Several years ago, MacTavish had a two week assignment in Texas for a military training exercise. Long story short, he stepped in a fire ant nest and the swarm got in under his boot and pant leg to sting him up to his thigh. The pain of all those stings kept him up for a couple days. The way the company was darting every which way felt oddly reminiscent to that swarming behavior. He couldn't go more than ten minutes without someone approaching him for something or some problem and asking how he wanted it addressed.

The reason behind the sudden activity was simple. General Shepherd said he'd be coming at the end of the week to inspect the base. A bit of housekeeping and maintenance work was needed to make the place presentable (there was still a hole in the rec room wall that needed spackling after Roach's birthday party). The General was a notorious perfectionist, so any slight crack, paint bubble, and dead light bulb got scrutinized. MacTavish had a mess of things to worry about between the odd list of repairs and paperwork, so maybe that was why he completely spaced on Scarab still being on SIQ status.

He probably wouldn't have thought about it at all if he hadn't run into Heatstroke one day. The woman had oil stains on her clothes, a couple spots on her face. Odds were she got pulled to help strip and clean every gun in the armory. Heatstroke waved a filthy cleaning rag as she flagged him down. "Hey, Captain!"

MacTavish shifted a stack of paperwork in need of filing under his arm. "Hey. Been keeping busy, I hope."

She nodded and rested a hand on her hip. "You know it. I'm just glad Ghost didn't assign me to inventory the warehouse."

That usually fell on Scarecrow or Rocket, the former being good with crunching numbers and the latter kept earning himself off record wrist slaps due to minor infractions that MacTavish didn't feel were worth writing up. "Aces in their places. He probably put you there because your rifle was the cleanest."

"Probably," she agreed. "So, uh, I don't mean to pry or anything, Captain, but I overheard Brandy mention that Scarab might need to be sent to the clinic. Do you think that's something that'll have to happen?"

... Now that she mentioned it, he recalled Brandy saying as much to him. Unfortunately, the Captain was on day three of skipping sleep to catch up on paperwork and Brandy confronted him during one of his brief breaks (10 minutes of resting his head on his desk with his eyes shut). The conversation went in one ear and out the other. MacTavish gave a couple bewildered blinks as the exchange was refreshed in his head. "Right... he did say that, didn't he. I'm no doctor, Heatstroke, so if he and Doc think that she needs it, then I'm not going to argue."

Heatstroke's blue eyes turned stormy as she looked down. "That's fair. She hasn't gotten much of any sleep in a week now. I'm worried."

"She's spirited," MacTavish said, repeating Doc's earlier words, and patted Heatstroke on the bicep. "Let's just do what we can to make sure she's taken care of, and I'm sure the situation will sort itself out."

"I've gotta get some more solvent. Thanks for your time, Captain." Heatstroke hurried past him, but she lost much of the spring in her step that had been there before.

The two of them were close, he knew that much already. Where one was, the other was often times nearby. He wished he could offer more definite assurance than this, but General Shepherd's helicopter would be landing noon tomorrow and that had to take priority.

By that evening, he finally got the rest of the paperwork filled, sorted, and filed. Much of the small tasks assigned around the base were taken care of too. A cracked tile in one of the latrines wasn't addressed, but he could find a way to steer General Shepherd away from that. He went back to his dorm to get some much needed sleep.

Ghost was already sitting on his bed, cross legged and reading a book. Wordlessly, he flopped in beside him, causing the lieutenant to bounce on the creaky mattress. Turning the page, Ghost continued reading. "Long day?"

MacTavish dropped his head into the pillow and mumbled, "A wee bit.."

He felt a hand smooth down his mohawk. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Truthfully, he wanted to sleep. He shifted his head to one side so he could speak clearly. "Brandy's considering sending Scarab to a clinic. I ran into Heatstroke and she's worried. Said she's barely sleeping."

"Sounds familiar."

MacTavish glared at him from the corner of his eye. "Cute. My work's done."

Ghost lowered his book. "Yes, but remember how the last time you pulled three all-nighters, you slept in a whole day and were tired for another four? How do you plan on keeping up once General Shepherd arrives?"

"Coffee and self denial. Next question?"

"I'm just worried about you is all. Things have been kicking up and you work yourself ragged." Ghost continued to pet him. Feeling his thumb brush along the buzzed down hair on the side of his head, MacTavish shut his eyes and yawned. "If you need me to, I can deal with the General so you can rest."

The best MacTavish could formulate for a response was a grunt. Ghost clicked his tongue and the bed creaked as he moved around.

"Could at least kick your boots off before you decide to pass out."

If MacTavish weren't so dead tired, he would've helped in some way as Ghost untied his laces and pulled his boots off. They hit the floor with a couple soft clacks and Ghost tangled himself up around him. Warm and comfy, he was out.

Every single gun had needed to be cleaned in the armory. Heatstroke, Ghost, and Roach tag teamed the job over the last two days and managed to finish up with time to spare. At this point, she was convinced she'd smell like gun cleaner and lubricant for weeks. Her fingertips were peeling from so many rounds of solvents and oils and then hand washings. Her pinkie nail even split pretty close to the nail bed.

When she returned to her and Scarab's quarters, it was to the woman having yet another coughing fit. Heatstroke sat by her bedside and passed her a cup of water. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit." Scarab barely got a sip in before she bowed her head and coughed again into the crook of her elbow. Due to the violence of her hacking, she spilled a bit of water on the blanket.

Not knowing what else to do, Heatstroke took back the cup and tentatively rubbed her hand along Scarab's back. She didn't know how much good this did, but it seemed to offer a little bit of comfort. "Not feeling any better at all?"

The coughing subsided. "My ribs don't hurt as much, I guess." Scarab rubbed her eyes. "Fuck..."

It was a loose answer, hardly anything, but it made Heatstroke hopeful. Maybe it'd be enough that she'd be able to properly lay down and sleep.

That night, her hopes were dashed, as Scarab coughed through the night and was still in too much pain to catch more than an hour of rest. Heatstroke was kept up most of the night as well by the noise. The next morning, she was nearly passing out in her cereal.

Roach tapped her shoulder, snapping her back to alertness. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Mm? Sorry." Heatstroke would have added more, but she cut herself off with a loud yawn.

He sighed. "It's fine. I'm just a little worried about the Captain. He's been up for few days getting all this work done and General Shepherd's coming today."

Oh, Captain MacTavish hasn't been sleeping well these last few days? Considering Scarab's been up for the last week, and by extension Heatstroke was also losing a lot of sleep, she found it a little hard to feel sympathetic. He could go to bed if he wanted. If he found a better balance between his paperwork and other duties, he wouldn't have to work three days straight to get all that clerical work caught up.

Better yet, he should just get a fucking secretary.

He'd better not get a desk job ever.

"You're spacing again," Roach noted.

"What kinda secretary do you think the Captain would get?" She asked.

Roach gawked. "Umm... I don't know. He's pretty stubborn about doing his own work himself."

"He looks like a red-head sort to me."

"Sure, Heatstroke. Whatever you say." Roach tapped the bowl on her tray. "Finish your breakfast will you? Your oats are going to turn to mush."

She huffed and scarfed the rest of her cereal down. Breakfast made her marginally more awake, at least enough that she was able to drag her sorry ass through drills and demonstrations and then her regular duties. Throughout the day, she spotted General Shepherd, either flanked by MacTavish/Ghost/both, as he toured the base. Along with them were a couple of soldiers garbed in full black uniforms; a patch on their sleeve was a spade, and a different one was a rook with the writing "Umbra Catervae."

"Shadow Company...?" The name was unfamiliar. The patches more so. Maybe these were special forces so special that Shepherd kept them extra secret. Dudes were wearing all black after all. This read like a secret family type situation.

That evening, she found Ghost in the rec room reading and decided he'd be a good person to ask. "So what's the deal with those guys in black with Shepherd?"

Ghost lowered his book. "Them? PMCs. The General wanted a separate force available that could work in tandem with us. So odds are we'll have a few joint ops with them in the near future."

They were a new bunch of toys for the man. Suddenly those patches seemed fitting. Heatstroke left Ghost to his reading and retired for the evening. On her way back to her quarters, she spied Shepherd and Brandy talking in the otherwise empty infirmary, but didn't think twice on that. Old man probably had back pains.

Interestingly, Scarab's cough had died down significantly since that morning. What's more, she was finally asleep. Heatstroke heaved a sigh of relief and hit the hay as well.

When Heatstroke woke up, it was to an all too familiar bang. A single gunshot: Desert Eagle, if she had to guess. The sky and room were dark, but in the shadows she could just barely make out the outline of the other bed. Empty. Heatstroke's heart dropped.

Where was Scarab? There was no going back to sleep now. She yanked on her boots and in her haste tucked her laces in under the tongue of the shoes, and raced out of the barracks. There were a few other stray men awoken by the gunshot and in various states of tired confusion who milled in the hallway.

The armory wasn't too far from the barracks themselves. Heatstroke sprinted over, grabbed the handle, and threw the door wide open. Dark spatter painted the far wall. Peeking out from behind the counter, was a limp hand and the edge of a blood puddle.

She'd been deployed in Afghanistan a couple times, went on anti terrorism assignments with the Task Force, and saw a lot in her eight years of service. Death was no stranger. There was a disconnect though. When it was enemy militia running at you guns ablaze, you stop thinking about the fact that you are taking lives. But this wasn't a war zone. This was a base, the safest place any of them could be, and one of their own was lying dead.

Her blood erratically pounded in hear eardrums. She couldn't move, her legs refused to step forward into the room or turn and run. She was queasy, dizzy. The floor felt like it was crawling beneath her. Her tongue lost all feeling.

Suddenly, the armory fell away into a black sea.

MacTavish woke to a loud banging on his door. A frantic voice shouted, "Captain! Captain! It's an emergency!"

Was that... Scarab...? Wasn't she still on sick leave? Why the bloody hell was she of all people here notifying him of an emergency?

Ghost was also sitting up in bed at this point and wore a similar look of confusion. MacTavish waved for him to stay down and he got up to answer the door. Scarab was in the hall, dressed lightly and shaking. Her face was ghostly pale. For two seconds, he felt like he was staring at a banshee.

"It's the middle of the night, Scarab. What's wrong?"

"Brandy, he- he's dead!"

Banshee apparently wasn't inaccurate. It was a combination of extreme exhaustion and shock that prompted MacTavish's unhelpful response of "...huh?"

She grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the room with a frantic, "Come on! COME ON!"

He had no choice but to follow. "Alright, alright. Do you know what happened?"

Scarab didn't let him go for a second, so he felt her hand tighten as she said, "Brandy broke into the armory and- It looks like a suicide..."

This didn't feel real.

It couldn't be.

Of all people, Brandy? He was reclusive and all, but MacTavish hadn't exactly pegged him as the type.

Then again, he barely knew him. The warning signs were probably there and he just didn't see them...

When they reached the armory, there was a mess of activity there. Royce kept a number of other curious onlookers away from the room. Near the wide open door, Roach and General Shepherd were crouched beside an unconscious Heatstroke.

Scarab paused and dropped MacTavish's hand. "Shit, Riley?!" She tried to run over to the other woman, but Royce stopped her with an arm.

"Please, just stay back for now, we don't want too many people near the scene."

"I found the fucking scene. Now let me through." Scarab slapped his arm out of her way and rushed over to Heatstroke's side.

Royce made no further move to stop her. "I sent Meat to get you, Captain. You didn't happen to see him on your way, did you?"

"No. Why the hell's the General here?" MacTavish asked. "And Heatstroke for that matter?"

"Hell if I know. They both must've heard the gun shot like the rest of us. General Shepherd was turning Heatstroke on her side when I came over. Roach was with me too, he'll say the same thing." Royce sidestepped to let him pass. "Anyways, you should go talk to him."

MacTavish nodded and approached the growing horde around Heatstroke. "She responsive?"

"Yeah..." Heatstroke herself answered in a small voice, and waved a hand.

"She tried to sit up and nearly fainted all over again." Roach explained. "I could carry her down to the infirmary, Captain. Get Doc to have a look."

"Go ahead."

Roach helped Heatstroke up and offered his shoulder for her to hang off as her legs quaked like a baby deer. Heatstroke was notably shorter than him, so it looked a little awkward. Scarab got up and started to follow them as well.

"Scarab, you stay here." MacTavish ran his hand through his mohawk. "You said you were the first person to find the body, so I've got questions for you."

The woman nodded grimly.

It was about then that Meat and Ghost appeared. "So I couldn't find Captain MacTavish, but I did find Ghost- Oh shit, he's already here?"

"Been here for a few minutes now," Royce confirmed. "Scarab fetched him."

"General Shepherd, you wouldn't mind answering some questions as well?" MacTavish asked.

The General didn't seem remotely bothered by the question. "Seeing as I've become a witness, I will need to anyways."

"Good." MacTavish waved Ghost over. "Mind checking the scene?"

"Will do."

MacTavish turned back to General Shepherd and Scarab. "Alright. Scarab, apparently you were the first one on the scene?"

"That's right. I was getting some fresh air outside the barracks when I heard the gunshot. I came running, and discovered the lock was broken on the door. Brandy was in there. There was a note he'd left on the counter. I didn't read it, since it was a couple pages and I didn't feel like there was time, so I went to get you."

"You didn't see him go in the armory at all?"

"No, sir. I would've stopped him if I had."

"And what about you, sir?" MacTavish asked.

General Shepherd glanced at the doorway. "It was late and I was having a smoke when I heard the shot. I was closer to the offices, so it took me longer to get here. When I turned the corner, I noticed Corporal Jays collapsed just outside, so I checked if she was okay and then went inside the room to investigate. Sergeant Brandy was dead, of course. I didn't notice a note though."

MacTavish leaned into the armory. "Oi, Ghost, do you see a note on the counter?"

Ghost's head popped up from behind the counter. "No." And like a gopher, he vanished from view again.

Nothing like the mystery of the disappearing note. "Okay. The only real issue I'm seeing with both your accounts is whether or not Brandy left a note behind. Maybe Heatstroke went in and picked it up?"

"Seems unlikely," the General said. "Why would she go in, pocket it, and then faint in the hallway? I'm pretty sure she didn't step foot in the room."

Scratch that. MacTavish went to the next logical answer. "Scarab, did you take anything in the room, the note or otherwise?"

"No. I looked, but I didn't touch anything." To further her point, she turned out her sweatpants pockets to show that they were empty.

That left two final explanations and he didn't like either one. "If neither Heatstroke nor you took the note, then that means that General Shepherd would have had to or else there wasn't a note in the first place."

"I don't have the note," Shepherd stated. "If you feel you have to, you can check."

Better safe than sorry, right? MacTavish patted the General down. If there was a two page thick note folded up in one of his uniform pockets, he would have felt that. The pat down turned up nothing. "Scarab, are you sure you didn't happen to see some other document on the table?"

Scarab's eyes flashed and she continued to allege that "The note was there, it has to be somewhere." Although he'd already noticed it, in her frantic and alarmed state, she had a very sickly pallor and dark circles so pronounced that she almost looked like she had a pair of shiners. He stopped being able to keep up with her attempts to rationalize how the note could exist, in part because she was talking so fast that she was spitting on every other word. The first words he definitely understood was when Scarab jabbed a finger at General Shepherd. "You! You're a traitor!"

This caused just about everyone in the hallway to gawk at her. Ghost had even stood up and spectated with his sunglasses hanging low on his nose.

General Shepherd pushed her hand down from his face. "Okay now, I'm not. What the fuck are you talking about, Private?"

"Don't play dumb!" She snapped. "If you don't have the note then you must've hid it somewhere, right? Why? Brandy must've known you were up to something and wrote it in his note!"

What. The. Fuck.

"It's been a long month..." Shepherd sighed, shaking his head. "I know Brandy was primarily taking care of you this last week, and the situation now must be distressing for you. If you need to take a few days to sort yourself out, that's fine. But-"

"But nothing! I know I saw it! It was there!" Scarab then looked to MacTavish and the others in the hall, seeking back up on the matter. His stomach lurched. Clearly she had no idea how manic she sounded right now. Her brows pinched with frustration.

MacTavish stepped in and set a hand on her shoulder. "Scarab, this is a hard time for everyone. Maybe it's best if you do just relax for a bit."

"But, Captain-!"

"Scarab!" He shouted. It was enough to make her clamp her mouth shut. "Listen. You're not in the best frame of mind right now. I'm relieving you of duty for the next three days. See the councilor in that time. Am I understood?"

Scarab lost much of the hostility in her posture, replaced with defeat and visible helplessness as she answered with a faint "Yes, sir..." and dragged her feet on the way out.

General Shepherd patted MacTavish on the shoulder. "You did the right thing, son."

{—To Be Continued—

Summary of Plan B Chapters 13, 14, and 15a

13. Scarab's still sick. Medic thinks they should put her out of her misery. Ghost is still a good b-friend. Scarab recovers.
14. They question the medic on wanting to euthanize Scarab. He's Russian now! He tried to shoot Scarab but bulletproof vest. Interrogation with Ghost. He works with Makarov. He dies before he can out General Shepherd.
15a. Enter Shepherd. He says stupid thing, Scarab hears and cries traitor. He sends her to an asylum.

A/N: This chapter was an absolute time and a half. My beta reader had to do a double take because this reads so differently than how this plays out in Plan B.

Originally, Brandy was a nameless medic who was suggests euthanasia when Scarab doesn't seem to be recovering from pneumonia in a week. That's not even an exaggeration. I wish it was. Scarab gets better out of nowhere, and she and Soap question him about why he wanted to have her killed (valid concern to bring up to one's physician). He flops through a shitty explanation before switching to a Russian accent and revealing that "SURPRISE" he was working with Makarov all along. They get Ghost in on the party and interrogate this guy. Then Shepherd "leaped into the room" asking what happened (for added stupidity, he had no reason to be there either, he just was). They sass their CO a bit and Shepherd grumbles about wanting to kill them under his breath, at which point Scarab screams about him being a traitor. He tries to let her off easy, like he's way more reasonable about this than he needs to be. And then she attempts to assault him and he has Meat and Royce send her to an asylum.
Did you lose any brain cells yet?
I sure as shit did trying to figure a way to make all that make sense.
Ultimately, I wanted the medic to still die, and I wanted it to be ambiguous whether or not the note actually existed so that I could keep a large amount of the general conflict here intact.