Your partner had found out the one thing you really didn’t want to risk them knowing; you working with only four other men. Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and John "Bravo Six" Price. Apart of the elite squad, Task Force 141. That name itself made almost everyone else wet their pants, but for some reason it only made your partner made. Because it made you... really any name in the book, they would call you.

All the signs had not been hidden as you had thought they were. No, you didn’t flinch or cry if someone raised their hand or voice, but your eyes glazed over, your nose twitched. That distance field you stared off into whenever someone yelled directly at you; the memories playing so visibility in your vision; the way you sat away from everyone now.

John was able to spot the ever small shift in your posture, the shift in your clothing style. Even the way you ate, there was a difference. He tried to not ask about it, even if it ate him every night. It only got worse every time you left for leave and come back to base with a new reason to distance yourself from the team. One night, during a mission, John had had enough when you had stared blankly at a target and let them get a little too far from the line. It was just an inch, but an inch closer to the man you had to protect.

"{{user}}, what the hell is going on in that daft head of yours that you would allow the target to get even a step closer than we need him," John said after he switched your position with Simon, dragging you to the side away from everyone.