Roach stood in his room, throwing random clothes into his duffel bag. He was going home. Roach knew this day would come, but he figured it would either be when his tour was up or he was in a body bag. Whatever. He would go to therapy, prove to MacTavish he didn't have an issue, and then come back to the base. He thought of what the captain had said.
"But I don't think you're fit for duty, and frankly, I don't know if you will be ever again unless you work this out!"
Roach blinked hard to keep the tears back. The last thing he needed was for Chemo to come in and see him crying like a little girl. He quickly attempted to close the bag, but the zipper caught on the fabric and stopped. Roach tugged at it harder than necessary, and when the zipper came loose, it left a hole in the bag. Roach became angry quickly and swore as he threw the bag at the wall, a small metal object coming out of the hole. As he inspected the object, the emotions he was holding back broke past his defenses and a sob escaped his lips. It was Meat's dog tag.
CHRISTENSEN
ALEX, M
256-82-1853
A POS
METHODIST
Roach slipped the piece of cold metal into his chest pocket. It radiated a heat that spread over his chest, comforting him. He knew that Meat was gone, but right now it felt as though part of him was still with Roach.
Roach walked down the hallway, doing his best to hide his disappointment at being sent home. His footsteps dragged across the tiles, creating an annoying, shuffling sound. Luckily, everyone was outside training, so nobody could tell Roach to knock it off.
As he opened the door at the end of the hall to walk outside and to his plane home, MacTavish rounded a corner, walking quickly.
"Roach!" he called out.
The sergeant whirled around to see the captain standing there with a piece of paper in his hand.
"What is this?" Roach asked, not bothering to add the "sir."
"I took it upon myself to look up a therapist in your area. That's her number."
Roach looked at the telephone number, the captain's slanted handwriting running together, making it difficult to read. He noticed something.
"There's two numbers on here," Roach commented.
MacTavish shifted. "Yeah… that second one is, well, mine. I just thought… maybe if you needed something or someone to talk to who understands what you're going through better, well then… yeah."
Roach almost smiled as his captain struggled with words. MacTavish always seemed so eloquent at other times; it was strange to see him like this.
"I appreciate it, sir."
The Scot smiled. "Have a nice flight, Roach. No sarcasm intended. I hope to see you soon." MacTavish turned and walked back the way he had come.
Roach sighed. Why was he feeling a small spark of happiness in him, despite being sent home and Meat's death? He frowned as he opened the door and walked out into the scorching summer sun.
Ascension Island is 1,400 miles east of Brazil and 1,000 miles west of Africa, smack dab in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean. It is a British colony, and there is a Royal Air Force base on the island. With a population of only 800 people, not counting those stationed on base, its even existence was known by few. Ascension Island's remote location and anonymity made it the perfect base for the Task Force 141.
Roach thought of his mother and sister as the plane rose above the small island. His mother, Juliet, still lived in Ohio, where she had remained even after her husband had died and her children had grown up. Roach's older sister, Alexis, had a job as a journalist in New York, where she lived with her husband and 2-year-old son, Matthew Gary Sanderson. Roach hoped that he had a daughter he could name after his sister someday to show his appreciation. Gary's sister, although only two years older than him, had always looked after him as if he was her own son. It wasn't that Juliet was incapable of raising her own son; Roach's mother adored him. When Joseph Sanderson, Gary's father, died when Roach was only 12, Alexis, who had been close to her father, took it upon herself to make sure nothing happened to her little brother. She had thrown a fit when Roach had joined the Marines.
Roach sighed and reclined his seat backwards. It was going to be a long flight.
It was like he was viewing Meat's death all over again, except every sense was amplified. The blaze in the eyes of the man that killed Meat was like lightning, the crack as the bullets exited the gun was the thunder, the whistling of air as they flew through the air towards Meats sounded like the wind of a storm…
The "thump" as the bullets hit Meat's body was everything giving in and collapsing.
"You could have saved him, you know," a loud, commanding voice told him.
Roach looked around, but he didn't see anyone.
"You could have moved faster. Or waited less time to recover," the voice said again.
Roach searched frantically around; he wanted to tell the voice to stop.
"But you were selfish. Your own needs came before his. What kind of soldier, friend, man, does that?"
"Shut up!" Roach yelled at the voice. "You don't know what happened! You weren't there!"
"In fact, I was," the voice told him.
Roach was paranoid now. His whole body was shaking, trembling, and he didn't know what to do. He walked over to Meat's body.
"You could have saved me," Meat said.
It was Meat. Meat was the voice. Only it wasn't his own. It was as if someone else was speaking through him.
"Why didn't you save me, Roach?" Meat whispered. "You could have, but you didn't. Why didn't you, Gary?"
At the use of his first name, Roach made a strange noise somewhere between sobbing and screaming. He could have saved him. He could have saved Meat…
"Sir?"
Roach's eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into the eyes of a flight attendant. He tried to take control of his breathing before he tried out words.
"Yes?" His voice cracked.
"Are you alright? You were making a lot of noise," the woman showed both irritation and worry in her eyes.
"Um, yeah. I'm fine," Roach lied.
"Well then, I'm sure the other passengers would appreciate it if you would keep it down," she whispered somewhat shrewdly. She walked down the aisle quickly, despite her high heels. Roach had to stop himself from getting up and throwing his fist into that oh-so-concerned face.
Bitch, he thought.
MacTavish looked at his watch as he finished his run. He frowned at how long it had taken him to run a mere three miles. As he walked towards the showers, he checked his cell phone. The message on the screen said he had one missed call.
The Scot called his voicemail, thinking it might be Roach. As the message played out, he realized it wasn't Roach, but a telemarketer. MacTavish groaned as he put the phone away.
He was seriously concerned about the sergeant. MacTavish knew first-hand what it was like to lose comrades. Survivor's guilt. His thoughts went back to five years ago in the Altay Mountains, when Zakhaev was still around. He had lost two of his best friends.
And his mentor, Captain John Price.
He missed the man who thought he was a muppet, but watched out for him anyway. The man who had known his father, the late Captain Angus MacTavish. The man who had sacrificed himself for "Soap."
MacTavish threw open the locker room door with a little more aggression than necessary. Price shouldn't have sacrificed himself. He was a more valuable pawn than me. MacTavish would be damned if he let someone die for him again.
A/N: Chapter two! Please leave your thoughts, it really means a lot to know what people think. Thank you!