Chapter Text
In River’s right hand he held a bit of metal. It was a small section of a metal pipe, about ½” around and 1” long. Not long enough to wield, and too lightweight to do any damage with, but just the right size to grip desperately. In his left hand he held nothing. He was zip-tied to a metal chair, which was bolted to the concrete floor. There were no arm rests and his arms were tied to the chairback, wrists to the rear legs of the chairs. He was shivering, though not voluntarily, and currently shoeless. They’d let him keep pretty much all of his clothing, only removing his jacket and his shoes. He was under strict orders not to release the metal bit from his hand, or else face consequences much worse than his current predicament.
The room itself was square, 8’x8’, and currently River was the only occupant. Waterboarding training had ended what must have been several hours ago, and they’d left him in the room gasping for air with the command to hold onto the metal bit. The shivering had started shortly thereafter, and River was quick to pin it on the fact that couldn’t be warmer than 12 degrees in the room. After all, it certainly couldn’t be because he was scared out of his wits. River was a born and bred spook and had been training for this all his life, and he of course did not feel fear out in the field. Of course.
Once he’d gotten his breath back in him and spat out as much water as he could, boredom had settled in quickly. Stay calm, he could hear the O.B.s voice in his head, Focus. When he took stock of his surroundings, he noted the following - a camera in the corner of the room, a thick steel door with a thick window, an overhead fluorescent light, and several 5 gallon buckets of water lined up on the right hand wall. By his calculation, of the 8 total buckets, 3 still had water remaining.
He had strained his ears for any other sounds, hearing the distant sound of men mumbling to one another, and in the far distance perhaps a train rumbling by. That was ignoring the sound of his own shuddering breaths and the water drops still trickling down from his clothes and dropping to the floor, of course.
His clothing was still sopping wet and he wished he’d picked out something more survival friendly in the morning, as though he could’ve predicted himself landing in this scenario. River had been overjoyed to be sent overseas on an op, a real op, that he had been too stupid to examine the op for what it was. Now, with all the time in the world, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was a set up.
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River crouched in the shadow of a brick wall, his breath shallow, heart pounding like a war drum. A cold drizzle fell, turning the world into a blur of gray, but River felt the heat of sheer adrenaline tightening around him like a vise. It was supposed to be a simple extraction—retrieve the intel, vanish into the night. Some way somehow, he was trapped in the labyrinthine streets, with the Istanbul variety of Dogs on his heels.
The op was going quite smoothly, up until now. Shortly after he’d gotten into Istanbul he’d collected his things and headed to a nearby botanical garden, found his way to the special bench with the special files taped underneath it, extracted them, and returned to the Hotel he was staying at. He’d stopped a few meters away at a payphone, to call Lamb and let him know it was a success. He was glad he did, since as the phone was ringing, he watched several black SUVs pull up to the entrance to the Hotel, flashing pictures at staff who were pointing to elevators. No doubt giving them directions to Rivers room. Not willing to stick around, he hung up the phone (Lamb never picked up anyways) and snuck away into the back alleys.
He didn’t quite have a plan, but that was his norm. The rough outline was that he’d find a way to the airport, find a way on a plane, find a way home. His phony passport and wallet were in his pockets, all that he’d left in the hotel was a small suitcase with a change of clothes. No loss there.
But first he’d stash the files somewhere inconspicuous in case he was discovered.
River ghosted through the alleyways until he found what he believed to be a rather appropriate looking nook, which was devoid of footprints and likely did not see any traffic. He stashed the folder away and snuck through the shadows once more, heading to the busy nightlife district where he could hopefully blend in with the crowds until he could find a way to get to the airport.
That was the plan until he could hear the heavy footsteps of combat boots echoing in the alleyways, all too aware that they were probably looking for him. The rain fell harder, masking the sound of his heartbeat as he leaned closer to the wall.
Stay calm. Keep your head, he thought, forcing his body to relax even as his mind raced.
He had to be a good 2 miles off from the files at this point. If they got him they wouldn’t be able to find the file. And they wouldn’t get him anyway - he was a damn Cartwright. There had to be a way out—there always was.
Ahead, the alley opened into a small courtyard illuminated by flickering street lamps. The rain, a blessing and a curse, offered a momentary reprieve. With the sound of the downpour drowning out his movements, he slipped into the courtyard, blending with the shadows that danced in the dim light. There were several possible agents scattered around the courtyard, but none of them seemed to be watching him. Nonetheless, he didn’t much care for the exposure and hustled through, headed towards what looked like a vacant taxi on the other side.
Just as he thought he might make it through unnoticed, a shadow emerged from the far side. It was a figure clad in black, his features obscured by a hood. River’s breath hitched and he broke into a dead sprint towards the taxi, before being unilaterally tackled to the ground. A hood came down over his head and he was knocked unconscious shortly afterward.
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Running through the events in his mind, River struggled to understand where he’d gone wrong. He’d followed all the training MI-5 had engrained in him, all the unofficial guidance the O.B. had taught him. He was careful, diligent, he was clean. He couldn’t understand where he’d bungled the op, but that could only leave two options - there was a mole somewhere, or he’d been set up. (Or he’d bungled the op). And now he was underground somewhere in Turkiye. At least the files were still hidden - he had to imagine if they’d been found he’d be dead already.
River’s lungs ached, still ragged from the waterboarding treatment. He knew from the torture resistance training in Wales that the ache would stay with him for a while, at least 3 days until he would be able to breathe normally, assuming they didn’t kill him before then and dump him somewhere. He was already 2 days in to this predicament by his own estimation, so by tomorrow or the following day he would be in tip top shape once more.
Sitting in the silence, River allowed his mind to drift.
The O.B. passed away last year, and for the first time, River was grateful for it. He couldn’t bear to think about the disappointment in the old mans eyes when Lamb would’ve told him that River had gone black on an op and wouldn’t return. What a great, cosmic joke it was - the useless “legacy” Cartwright snuffed out on his first legitimate operation. It really was a good thing Cartwright Senior wouldn’t be around to hear of it.
There was still a good chance he would get out of this thing alive, and possibly even intact. He’d heard rumors and rumblings about what Lamb would do for his joes in the field for years, that everyone who was anyone knew not to fuck with Lamb’s guys. To River’s constant surprise, most rumors about Lamb wound up being true, and he desperately hoped this one might too.
River’s mind ran in circles for what must have been hours, reviewing the events of that day, considering the possibility of rescue, wishing he could’ve seen what was on the files before he’d stashed them, grateful he hadn’t because now he couldn’t give away anything important. The days’ aches and pains caught up with him, though, and exhaustion came for him like a wolf after it’s prey. River was depleted. He found his eyes drooping, the metal in his hand slipping… and jolted back awake, clutching at it once more. He wished he could free a hand to slap himself in the face, wake himself up and keep sleep at bay.
While the situation was bad already, at least he was alone for now, and if he dropped the metal they would surely notice on the cameras and come back in for him. The longer he could hold that off, the better. The more time he’d be able to give Lamb, and Standish, and Louisa, and even fucking Shirley and Marcus time to figure out what was going on. He occupied himself with the fantasy of rescue - Louisa bursting in, eyes wild, and he could drop the bit of metal and hear it clang to the floor, and she’d smell nice and clean and like coffee and he’d be free to go to his flat and sleep.
Sleep, sleep, sleep. That was what every fantasy ended on - he’d return home to his bed and sleep. The minutes and hours dragged on and he fought to stay awake, to imagine whatever new torture awaited him if he were to drop the metal bit. It surely couldn’t be pleasant, he knew that much.
At the end of the day, River was no match for his fatigue. His micro-sleeps became just standard sleep as he felt the metal bit leave his hand, not aware that his eyes had been closed quite a while already.
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Every muscle in his body seized, set afire with pain. River felt the binds on the chair digging into his legs and arms, though the more important sensation being his muscles contracting painfully and without his permission. He yanked against the zipties, straining them and finding them stronger than he was. A sharp burning coming from his clavicle. It could’ve been minutes or hours before he was once again in control of his body parts, but they were still twitching with the aftershocks of the taser.
“My name is Demir” said the man in front of him. River’s stomach dropped as he looked at him - easily 6’5”, looked as though he was in relatively good physical shape for his age (mid 40s), probably about 200lbs with hidden muscles. No ring on his finger (or tan line where one might be), salt and pepper hair and 5 o’clock shadow. Clad in black jeans and an athletic black tshirt despite the cool temperature in the room. Thick Turkish accent, and he paused between some words as if he were still learning English and would struggle to find the right sentence structures or words.
A preliminary profile of the man suggested that River was well and truly fucked.
“You. Are. Papers” Demir was grinning and looming over River. Someone else came and whispered in Demir’s ear and a brief expression of annoyance came over the man before he settled back into a professional calm. He looked back at River, who was looking between the two men.
“You have my papers.” Demir rephrased, wagging the taser at River. River struggled to open his mouth, which felt as though it were full of cotton, his tongue sluggish in his throat.
“I-” He coughed to clear his throat, “I don’t know what you’re on about, mate” River plastered a desperate, frightened look on his face, which was of course due to the fact that he was going to maintain his cover as a tourist on a sabbatical from a stressful tech job. He himself did not feel frightened, nor desperate. This was all part of the cover - today, he was Noah Abernant, a posh tech worker who desperately needed some time off and decided to find himself in Istanbul. Noah would be extremely afraid, and so River was playing the part.
Demir stalked around the room, making circles around River. River found himself tensing painfully when he lost visual on Demir, only hearing his light footsteps and soles of his shoes scraping against the concrete floor. It was eerily quiet, other than the sound of River's heart beating a tattoo against his chest. He let himself panic, assured himself it was what Noah would do so it was fine. Noah was not the type of fellow to deal with waterboarding very well.
“Please, please I don’t know what’s going on, just- just let me go!” River plead, making his voice a few notes lighter than usual, more frantic than he knew he was.
“Yes! Yes! You will go!” Demir circled in front of him once more.
“You will go, after I have papers. This is good for both of us.” Demir smiled earnestly, gesturing with the taser.
“I don’t even know what papers you’re talking about! I’m not a journalist, I’m a software engineer!” River begged.
“They teach you well in England. Very well.” Demir shrugged as he said this and he and leaned down, digging the tasers point under River’s ribs but not triggering it yet. Despite himself, River felt his body tense at the contact. Demir was close to his face now, River could feel his hot breath. Despite the chill of the room this was not very welcome.
“You will tell me now or you will tell me later, it is more easy for you and I if you tell me now” Demir looked imploringly into River’s eyes.
“I really don’t-” the taser felt like it was burning through his shirt, into his skin, and once again he had no control over his body. He couldn’t even cry out, his throat seized with the currents. After an eternity he came back to himself again. Every muscle was cramping, and he groaned faintly, unable to stop himself.
Demir was looking at him, only a foot away and crouched down. He muttered something in Turkish and the other man in the room responded before walking out. Alone with Demir, River would’ve felt the air thicken with anticipation if he wasn’t struggling to hold on already. After all, during the waterboarding he’d swallowed quite a bit of water, which he’d considered to be a benefit at the time seeing as he didn’t believe that would be offered later on, but now he felt as though he would vomit it all back up in short order. His stomach heaved over itself, and he was aware once again that he hadn't eaten since prior to his capture, so at least 2 days now.
“It’s alright, son.” Demir said to River, crouched in front of him, “I know you are MI-5. You do not need to put on this pretend. It is OK.” He patted River on the shoulder, and River flinched involuntarily. He tried to bury the rush of shame at the flinch - he was in character, and that is just what Noah would do if he were trapped in a torture chamber in a foreign country.
Demir walked back to the door as the younger man returned, handing over a large manila envelope. Demir turned again to face River, and began to pull out what River recognized to be his undercover wallet, passport, and the receipts for the hotel that River knew he’d left in his coat pocket.
The man seemed to be comparing the photos of River in the passport to the actual River, nodding his head as if to say, “yup, this is for sure the guy”.
“I’m not MI-5, you have my passport, you have to know” River begged. Demir didn’t react at all, though River could see cogs turning in the man’s head.
“You are little - you are young! Young!” The man said, slapping the passport as he did. “They are training them young! You know, I would never allow my son to do any of this”, Demir gestured to River. River didn't dare interject with his own thoughts on the matter, more than happy to let Demir ramble on and give him a break.
“It is far too eh… dangerous. Far far too dangerous. People die too often in our careers, my friend.” Demir was looking at River levelly as he went on, as if they were two competitors in a tennis match, instead of a captured MI-5 agent (tech worker?) and kidnapper.
“Yes, people die, they are waterboarded, they are electricity, they are starving, they do not get the allowance of sleep. They are… losing their fingers. They are very much creating targets on their family. They are made a spectacle. They are quite injured in our careers, would you agree? It is a tragic, tragic thing.”
River was at a loss for words, opting to let his training take the steering wheel - stay calm, focus. Stay calm, focus. Stay calm, focus. River wanted to let the strategist in his head take over - Demir was giving River perhaps more information than he realized. He was trying to intimidate him, sure, but along the way he'd revealed he had a son, and could possibly have a weakness there if River could find a way to exploit it. He could absolutely not in any case, think about them somehow finding his mother, who was River’s last remaining relative on this Earth. There was no way fo rthem to find her anyway. Despite the fuckups of the modern service, they wouldn’t mess up his cover badly enough to make her a target here. There was no way. Unless there’s a mole his mind whispered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” River’s voice sounded weak even to him, but he assured himself it was part of his cover. He was acting the part, nothing more.
“They would be so proud of you, you are so brave!” Demir threw River’s documents over his shoulder and jammed the taser into his gut once more, and River saw nothing but stars. Whatever respite he was granted didn’t last long, and he was brought back to consciousness with a sharp slap to his face.
“You are so brave. You have done your job - so successfully!” Demir shook River’s shoulders and he felt his muscles twinge with the movement.
“Now that you are done with your job, I must know where the papers are my son.” Demir said.
River’s mouth gaped open, eyes wide. He was at a loss for words - stay calm, focus. Stay calm, focus.
“Okay, ok, you want to think. I understand! Think about it, my son. Here is your alarm” Demir bent over on the ground, picking up the small bit of pipe and wrapping River’s left hand around it.
“When you are ready for us to speak once more, drop this. Until then, I will busy myself with learning more about you.”
Demir turned around and left the room, and the younger man approached River and delivered a jab to his kidneys before turning and leaving as well. River wheezed into the chilly underground air and kept his mantra at the forefront of his mind - keep calm. Focus.
His mind ran in circles but the encroaching darkness came for him once more. Demir had turned off the light before he left and River was left alone with his thoughts in the dark. And his pain. Which was more difficult to ignore now with nothing else to focus on. River took stock of himself, noting the persistent aching in his lungs, the sharp pain in his head where they’d knocked him out before bringing him here. The fresh burn marks, and heavy soreness in his muscles from the tasering.
He practiced tensing each muscle in his body individually, then releasing it, searching for something to keep him awake. He couldn’t be certain how long it had been since he’d first fallen asleep and been awoken by the taser, but knew it couldn’t have been long enough to gain any benefit from rest. His eyes felt dry and continued to drift closed without his permission. He felt his muscles stop tensing to their limit, as he began to fade into the darkness once more…
He jolted awake, struggling in his binds. He had to stay up, had to stay thinking or Demir would come back. But perhaps it would be better if Demir was working on him? Didn’t he say he was going to go dig into River’s identity? What if there really was a mole? They could’ve easily fed Demir all the information he needed.
River imagined his mother, in a nice home somewhere in France or maybe Germany, wherever the fuck she was posted up with whoever the fuck she decided was worthy of her time currenlty - she would be lounging on a couch somewhere, enjoying a crisp glass of wine with some friends or her new man, when Demir would burst in and overpower her, drag her by the hair kicking and screaming to the SUV nearby. And without Cartwright Sr. in the picture, no one at the Service could be arsed to do anything about it - there were, after all, much bigger priorities globally than a hippie abduction.
They’d bring her here, in the cellar (at some point he’d arrived at the conclusion he was being held underground somewhere, possibly in a cellar), and they’d present her sweaty, fearful face to River as a ‘gotcha’. Her hair which was normally quite well manicured would be frizzy and tangled, and she’d be crying big fat tears as she looked on at River, who would be unable to help her. He’d beg them to spare her, to just hurt him, and they’d laugh and agree and shoot her through the back of the head.
He couldn’t let them get to her. There were 2 Cartwrights left in the world and if he was a goner, she had to survive. He couldn’t let them just disappear. He resolved himself to see how long they’d let him rest, if they did at all, and closed his eyes and fell asleep.
A sound broke through the silence, and River turned his head, eyes darting toward the door as it creaked open. It wasn’t Demir, but it was the younger man.
“Ah, you’re awake!” the man said, his English smooth and practiced, unlike Demir’s. River stared at him blankly, trying to hide his surprise - he’d expected Demir to come for him again. This man was in his late 20s, with a carefully manicured beard and faded haircut. Kind of like a skinny DJ Khaled, if River was forced to pin down his lookalike. River struggled to pin on an effective scared civilian expression, but apparently succeeded as the man smirked at him.
The man chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Oh, I’m not falling for the little performance you’re putting on. You can cut the act when it’s just the two of us.” Well, maybe the expression wasn't so effective.
The man reached for his belt, unsheathing a pair of pliers. River focused on staying calm - this was exactly what he was trained for. He wouldn't give up the file.
“Let’s start simple,” the man said, picking up the blade and running his fingers along the edge. “You have information that I need. Where is the file?” River swallowed hard, steeling himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m serious, I’m just- I’m just a tech worker. You have to believe me!” He tried to look cowed, staring at the ground.
"Very well." The man advanced on River, towards his left side and bending down. River craned his head, trying to see what he was doing, but not able to.
River could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “I won’t tell you anything,” River repeated, his voice steadier than he felt.
River’s mind raced as the man advanced. The zip ties binding his wrists were cutting into his skin as he tried in vain to break through them.
The man’s fingers were warm as he gripped River’s freezing cold hand, squeezing just hard enough to elicit a wince. “You’re strong, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice almost admiring. “But everyone breaks eventually. It’s just a matter of time.”
River felt his index finger being handled, followed by the feeling of the pliers holding it in their grip, the cold metal biting into his flesh. “The file?”
River gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain silent. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He'd said all he needed to - he wouldn't give it up.
“How long do you think you can you hold on when the pain becomes unbearable?” The man's turkish accent made his words all the more menacing.
With that, the man tightened the pliers, a sharp pain radiating from River’s hand as he felt the pressure increase. The pain increased into a crescendo. It was excruciating, and he heard a loud keening noise, as if from an animal that was hit by a car, and vaguely River knew the sound came from himself. River involuntarily found himself struggling in the chair, an animalistic reflex to escape the pain. He heard a pop sound, and knew his skin must have broken.
“Your silence is commendable,” The man mused, releasing the pressure slightly. River sucked in greedy lungfuls of air, suddenly struck by a desperate need for oxygen and aware he hadn’t breathed at all for at least a minute. The pressure was still painful and he could hear a low groan that must’ve come from himself. He was consumed by the throbbing hot pain in his finger. Then the man released his finger completely, and if River had thought the initial injury was painful, the aftermath was almost equally so as blood came rushing back, and he looked down to see red trickling down onto the concrete floor.
He couldn’t see his finger from this angle, but imagined it probably looked rather like a crushed grape. He continued gasping for air, suddenly sweating quite harshly. River’s thoughts raced. He had to find a way to escape, to outsmart his captors. He wouldn’t hold up under this. He’d nearly lost his mind with the first finger, and couldn’t imagine surviving another 9 goes of this.
“Do you like being the lackey?” River asked, shifting his strategy. “Demir’s clearly in charge here, do you like working for him? Did you grow up hoping to be the right hand man to the guy who does the real work?”
The man paused, tilting his head slightly as if considering River’s words. “Interesting approach.” He took River’s middle finger between the prongs of the plier.
“Nooo” River groaned, as the man applied pressure once more. River felt his heart beating in his ears, his muscles straining to get away from the pain, all cognitive thought lost to desperate panic as the pliers crushed his middle finger. His vision blacked out for a moment and returned, River’s ears ringing. The man had stepped back as well, a smirk on his face and the pliers in his hand sporting blood on their tips. River’s throat ached, and he knew he’d been screaming.
“Please, please, please” River gasped, his head bowed and resting on his chest. He wasn’t all too sure what he was asking for - a break? Some water? A chance to sleep? Be let go? All of it, probably. He felt fingers fisting his hair and pulling his head up, and the man was directly in front of him, knife in hand. River tried to pull his head back, away from the blade, but the firm grip on his hair stopped him from being able to. Sheer terror coursing through his body, his fingers (what fingers he could still move) jittering with nervous energy along the sides of the chair.
The man pressed the blade against River’s skin, right below his eye, on his cheek bone. Hard enough to draw a bead of blood, River knew, but not hard enough to really injure him. “Where is the file?”
“I told you, I don’t know!” River whispered, afraid that moving his mouth too much would cause the blade to slip, to puncture his eye. The man pressed harder, the blade digging into River’s face, and the pain overwhelmed him for a moment.
“Wrong answer,” the man replied, a glimmer of something dark in his eyes. “But it is alright, I’m happy to do this all day. Are you?”
The blade pressed deeper, and River gasped, trying to maintain control. “There’s nothing you could do to break me.” River gasped out. He could think of at least 10 ways the man could break him, right now. His resolve felt like a leaf in the wind. The training in Wales had prepared him for this type of situation, but River hadn't realized how terrifying it would be in actuality. But he didn’t quite feel like advertising that much.
The man’s eyes narrowed. He twisted the blade, and River felt it digging into his cheekbone. He groaned once more, unable to stop himself. The man leaned back, contemplating. “Let’s change tactics, shall we?”
With a swift motion, he stepped back and pulled out a small vial filled with a clear liquid. “This is a special concoction, interestingly enough, designed to help stir up arousal. I guess it’s used for the heavily depressed, or anyone else that wants an all day love fest. But here is the fun part, my friend, because you can’t just pick and choose which sense you want to feel more strongly. I’ve found it to be especially helpful in situations just like this. Everyone seems to think they have a high pain tolerance, until of course this helpful little potion comes along. It’s quite effective in loosening tongues.” He held it up, the glass shimmering in the light.
River’s heart raced at the implications. “What the fuck”
Before River could react, the man approached, forcing the vial to River’s lips. River refused to open his mouth, pursing his lips shut. The man held his nose closed and the two sat in uncomfortable silence until River could hold out no longer, his mouth gaping open for air, and being forced to swallow the elixir. The liquid was bitter, burning as it slid down his throat. He coughed, struggling against the bindings, feeling disoriented as the effects began to take hold. He felt a trickle of it run down his chin, dribbling into his lap.
The man watched with satisfaction as River’s eyes widened, the world blurring around him. “Now, let’s try again. Where is the file?”
River shook his head, willing himself to focus, to fight against the fog settling in his mind. “I won’t tell you anything!” he spat, though the words felt heavy on his tongue.
The man’s expression remained amused, as if he were watching a kitten stretch out after a long nap. “You’re quite stubborn. I admire that, but it will only make this more painful for you.” He stepped back, allowing the drug to work its magic. As River fought against the effects, he tried to force his mind back to something sembling control, away from the edge it was resting on. Stay calm, focus. Stay calm, focus. Stay calm, focus.
“You have a choice,” The man said, “This will always end the same way. But we can end it now, today, while you still have some dignity, or we can prolong it. Again, I am perfectly happy to prolong it - that is job security if you know what I mean! But I want to be fair to you.”
The blurred edges of River’s vision sharpened for a moment, a fleeting clarity that sparked his resolve. “You’ll never get anything from me,” he managed, forcing the words out despite the haze clouding his mind.
The man stepped forward, his expression shifting to one of cold calculation. “Very well, then. I hope you’re ready for a long night.”
With that, he picked up the pliers again. River couldn't remember seeing them falling to the floor, but they must have. River braced himself, knowing the pain to come.
“Let us begin with something easy.” The pliers closed around his ring finger, and River began to shake like a leaf.
“What is your name?” the man asked, pressure steadily increasing. River’s mind was scattered, his body desperately struggling to get away, a frenzied instinct he had no control over. Whatever the drug was, it was heightening the pain. He felt as he began to scream, he tried pulling his arm back away from the pliers, anything he could do at all to get away from the pain. His throat was ripping to shreds and he didn’t think he could last longer at all. The pain was all encompassing, like every cell in his body was urging him to Go, leave, now, run away and he felt hot tears coursing down his face. As darkness came for him, he felt the skin break on his finger, hot blood spraying over the floor and the pliers, probably. The man drew back and River screamed once more as hot throbbing took the place of the pain.
What could’ve been minutes or hours later, River came back to himself, heaving in ragged, gasping breaths. He had been screaming, he knew, but wasn’t sure if he’d said his name.
“That is a very good boy, River.” the man said, and River’s face contorted with his own failure and he wept openly.
“Nooo…” he cried out, his eyes squeezing shut. They’d be able to find his mother quite easily, now, no matter if there was a mole. He’d effectively killed his mother. He could feel the waves of anguish crash over him, in harmony with the excruciating pain. He likely wouldn’t be able to do much of anything ever again with his hand. Assuming he’d make it out of this.
“No, no, no, no...” He seemed to not be able to stop saying no. The man was wiping the pliers on a rag he seemed to have had in his pocket. River dragged in oxygen against his burning lungs, wracked with his failure. Some rational part of his brain knew he shouldn’t be reacting so emotionally, so quickly, that he should be able to find control over himself easier, but he couldn’t see straight or think straight. All he could focus on was the throbbing pain and the failure.
The man approached River once more.
“Let’s try another question, then. We seem to be having good luck so far.” He knelt next to River once more, gripping his pinky in the pliers.
“Who do you work for, River?”
The man looked up at River with calm eyes, and River stared back, shocked. He shook his head ‘no’, he refused to say it. He worried if he opened his mouth, the truth would come tumbling out, and he didn't dare risk it. He’d already told them his name, and they might’ve known he was in the service already but he refused to say it. He couldn’t submit, had to give it his all. Otherwise his funeral would be quite disappointing - Here lies River, he gave up valuable intel after a hilariously short period of torture. Let's see how fast we can move on from this fuck up.
The pliers squeezed.
“Last chance, Ri-ver.” The man carefully pronounced his name, gradually increasing the pressure on his pinky. River resolved to stay silent this time, pursing his lips closed, though still unable to stop the involuntary straining of his muscles as his most sensitive finger was crushed in the pliers grip.
“Very well” The man said, and crushed it completely. River screamed, unable to stop himself after all. He thrashed in the chair, and felt as one of the zip ties came undone - on his uninjured hand no less. Almost blind with pain and fear, he brought up his hand in front of his face, shocked, and looked at the man, who was also surprised. River drove his clenched fist into the man’s throat, which was conveniently positioned at fist height to where River was stuck. As the man tumbled backwards, River tried to reach out and grab the pliers, grab the blade, anything, but his free hand was too far away from the man, who’d fallen backwards.
The man was on the ground now, with both hands on his throat and struggling to find his bearings again. River used the opportunity to start tearing at his other hand’s zip tie, trying to stand up and use his body weight to break through the remaining ties. His efforts thus far must have weakened them, he figured, and he succeeded in breaking through his hand tie.
A surge of victory overcame him and he stood up completely for the first time in two days, muscles screaming in protest. River bent forward using his body weight to break his two leg ties, and stumbled forwards.
The man was getting up from the ground and was looking at River, surprised. River found himself closer to the door than to the man, and weighed his options - engage the man with tools and possibly win, and escape with a chance of not being caught immediately, or do not engage the man with tools and make a run for it, and possibly be caught immediately.
River was never talented with this type of choice, and luckily the options were out of his hands shortly after he determined them. The man lunged forward, pliers falling from his hand as he went to grab River and force him wherever he wished, but River was quite familiar with hand to hand fighting against someone with a physical advantage, having received more than a standard education from the Dogs.
He ducked out of the man’s grasp and delivered a jab to the man’s kidney, relishing the look on his face as he grabbed his side. River reeled back and threw an upper hook to the man’s face and he was down.
Not wasting a moment, River grabbed the blade off of him, and searched the floor and the man for any money or documents that could help him escape. A few notes that would get him no more than a hot meal, and no documents that could help him with travel. Fuck. Someone must've taken away his undercover passport when he wasn't paying attention. It complicated matters, but River wouldn't let it hold him up. River yanked off the man’s shoes and jammed them onto his feet and turned to leave. They were a size larger than River's feet, but would do the trick.
River ran out of the room, delighted to realize there was a set of stairs leading up to a hatch, which hopefully lead to the outside world. He had apparently been alone with the man. Excellent. He was in no condition to scrap with any other personnel, and would have certainly lost the battle if they had any weapons.
He hurled himself outside, taking in his surroundings - it seemed like an old bomb shelter, perhaps, the he had been kept in. It was night time, and River noted the alley around him, dumpsters, bags of trash strewn about, with mice running to and fro. He looked back to the door, imagining the man coming bolting out of it and dragging River back inside. River hustled to the dumpster and lifted up his hands, trying to drag it in front of the door - fuck, his left hand. Once it came into view in front of him he knew moving the dumpster with it wasn’t an option. The hand was completely mangled, each of his fingertips sporting broken skin in several places, with the bones peaking through. Purple bruises snaked up his arms and he fought himself not to vomit at the sight. He ran to the opposite side of the dumpster, leaning against it and using his body weight to push it towards the hatch. That would have to do.
River stumbled out of the alleyway and into the street. There were crowds of pedestrians walking about here and there. It couldn't have been too late at night, then, and River felt a warm breeze glance his arms. He relished the warm weather outdoors, and hustled towards the densest crowd of people. All he had to do was lift a mobile, and he could get in contact with Lamb. He could get help. Lamb would come for him. He’d find a way, surely. Lamb wouldn't leave him out in the field once he knew River was in hot water.
River tripped one of the pedestrians, who fell to the ground. River bent over and helped the man up, patting him down and asking if he was alright. The man looked at River, scared. Ah yes - he’d forgotten the cut to his cheek, and first head injury. River probably looked utterly deranged, but it worked to his favor as the man rushed to get away from him, and River was able to snipe his phone.
River's heart pounded, and he gripped the phone tightly with his good remaining hand as he continued walking with the crowd, all too happy to see the man had no passcode on his phone. He dialled Lamb’s number, scanning the area and trying to stay hidden in the masses.
After 6 rings, Lamb picked up.
“Lamb, it’s me-” River was caught off before he could get a full sentence out.
“Well I bloody well hope so, double-oh-cock-up. Where the hell have you been?” In any other situation River would’ve been endlessly frustrated by Lamb’s condescending, droning voice, by the sound of a fart in the background, but right now it was music to his ears.
“I need extraction, Lamb - I’m burnt. I don’t know where I am, hopefully still Istanbul. I don’t suppose you know of a safehouse in the city? They- they took my documents.” He asked, continuing to walk. He was still scanning the crowd, prepared to see the face of Demir, or of the man, anywhere.
“And I don’t suppose you know who all is after that file?” River added.
Lamb was silent a moment on the other line, and River felt an arrow of panic pierce his stomach - what if the call dropped? What if it ran out of battery before Lamb could help? Could he still reach Lamb? He pulled the phone off his ear and confirmed Lamb was still on the line, and lifted the phone to his ear once more. He felt a wave of fear overcome him, some kind of lingering effect of that elixir.
“Please, Lamb, I need your help. The file is safe, I swear. I can’t- I don’t know if I can hold up if they get me again. If you don’t have a safehouse, do you know anywhere I can get a gun?”
That seemed to spur Lamb on, who gave River the address of a safehouse about 5 miles away, and strict instructions on how to enter. He instructed River to use the phone to pull up directions, and then to memorize those and ditch the phone. There would be support for him at the safe house, if he could get there.
River processed the information, and prepared to hang up the phone.
“One last thing” Lamb barked through the phone, “Do you need medical?”
River refused to look at his hand again, afraid he’d unravel if he did. He shook his head ‘no’, then remembered Lamb wouldn’t be able to see it.
“No- well, yes- well-” River stuttered, “I just need to get somewhere safe, Lamb. They wouldn’t let me sleep. They- gave me, something.” River heard Lamb heave a deep sigh on the other line.
“Fucking hell. Alright. Check in when you get to the safe house. Take a fucking taxi. Make sure it’s going the route you want it to go. Don’t get fucking caught.” The call ended. River’s shaking hands dropped the phone into a storm drain, and he hailed a taxi.