Before's, During's, & After's

3 weeks prior to MW2

Humans are creatures of habit. This is a simple fact in day-to-day life. Schedules, routines, actions, even the things we say are all formed into habits. For a regular citizen this could be what time they get up and when they go to bed, or perhaps they bite their finger nails. It's just something that they do without thinking about it. This becomes clearer when one joins the army.

When a squad is going out on the mission, or returning from one, you can automatically tell by they way they behave or the things they do right away. Before a mission, some soldiers become jumpy or easily excitable, while others seek out secluded areas where they can think.

Archer was no different. Before a mission he could be found with his custom fit Barrett .50 cal sitting across his lap. The gun was his livelyhood and therefore his prized possession. He'd dissassemble it seamlessly, without hesitation or any signs of even thinking about the steps.

Then he'd clean each piece until the whole thing looked new.

Afterwards he'd snap it back together and check to make sure the shoulder brace that was made to fit against him exactly wasn't damaged. If he'd cleaned the gun only hours before finding out about a mission, he'd clean it again the same as always.

It was just what he'd find himself doing.

Now, don't assume all snipers have the same routine.

This isn't the case in the slightest. Toad, who was often partnered up with Archer on missions, was always found making a three minute personal call to America. It was always the same person on the other end of the line...His long-time girlfriend, Maureen. It would start and end the same way each time. She'd start off telling him how much she missed him and then he'd tell her how it was nearly Christmas (even if it were several months away) and then the conversation would just start up.

When he only had a moment or two left before hang up time she'd tell him to come back to her safe. He would just say, 'I love you' and hang up.

It was just what he did.

Toad wasn't the only one making calls.

Royce would call his wife Denise, Anna his four year old daughter, and his twin sons named Mark and Ian who were still unable to walk. First, he'd tell Denise that he would be perfectly fine, even though they both knew he didn't actually know for sure.

Then she'd hand the phone over to Anna. Anna would talk his ear off about all kinds of didn't bother him that he had no idea what she was talking about, in fact, he loved listening to her and trying to figure her out. Then she'd say, 'I miss you' and give the phone back to Denise.

The married couple would talk for four or five more minutes before saying their goodbyes.

That was natural.

Not everyone had family to talk to.

Worm's parents were 6 feet under and, being an only child, had never really had any other close family…other than his team. That's why on more than one occasion he found himself sitting with Gadget and Toad in the rec room, telling them stories and joking around. The three of them would spend anywhere from minutes to hours in there, laughing.

Worm could only imagine losing one of his friends, which was why he tried to spend time with them so often…Especially before a dangerous mission.

That was the familiar path to follow.

This didn't mean that Gadget didn't have her own routine.

If Worm or any of the other guys needed someone to vent to; she'd be there, ready to listen. But, when they were all busy or on leave or not even going on the mission with her she'd find herself getting antsy and jumpy.

Pacing circles around the corridors, roaming the outer perimeter, jogging on the roof of the main communications building, doing sit ups, walking back and forth through the grounds, she'd do anything to keep moving. It was like the anticipation was eating away at her nerves like acid, burning through to the very core of her being. Nothing would be able to hold her attention long enough for her to get it done.

That's how it was for her for 4 years.

Until an FNG named Roach joined up and gave her something else on her list of things to do.

She found him sitting in the rec room one day, an ear-bud in each ear and his eyes closed lazily as he bobbed his head along to the music. He'd only been with them for two weeks now, only four recons and a stealth mission, and yet the two had become fast friends. Being only 20, he was five and a half years younger than her and a lot less experienced, but he'd risen through the ranks quickly and was almost the same rank as her. She was kind of his teacher, giving him tips and helping him train. Like a kid brother.

Snatching one of the headphones away from him without asking, she listened to the song that was on. Roach's eyes snapped open and he looked up to see a very amused smile on her face. His own face turned beet red, as the song continued. 'Hardcore screamo, Roachie…?' She teased.

The red deepened as he nodded. Then, surprise replaced the embarrassment as she spoke the words to the next lyric along with the music. 'There's no time. If your decisions include regret, then it's already too late.' From then on when Gadget wasn't needed elsewhere she and Roach would rock out. He'd originally come up with the idea in his old squad.

It was empowering to listen to the crazy metal music and it pumped someone up a lot when they'd listen to it.

It became familiar and comfortable.

Not everyone in the 1-4-1 sought company.

Meat would plant himself in the weight room, lifting like crazy. Not enough to injure himself or wear himself out, but enough to need a lot of strength. With every lift he'd imagined lifting an injured teammate from the ground. Every time his arms would come back down he'd be trying not to hurt them any more than they already were. Then he'd go back for more. Lift, and back down, lift, and back down.

There was a simplistic pattern. A promise that came with each lift. There would always be a relax to follow. After every struggle there was a retreat. This wasn't always the case in battle, Meat knew that for certain. The pattern had stopped abruptly for his best friend back when he was only an FNG.

Poor kid was only 19 and was now six feet under.

There had been a long, harsh struggle…and no relax followed.

And Meat was left to think.

Ghost would also seek the solitude of his room before a mission.

Just to think and to mentally-prepare himself to take charge.

He'd always find himself lying on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling fan. Just enjoying the silence. Then the silence would be interrupted. A sudden blast of gunfire.

Then the silence would return, seeming to be thicker and more extreme type of silence. Again, another blast, growing from one gunshot to several all at once seeming to come from both near and far.

Then a pause. An explosion.

Pause. Helicopter propellors and screaming artillery.

A pause. A breaching charge clicking into place, mortar fire exploding around him, howling engines, shouts in foreign languages, more gunshots, a hand grenade clinking to the ground in front of him.

Another, more drawn out moment of pure, unshakable silence. The soft bleeping of an activated Semtex, the chink of a C4 detonator, the familiar metallic sliding sounds of opening a gun for a reload, shells scattering to the earth, footsteps on wooden floors, all of the sounds going off together, blurring into some sort of sick music, slowly fading into the desperate voice of someone shouting that they'd been hit… then the peaceful silence would come back into play as Ghost would shake himself back to reality.

He would blink and glance at the curtained window. The sounds weren't there… and yet somehow they were. Each one ingrained into his memory, they would always be there. The he would roll onto his side and chance a glance to the mirror, regretting the action immediately. It was always the same face looking back at him. The same eyes…the same scars…the same fear. Even though the years had changed his appearance drastically, he always seemed to look the same to himself.

Then he'd just roll over again and listen to the old sounds that weren't there.

Scarecrow would find himself in his bunk as well, reading the same book he'd read for the past four years.

Though he'd owned the leather bound thing for the longer part of his life-time he'd only brought it along because his girlfriend (now fiance) had encouraged him to. He hadn't even given it a second thought until Gadget had joined the 141. It was a Sunday morning when he found her in the kitchen, eyes glued to the pages of a dingy old book. He'd questioned her about it she'd just shrugged and said, 'It's something familiar in an ever-changing world.'

So he'd picked up his own copy and skimmed through it from cover to cover. Then he read what caught his eye. Then he read what was in the beginning. Then the middle and finally the end. He'd recognized some of the names and stories. It brought back old memories from happier, more peaceful times. It was familiar even in his new lifestyle, somethings he'd subconsciously carried in the back of his mind since childhood.

Who would've thought that the damaged old bible would become a part of his routine?

And yet, it did.

Mactavish would be reading too, none of it very familiar though.

He'd spend hours going over any and every file that he could get his hands on that applied to the future mission.

He'd tear through maps of the area and schematics of security systems. He'd memorize several emergency escape routes and backup plans. The names and faces of known alllies and infamous enemies. Ways of quickly getting transportation. Exit points. Secondary and emergency LZ's. ETAs from point to point. Places to find back-up weapons and extra supplies. All of it was stored in his seemingly never ending mind.

He spent extreme amounts of time or focus when it came to planning. All those years ago when he'd lost his team…his friends still weighed him down heavily with an unseen weight. Determined not to let it happen again the captain would spend all of his spare time finding out as much as he could.

It was all worth it when everyone would come back alive and still mostly unharmed.

TAAA DAAAAAHHH! OH YEAH! I'M GOOD!

Already my next new story is a three-shot.

And, I need ideas for stories! Gimme 'em as you think of 'em and I'll see if they can help. Just one-shots and just rated T.

Please review :D

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