Behind The Mask (Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 [2022] Fanfiction)

- TWENTY THREE -

Three Months Later

Life passed. It passed fast. It was blurry at times but still fast-paced...mostly at the restaurant. 

    I got comfortable with the routines. Helping on the ranch outside of working longer hours at work kept me busy and awake. In the few moments of free time I still let the past consume me. The nightmares didn't stop nor did my digging into knowing more through research. The chest pain whenever a stray thought drifted to any of the soldiers was still borderline crippling too—the worst was reserved for the masked savior.

    To the push of the redhead at work, her name was, unsurprisingly, Rose, I joined the local martial arts gym. It pushed me to eat and attempt to take care of myself. The training was rigorous, but it was yet another thing to dive into wholeheartedly and torture myself with. It helped with the healing.

    I kept at occasionally target shooting too—mostly on horseback when out on drives. There had been a few rare occurrences with my uncle who had taken me out to shoot pistols and clays with shotguns. Those were the most therapeutic moments. They were also the moments that made me feel at home, settled even, and made that constant chest twinge disappear then. Another healing feeling and tactic.

    The celebrations for my friends lives were sent to me. I went to none. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't lie to all the faces I knew I would see. Everyone thought they died in a yacht, somewhat peacefully perhaps, but I knew the horrible, disgusting truth. Perhaps I was failing them by not going to the celebrations, but there was too much uncontrollable anger. I was too pissed off to attempt to play along with the narrative Graves had worked up; even the gym helped little with those overwhelming feelings...

    Rain was bouncing off the hood of the silver Toyota Corolla my uncle's ranch hands had fixed up—part of a homecoming present, a bit delayed due to parts. I watched the water slide off the sloped surface, dreading the temporary walk across the parking lot to the cafe. 

    Pulling my hood up to hover over my face and pulling myself out of my head, I pushed open the older door and then slammed it shut. My boots sloshed in the rain as I jogged across the parking lot and to the cover of the back door. I pulled open the heavy obstacle and slid inside with a sigh.

    "Well good evening!"

    "Hi Jorge." I greeted the most laid back of the cooks; he had been one of the few to open up my shell and get me talking.

    "Sorry to push you into this mess," Rose rushed passed me, carrying four plates. "All this weather is making people hungry I guess."

    I hung my coat, snagged an apron, and then crossed to the counter where a few plates were steaming at the ready. I clutched two belonging to the same table and then made a fluid pattern of strides toward the specific table. The people were shorter with me, not the chatty type, so I set the plates down and then moved to the next table where someone raised a finger. 

    "Can we get more water please?"

    "I'll be right back with that," I nodded, adjusting my tie on the back of the apron and knowing it was going to be a hectic shift. 

- • - • -

The shift felt like the longest one since I'd been training. My muscles and brain were more used to the routine of the busy times, though, which made it easier to keep up. The gym had been a decent help with strength and regaining lost bulk from my three weeks of sulking, of deep depression; I was able to help with almost everything in the cafe.

    "Never thought I'd ever say this, but thank goodness we're closed tomorrow," Barb breathed, pausing at the bar where I wiped it off in a circular motion. "You are a superstar."