Chapter 38:

"Time"

Day 8 – 21:01:32

Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front

Task Force 141

Georgian-Russian Border

The minutes still continued to drag past her, even after a good shuffle through her music. Not even The Rolling Stones or Styx could entertain her long enough before she grew antsy. Waiting for Ghost to return seemed to take longer than he'd promised, and that irritated her. Why wasn't she down there with them? Yes, she was perfectly aware of her injuries. But MacTavish had almost identical—if not more detrimental—wounds than she had. There was no objection as he hung around downstairs with the others, absorbing the good news. Had Chemo and Doc said anything to him about lying down? Probably not. This certain predicament even caused Mckinley to consider taking matters into her own hands by venturing downstairs herself, but the throbbing in her abdomen said otherwise.

For the most part, Mckinley remained immobile on her small portion of the bedroom floor, if you neglected to consider the instances when she was imitating a feeble guitar solo with her hands or mouthing the words to "Sweet Child O' Mine." She was downright bored, and her only available escape from this overwhelming boredom was her iPod and the range of music it supplied.

It just so happened that as Mckinley tried to leave her unproductive minutes in the dust with a heavy bout of AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap," Ghost came to rescue her. Practically throwing the door off its hinges in the process, he staggered into the room, out of breath and with eyes wide. AC/DC was interrupted, and Mckinley sat up and screeched in response. Yet again she found her heart rate skyrocket, triggering Mckinley's train of thought to swerve back on the subject of Loose Ends. Her blood had pumped just as frantically then. This revolting sensation frightened her even more, and though she had instantly identified the intruder as Ghost, she continued to wail in alarm.

"Holy—"

Ghost's gloved hand secured a place over her mouth before a foul string of curses could break loose.

"Shh… love, it's jus' me." The gentleness knitted inside his tone soothed Mckinley as soon as the words met her ears. Her panicked expression, partially hidden behind his warm gray glove, relaxed. Slowly, she exited his grasp.

"You scared me," was all she felt capable of saying. Blood still pounded in her ears.

"I'm sorry 'bout that," he responded calmly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I have good news that I wanna share with you."

Mckinley attempted to locate his blue irises behind the tinted shades on his face, but it was to no avail. She sighed.

"Good news," she echoed. "You really did find something on the DSM that will clear everyone's names?"

When he nodded, she felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

Awesome. So we eventually do find a way to prove we're the good guys, and that Shepherd betrayed us. Maybe he won't be receiving a burial at Arlington, after all. In your face, Shepherd!

Before asking her next question, Mckinley decided to take things steady. She was determined to discover everything she could about the situation before she was transported back to her time. If she knew enough, Mckinley would be fine when handling the same circumstances again. She chose to ask the simplest question there was, with not much thought added to her reasoning.

"Will… will the information let us go back home?"

Almost immediately, Mckinley recoiled in shock. She hadn't meant to do it in the slightest, but she had heard her voice distinctly, and it had come out quietly and innocently. Why was this so? Was it because adrenaline was only just reaching the outer portions of her body? Was she still frightened by the flashback of Loose Ends? Was her gentle tone caused by the mental images of Encounter Base still pinned inside her unconscious? She knew it was definitely not a voice she'd hoped to use in front of Ghost, for it made her sound infantile. But Ghost chuckled at its soft sound, seeming to relish in the childlike tone. Her naiveté amused him.

"Of course." Ghost traced a finger along the curve of her jaw. "Once we send the information to the American government, they can clear Soap and Price's names, and disregard the declaration of KIA for the rest of us."

A delicate smile came across Mckinley's face. Perfect. Things get resolved. I'm not KIA for long, and Price and Soap aren't wanted when we go back home. A happy ending after all?

Abruptly, Ghost stood up from his kneeling position. He offered her his hand and let his hidden gaze lock onto her. "You wanna come downstairs and see wha' we found?"

Mckinley's mouth contorted into a sarcastic smirk. Playfulness coiled beneath the flare of her lips.

"No… I'm totally fine up here by myself."

It took Ghost a moment to respond. His head tilted to the side a bit, displaying his utter confusion, confusion that mildly astonished Mckinley. "Are…are you sure?" he asked.

The playfulness on her face disintegrated. "Seriously, Simon? Seriously?"

"What, you were jokin'?"

"Yes." Steadily, Mckinley took Ghost's hand and hauled herself up from the floor. Shooting pain honed in on her once again, but she fought past it. "I was joking. Now can we get downstairs so I can see all the amazing crap you found while I was up here by myself?"

"It's all of Shepherd's records. Apparently he kept every transcript of his dialogue with Makarov, and also with other members of the Ultranationalist party." Archer tapped his fingertips on the screen of the computer to indicate portions of the decoded information. "I read a bit into them." He paused to look back at MacTavish. "You were right, sir. He was the one who told Makarov Joseph Allen's identity." At the mention of the Joseph, Mckinley cringed and curled tighter against Ghost's body, which was supporting her as the team stood around the computer.

"Does it say anything about where the Moscow massacre came from?" Price inquired. He stood to the left of Mckinley and Ghost with his arms crossed across his chest. "Was it Shepherd or Makarov who came up with the idea?"

A congregation of murmurs traveled throughout the group.

"The text isn't too clear about it." Archer designated another section of the screen. "To me, it seems like they both were in agreement from the beginning. But Shepherd, in his words, supplies much of the concept. Makarov just fills in the blanks."

"So Shepherd comes up with the idea, Makarov likes it and agrees to follow through with it," Rocket summarized briefly.

"Shepherd supplies the American and instructs Makarov to leave the massacre at Allen's feet," Taco added.

The discussion was becoming extremely heated. Mckinley suddenly had the urge to speak, but she didn't exactly know how to intervene at such a moment. Was now the right time for her big confession? When they were thrashing about such an intense matter? Price had virtually pleaded with her to get it over with, and now that she was downstairs with them…

"Guys?" she tried, softly at first.

"This causes all of Russia to go to war with the U.S., leaving Makarov time to build up his followers and retake the country." Doc let his stern face break a bit to let in a shudder. He apparently didn't hear Mckinley, so she attempted again.

"Guys?"

"Don't forget that it also gives Shepherd a blank check when he promises he'll do everything in his power to kill Makarov," Toad reminded them.

"And when he realizes that the Task Force he's in command of has pinpointed the location of Makarov's safehouse where all of his information is stored, he comes up with a plan to frame them, and this action succeeds and makes him a war hero," MacTavish said with an icy tone.

"Guys?"

Mckinley was growing impatient. Not even Ghost, who was holding her, seemed to hear her voice above the others.

What am I, invisible? Come on, now. So I'm injured. So I'm a chick. So I'm a freaking redhead. They need to quit their yap and listen to me!

"And with him now dead, he gets a burial at Arlington," Archer concluded, fuming. "The bloody arsehole gets one of the highest honors in the military, even when he caused the massacre, framed us, pulled a gun on Queen and Ghost, beat up Price, and stabbed 'Tavish!"

"Guys!"

Everyone looked at Mckinley at the same time.

"What?"

Before she could restrain herself from letting the words pour out her mouth, they came surging from the binds she had constructed, formed plainly and in the only way she knew how.

"I'm seventeen."