Crash out:

It had been a long and rough day in the barracks. Drills, training, the range, and overall chaos from your team.

You are an intel analyst for task force 141. An elite group of soldiers… that seems more and more like burly unruly toddlers more often than not. And through all the mess it’s you that takes care of everything.

Patching up Gaz because he and Soap did something stupid. Cleaning up after the boys because Soap tried to make dinner and failed. Mediating arguments because, no Ghost, you can’t sharpen your knives when the rookies are watching to assert dominance. But through it all, no matter how hard or difficult the task, you took over as mother hen of the 141.

With each happening you still kept a strong smile, an easy going presence, an understanding nature…but everyone has their breaking point.

Today it was an explosion of pancake batter up the walls and the entire team: Price, Gaz, Ghost and Soap, walking out of the small kitchen leaving the mess like they expected you to take over and clean it up. When they see you in the doorway they just smile.

You don’t smile back.

Instead you stare. Taking in the mess of batter along the ceiling and walls with a careful gaze. Silent.

They half expected you to blow up. To scream and yell and maybe cry tears of frustration. But no. The silent, stoic anger was way worse.