Hey howdy hey! ^_^ it's FRIDAY! *confetti and balloons fall onto devoted readers* And I've got a Friday present for you guys! Chapter 8!

THANK YOU SO MUCH everyone for the incredibly wonderful reviews. I love and read every single one of them.

This chapter was cut short because I completely ran out of time to really write the entire plot of the level... besides, it was boring me. So I added the really deep part between MacTavish and Mckinley/Queen at the end just for you guys! And NO. MacTavish and Mckinley/Queen ARE NOT AND WILL NOT become a couple. Think of them as a Jacob/Bella relationship, but not so like Jacob is madly in love with her. More like they're really good friends and could possibly be with each other if it was the end of the world, but would prefer to be friends instead. Besides, MacTavish (though sexy ^_^) knows that Mckinley has a thing for Ghost, so he won't intervene.

But OMG! (Oh My Ghost! TEEHEE!) Does Ghost like Mckinley back? Or, as one of my incredible readers pointed out in a message to me, will he just continue to "keep people at arms length" and try not to get so attached to her?

HMMMM? QUESTIONS QUESTIONS QUESTIONS!

And I want a headcount. How many of you are in love with Ghost? (well, mostly his sexy British accent because we haven't been able to see his face... *pouts*)

Love you all and thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Give me ideas!

ecto1B

Chapter 8:

"The Only Easy Day… Was Yesterday"

Day 5 – 5:48:38

Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front

Task Force 141

Vikhorevka 36 Oil Platform, Russia

Shutting her eyes and humming a Beatles song was not enough to block out the bubbling sounds of the water encompassing the submarine. Much to Mckinley's dislike, trying to ignore the sounds seemed to make them significantly louder. Every so often, a watery echo pinged into the fixed dark walls of the sub, making her spine shiver. The butterflies inside her stomach had slowly found a way to mutate into mammoth butterflies. They pounded and thrashed away against her frail ribcage.

As she gripped the handles of the mini-sub, she wondered how she would deal with the gentle lapping of the water cascading upon the exposed inch of skin on her face when the SDV lock filled with water. They hadn't even launched yet, but already she was in a panic. Ghost and MacTavish had been assigned a different mini-sub, so she was alone with two complete strangers on this one. (They'd accidentally miscounted and forced her to join Team 1 temporarily until they reached the oilrig) And trusting two strangers underwater—though they were Navy SEALs—scared her to the bone. If something went wrong—

"U.S.S. Chicago Actual to drylock shelter, we have a go."

Water poured in from both sides. Though Mckinley was wearing scuba gear and had an air tank strapped to her back, she imagined her trachea constricting at the sight of the water level crawling up her body. Her skin quivered beneath the slimming wetsuit, reacting to the water's icy-cold temperature.

"SDV hangar flooded, full pressure."

"Begin deployment."

The hangar cap swung open, and the clear blue ocean was in sight. From where she was located, a school of fish swam past the door and away from the foreign object.

"Team 1 SDV is away."

The mini-sub pushed its way out of the cramped tube and out into the ocean waters. It was too overwhelming, and she shut her eyes once more.

"Hotel Six, bearing zero one-niner."

She tried breathing slowly through the scuba air tank. The mutant butterflies flapped around even faster, hitting the insides of her stomach wall and almost begging to be released. Because of that, she opened her eyes. The darkness beneath her eyelids was making her sick.

I am NOT throwing up underwater. WAY too gross.

The mini-sub passed another huge submarine called the U.S.S. Dallas, and she spotted another SDV launching into the water. Team 2! Where I was supposed to be!

"U.S.S. Dallas deploying Team Two. RV at the objective."

"Hotel Six, depth 20 meters."

The front member of Team 2 turned around to face Mckinley's SDV. He held out a positive thumbs up. Another man hanging on to her sub responded with the "perfect" hand sign.

After a few more moments of heading forwards underwater, a looming shadow appeared in front of the two subs. At first, she thought it was some sort of underwater structure, but coming closer to it, she realized it was the bottom portion of the oilrig.

"Team Two at the objective."

She watched the members of the other submarine exit the water vehicle and begin swimming upwards to a platform sitting atop the water. They became black blurs in the ocean's darkness, almost like fish from a distance. Realization flooded through her veins. The underwater part is almost done. Soon, she could breathe a sigh of relief.

As her sub neared the oilrig, her team began swimming up to the surface as well. The man in front turned around to face her, pointing up. Once Mckinley nodded, he vanished into the waters above. Shakily, she followed. Though she hated being underwater, she'd learned how to swim at an early age. It was nothing new. Kicking off, Mckinley took a breath into the scuba tank and treaded to the surface.

Popping her head above the surface, Mckinley took a huge breath and savored the early morning air hitting her wetsuit. But she quickly noticed that no one else had come up from underwater yet. Why was that?

A fumble of thick Russian sounded from on the platform. Two guards stood near the edge of the dock, conversing and wielding weapons. Mckinley ducked a bit lower back into the water and slowly paddled her way towards the nearest Russian guard.

MacTavish murmured into the radio a command. Mckinley unintentionally swooned at the cautiousness and surreptitiousness of his heavy British accent.

"We'll take them out at the same time… on your go…"

"Hooah," she whispered back, inching her way closer and closer to the edge. The guards continued to chat, not sensing the multiple people below them in the watery depths. Mckinley knew she would hate herself for any sort of hand-to-hand combat, but this was the only option for this situation.

As silently as possible, Mckinley gripped the edge of the platform with one hand and reached up to grab the guard by his backpack. On the opposite side, MacTavish yanked the second guard straight into the water.

The guard flailed around as she pulled him under the water. She imagined his eyesight blurring, his body freezing, his facial expression succumbing to a wave of panic and fear… everything she'd felt when her cousin had pushed her into the water at Lake O'Neil the summer when she was twelve. He was her… afraid of the water's petrifying murkiness and worried he'd never leave it. He'd forget how to breathe, only engulfing masses of the dirty water with every cough and choke. His blood would run ice cold… Mckinley hated seeing this and being the cause of his terror. She desperately wanted to help him back up to the platform to enable his lungs to fill with air once more. But—she knew—he'd already taken his last breath.

"I'm sorry," she bubbled from the air tank, extracting a knife from her front pocket and inserting it into his chest with one motion. Without taking a second glance, she gently propelled the Russian man downward into the black abyss and hoped he'd die quickly and not see where he was headed or what his gravesite would be. Then, fighting a brutal stream of tears, she swam back to the platform.

Two SEALs waited at the top for her. They reached for her arms and helped her out of the water. Both men had black smears of face makeup strewn like stripes across their serious features, and for one second she thought they were omens of death… she'd just murdered a man and sent him tumbling into nothingness. Her heart ached and throbbed uncontrollably.

MacTavish and the others were removing all unnecessary equipment from their bodies before beginning taking the rig. Mckinley did the same, prying the scuba tank from her back and wrenching the goggles and wetsuit hood from her head. Her dark red hair—practically all dry and untouched—was pulled back into a neat high ponytail.

"Two hostiles down in section One-Alpha," MacTavish reported into the radio. "Moving up to section Two."

A SEAL handed her a M4A1 Carbine with a Red Dot Sight—perfect for a mission like this. She dipped her head in thanks, and he mirrored her politely. Now, he wasn't an omen. Just a normal man assisting her and Task Force 141 in the taking of this oilrig.

Just breathe, Mckinley. This'll all be over soon.

The sub commander responded. "Roger that, Hotel Six."

The group proceeded up a flight of metal stairs without saying a word. Ghost appeared behind her, also in a wetsuit. Like always, his pitch-black balaclava concealed everything, and his tinted sunglasses obscured any chance of meeting his eyes.

"Keep it tight, people…" MacTavish whispered through the radio.

Mckinley crouched as she walked. Her wetsuit was digging into all the wrong places, but she dared not even THINK about stopping and fixing it. Yes, it was accenting her curves pleasantly. But some accents were not being appreciated.

The team met up at a larger base platform, where huge machines were hooked up. Nearby, another Russian guard contemplated the ocean below from a safety railing. An identical clothing choice made him indistinguishable from the soldier she'd pulled underwater moments ago. She shivered.

"Got a visual by the railing," Ghost said; again, every word spoken was quiet radio chatter.

MacTavish met Mckinley's eyes. "Free to engage. Suppressed weapons only."

"Hooah."

As silently as possible, she ducked behind a roof support close by and aimed the Red Dot Sight onto the preoccupied man. Letting the dot meet his chest, she pulled the trigger. He fell beyond the railing and into the waters below without a sound.

At least I didn't have to fight him in hand-to-hand combat.

Ghost nodded to her. "We're clear." His ghost mask seemed to be smiling at her.

The group made their way over to a pair of locked doors lining the left wall. Russian men prattled inside. A rush of odd excitement consumed her, as Mckinley knew exactly what this part involved. The epic slow-motion breach.

The sub commander read her mind. "Civilian hostages at your position. Watch your fire."

"Roger that. Team One moving to breach."

Mckinley was handed a flat white box-looking thing by one of the SEALs. She suppressed a wide grin, feeling like a kid on Christmas. The slow-motion breaches were her absolute favorite part of Modern Warfare 2. She recalled the first time she'd played the game when she'd accidentally killed all of the hostages and spared the hostiles. After that, she really took it upon herself to try not hit the good guys.

Once everyone was in position around the doorway, she slammed the white box onto the door and backed up. Milliseconds later, the box exploded.

With her heart pumping wildly and her skin tingling, Mckinley lunged into the room and felt the world slow down. The pieces of the destroyed doorway sailed across the small room as if held by strings. There were a few men tied to chairs and blindfolded across the room, but Mckinley was experienced enough to tell the bad from the good. Three shots and the room was safe.

"Clear," Ghost confirmed as the world returned to its normal speed.

"We're clear," MacTavish echoed. "Hostages secured in section Two-Echo."

"Roger that, Hotel Six," the sub commander replied. "Team 2 will secure and evac. Get topside and find the rest of the civvies."

They exited the room swiftly. As they hurried to the next staircase, Mckinley found Ghost and patted him on the back in a friendly gesture.

"Well that was fun," she commented dryly. Ghost chuckled beneath his mask at her retort and absentmindedly reloaded his gun.

"You're wrong, Queen," he said in response. "The fun hasn't even started yet."

######################

"Control, all hostages have been secured. I repeat—all hostages secured. Proceeding to LZ Bravo, over."

Mckinley leaned against the wall and closed her eyes tightly, trying to slow the fast-paced beating of her heart. They'd just breached a huge room full of multiple hostages and plenty of deadly explosives; one misfire could've cost the entire team their lives. The pressure had been unsustainably immense. And now that it was over and the oilrig was theirs to claim, she could breathe normally once more. No one was going to come out and shoot her, no one was going to set off the explosives, no one was trying to snipe her head clean off. Ghost, MacTavish, and a handful of Navy SEALs surrounded her. They were a sign of comfort and consolation. Everything was over. For now.

Fun? Ghost, you call that FUN? I'm sorry, but you're crazy.

"Good job, Hotel Six," the sub commander said proudly. "Marine reinforcements are inserting now to dismantle the SAM sites. Get your team ready for phase two of the operation. Out."

Wait.

WTF?

Phase TWO?

"Holy crap, MacTavish," she grumbled to her captain when he walked past her. "I don't recall you saying anything about a fricken' phase two?"

He grinned. "Yep, we're headed to the gulag." He motioned for her to follow him, Ghost, and the others. "Let's get a move on; the heli doesn't wait forever. Especially not for complainers."

She crossed her arms and let out a loud huff. "Hey, I am not complaining. I'm just wondering when you were going to inform us that this mission had two parts."

"I heard him tell us," Ghost said slyly, striding alongside his captain.

Mckinley playfully punched his wetsuit's shoulder. "I wusn' tawkin' to you, Ghostie…" She subdued a sharp giggle from coming out from between her chapped lips, absolutely loving the strange accent she'd given herself. And "Ghostie" sounded pretty cute…

"So, my lieutenant hears me mention a phase two, but you don't." MacTavish rapped a finger against his chin in playful consideration. Now it was just the three of them strolling towards the helicopter nearby, for the SEALs had left to untie the hostages. "What does that tell us about Queen?"

"That she's most often distracted by something else while you're debriefing us," Ghost observed plainly, receiving a sarcastic gasp from the female soldier. The two men laughed.

Her face turned a bright crimson. "Oh, shut up, you English teabags."

"Distracted by… Ghost?" MacTavish suggested, continuing to laugh his jolly British laugh in her ear. An even deeper shade of red appeared on her cheeks.

Before Mckinley could snap back, or Ghost could counter MacTavish's statement, someone's voice came out of MacTavish's radio. "Hotel Six, the chopper is ready to depart," the sub commander informed him. "Phase two will commence shortly."

The three soldiers stopped laughing and hurried to board the chopper. Ghost remained on the landing pad, for that helicopter was full and he was to wait for the next one. After all, they'd all head to the same place: the Gulag, where Prisoner 627 was being held. It didn't make a difference if Ghost boarded that chopper or the next one. But to Mckinley, it DID make a difference. She'd just been accused of becoming distracted by him, and he'd heard it. Did he realize that he was her favorite Modern Warfare 2 character? Did he realize that a part of him haunted her everyday life? Did he realize that she looked out for him the way he looked out for her?

Sitting upon the chopper's safety bar, Mckinley waved at Ghost before the helicopter took off into the sky and circled around the oilrig. MacTavish sat beside her, looking out at the morning skyline with a satisfied expression on his unshaven face. His hazel eyes glazed over with tranquility, startling Mckinley a great deal. This serenity was unlike her captain. Never during the game had his mind left the fields of the battle—from what she'd seen on the TV screen, that is. What had gotten into him now?

"What is it?" she asked when his gaze became steadily firm.

He glanced at her, then back out again. "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

MacTavish smirked, and continued to stare out at the horizon. "About how beautiful the sunrise is."

She sucked in a breath. "O….kay… random scale exceeds maximum level for Captain John MacTavish…"

After he laughed a bit, the captain returned to the subject of the morning. "I know it's a bit unorthodox for me to be noticing something like that, but I just did, and it's very beautiful." Suddenly his face grew fiercely serious. "Queen, you joined the army a while after me. What's a morning look like from the standpoint of an innocent bystander?" He coughed. "You know… without the thought of war looming over your shoulder?"

Mckinley was taken aback at his unusual request. "Well… erm… it's like… well, just like this one, I suppose." She drummed her fingers against the barrel of her gun. "I mean, mornings usually don't change from day to day, y'know…" He gave her a look, and she cleared her throat. "But I guess the only difference could be that…" she trailed off, trying to remember the last time she sat down and watched the sun rise or set. Nothing came to mind. For the most part, everyone around her was busy during those times of day. She couldn't recall anyone ever just sitting down and watching the sun. It literally must've been years since she'd done so, and now Mckinley was sitting on a helicopter with a military captain, staring in awe at the glowing ball of fire before them. Then she realized what to tell MacTavish. "…that when you're a simple, average person, the sunrises and sunsets all blur together and all look the absolute same. Their beauty is wasted, and the image just becomes an everyday event that nobody really pays attention to." She studied MacTavish's face carefully before continuing on. "But when you're part of a war, and you don't see beauty very often anymore. And when there's a simple sunrise that you'd normally take for granted, you stop and wonder how the world could manage to produce such a spectacular event in such a bloody, savage time…" her voice cracked and faded.

MacTavish was completely still for about a minute before he let out an overwhelmed gasp.

"Queen," he began—the corners of his lips stretching up towards his temples at a rapid pace—"… you speak as if you are thirty years older than you really are." He put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for clearing that up for me. I firmly agree with you about the sunrises."

She dipped her head. "Thanks, Captain."

He coughed slightly and began reloading his gun. "Now… back to phase two…" His teeth gleamed between his lips. "Let's clear the bloody Gulag of tangos and find Prisoner 627 before one of us gets shot in the arse."

Mckinley, satisfied with the depth of their conversation and glad he'd ended it appropriately, raised her left fist and shook it with gusto. The Russian border was in sight, and their mission would follow soon after.

"Let's get this fricken' party started."