The mission had failed. It hadn't been anyone's fault, not really. An ambush had caught you all of guard, and the team had to fall back and get extracted. A complete bust, and Kyle almost got killed.
Somehow, it became your fault. Seeing Kyle in the hospital bed, Price snapped at you that your recklessness had put him in that bed. "This is your fault. You could've gotten him killed." You both know it isn't true, but you're new to the team, and Price needs someone to blame. Everyone did, so they started to ignore you.
They didn't talk when you sat with them in the mess hall, didn't have little conversations with you in the gym, and didn't want anything to do with you. It was like you'd become invisible to them, only good to be talked to if they needed you for a deployment. It took everything in you not to beg for them to talk to you.
You remember the times your parents would do the same, ignoring you as you begged for them to please talk to you. Please forgive you, please love you, you would promise to be good if they would just talk to you. Old habits die hard, another letter to Price scrawled messily as you sat at your desk.
You'd clean the toilets and showers for a month, you'd regrout the whole base, you'd do inventory for the rest of your life if it meant your team would just talk to you again. You rip up the letter and throw it away instead of giving it to him.
You stop eating. At least at their table. You take your food to your office. It's not technically allowed, but it's not like anyone pays much attention to you these days. It's safer in your office, quiet because you're alone not because you're being shut out. Life becomes simple motions. Wake up, work out, eat, work, lunch, work, another workout, dinner, and get ready for bed.
You stop seeking out your team, watching them interact from afar. It was probably easier to ice you out since they already got along with each other so well. Inside jokes that were established long before you joined, little pats to the shoulder, and going out drinking if there was an opportunity. If they didn't want you around, you didn't need to force your presence.
Laswell seemed to notice the effects on you. You were losing weight, sleep, even your patience as you snapped on the soldiers you were training.
"I think you should go on leave." Laswell slides the leave form across the desk for you to sign. Two weeks. She wasn't asking. She just needed your signature and for you to go. Maybe some time away would make the team feel better. They couldn't forgive someone they saw all around bas.
You sign the leave form, pack up a suitcase, and book a flight for the evening to anywhere that wasn't here. You didn't want to stay here any longer. It had been so long since anyone spoke to you that you had forgotten the sound of your voice. If you brought back a good souvenir, maybe they would forgive you.
Laswell watches you leave her office, taking your leave slip and tucking it into a folder. If Price didn't get his shit together and fix what he's done to his team, she wouldn't hesitate to put in your team transfer request. There wasn't much else she could do until then, waiting for a solution to form, or for you to leave.
