A/N: Well, it's been a while since I've posted anything on FF... Hi guys! I decided to try something new to prod my imagination a bit. It's been about a month since I've written anything substantial (years on here, though!) so I apologize in advance if it seems a little stale. I need to get back into the swing of things.

Okay, as for the story, it's another fic with a female OC. I know. I'm sorry. She's very different to my other, though, so that's something. Bare in mind, this is just an opening/introduction, and things will pick up. I already know there are going to be questions about this chapter, and all I can ask is for the patience to let me answer them in future ones. 'How did a woman fail selection, she shouldn't have been there in the first place!' Well I know that... but hey, in this fictional little world, it was during a trial period to see whether women could make the cut, okay? Suspending disbelief for just a moment never hurt anyone. :) Anyway, this will eventually be Soap/OC. Whilst it doesn't completely disregard the story lines of the games, it will end up swaying away from canon. Hopefully in an enjoyable way, though!

Well. All I can say is thank you for taking the time to read. Reviews and constructive criticism would be really lovely, but if you can't get to it, that's fine too! Just enjoy the read.

CHAPTER ONE:

"Come on, Ford. You've got to help me out here. What are they saying?"

The man's voice—one which, most had noted, harboured unusual urgency—was emanating from single, secure telephone placed in the middle of the conference room. Each seat that surrounded the table was filled with those deemed relevant to the surveillance operation, and all eyes quickly switched to the analyst whom the voice was addressing. Hazel Ford. They were watching expectantly; as if they would never be content again without further news. As if she was the only source from which they could attain it. No pressure, then…

A moment ago the room had been abuzz with the exchange of information. Then again, Thames House never seemed to relax enough to take a breath. The flutter of papers, and the shifting of chair legs against the carpeted floor were not out of place. What was unusual, however, was the silence it had now fallen into. Eerie and asphyxiating.

"They're scouting," the brunette replied, clasping a single side of the over-sized headset to her ear. Her tone relayed remarkable confidence, considering she didn't feel anything of the sort. Though she had hoped her adjustment would aid her ability to decode what was being said, her attempts were in vain. "They're also discussing, rather less enthusiastically, the bridge toll."

Hazel's forehead crinkled as she frowned. Her face was the picture of complete concentration. Of all the difficult translating assignments she had found herself in the middle of, this was right up at the top of the list. Sometimes she wondered if her superiors thought she was a miracle worker. Don't get her wrong; she loved her job. At the very least she had convinced herself as much. Strangely, even after her extended time spent in the military, she had never felt like she had done a better service to her country. That didn't mean she could achieve the impossible, and retrieve helpful information from a source plagued by poor quality and ambient sound, however. It didn't matter how good she was at her job. If it wasn't there, she couldn't translate it.

"Is there any way we can clear the feed up?" She asked, addressing everyone, yet no one in particular.

It was proving a nightmare to hear the Georgian duo converse. Disregarding their lazy mumbling, lifting them over their car's engine, rumbling as they hurtled towards the Severn Bridge, was almost impossible. It sounded as if the radio was on, and the rolled down car window encouraged thunderous bursts of wind at the most inconvenient of intervals. If they hadn't already displayed themselves to be such incompetent fools, it would have been reasonable to assume such acts were a purposeful precaution. As if they'd known they were bugged by MI5, and suspected of planning crude but effective acts of terrorism on British soil.

These were not hardened terrorists. They were simply students. It was very much becoming the team's ultimate goal to find out just who was playing teacher.

"I could go sit in his lap, if you'd like," the man on the phone, Alan Richmond, a veteran agent, interjected sarcastically. "Ask them to talk directly into the piece?"

"That'd be great. Don't forget to tell them to enunciate." Jen Healy, Hazel's fellow linguistics analyst, muttered in response. It was clear she hadn't expected to be heard, and Hazel was so unwavering in her focus that she had missed her friend's retort entirely.

Silence fell upon them once more. This time, the people were less expectant, and more impatient.

"Do you need assistance, Ms. Ford?"

"Hazel is the best Georgian speaker we have, Ma'am," Alan protested his superior's doubt in the most polite manner achievable.

"It's not that I don't know what's being said. I physically can't hear what's being said. The bug is picking up all kinds of interference."

The woman looked unimpressed by Hazel's response, but didn't press further.

"They're stopping at the toll," Alan quickly added to cut up the debate, relaying what he could see from his inconspicuous place two cars behind.

"I was half expecting them to break through the barrier," someone from the other side of the room murmured, seeming rather relieved that this was another situation that wouldn't have to be smoothed over to limit the reach of their concern.

"Nah. They're stupid, but not that stupid. If they're scouting, the last thing they want to do is draw unwanted attention to themselves. Can we pick them up on the booth's CCTV feed?"

"Someone get on it. I want to get a look inside of that car."

"Working on it."

Hazel closed her eyes and did her best to block out the others in the room. Now the seed of doubt had been planted in regards to her abilities, she was more desperate than ever to pick up something useful. It was a task much easier said than done. The atmosphere was almost palpable. Everyone seemed so tense—despite the fact that such gatherings were becoming a more common occurrence by the day—that the room felt like it might shatter at any moment. As if the air they breathed was made of glass. Nobody wanted to move. Bolted to their seats. The office lights that hung overhead flickered ominously, and a greying man sat two places away from her began drumming his fingers on the table in a uniform beat.

This operation was different from the others.

They were used to protecting civilians on their home turf, because it was, quite literally, in their job description. This time, however, the situation at hand was very different. The stakes were higher. They were protecting the wellbeing of their armed forces. These brave men and women were supposed to fight their battles overseas, not on their own front doorstep. It was simply not acceptable to let them down, and as a former officer herself, Hazel felt this more profoundly than anybody else in the claustrophobic little room. Though she might have made her decision to leave the army, she still felt an overwhelming sense of possessiveness over its members. As though they were her people, and she had found her way to this position to look out for them; just as they had always done, in a roundabout way, for her.

"Okay, I've got it," Hazel quickly piped up, cutting in between Alan and his continuing conversation with the faithless section head. She began furiously jotting notes onto the back of an envelope. "Confirmation that they are talking about Beachley. Beachley is a zone of interest. Target A is asking for them to get closer, but the driver doesn't seem to have a clue where he's going. It sounds like he wants to find the best way into the barracks, but they're arguing about it. I also think they spotted the CCTV at the booths, because they're discussing other means of approach for the 'next time'. They're not going in now. This isn't it. They're still just in the planning stages."

"Ma'am, Freeman is at the other end of the bridge waiting to intercept."

"Negative. Do not intercept," the slender woman—stern faced, and appearing to be in her mid-fifties—replied firmly. "We can't hold them for wanting to take a trip to Beachley Barracks. I want you to keep tabs on them. At the first mention of Kineton, or any of the other possible targets, I wish to be informed immediately. Until then, amp up surveillance. They might just be dull enough to lead us back to a superior target. I don't want to spook a couple of hooligans in a Ford Fiesta until we know what's motivating them."

Hazel's eyebrows pulled together in a frown, despite the feeling of the woman's cold eyes observing her intently. A couple of hooligans they may be, but it didn't make their threats any less dangerous. Any less real... All they needed was one slack moment from MI5; a mistake on the end of an agency whose past was dotted with big ones, to succeed in whatever it was they had planned. In her opinion—not that it carried any weight around here—that was too much of a risk to take for a payout that wasn't guaranteed. People always accused her of ignoring the big picture. Perhaps this is what they meant.

"Is there a problem, Ms. Ford?" The woman asked, arching her eyebrows and folding her arms across her chest. Never had Hazel seen a more intimidating stance.

Though she had asked an open-ended question, there was only one answer.

Yes.

"No Ma'am," Hazel responded robotically, shaking her head.

Hazel had never shared a particularly good working relationship with her boss. Though the analyst was utterly professional in an attempt to reconcile, the silver-haired woman seemed adamant in clinging to her less than favourable first impression. Though Hazel was no longer eager to prove herself—generally quite the opposite since taking leave from the Intelligence Corps—during one of their first meetings, a simple Azerbaijani translation correction must have come across as her intending to. And it had been at the expense of her boss' pride. Since then, it appeared things had drifted into the unsalvageable. Though Hazel had looked into transfers, and her broad knowledge of languages made her appealing to many other units that analysed raw intelligence, it seemed as though they all seemed to fall through before she could jump ship. Typical.

Jen said that she liked to break people. Always had done from the moment she had taken over as head of the unit, apparently. They suspected she got off on the power trip, and the only way she knew of to make herself feel better, was to treat others as if they were small. Hazel always reminded her friend that the army had its fair share of officers that lived up to a similar reputation. It was nothing she hadn't handled before. Life always seemed to throw her head first into the playground's bullies.

"Hazel, I'd like to see you in my office if you don't mind."

Hazel glanced up at her superior.

"Now."

Well this was only going to go one way: terribly. Perhaps a bollocking for not delivering satisfactory information on the Georgian pair's conversation? It wasn't like she was going to pull random shit out of thin air just to make the woman feel better about the resources she was already begrudgingly dedicating to the operation. Maybe she had seen the look of disapproval that had followed her decision not to apprehend the terrorists before they could strike? Fuck. The last thing she needed was to get her ass chewed out again. It had been a fourteen hour work day. All she wanted to do was head home, and pass out on her couch to a readily recorded omnibus of Pobol y Cwm.

"Of course, Ma'am," Hazel nodded in response, placing her headset down carefully and rising to her feet.

Chambers didn't wait for the analyst; instead heading off to her personal office before Hazel could even give a 'good work' to the people who had been involved in planting the bug, following the suspects, and keeping her in the job.

"Good luck," Jen mocked, flashing her trademark, toothy grin in the direction of her best friend.

"Tell Alan I may need his gun afterwards," Hazel sighed, neatening up her notes before she could take leave.

"You can't say stuff like that, Haze. Besides, I reckon if you shot Chambers, she'd pick the bullets out and keep on coming at you."

"I definitely wasn't talking about shooting Chambers…" Hazel replied, flipping her hair dramatically before pressing two fingers to her temple to mimic a gunshot.

"Get out of here, loser," Jen scoffed, pushing the younger woman's shoulder in the direction of the exit.

Hazel replied with nothing more than a wiggle of her fingers, watching as her colleague picked up the phone to continue their exchange with Alan who was still tailing the two men. Holding a few scraps of paper and a manila envelope to her chest, she left, and made her way down the dark, dull corridor towards her impending doom.

Two knocks at the door and she was summoned inside with a simple 'enter'.

"Take a seat, Ms. Ford," Chambers suggested, indicating to the only empty seat in front of her insanely depersonalized desk.

It immediately struck Hazel as odd to see two other people occupying the remaining chairs. They were analysts, like herself, but had played no part in the previous surveillance op she had assumed she was about to be questioned on. George, the man sat in the middle, she immediately recognized as they had trained together to join the service. The third attendee, however, a rather lanky looking man, she had never met before.

Without querying as to just what was going on, she did as she was told, and gracefully lowered herself into the leather seat.

"You three are being transferred."

It was blunt, simply stated, and completely unexpected.

No more words came to soften the blow.

"Wait, what?" George Pill, the man sat beside Hazel quickly demanded. It was less of a 'did I hear that right?' and more of a 'what the fuck are you thinking?' She had barely managed to process the words before he continued. "What about our current assignments?"

George had voiced exactly the first thought that had crossed Hazel's mind. She and the team she was assigned to had been working on the Georgian leads for almost three months, now. Not only was it disappointing to consider not seeing an outcome after all the tireless effort she had put in, but she immediately decided she didn't like the idea of trusting someone else with her work. There was a reason she had been chosen. Her knowledge of Eastern European languages was some of the most extensive in the building. What if somebody else didn't get it right? What if somebody else didn't get it right, and people got hurt?

"They will be reassigned."

"You've got to be kidding me. We don't even get to finish up first?"

"Mr. Pill, I was unaware I had invited you here under the premise of a debate. They are orders. You will follow them."

"Excuse me," Hazel interrupted, trying to shake away the expression of confusion at the sudden turn of events. After spending so long to get a transfer, she couldn't believe that now, of all times, her boss finally decided to take her requests under advisement. "Where exactly are we being transferred to?"

"Well, had you let me finish…" Chambers trailed off, as snobbishly as ever. "All three of you will be picking up the regular rotation of attachment to the 22nd SAS regiment, Credenhill. Johnson and Fortescue fly back in the morning. You three have been selected to take their place."

Hazel's heart, already pumping away nervously at the situation, sank into her stomach.

It was the exact regiment she had been rejected from. The exact regiment that had, if only indirectly, ended her career in the military. They had exposed her weakness, and she was too ashamed to stick around and own up to it once she had been returned to her original unit. Now she had to go back and not only face her failure, but an entire lifetime she thought left behind.

"Is this mandatory?"

George was further protesting the idea, but Hazel had close to zoned out entirely. When she had requested a deviation from her normal work, this was the last thing she had wanted. The last thing she had expected. Perhaps now, her eagerness was coming back to bite her in the ass. Whilst it seemed unlikely that Chambers would be so petty as to send her there purposefully; fully aware of her past, failure to make the cut, and how deeply it had affected her afterwards, it was not impossible. There was nothing Hazel would put beneath her.

"No. It is, however, an opportunity to broaden your horizons. You're all young. Without family, or ties to the city. You're all outstanding in the fields most applicable to the position. I personally put your names forward, and it would reflect rather poorly on me if you don't start showing some enthusiasm to be working with some of the most well trained men in the world."

What were the chances of this happening? All of a sudden, her mouth felt as though she had been trekking across the desert for days without water. Like her tongue was swollen, and her lips were stuck to her teeth.

"I don't understand why they need an MI5 attaché," George pressed. "Isn't half of their job reconnaissance work?"

"It's a longstanding position, George. Whether or not you understand why it exists is irrelevant to me. It still needs to be filled, and it's my job to pick the ideal people for the job. There have been members of our agency working closely with the regiment for almost thirty years. Naturally, it's not something we broadcast. The Home Secretary simply likes to…keep tabs."

"Wait, do they know we're MI5?" The lanky man finally spoke up, his voice nervous and croaky as if he'd forgotten how to use it.

"Of course they do!" Chambers said exasperatedly. For a moment, her glare certainly suggested she was second guessing choosing this man to sit before her. In fairness, it did seem like a silly question… "We couldn't very well pass you off as a military man, could we? Look, you work beside them. You don't deploy with them, and you aren't going to be in harm's way. You'll be behind desks at Hereford, mostly relaying back and forth information. Working with them to make sense of information they might retrieve that's relevant to the security of the country. Sometimes, your skills may be necessary to aid in operations, but only from the sidelines, and it is most certainly a rarity!"

For a woman who appeared to be trying to sound as convincing as possible, she was anything but. Then again, Hazel never would have pegged her as one for a decent pep-talk.

The three glanced at each other; Hazel testing to see whether the two men seemed as reluctant as she felt.

"I take it I can count on your support?"

The two men looked content to offer their services. They confirmed this to be so with simple nods. Chambers turned to Hazel, whose eyes focused her hands rested in her lap.

"Ms. Ford?"

"When do we leave?" Hazel finally asked, looking up at a woman she would be quite happy to place a three hour drive between.

"At the end of the week."

No matter how much her ego suffered for it, it was impossible to deny that she missed the buzz of a military life. There was a certain appeal that was impossible to ignore once you had been a part of it. Her decision to leave had been brash, and she had been known, a few pints of bitter worse for wear, to become emotional over the fact she had thrown it all away on a whim. (Not that she'd ever admit that sober, of course.) Just because she was happy with the job she had now, didn't mean she could have been happier if she'd stayed where she was.

"All right," she finally conceded, straightening herself up with fresh determination. "I'll be there."

The army had always felt like her calling… and here life was reminding her that she couldn't run away from it anymore.