Chapter Text
The cell was dark, damp, and smelled faintly of copper and mildew. Jo Portman sat curled in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, trying to keep her breath even. It had been hours since they'd thrown her in here. Six? Eight? Time was already beginning to warp in the silence. The Redbacks were efficient like that — stripping you of any sense of control before the real work even began.
Her head rested against the wall, eyes half-shut, but every muscle in her body was tense. She kept listening for footsteps. For voices. For the moment when the door would open and—
No. Don't go there.
She forced herself to breathe. She thought of Adam instead. His voice in her memory, steady and bold:We'll get through this.He always said things like that with such certainty, like his conviction alone could alter reality. Jo clung to the thought like it was oxygen. He was her hope of rescue.
But when the door finally did open, it wasn't Adam. It was one of them — the tall French one. He leaned in, smiled, and whispered something in French as he set down a tray of water. Her stomach turned. She pressed herself against the wall, refusing to look at him. His chuckle lingered long after the door shut again.
She squeezed her eyes closed.Don't cry. Don't break.
**
Hours later — or maybe only minutes, time meant nothing now — the door opened again. Jo startled, every nerve on fire. Two men shoved someone inside, tall, blond, hands tied. He stumbled, caught himself, and lifted his head.
"Adam." Her voice cracked.
He looked at her — and she saw the relief and anger mingled in his blue eyes. "Jo."
They pushed him down roughly and left, locking the door behind them. He scrambled up instantly, crossing to her. His wrists were bound but his presence was solid, grounding.
"Are you alright?" he demanded, searching her face, her arms, her whole body as though he could catalogue every hurt just by looking. Adam'e been trained to be observant, to miss nothing, and there's something about Jo that's just not right.
She nodded too quickly. "I'm fine."
He studied her, eyes narrowing. He didn't believe her. He could see the way her hands trembled, he heard how her voice caught slightly on the word fine. He had interrogated enough people to know the signs.
But he didn't push. Not yet. Instead, he sank down beside her, shoulder to shoulder, as if his nearness itself could shield her.
For the first time since she'd been taken, Jo let herself exhale.
I'm fine,she repeated in her head. Fine.
If she said it enough times, maybe it would be true.
**
The hours crawled. Adam's been scanning the room, looking for a possible way out. But there is none.
Adam's been here before. He's been tortured before while working for Six. In Syria and then in Serbia. It's not a place he wants to be back in, and it chills him to think of what might happen if their colleagues can't find them in time.
They sit side by side, backs to the wall, whispering quietly whenever the footsteps outside faded. Adam tried to keep her mind steady, tried to keep her talking — small things, anything. He told her about the Grid, about the stupid malfunctioning coffee machine, about Ros swearing when it overflowed. It was almost funny. Almost normal.
He tells her Bob Hogan betrayed them and that he put a tracker on Bob, which gives her hope that MI5 will reach them. She hopes they are not too late.
But every time there was a sound outside the door, Jo flinched. Adam noticed. Every time she folded inward, as if bracing.
At one point, he asked again, softer this time. "Jo. Did they hurt you?"
Her throat tightened. She forced herself to meet his gaze. "No." The lie tasted like ash, but she clung to it.
She's gotten better at lying in the two years since she was recruited but Adam knows her too well. And he knows that something's not right with Jo. The way she's speaking, the way she seems to have lost hope so quickly.
His voice was low, urgent. "Did they do anything —?"
"No." She cut him off, sharp. "No, Adam. I'm fine."
He searched her eyes, then nodded slowly. But the doubt lingered in the tension of his jaw, in the way his hand hovered near hers, not touching, but close.
**
The sound echoed in the cell of screaming.
Zaf, Jo thought immediately. They were taunting them with the sound of what they'd done to Zaf - cheeky, bold, lively Zaf who'd been purchased, sold on several times and tortured to death in ways too awful to imagine in some remote part of Pakistan.
The guard entered the cell, telling them that at night Zaf had cried at for his mother, once they'd finished their evil work. He ended it by looking towards Jo, his voice low and intimate:"Ça va, mon ange?"
Adam froze. His French was fluent and the way he'd referred to Jo was too intimate for comfort. My angel. His body went taut, fury flashing in his eyes like lightning. The guard smirked at Adam knowingly as he left.
He turned to Jo, his face shocked, his voice low, rough with restrained emotion.
"Jo."
Jo turned her face away from Adam, not wanting to face him. "It's alright Adam," she said in a hushed voice.
"No it's not," Adam countered her.
After a moment he added. "I can't say anything."
Saying anything would show them that he cared what they did to her. And that would put her even more at risk than she was. He wouldn't allow them to use his feelings for Jo as a way to hurt her more by trying to manipulate information out of him.
"No you can't," she agreed.
"Jo," Adam started again.
She shook her head quickly, eyes shimmering. "Don't. Please. Don't."
The denial was desperate, fragile. Adam swallowed hard, his chest tight. He wanted to press, to demand the truth, but he saw the raw edges of her breaking. He couldn't push her further.
So instead, he shifted closer. Carefully, deliberately, he slid his hands around hers. Their fingers tangled, her hand clinging to his as if it was the only solid thing in the world.
Jo thinks about Zaf, and the suffering he endured for months before his life ended.
"I'm scared Adam. I'm so scared," she confesses. She doesn't want to die this way.
"Just hold on," Adam tells her. "Hold on and they'll come for us."
For the first time since her capture, Jo let herself lean into him, her forehead against his shoulder, his warmth anchoring her in the darkness.
"I've got you," he whispered. "We'll get out of here soon. Both of us."
She didn't cry. Not yet. But she held on.
And Adam, heart hammering with anger and something deeper he didn't dare name, held her right back.