A wild update appeared! I was going to skip the actual torture scene but you know what, I committed to writing an interrogation fic so I might as well do it properly. It's also been extended by a chapter or two, I think.

(Warning for torture, language as usual, Alex putting the sass in assassin…) (I really just wanted to make that joke okay I'm sorry I'll go now)

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V

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He sees the figures surrounding the cabin as he starts to get close.

Wolf's heart is still racing in his ears. Images keep rising to the forefront of his mind, awful, awful images that he can't banish. He might not talk about it, he might not even think about it, but he has seen his fair share of fucked-up things. Hostage situations, jobs that went wrong. The worst of them involving the highest number of civilians. And now he's seeing them all again, only with Cub's face in all of them…

Just as Wolf is about to burst out into the clearing, a hand grabs his shoulder. Wolf reacts as any SAS soldier would. He's a second away from taking his attacker's head off his shoulders when the familiar voice stops him in his tracks.

"Wolf, stop!"

Panting with exertion, Wolf lets his fists fall to his sides.

"Snake, what the—"

But Snake is pulling him aside none too gently, and hissing in his face. "Shut up."

The venom in his friend's tone shocks Wolf into compliance. He lets Snake drag him away from the cabin, until they're well out of the line of sight, then shakes his hand off with a scowl.

"I told you to stay with the recruits," he starts, but Snake interrupts.

"Jesus, you're an idiot sometimes. What were you thinking, that you could just charge in there and beat them all into submission?"

Wolf opens his mouth, then closes it, knowing exactly how stupid he looks. In truth, he hadn't actually thought ahead that far. He'd been too busy thinking about getting Cub away from those lying, manipulating—

"We need a plan first. Okay?"

Wolf shakes himself. He should know this. This is why he functions better in a team.

"Okay," he agrees.

Now Snake is the one hesitating. "Wolf, how likely do you think it is that Cub is actually… innocent, in all this?"

Wolf chews his lip. He flashes back to the first time he entered Cub's cell, the way he had behaved… the deep feeling in his gut, that something had gone awfully wrong with the kid.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "But we have to assume innocent until proven guilty, right? And since MI6 have been lying through their teeth, we don't actually have anywhere to start for proof…"

Snake's eyes land on something behind him, and Wolf can see the moment that an idea enters his eyes.

"I think I know where to start."

Eavesdropping, Wolf has found, tends to be a lot easier when the ground isn't littered with debris and leaves. Still, they manage to get to an acceptable distance without alerting any of the figures outside of the cabin.

One of the figures outside the cell is the same guard as always. He's speaking to the Sergeant and someone Wolf doesn't recognise; one of the agents probably, a man in a dark suit. Snake and Wolf linger just out of sight, but just close enough to hear the exchange.

"No sir," the guard is saying. "No-one's been in here but me and the soldier you assigned."

The agent turns to the Sergeant, mutters something too quiet to be heard. Wolf hears the Sergeant's reply though, sharp enough to carry on the wind.

"With all due respect, Agent Ryan, Wolf isn't trained in interrogation. If you wanted results that quickly, you should have come yourself." The Sergeant glances at the door. "I want to make it clear that I don't like this, Agent. This is my facility…"

The agent cuts him off with low words, and after a moment, the Sergeant folds his arms grudgingly.

"Fine. But I want regular updates sent to my office, or I'm calling you in for malpractice."

Wolf exchanges a glance with Snake, wondering if he's thinking the same thing. As the meeting breaks up, the Sergeant leaves, heading back into the camp, while the agent goes into the cabin. The door is open and for a flash of a second, Wolf catches the outlines of the silhouettes inside. Then the door slams shut, and they're cut off once again.

Wolf runs a hand through his hair.

"One of us needs to be in there," says Snake in a grim voice.

"You want to let them torture him?"

"Of course I don't want to." Snake gives him a reproachful look, and Wolf feels a bit bad. Snake looks just as torn about this as he feels; the difference is that he's being objective about it. "But we need to see how they interact with Cub, to know what's really going on, don't we? They think we're on their side for now. We can use that."

He has a point. Wolf closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Snake might be saying 'we', but he really means Wolf, and they both know it.

Wolf is the only one of them that has an excuse to be in that room.

He would very much like to be a thousand miles away right now, but he steels himself, and draws himself together. Snake has done the thinking; it's time for him to do his part, and be the leader.

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The guard on the door looks up when he approaches.

"You got permission?"

Wolf considers it an act of God that he actually manages to grin at the man.

"Come on, mate. How many times have you offered me a smoke?"

For a second he thinks it isn't going to work, but then the guard's mouth cracks into a smile. "Yeah, all right. Go on in."

Wolf's heart catches in his throat as he crosses through the door. It slams resolutely behind him, and then he's inside, and officially committed to this.

Snake has agreed to go back to the lake, and meet him afterwards. Wolf wasn't sure that he'd get the clearance to do this, if he'd gone to the Sergeant, so he went straight in without asking for clearance. Simple.

Three agents have been assigned to interrogate Cub, two men and a woman. Two of them are deep in discussion next to where Cub is tied up (still in one piece, Wolf sees) while the third, the one Wolf recognises from outside, looks around when Wolf comes in. His eyes narrow. He's younger than Wolf expected, with a clean-cut kind of look about him and an expression like there's an unpleasant smell under his nose. He has the kind of trained blankness behind his eyes that all three of them have, the kind that Wolf has come to recognise in Special Ops agents; Cub has a flavour of it himself.

"What now?"

"The Sergeant sent me to keep an eye on things," Wolf lies smoothly. Given the little show outside, it seems credible. "I did the, uh, the first interrogation on Rider. Over the last few days. If he changes his story in any way, I'll be able to let you know."

It works. A disgruntled expression crosses Agent Ryan's face, but he nods. "Fine. But don't interrupt."

The other agents only give him a brief glance, taking in his combats and his military stance and clearly learning all they need to know, before turning away dismissively. But when Cub notices him, his eyes widen slightly and follow Wolf as he makes his way to the back corner of the room. The whole scene is already giving Wolf a queasy feeling. The agents have their heads together, discussing how they're going to go about this in casual tones, while Cub…

Wolf might even say that Cub looks scared. His hands are clenched into fists where they're tied behind his back, and his lips are pressed together tightly.

Wolf leans against the wall, swallowing hard. I'm on your side, he wants to tell Cub somehow, but he's never been good at the whole nonverbal communication thing. He could try to sign something, he supposes, but there's a risk that anything Cub might interpret, the agents would as well.

"What's the point in starting light?" one of the agents is saying. "They already tried that, and he didn't give. We might as well go straight in at the deep end."

The second agent – the woman – nods. "I agree." She glances past him, at Cub. "You hear that, Rider? You ready to be cooperative?"

Rider looks up at her with sullen contempt. There's a familiarity between them, Wolf realises. They know him – either as a former MI6 agent or as an assassin. It's strange to think that Cub has a reputation, outside of how Wolf knows him.

"Let's get this over with," says the male agent, the one who Wolf is getting the impression of as the natural leader among them. He strides up to Cub and looks down at him. "Here's how this is going to work, Rider. Nobody's going soft on you anymore. None of us are going fall for your victim act. You're going to answer every question you're given, or things are going to get more unpleasant than they need to."

Wolf struggles to hide the way his mind is spinning. They're certainly treating him like he's a hostile enemy, and not one of theirs. Perhaps he did work for MI6, but did something to piss them off?

"Fine with me," Cub replies, his voice even. "I've been waiting for you guys to show up for days."

The agent pauses. "And what does that mean exactly?"

Cub meets his eyes steadily. "I'll tell you everything you like. No… persuasions needed."

The agent's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Good. You can start with giving us the name of the person who put out your hit."

This is where the evasion begins, Wolf thinks, but Cub takes the whole room by surprise.

"The name he gave me was Fallows," he says clearly. "He's something to do with casinos, I think."

What?

The agents look just as taken aback.

"Fallows," the interrogator repeats.

"That's right."

"And how did you meet this 'Fallows'?"

"One of my contacts told me what he wanted, and then told him about me, when I agreed to do it. I met up with him in one of his bars in London."

"Contacts in Scorpia?"

Wolf thinks he sees something cross Cub's face, but he holds his chin just as high and doesn't deny it. "Those would be the ones."

"And what did he look like?"

Cub shrugs. "In his forties, white, average looking. He had two pretty intimidating bodyguards that didn't want me getting too close. I can give you the details of the place and you can go through the security footage if you like—"

"Okay, I get the picture."

The female agent pipes up. "Chad Granger goes by Fallows sometimes. He owns a few casinos, and he matches the description." She pulls out a phone, scrolls for a moment, then shows it to the interrogator. "Here. Blunt's had him on amber alert for almost a year." Another scroll, and then a poignant pause. "Two of the reports that mentioned him came from Evans."

Evans… the man that Cub killed.

A lump is rising in Wolf's throat. So Cub is an assassin after all, at least in this instance.

"You don't seem awfully concerned with protecting the identity of your employer," the leading agent comments.

Cub shrugs. "I didn't particularly like him. And he had someone murdered, he broke the law. You can do what you want with him. That's not my business."

"Let me guess: he already paid you?" The agent shakes his head, disgusting curling on his face. "You're supposed to be competent, Rider. Contract killers don't survive for very long by selling out the people that give them jobs."

"Well, it looks like my career is swinging to a close anyway, doesn't it?" Such bitterness laces Cub's voice that it's virtually acidic.

Wolf tries to put these pieces together in his head. From the way Cub is talking, it sounds like he's burning his bridges before his last fall, which makes a certain amount of sense. But it still leaves one question unanswered, and the agent is wondering it as well as Wolf.

"So why exactly were you so opposed to telling your SAS interrogator any of this?"

Now, something dark passes through Cub's eyes.

"This is between me and Blunt," he says firmly. "It always has been. I don't want anyone outside MI6 dragged into this." If his eyes flicker over to Wolf for a moment, it's too fast for anyone to notice. "There's been enough collateral damage already."

As the implication of Cub's words seep into Wolf's mind, unease begins to set in. Wolf isn't sure how to feel about that, or what it's supposed to mean… Is Cub implying that Wolf was the one he was trying to protect somehow, when he refused to talk?

A frown crosses the agent's face, but he shakes it off, and then laughs. "So noble of you, Rider. Are you seriously trying to tell us that you resisted interrogation because you're so selfless?"

"No," Rider snaps. "I'm trying to send Blunt a message that he can do his own goddamn dirty work for once, instead of dragging people I knew years ago into this mess."

The agent gives Wolf an amused look. "You here that, soldier? Little shit was stopping you from doing your job because he was looking out for you. I know you're young and new to interrogation, Rider, but take it from an older agent: in future, you'll need a more convincing story than that."

"How about you take it from a better agent: this isn't my first interrogation, you fucking Neanderthal, and the next time you torture someone you should probably read their whole file first."

The agent punches Cub square in the jaw. His head snaps sideways.

"Not bad," Cub comments, his voice thick, after a moment of silence. "Could do with more of a swing, though. And you shouldn't tuck your thumb underneath like—"

The second blow cuts him off mid-sentence. Wolf winces. Being hit as such close quarters isn't fun, he knows from experience. He isn't surprised when Cub chooses to keep quiet, this time.

"First interrogation or not, Rider, you still have a thing or two to learn about keeping your mouth shut."

"I thought you wanted me to talk." Cub tests out his jaw with a wince, and spits out blood. "I'm getting some real mixed messages here, you know."

Cub's voice is starting to sound pained, no matter how much bravado he's still putting on.

The agent turns away, turns to his colleague, and says something in her ear. Suddenly, Wolf is flooded with an awful feeling of foreboding. The other agent's eyes slide slowly onto Cub, scrutinising him for a long moment, before she nods.

Both Wolf and Cub tense at what she pulls out of her jacket and places in the interrogator's hand.

"I'm telling you what you want," Cub protests, an edge of fear creeping into his voice.

The agent hums, turning the knife over in his fingers, and flicking open the blade. It's short, but it looks awfully sharp.

"Let's see if you say the same thing when you're a little less comfortable."

"You don't need to—"

"You don't get to decide what we need to do, Rider. You lost your say in MI6's actions when you started killing people for a living. Besides… Blunt gave us orders not to listen to anything you say before you've suffered a bit."

Wolf's gut is starting to churn. They can't be serious, can they?

The agent saunters forward. Cub's eyes are glued to the knife, his face tight with apprehension.

"You know, I remember working with you in… where was it?"

The interrogator turns back to his colleague.

"Jakarta," she provides, cocking her head at Cub thoughtfully. "The Sting-Ray mission."

"Jakarta, that was it. You practically ran into gunfire to save those kids." The interrogator shakes his head, his expression grim. "If you could turn traitor after that, you're capable of anything, in my book."

Wolf's gut is churning. He's cooperating, he wants to yell at them, you don't need to torture him…

But if he says anything now, he'll only draw attention to himself, mark himself as a sympathiser. He forces himself to swallow down his protests, even as his brain screams at him to act. He can only watch, sickened, as the interrogator cuts Cub's shirt from his skin with a few deft hacks. And he feels a thousand times worse when he sees the extent of Cub's injuries that have been invisible to him before now. Purple bruising discolours his chest in multiple places. Wolf would be surprised if he doesn't have at least one broken rib in there. Worse – blood has completely soaked the bandage dressing the bullet wound in his shoulder; there's not a speck of white left.

Agent Ryan whistles from across the room.

"Nice work, Corporal."

It takes a moment for Wolf to realise that they mean him. Suddenly, there are eyes on him that he didn't anticipate.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "It was you who shot him down, wasn't it? I recognised your voice from the earpiece."

Wolf has never felt less proud of completing a mission. He feels like he's burning. He does his best to look anywhere but Cub, not wanting to see the way that Cub might be looking at him.

"Yeah," he mutters. "It was."

"Well, I think there's a lot to work with here," says the interrogator. "Don't you think, Rider?"

Wolf can practically see Cub's skin crawling, leaning as far away from the man as he can.

And then agent is cutting away the bandage on his bullet wound, and Wolf hears Cub's breath hitch in pain. The sight of the bullet wound makes Wolf wince. It doesn't look infected, but it's still quite literally a fresh wound, and it's got to be stinging like hell.

"The name of your employer."

Cub takes a shaky breath. "Fallows," he says steadily.

And then he's gasping as the tip of the knife digs into the wound.

"Sure about that, Rider?"

"Yes."

The knife twists. Cub jerks, face contorting in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Fucking yes."

"Okay," says the agent. "Let's talk about Scorpia, then."

"I'd be able to think a lot better without a knife in my— fuck."

The agent digs the knife in once again, making fresh blood bubble up.

"You know every time you make one of your little comments, you're only making this worse for yourself."

Cub glares at him with such raw hatred that it sends a shiver down Wolf's spine, despite everything. He flashes back to Cub saying that he'd kill any MI6 agent that laid a finger on him, and looking at him now, Wolf can believe it. For the interrogator's sake, Wolf hopes those zip ties are tough.

… But there's also another part of Wolf that wants these assholes to get everything that's coming to them, and it's growing more vocal as the agent asks question after question, his voice utterly neutral and unaffected. The other two agents observe impassively. Perhaps it's their training, but they show none of the horror that Wolf is feeling. Leaning against the opposite wall, Ryan is actually picking at his nails.

Wolf knows he has to stay for as long as he can bear to, witness as much of the exchange as he can bear, to get a full perspective. It only gets worse from there. They fall into a pattern of the leading agent throwing out a question, Cub answering under various levels of "persuasion", punctuated with Cub's increasingly frequent and more desperate pleas that this isn't necessary...

He holds up as well as Wolf probably would have, under the same circumstances. But eventually, Cub's snarky remarks have long since stopped, and the resolve that every agent under torture starts out with – not to scream, not to beg, not to show any signs of weakness – has given way. After a while, Wolf finds himself unable to look any longer, and when the smell of blood is permeating the air so much that Wolf can't stand to be in the room, he slips away, muttering something about reporting to the Sergeant. Cub's voice rings in his ears long after he's left the cabin.

Wolf's gut is churning so badly he has to reach out to steady himself against the cabin wall, fearing he might throw up, only to shudder when he realises what's still going on inside those walls, even if he can no longer hear it.

If his mind wasn't made up before, it is now. Assassin or not, they can't leave Cub to those people. It's sick. It's not humane.

He means to head straight for the lake, but before he can take a step in that direction, he hears his name being called.

Wolf turns to see a recruit, one he doesn't recognise, jogging across the yard.

"Wolf, isn't it? The Sergeant wants you in his office."

Wolf blinks, head swimming. Christ, he doesn't need this right now.

"You better go quickly," the recruit advises him. "He's pissed. Told me to make sure I bring you back with me."

Shit. He can't refuse to go to the Sergeant's quarters; if he flags that something's wrong with him, there will be people watching him all of a sudden, and then he'll never be able to help Cub.

There's nothing he can do but reluctantly head off with the recruit, with one final glance over his shoulder at the cabin.

Hold on, Cub. Hold on.

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(you know the drill, review review review!)