Okay... so the M chapter got split into 2 parts... this being the first of the two. Guys, it was getting really long. I HAD to cut it off SOMEWHERE. I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

A million thanks to my friend Shannon. She helped me with so much of this chapter. Without her, I don't know how this chapter would've turned out. So thank you, Shannon. ^_^

Question of the Chapter: If you could take part in ONE MW2 level, what level would you choose? It can be one of the Army Ranger levels, too. Give a reason why you chose the level!

Read and Review! ENJOY!

ecto1B

Chapter 19:

"Laundry Day"

Day 5 – 20:01:49

Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front

Task Force 141

Encounter Base, Russia

"I'll let you catch up with your belongings," Ghost teased, holding the flap of the tent open so he could peer inside. "I know it's been a while since you actually saw any of this stuff." He chuckled softly. "G'night, then?"

Mckinley spun around. "Wait, no." She paused. "Can… can you…" Her eyes darted around the tent, searching for some reason to make him meet her somewhere later. And once her eyes landed upon the dirty clothes hamper in the corner, she knew what to say. "Can you meet me at the laundry building in five minutes?"

He tilted his head in confusion. "Why, exactly?"

For some strange reason, Mckinley was taking pleasure in the sight of Ghost standing at her doorway, staring over at her from overtop the stitched fabric of his balaclava with enthralling blue eyes. It sent a throbbing rawness inching down her spine.

"I… uh… don't want to do my laundry alone in the dark," she lied, wringing her hands together nervously. In reality, it wasn't a complete fib. She literally was having second thoughts about being left alone in the base.

His eyes rolled in disbelief. "Don't tell me you're scared. This is probably the safest place on Earth! There are over thirty One-Four-One soldiers in the barracks, and 'Tavish, Price and I have tents not even twenty yards away from yours. Nothin' is gonna happen to you with us nearby."

"Ghost?"

He sighed, feigning annoyance. "What?"

"Please?"

"Queen, I just told you that—"

"I know, I know you just said it was safe here," she cut him off quickly. "But we just got back, and I'd like to be better safe than sorry when wandering around the base at night." Mckinley smiled. "And no one's gonna hurt me when you're around."

Much to her delight, he gave in quickly. Ghost shook his head and sighed in defeat.

"Fine," he sarcastically groaned.

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Ghostie. I really appreciate it." Sitting down on the cot, she took her ponytail in her fingers and tugged the rubber band from its hold on her red hair. "I'll meet you there in five."

"Okay." Ghost began to let the tent flap fall before he walked away, but he stopped in his tracks and glanced back inside the tent. "Just a reminder, Queen: we're not really supposed to be leaving our tents after sundown, even to do laundry."

Mckinley stretched the rubber band onto her wrist for later and raised her eyebrows at Ghost. "So?"

Chuckling, Ghost shook his head again. "I tried." He released his grip on the flap and trudged off into the settling darkness that was slowly consuming Encounter Base.

When he was gone, Mckinley decided to take inventory of her tent. MacTavish had explained earlier that because she was the only female member of the Task Force, a tent had been assembled for her to use. It was surely better than spending the night with men who strolled around with parts exposed. And Shepherd had apparently demanded it.

The tent wasn't anything fancy. A cot with a small flat pillow sat at one end of the tent, while a foldable table and chair were set up at the other end. The real Queen had obviously tried to stay organized, for the papers resting on the table were set up to resemble failed attempts at categorizing. There was also a lamp that gave off meager amounts of light, and a wastebasket overflowing with college-ruled crumples of paper. Mckinley went over to the table and sat down, letting her eyes scan across the papers. (After all, they were hers, weren't they?) Most of the papers were simple military paperwork, discussing natural TF141 behavior and protocol. But one pile of papers caught her attention, all addressed to a certain Pfc. Joseph Allen. Mckinley scooped up the top letter and began reading…

Pfc. Joseph Allen,

I'm worried about you, Jo. The mission you described to me sounds absolutely horrific, and I have no idea why Shepherd would want you following through with such task. Working with Makarov? Shepherd must be insane to think you'll make it out of there alive. I understand how much respect you'll gain after completing it, but… Jo, I fear for your safety. What if Makarov finds out you're not Alexei Borodin? Oh God, Joseph, you better be careful.

I don't know why you still want to know about my life, when yours is in danger, but I don't want to argue with you.

Things are interesting here at the base. Chemo's still getting himself drunk… man, I wish you were here so you could kick his ass when he's drunk. He's a good friend and all, but he could use a little help. I can't keep shielding him when Shepherd comes to call. I know he cares about me and all, but he's the medical officer! Shouldn't he know better than to drink?

The masked guy you were referring to? Yeah, that's Ghost. He's a good guy. We didn't get along at first, but eventually the ice sort of broke, and we talk everyday now. You have nothing to worry about, Jo. I know his skull mask makes him seem threatening, but he does have a heart and a sense of humor. And he's not the betraying type. Apparently he's had a really screwed-up life… so I heard from one of the guys. I wonder what happened?

When you finish your undercover mission, you'll be coming here, won't you? You're a member of the Task Force now, right? I can't wait to see you! It's been so long since we chatted face-to-face. We'll definitely have to catch up. You'll tell me about how everyone is back at Firebase Phoenix? Foley? Dunn?

Please be careful, Jo. Check your corners and don't make Makarov mad. Just kill him and get it over with. I'm waiting for you here. I know you'll love Encounter Base.

Love you, Jo.

Pvt. 'Queen'

After reading, Mckinley dropped the letter onto the table and leaned back in the chair. She covered her eyes with her hands and took slow, deep breaths, feeling a rush of misery spiral through her. Queen and Joseph Allen—the man who'd been killed by Makarov—had been best friends. It was such a depressing awareness. Evidently, they'd worked alongside each other at Firebase Phoenix, but then went their separate ways when Queen was transferred to the 141. And then Shepherd had chosen Allen to become the undercover agent in the Moscow airport massacre. Queen had probably meant to send the letter before Allen left for the mission, but she'd never gotten the chance, and then he was dead. Taken from this world by a bullet that should never have been shot. At that instant, Mckinley knew Makarov was truly evil; evil for destroying such a beautiful friendship with no remorse. He'd not seen the gravity of his actions; he'd not seen Queen's reaction to Allen's death, nor had he seen the hatred she'd felt or the excruciating pain that devoured her inner self. Poor Queen had probably sobbed herself to sleep, with the image of Allen's face smiling at her from an unreachable spot in the sky.

There were also traces of wet spots dotting the paper, as if someone had read the letter while they were crying. Mckinley felt the same tears forming in her eyes, feeling awful for the woman she was pretending to be. She wondered how many nights Queen had sat at the table, clutching the letter in her hands; her eyes blurry and her cheeks stained with salty tears. Just the thought of it made Mckinley's urge to cry strengthen. War was malicious. It had taken away Queen's friend without a second glance, letting the rest of the world deal with the results. The Russians were howling at the massacre; America was being stabbed to death and—very slowly—losing its ability to scream for help. Allen's death proved it. And Queen's pain would only be the first of many.

"Queen?"

Whirling around in the chair, Mckinley's eyes rested on Ghost's powerfully-built body standing in the entrance to her tent. She shook herself fiercely from her distressing thoughts and stood up from the chair.

"Oh—hey, Ghost," she croaked. When she noticed his blue eyes scrutinizing her face curiously, she lowered her head and stepped over to the laundry hamper. "Sorry, I got distracted."

"Yeah, you weren't showing up at the building, so I—hang on." Ghost walked further into the tent and grasped her shoulder tightly. She glanced downward even more, hiding her reddening face. "Look at me for a second."

"Ghost, it's nothing—"

Abruptly, he used a gloved finger to lift her chin. Their eyes locked, and his grew wide with realization.

"You were crying." It wasn't a question.

"No, I wasn't—"

"Don't lie to me, Queen." Ghost's British accent was thick and humorless, but showed traces of concern. "I want to know why you were crying. What happened?"

Mckinley bit her lip. She didn't want to explain to him about the letter she'd found, because, again, it hadn't been her who'd known Allen. She was just reading Queen's letter. And she didn't think she could pretend she'd written such a sad note to a dead friend…

"I… I was just… just thinking about home," she lied. "About my family and friends. I don't know, it was stupid." Mckinley reached down to pick up the overflowing hamper, but Ghost beat her to it, lugging it onto his left shoulder.

"I don't think it's stupid," Ghost told her, using his free hand to hold open the tent flap as she stepped outside. "You miss them. Cryin' about it ain't gonna make you see them any faster, but it helps heal some of the pain."

The two of them headed a short distance over to a separate section of the barracks where the laundry machines were located. The little building stood alone from the barracks, but was made of the same rugged material and also had the same design aspects as the sleeping quarters. Through the portal-like window, you could make out the dim lighting that lined the washing machines on one end—dryers on the other. Mckinley had never been inside, and she hoped the machines were efficient enough to handle the bundle of laundry in the hamper (most of the clothes were Queen's).

"If crying heals the pain, then I'll have to cry more often," Mckinley shakily joked, letting Ghost also open the laundry building door for her. "I miss them all like heck."

Inside the building, it was dusky and grimy. The groundskeepers had obviously not attended to it in quite some time. The tile floor was painted in dried muddy boot prints; water from evaporated snow also sloshed along the grooves in the floor. The light bulbs in the fixtures weakly strained to illuminate the space. On the other hand, the laundry machines appeared untouched. Except for the occasional handprint or dirt smudge on the knobs, the pearly-white machines showed no trace of soldiers ever using them. Which probably meant that the men were too lazy to wash their clothes… Mckinley shuddered and made a face.

Ew. These men need WOMEN to help them do laundry.

Ghost went over to the row of washers and set her basket on top of the nearest one. He then went over to the wall and tried flicking the switch to get more light. Nothing.

"Not many people use the laundry machines any more, if you can believe it," Ghost joked, giving up on the prospect of more light. "We're never here long enough to clean anything to its fullest."

"That's so disgusting!" Mckinley made another face as she carefully avoided slipping in all the brown-tinted water. "The barracks must reek if no one cleans anything."

"I try to limit my visits over there so I don't smell any of it." Ghost chuckled and opened one of the washing machine hatches. "You need me to help you load?"

Before he could even reach his hand towards the basket, Mckinley slid it away. Just in case there was something like a bra or underwear inside, she really didn't want him rummaging through it. Better safe than sorry, dammit.

"I've got it," Mckinley insisted, kneeling down on the tile and shoving a few piles of clothes into the washing machine. "All I need you to do is stay here."

He stifled a laugh and crossed his arms across his chest. "Remind me why, again?"

She loaded the last handfuls of clothes into the machine and stood up, brushing at her sweatpants. "Because I don't want to be out here alone." She leaned over the washing machine's edge and started the wash cycle.

Ghost put his hand on the door handle. "So, if I were to—let's say—leave all of a sudden…" His eyes sparked mischievously.

"No!" Mckinley blurted, springing towards him to stop him from opening the door. She knew he was just kidding, but the likelihood of both of them being in happier moods required her to play along. Like two young children at play, Mckinley and Ghost began tussling against each other to see who was strongest: Ghost, with his hand on the door, or Mckinley, who would try to prevent him from opening it. Soon, sharp cries of laughter filled the inside of the laundromat when Mckinley found that tickling under Ghost's arms made him weaker and unable to turn the door handle. Ghost's body shook uncontrollably as she tickled him; his shoulders quivering. And finally, when he was forced to let go of the door handle so he could push her away, the loud bout of laughter died down.

Mckinley took a step away from her tickle victim, pleased with the results. He would never again dare try to leave her. She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to her right leg, lifting her head upward heroically. On the losing side, Ghost was using the wall for support, clutching his stomach and catching his breath. He blinked slowly, staring at the ground and restraining himself from breaking out into laughter again. Mckinley's heart beat with pride, completely satisfied with how flirtatious her act had been. Maybe he'd try to get revenge?

"Curses…" Ghost breathed, still managing to be comedic. His blue eyes flooded with amusement. "You've… found my weakness…"

Mckinley went along with it. She started pacing back and forth in front of him. "Yes! I have found it! And now you are mine to control!"

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, fake fear in his voice. "What are you gonna do to me?"

Slowly, she sauntered up to his hunched frame and pushed his back against the wall so he wouldn't move. The direction this playful banter was heading in was highly appealing, and she was willing to see how far she could take it…

"Hmm…" She tapped her chin in deep consideration, thinking of the worst punishment she could give her helpless target. "How about I make you run around the base nude?"

Ghost appeared to see a deeper meaning in their twisted wordplay. His voice got a bit quieter. "And if I refuse?" he murmured.

Mckinley's gaze drifted to a shelf nearby. A lone spray bottle sat atop it, collecting dust. She grinned.

"I might have to squirt you with that spray bottle," she replied, motioning her head towards it. Ghost followed her gaze.

"Hmm… a spray bottle…" He titled his head a bit. "Painful, yet tolerable. What if I resist your incessant torture?"

Mckinley giggled, turning a gentle shade of red. "You can't resist me, and you know it!" she declared swiftly. Immediately, she felt like curling into the fetal position and becoming invisible. What had possessed her to say what she did? Now Ghost would think she was a creeper!

I should've held my tongue…

Much to her astonishment, Ghost's reply was not full of disgust or shock. Surprisingly, it was highly revealing and quite flirtatious.

"So you know that too? What else do you know about me?"

Her blood ran hot as fire beneath her skin, and adrenaline that had been left over from the gulag started pumping into her veins. So he couldn't resist her. Did that mean he loved her?

"Well…" Mckinley left one of her hands to pin him against the wall, letting the other travel up his chest and to the base of his mask. "I know that this mask actually comes off to reveal a rather adorable face beneath it…" Her fingers clutched the mask and began dragging it up his face. A pale neck became visible, and then a chin, a pair of thin lips, a nose, captivating blue eyes, and then a thick tuft of dirty-blonde hair at the top of his head. Patches of crimson were already surging in his cheeks when the mask came off, and she felt herself echo the scarlet color on her own face. He was absolutely gorgeous. Resembling Ewan McGregor—the hot Scottish actor she'd fell in love with two years ago—Ghost made many handsome men look unattractive and plain. There was a glory about him that had already begun to drive her mad with want.

"Alright," said Ghost, and Mckinley was blown away by the sight of his actual mouth forming words without the protection of a skull mask. "You've tickled me to death, threatened me with unthinkable punishments, and removed my mask." A crooked smile brimmed on his lips. "What else are you going to do?"

"Your choice," she answered politely. "More tickling, torture or threats?"

Suddenly, Ghost's hands flew to Mckinley's waist, and he pulled her right up against him. Though she was pushing him firmly on the wall, his grip was powerful and forceful. As Mckinley tried not to swoon, Ghost brought his lips to her ear.

"Actually, I was enjoying the torture," he whispered suggestively, his fingers digging into the lower of her back. "Why don't you continue with that?"

There was that faint trace of irresistibleness dripping against his accent that was making her go insane. And that crooked smile placed so perfectly on his mouth was just begging to be caressed. She couldn't help herself. Cautiously, she removed her hand on his shoulder and brought it to touch his lips. The lips were like foreign objects to her; never before had she seen Ghost's lips, and she stroked them as if they were holy. They'd forever been locked behind the barrier that was his skull balaclava, and now they'd been uncloaked. Not a mirage, but a fleshy object. They fascinated her. Gently, she traced her pointer finger along the grooves of his lips, feeling the skin's pitted texture. Mckinley could feel his jagged breaths when his lips parted slightly, and she let her hand stroke down from his lips to his neck, skimming his chin along the way. Ghost seemed to freeze when she touched him, not at all accustomed to the feel of her hand on his bare skin. When her hand came to a stop at the top of his chest, pushing away the heavy tan scarf swathing his neck, Ghost shut his eyes. His face appeared to be steadily falling towards hers; the sound of the washing machine working in the background had waned and melted into the seductive silence of the moment. Now, in the massive world full of war, blood, and death, there existed only two. Mckinley and Ghost. Or—as he perceived—Queen and Ghost.

"I know this is wrong," Ghost admitted quietly as their foreheads rested against each other; their noses remained centimeters apart from meeting in the middle. Each breath Mckinley took swept itself into Ghost's mouth, and the same went for the opposite. "I know I forbid myself from becoming attached to anyone after I lost my family. I promised myself that I would keep everyone at arm's length so I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of losing them." He hesitated, keeping his eyes shut but acting as if both of them were staring into each other's faces intently. "But—slowly—you're changing me. Instead of an evil society that is stocked with liars, cheats, drunks and murderers, I see light. I see goodness that I never stopped to discover before." Ghost opened one eye to make sure he met his target, planting a single kiss atop her nose. "You don't fear the mask, the man, or the man behind the mask. And now, thanks to you, neither do I."

Mckinley giggled when he kissed her nose. She perfectly understood what Ghost's words conveyed, and felt honored to know she'd contributed to his reawakening. After all, his history was terrifying. To finally overcome such a detrimental past was a true accomplishment.

"You aren't evil, Ghost," she told him. "There are so many parts about you that you're regarding as flaws, when most are really just human error. You have every right to hate the people in your life who harmed you, who hindered you, who told you that you couldn't do anything. But avoiding the handful of friends who love you—well, I'm glad you've put doing that aside." Mckinley patted his cheek with her hand. "'Cause, Ghost… I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I gotta admit… you make staying away from you a living hell. I don't want to ever leave your side." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Ghost… I—"

Mckinley's sentence was cut off by a loud explosion of a sound nearby.

The door to the laundromat burst open.

Frightened, Mckinley buried her face in Ghost's chest and tried her hardest not to make a sound. Ghost flattened against the wall, pulling her towards him. Their view of the doorway was partially obstructed by a protruding cabinet, but Mckinley could make out a slight outline of the intruder's face from the dark shadow on the wall.

It was Chemo.

DUNN DUNN

See what I did there? Haha Dunn from MW2 wouldn't be happy. Anyway, REVIEW PLEASE!