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[73] Mitchell || Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare

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You'd first met Jack Mitchell in the Technicians department of Atlas. He was rather quiet and gentle; he'd come in to get his prosthetic arm examined.

You were working as an assistant to the senior technician at the time, and oversaw the process.

When his arm had sparked in protest against the calibrations that were being made, you had flinched back, imagining how much that must sting.

But, Mitchell simply offered you a soft smile, as if he was trying to reassure you, despite it being his prosthetic under the needle.

As the technicians ran different calibrations, getting Mitchell to test his reflexes, you took up the job of cosmetic repairs. From being out in the training field, his arm was covered in miniscule cuts and grazes.

Since Mr Irons would have a fit over the state of it, you decided to buffer out the bigger marks. It was a prototype after all and could bring Mr Irons even more money if it was successful.

Mitchell was the perfect patient, calm and collected. He even moved each finger for you without prompting so you could buff out the scratches.

Once his prosthetic was re-calibrated, he was dismissed by the technicians. You had to remain professional, but you couldn't help the blush that burned in your cheeks as Mitchell left, a lingering grateful glance in your direction his only hint of a thank you.

| | |

The second time you met Mitchell was two months later. He'd been sent on an introductory mission; a type of initiation that Atlas had for its newest members to see if they were up to its standards.

Of course, he passed with flying colours. But he was restless afterwards, waking up in the night with old memories haunting him. Some say men are built for war. You prefer to think that men are conditioned to believe so.

Mitchell sought out the Medbay on Atlas' Campus, walking there in the dead of night with the intention to procure some sleeping pills. Something with a large enough dose to knock him out.

Rather than finding one of the senior nurses or a qualified doctor, he found you. Mulling over your study notes for your final exam, with a cup of coffee on the table beside you. After shadowing the technicians for a month or so, you were transferred to the Medbay.

And now here you are. About to complete your RN Certificate and become a registered nurse.

Mitchell raised a hand to knock against the open door, to bring his presence to your attention, but he faltered for a moment. He liked this new sight. After witnessing blood and war for the past few months, you were like a breath of fresh air to him.

He found himself more relaxed than he'd ever been at Atlas since he'd arrived three months ago.

You eventually noticed the shadowed man in the doorway watching you in silence. It made you physically jump in your skin until you recognised Mitchell's amused half-smile.

"Jesus, Mitchell. You gave me a hell of a fright," You put your notes aside, fixing your messy hair to look more presentable since you were technically still on duty. "How can I help you?"

The tired-looking man wanders into the Medbay, fatigue in his step. You slide out a chair for him, and he sits down with an oddly rigid stance. Like he's waiting for some kind of order.

"Just need something to help me sleep." He mumbles, glancing up at you with a far-off stare. It's easy to see the effect war has on him.

You lean on the table between the two of you. "I don't suppose a nice cup of tea will do the trick?" You murmur, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Mitchell gives a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "I doubt it. My body isn't the problem, it's my head."

Of course. You weren't trained fully yet, so you couldn't just diagnose Mitchell with anything just yet, but every soldier on Atlas' Campus had some varying degree of PTSD. It went unsaid.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do."

You left Mitchell where he was as you went off in search of remedies for Mitchell and his insomniac self. Soon you returned with varying solutions, one of which was fairly harmless sleeping pills which he opted to try.

Lucky for him, they worked like a charm. And just like that, he was off back to his room where he could hopefully get some rest.

| | |

The third and final time you came across Mitchell was in the line of duty. After Atlas was hired by the US to fight in the most recent civil war, you were deployed alongside the medical units to the front lines.

It was your first taste of real war and to say the least, you were terrified. Soldiers turned up at the medical tent with missing limbs, chunks of flesh torn away, charred by rogue flames- you nearly passed out after seeing one soldier asphyxiate on his own blood pooling into his mouth.

Mitchell arrived with Gideon barely three days after you did. The two of them were supporting a wounded soldier between them, and the team quickly made room for him.

Once he was being attended to, you were dispatched by the CMO to check on Mitchell and Gideon. You almost didn't recognise the soft blue eyes staring back at you.

"Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?" Mitchell was clearly concerned for your safety, but you couldn't talk. You had a job to do.

You looked them over for any injuries, but nothing substantial caught your eye. Gideon moved on within seconds, but Mitchell hung around. He was waiting for something. For you.

You glanced at him, catching his eye for a mere moment. Despite only interacting a few times, learning about one another through colleagues, you found yourself hung up on him.

It wasn't often you found someone so willing to go the extra mile to do the right thing.

Nonetheless, you got on with your job of patching up soldiers. Mitchell faded into the background, and unbeknownst to you, he watched you go with a heavy heart.

"Don't get too hung up on your little nurse friend, Mitchell. We have a war to win." Gideon suddenly muttered, watching how Mitchell's eyes followed your retreating form.

Mitchell turned to him with a scowl set in his features. "She has a name. And I'm not, I'm just being friendly."

Gideon was right, however. There was yet another war to win.

And by god, Mitchell was going to win it.