I'm really sorry this chapter took FOREVER. I had Writer's Block for like three whole days straight, and then I had the Graduation Exam (why am I taking this at the beginning of the year? No clue.) and THEN I had a bunch of other tests to study for... GHAAAA SCHOOL IS SOMETIMES WICKED EVIL!

Just want to let you all know that I've been posting a short UPDATE on my profile each day to let you guys in on the next chapter. Just check in daily there, instead of continually going to the story and checking for a new update. I usually update my profile every day after school, so it won't MAGICALLY be there all the time.

SORRY THAT THIS CHAPTER IS NOT THE OFFICIAL M CHAPTER. That will be coming soon! Everything came together differently than I had planned...

Question of the Chapter (To be answered after you've finished reading this chapter, obviously.): The last thing Ghost says in this chapter... y'know, that sentence he asks Queen? Well, if he asked YOU that question, what would your response be? (This is obviously only for those who are attracted to Ghost, as in attracted to guys in general. Sorry!)

LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! READ AND REVIEW!

ecto1B

WARNING: RATED M FOR HARSH LANGUAGE

Chapter 20:

"Intervention"

Day 5 – 20:53:03

Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front

Task Force 141

Encounter Base, Russia

Standing in the moonlit doorway of the base's laundromat, Chemo was an absolute mess. One gloved hand clasped an excessively smoky cigarette, while the other wrapped around a half-empty bottle of Baltika: a dark Russian beer. The way Chemo held himself determined that he was in the midst of getting drunk, but not yet fully intoxicated. Every time he brought his lips to the rim of the beer bottle, he grew closer to that hazardous edge. Mckinley could also tell this by the appearance of his emerald-shaded eyes, for they were rolling around lazily in their sockets, tinted with exhaustion. Shoulders sagging, clothes drooping off his brawny arms and torso… Mckinley wondered if Chemo always looked like this when he was under the influence. The nightmarish sight was so depressing, she felt obliged to pray to God for Chemo's appalling acts. Did Chemo know any better? She, personally, hadn't known him long enough to know the answer.

To have your best friend murdered by Makarov, and then to come home every day to a constantly drunk friend… man, Queen must be a fricken' ANGEL to put up with all this crap.

Burping after taking another sip of the beer, Chemo called out into the badly-lit laundry room.

"Queen?" he croaked, somehow managing to place the cigarette between his lips using his shaky arms. The stick let off a sooty puff, scattering the grey cloud into the room's air and forcing Mckinley to suppress a cough. "You in here, babe?"

Ghost let a faint growl of irritation when Chemo said "babe."

"C'mon, girl, I know you're in here." Another cloud of smoke filled the area around Chemo's face. "What are you doing here, anyway? It's really… really late."

Mckinley glanced up at the unmasked man above her, frowning. When she mouthed the words "We're screwed," Ghost broke into a smile and hugged her tighter to his well-defined chest. Behind his black turtleneck, Mckinley could feel the placid thumping of his heart against hers, and she felt her own beat begin to speed up rapidly from infatuation. There—sealed in the cloak of her lover's arms—there really was no need to be afraid, she realized. So what if Chemo found them locked in an intense embrace? What was there to be afraid of? Makarov could barge in, too, and she wouldn't care. Ghost was openly displaying his emotions to her, and she was on top of the world.

Her fantastical contemplation was partially ruined by Ghost pressing his lips to her damp forehead.

"Go hide in that closet," he instructed softly, indicating a pair of before-unnoticed double doors along the wall. "Stay there until I say otherwise. I'll get rid of the piss-artist."

"But—"

Before she could fit in a protest or even ask what he was planning, Ghost had released his protective grip on her and nudged her in the direction of the closet. She turned around to say something, but Ghost silenced her with his hand over her mouth.

"Just go," he whispered.

"Wait!" she hissed from behind his hand. "Why—"

"Queen?" Chemo's head whipped in the direction of the sound. He chugged the last of the beer and kept the bottle in his hand for self-defense. "Is that you?"

"Hurry!" Ghost demanded sternly, reaching down to pick up his balaclava from the filthy tile floor. He flashed her a pleading look, then slipped the mask back over his handsome pale face. Restraining a groan, Mckinley ducked inside the cramped supply closet and shut the doors behind her. Through a narrow crack in the left door, she watched—bewildered—as Ghost snatched up a box of old laundry detergent from inside a cabinet.

What the hell is he doing?

Chemo was nearing Ghost's hiding spot behind the cabinets at a brisk pace, and Mckinley felt her breath hitch in her throat when Chemo's eyes scanned across the shadows concealing the masked man.

What is he planning? How is he going to prevent Chemo from finding me?

And then, as Chemo passed the cabinet he was standing behind, Ghost stepped out from the shadows with the detergent box in his hands. His eyes were glazed with an innocent, careless stare, but a mischievous wink aimed her way proved he knew exactly what he was doing… even though she had no clue.

Chemo reacted like anyone would. He recoiled instantly, waving the empty beer bottle in front of him like a dagger. The steps he took backwards were a bit wobbly, but he remained on his feet, prepared to defend himself against the intruder. Seconds passed, and soon his eyes squinted to recognize his lieutenant before him.

"Good God, sir!" Chemo gasped, lowering the bottle and regaining his balance. "You… you startled me."

Well, no duh. Hmm, a man wearing a black skull mask pops out of nowhere in the middle of a dark room, and you're "startled." OF COURSE YOU'RE STARTLED. I'd call you insane if you weren't! Mckinley suppressed a snicker. Wow, you must really get drunk, Chemo. Your mind isn't quite as up to par as usual.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ghost apologized nonchalantly. "Didn't mean to scare 'ya." He gazed down at the dusty box in his hand. "I was just doing some late-night laundry, and I couldn't find the detergent." Ghost's eyes grazed over Chemo's cigarette and hollow beer bottle. "Up for a drink and a smoke, eh?"

Taking a puff, Chemo replied. "I'm actually looking for Queen, believe it or not. She was supposed to come back to the infirmary after dinner, but she never showed up."

Mckinley cursed under her breath. Dammit. I forgot.

Ghost acted as if he was unaffected by Chemo's news, though Mckinley could tell by his standoffish, punctured tone that it had slipped his mind as well. She had to admit, Ghost was skilled in the art of camouflaging his emotions. From analyzing Chemo's facial expression, he seemed to have not noticed anything peculiar regarding Ghost's tart reply. "Maybe she wanted to sleep in her tent," he offered. "Her legs were feeling much better after you gave her those pills. She coulda' managed by herself."

"I checked her tent. She wasn't there."

"Maybe she's in the bathhouse?"

"Nope. Checked there, too."

"Mess hall?"

Chemo sighed. "Nope."

"Running the course?"

"At night? Queen running the course?" Laughing, Chemo fit a few hiccups into his bout. "Ghost, be honest. Do you really think someone like her will be staying up late to do exercise?"

Mckinley was caught completely off guard by her friend's nasty comment. She slammed her hands on her hips and gave Chemo a death-glare through the wooden door. That statement had been insulting and uncalled for. And apparently, Ghost thought so, too.

"Come off it, Harrison," Ghost murmured darkly, using Chemo's real last name to demonstrate his frigid seriousness. "You don't have to talk about a teammate like that." Mckinley felt her heart leap inside her chest cavity as he stood up for her. "She wouldn't be talking about you like that, and you're the resident alcoholic."

The cigarette in Chemo's lip was diminishing with each blow he took. By now, the reek of the smoke had drifted across the room and over to her hiding spot in the closet. Mckinley squeezed her nostrils shut with her fingers and narrowed her eyes.

I will not sneeze. I will not sneeze.

"What's your problem, Ghost?" Chemo inquired lazily, leaning his elbow on the running washing machine full of Mckinley's clothes. "Usually you're really cool about stuff. Y'know, easygoing and laid-back." A vile simper curled itself onto his mouth like a serpent. "What's got you acting all pissy?"

Ghost lowered his head, restraining himself from firing back a retort. "Corporal," he began slowly. "I do not permit my men to talk to me like that. I ask that you remember who you are speaking with before things get outta hand."

Behind the door, Mckinley pumped her fist. Go Ghost! Playing the "I'm Higher Than You On The Military Food Chain" card! Smart move!

Though the card was played, Chemo seemed to set the effect alight with another smoke cloud. It was as if Ghost hadn't even spoken—Chemo just went on talking to him like he was lower in rank and juvenile.

"Woah, something's sure got you worked up. What, did you ask Queen to do it with you and she refused?" Scoffing, Chemo rubbed his neck. "'Cause, hell, that would certainly piss off a lot of guys here."

Ghost just about exploded. The box of detergent fell downward, sending most of its contents spilling over his combat boots and mixing in with the puddles of muddy water coating the floor. Mckinley also saw Ghost's hands become fists of fury in milliseconds, ready to pummel Chemo to the ground. She shivered. This would not end well.

"Again, I request that you speak to me with respect, Harrison."

"Respect, sir?" Each sneer exiting Chemo's lips was accompanied by a trail of black vapor. He reminded Mckinley of a fire-breathing dragon, licking his lips and locking his eyes on the subject of his taunting; the cold gleam sparking in his eyes were like labyrinthine hallways that only someone as talented as Ghost could maneuver himself out of. Then, Mckinley's attention was brought to the empty bottle in Chemo's hand, how it was being held dangerously like a knife. What if the conversation grew into more than a verbal fight? That bottle could crack against Ghost's cranium and cause major skull damage if he wasn't careful. Chemo surely wasn't stupid enough to try something like that, though… right? And even if Chemo tried to attack, Ghost's reflexes were much more advanced than his. He could fend his own. He could block any attack. He wouldn't let that bottle anywhere near him.

"Chemo, I do realize that you are near intoxication. But I still expect you to show respect towards your C.O." Ghost crossed his arms. "You will be expelled from the Task Force if—"

"You know what?" The man wagged a grimy finger in Ghost's face. "I know what's got you so pissed. You're jealous. You're jealous of me, sir," he added hotly, emphasizing the word to only further aggravate Ghost. "You have the hots for Queenie, and whenever I call her babe and say she's sexy, you get jealous." He kept his finger pointing at Ghost's balaclava, not noticing the intense hatred burning in those pale blue eyes. "And you know what else?" Chemo paused, letting the words sink in. "I don't believe you're a very good influence for her. You're messed up in the head, right? Some shit happened to you in the past, and all you've done is hide behind a scary mask. Why are you suddenly first in line to have her? You fucking scare everyone shitless. There's not a sensible bone in your body! You shouldn't be the one to have Queen. Someone normal should. I should."

Mckinley couldn't take it any longer. With each crushing word spewing from between his teeth, her knuckles turned whiter while her nails dug into her palms. Her eyes became black coals, searing with fresh fire. The hatred she felt eclipsed any ability for rational, sane thought. This was war. Chemo was not going to bully the man she loved any longer. Nor would he get away with those offensive comments about her. If he were to remain her friend, he would learn to not degrade her. For a moment, Mckinley struggled to find any reason for Queen to have dealt with him so often. If he was like this every night, she'd scream.

Disregarding Ghost's earlier demand, Mckinley burst from the closet before the two men were locked in combat. She leapt between them—arms spread wide—and narrowed her eyes at the trash-talking soldier before her. Shock was apparent in his eyes, but she didn't care. Enough was enough.

"Shut up, you drunk bastard!" she spat. "If anyone's the bad influence around here, it's the wild alcoholic with no manners and a dirty mouth!"

Chemo flinched at the insults she fired back, cringing when the term 'alcoholic' was used.

Mckinley responded by taking a step closer to him. Their faces were now inches apart; he was backed up against one of the washing machines, and she was drawing nearer to add emphasis. Ghost displayed no intention of stopping her, which was a surprise. Hadn't he wanted to "handle" this on his own?

"Chemo, I'm tired of this!" she went on. "You get drunk, and then you let your mouth run like a broken faucet. You're one of the medical officers here, and you still don't realize how bad your drinking habits have become! That's really dangerous! What if you're drunk and someone needs you to mend their wound with stitches?"

"I d-don't drink during the d-daytime," Chemo sputtered quickly.

"But what if I were to accidentally hit my head on something, and I needed stitches right there and then? What if it couldn't wait until you were effing sober?"

"The other medical officer, Doc, could—"

"What if something happens to him, and he can't work? And you become the only capable person to sew stitches? What then?"

Suddenly, Mckinley felt a hand on the lower of her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she let her grey eyes find Ghost's blue ones, cautioning her to tread lightly in the direction she was headed. The consequences will be painful if you slip this up his eyes warned her. You could lose a friend.

I'm being careful she shot back mentally, hoping he understood.

Whatever you say. Nodding, Ghost began massaging along her spine, removing his gaze from hers and returning to glare at Chemo over Mckinley's shoulder.

Chemo never responded to her inquiry about the stitches. He was examining the toes of his shoes with interest, trying to block out any more of Mckinley's comments. His face had turned a deep shade of red from the overpowering guilt she was making him feel.

"Look, Chemo, you're definitely not a bad guy," Mckinley said softly; the anger in her eyes depleted somewhat. "You just need to work harder at purging yourself from a nasty habit, that's all. You need to think about the aftereffect your wild drinking might cause." The tone in her voice darkened. "And you could work on not insulting team members behind their backs… and showing more respect to higher ranks."

Chemo shuffled his feet. "I know…" He sighed, glancing up. Behind the hazy emerald color of his irises, sincere remorse gleamed radiantly. "I'm sorry, Queen…" Ghost cleared his throat, and Chemo's eyes widened. "Oh, and sir, I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to—"

Abruptly, Ghost interrupted Chemo's rant by pointing to the laundromat door. His blue eyes were stern. "You can save your apologies for another time, Corporal. Right now, I think you should be heading back to the barracks before anyone notices you're gone."

Wait, what the hell is Ghost doing? Chemo's saying he's sorry! Mckinley flashed Ghost a bewildered scowl, but the masked man paid no attention to her. He had something up his sleeve, apparently.

Chemo opened his mouth to object, but—realizing it would be a bad move—he immediately shut it, dipped his head to his C.O., forced a smile in Mckinley's direction, and plodded out the door.

Silence.

"Ghost?" she turned around and crossed her arms. "What the hell was that? He was apologizing! Why'd you make him leave?"

Ghost yanked his mask off and stuffed it in a random pocket of his Kevlar vest, making Mckinley's skin prickle and her heart pound yearningly away. At that moment, she wished she possessed a photographic memory. All the details of his face would take too long to memorize without it, though she was sure she could stare at him for hours. How could someone so perfect hide behind such an eccentric mask? And why hide that face?

"He was about to start ranting," Ghost explained. "I didn't want to hear it; he's already driven me spare with his profane comments 'bout you."

"Great," Mckinley murmured sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "So now he's gonna feel bad about it all night."

"Which will prevent him from drinking any more booze," added Ghost, leaning on a washing machine and pulling Mckinley over to lay on his chest. "He's learned his lesson."

Sighing, Mckinley snuggled closer to him and shut her eyes. "I hope so. He was really getting on my nerves with some of that stuff he said."

"Like claiming I asked you to have it off with me?" he chuckled, peering down at her.

"Yeah… wait, what are you referring to?" She had a feeling she understood, but his weird British lingo could get pretty cryptic when it wanted to be. She just wanted to be sure she'd heard him right.

"Oh… I forgot you're from America." He laid his chin on the top of her head. "I was talking about when Chemo said I was pissy because I might've asked you to 'do it' with me, as you Americans put it… is that right?"

She groaned and shuddered. "Sadly, yes."

Without warning, Ghost took her hands and stepped her back so they were face-to-face. A bemused expression hung on his Ewan McGregor-like face.

"Hang on—what's the matter with that sorta stuff?" He frowned. "You not the kind to talk about it?"

Her eyes darted about the laundry room in a frenzy. Oh God, is he gonna think I'm some sort of person who fears sex? Great… that's just what I need… to be considered a coward. "Uh… nothing's the matter," she muttered evasively. "I don't know… I mean, I can talk about it, it's just—"

Ghost took that moment to interrupt her with one of the most alarming sentences Mckinley had ever heard. At any other time, during any other conversation with any other person, she'd know they were just joking; just trying to make her laugh, trying to break the tension between them. But, with Ghost's entire face flooding with passion and his grip on her hands growing firmer by the second, Mckinley knew that Ghost wasn't messing around. He was deadly serious.

"So…" he hesitated only for a millisecond before continuing, "What if I asked you to have it off with me right now?"

DUNN DUNN DUNN

Man, Dunn is not gonna be happy that I used this thing twice. XD