Call of Desire

32. Rue

rue
/ro͞o/
verb
bitterly regret something one has done or allowed to happen.

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Content Warning: Torture, Gore, Blood

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"Simon..?" John stammered, gently shaking his companion. "Simon, please wake up..."

"Last chance to accept our offer." The Russian voice called to him.

"Fuck... Fuck!" He sobbed, pulling himself and Simon off the floor, supporting the man entirely as they made their way back to the original apartment.

John hesitated, standing in front of the barricaded door.

"You're not lying to me?" He called, shaking.

"No."

He looked at Simon, who remained unconscious. "I don't have a choice, Simon... I'm sorry." He held down the button on his comms device, exhaling heavily.

"Price?"

"Soap."

"You're gonna need to come get us." He muttered, carefully leaning Ghost against the wall, leaving him in a sitting position.

"What? Why?"

"I'm making a bad decision, sir," John stated, pushing the sofa away from the door. "They said if I surrender, they'll patch up Ghost."

"MacTavish, you and I both know that's a blatant lie."

"I have to try, sir." He sighed, wiping the tears off his face as he kneeled before Simon.

"Do not take that offer, MacTavish! That's an order!" Price's voice cut off as Soap tore the small radio off his vest, crushing it beneath his boot. He did the same with Ghost's, destroying it. Gingerly placing Simon's arm over his shoulders again, he stood, supporting both of them.

"I'm going to come out all peaceful, okay?"

"Good."

Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door, revealing several men, all with guns pointed at his chest.

"Hello, my friend." The man directly in front of him smiled. He looked eerily familiar. "Come with me."

"You're going to help my friend, right?" John asked, panic setting in.

"Yes, yes, of course, just follow me. We'll take him to a medic." Gesturing for Soap to follow, the man began walking down the bloodied hall, John on his heels.

The Scotsman could hear laboured breathing coming from Simon. He took that as a good sign. At least he's alive.

Carrying an unconscious Simon up three flights of stairs left John's hip burning, his shoulder throbbing, and his head aching.

"Leave him here," the man stated as they rounded a corner, revealing a small medical bay.

A doctor nodded to him, pointing at an empty bed.

"I have O-positive blood, can I give him some?" John asked as he gently laid Simon on the bed. "He's lost a lot."

The doctor and the man who made the offer had a quick conversation in Russian.

"He says sit down." The man stated. John obeyed, sitting in the chair beside the bed, watching as the doctor tore the hastily applied bandages off Simon's body.