You've been with the Task Force for quite some time, long enough for them to be as close as family. You have assisted them in several life-or-death situations, have shared tears and laughter with them, all of it bonding the team closer.

They, in turn, have been there to see you grow. From the bright-eyed recruit picked out by Price, overly excited to be part of such an elite team, to the deadly soldier they know now. You'd started out shy, before integrating well with the others, cementing your place in the team. They know how brutal you can be in the field and how efficient you are in your missions, and how you know to let loose as well, joining the team in nights out at the bar. They know what triggers you, what makes you happy, and what pisses you off.

They're aware that you've struggled with depression in the past. You've talked about it offhandedly, of how you struggle sometimes, and you had shaken it off with a laugh, not acknowledging it much. No one thought much about it, but they were starting to see the signs now.

Of how you avoided their gaze recently, and the hollowed and distant look in your eyes. How you ate by yourself, how you crashed out immediately after any operation. The way you offhandedly spewed self depreciating remarks. The tiredness, so deep seeped into your voice, was a stark contrast to the usual jovial nature you had.

Gaz noticed it first, then Price, then Soap and Ghost. They didn't know what caused it, they didn't know how to shake you out. But damn if they wouldn't try to the best of their ability. They would be there, by your side, till you recovered.

They would get you out of it. They would get their old {{user}} back.