Chapter Text
•Ghost•
He couldn't be serious.
"Price. No." Sharp. Direct.
His Captain just continued flipping through the filing cabinet behind his desk, not looking at Ghost as he apparently spiraled into some new level of Hell.
"Not a request, Lieutenant. Soap needs practice and you're the toughest bastard to crack." Price was distracted, but the tone let Ghost know he meant it.
He clenched his teeth, "Then have him practice on the next bloody idiot we bring in."
"Can't risk Intel doing that. You know better. It won't be anything heavy, just give him pointers for finesse. You know, the finer points and the psychology while he tries to get you to break. We both know you won't really, anyway." Price finally swiveled in his chair, bringing a stack of files with him to his desk as he looked up at him.
"God damn it, Price. Use Gaz!" He was grasping at anything now, he would take what he could get as long as it got him out of this.
Price sighed, "It's not a negotiation, Simon. Besides, Gaz had to practice with me so we've both already paid our dues."
"I'll interrogate him then, just explain what I'm doing while I do it." He felt the sweat beading beneath his mask already, heart rate picking up just slightly.
"You lot make me want to run my head through a wall some days, you know that, right? You're in the chair, Lieutenant. Final orders. Soap needs to focus and he can't do that while you're fucking with him, you scary son of a bitch. Now get." Price pointed at the door, effectively ending the conversation.
He hesitated for only a second, the desire to continue to fight it warring with the knowledge that he knew he would lose in the end.
He turned on his heel and stalked from the office, closing the door behind him just a little too hard.
•Soap•
"He wants me to do what, now?" Soap asked as he walked quickly, trying to keep up with Ghost's long strides.
Ghost tended to walk faster when he was angry so he must be pretty pissed off to eat up the ground the way he was.
"Interrogation training. Tomorrow night." Ghost snapped out the words without glancing at him, without slowing.
"Right. Did someone get brought in or something? I didn't hear about anyth-" He stumbled to a stop as his Lieutenant abruptly cut his own stride off, whipping to face him with a nasty glare.
"You're practicing on me, Sergeant." He continued to glare at him until Soap broke the look, eyes becoming a little frantic as he processed what he just heard.
"Uh, that sounds.." He started but Ghost cut him off.
"It sounds like we don't have a damn choice in the matter since you haven't had sufficient training." The words were intended to cut, but Soap had gotten good enough at reading his superior that he could see he was nervous beneath it.
What the hell would make a guy like Ghost nervous about being put through a mock interrogation by Soap. The same Soap that he cracked bad jokes with on missions and gave shit to about his hair or how he drank his coffee?
Ghost stormed off then, clearly cutting to the barracks which meant he wanted to be left alone. Soap stood frozen in place for a few moments before finally forcing himself to start back toward the mess hall for lunch, taking his steps at a much more reasonable pace now.
He and his Lieutenant had gotten close in the months that they'd worked together. Ghost started standoffish and tense, always seeming to be just slightly bothered by Soap's presence. Slowly but surely, however, he had chiseled those walls down.
Anymore they were almost always together, if you were looking for one, the other was never far behind. They spent almost all of their working hours together, as was common in a small task force like theirs. Less common was the fact that Ghost had finally started spending down time hours with him as well.
He would trail along to the pubs when they all went out, where he would never attend in the past. It was only when Soap was going, though. The few times he skipped, Ghost skipped, too. Any time he ran to town for shopping or errands, he extended an invitation to his Lieutenant who nearly always took him up on it.
He didn't think much of it, chalking it up to the fact that aside from Price, he was probably the person who heard the man speak more than was absolutely necessary. They had a good rapport, good banter. They meshed perfectly which was more than you could expect from a forced work partner.
Something had gotten under his skin with this interrogation thing, though. He was acting odd, even for Ghost. This would usually have been a prime opportunity for hazing or a good natured ribbing, but the man just seemed frustrated and upset at the idea.
Was it a control thing? Ghost certainly was the type to be a bit of a control freak and he might supremely dislike handing those reins over. Or was it because of their ranks? Ghost didn't often pull rank on him, but he didn't often need to. Was he just upset about their power dynamic being thrown out of whack? Still seemed like a bit of an extreme reaction for a training session, honestly.
He walked through the door of the chow hall and decided to let it go. He'd think about it tomorrow. Hopefully Ghost was in a better mood by then and they could actually have some fun with it.
•Ghost•
The door to his room slammed and he leaned against it, breaths coming faster than they should. He felt the fabric of his mask damp and sticking unpleasantly to his neck from the sweat that was pouring off of him by now.
He couldn't breathe.
Was he having a fuckin panic attack?
He yanked the balaclava off, feeling the static crackle in his hair. He needed a shower. Cold.
Cranking the shower tap far too cold in his adjoining bathroom, he began to strip down. Nausea was scraping through him, making him dizzy.
He couldn't do this interrogation tomorrow. Not with Johnny of all people. There had to be some way out of this. Price was adamant, though, and as much as Ghost hated it in this moment, he was over his head.
He stepped into the shower, a slight hiss escaping his lips as the water made contact. Good. He needed this. Trying to make it from Price's office to his room had been torture, especially once Johnny came running up to him to see how the meeting went, eyes flashing with that constant, playful energy.
He couldn't look at him, his proximity already making it harder to keep his mind on literally anything other than the concrete room he would be in with the man the following evening. He felt himself twitch despite the chill of the water pelting him.
Fucking hell.
•Soap•
He was seated in Price's office the morning after Ghost broke the news to him about the interrogation training. He had questions, but Ghost had never resurfaced from the barracks for him to ask yesterday.
"I've sat in on more than one interrogation, Captain. I'm not sure why this is coming up now." Soap shifted uncomfortably in the creaking metal chair across the desk from Price.
"Sitting in on and performing are two different things, Sergeant." Price lifted his eyes to Soap, meeting his with a narrowed stare.
Soap realized why and stopped shifting around. Price held the stare for a second longer before going back to whatever documents were scattered on his desk.
"Ghost usually handles ours, though. Why would I need the hands on?" He really didn't mind, but the way Ghost had acted about it made him squirm, effectively crushing any desire he may have had to learn.
He didn't want the man angry with him for something out of his control. Aside from that, he damn sure didn't want to be put in a position of wielding power over his Lieutenant, whether it was simulated or not.
Price sighed. Dropping his pen and leaning back, arms crossed against his chest, "Why do we have scuba training, Soap? When was the last time we used the damn gear? But you bet your ass we keep up with drills just in case because you never know what will happen. Same here. He might not always be able to run an interrogation. That and whatever knowledge you gain in that cell can help you condense and use skills in the field if you need information fast. We've all got to have at least some grasp of it."
Soap chewed his lip, thinking before he leaned forward, "Alright. How does it work, then?"
Price went on to explain how their simulated interrogations worked. They would have the concrete training cell to themselves, Ghost had apparently explicitly told Price that the only way he would do it was if the whole damn training block was theirs. That was why they were stuck with the last possible slot of the day, eating into Soap's usual down time.
Once they arrived, Soap would decide on a topic or general idea that would be communicated between him and Ghost. Ghost would then write down his choice of false information within that vein that he would try to disguise without telling Soap what it was. Part of the exercise was learning what threads to pull to see what type of information someone had whether it was names, locations, security codes, etc.
After they got that part squared away, they would both go over the safe words for the room. Soap smirked a little to learn they used the traffic light system.
'Yellow' would be used if the person being subjected to the interrogation was uncomfortable with a specific method being used, but was willing to continue the exercise. That way the person interrogating could change tactics immediately, but not derail progress.
'Red' was used for a full stop of all training activity. The faux subject being immediately released and evaluated if necessary.
Whoever ran the show was in charge of making sure the subject was always able to speak and if they were unable to speak, they were required to provide a clicker or some other alternative method for stopping the activities.
Certain methods were off the table for safety reasons, but largely they were left to their own devices, both parties agreeing to what was and was not a limit.
"No waterboarding. Too much of a dry drowning risk, even though his mask would damn sure make it easier." Price chuckled with the joke, "Nothing that will put him out of service or land him in medical for more than a quick patch job. Guess I should tack on to not do anything that will land you in the infirmary if he gets ahold of you after."
Soap swallowed thickly at the idea. Would Ghost be upset with him for what went down in the room? He had every intention of following the rules laid out, but who could tell when it came to his LT, the king of stoicism.
"Oh, and the video feed is optional. If it was anyone else, I'd hang on to it to watch and make my observations and commentary, but with Ghost.. Well, I know he's got it under control and I'm sure he doesn't want that video existing. Simulated or not." Price perked an eyebrow at him, "Any more questions?"
He shook his head, feeling like the crease between his eyebrows was now a permanent fixture.
"Dismissed. Oh, and Soap? You won't be able to crack him, not really. Don't let it discourage you, he's a tough bastard. He won't make you struggle unnecessarily, though. You can learn a lot from him." Price waved him off at that, letting him escape to the freedom of the hall.
■■■
"That's the best you could come up with, Sergeant? Arms dealer?" Ghost stared at him from behind his mask.
"Hell, Ghost, I'm nervous as shit just being in here with you, cut me some slack!" Soap felt the tremble in his hands as the man's eyes scored his skin.
Ghost just grunted in reply. The bad mood had apparently not abated by now. Great.
He watched as the man wrote down his line of information and stuck it face down on the table that sat just outside of the actual interrogation room.
They entered the space now, a relatively small room surrounded by concrete walls that led to an equally drab concrete floor. No windows. One reinforced steel door. One dingy light fixture overhead.
Soap was tasked with coming down earlier by himself to set up his chosen layout and tools. Ghost was inspecting the spread now, looking for what might be missing or what might be creative.
He was wringing his hands as he waited just inside the door, unsure if he'd gotten it right. He tried to pull a mix of things in, some of which were just for show that couldn't be used in the simulation, but showing intent was part of the evaluation.
"Gonna use this, MacTavish?" Ghost asked, voice low with that threatening edge Soap had learned from field work with the man.
He looked to see what Ghost was indicating on the table. It was a cordless power drill with a handful of varying and wicked looking bits next to it.
"No, Sir." He breathed, unsure why he asked as power tools were prop only.
Ghost simply hummed a response and continued to peer at the table.
"Unique. Don't often see that one used in short term for this line of work." He watched Ghost pick up the set of thumbscrews he'd selected.
"I fitted a lock mechanism for optional long term. Spiked on the plate so it can't be yanked off. Or.. Not pleasantly, anyway." Soap shrugged, still a little tense and not sure if it was the right call.
There was a faint chuckle in response.
Ghost turned to him, leaning a hip against the instrument table. There was one other table in the space, cold metal, long enough for a person to be laid out on. Welded metal anchors lined the sides, just under the edges, for restraints of the interrogator's choice to be used. There were similar anchors scattered around the space on the floors, walls, and ceiling. A chair sat along one side. Same cold metal. Same welded anchors.
"Well.. What's next?" Ghost asked, it almost sounded like a challenge and Soap would be willing to bet there was a smug smile on his face.
Soap took a deep breath to try to steady his nerves, "Ah, are you conscious or unconscious?"
"Let's say unconscious, new arrival so no sensory or sleep deprivation as of yet. What is the first step?" He hadn't moved, arms crossed against his chest and eyes not giving away a damn thing.
"Securement." He was confident in that answer at least.
"Alright, Soap. Secure me." With that, Ghost stood his full height, dropping his arms at his sides.
Fuck. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. It felt incredibly wrong to stand here and imagine how he would tie up his superior.
A twinge.
Nope! Absolutely not!
"Ah, I'd go with a chair to start. Bypassing more extreme stress positions for the time being and using them later for a motivator." Still confident. Maybe he could do this after all. Just like taking a test.
Ghost just looked at him and flicked his eyes to the chair. Waiting.
Shit! He ran to grab it, bringing it to the center of the room under the bare light bulb and setting it down. He looked at his Lieutenant who's eyes crinkled up in what he knew for a fact now had to be a wicked smile.
Ghost strolled to the chair and sat. Soap was thankful they didn't have to simulate Ghost being dead weight for this part. Soap went to the table and grabbed a length of rope, deciding that his skill with knots would suit the medium well.
He turned and saw Ghost sitting in the middle of the room, leaned back against the chair. He had one foot kicked out on a heel, legs splayed, hands resting easily on his thighs.
He blew out a slow breath and walked toward him, not realizing until he was in arms reach that Ghost still had his gear on.
"I fucked up." His shoulders dropped a little, brow creasing.
•Ghost•
Ghost chuckled at the look on Soap's face, "Remove gear first. Temporary restraint measures if needed. Since I'm unconscious, no need."
He was really only trying to prolong the inevitable here as he stood and started to remove his kit and toss it down near the table. His mind was still racing with how in the hell he was going to make it through this.
He wasn't worried about cracking and spilling his fake information, a set of random coordinates he yanked from the ether that would lead to a supposed front for bringing weapons across a border, but he was worried about cracking in another way.
He'd spent the last half of the previous day and most of this day in his room trying to mentally prepare. Once he knew Soap was headed here to do his set up and prep work today, he got into the shower, quickly pulling himself off. Hurried. Desperate.
Maybe if he'd gotten off recently enough then it wouldn't be an issue. He could shove those feelings down for a little bit, surely. At least long enough to get through this without turning the whole thing into a massively inappropriate scenario.
That confidence faltered a bit when they stepped into the room and Ghost started doing his pre-work check. Seeing some of the implements laid out on table made his knees a little weak, knowing that he was the intended target. The empty table along the side wall was nearly his undoing, making him want to call the whole thing off, Price be damned.
Soap's nervous energy helped, though. He started asking him questions to feel out his mood and confidence. The modification to the thumbscrews was certainly creative. He'd make a note of it in his report for Price.
Maybe he'd survive this after all. He seemed to be intimidating his Sergeant which was less than ideal for this training exercise, but made it vastly easier for him to try to maintain control.
He'd finished stripping his gear off and looked at Soap now, waiting for his next instruction.
"Okay, gear off, now restraint. If you don't mind.." He gestured for Ghost to sit back in the chair again.
Here it goes.
"Hopefully your polite sentiments will win over their affections and make the job easier, Sergeant." He laughed a little and watched Soap's face flush with embarrassment as he dropped his eyes.
"Hey, I'm just giving you a hard time, Soap. You can do this. Remember, I'm unconscious right now." He smiled behind his mask.
He did want his Sergeant to learn from this so he would have to try to rein in his jokes at least until the man got his footing.
Soap nodded at him a took another steadying breath as he sat down. The man moved behind the chair now, Ghost kept his eyes forward, deep breaths.
Hands grabbing his wrists, softly, gently moving them behind his back as he felt the rope thread through the rung on the back of the chair, a very slight friction burn as it grazed his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment and pursed his lips.
Soap tied his wrists together and to the chair in a relatively relaxed position. It would take a while for this one to become truly uncomfortable versus some of the more creative options. This was fine though. Especially working with an unconscious subject.. and especially considering that anything more aggressive might make this more difficult to handle than it already was.
He worked the knot for a minute before coming to the front of the chair and kneeling down to slide Ghost's boot closer to the metal leg where he ran another length of the rope around his ankle and to the anchor on the chair. He repeated the process on the other side, brows tight in concentration as he let the rope glide through his fingers.
Christ he was good with his knots. When and where the hell did he learn all of this? They knew some for work but it was almost like this was muscle memory for the man and the knots he chose weren't necessarily beginner friendly.
He felt his chest tighten and he closed his eyes again.
"All good, LT?" There was concern there.
"Yeah, Johnny. 'M fine." He grumbled out, afraid of his voice betraying the way he felt about sitting on a chair, tied down by the man he'd been having wildly inappropriate dreams about for months.
He prayed it would be over soon.