Gaz nervously tapped his foot on the floor. The silence of the offices around him was so nerve-wracking that he couldn't help but look round in all directions.
Black curls fell into his face. With a sigh, he wiped his hair out of his eyes. It was time to go to the hairdresser again when he had time off. Or he would ask Soap if he could take over, then it would be quicker and he wouldn't have to waste time.
Sighing, he let his hand run through the thick curls. He actually liked his hair a little longer, but it only made more work when he was on active duty. Short-cropped, it was easier to wash.
But the thought of letting Soap touch his head made him shiver. The Scot didn't have a knack for proper haircuts. Gaz had watched him cut his own mohawk a few times and it had been like a scene from a horror film.
On the other hand, Gaz didn't have many alternatives, he didn't know when the captain would be able to give him another day off and maybe the next mission was just around the corner.
Relations with México were good, so good that Team 141 couldn't afford to let up now. Not when it came to getting Makarov out of the way.
With a groan, Gaz buried his face in his hands. His head ached. He felt sick, but that was probably because he had been living off of peanut butter and old bred for the past weeks.
The supplies in the military were limited to the most necessary nutrients, the only thing they didn't run out of was water. And even for that he had no time at all. He had learnt this the hard way when he had collapsed in the middle of the Urzikstan desert due to dehydration.
Tired, he rubbed his temples and squeezed his brown eyes shut.
Why was he even worrying so much?
The annual check-up for mental well-being was nothing new, everyone had to go through it, even Captain Price and all the other team members. This was not his first time.
He had answered the questions, filled out the form and taken the tests as he had been asked. Nothing had changed since the last time. But for some reason he was afraid that he himself had changed. And this could affect his results.
He slumped back in his chair again and sighed so loudly that it echoed in the empty corridor. His gaze travelled over the many doors.
No one else was sitting in the corridor with him, most of the soldiers had already left. Their results had been satisfactory and they would continue on active duty.
Kyle tapped the back of his hand with two fingers. His foot was still bobbing on the floor in a restless rhythm. Only the ticking of a clock could be heard.
Suddenly something moved behind the door he was waiting in front of. A lock was opened.
He immediately rose from his seat, taking a deep breath to fight back the nervousness that was choking his throat. The psychologist he had been talking to looked over the edge of her glasses with a meaningful look.
"Sergeant Garrick.", she sounded slightly surprised.
He gave her a polite smile.
"Doctor Ariette, good to meet you.", he said, pressing two fingers to the palm of his hand. "It's getting late, I'd prefer it if my results could be sent to my base. If it's no trouble. Just give me the routing slip and I can return to my commanding officer."
He held out his hand, thinking she would give him the green slip of paper that came with every annual check-up. He already had one, the one for his physical fitness. Apart from a slightly elevated pulse, the doctor had no complaints. He also blamed it on the excitement.
The psychologist looked at Kyle insistently before sighing, narrowing her eyes and taking off her glasses.
"May we have a quick chat?", she asked, opening the door.
His heart skipped a beat.
"I...", he looked over his shoulder down the corridor. "Actually, I really have to go. My team needs me."
She sighed.
"Actually, that wasn't a request, Sergeant.", she replied. "Come in."
Demonstratively, she opened the door even wider and waited with an expectant look.
His eyes jumped to the clipboard she was holding under her arm. He couldn't read as quickly as she was blocking his view, but something irritated him.
There was no green slip of paper. She hadn't given him a description of his mental aptitude. His heart immediately raced in his chest.
He had to swallow hard, but then nodded and entered the office. She closed the door behind him.
"Take a seat.", she pointed to an armchair in front of a small coffee table.
"If it's about my aptitude, then I can take more tests.", Kyle interjected immediately. "I'm didn't give the best answers, if I'm being honest."
He looked up at her with a smile. She shook her head slightly and then sat down in the armchair opposite him. She put her glasses down on the table. She only kept the clipboard, presumably so that he couldn't read her notes.
"Doctor Arette?", he tried again.
"You already have a premonition, it seems, Sergeant Garrick.", she smiled sympathetically, looked briefly at her notes and then back at him. "It always happens that some soldiers don't feel well. Especially in your speciality. That's not a bad thing."
He immediately frowned and shook his head. With a charming smile, he tried to look deep into her eyes. But uncertainty tightened his throat.
"I'm not stressed.", he tried to explain.
She shook her head.
"It's normal to need a time-out sometimes.", she tried gently.
"I understand. But I don't need one. I am more than suitable for active service, my people need me."
"Sometimes you need a break. I'm sure your team will understand."
He pressed his lips together.
"I can't let them down."
She scribbled something with their pen on a yellow sheet of paper. Kyle had never seen a note like this before, but he suspected nothing good.
"No one lets anyone down.", she insisted, handing him her assessment of his suitability. "Priorities are simply set differently. Now you should be your biggest."
He stared at the paper with trembling hands.
"Six weeks leave of absence?", he asked.
"For now. And then we'll see what happens next. Kyle, this isn't a death sentence. It's just a rest. Enjoy it."