John

It was almost midnight and John couldn't sleep.

With his mind turning over like the clock never stops ticking. He had a lot on his mind. So he decided to spend his solitude in his office.

This was his space—off-limits to anyone, including Charlie. Not because he didn't trust her but because the room was his sanctuary.

The room was functional, much like himself. With the dark wood desk that sat against the far wall, its surface was arranged with mission files, a laptop, and a single desk lamp that cast a soft, warm glow over the room.

There was a corkboard hung on the wall to his left, pinned with maps and scribbled notes—remnants of past missions and intels. Opposite the desk was a heavy, locked filing cabinet and a small gun safe, both secured with codes only he knew.

Beside the safe, his sidearm rests within arm's reach, his Glock, stripped down earlier and now freshly cleaned, sat on a black cloth like a soldier at parade rest.

Bookshelves lined one side of the room, filled not with manuals on strategy, history, and leadership, their spines worn from years of use.

There was a collection of personal items sat on one shelf: a few framed photographs of the British Army times and his former comrades. Added with a medal tucked into a glass case, and an old cigar box that served as a catch-all for loose change and other small mementos that was given to him.

John leaned back in his chair with a cigar between his fingers glowing, he took a slow drag while staring at the screen. The rich taste paired well with the whiskey, which burned his throat as he sipped it. This was his time to think or reflect.

Kate Laswell's email stared back at him. Its cryptic language gnawing at the edges of his mind with more information:

Activity persists in Central Europe. Patterns suggest heightened coordination. Further monitoring required. Local contacts have flagged secondary movements in outlying sectors—awaiting confirmation.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Stay ready," he said to himself, taking another sip of whiskey after he leaned forward.

That was Kate's way of saying something's brewing in London. Which is odd, but you never know. Sometimes insurgents wanted to be known when Kate would point out what it is before they became known.

When his gaze moved to the corkboard, there were a few recent clippings from his work for Kate's operation that were pinned. But his mind was elsewhere—on Harkin.

The name alone made his jaw tighten.

With Gabby's intel that painted a clear picture: Harkin was persistent and fixated on Charlie.

Like what? The restraining order violations, the connections to low-level thugs—he wondered what it was all about and why her.

John took another slow drag of his cigar. He couldn't ignore the questions bubbling in his head. Until his phone buzzed near him, breaking his stance. He glanced at the small screen. Another call.

"Knocks," he answered. "Anything new?"

"I pulled up a few more records. You need to hear this," Gabby said straight to the point. "I did say that Michael had been involved with low-level crime. But he has been hopping from job to job, couldn't keep one until he got a big break from someone whose ties are unknown. Harkin have his friends, or so-called buddies he makes them tag along. They've been doing a lot of small petty crime acts in return for getting paid."

He took a long drag on his cigar, exhaling slowly.

"Petty crimes for hire... sounds like organization to me," John said grimly. "Someone's funding his little vendetta."

"Yeah, and I dug into his phone, encrypted datas, and there have been messages back and forth with the unknown sender. Between these conversations, Charlie has something that Harkin needed but he didn't say what," Gabby explained.

His grip tightened on the phone.

"Something Charlie has?" John repeated.

"Yeah, whatever it is. Harkin seems desperate to get it from her."

John stood and began pacing steady, his steps heavy in the silence.

"Keep monitoring those messages. I want to know the lead and everything he says."

"I'm on it," Gabby confirmed before he closed the call.

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his forehead as he sat back down. His fingers tapped absently against the desk, mind churning with possibilities.

What could Charlie have that Harkin wanted?

He couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than some obsessed ex who couldn't let go. Harkin wasn't just fixated—he was being funded for something.

As he took another sip of whiskey, feeling the warmth settle in his chest as he processed Gabby's intel. He should've known this wouldn't be a simple case of some low-life bastard who didn't take rejection well.

Charlie was in danger.

And John wasn't the kind of man to let anyone lay a hand on what was his.

Before he could dwell on it further, his phone buzzed again. He exhaled sharply, expecting Gabby to have more intel, but when he saw the name on the screen, he groaned.

Soap.

He hesitated, debating whether or not to ignore it. But the Scot was persistent—if John didn't pick up, he'd just call again. So, with a resigned sigh, he answered.

"The hell do you want?" he grumbled.

"Ah, so ya are awake," Soap said with full of amusement. "That means yer brooding again, eh?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you—"

"—Gabby told me about Charlie," Soap interrupted. "Said some arsewipe's been lurkin' about. Harkin, was it?"

John took another sip of whiskey. "Yes."

"So why the fuck didn't ya tell me?" Soap asked, feigning offense. "Gabby tells me, but not my own captain? That stings, mate."

He exhaled slowly, already regretting answering the call. "Because I don't need you jumpin' headfirst into somethin' that ain't yours to handle."

Soap scoffed. "Bollocks. When has that stop me before?"

That was the problem.

To John, he knew Soap had a habit of getting involved in everything—especially when it was John's business. And now, with Gabby being his damn 'twin,' as John had started calling it the first time she became part of the 141 elite force, it meant whatever John didn't tell Soap, Gabby would.

"You think I'm just gonna sit back while yer girl's got some psycho after her?" Soap pressed, his tone serious now.

John clenched his jaw.

He didn't like the way Soap said that—yer girl.

It made something inside him twist. He hadn't even figured out what Charlie was to him yet, and Soap had already called it.

"This ain't a discussion, Johnny," John said, rubbing his temples.

"Ohhh, so it is personal, then," Soap mused, the smirk practically dripping through the phone. "Didn't think you were the type, Cap'n."

"MacTavish," John warned.

"Aye, aye, I'll shut up," Soap chuckled, though he didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "Look, I just wanna help. That's all."

John sighed, knowing there was no point in telling Soap to back off.

The Scot never backed off. And honestly? Maybe he could use an extra set of hands.

"Listen to me, Johnny," he said with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is not a sanctioned op. If we do this, we do it my way—quiet, no heat, no eyes. If shit goes sideways, we're on our own."

"Like old times then," Soap quipped. "Fine by me. So what's the plan?"

John leaned back in his chair, staring at the corkboard in front of him, his mind already pulling the pieces together. "Gabby pulled Harkin's last known location. A flat not far from here. If he's holdin' somethin' that puts Charlie in danger, I want to know what it is before he makes his next move."

Soap hummed on the other end, the sound of him shifting around filtering through the line. "Ya think it's more than just a stalker situation?"

"I know it is," John said. "He's gettin' paid. Someone's pullin' the strings on this, and until I know who, I'm not taking any chances."

Soap was quiet for a brief moment, before he let out a sharp breath. "Right. Well, if we're breaking in, we're gonna need Gaz."

John smirked slightly. "Figured you'd say that."

"You know how he gets," Soap said. "Soon as he catches wind that we went in without him, he'll be on our arses about it. Actually, you know what? Let me call him. I wanna hear his reaction when he finds out you were planning to keep this from him."

"Brilliant," John rolled his eyes in return.

Within seconds, Soap had Gaz on the line, merging the call before John would say something.

"Oi, what's this about Price bein' shady?" Gaz's voice came through, sharp and amused, but there was a hint of curiosity laced in his tone.

"Nothing shady, Gaz." John replied gruffly.

Soap cut in, his grin evident even through the phone. "Aye, except for the part where he was plannin' a break-in without telling us."

"A break-in?" Gaz repeated, his tone shifting. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on, or do I have to come knock it outta you?"

Again, John rolled his eyes and he can already feel a headache creeping in.

"Harkin," he said simply.

Silence.

"Who the fuck is Harkin?"

John sighed. He had forgotten that Gaz wasn't privy to the situation just yet, which meant now he had to explain it all over again. But Soap, always the instigator, decided to help fill in for his Captain.

"Some arsehole Charlie used to be involved with," Soap jumped in. "Bloke's got a restraining order on him but doesn't seem to care. Gabby dug up some dirt—turns out he's mixed up in some low-level crime ring, and someone's payin' him for somethin'."

"And I'm guessing this isn't some sort of ex-type of shit we dealing with?" Gaz guessed.

John took another slow sip of whiskey. "That's what we need to find out."

"Aw, hell," Gaz said before he sighed until he moved on. "Fine. When we goin' in?"

John shot a glare at the phone, even though neither of them could see him. "You both just assume you're coming."

Soap snorted. "Come on, Cap'n. You knew we'd jump in the second we heard about it."

John grunted, not bothering to argue. They weren't wrong. He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts and glanced at his watch, then out the window into the London night behind him.

"We'll wait in two days until late on dark. We go in quiet, we get what we need or find, and we get the fuck out."

"Damn straight," Gaz replied, the edge of his tone showed a hint of a grin.

"Gabby's gonna keep an eye on Harkin until then. We wait until she gives us a green light," John said after he set his glass down with a soft clink.

"We got blueprints of his flat? Security setup?" Gaz asked.

"I'll ask Gabby about it," John added. "She's already got his location locked down. We'll get a full rundown from her by then."

"Sweet," Soap said. "Who else we bringin' in?"

"We need overwatch," John said. "I'll bring in Simon."

"Ghost?" Gaz questioned. "Didn't think this was big enough to bring out the Reaper."

John almost chuckled.

"I don't take chances with Charlie's safety."

"Think he'll be on board?" Gaz asked again in his serious tone.

"I'd be surprised if he wasn't," John said flatly.

Soap snickered and continued, "Yeah, he'll appreciate the excuse to get out and shoot something. I'll have Cam babysit little bonnie while we go in dark."

"Hmm, good. Get some rest. We move soon." John said last before he ended the call and sat back.

When his eyes flickered to the cork board once more. He stood and finished the rest of his whiskey in one slow pull before setting the glass down with a quiet clink. He had a plan and he'd put it into motion.