A/N: It seems I'm on a roll for angsty Ryan fics right now. :face palm: I really should be updating 'Passive', or even doing revision for mocks but nope, here I am with this. :cue another face palm: Read and enjoy.
Summary: 'The real torture didn't come from the hands of the Russians who had kidnapped him. It came from the hands of his team.'
Warning - contains swearing and images of strong violence/torture, so if you do not like, please don't read and then flame me after for it, as I did warn you.
Disclaimer: No, I do not own any CSI Miami characters or storylines. If I did, I would have one hell of a fun time.
"Come Mr Wolfe, you know you cannot last forever!" The man shouts above his piteous cries of pain. Another blow to the head and one to his stomach and he's bent over in two, gasping and struggling to hold back tears.
It is torture. Sheer bloody torture.
He finds himself smirking with bloody lips at his own joke.
The violence suddenly ends again, and Ryan finds himself gasping and whimpering. Actual whimpers escape his mouth and he can't hold them in. He spits out blood, breathes out blood from his nose, tastes blood around his mouth, sees blood - Christ, it's everywhere. And it's his. All his.
Dear God, how was he going to cope with anymore of this? Already it is too much - he can't feel anything other than the burning moans of hurt and ache from his body, and the thought that there will only be more of the same to come makes him want to scream; to break down and beg his captor to stop.
But he can't. He simply can't break now and beg, simply can't give in.
The man has crouched beside him now, with his eyes - the only thing visible as he's wearing a balaclava mask - faining compassion. Ryan knows this stage - the one where the torturer acts like he really doesn't want to hurt you anymore; that he suffers with every strike dealt to the victim; tries to fool them into thinking he will stop and help them if they tell him what he wants to know.
Ryan wishes it were true. He really, really wishes it to be true but he knows it isn't.
A gloved hand is suddenly at his face, causing Ryan to flinch. Those same hands where delivering crushing blows mere moments ago.
The Russian laughs at the younger man's startled reaction. The laughter echoes and causes Ryan to shiver.
He raises one of his own hands to his face, touching his bruised jaw where that other man's hand had been.
He starts rubbing his face furiously causing himself to cry out as it causes his jaw to protest, but he wants that man's handprint, no matter how invisible, to be gone.
He stops only when he thinks his cries are loud enough to attract attention. His hand drops.
His shoulders are shaking.
"Mr Wolfe…" The Russian says softly, almost kindly. Ryan closes his eyes. He doesn't want to hear this. Hearing this means that this is real.
That hand is almost caressing his face as if he were a lover, "I don't want to hurt you -"
"Fucking hell." He spits out through bloody lips, "Don't fucking lie to me. This is your job, you asshole! Course you want to hurt me!" He feels a tinge of triumph when he sees his torturer's eyes flame in sudden anger.
He finds himself laughing. Hysterical, probably, but he laughs regardless. The man stares at him as if he's mad.
He probably is. Or will be, if this goes on for an extended period of time.
"What is so funny?" The hand drops from his face, curled for another punch. Ryan continues laughing.
"You! You think you can get me to talk with all this? You're an idiot!" He laughs again, pausing only to spit out another mouthful of blood. "You're never going to get anything out of me." His voice is full of bravado and his mouth is full of blood.
The hand is around his throat, pulling on the cord around his neck. His laughter stops as his breathing is forced to a halt. He gasps, feeling his throat cave in.
"Ryan Wolfe." The voice whispers into his ear, "You know what they say?" The hold tightens. Ryan begins to struggle, feeling himself panic.
Then with a final and fierce tug the Russian lets go, and is in front of him again. Ryan gasps and shudders. But the relief he feels at being able to breathe freely once more is cut short as the man kicks him in the chest, forcing another moan of agony from Ryan.
"Well, do you know what they say?" The man continues to talk as if this were just your ordinary everyday conversation.
"…What…?" Ryan asks. Dreading the answer, for he has some idea as to what it will be.
A smile gleams. Like one from a predator to his prey.
"They say 'never say never'." Then it's the Russian who starts to laugh, while Ryan is subjected to another round of being the punch bag, screaming and knowing he is one step nearer to being broken.
He scrubs at his eyes fiercely, but it doesn't work as more tears leak.
He can still feel everything - every punch and kick… They have been absorbed into his skin to become a sort of invisible memory.
Yet he could cope with even that, if he had the support of his friends. The thought tugs on his heart. The friends who didn't care for him. Who didn't look for him.
They didn't fucking look for him.
They didn't even care. Right?
He opens his eyes, sees the room is empty.
It is how he himself feels. Empty. Worthless.
Ryan slides down his locker, this time not bothering to stop the tears that fall.
"You took over your sponsor's debt without any money to pay it. Ivan isn't happy!" The Russian declares, driving his fist into his stomach as if to drive the point home of how unhappy Ivan is. The younger man cries out as the fist collides with already his already abused ribs.
Somewhere in his mind Ryan wants to laugh again. Is this what this is all about? Money? Why does everything in his life; all his problems revolve around money?
"Poor Ivan. Sorry to hear that." He mutters. Once the words have escaped the confinement of his mouth, he freezes in shock. Can't believe he actually said that. Surely what little sense he had would have prevented him from mocking his torturer?
He hears the fist approaching and screws up his eyes. Ends up screaming as it collides with his already injured and bleeding nose.
"You little fool!" The Russian bellows, throwing in another few punches for equal measure before adding, "What are you going to do about that then?"
With all witty retorts having been thumped out of his mind and leaving only pain and blood behind, Ryan barely raises his head without a moan to answer.
"I'll…Get the money." He chokes out, looking downwards. The Russian tuts, as if in disappointment. He reaches out and tugs Ryan's head back, earning another cry of agony. The hand has a hold on his hair and is pulling hard on it.
An abstract thought floats around Ryan's head – perhaps he should cut his hair. It only meant he could be subjected to being controlled –
"It's too late for that!" His torturer shouts in his face. He throws Ryan's head forward with a flourish and adjusts his gloves.
There is a short silence before it is broken as Ryan asks the question that has been circling his mind for sometime.
"What are going to do? Kill me?" He asks in a voice which he hopes sounds full of bravado. His heart thumps as his breathing still comes in ragged gasps. What if the answer was yes? He didn't think he could keep his show of confidence up then.
The Russian faces him, apparently thinking. After a minute he shakes his head, once again putting a hand on Ryan's face, ignoring his flinches.
"No…It would be a waste of your unique skills." He says with what Ryan guesses is a grin behind that mask, and drops his face.
"What…Skills…?" Ryan asks, his voice sounding slurred. Too many blows to his head. And he was already dreading the answer.
"Why, your skills as a…What do you call it… A 'CSI'?" The Russian walks away, apparently going to look for something.
"What…Do you mean? What do you want me to do?" He gasps again, in a mixture of pain and panic.
Somewhere in his mind the memory comes back to him of how Calleigh had been placed in a position like this. She had been kidnapped and forced to clean up a crime scene, and had been able to let the team know what was happening by leaving clues. He feels a faint hope - if he had to clean up a scene, he could do the same and be saved, much like when Eric, Frank and himself had got Calleigh. Then this nightmare would be over.
He spits out another mouthful of blood, and then a thought strikes him - he couldn't help with cleaning up a scene. With his current record, he would be out for sure if he did. Calleigh had gotten away with it, but with his wonderful popularity with the authority figures in the lab, he doubted as to whether he would receive the same treatment. He feels overcome with panic once more - what would happen to him if he said no? He would be killed for sure.
He is on the floor now, face in his hands and sobbing desperately. He had been forced into a corner with no way out. For unlike Calleigh, who just had her own life to worry about, he had been told to clean the scene, or else a little boy would die as well as him.
He could not have let that happen - why could no one see that? Even Horatio, the saviour of children had looked down on him when he had told him that.
"Fucking double standards." He mutters, feeling the tears fall down his face still.
They hadn't even bothered their fucking asses to look for him. He might have been murdered for all they knew. Hell, they were probably thinking that he should have let himself be killed instead of hiding evidence and manipulating that fingerprint.
In a sudden fit of rage he punches the locker next to his, past caring that it is painful on his hand to do so. Now he welcomes the pain.
He looks up and sees that the locker belongs to one "Speedle, T." Oh yeah - the guy he was the replacement of. If he had been kidnapped, everyone would have been out looking for him.
"All this time…And I'm still the replacement."
He punches the locker; again and again in a scene that is eerily reminiscent of what was done to him until he gives up and curls into a broken heap on the floor.
"Well, you will help, no? If it saves your miserable life, you will." The Russian laughed nastily, patting him on the head as if he were some stray dog. Ryan winces as the gloved hand digs the fingernails of his kidnapper into his scalp; the vulnerable flesh stinging.
His heart starts thumping crazily again - how was he going to get out of this one? He couldn't help this man, these terrorists…And they would kill him because he wouldn't. The thought makes him feel sick and prompts him to start gasping again.
He isn't a coward, but the thought of dying is sure to frighten everyone, even the bravest. Especially if their death comes much too soon, and delivered by a man who does it for a job.
His torturer is walking around now, but comes back to him.
"There is a certain robbery/homicide… I want it to go away." He says, sounding confident that his orders will be carried out. And why would they not be? After all, Ryan only has more suffering if he does not, so why would he not follow orders and save himself from another episode of torture?
Ryan feels his heart stop. What he had guessed…He was right. He was to clean up a crime scene, tamper with evidence. In order to save his life he would have to. But he couldn't… If he was going to die, let it be with something that resembled honour because he wouldn't carry out a thug's commands. Besides, the fact was that he would probably be killed after he did that, anyway. These people didn't want anyone whom they no longer had use for hanging around, as they could spill on them. And seeing as Ryan worked along with the police, it was all too clear that he would follow that same fate.
The fate of disappearing. The fate of being murdered. The fate of having your body mutilated, and dumped somewhere.
Part of him is yelling to stop being so wannabe heroic; so stubborn and foolish and to save himself while he still can. That part of him is the part that is burning with pain - the total agonising hellfire that is pleading with him to do something; anything that will end all violence on his already weak and injured body.
But another part is telling that part in no uncertain terms to shut up and think of doing the right thing. What is expected of him. He shouldn't give into these guys and allow them to do what they wanted. He should say no and accept the consequences. Which would be equal to more pain and followed by death.
And Ryan, surprised that he has held out this long, doesn't think he can do so for much longer.
But he has to. So he takes a deep, shuddering breath, forces his confused brain to remember how to communicate verbally and opens his mouth to say the words that will give him a death sentence.
"I always was an idiot who could never keep my mouth shut and do what I was told." A faint mutter to himself through the tears. A broken laugh punctured by a dry sob escapes his still cut lips.
"Why did it have to be me?" He sobs desperately. "Why did it have to be me!" His sob turns into a shout. He is past caring about people walking past and what their reactions would be.
So he sits there and holds his head in his hands, cradling it, whilst curled up a ball against a locker. He feels safe like that. Only time in the past day since he has felt safe - even when he was back at the lab after his kidnappers dumped him he still did not feel safe.
But this was only momentarily - soon he would have to leave the room. And what would happen then? He doubts whether he will ever feel safe and secure again. Especially since his own team were so openly hostile to him now.
He would never feel welcome or safe again. And he now knows it.
Yeah... I'm making the torture for Ryan more drawn out, ergo making it painful because I would end up with one hell of a long one shot.
Wait...
If you guys review, then he won't be suffering so much. :nods frantically: Review! Save Ryan! You know you all want to. ;)