He didn't act guilty. Aside from his customary scowl, he cooperated pleasantly enough. He didn't bother asking what he was supposed to have done; in fact, he didn't say anything. He stood calmly in the elevator he had worked for two years, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and marched into the briefing room like the exemplary airman he was.

"Staff Sergeant Hoedemaker." The silver-haired one said, not a greeting so much as a statement. He didn't respond; there was nothing to say.

He had seen the silver one around the past couple of days, the leader of the outside team. He had initially been impressed by the silver one's presence, sensing as kindred a spirit as he had ever encountered. He was used to following orders, that silver leader, more so to having them followed. While he tolerated the company of his team, he didn't seem to be a people person. Kyle liked that; he understood that.

But while shuttling the team up and down in his elevator, Kyle saw a different side to the stranger. He connected with his people in a way that Kyle had never experienced. He talked with them, laughed with them, enjoyed them. When he gave them orders, he didn't relish the power. The silver leader grew more and more to resemble the general Kyle had come to hate. In Kyle's eyes, silver turned to grey.

"Where were you when Colonel Havelock was murdered?" the old man asked straightforwardly. Well, at least he didn't hold with pleasantries. That much they had in common.

"In the east elevator, doing my job," Kyle replied lazily.

The ease of response didn't seem to bother the older agent. He switched tack seamlessly. "You didn't like Colonel Havelock, did you."

Kyle scrutinized the man before him, a half-smile playing across his face. This was almost too easy. "No," he shrugged, answering the non-question.

"Why not?"

"You know why not," Kyle answered, the smile growing. The game was getting good.

The stranger squinted, a smile of his own forming on his weathered face. It was a tighter smile, a fierce expression of grim determination. Kyle knew that look. It was the look the shrinks gave him when they tried to figure out why he didn't respond to them. He loved that look; it meant he was winning.

"Yeah, I know," the man growled, leaning in to Kyle's face. Kyle scowled despite himself; he knew the move was designed to make him uncomfortable. "And I know you know why I have to ask. So play along."

Kyle gathered himself, replacing his fleeting frown with a practiced indifference. "Oh, all right," he sighed dramatically. "If you insist."

"I do," Grey-Hair snarled.

"Colonel Havelock led the rescue mission to P2X-382, on which my cousin was killed. Ergo, he is responsible for the death of my cousin," Kyle recited in a monotone. "Look at that; I have a motive. Happy now?"

"Not hardly," the agent replied with a steely voice.

"Look," Kyle rolled his eyes, tiring of the game, "I was in the east elevator when Havelock was killed. You can check the tapes. Sure, I would've liked to have killed the bastard -- but I didn't."

"Then you won't mind if we...borrow...your weapon for testing." The older man pounced on Kyle's statement like a practiced prize-fighter. He knew what he was doing; Kyle had to give him that. But Kyle took pride in staying one step ahead of everyone.

"I wouldn't mind at all," he responded unctuously.

"Great. Hand it over." Grey-Hair snapped on a pair of gloves and held out his hand demandingly.

Kyle complied, a slow smile creeping across his face. "It won't do you much good," he commented lazily as the investigator dropped it into an evidence bag.

"Why's that?" His interest was piqued, Kyle could tell, but he did a commendable job of feigning indifference.

"My weapon was stolen the day Havelock died. This is a replacement."

"Huh," the agent grunted, maintaining his act. "We'll take that into consideration."

Kyle grinned despite himself. He was really too good. These bozos might figure it out but they'd never be able to prove it. He turned in his seat, staring through the window that framed General O'Neill and the grey-haired agent's team. He winked, slowly, enjoying the effect it seemed to have on them.

"We're done here," the man barked unceremoniously. "Get back to your post."

"What, no 'thanks for your cooperation'?" Kyle mocked, striding through the door more languidly than he had entered.

"Not for you, dirtbag," Gibbs muttered after the retreating elevator guard.