BY ANY OTHER NAME
Chapter 5: Access denied
Summary: After weeks of distance, old bonds begin to mend, but the deeper Task Force 141 digs into your life, the more impossible it becomes to separate truth from secrets.
Pairings: Poly!Tf141 x Reader
Words: 6.5k
Previous / Next / Masterlist
Warnings: mentions of home invasion, slight mention of smut btw Gaz and Johnny
Author’s note: I’m going on vacation so next chapter will be up the 31th!! Ps finally showing Gaz love!!
Disclaimer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating,- imitating this work )
Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!
Footsteps.
Yes.
Footsteps.
Your fingers tightened around the pistol until your knuckles turned white.
Footsteps.
The sound was unmistakable.
Not the old pipes groaning beneath the floorboards. Not your cat padding lazily across the apartment. Not the settling creaks every building made after sunset.
Footsteps, slow and measured.
Somewhere beyond your bedroom door.
Every instinct screamed at you to move, yet your body refused. You remained rooted to the spot, every muscle drawn painfully tight as your breathing caught somewhere behind your ribs. The ringing inside your ears was so loud that, for one terrifying second, you wondered whether you had imagined them.
Then they came again.
One.
Two.
Three.
The sound drifted down the narrow hallway before stopping altogether.
Silence. The apartment fell deathly still. You stayed where you were.
Five seconds, ten, twenty…
Nothing.
Your pulse continued hammering against your throat, but your breathing gradually steadied, each inhale a fraction deeper than the last as years of training slowly forced their way through the panic clouding your thoughts.
You adjusted your grip around the pistol and raised it properly, your support hand sliding into place beneath the frame with mechanical familiarity. The weapon no longer trembled.
Keeping your shoulders square, you edged towards the bedroom door.
The hallway beyond lay empty beneath the warm amber glow of the wall lamps. Their soft light stretched long shadows across the wooden floor, turning familiar corners into strange shapes that seemed to shift every time your eyes lingered on them for too long.
You waited and listened.
Nothing.
One careful step carried you into the corridor. And then another one. You had memorized that the boards made less noise, so you could make as little noise as possible.
The gun’s muzzle followed your gaze as you checked every doorway exactly the way countless hours of training had taught you to. Bathroom. Empty. The dresser. Empty.
You reached the staircase and descended one step at a time, your back brushing lightly against the wall to minimize your silhouette and you stepped carefully close to the wall where, due to the pressure, your steps made less noise.
The living room greeted you exactly as you had left it.
The lamp you had knocked over during your sprint upstairs still rested on its side, its warm light spilling across the rug in a crooked pool of gold. Your cat’s favourite toy mouse lay abandoned beneath the coffee table, and the untouched mug of tea you'd made some hours earlier sat cooling on the kitchen counter, a thin skin forming across its surface.
Everything looked normal.
You continued clearing the apartment. The kitchen, the utility room, the small bathroom for guests. You checked every corner, every blind spot.
Nothing.
Finally, you approached the front door. The deadbolt remained locked and the chain was still fastened.
Your fingers hovered over the handle before checking it anyway.
It didn't move. You sign, trying to rationalised it. No broken lock, no forced entry and no sign that anyone had ever been there.
You stood motionless in the centre of the apartment, the pistol still raised as your eyes travelled slowly from one familiar object to the next.
The kitchen remained untouched and the living room was exactly as you had left it. Nothing was missing, nor had anything been disturbed.
Your breathing finally slowed.
Perhaps the footsteps were just a squirrel running on your rooftop, or maybe a sparrow, maybe? Perhaps your nerves had woven every creak of the building into something far more sinister after everything that had happened that evening.
That had to be it. No one was here.
Keeping the pistol in your right hand, now lowered, you reached up with your left and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to ease the ache that had settled there from holding yourself so rigidly for so long. Every muscle in your body protested as the adrenaline slowly began to ebb away, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to buckle your knees.
You turned towards the staircase. One step. Then another.
The silence inside the apartment no longer felt threatening.
Your shoulders loosened for the first time since you heard the footsteps when you reached the upper floor. What you wanted most at that moment was to take a hot shower that would finally relax your back muscles.
You stood in the doorway of your room and exhaled deeply as you closed your eyes.
That was your mistake.
The impact came without warning.
Something struck the back of your head with crushing force.
White-hot pain exploded through your skull, so sudden and violent that your vision fractured into flashes of light. Your fingers convulsed instinctively around the pistol before it slipped from your grasp, clattering loudly across the wooden floor.
You stumbled forward, one hand shooting out to catch yourself against the wardrobe, but your arm refused to obey. The corridor twisted unnaturally around you, the floor pitching beneath your feet as though the entire apartment had begun to tilt.
You forced yourself to breathe, you tried to get up again, you tried to identify the threat, to recover your weapon, to fight. You tried to turn but our body barely moved, the blinding pain echoed behind your eyes and even your gums hurt.
The world had already begun dissolving into a blur of amber light and indistinct shadows. A shape shifted somewhere at the very edge of your vision, impossible to focus on before darkness swallowed it again.
And finally, you lost consciousness.
The last thing you heard was the drumming of your pulse, with your head against the wooden floor.
Then...
Nothing.
The Pack House was unusually quiet.
The low murmur of the television drifted lazily through the living room, accompanied only by the rhythmic ticking of the old clock mounted above the fireplace. The evening’s light filtered through the windows overlooking, painting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor. His boots rested neatly beside the entrance, and his weapons had already been cleaned and locked away after the training exercise they had been sent to, and somewhere on the other end of the hallway Ghost was taking the world's longest shower, judging by the constant rush of water echoing through the pipes.
Kyle sat alone on the sofa.
A mug of tea had gone cold on the table beside him, untouched except for the faint ring it had left on the wood. Every few minutes he would scroll absentmindedly through another report before stopping again, staring at nothing in particular while pretending to read.
He hadn't slept much either.
The front door opened with the familiar scrape of old hinges.
Johnny stepped inside, quietly enough that he hoped nobody would notice him. He shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the rack beside the entrance and paused for a second when he spotted Kyle in the living room. For a moment he considered walking towards his room without saying anything.
However, we decided otherwise.
He sighed almost imperceptibly and his boots crossed the wooden floor with slow, measured steps until he stopped beside the sofa.
Kyle didn't look up "You back already?" His voice was calm.
"Aye."
Another silence settled between them.
Johnny shifted awkwardly on his feet before lowering himself onto the opposite end of the sofa. The familiar cushions dipped beneath his weight, but neither of them spoke. The television continued playing to an audience that wasn't watching, filling the room with meaningless background noise while the distance between them felt infinitely larger than the few feet separating their shoulders.
"I've missed ye." Johnny rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
"That's funny." Kyle gave a humourless smile.
Johnny frowned "It is?"
Johnny lowered his gaze to his hands. Calloused knuckles with healing cuts and fresh bruises earned somewhere halfway across the world only days before. He knew how to dismantle explosives in complete darkness, how to clear buildings room by room and how to keep calm while bullets flew inches from his head but none of it had ever taught him how to fix this.
"I've been an arse." Began Johnny slowly.
Kyle let out a quiet breath through his nose. "You have."
"I know." Johnny nodded slowly and silence settled over them once again before he finally found the courage to continue. "I dinnae know what's happening tae me, Kyle."
Gaz didn't answer.
Johnny wasn't even sure he expected him to.
"Every time I'm around her, it's like something in me keeps pulling me closer. I cannae explain it. I dinnae know why. I dinnae even know if it's me or if it's just..." He let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. "Hell, I dinnae know what it is."
Kyle's eyes remained fixed on the dark television screen and Johnny shifted slightly on the sofa, his forearms resting loosely against his knees as he stared down at his hands for a moment, as if trying to piece together something that refused to settle into words.
"It's no' like I just... forget everything else when I'm around her," he continued more quietly, his voice lacking the certainty it had carried before. "It's just... loud, I guess. Hard tae ignore."
He let out a small breath, almost a laugh, though there was no humour in it.
"And then I come back here and it's..." He trailed off, glancing briefly around the room before his eyes flickered back tae Kyle. "Different."
Kyle finally looked at him.
Johnny didn't hold his gaze this time. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders tightening slightly as if bracing himself.
"I've been trying tae make sense o' it," he admitted, softer now. "Havenae managed yet."
There was a pause, not quite silence, but close enough that the ticking clock seemed louder than before.
"But none o' that changes..." He hesitated, choosing his words more carefully this time. "What this is. What we've got."
Kyle's expression shifted, subtle but noticeable and Johnny gave a small, uncertain smile.
"I'm no’ going anywhere." Johnny reached up, rubbing a tired hand across his face before letting out a long breath."I dinnae want her instead o' ye." His voice was quiet now. "I want... all o' this."
He gestured vaguely around the room, though it was obvious he wasn't talking about the furniture.
"Our pack. You. Simon. The Captain." Another pause. "And... somehow... her too."
Kyle studied him for a long moment, watching every tiny movement in Johnny's face. There was no guilt hidden there. No deception, only confusion, exhaustion, and the desperate hope that the man sitting beside him would still believe him.
"I've never doubted that you love me," Kyle admitted quietly as his fingers curled together in his lap. "I just started wondering whether you still saw me."
The words landed like a knife and Johnny's shoulders dropped.
"I've always seen ye." He murmured.
"No." Kyle shook his head. "You looked through me."
The honesty hurt far more than shouting ever could. Johnny turned towards him completely and without thinking too much about it, he reached across the sofa and carefully intertwined their fingers.
Kyle's hand tensed instinctively and, for a heartbeat, Johnny thought he was going to pull away. But he didn't.
His fingers remained exactly where they were, warm against Johnny's palm despite the stiffness still lingering in his wrist.
Johnny smiled faintly. "There ye are."
Kyle finally looked at him.
The silence stretched again, though it no longer felt quite as hostile as before. It carried something softer now, something familiar. Like a bridge that had begun to rebuild itself plank by plank.
Johnny leaned forward until only a breath separated them, giving Kyle every opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. He didn't.
Their lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that carried weeks of distance between them. It was gentle at first, almost cautious, as though both of them were afraid that moving too quickly might shatter the fragile peace they had only just begun to rebuild.
Johnny's hand rose instinctively to cup Kyle's cheek. His thumb brushed softly across the warm skin beneath his eye, and he felt Kyle lean into the touch before he even realised he was doing it.
"There ye are..." Johnny whispered and Kyle smiled faintly, a light red blushing his cheeks.
The next kiss lasted longer. There was still nothing hurried about it, but the uncertainty that had lingered between them began to melt away with every passing second. Johnny smiled against Kyle's lips, earning a quiet laugh that he could feel more than hear.
The familiar scent that always surrounded Kyle, sweet raspberries, fresh linen and a hint of cinnamon began to intensify as the tension drained from his shoulders. Betas rarely released enough pheromones for anyone outside their pack to notice, but Johnny had spent years learning every subtle shift. Relief had its own scent.
Without meaning to, Johnny answered. Warm cedar, black tea and baked apples settled quietly around them, replacing the sharper edge of guilt that had clung to him ever since they had returned from deployment.
Kyle breathed him in with a contented sigh. "I've missed that."
"Ma smell?"
"You."
Johnny laughed softly. "That's better."
Kyle reached up, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Johnny's neck before drawing him into another kiss. This one lingered, slower and deeper than the last, until they were both smiling for no reason other than the simple comfort of having found one another again.
Johnny rested his forehead against Kyle's and for a moment neither of them spoke.
Their breathing gradually settled into the same rhythm, and Johnny could hear the steady beat of Kyle's heart from where they sat, close enough that every quiet breath seemed shared between them.
Some instinct buried deep beneath conscious thought finally relaxed.
Home.
Kyle's fingers drifted lazily down from Johnny's neck, smoothing the collar of his shirt before coming to rest against his chest. Johnny caught his hand before it could fall away and pressed a brief kiss into his palm.
Kyle's smile grew warmer without taking his eyes off Johnny, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He lifted his arms with an exaggerated sigh, letting Kyle pull the shirt free before it landed somewhere forgotten on the floor beside the sofa.
"Better?"
Kyle's gaze lingered on the bruises scattered across Johnny's shoulders and ribs. His fingertips traced carefully around one already turning yellow at the edges, taking care not to press against the healing skin. Kyle answered by leaning in to press a lingering kiss against his shoulder before finding his lips again.
Johnny's arm slipped naturally around Kyle's waist, drawing him closer until there was hardly any space left between them. Kyle shifted without a word, one knee settling comfortably on the cushion beside Johnny before he slowly curled against him, his forehead brushing Johnny's once more.
Neither of them seemed interested in counting how many kisses followed after that.
They simply happened. Slowly. Naturally.
Each one carrying away another little piece of the distance that had separated them.
At some point Johnny leaned back against the arm of the sofa, laughing quietly as Kyle followed without protest, settling comfortably against him. The blanket draped across the backrest slipped loose as Johnny pulled it absent-mindedly over them both.
The television continued murmuring to an audience that wasn't listening.
The sunset stretched a little further across the wooden floor.
Down the hallway, the shower still hadn't stopped running.
Hidden beneath the blanket, Kyle's hand found Johnny's once more, their bodies intertwining as another quiet kiss stole the words and gasps from between them.
Whatever remained of the conversation could wait until later. For now, the rest of the house was content to leave them in peace.
Steam still clung faintly to the upstairs landing by the time Simon finally emerged from the bathroom, a dark towel hanging loosely around the back of his neck as he rubbed absentmindedly at his damp hair.
He hadn't spent nearly that long beneath the hot water because he needed the shower.
He'd needed the distance.
The moment Johnny had sat down beside Kyle downstairs, Simon had caught the subtle shift in the air. Betas never filled a room with pheromones the way an Alpha could, yet to someone with senses as keen as his, the changes were unmistakable. Weeks of frustration had slowly dissolved into something warmer, softer. The familiar scents that had always defined the two men, Johnny's cedar and Kyle's rain-soaked linen touched with cinnamon had begun to settle together once more.
From upstairs, Simon hadn't heard a single sentence they exchanged. He hadn't needed to, his mind and his senses were occupied by other things.
Occasionally the quiet murmurs and gasps of their voices drifted through the floorboards, followed by long stretches of comfortable moans that somehow spoke louder than conversation ever could. Once or twice he'd heard a muffled laugh, so unfamiliar after the past few weeks that it had almost made him smile despite himself.
Later, there had been no voices at all, only the occasional creak of the old sofa downstairs, the faint rustle of a blanket, the quiet rhythm of two heartbeats settling into the same peaceful cadence and the quiet moans that escaped between their lips.
His instincts had stirred almost immediately.
Every Alpha possessed an innate drive to gather the members of their pack close, especially after conflict had been resolved. Some irrational part of him had wanted to walk downstairs, make sure they were both alright, settle beside them and let the familiar comfort of shared scents wash through the house.
He hadn't, this wasn't his moment. Johnny and Kyle needed one another far more than they needed him.
So Simon had stayed exactly where he was, letting the hot water drum steadily against his shoulders until the restless pain beneath his legs gradually eased into something quieter. By the time he finally switched off the shower, the house itself seemed calmer.
The scents drifting up from the living room carried none of the uncertainty that had haunted the Pack House since returning from deployment.
Home, their home.
The familiar scent of cedar lingered in the air behind him as he made his way down the staircase, disappearing into the warmth of the living room.
He had expected to find the television abandoned; instead, he stopped halfway down the stairs.
Johnny lay stretched comfortably along one end of the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head while the other rested securely around Kyle's waist. His T-shirt had long since disappeared somewhere onto the living-room floor, leaving the fading bruises scattered across his shoulders plainly visible beneath the morning light.
Kyle had surrendered completely to exhaustion.
He lay curled against Johnny's bare chest, one hand resting loosely over his ribs while his cheek rose and fell with every slow, steady breath. A blanket had slipped carelessly over the pair of them sometime during the evening, doing little to hide just how naturally they had settled together.
Johnny looked up as Simon appeared from the hallway. Their eyes met but neither of them spoke immediately.
There was no embarrassment in Johnny's expression, only the quiet, contented look of someone whose world had finally clicked back into place.
Simon's gaze drifted briefly towards the sleeping beta nestled against Johnny before returning to him again.
"Everything alright?"
"Aye." Johnny's smile was small and tired.
His fingers absentmindedly brushed a few curls away from Kyle's forehead before lingering there, tracing lightly along his temple. After another moment he bent just enough to press a featherlight kiss into Kyle's hair, careful not to wake him.
"I think we both needed it."
Something softened almost imperceptibly in Simon's expression. He gave a single nod before continuing towards the kitchen. The room smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread from earlier thatday. Simon filled the kettle, waited in silence as the water began to boil and prepared himself another mug before returning to the living room. He settled into the armchair opposite the sofa, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic as the rising steam briefly fogged his vision.
Johnny hadn't moved and Kyle was still asleep against him.
The only sounds filling the room were the quiet murmur of the television and the occasional whistle of the kettle cooling on the kitchen counter.
Simon took a slow sip before speaking. "I asked around."
Johnny looked over and Simon shrugged lightly.
"Thought maybe there was a Sebastian transferred into the building while we were deployed." Johnny straightened ever so slightly as Simon continued speaking "There isn't."
"The other accommodation blocks?"
"Checked those too."
"Nothing?" Johnny frowned.
Simon shook his head. "Nobody called Sebastian assigned to this sector. Not here. Not Building B. Not the adjacent barracks."
Silence settled between them.
"Maybe he's deployed." Johnny glanced down unconsciously at Kyle sleeping against his chest before lifting his eyes back towards Simon.
"I thought that." Simon rested his mug on one knee. "But if he's stationed somewhere else, why isn't there any trace of him?"
Johnny didn't answer immediately. His thumb continued absentmindedly tracing slow circles against Kyle's shoulder, more focused on comforting the sleeping beta than on the movement itself.
Simon watched him for another moment before quietly adding, "I keep thinking about what I told you."
Johnny already knew what he meant. "The pistol." He nodded.
Simon nodded once. "I've seen people sleep armed before." His voice remained as calm and matter-of-fact as ever. "Usually because they expect to need it."
"I know." Johnny let out a slow breath.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Outside, a pair of recruits jogged past the front windows, their muffled voices disappearing almost as quickly as they'd arrived. Somewhere deeper inside the house, an old pipe creaked softly before falling silent again.
Johnny lowered his eyes. "I can't shake the feeling we're missing something."
Simon stared quietly into his coffee. "So can't I."
Another silence stretched comfortably between them before Simon finally looked back towards Johnny.
"I think it's time we stopped asking questions around the barracks." Johnny's brow lifted but Simon held his gaze. "And started asking questions somewhere people can actually tell us no."
Johnny understood immediately. Military records, personnel files, official databases…
For the first time since Reader had walked into their lives, the uneasy feeling in both their stomachs began to settle into something far more dangerous.
Suspicion.
Price's office was exactly what anyone would expect from a man who had spent more of his life on deployment than behind a desk.
Maps covered one wall from floor to ceiling, each one crowded with coloured pins, handwritten notes and circles drawn in permanent marker from operations long since completed. A kettle steamed quietly on a cabinet beneath the window, filling the room with the comforting scent of black tea, while stacks of neatly organised mission reports occupied almost every spare inch of the battered wooden desk at the centre of the room.
John Price sat behind it, reading through the latest debrief from their deployment with a pencil tucked behind one ear.
Three sharp knocks interrupted his concentration.
"Come in." He answered and the door opened almost immediately.
Soap stepped inside first, Ghost following a pace behind before quietly closing the door.
Price looked up over the top of the report and he didn't miss the brief glance they exchanged, nor the fact that neither of them had come in making jokes. That alone was enough to tell him this wasn't a social visit.
He placed the paperwork aside. "What's happened?"
Neither of them answered straight away. Soap rubbed the back of his neck and Ghost remained standing with his arms folded, watching the room in the same silent way he watched everything else.
Finally, Johnny spoke:
"We need a favour."
"Depends what kind." Price leaned back slightly in his chair.
"We've been trying to find someone."
Price's brow lifted. "Who?"
"Sebastian."
The name meant nothing to him.
"The husband?" Price frowned.
Johnny nodded once. "We've asked around."
"No one knows him." Ghost answered.
"We've checked the accommodation blocks." Johnny continued.
"Nothing."
"The deployment lists."
"Nothing."
Price's expression remained unreadable. "So… let it go."
Ghost shook his head. "We can't."
Price's eyes shifted towards him. "And why's that?" He said, leaning back and resting his elbows on the table.
Ghost hesitated. For perhaps the first time since Price had met him, Simon Riley looked as though he were carefully weighing how much he could say.
"There are things that don't add up."
Price waited and Ghost continued.
"She's scared."
The word lingered between them.
Soap looked down briefly before meeting Price's gaze again.
"I know how this sounds."
"Do you?"
"Aye." He sighed. "But something's wrong."
Price remained silent.
Johnny took another step closer to the desk.
"We're not asking you to investigate her. We're just asking you to help us make sure we're wrong."
That sentence finally caught Price's attention. He studied both men for several long seconds. They looked worried, genuinely worried.
Price let out a slow breath through his nose before reaching for the cap resting on the corner of his desk.
"If we're doing this..." He stood. "...we're doing it properly."
He pulled the cap onto his head, straightened the brim almost absentmindedly and reached for the identification wallet tucked inside one of the desk drawers.
Ghost uncrossed his arms and Soap's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Price locked the office door behind him before looking briefly at both of them.
"Let's go see Personnel."
"The administrative wing occupied one of the oldest buildings on the base.
Unlike the training grounds, where shouted orders and the sharp crack of rifle fire never truly ceased, these corridors lived beneath a different kind of discipline. Fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead, reflecting against polished linoleum floors that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper. Metal filing cabinets lined the walls outside several offices, their drawers labelled with decades of military bureaucracy, while officers moved quietly between departments carrying folders thick enough to disappear beneath their arms.
John Price hated this building.
He would rather spend three days crawling through freezing mud than spend ten minutes arguing with administration.
Yet here he was.
His boots echoed steadily down the corridor as Ghost and Soap followed half a pace behind, neither of them speaking. Task Force 141 rarely wandered into the administrative offices unless something had gone spectacularly wrong, and more than one clerk looked up from their paperwork as the three men passed.
Price stopped at the reception desk.
A young woman sat behind it, her dark hair pinned neatly into a bun while she typed steadily away at a keyboard, barely glancing up from the monitor.
"Morning, love."
She looked up briefly.
"Captain." She greeted him politely.
Price smiled beneath his moustache, resting one forearm casually against the counter.
“I need a favor, love.”
A sarcastic smile escaped her lips.
“Right, tell me about it.”
“Come on, love. Just a small little favor.” Price said, smiling as he leaned across the desk just enough to lower his voice. His easy smile had talked more than one stubborn officer into signing paperwork they had sworn they never would.
“I can’t help you with any more favours, Captain.” An annoyed smile escaped her lips.
“You got your nails done. Gorgeous, this is definitely your color." He said, gently taking her hand and turning it slightly to admire the fresh burgundy polish.
She looked down at the fresh coat of deep burgundy polish before slowly raising an eyebrow.
"...What’s my name again?"
Price's smile widened, the faintest wink accompanying it.
"Margaret."
There was a pause, then the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Bastard."
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have." She sighed before turning back towards her keyboard. "What are you looking for?"
Behind Price, Soap slowly raised an eyebrow.
Ghost's eyes flickered briefly towards him before meeting Soap's.
The two exchanged a quick glance that landed somewhere between amused and mildly impressed.
Neither of them looked particularly worried. They trusted Price completely. If the Captain was laying the charm on thick, it wasn't because he had any interest in the woman behind the desk.
It was because he wanted information.
Even so, Soap couldn't help wondering exactly how many administrative favours the Captain had managed to sweet-talk out of her over the years.
"A service record."
"Name?"
"Sebastian."
Her fingers paused over the keys.
"Surname?"
"Don't have one."
She looked up again.
"Rank?"
"No."
"Unit?"
"No."
Margaret stared at him for several silent seconds.
"You've given me absolutely nothing."
"I've given you a first name."
"You've given me one of the most common first names in England."
Soap quietly cleared his throat behind him.
Price simply smiled again.
"Work your magic, love."
As Margaret rolled her eyes and finally began typing, Price caught Ghost and Soap watching him from the corner of his eye.
Without saying a word, he gave the smallest shake of his head and silently mouthed, Behave.
Soap bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
Ghost merely looked away, though the faintest twitch beneath his mask suggested he wasn't entirely unimpressed by the performance either.
The computer responded almost instantly as databases opened one after another across the screen. Personnel records. Current deployments. Reserve forces. NATO assignments.
Nothing.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Hm."
Another search.
Different spelling.
Nothing.
Another.
Still nothing.
"This is odd..."
She reached for the mouse and clicked a different database. The loading symbol spun for a few seconds before a small notification window appeared across the centre of the monitor.
ACCESS RESTRICTED
Her fingers stopped moving and Price noticed immediately.
"What was that?" He asked.
Margaret frowned.
"Nothing."
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you've just found something."
She hesitated.
"I've found... something."
While Soap leaned forward instinctively, Ghost remained perfectly still.
Price rested both hands against the edge of the reception desk.
"And?" He murmured.
Margaret looked back towards the screen.
"I can't open it."
"Why not?"
"It requires clearance above mine."
Price reached calmly into the inside pocket of his jacket before producing his identification wallet and placing it on the desk.
"Use mine."
She looked from the credentials to Price and then back to the screen.
But before she could answer, a calm voice echoed from somewhere deeper inside the office.
"That won't be necessary."
All four of them turned.
An older man wearing the insignia of a full colonel stepped through the doorway leading into the secure records office. His uniform was immaculate, silver hair combed neatly back, every movement carrying the effortless confidence of someone who had spent decades expecting to be obeyed.
His eyes settled first on Price, then Ghost, and then Soap. Finally, he looked towards Margaret.
"Leave us."
She didn't hesitate before answering "Yes, sir."
She stood, offered the three members of the Task Force an apologetic glance and quietly disappeared through the adjoining office, closing the door behind her.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
The colonel approached the reception desk with slow, measured steps before resting one hand lightly against its polished wooden surface.
"Captain Price."
“Colonel." Price inclined his head politely.
"I understand you're making enquiries regarding a classified individual."
"I'm trying to identify a serviceman." Price neither confirmed nor denied it.
"You are trying to access information beyond your level of authorisation."
The statement was delivered without hostility, without accusation, merely as a fact.
Price held the colonel's gaze.
"My clearance is sufficient for most things."
"It is." The colonel nodded once. "This isn't most things."
A long silence settled between them and Soap shifted his weight from one side to another.
"So there is a file." Johnny said in an accusatory tone.
"I didn't say that." The colonel's expression didn't change.
Ghost folded his arms. "But you didn't deny it either."
For the first time, the colonel looked directly at him. "No." He paused. "I denied your access."
Price's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I don't like being told to walk away from something that could concern one of my people." He murmured between his teeths.
The colonel regarded him for several long seconds before answering.
"If it concerns one of your people..." His voice remained perfectly even. "...then someone above both of us is already dealing with it."
Neither Ghost nor Soap liked that answer. Neither did Price.
"This conversation is over." The colonel stepped back from the desk, his eyes moved briefly between the three men.
No one spoke.
After another moment, Price picked up his identification wallet and slipped it back inside his jacket.
"Understood."
"Good day, Captain." The colonel inclined his head.
The three men left the office without another word. Only once the heavy door clicked shut behind them did Soap finally exhale.
"What the hell was that?"
Price stared down the length of the empty hallway, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
"That..." he said quietly, "...was someone telling us to stop asking questions."
Ghost exchanged a brief glance with Soap.
For some reason neither of them could yet explain, that answer worried them far more than any personnel file ever could have.
The Pack House had settled into its usual night rhythm by the time the three men returned.
The morning sun had given way to a sky of heavy grey clouds that cast a muted light through the living room windows, leaving the house wrapped in a comfortable half-shadow. Somewhere near the kitchen, the washing machine hummed steadily through another cycle while the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee still lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of gun oil and old wood that seemed permanently woven into the walls.
Kyle sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, several cables snaking between two open laptops while lines of code streamed endlessly across both screens. A portable hard drive rested beside him, connected to one machine by an assortment of adapters that looked incomprehensible to anyone who hadn't spent years working in signals intelligence.
He barely acknowledged the front door opening or the three pairs of heavy footsteps told him exactly who had arrived.
He continued typing. "So," he said without looking up, "either someone declared war..." His fingers never stopped moving. "...or you've all come to ruin my night."
Nobody answered immediately.
Kyle smiled faintly to himself. "I'll take that as the second one."
Johnny exchanged a quick glance with Ghost before stepping further into the room. "Kyle..."
That alone was enough, Gaz stopped typing. Slowly, he lifted his head as his eyes moved from Johnny to Ghost.
Then to Price. The Captain stood with both hands tucked comfortably into the pockets of his jacket, saying nothing, allowing Johnny to lead the conversation.
Kyle sighed. "What is it?"
Johnny scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "We need a favour."
Kyle stared at him for several long seconds. Then, he let out a quiet laugh. Not because anything was funny, but because he'd seen it coming.
"I knew it." Gaz scoffed.
"Knew what?" Johnny frowned.
Kyle closed the lid of one laptop with a soft click before leaning back on one hand. "I spent two weeks wondering whether I'd imagined having a mate." His tone remained calm. "You ignored me." Another silence. "But then you finally kissed me this morning."
Another pause before Gaz spoke again "And now all three of you turn up asking for a favour."
His gaze settled squarely on Johnny. "I've got to admit..." A humourless smile crossed his face. "...the timing's spectacular."
"It isn't like that." Johnny's shoulders visibly dropped.
"No?" Kyle tilted his head slightly. "Convince me."
Johnny opened his mouth, but nothing came out, because there wasn't a convincing answer. Not one that didn't sound exactly like what Kyle had just accused him of. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Price finally stepped forward.
"Gaz." Kyle looked towards him. The Captain's voice remained as steady as ever. "This is bigger than us."
Kyle's expression didn't change so Price continued. "We've exhausted every avenue available to us."
Ghost spoke for the first time since they'd entered the room. "We need someone better than Personnel."
"Better?" Kyle's eyes narrowed slightly.
Ghost gave the smallest nod. "You."
The compliment landed awkwardly enough to draw the faintest twitch at the corner of Kyle's mouth. He looked between the three men, studying each of their faces in turn. Soap looked worried, Ghost looked unconvinced, and Price looked deadly serious.
Kyle let out a slow breath before pushing himself up from the floor. "You owe me."
Johnny smiled faintly. "I know."
"No." Kyle pointed a finger towards him. "You owe me properly."
Johnny nodded without hesitation. "I do."
Only then did Kyle sit back down in front of the laptops.
His fingers flew across the keyboard almost immediately, opening terminals Johnny had never seen before. Windows filled with encrypted command lines appeared one after another, followed by strings of authentication requests, network maps and military databases that seemed to connect systems from half a dozen different agencies.
Price watched quietly over his shoulder, Ghost folded his arms leaning against the nearest wall, and Johnny paced slowly behind the sofa, too restless to stand still.
Kyle barely blinked. "Personnel database." His fingers continued moving. "Nothing." Another terminal. "Joint Operations."
Gaz continued typing.
"Nothing." Another. "NATO." He frowned. "Hm."
Ghost leaned slightly closer. "What?"
Kyle didn't answer. Instead, he entered a longer command. Several authentication windows flashed across the screen before disappearing almost instantly.
His brow furrowed. "...That's odd."
"What is?" Johnny asked, pacing from one side to another.
Kyle leaned closer to the monitor. "I've just been redirected."
"Redirected where?"
"I don't know." he murmured as he typed faster.
The command prompt returned an error almost immediately.
ACCESS DENIED
Kyle tried a different route. Then another. Every path ended exactly the same way.
Price watched the monitor in silence and Soap was now standing right behind Kyle.
Kyle's expression slowly shifted from concentration to genuine confusion.
"This isn't military."
Ghost looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Kyle tapped the side of the monitor with one finger. "Military databases tell you you've hit a clearance wall." Another command and another rejection. "This isn't doing that."
He opened a network trace. For the first time since they'd entered the room, genuine surprise crossed his face.
"It's kicking the request somewhere else."
"Where?"
"I can't tell." Kyle stared at the routing table scrolling rapidly across the screen.
More commands and more failed connections.
Then—
Every window on both monitors disappeared simultaneously.
The screens flashed black.
A single white notification appeared in the centre.
SESSION TERMINATED
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Kyle reached instinctively for the keyboard.
Nothing.
The terminal had closed itself.
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair.
"I've never seen that before." He murmured very slowly.
Silence settled over the room.
Price was the first to speak. "So?"
Kyle looked at the blank monitor for another few seconds before turning towards the others. "If someone wanted to hide a file..." He swallowed quietly. "...they wouldn't build a system like this."
Johnny frowned "Then who would?"
Kyle met his eyes:
"Someone who expected people like us to come looking."
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