I am a hurt/comfort fan. Its what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is kinder. So if that's not your thing, then my stories may not be for you. With that said, this is probably my most heavy hurt/comfort story yet. Not a lot of story/plot line development; just an angsty-emotional journey. More Peter POV than Neal's. I've taken liberty with all medical/psychological stuff so forgive my ignorance.
I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility.
Chapter One
"That's it," The man's jaw clenched in satisfaction as he looked down at the man hanging limply in the chair; even his trembling had now stopped. "That's where he is." He reached down and grabbed the dark matted hair and lifted the face-up. The eyes that had been open moments before were now closed in the pale, sweat soaked; blood-streaked face. He snorted, remembering the first hours that he had spent with the man. Hours that began with a flippant attitude; full of smart remarks and confidence that someone would rescue him.
There had even been a couple of escape attempts. One, when he tried to use his smooth tongue to make a backseat deal with Stanger and the second when he lifted a telephone from one of the men who had transported him into the basement. Both of those actions had been punished severely. Stanger had used his weapon of choice, a taser, to punish for the first offense. McGrail had dealt with the second one himself. The man who had been foolish enough to let his phone be taken had been brought back into the basement and shot in the head. McGrail recalled the absolute look of horror on his captive's face as the blood spattered across him, followed immediately by retching. He apparently had no stomach for violence, McGrail had thought with a smile. It was after that the man's demeanor had changed. The smart remarks stopped; in fact all speaking stopped. The man had clenched his teeth and glared at McGrail, defiant in his silence. McGrail knew the man had the hope of rescue. He still thought that if he could hold out long enough, someone would come for him. But as time wore on, the punishment unrelenting, McGrail begin to see that hope slip from the man's eyes. Even as his physical strength began to fail, he somehow retained a remarkable mentally strength. It was something McGrail hadn't often came across. Unusual, it made the game more entertaining, more challenging and even more rewarding to win.
One aspect of the interrogation was to keep the man awake. Sleep deprivation resulted in an altered state of consciousness that made a person more open to suggestion and less able to resist continued questioning. To do this, he and Stanger had taken turn about meting out punishment and questioning their prisoner. Stanger didn't enjoy the physical exertion of beating a man as much as McGrail did; his interrogation methods were different but effective. The only trick was to not allow the man to remain unconscious for any significant amount of time. That had proven more and more of a challenge as the hours had passed. He was beginning to be harder and harder to wake up when he slipped into unconsciousness. McGrail had done this before; he was good at it, and he always got results in the end. In a previous life, he had done this for pay and there he had encountered those trained to resist. However in the private sector he had never encountered someone who had resisted as long as this man had managed to. He had initially felt that a few hours would be more than enough to get everything he needed. People like him, pretty boys who lived by their wits and charm, were used to an easy life, and physical discomfort was not something they handled well. But this man had surprised him.
McGrail was still amused at the pressure point that finally broke the man's resolve and loosened his tongue. It wasn't what he had thought it would be going in; it wasn't the application of pain, deprivation or even humiliation that had broken the man. Of course, they had done their part to weaken him. But one skill that made McGrail good at what he did was his ability to read a person; to find their weakness and exploit it. This man hadn't been easy. He put up a façade from the very beginning, and he had maintained his composure remarkably well, even under extreme duress. But when McGrail had shot the inept man, he had been genuinely upset. More than that, although it had been fleeting, McGrail had seen guilt in the man's eyes. He felt a responsibility for the man's death. That indicated that he had the capacity to care for others, and probably cared deeply for those close to him. When a base need for self-preservation failed to kick in, McGrail decided to try another tactic. The man wouldn't talk to save himself, but he might talk to save someone else. And his theory had been correct. All it had taken was a photo of a dark-haired woman walking her golden retriever, and a detailed account of what would happen to her, to shatter his resistance and break through his silence; several hours later and he had told them everything they needed to know. McGrail let go, and the man's head fall against his bare chest. There was not even a grunt or groan.
"What now?" the other man asked, nodding at their prey, "Keep him around until we verify the information is good?"
McGrail paused only a moment. "The information is good," He shrugged. Information gathered in such a way always was. "But we can leave him here." Killing him wasn't necessary; McGrail knew that time would take care of that.
"Just leave him?" The man looked uncertain. "What if he wakes up?" McGrail doubted that would happen. It was the first time in three days the man had been allowed to sleep. Between that and his injuries, the chances of him ever waking again were very thin.
"He won't wake up and even if he does it won't make a difference."
McGrail reached down, touching the unconscious man's bowed head. He had indeed provided a challenge as well as an outlet for a lot of anger. This man had charmed his way into McGrail's business affairs and then betrayed his trust. That could not be allowed to stand without an example being made. No one did that to him. He had made sure his associates had been aware of the treatment the man had received for his transgressions.
"It was fun, Mr. Caffrey, I thoroughly enjoyed our time together," he said softly, "And thank you for sharing; we couldn't have done this without you." He looked at his partner in the interrogation, his eyes steeling. "Let's go find our old friend Zachary Crowe." The two men left the room, finally leaving the man alone.