Sometimes Ghost wondered if he forgave MacTavish's behavior a little too easily. In the moment though, as those large hands gripped at his shoulders and his legs held him in close, the lieutenant found it incredibly difficult to stay mad. His CO didn't look it to anybody else, but in private, he was very physical with his affections. This time, there was an added tenderness as MacTavish peppered his collarbone with kisses and swore up and down that he loved him.

When all was said and done, Ghost was tucked in under MacTavish's arm and the two of them quietly spoke in the dark room. It was normal, and comfortable.

From seemingly nowhere came a loud, booming knock. Both men stiffened with alarm and separated. MacTavish was on his feet in a second, rounding the bed and approaching the door all the while fumbling to pull on his pants.

Ghost sat up and turned his attention from MacTavish's back to the door. "It's two in the bloody morning, who could that be?"

"How the hell should I know?" MacTavish grumbled, reaching for the knob. "But we can find out."

"Wait, you're not going out there, are you?" Ghost hurriedly searched for his shirt (discarded at the end of the bed) and threw it on. "What if it's a trap?"

MacTavish paused and deadpanned, "Ghost, don't be such a worry wort."

They were in a military outpost, albeit probably the least defended one he'd ever seen. Who in their right mind would sneak in, just to bang on some poor sod's door? The notion was absurd. Odds were it was another one of Meat's stupid pranks.

Without further delay, MacTavish opened the door and took a two steps outside. He scanned either direction and turned back to the doorway, bemused. "Well that's weird. It's deserted out here."

His gut had become a disturbed wasps nest. Ghost slipped off the bed. "Doors don't just bang for the fun of it." If it was Meat pulling a prank, they would have heard a door close. Movement caught his eye. It was the shadow cast on the beige wall behind the Captain that gave it away, a hand reaching towards him. "Look out behind you!"

Whoever it was gave up on stealth and threw himself on MacTavish, knocking him one way and out of sight. The sounds of a struggle continued in the hall.

Ghost didn't wait, he charged to the door to help MacTavish, but just as he reached the threshold the door slammed shut in his face. His vision flashed as he tumbled and fell on his back. He lay there in a daze as the sounds of the struggle turned distant. He tasted iron on his lips.

"If you want half your team back," a man with a thick German accent shouted through the door, "then return Alexander to the warehouse west of here. We will be waiting."

His head was pounding as he processed those words. Half the team? Who else did they take? These were probably colleagues of Alexander's. They couldn't trade him back even if they wanted to.

"...Bloody hell..." Ghost groaned and dragged himself up. Standing made everything feel worse as he swayed and nearly toppled on his way to the door. There was a spatter of blood on the wood, a small one. When he finally came into the hall, there was no sign of the kidnappers, or of MacTavish.

However, Scarab, Roach, and Royce were all out in the corridor. Roach was gripping Scarab's arm as he told her sharply, "Don't. We know where they're going, so we can get them back." He turned back towards Ghost, hopeful and trusting. "Right, sir?"

Ghost nodded slowly and rubbed the blood from under his nose. Sure enough, he was expected to carry the team, probable concussion or not. "Yeah. Get your gear."

"Look out behind you!"

In that instant, MacTavish was tackled sideways by some man in a ski mask. He did everything he could to break free, or at the very least wear this bastard down. Before he could though, this guy's friend drew his pistol and struck the damn thing at MacTavish's head.

Jesus, if that didn't fucking hurt... Thankfully for MacTavish though, he boasted a thick skull and wasn't incapacitated by being pistol whipped. He craned his head back and fixed them both with a furious glare. One of them stammered something, but before either of them could think to hit him again, he broke free and sprinted full tilt down the hall.

He got ten meters when he heard the door slam behind him, along with an added fumble. Was that Ghost? MacTavish briefly looked back to see the two men, one with his hand planted against the door and the other giving chase.

Out of nowhere, something swung out and cracked him over the side of the head, and this time he was out like a light.

It had to be a couple minutes later. He was being dragged. The words that they were speaking around him were either garbled or not English. MacTavish wasn't sure. He'd never really know for sure. He passed out again as quickly as he came to.

When he woke up, it was with such a severe sense of vertigo that he nearly threw up. With an immense amount of willpower, he swallowed the flash flood of saliva and forced his stomach to behave. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was propped in a chair and leaned against the wall. His captors were chattering quietly by the door, casting stray glances his way. Within minutes, one of them left and the other leaned against the wall to keep an eye on him.

This wasn't exactly an unfamiliar situation to him. More annoying than usual, since he was caught wearing literally no more than his pants and socks. And one of said socks was soaked. And his head felt like it was kicked by an ornery mule. But he could figure a way out of this, right? First, he'd just need to collect a little information.

He played it as cool as he could and asked, "What is this?"

Ski-Mask-Guy rolled his eyes. "What do you think it is?" Sweet, sweet English... He definitely had a German accent though.

"A hostage situation?" MacTavish guessed.

His captor dipped his head in affirmation.

"To what end?"

"What end? It should be obvious. Your team has taken our colleague, Alexander. They can have you and the others back when he's returned."

MacTavish chewed the inside of his lip. There was no good way of breaking it to these guys that Alexander was dead. They might take it upon themselves to even the score if they heard that. They couldn't return Alexander, so one of two things needed to happen: Ghost needed to save their asses, or they needed to save their own asses.

Ordinarily, it's advised you wait it out and try not to piss anybody off. MacTavish, however, was not a patient man.

The moment that Ski-Mask-Guy turned his attention off of him, MacTavish sprang to his feet and charged over to the door. Before he could be restrained, he kicked the door wide open and ran out into a larger room full of crates. The guy gave chase, shouting several things in German, which prompted four other guys to come out of the woodwork to help him.

There was a door at the far side of this warehouse, hopefully leading outside, but as MacTavish hurriedly fumbled with the knob, he discovered with sinking dread that it was locked. The five men circled now, and in that moment he took to hopping foot to foot and praying that if he moved as erratically as humanly possible, then he could jouk them and break away.

Really all it did was cause the lot of them to start snickering and jabbering in German, punctuated with a few "Oooo~"s.

What the hell was "Schlong en younger?"

Maybe he did a better job at distracting himself, because one of those guys ended up behind him in that time and kicked him in the backs of the knees. He buckled and only then did it sink in that he probably just made a bigger idiot of himself than he needed to.

Ski-Mask-Guy grabbed him by the mohawk and said, "That was a cute display. Now I suggest you cooperate."

He was a moment away from complying when the door behind them flew open. Gun shots ripped the air, and before MacTavish so much as blinked, his captors were all dead.

Royce took two steps into the room. "Clear."

Ghost was next into the warehouse. "MacTavish, good to see you're in one piece."

With one good look, MacTavish immediately realized what happened earlier. "They broke your nose, huh?" He had hastily thrown on his balaclava to boot, and now the mandible and teeth were stained red.

The lieutenant shrugged. "Do you know where the others are being held?"

"There are doors on the far side. Could be in any of those," MacTavish answered.

"Alright. Royce, Roach, on me. Scarab, see if you can't get those handcuffs off him."

Scarab scurried over and patted down the bodies until she came across a set of keys in one of these arms dealers' jacket pocket. She unlocked the handcuffs. "They didn't hurt you, did they, Captain?"

"Just a little bump on the head, I'll live." MacTavish got up and stretched his stiff shoulders. His head definitely still hurt, and he was still was mildly dizzy, but there was nothing to be done about that. "Nothing you should worry about anyways."

It was only then that he noticed that she was rather keenly watching him. In fact, as a chill seeped down his spine, he became distinctly aware that he still wasn't fully dressed. With any other person, and in any other circumstance, he wouldn't care, but Scarab followed every pull and squeeze of his muscles. He wasn't bashful, certainly not about his own body. Yet he stopped stretching and crossed his arms.

"What happened to the soldiers at the outpost?" He asked, hoping she'd take the bait and stop focusing on him.

"They're fine. Apparently those kidnappers made a distraction a short distance from the outpost that drew the lot of them out." She answered, but otherwise seemed fully content to keep eyeing.

The moment Ghost returned with the others in tow, the lot of them marched back to the outpost. One of the soldiers stationed in the lobby nervously rubbed his head as they passed. The Sergeant there came up to them and tripped over some hasty explanation and apology.

The brilliant distraction these arms dealers turned kidnappers used?

Sparklers.

Ordinary. Sparklers.

When he returned to his room with Ghost, the two of them more or less collapsed back into bed, both bemoaning their aching heads. MacTavish had to usher Ghost to the bathroom to deal with his nose, because he was starting to stain the sheets. Soon, Ghost came back with a wad of tissues in his now much less crooked nose and they cuddled up and groaned in pain together.

"What the fuck was going on when we saved you? You weren't with the others," Ghost wondered.

MacTavish mumbled into his hair, "I tried to escape. Didn't pan out. I think I made a fool of myself."

"For trying to escape?"

"No. I tried to jouk 'em and they just started laughing and going 'oooo schlong en younger' or whatever."

Ghost turned his head slightly. "Mate, I don't think that's actual German..."

"Are you going to tell me you know four languages now?"

"No."

"Then shhhhhhhhh..." MacTavish nuzzled into his head. "Sleep time."

It was a peaceful couple more hours of rest. MacTavish woke up before Ghost though, at the earliest ass crack of dawn, and decided that now was as good a time as ever to have a smoke. He untangled himself from Ghost, and moved as carefully as he could so as to not wake him. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lighter from his tactical vest, tugged on his jacket, then stepped out on the very little balcony shared between his room and the next one over.

The sky was just beginning to lighten and was tinged a faint mauve. Thoughtlessly, he slipped a cigarette from the pack and held it with his lips while he lit it.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye, and only then realized that he wasn't alone out here. Scarab was on the other side, watching the early sunrise. He pocketed his lighter and smokes and decided to break the silence. "Can't sleep?"

Scarab looked his way, initially startled by his sudden presence. Her eyes flicked down at his chest, and he cursed himself for not zipping his damn jacket up. Especially when that faint bit of color flashed to her cheeks. "What are you doing out here?"

"Same as you, having trouble sleeping." Concussions would do that to you. MacTavish took a drag off his cigarette and watched as Scarab nervously fidgeted back and forth in place. Honestly, she made it no secret (or at least no good one) that she had the hots for him. Flattering as that was, he didn't feel the same way about her. She felt more like a little sister; didn't help she was half a decade younger than him and it showed. When she nuzzled up on him earlier that night, he really did only respond to it to annoy Ghost.

She turned to him again, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. "Actually, I just really like mornings. They're calm, you know?"

General sleep problems. Population: only him, apparently. He shrugged and replied, "Calm's nice and all, but personally I like activity."

"Well I see nothing wrong with that," she agreed. Of course she would. She kept playing with that one strand of hair that she couldn't seem to tuck away. "Uh, Captain?"

MacTavish breathed a cloud of smoke out his nose and gave her a wayward glance. "Yeah, Scarab?"

"I, well, uh..." She trailed off, her anxiety becoming more and more apparent with each passing moment. This was honestly becoming a little... pathetic...

He didn't remember him or Ghost having this sort of weird, awkward pining. Actually, he was pretty sure he and Ghost's relationship started with a mess of drunken kissing a few New Years ago. All the same, he couldn't let this confession stand. He had to let her down here.

If he could just somehow put this someway that wouldn't absolutely devastate her, that would be the best. The less upset she was about this, the better. He turned towards her and very calmly rested a hand on her shoulder. "I know."

Her face was absolutely red at this point as she looked down at her feet. MacTavish coaxed her to look him in the eye as he continued:

"I like you too-"

"W-wait! You like me too?"

There was supposed to be a "But" in there. This was getting all the harder to squash this problem. She looked absolutely excited, eyes aglow. In some backwards sense, that optimistic energy was painfully reminiscent of his younger sister. He needed to soften the blow, and so he pulled her into a hug and gave her a small kiss of the forehead. It was something he was very comfortable doing, particularly where his sister and Ghost were concerned. He opened his mouth to break the news that he didn't like her in the same way when suddenly she bounced up on the balls of her feet and kissed him.

Welp. This was not in the plan. This was the exact opposite of the plan. He needed to do a full stop and 180 back on track. That kiss lasted five seconds maximum, and only because MacTavish was caught so off guard that he delayed in pulling away. When he finally did, he awkwardly apologized.

"Sorry for what?" She asked.

His arms loosened around her. "I shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't we?" She questioned.

At that point, he let her go and stepped back, crossing his arms. Yes, why was a very good question. One he needed to answer now. "I-I just can't."

Smooth, John...

"Listen. Scarab. I'm not... emotionally available." There. Okay, better. He needed to keep doing that. "There's someone I really care about, and I'm not about to let them down."

Scarab stared at him, in the strangest sense calculating. "You've got a girlfriend...?"

"No. I don't have a girlfriend." The moment he said that, he immediately regretted it. If he didn't have a girlfriend, then the immediate jump is boyfriend and that would potentially land him in a strange amount of trouble.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Then what's there to worry about?" Scarab pulled him into a hug, which he was in too much muted shock to break out of. "So why not you give me a chance?"

Soap gaped like a fish. How in the literal fuck did this not work? He practically spelled that one out and she still somehow took his no as a yes.

Next thing he knew, Scarab started kissing him again. He didn't even know what to do at this point. He pulled away, and by some stroke of inhumane luck, Heatstroke just so happened to call out from the other room. He hoped, prayed to the Lord, Son, and Holy Spirit, that she didn't realize that his pulling away and Heatstroke calling for her was a complete coincidence.

Scarab didn't say a word as he quickly slipped back inside his and Ghost's room. MacTavish had every intention of returning to bed as if nothing happened, but the bed was empty.

"What was that?"

Welp.

Ghost didn't have any intention of spying on MacTavish. In fact, when the man got out of bed, he was pretty sure he was just going to smoke. He got up to join him. At the door though, he noticed Scarab on the balcony as well and them quietly talking.

And then quietly talking turned into a hug and a kiss.

To MacTavish's credit, he did try and explain himself. Ghost even wondered if he would finally step out of the closet. But no. Scarab misunderstood even more and he didn't fix it. In fact, he proceeded to further jam his own foot in his mouth.

They even kissed again!

At that point, Ghost wasn't sure if he should be upset. Clearly Scarab was denser than a fucking brick. In fact, he felt a little bad when MacTavish came stumbling back into the room, flustered as a confused teenager.

"What was that?"

MacTavish was ashen as he faced him. "Ghost, how long were you-"

"Oh I heard every word," Ghost answered. "So how do you plan on fixing this?"

"I don't know..." MacTavish admitted, sinking on the bed. "I was just trying to let her down easy..."

Ghost sat beside him and sighed. He really did forgive this idiot too easily sometimes. "You just have to be blunt. You'll hurt her less if you break things early than if she thinks there's something there."

"Yeah, you're right..." MacTavish agreed. "You're not mad?"

"No. Just disappointed."

{—To Be Continued—

Summary of Plan B Chapters 3 and 4

3. Group is followed, they take Soap, Meat, and probably others (+Heatstroke too I guess). Warehouse to the west. Apparently Soap tried to break out via body slam door. Rest of the group rescues them. They return to the hotel.
4. Scarab wakes up early, balcony scene (TM). Soap has a dead girlfriend? Soap leaves. Heatstroke confused.

A/N: Another chapter of this insanity. I will say that this was a little difficult to make sense of. My kid brain back then literally had these guys stop at a hotel, get kidnapped for no particular reason (there was a ransom mentioned, but it's never brought up again), and then go back to the place they just got kidnapped from. No logic. It just happens. This literally goes nowhere. They do need to stop for the "Balcony Scene" (TM), but it was hard to justify the kidnappers. Ultimately, they became arms dealers and colleagues of Alexander's who are trying to bail him out via a hostage exchange, not realizing that the guy they want is dead. Because they aren't done here too, these guys dying further encourages more of their friends to chase the 141 to kingdom come.

The "Balcony Scene" (TM) was also a challenge as well since I'm rewriting this with the end goal being SoapXGhost. The issue is that the original way the conversation goes pushes some strange backstory on Soap where he has a dead girlfriend who was "killed by the Russians." It was so left field and played so little a role in the overall narrative that I scrapped that in favor of Soap having a problem with telling her no. Beyond a few changes to the dialogue where the dead girlfriend was removed, the two of them follow most of the same actions as the original version.
On a much less analytical note: I find it so funny that in the original version of chapter 3 (the first part with the kidnappers), Soap and Ghost are both literally sharing a room and are shirtless. Soap even note's Ghost's muscular chest and their exchange until Soap's captured reads like couple banter. Even though younger me was homophobic, I apparently still wrote these boys in a better relationship than what was supposed to be the intended ship.