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It makes sense to Ghost, it has to be him.
Ghost knows that no one else quite has the stomach for these sorts of things. No one can keep themselves from wincing as they tear apart their teammates, not like Ghost can. He’s skilled, practiced, practically born to extract information out of participants that might be less than willing. He knows the right pressure points to press, where to hit to cause pain but not damage, how to tease things out. It only makes sense that he heads the mock interrogations.
He’s breaking in someone, maybe Gaz. The man did hold the record for resisting in his mock interrogation scores. Price is in the corner of the dimly lit room. It’s clean, antiseptic almost. A luxury that wouldn’t be afforded in real life circumstances but they can’t risk sending their boys to medical with infections so the room stays cool and clean. There’s a bare lightbulb in the center of the room, the yellow light hardly illuminating the sparse room. A table is set to the offside of the room, cluttered with a few objects, and an empty metal chair sits in the center like a macabre throne. All it needs is an occupant.
Ghost dully glances to the two way mirror on the opposite side of the table. The glass is dull, smudged with finger prints and shows nothing but his very own monstrous reflection looking back at him. He knows though that behind the glass is one of his victims. It’s a mock interrogation, a simulated experience for the rookies to watch so they know what to expect if they get captured behind enemy lines. By the end of this they’ll be told that they're expected to stand strong like whatever sorry sap Ghost get’s his hands on or they’ll be told to try and withstand being broken.
He almost always breaks them.
Ghost doesn’t take any pleasure in the task, not when it’s one of his own underneath his hand. It’s a methodical though, sickeningly soothing. His time in the military, his time under Roba has broken him. He’s been taken apart and put back together so many times that he just assumes that the parts got put back wrong at one point and that’s why he’s like this. He doesn’t know, doesn’t argue. It’s one less thing to weigh heavy on his mind at night.
“Alright Captain. . . Bring them in, I’m ready.”
Price nods, stepping towards the heavy metal door that leads towards the wall with the two-way mirror. He’s gone behind it, leaving Ghost alone in the room but it’s not for long. A minute later he’s dragging someone in harshly, a white knuckled grip on the man’s shoulder and then he’s shoving him towards the center of the room, blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back.
The man staggers, disoriented as he wobbles to his knees in an attempt not to face plant into the concrete underneath him and Ghost’s heart sinks.
It’s Johnny.
His eyes dart towards Price, mouth dry for a moment. He had been expecting a rookie, maybe even Gaz but never had he thought it would be Johnny. Despite the situation he’s grinning, cool and nonchalant as always. Ghost wonders if he knows it’s him that’s going to be breaking him.
“Well? Do I need to do it?” Price asked, stepping forward as a hand reached towards the Scot.
“No, no sir.” Ghost finds the will to speak, possessively standing over the Scot. Johnny perks at the sound of Ghost’s voice, the shit eating grin on his face waning for a moment as Ghost hauls him up, slamming him into the chair.
Ghost’s jaw is shut tight. He can make it quick, he can make Soap break in a manner of minutes instead of the hour that he has with him. He rather it be his own hands than Price, he wouldn’t know if he’d be able to forgive his Captain if he had to watch the other lay a finger on his Johnny.
Price slinks back to the metal door, opening it as he hovers in the doorway. “I want him broken in by the hour soldier. . . He’s got intel that we need so whatever means necessary.” It’s a lie of course. If it was by whatever means necessary then Ghost might end up actually killing Soap but it’s supposed to strike fear into the demolition experts heart, make his nerves rocket, make him more likely to break.
God, does Ghost hope that he’ll break.
The metal door shuts behind Price, he’s behind the two-way with the rookies. He’ll most likely be pointing out technique, praising either Ghost or Soap depending on how this goes. Later, they’ll get their own taste of a mock interrogation but for now this is a tease. A warning, their red herring for what’s later to come. Price usually oversees those sorts of things but occasionally Ghost will tag along for extra intimidation factor.
He’s aware that he has eyes on him, that he’s been just standing there. Even Soap seems mildly confused, feet shuffling against the floor as he swings his head around. Ghost is thankful for the thick blindfold on the other’s eyes, he doesn’t know if he’d have the strength to do what comes next if he’d have to look into Johnny’s stormy blues. It’s an almost out of body experience as he buries his finger’s into the other’s mohawk, wrenching back his head at an angle that’s painful on the other’s neck.
“We can do this one of two ways. . . You either tell me what I want now or I can pry it from you in a few minutes after I’ve bashed up your mug. Which way is it going to be?”
“Guess you’ll ‘ave to start bashin’.” Soap replies, the grin fluttering back onto his face.
Smack!
It’s a loud sound that cuts through the room, bouncing off concrete walls to echo back. Soap’s head is turned at a funny angle, half of his body slumped to the right. Ghost grabs him by his shirt, pulling him up and slamming him back into the metal chair. “Fine, have it your way.” He can already see the bruise blooming on Soap’s cheek.
There’s a small voice in the back of his head that tells him Johnny isn’t going to give up. He doesn’t know what intel the other has, it’s never anything important. He’s certain that the last time he did a mock interrogation, the intel was the location of a tin of biscuits in the commons. He hopes though that Johnny will. He needs him to give up, to break before he has to do serious damage. An open strike to the cheek was hardly the roughest he was allowed to go, was hardly the roughest he would go.
The grin has slipped from Soap’s face, Ghost can see him running his tongue over his teeth as if checking that they're all there. He reaches for the other’s tied hands, painfully pulling them over the back of the chair, making sure that Soap won’t be able to move and that the constant angle is enough to make his bones ache. A hand slides around the other’s throat, fingers expertly pushing against the other’s carotid artery. It’s a threat and a promise, he knows that the pressure is enough to lightly restrict blood flow.
“Just tell me what you know. . . I can make it stop before it gets really bad, sergeant.” Ghost breathes, he’s eye level with Soap but of course the other can’t see that.
“Go fuck yourself.”
A flicker of irritation arises in Ghost, there’s pride too. Of course there’s pride. That’s his Johnny. He’s proud the other doesn’t want to break so easily but he’s irritated as well. He has no choice though. He doesn’t think he’ll live with himself if he lets Price take apart Soap, doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from swinging at the Captain if he sees the marks that he leaves behind. He wishes it wasn’t Soap underneath his cruel hand, wishes it was Gaz, wishes it was himself, anyone but Soap.
Ghost’s hand starts to squeeze.
Soap thrashes, fights against the iron-like grip that’s cutting off precious blood flow to his brain. Ghost knows what it feels like, that burning, raging pain that ripples through you like there’s fire in your veins in replacement instead. How it all pounds and aches as your vision starts to darken but he also knows what hurts worse. When the blood returns. He lets go, Soap jolting as he writhes and struggles to suck in breath. Ghost only allows him a few seconds of reprieve before he repeats the process, over and over. There’s tears leaking past the blindfold, slipping down the Scot’s chin and staining his neck.
Ghost glances at the clock, they’re only fifteen minutes in. He gives the other’s neck one last firm squeeze, holds it till Soap’s head is dropping like a daisy in the sun before he steps back. There’s dark, ugly bruising on Soap’s throat. It’ll last for weeks.
The Scot though seems determined, swallowing back drool as he lets his head hang back. “Aye. . . That all you got?” He slurred, the blood hadn't returned fast enough to his head.
“Was figurin’ you’d say that.” Ghost says smoothly, a hand gripping Soap’s shoulder as he all but holds him, pressing him back into the chair which creates a strain on the other’s arms. He traces the other’s thigh with his knee, the back muscle that he’s searching for before he paused. “We can stop this sergeant. . . Honest. Just tell me what I need to kno–”
“ Fuck off.”
Ghost grits his teeth, his knee rearing back before it slams hard into the man’s outer thigh. It’s hard enough to bruise but that wasn’t the lieutenants intention but rather a happy side effect. Soap snarls , spit flying as his body jerks and his legs shake. “Ah fuck, fucking hell! ” Soap chokes, leg spasming due to the pressure point that was hit. Ghost rears his knee back once again, slamming it home and Soap outwardly sobs.
Stubborn bastard.
Ghost can feel the heat rising in his chest, sparks of anger going off as he switches sides, pressing his knee painfully against the other’s opposing leg so their both spasming and Soap is squirming as if he’s a worm left out on the hot summer pavement. Ghost wishes he would just break. He wishes he would give in, tap out, anything so that he doesn’t have to continue this but he knows Soap won’t budge. His boy never does.
He digs his fingers harshly into the other’s ribs, leaning down to snarl in the other’s ear. “You can make it stop at any time, sergeant! Just tell me what you know!”
Soap only yowls, trying to headbutt Ghost but the masked man is too quick, stepping back as his chest heaves. He admires Johnny, there’s no other man like him, most would have quit already in fear of what could come next but Johnny? No, not his Johnny.
Too bad it was only further pissing him off.
He reaches for a knife, a dull three inch blade that’s been carefully cleaned for this operation. He scrapes the back of it down the other’s throat, watching how he flinches from the cool metal pressed against his skin. “There’s more than one way to get you to open up, sergeant. I could carve you open, see how long that heart of yours beats while your chest is sliced open.”
Soap trembles but he doesn’t reply. Ghost tsk’s, the sharp half of the blade now pressing against his throat. He presses further until little droplets well up against the silver blade, staining it. “You better tell me what I need to know before things get serious.”
Silence.
The anger is so loud that it’s nothing but a rush in his ears. He rears his knee, kicking the other in his outer thigh as a fist smashes into his stomach. There’s not enough air in Soap’s lungs to let him scream. It’s a horrible sight, his face leaking tears as his lips twist into a ghoulish gasp for air, a silent scream as his leg spasms and his body shakes. Ghost is cruelly pressing his palm into the other’s collar bone, almost enough pressure to fracture it as he raises the knife to the others lips, pressing the blade to the petal pink mouth, bloodying it as the blade meets it. It’s dripping, then pooling down Soap’s chin.
Why does he have to make it so hard?
“Fucking break damn you.” Ghost hissed, his fingers pressing against those bruises on Soap’s throat, watching the other thrash. “Why do you have to be so damn stubborn!”
Soap grins, it’s lazy and sloppy. It’s not even a real grin, all things considering. “M’not gonna break. . . I won’t break.” He spits, the blood from his lip has run down his chin and it’s pooling in his collar bones.
Ghost’s eyes wander to the clock on the wall, there’s ten minutes left. His fists ball up as his eyes stray to the table.
“I’ll get you to break.”
Ghost doesn’t almost recognize his voice when it slips past his lips, he’s shoving Soap back into the chair and walking towards the table. There isn’t much on it. All that’s left is a stack of washcloths and a pitcher of water along with alcohol wipes to clean any particularly nasty cuts that might need attention before medical. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing, there’s a switch that’s been flipped and despite the small voice in his head that screams no, he can’t stop himself. It’s like his body moves on his own as he dunks the washcloth into the pitcher before jerking Soap back by his hair so that his neck is painfully craned back.
He drops the wet rag onto his face unceremoniously before he starts to pour.
It’s an awful sight.
Soap thrashes, choking and spluttering as he cloth clings to his face when he tries to suck in air in vain. Ghost will pause, let Soap catch his breath before he’s drenching him once more. The blood washed away, turning pink underneath the flow of water. Ghost almost doesn’t notice time is up till Price is gripping his elbow, a firm look in his eyes. He takes a step back, swallowing thickly.
“Ya made it lad. . . Let’s get you to medical.” Price whispers, peeling the cloth from Soap’s face as he quickly unties him. He’s pulling off the blindfold and Ghost winces at the sight of Johnny’s bloodshot eyes, it’s as if he’s burst every capillary possible in the other’s sclera. It looks more red than white, giving the other an almost dead look.
“Told ya I wasn’t breaking L.t.” Soap slurred, thighs trembling as Price all but hauls him out of the room, leaving Ghost behind.
He simply stares at his hands.
___________
Ghost doesn’t feel like there’s enough hot water in the entire barracks to scrub away the shame he feels. He tries though, standing underneath the water and letting it run over him until the heat of it no longer burns. He’s ashamed of himself, ashamed that he let himself get carried away so far. It’s not the worst he’s done in a mock interrogation but it comes close. That doesn’t matter though, what matters is it’s the worst he’s ever done to Johnny.
He dries off, the rough military issued towel is like sandpaper against his reddened skin but it hardly triggers in his mind. He keeps replaying the scene of the blindfold coming off the other’s face, the knot in his throat tightening. He pulls on the mask, slipping it over his head before he finishes changing.
His feet take him to Price’s office without thinking, hesitating as he stands outside the cherry wood door. He hesitates, sucking in a lungful of air but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. His knuckles rapt at the door, trying to avoid looking down the halls that make his head spin.
“Come in.”
Ghost opens and shuts the door within a second, moving with ease as he makes sure the door is shut with a gentle click.
“Ghost?”
“Is MacTavish okay sir?” Ghost breathes, he needs to hear it from someone. Johnny would lie to him, tell him that he’s fine. He needs to hear it from someone else.
Price leans back in his chair, it’s old and creaks at the shift in weight as the older man stares Ghost down. “He’s fine. . . Medical patched him up, sent him on his way. You didn’t break him, Ghost. He knew what he was getting into when he volunteered for it.”
“He. . . Volunteered?”
“Gaz offered to cover any time that Soap might need off if he went in his place. He wasn’t forced into it.”
Ghost stands there silently, letting the weight of the other’s words roll over him. A small flood of relief washed over him. “Alright. . . Thank you sir.” He said quietly. “Captain?” He asked after a moment, glancing back towards Price.
Price gives Ghost a softer look, raising a brow as if expecting that the other would ask something else. “Yes lieutenant?”
“What was Soap’s intel?”
Price hesitates, a hand reaching for the drawer in his desk as he pulls out a cigar. “It was your location. . .”
Ghost sucks in a breath, he feels like he’s gotten the wind punched out of him. “My location, sir?”
Price nodded, lighting up the cigar, “Thought it would give him the extra grit to hold on.”
Ghost nodded. “Excuse me sir.” He murmured, stepping out of the office. There was something that fluttered in him, knowing that Johnny would hold on so dearly. That he wouldn’t rat him out, he wouldn’t betray him.
Johnny could never betray him.
His feet take him to the commons next, some small part of him hoping to collaborate the captain's words. Hoping to see Johnny sitting there, laughing with his bright smile. He hesitates when he reaches the commons, eyes sweeping through before he sees him.
Johnny.
Soap’s laid up on the couch, talking with Gaz. There’s an easy smile on his face that could hide the bruising and burst blood vessels easily. He wonders if he could step in, would it break the tranquility? He decided to turn back, he has his proof. Johnny is okay. Though before he can meld back into the shadows, he hears his name.
“Aye Ghost! Wonderin’ where ya been.” Soap grins, it’s so wide that it almost busts his lip again. “Come sit down with us, we’re talkin’ ‘bout where to get drinks later tonight. Are ya going with us?”
Ghost moved towards them, sitting down besides the other, noticing how the other didn’t flinch in his direction. “I could go for a whiskey. . . I’ll buy ya a scotch.” He murmured softly, knee gently brushing against the others. “Hey Johnny?”
“Hm?”
“Thanks for keeping me safe.”
“Any time L.t.”