Okay, okay. The REASON I haven't updated in a while is-not only because of an OVERLOAD OF HOMEWORK-but because I've been hard at work on the next chapter, which will be THE M CHAPTER! xD

Question of the Chapter: If you were the writer of Modern Warfare 3, what would your basic plot be? Shepherd still alive? (HOLY SHIZ NO) Ghost alive? (HOLY SHIZ YES)

MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY thanks to everyone who reviewed so kindly on the last few chapters. Every time I get a new review, I SWEAR I don't stop smiling for the rest of the day. Ask my friends. Ask Kimi 4 Vocaloids here on FanFiction (my BFF in real life). ^_^ She'll tell you I'm always so happy!

Oh, and yes, Scented Of Roses, Mckinley is from Pensacola, Florida! I recently visited there, and man, was it beautiful. I chose it for a few reasons... mostly because while I was there, I got an idea for a sequel... :D

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

ecto1B

WARNING: LANGUAGE AND SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE THEMES

Chapter 18:

"Argument"

Day 5 – 17:22:32

Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front

Task Force 141

Encounter Base, Russia

"I can't believe it," she breathed, running a hand through her red locks as they cascaded over her left shoulder.

Ghost stifled a laugh. "What, you didn't expect to be promoted?"

Shrugging, she pulled a rubber band from her sweatpants pocket and tied her hair back into a thick ponytail. "I dunno. I wasn't anticipating it, if that's what you mean."

"You've been a private for a long time, though," Ghost countered pointedly. "Even General Shepherd said you were overdue for a promotion. You shouldn't be so surprised."

Mckinley began drumming her fingers on the table in an arrhythmic pattern while she glanced around the mess hall, observing the dining area she would spend every meal in. As of now, the hall was all but empty, save for the four or five cooks shuffling around inside the connecting kitchen. The serving line was almost fully stocked with the food for tonight's dinner. Every so often a man in an apron lumbered out from the kitchen and over to the bar to add some more food to the serving line. He obviously knew that the members of Task Force 141 were starving around this hour and would require an extensive amount of food to keep them quiet.

"Yeah, but why now?" Mckinley challenged, coming back to her conversation with Ghost and ignoring the questioning look the cook was flashing her. "I don't think he—"

Ghost was seated across from her, and when she began tapping the table and speaking, he immediately silenced her by pressing his warm gloved hand over hers. Like waves eroding away at a sandy beach's edge, a constant pulse of tingly, bubbly sensations began to nibble at Mckinley's composure. And the sight of his hand on top of hers was a sign—a sign that screamed, "He must have feelings for you!" But almost instantly, Mckinley rid her head of the jumbled random thoughts. She tried hopelessly to stay focused on the subject at hand, not on the fact that Ghost was looking highly captivating in his tight black turtleneck that outlined the muscular, chiseled features of his chest. Or even the fact that the two of them were alone (not counting the wandering cooks) in a room together. No, those thoughts were forbidden… weren't they? Even if they weren't, Mckinley understood that there were more prominent things to be worrying about at a time like this, such as the subject she and Ghost were discussing.

Leaning forward in his chair, Ghost kept his hand firmly on hers as he spoke. "Queen, stop actin' like you never wanted a higher rank, because I know that's not true." His blue eyes locked on hers, glowing sympathetically. "You clearly proved your worth at the gulag, and the favela. Shepherd noticed and took action. There's nothin' to be complaining about. It's done."

Mckinley would've liked to mention that Ghost was wrong; that the only reason she was complaining was because Shepherd had given the promotion to the wrong person. But she held enough restraint to hold her tongue. She feared the new ranking; yet, she felt it necessary to keep her reasoning to herself. If she spoke honestly to Ghost about the issue, it would surely come out that she wasn't the real Queen, and then she'd be in trouble.

Then, there came the guilt factor. This new promotion from Private to Private First Class truly didn't belong to her. Queen had earned it. Yes, Mckinley had been the one fighting through the favela, the oilrig, and the gulag. But Queen had developed a very diverse history in her years in the army, starting off in the Army Rangers and then progressing to the Task Force. All the things Shepherd had praised her for… well, they weren't exactly her doing. It was all Queen.

Mckinley knew she had to do a lot of talking to change the subject, so she began inching her way out of it. "It was just so… sudden," she managed finally. "I guess I'm grateful for it and everything, but—"

Ghost patted her hand. "You deserved it, Queen. That's all that matters." He leaned backwards, propping his chair on two legs and putting his arms behind his head. "Just take it easy for right now, eh? I didn't help you shimmy outta Chemo's wrath for nothin'."

She shot him a dirty look. "Hey, be nice to him, Ghost. I know it seems harsh, but Chemo means well. He's just trying to make sure I get healed."

Ghost's brow furrowed above his disapproving eyes at her sentence. "He's doin' a dodgy job of it, shoving tablets down your throat."

"Chemo's not shoving them down my throat!" she protested, her voice rising an octave. Oh great, we're about to start fighting. I wonder if Ghost and the real Queen have ever argued before? She brought her voice back down to its normal level, knowing she had to do everything in her power to prevent herself from bickering with him."Ghost, he's only trying to help," she said calmly. "He's not gonna give me pills that could harm me."

Ghost rolled his eyes. "There you go again, defending the bloody prat." He let his chair fall back onto four legs, resting his elbows on the table. "Don't 'cha ever get tired of protecting his sorry ass?"

She gasped. Hadn't Chemo and Ghost been chatting like best buddies in the infirmary about a half an hour ago? What happened to Ghost's sympathy? His friendliness? His laid-back, humorous personality? Suddenly, everything she truly loved about the masked man had disintegrated and swapped with darker, nasty traits.

"When have I defended Chemo before?" she wanted to know. "And the only reason I'm sticking up for him now is because all of a sudden you went all bitchy on him!"

Scoffing, Ghost replied. "Come off it, Queen. Ever since you were accepted into the Task Force, you've sheltered him, and all he's ever done is fancy you." He faltered for merely a second before continuing on. "You don't recall that time you and I were quarreling about Chemo calling you a babe when he'd drank a few? You kept on saying he only said it 'cause he was drunk, but still you didn't believe me when I told you he'd been calling you 'babe' for a while?" Even though Mckinley's jaw had dropped already, Ghost went on with more evidence. "And that time I overheard Royce and Chemo betting money on who would snog you first? You didn't believe me." Irritability shined like daylight atop his British accent. "So don't deny defending him before, Queen, 'cause that's all you ever do."

A pregnant silence filled the air, leaving Mckinley to sort out her thoughts. Ghost still stared sternly across the table at her, awaiting a response or a comeback so he could blast that away as well.

So Queen must really be friends with Chemo to have stood up for him so many times. I wonder if she has feelings for him, and not Ghost? If that's the case, I'm screwed, aren't I?

Mckinley managed to shut her jaw before Ghost grew suspicious. She really wanted to tell Ghost that she was actually in love with him and not Chemo, but—though she was a very communicative woman—she didn't feel ready enough to convey her emotions just yet. A trembling movement within the innards of her heart indicated that that moment was yet to come, but definitely not now. So what could she say to him now to prove that she was sorry? To prove that she (Queen, rather) hadn't meant to crush his words in the past?

"Look," she began, exhaling and shutting her eyes. Ghost looked at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, okay? I never meant to tune out your warnings about Chemo. I was wrong." She opened her eyes and met his, searching for forgiveness. "But I don't have feelings for Chemo, contrary to popular belief. He's just a friend."

Ghost remained silent. His eyes scanned over Mckinley from her blood-red hair to the portion of her torso visible from overtop the table's edge. Once or twice, his eyes squinted to closely examine her face. Mckinley wondered if he was hunting for any signs that she was lying. It didn't seem like a new technique for him. He was doing it so smoothly; the way his eyes traced across each feature in her face defined "perfection". It was also obvious that Ghost was used to checking for liars during everyday conversation, for there were no flaws in his movements. She kept still, wishing she could perform the same sweep of his face.

After two whole minutes of silence, Ghost drew himself back up in his chair. He blinked his pale blue eyes and coughed.

"I believe you," he said finally, speaking much quieter than he had been earlier. "And I'm sorry for my harshness against Chemo. It's just sometimes that muppet gets under my skin with his drinking habits. Though I don't think he'll drink as much with his drinking partner gone."

"Royce?" Mckinley murmured, recalling the man who'd accompanied her to the favela and gotten shot down by Portuguese-shouting militia.

"Yep." Out of nowhere, Ghost hastily glanced around the mess hall and towards the entrance. "We'll continue this conversation later, if you don't mind. We've got very hungry company on their way."

Mckinley nodded and rolled her neck. She heard them too—the men of the 141 weren't exactly quiet. "That's fine. After dinner we'll chat some more."

Right before the sounds of the soldiers reached the mess hall, Ghost stood from his chair and walked around the table. He pulled out the seat to the left of her and sat down.

"What are you doing?" she laughed. All of the tension had evaporated from them, and she was glad of that. She felt much more in love with him when he wasn't being so severe.

"You never said I couldn't keep Chemo from sitting next to you," he stated playfully, giving her a wink that made her heart pound wildly against the inside of her ribcage.

Oh yeah. I'm definitely in love.