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ziptiesnfries · 8 months

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The Interrogation, part 2

part 1 - tag list: @gala1981 - Roux & Ambrose masterpost

CWs: water torture, manhandling, previously broken finger, creepy/intimate whumper, minor character death, blood, knives

Roux gasps and splutters as the interrogator yanks their head out of the icy water. Immediately, they start coughing, water pouring out of their mouth. Once they’re able to drag in a full breath, they start, “I t-told you—I told you everything I know—”

After Ambrose left, the interrogator came back with a metal tub, and Roux had finally cracked. The details of the job they’d been given spilled from their lips, a desperate attempt at avoiding further pain.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Even after they talked, the interrogator dragged them to the tub and pushed them under. Over, and over, and over.

The interrogator drops them. With their hands tied behind their back, they’re in no position to catch themself, and they wince as the edge of the tub smacks their ribs. They can hear the indifferent shrug in the interrogator’s voice as he says, “Boss said to dunk you anyway.”

“Why?” they demand. Why would Ambrose want them to keep getting tortured if not for information? Punishment?

They try to struggle upright, but the interrogator keeps a firm grip on the back of their neck. Again, his voice is indifferent. “Not my business.” Then he shoves them back under.

It’s getting harder and harder to hold their breath long enough, and they start inhaling water a moment before the torturer lets them up again. They lean against the edge of the tub and shiver as they hack up what they just swallowed. Water drips down their shoulders, soaking their shirt. It didn’t feel cold in here before, but suddenly it’s like the AC is on full blast. They wonder if that’s something else Ambrose ordered.

Finally, the interrogator sighs, releasing his grip. “I think that’s enough,” he mutters. “It better be, anyway.” Roux feels pathetically grateful as his footsteps recede, relieved to hear the door shut behind him.

They try to shuffle away from the tub, but they lose their balance and land in the cold puddle next to it. Their shoulder hits the floor, the movement jostling their broken finger. Shit.

Roux squeezes their eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath, wishing their team would just show up and rescue them already. How long have they been here? It’s hard to tell—it feels like a long time. Interrogations never feel short, even when they are. But this hardly counts as an interrogation anymore.

They startle as the door opens again, and they find the energy to struggle up to their knees. What now? they wonder desperately. Did the interrogator change his mind? They don’t think they can survive more waterboarding.

But when they finally get themself upright, they see Ambrose approaching. Dread fills their stomach as he grins at them. “Aw, look at you—you’re soaked.”

“Fuck you!” Roux snaps. The sudden effort triggers a coughing fit, and they double over, trying not to lose their balance. Ambrose patiently waits for them to finish, quiet as they straighten up and glare at him. “I told him everything you need to know—”

“I know.” He crouches down, and they realize he’s holding a towel under his arm. “Thank you for that, sweetheart, I really appreciate it. I thought you might want to be dried off.”

They narrow their eyes, trying to figure out what kind of sick game he’s playing. “I’m fine,” they mutter. They’re still shivering, kneeling in a puddle of cold water, but whatever he’s offering, they don’t want it.

“Oh, come on, you must be freezing.” He drapes the towel around their shoulders, rubbing it up and down their arms.

They flinch away. “Don’t touch me—ah, fuck!” Their back hits the tub, and their broken finger pushes up against it. They lurch away—and right into Ambrose’s waiting arms.

For a moment, they’re so startled that they can’t even move. He wraps his arms around them, pulling them into his lap, and suddenly their head is pressed against his chest as he rubs their back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Oh, you’re even lighter than I thought you were …”

Their face flushes a deep red. “What the hell are you doing?” they hiss. “Let go of me!”

“Aw, but you’re just so cute like—ow!” His jaw snaps shut as they headbutt him in the chin. They only get a small moment of satisfaction before he yanks their hair back, glaring at them sternly, the same way he might scold a dog. “Hey. Don’t be like that, sweetheart; I’m trying to help you.”

They scowl back at him, still uncomfortably aware that they’re sitting in his lap. “What the fuck?” they demand. “Are you—” Their stomach twists. “Are you trying to flirt with me or something?”

For a moment, he looks confused. Then he starts laughing—a deep, full laugh, like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh, no, no, of course not. That would be like—like flirting with a teddy bear. Or a puppy.”

Their face gets even redder, their thoughts going from relieved to offended. They get the urge to headbutt him again, but he’s still gripping their hair, keeping them from moving. “I’m a fucking adult, first of all,” they snap. They’re certainly mature enough to handle romance—they just don’t want it from him.

“Oh, I know.” He grins at them fondly, and their skin crawls as his fingers scratch against their scalp. “But you’re so adorable.”

Usually, when people call them cute, Roux either brushes it off or takes advantage. After all, it’s easier to be a criminal for hire when no one expects it—and, being under five feet tall, most people expect some kind of sweet, innocent demeanor from them. Roux works with it. But here, wrapped up in Ambrose’s arms, being seen as cute is starting to feel like a serious liability.

Roux shoves their shoulder against Ambrose’s chest, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on him. “You’re a creep,” they mutter, wishing their hands were free so they could punch that stupid grin off his face. “Let go of me!”

But the stupid grin remains, and he continues rubbing the towel up and down their arms, keeping a tight grip on them. “If you keep squirming, I’ll dunk you in the tub,” he murmurs. “Then you’ll be really cold.” He looks pleased by the idea, like he’d love to see them shiver harder.

The same thought Roux had about him earlier floats up in the back of their mind: What a goddamn freak. What’s wrong with him?

Despite the threat, and despite their violent shivering, they can’t bring themself to stop squirming. They hate having his hands on them, and he seems like he’s getting annoyed with it. “Can’t you just sit still?” he mutters.

“No. Fuck off.”

He sighs, and their stomach drops as he hooks an arm under their legs and picks them up. “Well, the tub it is, then.”

“Wait!” they gasp. “Wait, no, I—” But he’s only a step away from the tub, and before they can protest further, he dumps them in.

Suddenly they’re submerged in icy water, soaking the rest of their clothes, sloshing into their boots. They gasp at the shock of it, open-mouthed as they stare up into Ambrose’s grinning face. “I warned you.”

A violent shiver runs through them as the cold sets in. “You fucking bastard.” They lean against the side of the tub, awkwardly scooting into a sitting position so they’re not so submerged. Not that it helps; they’re soaked all the way through, and not even Ambrose’s flimsy towel could do anything about it now.

Ambrose opens his mouth—but he’s cut off by a distant banging noise. His grin disappears. He narrows his eyes as he glances at the door. “I’ll be back.”

He leaves them alone, and it’s a relief not to have him watching as they struggle to their feet. Their legs tremble with the cold as they step out of the tub, dripping water all over the floor. The towel, which was still wrapped around them when Ambrose dumped them in the water, sinks to the bottom of the tub. It probably wouldn’t do them much good with their hands still tied, but it would be nice to have something to dry off with.

The noises outside are getting louder, and Roux lets themself feel a weary sense of hope. Sure enough, when the door bangs open, a familiar figure grins at them through a black ski mask, and relief floods through them. “Roux!” Cruz exclaims. Then his face falls as he takes in their condition, hurrying over to them. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Roux lets their shoulders relax, even though they’re still shivering. “I’m fine,” they say, even though it’s not strictly true. They turn around as Cruz pulls out his knife to cut their hands free. “How long was I …?”

Cruz saws through the rope quickly. “We lost contact for four hours.” Four hours? It felt like longer than that. “This place was higher security than the client let on—no wonder you got caught.” He shakes his head, like he has a longer rant in store about the client. Roux gets the feeling that whoever hired them is getting charged full price, despite the fact that Roux didn’t get the files they were sent here for. “Anyway,” Cruz continues, “don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. You got tortured.”

The torture wasn’t even the worst part, but Roux keeps their mouth shut. Thinking about how Ambrose acts around them sends a chill down their spine that has nothing to do with the cold, and all they want is to go home and forget about it. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Cruz gives them a look that says they’ll be discussing this later—a conversation they’re already dreading. But, for now, he just squeezes their shoulder and pockets his knife. “Right, let’s go.”

The scent of blood hits Roux as they step out into the hallway, making them slightly queasy. A familiar black-clad figure wipes her bloodstained knife on her pants. “Hallway’s clear,” Violet announces, casually stepping over a body. The face is turned away, but Roux is pretty sure it’s the guy who waterboarded them. Roux has never been quite comfortable with killing—it’s more Violet’s department than theirs—but they feel a sick sense of satisfaction that their torturer is dead now.

They don’t have time to feel guilty about it, though; they have a more pressing question. “Did you happen to see a tall, blond guy in a suit?” they ask Violet.

The same part of them that’s relieved to see the torturer dead is hoping she’ll say, Yep, the body’s just around the corner, wanna see? Roux isn’t usually one to wish death on others, but Ambrose was … unsettling. More than that—he was creepy, and it was laser-focused on them. They wouldn’t mind being rid of him for good.

But Violet shakes her head. “Nope, no one like that. We should go, before reinforcements show up.”

Roux tries to hide their disappointment, ignoring the way Cruz raises an eyebrow at them. “Right, yeah, let’s go.”

Violet leads the way, hopping over the scattering of dead bodies she left in her wake. Usually, Roux would feel a little more nauseated by that—they love Vi; they’ve never quite gotten used to her penchant for killing, though—but they’re distracted by the thought that neither Cruz nor Violet have seen Ambrose. Did he see the carnage and decide to bolt? Roux hopes so, because they can’t stomach the thought that he’s still lurking around here somewhere, waiting to pounce.

Relief washes over Roux when the team finally bursts out into the cool, early morning air, and Cruz hurries them toward the van. Roux collapses on their knees inside, and as soon as Cruz and Violet shut the doors, the van lurches into motion.

Lyon is in the driver’s seat, maneuvering away from Ambrose’s building as quickly as he can. “Status?” he asks, his voice tight with worry.

“Walking; breathing,” Roux replies, slumping against the wall.

Cruz rolls his eyes as he pulls off his ski mask. “They’ve got a broken finger, some blood on their face, and they got waterboarded.”

Lyon inhales sharply, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Jesus.”

Violet pulls off her mask, too, shaking out her long, purple hair. “I killed four guards—that’s as many as we saw. No sign of whoever was in charge.”

Roux’s chest tightens as Cruz turns his gaze on them. “Did you happen to find out who was in charge?”

They manage to keep a poker face as they nod. “He said his name was Ambrose Lacrosse. Tall, blond guy.” A real fuckin’ creep, they add in their head.

Lyon thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of him. That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous, though.” His voice hardens. “I’ll have to chat with our client, because if they knew he was this dangerous and sent us after his stuff anyway …” His voice trails off, and he lets out another aggravated sigh before his eyes flicker over to the rearview mirror. “You okay, Roux?”

“I’ll recover.” And they will—physically, at least. They’ve had worse injuries than this before.

“We’ll have Sonny check you out when we get back,” Lyon says, referring to the team medic. “No more missions until they clear you.” Roux bites back a groan—they should’ve expected some recovery time, but they hate being idle. They briefly meet Lyon’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and his gaze softens. “I’m sorry this happened. I never would’ve sent you if I’d known …”

They wave a hand. “It’s not your fault.”

Cruz slides to the ground next to them and wraps an arm around their shoulders, despite the fact that they’re still soaking wet. “We’re just glad to have you back in one piece.”

They sigh, leaning into his warmth, and their anxiety about Ambrose melts away. Right now, they’re safe with their team, and that’s all that matters.

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