well enough to make go blind towards the issue.

The mission had gone to shit. Maybe that was {User}’s breaking point, or maybe it was something else; but that’s the only time Ghost really figured it out. And the only reason he did was because he needed to wipe the grime off his fucking body.

When he stepped into the lavatory, it felt warmer. Steam rose from the furthest shower on the back; more than what he was used to seeing. Gaz preferred colder showers after the harsh-weathered missions. Soap would always be in there first thing after a mission–sometimes later if something took up his time. And Price? Nobody would see Price. He was in and out too quick. Not only that, but the amount of steam indicated that it had definitely been some time since the person had entered.

Ghost’s hand connected with the brick wall beside the shower. “You’re taking all the hot water,” he grumbled. “Figured you haven’t been at debriefing yet.”

Silence.

He didn’t open the curtain just yet. He simply stood there, listening to the shallow breaths of who he could only assume could be {User}. The mere heat he felt from the steam made him hesitate. Finally, his fist collided with the wall again. When the silence hit his ears, that’s when he gently pulled the curtain aside.

Ghost didn’t do it to be perverted. He was more worried–if that was even the word–that someone had passed out.

But the scene that he connected his eyes to was a bit worse than he imagined. Instead of seeing {User} unconscious, he was met with the sight of {{sub}} just sitting there. And for a second, he considered leaving {{sub}}. The way the water seemed to burn {{poss}} back made him stay.

Disregarding the heat of the water, Ghost reached his arm out and turned the water down. He stared at {{sub}} for a few moments longer, but ultimately reached to the side and grabbed {{poss}} towel.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Let’s go talk, yeah?”

Gaz noticed it the instant it started.

It wasn’t even noticeable to the blind eye. {User} usually shifted around a lot, but not to the extent {{sub}} had that day. In the middle of a meeting, everyone would usually be focused on the screen ahead. But Gaz had been in the very back, and thus, got a little bit of everyone in his view. {User} was included.

{{sub}} shifted and rocked {{poss}} body, then would focus back up towards the screen. Each time, nobody batted an eye. Most soldiers Gaz previously worked with would experience what he called “pre-battle anxiety”. He figured that’s what it was.

Over some time, that’s what he made himself believe. Price pulled him aside one day and mentioned some comments from the others, and that’s when he spilled. He told him about the rocking and distractions, how the smell of caffeine practically lingered on {{obj}}, and the constant twisting and turning at night. Maybe nobody else heard that, but Gaz did. In the military, everyone stayed asleep with minimal movement. The fact that {User} couldn’t was what made Gaz bring it up.

And now, it seemed like Price was watching over {{obj}} with every little movement. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, but he also felt like it was the right thing. If {User} was unstable, it would lead to medical leave. It would suck, but it would be better than being discharged.

It wasn’t like Price was the only one watching out for {User}, though. Gaz was just as guilty. In fact, he was the one who approached {User} first after missions. Luckily, it wasn’t out of the ordinary–he usually did that.

But this time, it seemed like {User} escaped before he could even get a look at {{obj}}.

{User} leaving so early wasn’t the worst-possible scenario. {{sub}} could have been dead or injured beyond repair, and he knew that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t a babysitter; he didn’t have to take care of a full-grown adult. {User} was capable of that.

As such, he let {{obj}} be. He didn’t go out searching for {{obj}}. He didn’t call {{poss}} name over the intercom or his own radio. Gaz simply didn’t make a fuss out of it.

What he did do is grab a pair of clothes and a towel. Usually, people weren’t taking a shower as early as he usually did. He figured the lavatory would be empty.

At first, it seemed that way. Gaz hummed a quiet tune, then paused when he heard water running as he moved closer to the end of the room—he wouldn’t bother anyone showering with his humming. What caught his attention, though, was the sight of the steam rising in the air. The mirrors at the end of the room seemed to have fogged up.

He stopped walking.

Gaz’s eyes caught a glimpse of the nametag plastered on the clothes set aside. His tongue clicked as he set his own clothes aside. “Hey. Turn that water down; it looks too hot.”

He wasn’t saying that for {{poss}} sake; the kitchen would be preparing food at this time, and thus, would need the water.

Gaz’s ears were alert, but he didn’t hear a response. He didn’t hear the knob turn, and that’s what made him frown. By the water fogging up the mirrors, it had to be at least fifteen minutes since {User} came in.

Had {{sub}} passed out?

“{User}?”

No response.

“Are you okay?”

No response. But he did hear a sniffle. Quiet, almost inaudible, but definitely there.

Instead of ignoring it, Gaz’s fingers crept around the edge of the curtain. He shifted it aside, his gaze falling down to {User}’s body. Exposed, but nothing was revealed that shouldn’t have been. Angry red marks lathered {{poss}} back like a massacre, the water clearly burning {{poss}} skin.

“Hey.” His voice was sweeter this time. He reached over, soaking his own sleeve in the water as he turned it off. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

To Soap, it wasn’t easy to catch. He had seen soldiers procrastinate in the past and turn in reports at the last minute or, worst case, late. He saw the cocky soldiers who passed off work to others, and he saw the soldiers who worked themselves half to death. There was the bundle that was lazy, and the occasional few who swore up and down they could beat their drill sergeant in any activity. Needless to say, none of them were ever able to.

But {User} was {{poss}} own case. Not quiet, not loud. Not expressive, but not a blank page like Ghost. Just {{poss}} own person.

Recently, Soap had noticed a complex pattern of procrastination. Gaz had mentioned seeing {{obj}} complete the work, but rock in place or stare at the paper for minutes before writing. {User} was a smart person. If something was wrong, nobody would be able to tell unless it became clear.

The main reason for that was because of the risk of being discharged. A soldier thrown from the military because they were a liability was more common than Soap wanted to announce. It happened every day, and he had seen it happen to even the strongest soldiers. Fuck up, and you were out. {User} seemed to want to avoid that.

Soap, though, didn’t want {User} passing out in the field or falling asleep on duty–that was an easy ticket to punishment, especially in the special forces. Maybe that was why he brought it up to Price. A fear of losing someone, maybe. Laswell couldn’t know. Laswell would discharge {{obj}} in a heartbeat, or at the very least, require psychological exams while being on unpaid leave.

Now, {User} knew this. Soap knew that {{sub}} knew. That could have been why {{sub}} hid the clear distress, why {{sub}} procrastinated. Maybe it was why any clear mention of {User} brought {{poss}} hackles to the sky, as if {{sub}} knew {{sub}} would be discharged. But {User} never was, because it never got out further than it had to. But, because of that, {User} could get away with more. More erratic moves when sparring, less focus when shooting, and more silence when filling out reports. Half the time, it was near Soap–as if {User} knew he wouldn’t say anything. But Soap did, and that’s what made him feel terrible. He knew Price wouldn’t mention anything to {{obj}}, though.

Not unless he told something worse.

‘Worse’ would consist of any self-harm. Soap didn’t care how small it was; it would lead to constant agony or long-term scars, or even worse habits. The idea of leaving {User} to rot alone was weird. Distant.

Soap’s breathing was quiet. Already two minutes in–including the quick scrub of his hair–and he was finally warm from the water rinsing over his skin. But maybe that was because of the heat he felt in the stall next to him.

He wasn’t sure who was beside him, but he hadn’t heard a single thing. They hadn’t turned off the water, and they didn’t sound like they were moving. There certainly wasn’t any washing, either. From the sounds of it, it was empty.

It left Soap curious, but not enough to bother someone’s peace. So he ignored it for the meantime, his hands already moving to dry his body with the towel.

The clothes came on next, but halfway through, he began slowing down. It was very weird for someone to take such a long shower–and a hot one–for that period of time. For a second, he considered knocking on the wall. Then he ignored it. Then the thought came back.

“Hey,” Soap said. “Are you okay?”

There was a quiet answer from the only person Soap knew to have that specific voice– {User}. At that second, he frowned. “You sure? You’ve been in there for a minute now?”

He would have left it at that, but a gut feeling made him stay. Soap pulled on the last bit of his clothing, then moved closer to the curtain. There was no silhouette of someone inside–not standing, at least. It was a risk, but his hand reached up to slowly pull the curtain aside. He didn’t want to scare {{obj}}.

“Hey.”

Soap’s gaze fell down to the red marks on {User}’s back, the heat of the water burning against {{poss}} flesh. He didn’t reach over to turn the water off, or pull {{obj}} up to him. He just stared.

“Do you...Do you want me to go get Price?”