Hey. I'm back with another story (Similar to Never Too Late, but "extended"). The story is going to be a little different from the MW2 timeline, and I would like to make a few warnings before you go on reading this. The story will contain mentions of depression, self harm, and suicide (TRIGGER WARNING).

"Welcome to the 141, soldier," General Shepherd looked at the FNG, holding out his hand to twenty-year-old-Gary Sanderson, "The best hand picked group of brothers on the planet."

"It's an honor, sir," Gary shook his superior's hand.

"You're by far the youngest man we've had, but all we need is your strength. Think it's something you can give us?"

"Yes. Definitely, sir."

"Good. You'll be meeting your captain and team shortly, and when that's done, you can get comfortable."

Gary nodded, looking back out the window of the chopper as it flew over a dry and empty desert. It had not been too long ago since he was out on the frontlines, fighting to protect his brothers that were right alongside him. He was still covered in dirt and sweat, and he could still feel his heart beating as if he were running a marathon. So being out of the war zone was something to adjust to, even though it still felt as if he was still outside being shot at or blown up. But no. He's far from that, and all that could be heard was the ambient sound of the chopper's propellers. Though despite that sound being the filler of silence, it seemed as if Gary's racing thoughts were much louder.

But it wasn't those kind of thoughts like, What will the team think of me, or what will the captain be like? Instead, Gary's mind was still on the war he's been fighting for at least half a year. He knew that war can cost a limb, a paralysis, or even his life. But it never occurred to him what war can do to his mind. The truth, he found it more agonizing than being pierced with a hot bullet. Every night, he can't sleep through his nightmares. When he closes his eyes, the images of his fallen brothers and their last shouts fill his empty thoughts. The thoughts of what he could've done to be a better soldier corrupt his mind, ultimately making him feel as if he were carrying a burden full of guilt. Yet somehow he manages to find himself living and fighting another day.

Gary's eyes were forward on the man in front of him, who was reading the file on his desk. While it was silent, the sergeant took a look at the features he had. His brown hair was cut into a Mohawk, scratched down on his left eye was a fading scar, and the color of his eyes were a bright shade of blue. According to Shepherd, this man would be one of Gary's new captain.

John Mactavish, He remembered correctly.

"Seems like you'll make helluva good soldier, Sanderson," His captain tore his eyes away from the file and addressed the younger man, "Did they call you anything when you were in the SAS?"

Gary looked into his dark blue eyes, "Like a callsign?"

"Aye."

"Oh, er- yeah. It's Roach."

"Roach?"

The younger man nodded, "Yes, sir."

"So you're like a hard bastard to kill then, eh?"

Gary pursed his lips, gazing back down at his bony hands, "M'yeah. Pretty much."

John sat up straight, "Okay then. After you're dismissed, you can go regroup with the lads down in the rec room. They're pretty eager to meet you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it."

As Gary left the office, John flipped to the next page which contained the sergeant's background information. Midway through the paragraph, it started to explain Gary's previous condition with depression and how he was off of antidepressants for almost two years. It didn't really seem to bother John until he got to the last section of the page-

"In the event of an operation that took place a few months ago, one team, as a result, were ambushed and shot before they had a chance to regroup with the rest of their brothers. However, Sanderson was the only one who survived, and we've since then have kept a closer eye on him. As research shows, soldiers who've suffered a traumatic experience results in issues with their mental health. Despite several night terrors after the operation, Sanderson has expressed no signs of being mentally unstable. However, he has caught a case of survivor's guilt since then, yet he still seems able to perform tasks without a problem."

Well, just as long as the lad can shoot and fight, I guess there isn't anything to worry about, John thought as he closed up the file.

It wasn't until later in the evening when the captain met up with his pack of rowdy wolves for their evening meal, and among them it seemed as if Gary was handling their energy rather well. By that, it really meant that he kept his distance away from them and minded his own business at the far end of the table. His food was sitting across from him, untouched as his eyes were focused on his black leather journal instead, writing words that only he was allowed to see. The sergeant reminded John of his second-in-command in a sort of way, after all Simon Riley was too, a bit of an antisocial person as well. Though John didn't bother to mingle with Gary, but he was close enough to see the green shade in his eyes.

Not once did he tear his attention away from the sergeant. He just wanted to get a better look at him. Gary didn't appear to be too muscular, compared to his teammates he was rather slender and scrawny. In other words, his figure just seemed a little feminine. He was still tall, but it just looked as if he wouldn't be able to carry his own teammate across the field with that kind of body build.

The next thing John noticed was how Gary's hand was lightly trembling. A muscle in the sergeant's jaw twitched and he swallowed hard before closing up his journal hard enough that John could hear the noise it made. The others didn't seem to pay attention, but the captain still kept his gaze on Gary, seeing how the focus in those green eyes faded into a mix of weariness and guilt. Then when he looked over to face his team, his fatigued eyes only met John's blue ones. But all he gave was a small smile and a nod. John nodded in response, though the contact was broken off quickly, and Gary's expression returned to looking like his dog died.

The superior only looked away, taking his shot of vodka before resuming to take his thoughts elsewhere. But when he did think, all he could think about was the shadows he saw in Gary's eyes. It was the look of someone who's fighting for more than just his queen and country.

It was the look of someone who's battling more than two wars.

Update: Going through this to edit some typos and other mistakes. Hopefully it'll be better for the next person who reads this xp