Full Summary: In Plan B (a fanfic I wrote in middle school), the story of MW2 "changes" on account of a bad character by the name of Scarab. But what if that was strictly told through the eyes of an unreliable narrator? What if Scarab deluded herself into believing she and Captain MacTavish had a thing for each other when in fact there's a convoluted love dodecahedron going on behind the scenes that nobody talks about? Embark on a wild adventure, where we dive into the story of Plan B from the perspectives of everyone but Scarab.
Deconstruction and Parody of a decade old, shit-tier, self insert fanfic. A whole lot of M/M, M/F, F/F, love triangles, jealousy, and attempting to make sense of bad middle school writing.

A/N: Once upon a time, I kept Plan B on my deviantArt. Five years ago, I packed that thing in a shuttle rocket and launched it to Wattpad just so I could delete it off of dA. It's staying there. My sister and I sat down and read the whole fic (It's absurdly long, over 100 chapters...) and decided it'd be a swell idea to rewrite it. I've been writing this since last year and have 16 chapters completed. Probably gonna spam post them all in one fell swoop to get them on here. Originally, I was posting this exclusively to Wattpad and Ao3 (Username: TheRainbowKnight), but I've decided that I'll bring this over here too and see how it goes.

For those of you who want to subject yourselves to bad fanfiction, you can find Plan B on Wattpad. My account over there is Littlepup93. I'd link it, but I have a sinking suspicion that FF still doesn't like it when you put links in your fanfics. If you don't have the time/energy/strength to read that old shit storm, don't worry, I'm including Plan B chapter summaries at the end so you can still get a flavor of the craziness.

Hope you enjoy, folks.

Berlin, Germany

The game plan was simple, really. Scarab would lure their target away from prying eyes by acting down to fuck, and then the rest of them would jump in to apprehend him. Woman or not, Scarab was a member of the 141 and therefore should be up to the task. Captain MacTavish had no reason to believe otherwise.

He and Ghost watched from a table off to the side, casually dressed in order to blend in as regular bar-goers. Although Ghost couldn't wear his mask, he still wore those sunglasses despite them being indoors and in dingy lighting. In some sense, he wished he hadn't opted against the notion himself, it was a lot harder to keep an eye on what was happening from his peripheral vision.

Scarab arrived a few minutes after they did (the less they looked like they were all together, the better) dressed in skinny jeans and a tight v-neck shirt. Her leather jacket concealed her shoulder holster along with her pistol. Dolled up, with her hair in a short ponytail and a tinge of red to her lips, she played up the pouty, bored young woman persona. She approached the bar, ordered a beer, and leaned against the counter while strumming up conversation with the target.

It was difficult to hear what was said, but Scarab seemed relaxed enough as she bobbed her head with a giggle. Alexander downed the shot glass in front of him and got up, closing the distance between them and immediately trapping her between his body and the bar. Her hand came to the counter behind her and clutched the side while Alexander's hands roamed along her sides.

MacTavish narrowed his eyes. "Is he... kissing her?"

"Mhm," Ghost confirmed, his shoulders straightening. "He gets straight to the point, I'll give him that."

If this kept up, Alexander would find the gun on her. The man was an arms dealer, he wasn't stupid. If he found that, then odds were he'd realize what was happening and this whole operation would fall apart. MacTavish got up and took two steps towards them when Ghost caught him by the wrist.

"You'll make a scene," the lieutenant chided. "Let her figure this out."

MacTavish took a deep breath and nodded, taking his seat again. Watching was agonizing though. He was supposed to be in charge of these people, and to see one of his men in such a compromising position was a bitter pill to swallow. Alexander felt up along the backs of her thighs and gave her ass a firm squeeze.

Scarab immediately pushed him back, her lower lip a little swollen and lipstick somewhat smeared. She huffed and held her jacket closed.

"Hey, what the fuck's your problem?" Alexander questioned, loud enough to get just about everyone's attention.

"I didn't ask you to french me," Scarab retorted just as loudly, "what the hell's wrong with you?"

MacTavish met Ghost's sideways glance as this dispute began. This wasn't in the plan. She wasn't supposed to antagonize him like this. She needed to fix this, and fast.

"Nothing," Alexander said, dropping down to a more reasonable volume. He slipped in close again and seemed to whisper in her ear. Scarab's brows were pinched and she rolled her eyes while he wasn't looking. As if nothing happened, he was on her again. Instead of feeling her though, his hands kept hers pressed against the counter, further trapping her.

If she had agency at this point, she did a good job at hiding it. After a minute of this, he pushed her sideways and moved her away from the counter so he could lean against it and hold her back against his chest. He traced along the shell of her ear and then her neck with his lips. One arm looped around her torso while the other untucked her shirt from her pants to feel along her stomach. Whatever annoyance was originally present on her face drained with newfound discomfort.

She hurriedly said something, too quiet to hear this time, but Alexander laughed in response. This very public display only continued, getting more and more involved with each passing moment as he reached up and purposefully took a hand full of breast in his hand. Scarab squirmed in his grip, and at this moment made eye contact with MacTavish as she mouthed "Help."

MacTavish once again stood up and thankfully wasn't stopped by Ghost this time. He made a snap judgement to change the approach. He'd play the white knight here to defend the lady's honor, and hopefully he could piss Alexander off enough that he'd be willing to duke it out outside. He grabbed Scarab by the arm, making a point to squeezing her bicep a little too tightly. "Oi, what the hell are you doing?"

Indignant at this point, Alexander straightened up. "What, man? Can't I have a little fun? Is she your girlfriend or something?" He loosely pointed at Scarab as he asked this, but his glare was firmly fixed on MacTavish.

The Captain didn't flinch though. "No, I just don't like how you're treating the lady."

"How I'm treating her?" Alexander laughed. "Buddy, I'm not the one bruising her arm."

"C-could you let me go?" Scarab asked quietly.

MacTavish pretended to look surprised at his own grip before he let her go. Scarab drew back two steps from them as he turned back to Alexander and shot back, "And you were groping her."

"Who fucking cares? She was asking for it."

"I care. You don't do that."

Alexander jabbed his finger against his chest. "If she's not your girlfriend, then what? Your sister? You care a little too much."

There were plenty of excuses he could've picked from. "She's a friend..."

"Your friend came here and started flirting with me. I think it's pretty obvious what she wants, so why not you piss off." He pushed past MacTavish and grabbed Scarab by the back of the neck to force her into another kiss. Close up, it was clear he forced his tongue in past her lips and dug his thumb in under her ear at the slightest sign of her jaw tensing. She was wide eyed and panicked, but unable to pull away.

MacTavish ripped him off and threw the man to the floor. "Alright, buddy, you and me then. I'll show you how you treat a lady."

Taking the bait, Alexander snapped back, "You're not gonna quit, are you? Fine! Don't expect me to phone an ambulance." He got back up and threw a punch his way. Being heavily intoxicated though, it was remarkably easy to dodge the hit and catch his arm. MacTavish held the limb behind his back, forced him along towards the door, and kicked him out onto the sidewalk. Alexander tumbled head over heels, narrowly missing a couple of passersby, then shot up to his feet and came at the Captain again.

Before Alexander could get another swing in, MacTavish chopped the side of his hand into his throat, which was enough to force him to stop as he coughed and gagged. MacTavish grabbed and pinned him to the ground. There was no hope for Alexander then.

"You and I are going to take a little walk," MacTavish told him lowly, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

As the handcuffs clinked shut on Alexander's wrists, the arms dealer coughed out, "W-what the hell do you want from me?"

MacTavish patted him down and found a glock in a hidden holster in the waistband of his pants. He flicked the safety on and pocketed it. "Right now, for you to get your ass up."

Alexander reluctantly complied, and allowed himself to be lead down a nearby alleyway. Roach and Ozone stepped out from behind a dumpster, fully geared and each equipped with M9s, and secured the entrance to the alley. Ghost and Scarab rounded the corner to join very soon after.

Unsurprisingly, Alexander seemed to catch onto what was happening. "Oh, so you special military are after a small fry like me?"

Ghost approached and flanked MacTavish. "Don't be so modest, mate. We know exactly the kind of men you're doing business with. You should be proud."

"If you're expecting me to break customer confidentiality, you're mistaken," Alexander said, "I got my honor."

"Honor, huh?" Scarab retorted. "Could've fooled me."

Alexander scoffed. "Whatever, girl." His attention turned solely on the two directly in front of him. "So what's it going to be? Are you going to beat me down in this alley for information, or are you taking me somewhere with better mood lighting?"

"We came prepared to handle you here and now," Ghost returned, a smile curled his features. "'Course if you cooperate, we'll make this a lot more comfortable for you."

"I could just scream. You're in the middle of Berlin on a Friday night. Someone will hear me." Alexander threatened.

It was a cute notion, if nothing else. "You think we didn't account for that? The police know we're here," MacTavish told him.

"Fucking..." Alexander glowered at them. "Fine. I'll come quietly."

"That's the spirit." Ghost grabbed Alexander's shoulder to move him away from the wall, when the clatter of metal hit the pavement. The handcuffs lay under Alexander's feet.

It all happened in seconds. Alexander cold cocked Ghost, knocking the sunglasses off his face and causing the lieutenant to stumble back a step. MacTavish tried to restrain him, but Alexander ripped the M1911 from his shoulder holster and jammed the barrel into his own mouth. With a bang, blood sprayed the wall behind him and he collapsed in a gory heap.

Silence was replaced by the sound of startled dogs barking up the street and a few startled words in German outside the alley. The Task Force members were frozen stiff. How had they failed so close to success?

It was too familiar to Victor Zakhaev. MacTavish shook himself from the shock and turned away from the body. "We'd better leave."

It was important that they apprehend Alexander alive, as an HVI with potentially game changing intel on Vladimir Makarov. So to suddenly be down a lead on the terrorist, Ghost couldn't help but gawk at the body for a moment longer. The back of Alexander's head was a grizzly mess of broken skull fragments and brain matter. His hand was still tightly coiled around the Captain's gun. Ghost slipped it free from his fingers and let it hang heavily in his hand as he contacted HQ.

"... Command, this is Alpha 5. The target is KIA."

"Roger, Alpha 5. We'll send available personnel to collect the body. Are you able to pack him in a bag before you leave?"

"Negative, we don't have body bags on hand." Ghost glanced back at the dumpster. Laid atop it was a musty rug. "There's an old rug we could roll him in."

"As long as the body's wrapped and out of sight, that should be fine. Command, Out."

While Roach and Ozone kept watch at the mouth of the alley, Ghost pulled the rug over beside Alexander and kicked it open. The odor of mildew and dust wafted from this cheap, stained, polyester area rug. Maybe it was pretty, once upon a time, an affordable purchase for some giddy home owner. He wondered where the particularly dark spots came from, since it provided good distraction while he maneuvered the body on the edge of the rug.

Just as he was about to roll the body up, an extra pair of hands joins his. He paused and looked up at the Captain. His eyes were dark with the weight of failure and exhaustion. "Scarab and Roach are waiting by the sidewalk to flag down Meat when he gets here with the truck. Ozone and Royce are going to meet with Scarecrow and Heatstroke to pull out to the hotel as well."

Ghost nodded and with MacTavish's help, they rolled Alexander in the rug and set it against the side of the wall, out of sight from the street. The rug was a couple inches too short, so the soles of Alexander's shoes peaked out from the end of the bulky roll.

MacTavish set a hand on his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Sorry. If I was more careful, he wouldn't have gotten free and had the chance to kill himself."

"You didn't know he was picking the handcuffs," Ghost pointed out. To be fair, they knew that he was the slippery sort. But by that logic, Ghost had just as much blame for not checking those handcuffs. Remembering the gun, Ghost got the pistol out and handed it to MacTavish. "Shit happens, love."

MacTavish frowned at the gun and returned it to its holster. Ghost knew that the minute they reached the hotel, he'd be cleaning that thing. He was religious about it, just like Price used to be when it was in his hands.

When the trucks arrived, they piled in. Ghost had every intention of sitting beside MacTavish, but before he could slide into the middle seat, Scarab slipped in before him and took it. Ghost watched her get comfy in what very well was normally his spot.

"You coming in?" She asked innocently.

It wasn't that big a deal. It was a car seat, right? Ghost sucked it up and sat next to her while Roach took shotgun. Meat was driving, which meant they'd be hitting all turns wide. For all of about three minutes, Ghost had sweet peace and quiet before Roach craned his head back and asked, "So, Scarab, was he a good kisser?"

Scarab's initial response was something of quiet shock at the question, so Ghost nudged her with his elbow to help prod an answer. She looked down bashfully, and then shook her head. "No. I didn't enjoy any of it. Frankly, I'm glad he's dead."

"Even though we were specifically told not to kill him," Ghost grumbled, crossing his arms and sinking in the seat.

Scarab bumped him with her elbow, "Lighten up, Ghost. He deserved to die anyways."

There were about a million and one things that you could do and say in the Task Force 141 that you'd get at least reprimanded for in any other division of military anywhere. Much to Ghost's chagrin, this blatant disregard for their objective would probably go unpunished. The best he could do was put on his best chastising tone. "But still, we needed him alive."

"Tell you what," Scarab jabbed, "next time you can dress like a whore, and you can convince the target to follow you out so we can jump him."

The lowest corner of Ghost's eye twitched as the intrusive mental image found itself in the forefront of his thoughts. So many questions to be said for that. Firstly, whore? If those clothes were Scarab's definition of whorish, he hated to imagine how she must be in her day to day life. Did she wear baggy sweats everywhere? He thought the outfit they threw together was pretty tasteful, personally, but maybe a woman's standards were different than a man's. Secondly, he wasn't sure if him in a deep v-neck and skinny jeans would have quite the same effect.

He'd probably wear it better, if he was being completely honest with himself.

Scarab shifted so she could rest while they drove. The "hotel" was an outpost in a town a couple hours Northwest of Berlin on their way to a different outpost in Hamburg, where they'd be able to take a helicopter back to their base in the U.K. Hamburg would be an almost four hour drive, so the driving was being split in half at that outpost so they could refuel the trucks and catch forty winks before hitting the road again. If he didn't particularly care about the prospect of sleeping while Meat drove, Ghost probably would have taken a nap himself.

The car turned left, and Ghost heard the sound of shifting next to him. Sure enough, Scarab moved right and had her head propped on MacTavish's shoulder, eyes still shut and seeming asleep. The Captain met his glance with a confused one of his own. Deciding not to think too deeply on this, Ghost turned his head and ignored this.

Who did Scarab think she was, taking his seat?

Another left turn. Yet again, Scarab moved further right. If Ghost doubted she was actually asleep before, he was sure she wasn't now. Ordinarily if someone were slipping to the side with momentum onto the person beside them, they would slip down their chest from the shoulder and end up in their lap. Scarab pushed further right until she was nuzzling MacTavish's fucking neck!

But, of course, MacTavish didn't seem about to do anything about this either. In fact, he looped his arm over her shoulder. Ghost wasn't the jealous type, but in that singular moment, he never wanted to kick Scarab out of a moving vehicle more since he first met her. She was deliberately (boldly, no shame whatsoever!) cuddling up against her CO. At least Ghost exercised a little discretion when he sought the man's affection. This was just unfair!

And the look MacTavish gave him when he caught him staring? It was some sweet, little look that said "it's not a big deal."

It was over an hour of this. MacTavish attempted to move her back to the middle at one point, perhaps feeling a touch guilty for having her there for well over half an hour, but this whole cycle repeated again at every intersection. The kicker? She didn't even try to pretend to lull to the left when they turned right. In fact, he caught her visibly tense to avoid doing just that. If MacTavish somehow hadn't noticed, then he was a bigger muscle-head than Ghost took him for.

At long... long last, they arrived at the hotel. Meat parked and MacTavish "woke" Scarab up. Ghost couldn't stomach anymore of this bullshit and climbed out of the car. He didn't get a chance to close the car door when Scarab tried to climb out behind MacTavish and watched her fake a fucking trip on her way out just so the unwitting Captain could catch her. Ghost slammed his door with a lot more force than needed, not that either of them noticed.

Were MacTavish's fucking eyes on her cleavage? They'd better be the best knockers he'd ever fucking seen because they'd be the last thing he'll see at this rate.

After a second too long of that position, Scarab easily righted herself and rubbed the back of her head with a bashful giggle.

"Clumsy much," MacTavish asked, decidedly amused.

"Um... Yeah." Scarab retreated to the outpost after that. She probably realized she laid it on a little too thick. As she went, Heatstroke, the other woman in their Task Force, fell in step beside her and they chatted on their way in.

After she was gone, MacTavish slipped his arm around Ghost's shoulder, but the lieutenant brushed him off and started to walk to the entrance. MacTavish groaned behind him. "You're mad, aren't you." It wasn't a question. He damn well knew what Ghost's anger looked like.

"Inside," was Ghost's one word response.

MacTavish nodded and followed along. The outpost itself wasn't impressive. It was pretty small with minimal security. Considering it was in Germany, there wasn't a demand for much more than a chain link fence, security cameras, and a few guards. In the broadest of strokes, the nickname of "hotel" wasn't all that far off either. The team split off in a few different dorms that looked modest but comfortable. They even got a hot meal.

In their shared room, Ghost sat cross legged on one of the beds and stared straight at the wall. MacTavish slipped in beside him and once again wrapped himself around Ghost. "What's wrong?"

Ghost's sickly sweet smile dripped with sarcasm. "Did you really need to snuggle with Scarab the entire car ride?"

"No, I just thought it would funny is all," MacTavish said, pulling him in close so he could rest his chin on the top of Ghost's head.

Ghost's back bent to accommodate the position, on account of him being the slightly taller of the two. Even though MacTavish couldn't see it, Ghost scowled. "What? So annoying me is funny?"

"That's nothing new."

"There's a difference between you smacking chewing gum and this. A big difference." He punctuated his statement by bumping his head up, causing MacTavish's teeth to lightly clack.

"It's not that big a deal, Ghost, really," MacTavish claimed. "I didn't think you could be so jealous over nothing."

Ghost pushed himself from MacTavish's arms to properly glare at him. "I'm not jealous over nothing."

There was a real challenge in MacTavish's eyes, the very same he got with all his stupid bets. "This was nothing."

{—To Be Continued—

Summary of Plan B Chapters 1 and 2

1. Bar mission. Target, Alexander "wanted criminal." Scarab wears skimpy clothes. He comes onto her. Soap shoots/stabs him. They leave.
leave the bar "before the body can be discovered." Banter filled car ride, Scarab falls asleep. They arrive at the hotel.