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Chapter Text

River watched Louisa lead the team of dogs along the canalside and towards the restaurant. It was good to see Emma was still alive; she was a hell of a lot nicer and more competent than Duffy was even though that was a terribly low bar. “You help has arrived,” Frank turned to follow River’s eyeline. And then he shrugged.

“It’s been good to get to know you and all that but if you don’t want extended jail time then I would suggest fucking off,” River smirked. Frank shuffled closer towards River and patted River on the knee under the table.

“Oh, you help has arrived but we won’t be here when they burst through that door,” Frank smiled.

“We’re in a public space. And I’m not walking out of here,” River frowned.

“Oh no you’re not,” Frank’s head tilted in a parody of concern, “see my son here has had a little too much to drink so I’ve called us a cab and he needs a little bit of help getting there.”

“You, what?” River stammered, his tongue suddenly feeling weighted in his mouth. The room swum into a blurred mess with Frank at the focal point. He hadn’t even drunk anything. He hadn’t touched anything. He hadn’t, River thought while his eyelids got heavier and heavier. But Frank had. Frank had touched him hadn’t he; River had heard the threat that Frank could kill him before River could yell for help but had called his father’s bluff. Now River tried to coerce his lips into forming any sound but all he got was a quiet groan that was inaudible over the background hum of the restaurant.

“Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Police! Everyone on the floor, hands on your head!” Emma yelled, kicking open the door with her gun raised. Screeches and yelling filled the air as the patrons slid off their chairs onto the floor. Louisa pushed past Emma, eyes scanning everyone looking for River’s face or the sign of anyone who looked suspicious. Screaming and shouting filled the air as more men with guns flooded in after Louisa and Emma’s frenetic entrance. River wasn’t here. “You, anyone just left before we got here?” Louisa prowled over to the quaking server, pulling him to his feet.

“Two men from there,” a shaking hand pointed at an empty chair by the window. From there you would be able to see people coming down by the canal. Louisa kicked the nearest chair. They had just missed them.

“The older one, he said his son was sick,” another waitress spoke up. Her voice stumbled over the words and she slowly got to her feet with her head drooped and hands raised bracketing her head.

“What?” Emma asked before Louisa could process.

“There was an older man and a younger man. They talked for a bit and then the younger one looked super peaky and was out of it. The older guy said that his son often had episodes like this in loud bright spaces and they just needed to get him home,” she whispered.

“Fuck!” Louisa kicked the chair again. She pulled out her phone ignoring the frenzied apologies from the waitress. Her eyes were missing up and mouth softening as she released what had been happening. “Roddy, I need eyes on my location. River left with an unknown male, likely drugged. Pick up god damn it,” Louisa huffed into Roddy’s voicemail. Slough House, also went to voicemail.

“I helped them down in the service lift. He seemed so nice and they were chatting fine at the table,” she continued to ramble.

“All operatives on high alert. Fan out from last known location. Unknown male seen with Cartwright …”

“Unwilling Cartwright,” Louisa yelled, tilting her head towards the radio.

“Cartwright may be incapacitated. If seen do not engage,” Emma continued, glaring at Louisa as she did. Louisa loaded up River’s service ID photo and showed it to the two servers. “Was this one of the men?”

“He had a beard, but yeah I think so. That was the younger one,” the waitress nodded. River’s service photo was still from pre-Slough House days. Her heart twinged slightly looking down at River’s clenched jaw and slicked back hair. He looked so young, not like the man she had come know His eyes were staring right though her, judging her that this was only photo she could quickly find of the man that she had known for years now. Friends had pictures of each other on their phones. Louisa didn’t have anything there. She didn’t have anything but this photo to remember River by if she never saw him again.

“The phone hasn’t been on since we tracked it here and there’s no cameras near the service exit,” Emma relayed.

“We need to get out there, find him,” Louisa tutted.

“There’s people out there doing the legwork. We need to think this through,” Emma argued, stepping casually into Emma’s way. The other dogs were pulling people to the side for interviews and the two servers were getting harassed for a more detailed description about the man that was pretending to be River’s father. Why would River just sit there and talk with him? River must have had a plan beyond calling Louisa for back up. That wasn’t a plan that was an act of desperation … although that did seem to sometimes be River’s MO.

“Those people have a fucking shoot to kill and River was clearly taken by force on two separate occasions,” Louisa snapped. Everyone else was wisely giving the two a wide berth as the tension crackled in the air like lightening ready to strike whoever dared to interrupt.

“I don’t want Cartwright to get hurt.”

Louisa scoffed.

“He’s an ass but he’s not a terrorist,” Emma hissed. “We are his best shot at getting out of this without getting himself shot and so running around like headless chickens is going to serve no one.”

“He’s my partner.” Louisa hadn’t called River that before, not even in her own head. The word sat comfortably on her tongue but yet didn’t seem to encompass all she was trying to say.

He’s my partner, and he’s alone in the field because he didn’t trust me.

He’s my partner, and I’ve never told him that.

He’s my partner, and he’s an idiot but he’s my idiot.

He’s my partner, and I don’t know how I’ll keep going if he’s another casualty of someone wrongly relying on me.

“I know but right now that level of emotion is not helpful. Clear your head. There’s a new player in the field. This older man can’t be the terminator from the cars so he must be someone else.” Maybe now Louisa was starting to see why Emma had been controversially appointed head of the Dogs.

“And if so then where is the terminator?” Louisa nodded. Her nerves were jittery, she wanted nothing more than to just dive headfirst into the chase and run out of those doors like River would do if she was in danger. Emma was right though. The Dogs would call in if they found him hopefully before anyone got trigger happy and her knowledge of the situation, and River, was best served narrowing down where to run and look.

“Roddy, I am going to kill you. Pick up the damn phone. River’s in trouble,” Louisa hissed down the line again as Emma moved away to call in her own help. Louisa rotated through all of the Slough House numbers in her phone on repeat. Still nothing. What the fuck were they doing?

“Guy we’ve got a lead,” Emma interrupted where Louisa was looming over the sketch artist who was dealing admirably with the pressure to get a picture of the man River had been meeting with. She had no clue who he was. That wasn’t going to be helpful. They were being too slow. It was all taking so long and Louisa felt useless just interviewing and trying to get anyone from Slough House to answer her. “Someone’s just reported a stolen jeep from a multi storey a five minute walk away,” she explained. “Too close to be a coincidence.” But Louisa was already out of the door and running. She didn’t need to run, it was the spirit of River flowing through her the demanded the need to do everything at a hundred miles an hour. The car would be long gone but she needed to be doing something to help.

The carpark was surrounded by police by the time Louisa came panting around the corner. A flash of her badge and she was through the hoardings and running up to the security desk. “CCTV! Now!” she yelled at the poor crime scene tech that was sat at the computer.

“Fuck, and you are?” he yelled back clutching at his heart.

“MI5, now!” Louisa waved her badge in his general direction but it was likely that her gun and frenzied demeanour did more for her cause than the piece of paper did.

“Ok, ok. We’ve managed to find the people who stole the car. They weren’t being particularly subtle and it seems like one might be injured?” he explained.

Louisa could see it. She could see the backs of two people heading towards the entrance of the car park that she had just stormed through. One was likely the man from the restaurant and the other was River. River looked almost comatose. His arm was thrown over the other man’s shoulder and his feet were able to move but sluggishly dragging. His head slumped forwards, chin resting against his chest. The other man dragged River through the door, it whacking into River’s hip as they inched through. Then about five minutes later, the jeep driving out. Driver and occupants not able to be seen, but known to her. River was in that car and Louisa was going to find him.

“Car the right one?” Emma asks Louisa as soon as she leaves the security booth. Louisa keeps walking and Emma falls into step next to her.

“Yep. It was taken from the third floor. No cameras cover the actual theft but got them entering and leaving,” Louisa explained.

“I’ve talked to The Park and second desk. We are authorised to pursue this,” Emma explained, tactically ignoring Louisa’s scoff. She did not need Lady Di’s permission to go and retrieve River, nothing would stop her. “But the shoot to kill is still active.”

That stopped Louisa in her tracks. “That’s not possible.”

Emma shook her head and sighed, “I’m sorry I tried to convince them.”

“Clearly not fucking hard enough,” Louisa yelled, attracting the attention of all the cops and Dogs in the area but they returned to their duties with a raise of Emma’s hand.

“I am not in any position to argue with first desk,” Emma groaned, “it’s enough that they are letting us go after them instead of sending a hit squad.”

“That is not enough. That order means that even when River is found, if it’s not me then he’s dead.” Louisa’s head was reeling. How? Just how could The Park do this to River?

“I can’t do anything else Guy. Why aren’t you getting we’re on the same side here?” Emma huffed as Louisa stepped closer, squaring up.

“Because we’re not. You lot,” Louisa gestured to all the agents that had descended on the place. “Will see a shoot to kill and not stop to think that maybe, just maybe the people in charge have a vendetta. I wanted to get back into The Park’s good graces so bad but I’ve seen what goes on behind the scenes there and I will not let River be a casualty of that,” Louisa argued. She had already nearly lost River to the politics of The Park and she had shaken him back to wakefulness in that damn bunker thinking that he had been killed by the service, and that she was going to be next. She was not going to trust the word of a Dog as far as she could throw it.

“So what? You’re going to follow this lead on your own with the support of a team of slow horses that won’t even answer their phone?” Emma scoffed. Louisa’s jaw tightened and she bristled.

“Yeah. I guess I will.”

“Contrary to what you seem to believe. I want to help. That … guy,” Emma hissed, pausing to find a word to describe the terminator and failing miserably. “Took out two of my Dogs, and the whole support car, and ran off with Cartwright. Whoever he took him to is likely the person who commissioned all of this and the only person who has those answers is Cartwright. I don’t want him dead. I want him to talk.”

Louisa paused, still grinding her teeth in deep seated frustration. She didn’t want to admit it even to herself in her head but Emma was correct. She was never going to catch up the Jeep and free River on her own. Whatever the current situation at Slough House, she couldn’t count on any support from them. Emma had Park resources. And could get a car.

“I want your word that when we find River you won’t shoot him,” Louisa sighs even though her mind is made up.

“You need a pinky promise or something?” Her eyebrows raised and pursed lips quirking into something like amusement.

“Oh fuck off.”

Louisa was once again, just stood around waiting. River was getting further and further away and Louisa was stood, with her arms crossed across her chest, radiating a deep aura of displeasure. Her demeanour was doing a great job at stopping anyone asking her anything or asking her to move from the curb side. There was an information briefing about Westacres and Emma was updating them on the River situation, and Louisa didn’t have high enough clearance. She knew more about what was going on, not that she would tell them that, than everyone at The Park and she was barred. They worked for the same organisation for gods sake. So now she was waiting for Emma to return with the car.

Her phone started to ring in her pocket. It was Roddy. Louisa had never been so excited to get a call from Roddy in her life and it made her a little sick to the stomach.

“Roddy what the hell. What have you lot been doing?” Louisa yelled.

“Getting shot at. Marcus is dead. So is the terminator.”

That wasn’t Roddy. That was Lamb.

“Wait what?” Louisa stammered. Marcus. Poor Marcus. He had been good to her after Min was killed. God who was going to tell his wife. It would feel disingenuous for Moira to do it. There’s no way in hell that Lamb should do it. Was Louisa really the most sensitive person in that office? No wonder they were a shit show.

“The terminator clearly left Cartwright Jr and came here to finish the job on Cartwright Sr. Marcus slowed him down but got got. I hit him over the head and Coe finished him. Now where’s junior?” Lamb grumbled.

Louisa felt numb, her thoughts were leaden in his brain and the sick feeling in her stomach had not gone away. She couldn’t help but be glad that the terminator was gone, that was one less threat in her assessment, but what it had taken to do it wouldn’t leave her thoughts. But River was still alive. Marcus was gone and they would have to deal with that at some point but now River was in active danger which the mastermind and hopefully the last operative of this organisation.

“River’s been taken by the leader of this assassin group. He was gone by the time I got there. We’ve got a sketch of the man that took him and a licence plate of the car he’s in. I need Roddy to run them and get me everything you can. We’re going after him,” Louisa explained.

“We?” Lamb questioned.

“Oh … yeah. I may have made a deal with the dogs.”

River’s head was pounding when consciousness slowly started to return to him. The fog lingered, like cotton wool had been packed inside his skull and his nerves were not firing. He couldn’t feel his extremities. He couldn’t move any part of his body. His right knee was throbbing like it had its own heartbeat. Frank. The restaurant, he’d been drugged. Frank must have injected him in the knee with something that was fast acting. He didn’t remember leaving the restaurant.

Where was he?

River blinked but the blackness persisted, filling every inch and crevice around him. It was a weight that River was unable to shake. As a child with both his mum and his grandfather, River had been forced through kidnapping practice. He hadn’t understood it until he met his grandad and learnt that there were people that would see a Cartwright child as a bargaining chip. That was a fact of life. River had never been forced to use his kidnapping practice before. First things first, don’t let them know you are awake. River couldn’t feel a blindfold against his face, his eyelashes could flutter freely and yet there was nothing but the darkness. River’s heartbeat accelerated traitorously. Closing his eyes, a deep breath dragged in and rattled around his chest. River willed himself back under control. Wherever he was, Louisa hadn’t found him and so River had to help her. He had to help his team find him and he couldn’t be doing that if he panicked because of a little darkness.

“Breathe River, come on you can do this. Use your senses, take stock then make a plan.”

There was little airflow. It was a small contained space. But there was airflow. He was not going to suffocate. As long as he kept breathing he was not going to suffocate, River reminded himself. He went to move his hand to rub up and down his sternum as a reminder for his lungs that they were still needed but he couldn’t. Any attempt to move his left shoulder was met with the jagged tingling of pins and needles dragging under the skin. And his right arm wouldn’t cooperate. A short attempted wiggle of his fingers found his hands and wrists bound in what felt like a whole roll of duct tape in the shape of a blasphemous prayer.

His sense of sight was gone.

His sense of touch was gone.

“Panic has no place in a rational mind River. Irrational minds get killed.”

Whoever had trapped him was a professional, which would make this a hundred times harder. His ear pressed against something soft, maybe fleece, and picking up his head sent a whole new spiral of vertigo that ended with the slumping of his face back into the fleece cushioning. Strangely considerate for a kidnapping, providing a soft blanket to wallow on. River took another deep breath in through his nose and out of his mouth. That might be part of the plan, to make River notice the kindnesses and remember them not how fucked up it was to be drugged by his own father who he’d only just met in the middle of a bustling city centre restaurant. However when he did lift his head up, slower this time in an attempt to avoid the drug induced vertigo, he could hear something. It was a rumbling and then a ticking noise, then the ticking noise went away and just leaving the rumbling. It was so familiar. A car. That ticking was the indicator. He was in a car, the boot? Last time, and how depressing was it that there even was a last time, he had been half deaf and so hadn’t picked up on the intricacies of being locked in a car boot but this could be it again. River’s head slumped back against the blanket.

“Lists settle the mind.”

He had lost time. He was in pitch darkness but his eyes weren’t covered. He was in a car boot. There was a blanket on the floor. His hands were thoroughly restrained. The drugs had a hell of an aftertaste. The small movements he had done had not alerted Frank.

That was a start.

Pushing through the fog coating his brain, River managed to slowly stretch his feet out. As he inched out of the fetal position he had awoken in, he bit his lip hard to quell the cries that threatened to tumble out. His joints were stiff and agony lit his nerves as he tried to move them. How long had he been out if this was the state his body was in? His feet didn’t move far, only a few inches at most before his bare feet pressed against something solid. It was thin and narrow and cold, metal? It took more pressure and more protestations from his knees but River managed to press his feet flat. There were more and more of the thin metal ridges digging into his feet. River pressed his feet down even harder, the pain of the ridges digging into his soles was weirdly grounding and shuffle upwards. Each movement sent a fresh wave of sensation though his dead shoulder but again he was only able to shuffle a few inches before his head collided with more thin metal ridges. Based on how he was hunched, maybe a metre but certainly not enough room to move and stretch and relieve any of the soreness in his joints. It didn’t feel like a car boot though. What were those metal ridges if this was a car?

“Oh come on River. We don’t have all day for this baby. You have all the pieces.”

River froze.

No.

His breath hitched in his throat, and a wet sob got stuck with it. He couldn’t breathe. River thought he couldn’t breathe before but that wasn’t this. His whole body stopped, his lungs wouldn’t inflate and all though his mouth hung open nothing passed through it. Every muscle went rigid but all that meant was he could feel the press of the bars into his scalp and the soles of his feet even more.

Because that’s what they were, bars. Bars to his cage.

River was in a cage and he couldn’t breathe. Water welled up in his eyes and River knew he shouldn’t be crying in a life or death situation, that was spycraft 101 but the tears still started silently dribbling down, falling pass his temple and dripping on the blanket or pooling on his nose. River went to move his hand to wipe the water away, that was when the world came rushing back in. The vibrations of the car driving rattled his bones and the acridity of the taste of iron pooling in his mouth as his teeth split his bottom lip. River squeezed his eyes shut and tilted himself, putting all his weight on his numb shoulder, letting the blood dribble out of his mouth onto the blanket. With the spit came the torrent. The trapped sob tore out of him, echoinig around the confined space. River’s pulse throbbed in his ears and the rushing of pressure was all he could hear. His element of surprise was done. River kicked out with all of his strength but to no avail. The bars of the cage held strong. Another sob ripped out of his heaving chest. He needed to get out. He needed to see and he needed to get out of this cage. Another kick shook the whole structure but there was still no give.

“Simmer down River.”

River froze in place, curled back up into the ball preparing for another kick. Like a gorgon’s gaze, Frank’s voice had petrified River. It shrunk him making him small and vulnerable as he waited for whatever havoc would descend on him next. His body still shook and the horrible ashen taste still rested on his tongue.

“Good to see you awake son, I was started to get worried,” Frank chuckled.

Any hope of getting out fizzled away, as River felt himself start to crack.

Chapter Text

“For gods sake son, stop kicking. You’re only going to hurt yourself,” Frank tutted. River gritted his teeth and petulantly kicked his leg out again. The bars of the cage rattled, gratingly sharp, but nothing gave or twisted. “You’re not getting out of there so there’s no point wasting your energy,” Frank sighed.

“Don’t call me son,” River hissed. His chest throbbed with each word, lungs unable to inflate to their full capacity with the way his neck was compressed and hands bound. His arm had stopped tingling a while back and no amount of wiggling and repositioning had done anything to help get any feeling back into the pinned limb. The best position had had found was curled up in the fetal position on his left hand side, accepting that his weak hand would be the casualty. It also meant he could kick out his right leg against the seams of the cage. Which he did again, this time absolutely out of nothing more than spite.

“River,” Frank scolded. He sounded so much like an exasperated parent in that moment that River shuddered. That tone had been a constant thread throughout River’s life. Isobel grumbling when River spilt something or scrapped his knee climbing trees. Rose whenever she was called in to talk to teachers as the fancy high school David had demanded he go to. David whenever River forgot to do his chores. He was constantly straining at his family members’ patience. Of course that would roll over to his father who had only just met him. “You should have just come with me willingly. Then we could have avoided all this nastiness,” Frank muttered.

“Fuck you,” River bit back, but was only met with silence.

Unsurprisingly, there were no comfortable positions to be found in the cage. His position of on his side curled up only helped for a short period of time before the pins and needles started rippling down his hip. The first movement was impulsive, it was an involuntary jerk that then set off a chain reaction of discomfort. “I think you’ll like the Dutch house,” Frank stated as River rolled onto his back. “It’s right by the canal and the views from the attic room are the best,” he continued.

“I’ll get to see it will I or you keeping me in a pit in the basement?” River groaned, circling his shoulders. He was flat on his back like an over turned turtle with his knees tucked up to his chest. His arms hooked over his knees as the only place to put them. His neck felt better like this but to the casualty of everything else in his body.

Frank chuckled, “the aim is that by the time we get to the Dutch house you’ll be able to freely roam. Because like all of my boys, you’ll come home when I call.”

“I wouldn’t count your chickens,” River replied, wheezing between each word. No position allowed for his chest to fully inflate, he couldn’t properly breathe.

“I won’t, but I feel like once you’ve had some time to think you will come round. Your mother didn’t tell you about me. I’m sure that Cartwright didn’t either,” Frank continued, either uncaring or unhearing of River’s predicament. “Les Arbres was an experiment at first. All those different governments that rejected my concepts. Les Arbres was designed to show that having a devotedly loyal force that was above law and above morality would be a benefit.”

River shuffled up the cage until his shoulders were resting on the far wall, at least like that he could roll his hips and bend his legs more comfortably.

“But then they were my boys. They took everything I threw at them and grew to be so much better than I ever could have imagined. Yves, Bertrand, Patrice, you would have been one of them too if Cartwright hadn’t been such an easy mark.”

“Guess I should tell him thanks then,” River groaned.

“There’s still time.”

River’s heartbeat started to pound in his ears.

His head starts spinning shortly after. River didn’t really pay that much attention in his first aid classes and he was pretty sure they didn’t cover what compression into a too small dog cage did to your body.

“Even if they had then it wouldn’t have fit in that pea rocking about up there.”

River stopped shuffling, frowning. That wasn’t Frank.

“Point one Cartwright for stating the obvious.”

Great now he was hallucinating and hearing voices. And of course his internal voice was mean to him.

“Only way to get you listening isn’t it. Someone insults the great River Cartwright and you either power into the next hairbrained scheme on spite or try and puppy dog eye your way out of it.”

“I don’t puppy dog eye,” River muttered.

“What was that?” Frank asked.

“Fuck you,” River snarled.

“Right,” Frank sighed.

“That was mature. Throwing your toys out of the pram.” The voice was starting to take on a regretfully familiar tone.

“Leave me alone,” River pressed the heels of his bound hands to his eyes and whispered. This time Frank didn’t respond.

“I can’t do that idiot. You need to get out of here or you’re going to die alone in a bleeding cage,” Lamb’s voice mocked him. Of course when he lost his mind from oxygen deprivation and descended into hysteria it would be the voice of Jackson Lamb that tailed him down his great fall. That would probably delight the man, being the personal devil in River’s mind as well as at his work place.

“Torturing you in person is much more fun. Which is why you need to pull it together Cartwright.”

He didn’t know how to get out of here. His head, his eyes couldn’t focus. He couldn’t get any leverage and the cage was too strong.

“So you’ve tried everything obvious, do you want a medal?”

River wanted out of this cage.

“Why did you want to be an agent?” Frank asked after they stopped for petrol. River’s stomach growled and tongue stuck to bottom of his mouth as the crackle of Frank opening his drink taunted him. “It didn’t surprise me with the blood that runs through your veins. You were born for the service but, why did you pick that?” The pack of crisps crinkled as Frank placed another one in his mouth, the cramp ripped through River. He hadn’t eaten since … he couldn’t really remember. He had a chocolate bar on the train but he couldn’t remember which direction. That felt like a lifetime ago.

“You said it. I was born for it,” River croaked. He had returned to curled up on his side, at least that way he could press his knees up to his stomach to try and hold the traitorous organ.

Frank hummed, “even with that. Cartwright always seemed to soft on his kids to make you. Why didn’t you decide to be a librarian?”

“Hate books,” River replied, earning a harsh chuckle from Frank. He didn’t even really know why he was talking with Frank. The thing to do here would be to be stoically silent and not risk giving away any thing to his captor.

“He’s trying to relate to you. To get you to ease off the suspicion. To win you over.”

River knew that. He knew the playbook.

“So why are you letting him win?”

“The Old Bastard used to tell me stories. All the things that happened in the field, the thrills. I wanted that,” River continued, his eyes falling closed again.

“Everything you thought it would be?” Frank asked.

“Not even close,” River groaned.

“With me it could be.”

“And there it is.”

“I’m not going to join you,” River snarled. He needed to come up with a plan. He needed to get out of here.

“Finally arrived to the party have we?”

“Your talent is being wasted River. You really think the service and Jackson bleeding Lamb are going to get the best out of you?” Frank scoffed. Another bite of crisps.

“He’s right. I couldn’t give a fuck.”

The Lamb in his head wasn’t real. It was just his brain trying to rationalise what was happening to him.

“Fat lot of good that is doing.”

“I can do this without you,” River wasn’t sure which of the voices he was responding to. But he found he didn’t believe the statement no matter which it was.

Louisa drags Emma back to Slough House. The Jeep had been lost by MI5 in the backstreets and they likely wouldn’t be able to pick him up until they needed to cross out of London. Roddy was a better chance and even if Roddy couldn’t find him then Slough House was the best place to get more information about where their mystery kidnapper might be going. The Slow Horses were the ones who had been working the River Cartwright mystery; MI5 had just been trying to brute force it.

“Where’s Lamb?” Louisa asked as she stood in the doorway to Roddy’s office.

“Molly from the archives had a run in with our kidnapper. Lamb went to get the intel,” Moira explained quietly. Louisa nodded, that was fine. That could help if she had any more information. Because that was the main problem, they had no fucking clue who this guy was and why he was so obsessed with River.

“Ok. Roddy anything?” Louisa asked, crossing her arms.

“Lost the Jeep,” Roddy grunted.

“MI5 did as well,” Emma added, earning a glare from all of the assembled horses.

“Course they did. They’re useless. I’m not,” Roddy rolled his eyes. “But I’ve got alerts for the licence plate. As soon as it is picked up, we’ll be right behind. As for your man, he’s a ghost.”

“I’ve got a picture, of him with the Westacres bomber and the assassin from the cars,” Emma passed over the picture to Roddy who took a picture of it before handing it back. Louisa intercepted the photo before Emma could grab it.

“Where did you get this?” Louisa frowned. It was old. Their kidnapper, the assassin, the Westacres bomber and a guy who looked weirdly similar to River but wasn’t River.

“River gave it to me. Said that he found it in France and that,” she pointed at the assassin, “was a threat to his grandfather.”

“He’s dead upstairs,” Shirley muttered. Louisa and Emma’s heads snapped round in sync.

“He’s what?” Emma exclaimed.

“Did you search his body?” Louisa asked.

“Of course we did. He had two phones, one was Bad Sam’s, the other was a burner that was only used to contact another burner which was ditched outside the restaurant,” Shirley explained, her voice dead and monotone. Emma didn’t get a response.

“What about Cartwright Senior?” Emma asked.

“He’s fucked up,” Roddy whispered.

“You won’t get anything from him,” Moira sighed.

“Where’s River?” David asks as soon as Louisa walks in the door.

“He’s busy David, he’ll be here soon,” Catherine comforted, patting him on the hand. David was sat in River’s desk chair with Louisa’s having been rolled over so Catherine could sit at his side. Mugs of tea were steaming in front of them both but sat untouched.

“Then I need to go to First Desk,” David stumbled to his feet.

“First Desk is out of the country. He asked me to come and get your report,” Louisa lied.

David’s gaze narrowed. “No, I need to know River and Rose are safe. You could be one of his.”

Louisa’s heart sunk as she made eye contact with Catherine. Catherine nodded, David was lost to time.

“Who David? Frank?” Catherine prompted. Louisa frowned, who the fuck was Frank? Catherine’s frame was tense, her jaw set.

David startled, “how do you know about him? No one is supposed to know about him. That was the deal.” His eyes were frenzied and wild as they darted between Louisa, Catherine and the door.

“You told me remember,” Catherine smiled, trying to calm him like she was talking to a spooked horse. “To protect River.”

“God River, I killed him. I killed my boy.” Tears started to well up in David’s eyes. Louisa groaned, she didn’t have time for this. It was cruel and it was harsh but David’s addled mind was the only place to get answers now and she did not have time to prise them out of him.

“He’s not dead David. You didn’t kill him. But he’s in danger now. We need to know more about Frank to be able to save him,” Catherine rested her hand on David’s shoulder, and stayed still as David flinched away from her.

“No, I, I did, didn’t I?” David stammered. He was distant, his voice breathy as his muscles coiled. Louisa’s heart broke for River wherever he was right now. When they had talked in the pub before all of this started, Louisa hadn’t comprehended really what River was going through. This wasn’t the Old Bastard anymore, this was a lost old man. David was curled up on himself, he was small and shaking.

“You didn’t. River is alive. He’s just missing,” Louisa stepped forwards.

“I should have told him. I just wanted to protect him, I did, I. Oh god River,” David stammered.

“What did you want to protect him from David?” Louisa asked.

“I can’t, I need to talk to First Desk,” David stammered. “I’ll only talk to River or First Desk.”

“I’ll keep working on him,” Catherine sighed, standing in the doorway with Louisa and looking back at a shivering and distant David. “He told us that he traded the cold bodies and guns for his daughter with a man in France called Frank Harkness.”

“His daughter? River’s mother?” Louisa gasped.

Catherine nodded, “she disappeared during the rescue but we think this person in Lavande was who sent the assassins after David. Frank Harkness.”

Frank Harkness, it was a very normal name for the cause of all of their grief these past few days. “Could this be the man who has River?” Louisa asked and got a shrug and a wince in response. There was no way of getting a positive ID from David. Bad Sam had been probably the only person who could and he was dead at the hands of their dead assassin. They were rapidly running out of people who would have any clue was on earth was going on.

“Guy!” Shirley’s voice echoed from downstairs.

“I’ll keep questioning him,” Catherine smiled nervously.

“Thank you,” Louisa smiled just as shakily and then she was sprinting down the stairs two at a time. Emma was already stood in the doorway with keys in hand.

“We have a location.”

The car stuttered to a stop. River paused, his breath catching in his compressed throat, just waiting for it to start again. But the engine stayed off, the low vibrations rocking through his body didn’t return. They had actually stopped properly. River didn’t dare move; it felt like any twitch of a muscle would break this tense equilibrium and the car would start again, trapping River in it’s limbo. The driver’s side door slammed, rocking the whole car sending another wave of nausea rippling through River. He squeezed his eyes closed, not that they were doing any good open in the pitch darkness that cloaked him, and tried to hiss his way through the pain and sickness. River was glad his joints were starting to go numb, numbness was a relief from the pain and stabbing of cramp that he was unable to shake away. But they were stopped and that might mean temporary respite. It might mean an opportunity to get himself out of this. He had a plan didn’t he? That’s what he had spent these hours doing. But the pain, the throbbing in his head, trapped any logic. He just needed out. He didn’t care what he needed to do. River needed out of this cage. Any other plans could come when he was out of the cage. The boot door opened. River could hear the whirring and the harsh sharp sound of Frank’s breathing. The car was stopped. The boot was open. Now Frank would lift off the blanket and River would be able to …

The whole cage moved.

That was not part of the plan. The plan was that at some point Frank would have to take the blanket off and open the cage. Then River would escape, or at least get to breathe.

But instead the whole cage moved. Frank’s fingers grabbed onto the wire and heaved, suddenly River was falling. He was weightless in that split second until the cage met the floor. The jarring thrump rattled through his bones, squeezing a muffled sudden exhale as the metal dug into his limbs. River cried out meekly, tears welling up in his eyes as all the synapses in his brain started firing again. Pins and needles ricocheted from muscle to muscle as that nerves reignited. There was nothing he could do. The tears started to fall and River bit his lip until the taste of iron coated the inside of his mouth.

The cage kept moving. No matter the torments that River was enduring inside his trap, Frank kept moving him. River muttered a frenzied beg to just please stop that came out with all the right syllables in all the wrong order as he tried to do anything to make the pain go away. His cries of desperation grew in intensity as River thrashed and writhed to find any sort of position that might ease the fire rippling under his skin. There was nothing. There was nothing he could do. The crush of despair and hopelessness joined the general agony. And River did the only thing he was free to do. He screamed. River screamed and writhed and kicked as Frank dragged the cage along. The bars rattled but did not give despite the assault they were put under.

“Stop,” Frank growled, a momentary break in his cool calm composure as he stopped moving. That only spurred River on. River yelled through the pain through the stretch of muscles that had grown used to their constrained position. He yelled through the panic that this might be how his last moments were. He yelled through the crack in his voice as his mouth scratched like sandpaper.

River Cartwright was not going to go quietly into the night.

The cage was heaved up one more time into the air and thumped down onto another hard surface. Frank was pressed close again. River could hear the strain in Frank’s breath, close to the top of the cage even though as he looked up there was no change in the damned blanket. His window was closing. River flailed out one more elbow, aimed carefully to where he could hear the breath coming from.

“That’s it,” Frank muttered.

River’s eyes burned, snapping shut to protect them from the blinding light. The blanket had been ripped off and in that moment of stunned stillness, Frank had the cage door open and River’s hair firmly gripped in his fist. River’s eyes flickered back open again but the light was still too bright and the dark spots in his vision prevented him from seeing any more than Frank’s silhouette. “I told you to cut it out River. I don’t ask twice,” Frank huffed. Frank’s hand ripped River’s head back and slammed it into the metal bars with all his force. River groaned, his head swimming and pain lancing through his temple even after Frank let go. His body slumped boneless into the base of the cage. “If you can’t be trusted to behave yourself then you don’t get any privileges,” Frank added. This time his hand reached into the cage and before River could even muster a rebellious thought, Frank’s hand wrapped around his jaw. River wheezed breaths in through his nose, eyes flickering down and watching the hand flit in and out of focus. Frank’s other hand pressed down over River’s mouth and released him, leaving behind a strip of tape pinning his lips together. River’s chest heaved as his nostrils flared, frantically trying to get enough air into his constricted lungs. He looked up, red ringed and sore eyes meeting Frank’s, and seeing nothing but distain. And then the blanket fell back down, River was plunged back into darkness.

River drifted in and out as the car rumbled back into action again. He could feel the slow drip of blood running down the back of his neck and down his jaw line as time floated in and out. They were driving, River could feel the thrum of the engine but it was different. New car. Same cage. This just didn’t feel right. There was something River was missing but everything, particularly his head hurt too much to try and work it out.

“I looked up this cage you know. When I stopped for a pit stop, I thought why not make sure I was aware of all of its features. And it’s apt, particularly after that little display back there,” Frank’s voice was fuzzy but it cut through all the noise thrumming between his ears. “It’s specially designed for even the most boisterous dogs,” he chuckled. “It’s certainly holding up pretty good against this one.”

River fumed. He tried to shake his head to knock the edges of the tape lose but Frank had pressed it flush to his skin. No amount of thrashing or brushing his cheek against his shoulder was getting it loose. River groaned, trying to move his lips but all it did was chafe on his cheeks. The air was stuffy and humid and River’s chest heaved with each inhale through his nose. He lashed out, a weak half-hearted kick. “Yeah like that, pup,” Frank spat out the last word. “It’s great for travel and assistance in resolving behavioural issues as well. It’s all about training isn’t it. See the crate isn’t a punishment for a puppy. It’s a place to hold him to reduce the temptation to engage in problem behaviours before you can train them out of him,” Frank continued.

River’s breathing escalated, the blood pounding through his ears as he fumed. He was not some dog to train. He was never going to cave. River rolled onto his back, holding in the whine as his head rested against the fucking dog blanket. River’s legs bunched up, crumbled against the far wall of the cage.

“Of course the first step is usually to try and build a positive relationship. To provide a safe space for the puppy to learn and explore. But unfortunately we didn’t have the time for that,” Frank tutted, his fingers drumming an off beat rhythm on the steering wheel.

River growled, prompting a short sharp laugh from Frank. “Down boy,” he taunted. River was going to kill him. Before, when he had found out that his dad was alive and he had brothers, River had been hopeful that he might be able to get answers. Why were Frank and Isobel together? Why did Frank let a pregnant Isobel go? Did Frank want River? What were the intentions with offering River a job after all these years? Did Frank know where River was as he was growing up? Did he care? River had so many questions that only his father would be able to answer, and he was hopeful that even as Frank was rotting in a MI5 pit that he might be able to get some answers to his fucked up childhood. Now River was getting some answers and he was hating every answer he was getting.

“I had hoped you would be willing to come with me. Then your training could be more about, positive reinforcement. I wasn’t lying to you before, you have so much potential. But with my children, I am not afraid of punishments River. “Our time together would be best served by you being agreeable.”

River was going to kill him.

Emma and Louisa had been driving for about an hour chasing after the pings on Louisa’s phone when Lamb’s number flashed up on the vibrating device. “You’re on speaker with me and Flyte,” Louisa announced.

“Wonderful. I definitely want to talk with the lady Dog,” Lamb tutted, the sarcasm like a blaring alarm in his tone. Emma glared at the road and tightened her jaw.

“Thought you would go straight for the bitch joke,” Emma huffed.

“Seemed like low hanging fruit. I’ll come up with something better when my joe isn’t in danger.”

“And about that?” Louisa dragged them back on task.

“I checked with Molly. Your man from the restaurant, same guy that threatened her to get Cartwright’s location to retrieve him. Frank Harkness,” Lamb explained.

“From Bad Sam’s France trip,” Louisa mused.

“Of course you two know about that,” Lamb sighed, “got it all worked out then?”

The silence from Louisa and Emma was telling. They hadn’t got it all worked out, well Louisa certainly hadn’t and Flyte was working on even less information and a less in depth understanding of who River Cartwright was. Frank Harkness, maniac from France who David Cartwright paid off in return for letting his daughter, River’s mother, leave the compound. He was after Bad Sam and David Cartwright probably because of that and River ended up in the middle of it all. But that would have earnt River a bullet in the back of the head in France or in the car with Emma. Why did Frank Harkness want River alive?

“Not so good now are we?” Lamb chuckled. “I had to call River’s mother to confirm my suspicions.”

“You called River’s mother?” Louisa sputtered, ignoring the confused head tilt from Emma. She remembered her own very brief conversation with Isobel Cartwright and her gut churned at the thought.

“Yes, delightful fucking waste of my time. I always wondered how Cartwright created River, even more confused now I’ve met his first attempt.” Louisa smiled a little at her instant dislike of River’s mother’s attitude being mirrored in Lamb. “But she did confirm the missing piece of the puzzle. When she left Les Arbres, she was pregnant.”

It took a moment for that to sink in and based on the choking noise from Emma, they got there at the same time. Isobel Cartwright was pregnant when she left France, nearly thirty years ago. Frank Harkness had a child murder squad built of children he had with different women, one of which looked eerily like River.

Fuck.

“Frank is River’s dad,” Louisa whispered.

“And he wants River to join his murder cult,” Lamb added, unhelpfully.

Louisa didn’t really process anything else that Lamb had said after that but their orders were still the same. Find Frank and River, extract River, ideally detain Frank for questioning but no one would look twice if he ended up as target practice. They fell into silence, both staring out the windscreen and musing. How had they ended up here? River fucking off to France to try and save his grandfather and now they were uncovering a decades old service conspiracy and trying to get to River before his completely insane father did something even irreversible.

“Do you think we might be walking into a trap?” Emma muttered.

Louisa turned to her confused, “yes, of course. Frank might be holding River over us as leverage?” It was obvious they might be walking into a trap but they had to keep going, for River, for revenge on the lost Dogs.

“What if River isn’t leverage?” Emma continued, looking to Louisa sadly at a traffic light.

“What?”

“River went to France willingly. He evaded capture at St Pancreas. He sat and chatted with this murderer,” Emma listed off and Louisa could not believe where this was going.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she growled.

“I just need to know that you’ve at least thought about the fact River might not want rescuing,” Emma replied, face still steely and impassive.

“No, no I fucking haven’t. And I won’t,” Louisa growled. She was shaking with barely contained rage. “I thought we were on the same side. If you’re going to shoot to kill then I will take this car and leave you here.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Emma groaned, looking to the heavens for a moment. “I’m not the one blinded here.”

“Neither am I,” Louisa muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. Now the silence in the car wasn’t confused and processing; now the silence was bristling and crackling. River wasn’t playing them. River wasn’t capable of turning on the service. He was in danger and Louisa was going to help him. God forbid anyone stand in her way.

Chapter Text

River’s consciousness drifted in and out as they drove. He was pretty sure that Frank was trying to start conversation, but the drugs sat heavily in his stomach and the stale air twisted in his compressed chest. He felt like he was somehow choking on fog. His joints were throbbing a dull drum beat of pain and to add insult to injury, River’s bladder started to remind him that it was there too, and it had pressing needs. The tape over his lips pulled at the chapped skin. It was a constant reminder that even if River wanted to give in, cave and beg for freedom, Frank had taken that choice away from him. By the time River was starting to wonder if this was what death felt like, the car finally rolled to a stop and Frank announced their pause with a sigh. The cotton wool in his brain parted slightly when the boot opened, rocking back indicating Frank leaning against it.

“I know you can’t talk. I’m not expecting a response,” Frank began, his voice stark and cold against the inner monologue River had been maintaining as a way of not losing his sanity. “I’m telling you what is going to happen,” he sighed like this was a boring corporate Monday morning meeting not a sadistic kidnapping. “I am going to let you out of this cage. It is going to hurt, and you are going to struggle to walk. But then we are going to walk into this little patch of trees. You are going to relieve yourself and then we will come back here. You will get back into the cage and if we do that without any incidents then I will consider the loosening of some of your restraints.” River glared at the roof of the cage with no other target to aim it at. This felt like it was every other week for Frank. He was sat next to an over six foot tall man folded in half in a dog cage and his tone didn’t change in the slightest. He was a fucking lunatic. But he was right, River couldn’t talk and for the first time that was probably a benefit. River’s instincts were to lash out, to bite like the feral dog he was being treated as. He wanted to scream, to grit his teeth and say that he would never do anything Frank wanted. But his back spasmed again, the tape stopping his whimper just as effectively as it stopped his furious screams. He needed to be honest with himself, he was going to have to do what Frank wanted. It wasn’t a long term deal, but River wasn’t getting out of this cage and out of this car on his own. He needed to be smart not rash, which wasn’t his specialty, but this ride had given him plenty of time to think. This might be his chance. He couldn’t waste it.

“Ok then,” Frank’s voice cut through his thoughts. The blanket was pulled with a surprisingly slow care from the top of the cage, giving River enough time to close his eyes this time around. River did learn from his mistakes. He slowly squeezed his eyes open letting in slivers of light. He had never been so thankful for the dreary grey English weather, the sun was hidden behind a dense cloud and River could ease the tension in his cheeks to blink wearily up at Frank. The door to the cage was open by River’s feet and Frank was waiting there with his arms crossed expectantly.

River’s decent out of the cage was not glamourous or composed in the slightest. He had images in his head of stepping out of the cage and squaring up with Frank to show his father that he was not ashamed and he was not broken. However even as River dared to stretch out one leg and rest it over the lip of the cage, the joint felt disconnected and distant. That was until the sharp spikes of pain sparked in every nerve and cascaded through his body. River’s neck arched and he heaved in air through his nose trying to breathe through it. When River could finally move again and the ache had resumed its drudging march in the back of his skull, he looked up and Frank hadn’t moved an inch. He was just watching. The now familiar, persistent itch of anger writhed beneath River’s skin. River growled with the “fuck you” dying beneath the tape but based on the darkening of Frank’s stare, the meaning had been interpreted.

“You can stay in there if that’s going to be your reaction to this kindness. I am not scared of letting you soil yourself, it won’t be comfortable for either of us but actions have consequences,” Frank replied, that seem passive indifference that was rubbing River the wrong way. But he bit back his reply. Frank had shown nothing in the day they had known each other to make River think that he wouldn’t be a man who honoured his threats. Pick your battles; that needed to be his mantra. Getting out of the cage was the most important thing right now, no matter what dignity he needed to concede to get there. River gritted his teeth and slowly unfurled his other leg. The abundance of caution rewarded him with this leg not feeling like it would be blissful to have a roadside amputation. But River couldn’t hold back to moan as a litany of cracks rolled down his spine now it could stretch out fully. Even Frank’s chuckle at his blissful expression couldn’t dampen how got it felt to be able to move his joints again. River wheezed out a breath though his teeth as he rolled his hips, feeling the strain of every muscle as he caterpillared down to the end of the cage. His bare feet hung down over the edge and eventually felt the dirt beneath him. River knew he was tall, he just didn’t feel tall most of the time as he shrunk to fit in with the situation, but now he felt all of his six foot one height as it uncurled and he could stretch. His arms were still bound in place, restricting his options but even the rolling wave of pins and needles as he rolled his shoulders were blissful.

River managed to lever himself to his feet, using the car as a crutch as his legs trembled with the stability of a newborn foal. “Stretch while you can,” Frank orders, a kindness offered with the same bite as a threat. Nearly everything that Frank said would not be out of place with “or else” tagged onto the end. But River did as he was told because he wanted to, not because of anything else. When his legs finally stopped shaking, River straightened up from the car and took a tentative step. River didn’t immediately face plant into the dirt, but that was enough for Frank. There was a sharp tug on the back of his shirt and a click. River’s head slowly turned and saw a thin black strip of plastic go from the base of his collar to Frank’s hand. A fucking dog lead. Frank’s lips twitched smugly as River levelled him with the most impressive glare he could manage given the current circumstances.

“Can’t have you running off on me, can we now?” Frank sighed. He yanked on the lead harshly sending River stumbling as the top button of his button up shirt dug painfully into his adam’s apple. He wheezed through his nose and raised his head towards the dim grey sky. It wasn’t enough to choke him but it was definitely enough of a reminder for him to not want that to keep happening.

“Now walk.”

River did. Each step was laborious but with each hobbled movement he started to regain feeling in his legs. With that renewed capability came the feeling of freedom being so close. Frank was only one man and River was bigger than him. River could overpower him and get away now that the drug had burnt out of his system and he could move his limbs again. He just needed to get his hands untied and pick the right moment. The cold mud was sending chills through his body every time his feet touched the mud and leaf litter that coated the ground. Frank didn’t seem in anyway concerned that someone might see a man with his mouth taped shut, hands bound and a dog lead attached to him. All it would take would be a random bystander and all of this would fall apart. River couldn’t really wish for a bystander to stumble upon them though. He didn’t want to imagine all the things that Frank could do to a civilian that had the chance of ruining this for him. River had some protection, he had the armour of being Frank’s blood, and still he knew that his position was tenuous.

River’s thoughts drifted as they walked, trying to plan his escape despite knowing that no plan would prepare him for the moment he had to run. But then Frank stopped, the lead on the back of River’s shirt pulling infuriatingly and dragging River to a stop. The foliage was thick under food and a small grove of trees offered a parody of privacy. “Here,” Frank tutted. A knife sprung into his palm with a flash of metal glinting in the light. River’s heart pounded and adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the build up of moisture in his mouth, eyes transfixed on the knife. A quick slashing motion and River closed his eyes expecting pain to blossom somewhere as blood leeched into the mud. But it didn’t. His arms fell apart, sending sharp tingling down each arm as he could move them fully again. “Sort yourself out and don’t make me regret it.” River nodded, taking a step into the bushes. Frank’s stare had the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He supposed it was too much to ask for Frank to look away and let him preserve even the smallest sense of dignity. Frank continued to stare, the tension in the lead harsh and an ever present reminder. Pulling down his trousers, River mused on how he had ended up here, in this exact situation. He had wondered who his dad was when he was a kid. His mum had just told him he was dead, car crash, and then refused to speak of him. River had still looked for photos and wondered but there was nothing in their life that would tell him what his dad was like. He didn’t like what he had found. He thought his life would have been better if he knew who his dad was. As he stood in the woods pissing while his dad literally held his leash, that dream had well and truly died.

Despite the splashback that River was trying very hard not to think about, the easing of the pressure on his bladder and the freedom of his arms made the world of difference. He could do this. He was River Cartwright and he was not just going to sit around in a fucking dog cage and wait to be rescued. He started to subtly slow down, only adding a moment’s hesitation with each step but that did enough that he started to feel some slack at the lead on his back. There was no igniting moment, there was nothing that told River it was time to move, he just did. Sharp sudden movement and River spun, tugging at the lead and going for the clip to get himself free. But his fingers fumbled, their lack of use and previously bound position betrayed him as the sore digits scrambled for the opening. The window closed. The moment of surprise was gone. River gasped as the lead was yanked back and his the plastic cut into his fingers leaving searing cuts. His knee caved from the impact of Frank’s boot. Stumbling to the floor, River couldn’t breathe. Frank hadn’t been in a cage for hours so his hands worked quickly and efficiently with a flick to spin the lead around River’s neck, a biting collar. River’s fingers scrambled at it, leaving deep red scratches on the skin of his neck as he tried and failed to find any leverage. Black spots flickered on the edge of his vision and everything felt distant. His body wasn’t his own as limbs twitched while he desperately searched for any sliver of air that might be able to make it through. Frank’s weight was warm pressure to his back and the rasping of Frank’s breath was taunting him with every second he couldn’t follow his lead. River’s legs caved, putting more pressure on the strap around his throat, blood started to well around it and River’s hands fell down to his side no matter how much he willed them to keep fighting. He needed to keep fighting. His vision flickered again. He couldn’t keep fighting.

Suddenly the air rushed back into his lungs. The pressure eased in a flood and River gasped through hacking coughs that shook his whole frame. Saliva built behind his makeshift gag, swallowed down before he choked on his own vomit.

“I underestimated your stupidity,” Frank hissed.

River’s eyes watered as he tried to restart his body, doing anything to get oxygen back into his lungs. Frank’s hand wrapped around the back of River’s collar, and he tutted at the flinch and whine that River didn’t have it in him to supress. The mere thought of anything near his throat after that was enough to have him curling up protectively. The lead was forgotten, hooked on Frank’s belt, in favour of the more personal approach of grabbing River by the scruff and dragging him through the mud. His feet felt like they were much further away than they used to be; River couldn’t get them to move together and get under him. Even if they did Frank was moving through the undergrowth at a punishingly painful pace. Branches scratched at every exposed patch of skin, like whips yelling his shame. He had fucked it. There was no way River was going to get another chance like that; Frank was not sloppy like that. Before River could come up with any solution to his current bruising situation, his back was scrapping against the gravel of the car park. There was no one else there. He was alone, so alone.

River couldn’t see them but he was sure that his torso and thighs would be painted with mottled bruises by the time Frank hefted him up and shoved him roughly back into the cage. The world was still spinning around him as River heaved in breath through his swollen throat. There wasn’t even an ounce of strength left in him to fight against his body being manipulated and curled back into his prison. Frank was ruthlessly efficient in taping River’s hands back together. He just moved River wherever he needed to, no care for his token struggles. The tape stung as Frank ripped it from his mouth. River’s stomach immediately seized. He tried to hold it in but Frank gripped onto the roots of River’s hair and pulled his head over the lip of the boot. The world spun as he moved sharply and bile stung as it dragged up his throat and spattered onto the floor.

“Get it all out,” Frank ordered. River wasn’t sure whether he was imagining it in his oxygen deprived state but he was sure there was a soothing scratch of his scalp as he spat out of the last dredges of his stomach onto the floor. Water was poured into his mouth and River swished it around and spat it onto the floor, anything to get rid of that taste. If the gag was getting put back on then he didn’t want vomit to be the only thing he could taste for the next god knows how many hours. But the gag wasn’t put back on. River’s head was pushed back into the cage so he could roll up on his side and then the water was wordlessly offered again. Contrary to Frank’s beliefs about the quality of River’s training, he had taken in the wisdom from his lecturers and had remembered things that he was sure that he wouldn’t ever need when he got shoved into Slough House. The first was that if you were concerned about long term captivity, do not turn down food and water. Even if it is drugged, you are going to die if you don’t get it. So when Frank pressed the bottle to River’s lips in the cage, River didn’t fight it. The water felt so good, fresh and clear and easing the tightness in his chest. The bottle was slowly pulled away and River’s head chased it desperately, unwilling to give up on the comforts he had been denied so easily. But the bottle kept moving and Frank’s hand rested on his cheek halting River’s advance.

“If you drink too much you’ll throw up,” Frank scolded softly. River glared, even though he knew Frank was right. He glared on principle. The water bottle was placed into a bag next to where Frank was sat on the lip of the boot and he pulled out a snacking pack of small pieces of cheese and meats and crackers. Now if River thought the water was bad, being hand fed by his dad through the doors of a cage was a whole new level of demeaning.

“You can untie my hands. I won’t try anything,” River croaked after a painful swallow of a cube of cheese. Eating hurt, his neck was red raw and painful from its recent treatment at the hands of Frank and the dog leash. However River had no way of knowing when Frank would deign to offer him food again. He had to eat now.

“And you really expect me to fall for that,” Frank replied, another piece of chorizo squished between his fingers.

“What do you think I’d do?” he growled.

“Something idiotic,” Frank snipped back. River didn’t have a retort. Yeah, what evidence did Frank have to believe that River wouldn’t try to take his eye out with a cracker shiv and bolt. If there was a reasonable chance of it working, River would without hesitation. And Frank knew that. River took the piece of chorizo between his teeth and clamped down on it with all of his fury.

River lay curled up, bristling with anger laced with humiliation. If this was Frank’s plan, to break River down until he just couldn’t bare the degrading nature of it all then he was going to have a long wait. Yes his resolve was being chipped away at but no one survived Slough House and the personal attentions of Jackson Lamb without developing an immunity against shame.

“Are you getting off on this or something?” River bit out angrily the next time Frank got back into the car.

“Why would you think that?” Frank asked.

“All this dragging me around, fucking dog jokes …”

“I’m not doing this because I want to son,” the word son just sounded so wrong coming from this violent stranger. It was true but that didn’t make it any less abrasive. “I would much prefer you would sit up front here with me and we could leave this damned country behind, but you can’t be trusted. And until you can be trusted then you stay secure where you can’t do anything rash or stupid, that is your brand isn’t it?” Frank replied as if they were talking about the weather or how Arsenal had played that weekend. River did have to admit that last comment smarted a bit. He was rash, but he wasn’t stupid. He calculated the risks before he did anything, it was just that the mission came first.

“If you don’t want to do this then just let me go. I’m not going to join you, ever,” River tried to keep his tone harsh, and to imagine he was stood holding his head high instead of curled and whimpering like the puppy Frank kept insinuating he was. However even with that River could hear the plead underneath the crackling from the bruises on his neck.

“I am not going to do that. They have taken my other sons from me. They will not complete the job,” Frank spat, the angriest River had heard him since all of this began.

“So that’s what this is about,” River whispered. Things were starting to click into place through the haze. Frank had expressed his desire to recruit River, he had praised River’s skills, but breaking him down to squeeze him into the Harkness mould was going to be so much work and as River wouldn’t bend Frank would just have to kill him anyway. River couldn’t be left alive as he was a witness, probably the only person alive who knew everything. “I’m not your son.”

“Not yet.”

Those two words sent shivers down River’s spine and the dread choked in his abused throat. It was simultaneously a threat and a promise. This was revenge and a chance for Frank to rebuild rolled into one. “You want to hurt my grandad, hurt MI5 and use me to do it.”

“That’s a pleasant side effect. I need to rebuild, start over. Hopefully Patrice will join us but I am not hopeful. He’s been sloppy throughout …”

“That’s your definition of sloppy?” River exclaimed, sending a retching cough ripping out of him.

“Yes. He was effective but not efficient. It should not have taken that much effort to dispatch some old spies and bring you to me,” Frank tutted.

“What have you sent him to do?” River asked, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

“Finish off David Cartwright and deal with anyone else who knows too much. That includes your show ponies,” Frank tutted.

“Slow horses,” River muttered the correction. Patrice was going to Slough House. Patrice probably had already been to Slough House. River really hoped that Patrice had been sloppy like Frank believed him to be. That was no doubt too much to ask of the terminator that had been determined to tear River’s life apart.

“Yes, your slow horses. Jackson Lamb and the rejects, I did tell you that you were wasted there,” Frank tutted. River’s jaw clenched, muscles twitching as he resisted the urge to lash out. He needed to conserve his energy. He couldn’t waste energy being angry. “Why do you care? I’m freeing you from MI5’s pit. You could thrive if you leave them behind?”

“I don’t want to,” River wheezed. “They’re not so bad.”

“So what is it then? Why are you so fixated on staying here with your team instead of coming with your father to a better life?” Frank asked.

River gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to give Frank anything, he had passed RTI with flying colours. Torture doesn’t work. Torture doesn’t get you the information you want. The way to get information was to integrate yourself, wait until the subject fell for your tricks. “I’m not going to give you any information.”

“You’ve already given me enough River. Your reluctance to answer, your pause to compose yourself at the thought of Patrice killing your team, your correction of the stupid nickname. You’ve made friends, a weakness that we will have to deal with,” Frank sighed.

“You don’t fucking touch them,” River snarled, kicking out of the bars.

“I won’t need to. Assuming that either Patrice has done his job or we get out of the country. They’ll stop coming for you, if they are even coming for you now. You really think MI5 cares about their little disaster magnet,” Frank scoffed.

River was silent, all protests died somewhere between his brain and his throat. MI5 didn’t come for their lost agents. They definitely didn’t come for Slow Horses who had gone off the reservation. He wasn’t expecting a rescue from MI5, but one from Slough House wasn’t completely off the table. He was still one of Jackson Lamb’s joes despite everything that had gone wrong and everything that he did. Jackson Lamb did not abandon his joes, no matter how much distain he had for their very existence. The Slow Horses would be coming for him. He just had to help them out a little.

“You’ll realise your errors soon, and we have time to fix them.”

It was a promise. It was a threat.

They continued to drive. With the blanket over the cage and River’s drifting consciousness, he had absolutely no clue where they were going. All the roads were rough so Frank was likely avoiding motorways but that gave River no helpful clues as to where they were actually going. The UK was the sort of place that driving for a day, despite the number of stops they were doing, usually got you somewhere. But Frank’s attitude showed no signs of them getting anywhere near their destination. Frank had mentioned a Dutch house but if they were going direct then they would have reached any ports to the Netherlands by now and the Euro Tunnel for sure. Not that the information would do him any good anyway. River had no way of telling anyone where he was even if he did work it out. Knowing and it being useless might be more torturous than not knowing at all; not that he could choose anyway. The car pulled to a stop again and the engine rumbled to off. The car doors opened and closed and River subconsciously held his breath, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. It was all quiet. Then the back doors open, startling River out of his stillness. Not being able to see was horrible. He had no way of preparing himself for what was about to happen, every muscle and nerve was primed to hide or run or whatever might be needed. The back doors slammed again and River could hear shuffling in the car. And then a deep exhale. Then nothing. It took a moment, but then his heart sunk and tears prickled in his eyes. He dropped his head against the side of the cage and then slammed his fist against the blanket. Frank was just going to sleep. His captor was vulnerable and wouldn’t be able to react quickly and there was nothing he could do. He was trapped. It was hopeless. Was he ever getting out of here? And where were the Slow Horses? All River could do was curl up in his prison and try to do like Frank was, relax and get some sleep. But that was going to be a lot harder than it sounded.

Chapter Text

“It was truly a shame you never got to properly meet Bertrand.”

River startled, hitting his head on the bars behind him and cursing under his breath. “I met him well enough,” River hissed.

Frank’s responding hum was appraising and calculating, sending a shiver down River’s spine. “Yes I suppose you did. Bertrand never was the brightest of the bunch but he was effective, useful.” That was hell of a way to talk about your son. Frank talked a good game about getting revenge for his family and about wanting River to be his son; yet he talked about his actual children who he raised like they were meat shields he could just throw at a problem. River had never really had a healthy parental figure but even the Old Bastard would be able to come up with something better than effective and useful. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“He, he tried to drug and drown my grandfather,” River stammered.

“A peaceful death don’t you think? That was the aim, no drama, no fuss, just an old man who took a bath and died in his sleep,” Frank chuckled.

“Fuck you,” River growled, “Betrand deserved what he got.”

“Did Natasha?” Frank asked. “I know you met her when you came to Lavande. Poor girl, just couldn’t leave her son even when he didn’t want her there. She loved him through it all. And now doesn’t even get to see his body, because of you,” he sighed. River wasn’t an idiot, he could see what Frank was trying to do. The idiotic thing was that it was working. Natasha, despite it all, had just wanted to see her son. If Betrand was the mirror of River then Natasha was the mirror of Isobel. For River there was nothing he could do to earn his mother’s love; for Bertrand it seemed that there was nothing he could do that would spoil her love for him. Natasha deserved to be able to bury her son, and because of River’s foolhardy attempt to run off to France and solve this on his own. River shook his head, a vain attempt to knock the thoughts free.

“He was there to kill my grandfather. He got what he deserved,” River replied, his voice wavering even through the determination. With each repetition of the declaration he was becoming less sure in it’s validity.

“Les Arbres was a revolutionary idea. The concept worked but now I’m starting to doubt its replicability. My genes seem to be the important part. Your savagery was impressive and you’ve not yet had my teachings,” Frank chuckled, an undertone of pride that River desperately wanted to slap out of his tone.

“I am nothing like you.”

Frank tutted and River could hear the raised eyebrow and smile in his voice, “you think that but I’ve seen you work. You did well at St Pancreas. Like a bull in a china shop though.” River felt his face heat up at the patented trend of praise and criticism rolled into one that had followed him all his life. Nothing that River ever did was good enough, it was always good but, and he hated that his birth father had immediately jumped on the wagon. “Bertrand was the same. He never had the delicate touch that spy work needed. Yves was always the best for that,” Frank mused.

“Until he blew up a shopping centre.”

“Yes, unfortunate,” Frank sighed. That was the first time River had detected a genuine sense of frustration. “But you’ve been working with Jackson Lamb, you got through MI5 selection. I think you’ll be far more suited to this life than Bertrand was, maybe even than Yves was. I can trust that you won’t be blowing up any shopping centres,” Frank chuckled.

“I’ll kill you.” River couldn’t think of anything witty or clever to say. He was tired, he was sore, his throat was killing him from Frank’s ministrations that morning, he just wanted this over. It wasn’t going to be any time soon. Frank was predisposed to sadism and had an answer to anything River tried. He was stuck.

“Sure you will.”

The car stopped again. Frank’s door opened and slammed sending shockwaves through River’s whole body. River tensed, but even the slight movement of his muscles sent another wave of pins and needs all the way to his hips. Even breathing hurt, even holding his breath hurt. River tensed, his useless eyes squeezing close and a whimper forcing its way out of his bruised and bleeding lips.

“We need to change cars. I trust you understand what I need you to do,” Frank’s voice cut through his misery and the almost bored, stoic tone only caused the anger to bubble in his tight gut again. River had always wondered what his dad was like. He didn’t particularly look much like his mum and he shared some features with his grandma but the other side of his family tree had always been a glaring and enticing black hole. Looking at Bertrand and the twisted parody of his own face in the bathtub had answered the question of where a lot of his appearance came from in the gene pool. But down in his deep nature, he wasn’t Frank. He wasn’t his father’s son. He was broken, he had all the flaws in the world and no impulse to try and fix them. But he wasn’t a Harkness. He could never even imagine being so passive and cold. It had been a major flaw in his training. River Cartwright wore his heart on his sleeve. River Cartwright cared too much. River Cartwright would act without thinking to save someone in danger. All of those were black marks on his record, but elements of pride in his soul.

Frank didn’t wait for River to give him an answer. The cage shook and River tensed himself for the sharp movement. Even though he knew it was coming this time, the thud of Frank dropping the cage down jarred every bone in his body. A quiet whimper squeezed out of River despite him being sure he was holding himself so tightly that he was surprised any air was making its way in or out. River barely moved, breathed, thought as the cage was dragged this time along concrete. He could feel the blanket moving and the air was somehow more oppressive out of the car than it was in. River found himself thankful that Frank was using the air con in the cars he was stealing. Small mercies in this shitstorm. The cage was heaved up into the back of another truck and River eased, letting out a deep exhale. It hurt, but it didn’t really hurt that much more than just existing. River rolled ever so slightly to try and reduce the pressure on his side. His head slumped down onto the blanket.

“Good lad.”

River froze and the temporary reprieve was gone.

“You learn quickly, well done.”

The slam of the boot was well timed for the plummet of River’s heart. He hadn’t fought. River had been so worried about the pain of the cage moving that fighting against his father’s commands hadn’t even crossed his mind. He was busy that was it. River was preoccupied with survival. He didn’t hear the orders. He was not compliant. But if that was the case then why did he feel like he was going to throw up.

Frank stopped again to sleep and get some food. River didn’t sleep. How was he supposed to sleep in conditions like this. River didn’t fight. He had told himself at the time that it was conservation of energy; he assured himself that this was just survival. It didn’t feel like it was now, in the dead of night when his muscles were spasming with unspent energy and he could hear Frank’s breathing less than a meter away from him. River should be running. He should be trying to bust out of this cage through sheer force of will. But he didn’t. River just laid there.

Frank was awake before River noticed time passing and then the door was opening and then the boot. River blinked wearily, desperately trying to clear the weariness from his mind. “How’s it going to be today River?” Frank asked, the boot dropping down as he perched on the lip. “You did well yesterday with the car change and have earnt a reward,” he chuckled. River wanted to bite and spit and growl and do anything to show Frank that he wasn’t just going to sit pretty.

“Fine,” River spat instead. He couldn’t be an idiot. Survival was the most important part; and he really needed to pee. Any position in this cage was putting a horrific amount of pressure on his bladder.

“That’s not very grateful,” Frank tutted. “I might have to reevaluate the reward.”

“No!” River blurted out, face flushing hot in embarrassment at the need in his cracking voice.

“Ok then,” Frank chuckled. I am going to let you sit up and in the car and feed yourself and have a quick wash. Then I’ll tie your hands again and we’ll go through the necessary ablutions and back into the cage. Any moment of acting up and you will regret it. Do you understand River?” Frank explained.

“I understand,” River replied meekly.

Getting out of the cage was just as painful this time as it was before. But at least this time River had a knowledge that the reprieve was worth the pain. He just needed to get through the agony without embarrassing himself any further. It was that thought that carried him through the pins and needles stabbing at him like real life needles and the throbbing headache from the constant movement and bright light that was trickling through the trees. Frank had found them another secluded nature trail. Not much risk of people spotting them and asking questions of River who was sure that he very much looked like a man who had been abducted. River closed his eyes and rolled his neck as he waited for the discomfort to subside to something that was manageable. There was nothing from Frank. River could hear him moving around the car; that was something he was very in tune with now, the almost silent movements of Frank were hardwired into his brain. It was what blind people said wasn’t it? That their other senses were enhanced because one was missing. River hadn’t been able to see much since all this began but hearing Frank and being able to make educated guesses about what was happening, he had got very good at that. When River could wiggle his fingers and toes without feeling like he was going to vibrate out of his body, he inched open his eyes. Frank was leaning up against a tree a couple of strides away, just watching. In his hands was a small Swiss army knife and a Tesco bag for life.

“That better?” Frank asked. 

River nodded slowly but even that slight movement felt like his brain was being used by the pinball wizard.

“Use your words,” Frank scolded.

“Sorry, yes,” River replied. Every movement of his mouth only made his thirst more apparent. In the cage River’s main focus had been relieving his aching bladder. Now there was less pressure as he could stand up straight the dizziness, cracking of his lips and sandpaper tongue were more of a pressing issue.

“Good. Hold your hands out,” Frank ordered. River did it mindlessly and Frank sawed through the layers of duct tape. With his hands free River tentatively moved them apart and couldn’t stop the yelp of pain that came from both shoulders. “Hey, hey, take it nice and easy son,” Frank squatted down in front of River and rested his hand on top of River’s. “Here,” he whispered, taking the other hand and gripping tightly onto River’s left shoulder. “Now slowly, push against my hand.” Frank moved his hand to bracket River’s left one. A frown marred River’s features but he had learnt not to argue. He softly pushed against Frank’s hand, and then pushed a little harder. His shoulder ached but the slow controlled movements kept it as a dull ache instead of the roaring flames of pain. “There we go, good lad. That’s better isn’t it,” Frank smiled. River nodded slowly. They repeated the procedure with his right arm and worked slowly and methodically together through a series of stretches. Each successful movement was met with a smile and a hint of praise as to how well he was doing. Frank wasn’t Mr Motivator by any stretch of the imagination but it did help to keep River moving through the discomfort, pushing himself that little bit future or doing it that little bit quicker. By the end of the rotation River was feeling like an actual real human being for the first time since his grandad’s house and going into the Dogs custody.

“Here,” Frank dropped the bag on the rim of the boot next to where River was perched. River frowned at Frank and then the bag and then back to Frank. “Do you want your reward or not?” Frank huffed irately.

“That wasn’t my reward,” River stammered. He thought that being out of the cage and his hands free and the stretches were what Frank was meaning.

“Oh if that’s good enough then …” Frank moved towards the bag. River reacted quicker than he thought he could in his current state. Like a feral animal, River clutched the bag and dragged it to his chest.

“No, no. Thank you, thanks,” River hissed.

“Your welcome,” Frank smiled. There was something wrong with the smile but River didn’t care to work it out now.

Inside the bag were two bottles of water, a pack of baby wipes, gum, a ham and cheese sandwich and a kit kat chunky. River gazed upon the bag like he had just found a pirate’s long lost treasure. He couldn’t believe it was real. And Frank didn’t stop him. He just watched as River downed one of the bottles of water in a series of swift gulps. He watched as River slowly and tentatively wiped all the areas he could easily reach with the baby wipes. The sweat was baked into his skin by now but even if it was just the cold moisture he felt so much more refreshed. The sandwich killed the grumbled turning in his stomach and the kit kat set his mouth alite. The gum washed it all away a long with the film coating the inside of his mouth. River wasn’t well by any stretch of the imagination but he felt real again. Frank took the bag and the rubbish as River sat there in an almost trance chewing his second piece of gum.

“Hand together,” Frank ordered but it was softer. River did it without question and didn’t even flinch when the tape was reapplied and the lead clicked onto the back of his shirt again.

Frank tightened the lead and nudged River back towards the car. River moves with him and tried with every movement to stretch his abused joints. He was still walking like an octogenarian and could feel the strain of muscles he didn’t even know he had. There was no telling how long it would be until he next got to move around. It would depend on how long Frank’s apparent good mood would last; or if River was ever rescued, but he wasn’t holding out hope for that anymore. They approached the car and Frank pulled the boot open. River froze. His eyes couldn’t move away from the view of the cage. He hadn’t been able to properly look at his prison since this all began. Last time he was so focused on escape that any details flew out of the window. This time they were down an abandoned backroad surrounded by trees with a small stream to the side and Frank wasn’t trying to hide anything. The lead pulled on the back of his shirt, the metal clasp every of often glancing against his skin. But even that didn’t move him. His legs rooted to the ground, shaking as fire coursed through every synapse. It was smaller than he thought. It looked so much smaller from the outside. His muscles were evidence that he had fit in there but as he loomed over it, he couldn’t imagine what that contortion would look like. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move. Frank didn’t seem to notice River’s momentary paralysis as he pulled River to a stop. The cage was so small. He was going to have to go back into it. He couldn’t go back into it. River’s chest was heaving, each breath wasn’t enough oxygen to power his body. His head was swimming and the only thing that would remain in focus was the cage. The light green blanket with footballs on it looked to thin from the outside; from in there it felt soft and comforting but that was so stupid it was just a dog blanket and River couldn’t breathe. He could feel his shoulders hunching and body curling in on itself in preparation for the torture to resume. But he couldn’t move.

“River, get in the cage.” The order was always going to come. River was going to follow that order; he had vowed that he would try and appease Frank to keep himself in one piece but whenever he tried to even slide his foot forwards it wouldn’t move. He couldn’t get back in the cage. He was going to die in that cage. The metal of the lead moved against the back of his neck and the strangely settling feeling of cold against the back of his neck disappeared. He was adrift and untethered. He couldn’t get back in the cage.

“I, I,” River stammered before clamping his mouth shut to try and keep that morning’s food from making a reappearance.

“I won’t ask again River,” the kindness from Frank’s voice after River had behaved himself that morning had disappeared. But River couldn’t do it. His knees hit the dirt and River yelped at the sharp swift pain on the back of his leg from Frank’s boot. He could feel Frank’s tight grip on the back of his neck as he was manhandled back into his prison. But River wasn’t there. He couldn’t tell you where he had gone but he was not in control of his body. The blanket was draped back over the cage with River in it and the boot closed. The darkness and quiet wrapped around him. River laid there; his eyes were open but dead and unseeing. River wasn’t really there.

River came back to himself in stages. First was the ability to move; he could twitch his muscles and roll over onto his side from the uncomfortable position on his front that Frank had manhandled him into. Then came his hearing; he could hear Frank’s talking increasing in volume like he was coming up from swimming underwater. He was talking about Les Arbres and his other sons. Lastly River could breathe again; he let out a deep wheezing exhale. Frank’s talking stopped.

“Back with us are you?” he eventually asked.

“Yeah.”

“Thought you had actually snapped. It was like moving a dead body,” Frank tutted.

“Sorry,” River whispered. He didn’t know why he was apologising; it just felt like the right thing to do.

“Thank you son,” the smile was audible in Frank’s voice. “I was just filling the silence telling you about Les Arbres and how I trained the boys. It got me thinking, how did your grandfather train you?”

“He didn’t train me,” River frowned. That didn’t make any sense.

“I mean you’re skilled. I saw your recruitment file,” Frank replied. Of course Frank had seen his recruitment file, was nothing in his life a secret. His dad probably knew what he wanked to when he was fifteen with the level of research he had done into his MI5 agent son. “Athletic, proficient with firearms, four fluent languages, black belt in karate, diving and rock climbing certifications, international relations degree …” Frank listed off all of River’s accolades. It didn’t make him feel good, usually this level of praise would have River preening but he just wanted to throw up. He knew where Frank was going and he didn’t want him to get there. “And that was all before you were recruited. It’s almost like you were bred, raised to be service. I would call that training son,” Frank chuckled.

“Fuck you,” River snarled.

“I am just …”

“I don’t fucking care what you have to say. I was not groomed for service. I wanted to do all those things,” River’s fury was bubbling.

“That’s what a lot of the groomed children say. Cartwright …” Frank tried to argue but there was the line.

“You keep my name out of your fucking mouth,” River snarled, kicking out at the bars of his cage. “My grandad did everything for me. He didn’t ask for a kid. He saved me from you. He saved me from my mum and I would both kill and die to protect him and his name. You and him are nothing alike,” River spat each word and its accompanying venom. “He loves me and raised me to feel that love. I don’t think you’ve ever loved anything in your life. Yves killed himself to get away from you. Patrice is terrified of you. I despise you. None of that is love.”

“Are you quite done?” Frank snarled. Now River had done it; River had managed to really piss him off.

“No. Your methods aren’t going to work. Whatever you are trying to do to me, I know better. Not because I was trained, or taught from a young age how to be a sociopath, but because I know what is waiting for me when I get out of here and it is so much better than anything you can promise me. Now I’m done!” River yelled.

There was quiet. River couldn’t see and he couldn’t hear anything over the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. That probably wasn’t a smart move but he was not going to sit back and let Frank try to ruin his grandad’s legacy. Patrice had hopefully failed. River would see his grandad again. Tears prickled at his eyes.

“Ok,” Frank sighed. “If you are not going to be able to hold a respectful conversation then we will spend this ride in silence.” And that sounded good to River. Anything was better than these chats.

This was somehow worse than Frank’s incessant talking. River never thought he would start to wish for Frank to resume the taunting and stupid conversations that he was determined to fill River’s captivity with. River wasn’t going to be the first to break though. Frank loved the sound of his own voice; he wouldn’t be able to keep this up very long. The longer he spent on this silly idea that silence would break River then the less time he would have trying in vain to convince River to join him. It wasn’t comfortable silence. The only noise that made it through the blanket was the rumbling of the engine and Frank’s steady breathing. He tried to focus in on those two sounds but there wasn’t enough there to keep his attention. His mind began to drift and River’s mind was dangerous when it was allowed to drift.

The silent treatment kept going. River’s initial assessment that Frank was too egotistical to ignore his captive for any extended period of time was woefully incorrect. River stayed silent too. He wasn’t going to be the one to break. The only indication that any time had passed was the fact that Frank had stopped the car and hauled River out of the cage for his morning ablutions. A whole day of silence. No wonder he was starting to lose it. If it wasn’t happening to him then River would admire Frank’s perseverance. But now River was out of the cage and his hands were being untaped and so Frank would have to talk to him.

But he didn’t.

Every step of the new and improved routine from the day before was completed in perfect silence. Frank softly and lightly manipulated River through his stretches. Frank wiped River down with the baby wipes, tenderly brushing them across his cheek bones to not irritate the salt lines from his tears any further. Today he even got some hand cream and Vaseline. He was allowed to feed himself but everything was wordless. River didn’t know what to say even if he did want to say something. It was bizarre but it also hurt somehow. His head was spinning and his body subconsciously leant into every touch of Frank’s hands, desperately for any stimulation no matter how it came.

Then he was back into the cage and the moment was over.

River’s pretty sure he is awake. He thinks that his dreams would be the only way that he would escape this torture but he couldn’t guarantee that this black void of nothing but the rumbling of the car engine and Frank’s breathing wouldn’t follow him into the land of sleep. It had long past started to drive him mad. He was doing anything to get any sort of sensation but nothing he did made the cage clank or made Frank react in anyway. His head was swimming from hitting it against the bars to feel something. His internal monologue was frenzied and nonsensical but despite that it had spread into the external. The whispering kept him grounded for a while but then it wasn’t enough. Then the whispering turned into rambles. River didn’t know what he was saying, he just needed noise. River didn’t do silence, he had to fill silence. There was no light, there was no noise. The understimulation was killing him. Would this finally be the thing to kill him? River had been through MI5 training, he had been through Stansted, he had been through the Hassan rescue, he had been through Upshott, he had been through the Tiger Team fuck up, he had been through his Grandad’s assassination attempt. He really hoped the Old Bastard was still alive. Tears continued to trickle down his face sideways, plopping on to the blanket. Even that was soundless.

Another unknown chunk of time and then River’s voice wasn’t enough. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” River whimpered, bringing his arms up as high as he could so that his elbows bracketed his ears. It was his choice not to hear. The cool calm monotony of Frank’s breathing as the only noise was like sandpaper scratching against his brain. “I won’t do it again. I won’t just please, something.”

Nothing. No change.

“Please … dad. Whatever you want to talk about we can yeah,” River whispered through the tears. “I won’t complain. Dad please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” River pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks and welling on the blanket his face was smushed up against. “I won’t, I won’t do it again,” he cried. River didn’t know what he was promising not to do again. He just needed Frank to say something. He needed something; River didn’t know how much more of this isolation he could take. At the time it had felt like the worst thing that could happen was Frank talking his ear off and trying to turn him; River was wrong, this pure taste of captivity was so much worse. Frank was right there. His dad was right there. And there was still this torturous silence. “Please, dad, please just say something,” River whimpered.

“Ok son. Thank you for asking so politely.”

River cried with the force of his sobs shaking his whole body and rattling the cage in a taunting jingle of metallic laughter. He couldn’t breathe. Every emotion, every inch of energy, every thought poured out him along with the whimpers of a wounded animal.

“It’s ok let it all out. I’m sorry but I just listened to what you wanted.”

River sobbed again. Every wheezed cry caught on the sandpaper texture of his throat and filtered out into the miasma of misery. This was all a game for Frank. River was falling apart and this was all a game. He had been so confident in his ability to hold out against whatever psychological torture his father would bring to the table but moment my moment, inch by inch River was crumbling into something he didn’t even recognise. Where would it end? And would River still be here to see it?

“What we were talking about earlier … it’s been playing on my mind,” Frank moved onto the next conversation fluidly and easily. River’s mind was still whirring and trying to keep up with his dad’s whims and sudden personality changes. One minute he was ignoring River and trying to train him like a dog; the next minute he was wanting to engage in conversation like they were on a sweet family roadtrip. River had given up trying to predict and scheme. Rolling with the punches was the name of the game.

“Yeah?” River questioned, rubbing his nose on his shoulder to try and clear some of the post crying stuffiness.

“Your mother …” Frank began and River’s brain lost connection. The low thrum of static surrounding his brain like a forcefield flared back into life and River found himself blinking blankly as it overwhelmed him. He didn’t want to talk about Isobel. He wanted all thoughts of his mum washed out of Frank’s brain with the tide. He didn’t love her, he never had, she was a means to an end and River was that end. River wasn’t a valuable solider, he was an investment and Frank had cashed in on him before River had even been born. Now he was double dipping and he was daring to talk about River’s mum. The last time River had met the comments with violence; this time he just stopped. He couldn’t face the silence again. He couldn’t face the disparaging comments about those who had raised him again. He couldn’t face any of this. So River chose not to. He chose to shut down and hide within his cage and the self-laid trap inside his own head. River drifted in the inbetween place within his own head.

With a rattling bang, River’s body flew into the air and slammed into the bars of the cage. A strangled sob of pain erupted from his throat as the dead nerve endings reignited and the flame roared through his body. He rolled back half into his stomach and the cage stopped rocking. A sharp lance of pain stabbed through his shoulder. There was no way to tell the damage that he been done with his hands bound and curled up in the way he was but he could tell that something was not where it should be.

“It’s rude not to listen when someone is talking to you River. I know you were raised with better manners than that,” Frank tutted, sending the car rolling forwards again after their sudden stop. River was also raised to know the value of having a seatbelt when a car does an emergency stop. His grandfather had taught him that message young with the help of some crime scene photos that had started River’s tendency to head towards the bin rapidly whenever seeing any blood or gore that was not his.

“Are you listening River,” Frank asked impatiently.

“Sorry, yes,” River hissed through his teeth. Any movement to try and pin his shoulder in place sent the pain sparking again and threatening to down River in its tides. He didn’t know what Frank would do if River stopped listening again. He settled for lifting up part of his shirt and pinning it as best as he could around his neck to act as a sort of makeshift sling. Maybe Frank would have something to put it in a sling or tape it up better when they next stopped. River had been good, mostly good, he deserved another reward. He would need to keep behaving himself if he wanted the reward though.

“I was talking about Isobel. How is she by the way?”

“She’s fine. Got a new boyfriend. He’s a deadbeat but better than her former partners,” River muttered. The temptation to take a verbal swing over powered his need to behave and earn a reward hopefully in the form of a painkiller.

Frank chuckled, River’s dig thankfully seeming to be more amusing than scathing. “It’s easy to see the talents that you got from my side of the family. But the Cartwright genes, what’s there? A tendency to run?” he asked. “Although I guess your spy skills can’t all be from me,” Frank continued before River could say anything even if he wanted to.

“Genetics, you lend a lot of credit to that? That why you only work with those who are your blood,” River sighed. If he didn’t move then the ache returned to its dull thrum and he could keep pandering to his captors weird whims of conversation.

“And you don’t. I already know so much about you and we’ve not known each other for long.”

“That’s what happens when you lock someone in a cage and force them to talk to you.”

Another laugh from Frank, “I suppose so. What do you want to move onto? Your mummy issues surrounding having no real caring female authority figures in your life meaning that you search for people who have power over you to like you and tell you how much of a good job you are doing.”

“What’s this then? Some sort of fucked up attempt of armchair therapy?” River growled, hitting his newly constructed limit for this conversation. That was good to know, that he still had limits. Frank had broken him down and River didn’t recognise a lot of the parts that lay scattered, but he hadn’t completely ripped everything away. River still had some fight hidden there somewhere and it was brought out by psychobabble.

“This is an attempt for me to understand you, for us to understand each other,” Frank replied after a moment’s thought.

“You ain’t going to share anything then? If this is about the both of us,” River snapped back.

“You haven’t asked me any questions,” Frank replied like it was blatantly obvious. Maybe it was. Because Frank was right; in all this ordeal River hadn’t tried to interrogate his captor, he had been too busy making threats to even try to get his own information out of this. “If you want to know something River then ask. I don’t lie to my children.”

River’s mouth opened but all that fell out was a muffled squeak. The man had revealed that he was a homicidal maniac and River’s father; and yet River couldn’t think of any questions he wanted to ask. Surely there must be something about here that he wanted to know that would help him get out of here. He could ask for any information about their route, where they were, and that could help him get out of here. Or would it just make the agony of having to rely on others for his rescue worse. “Why won’t you let me go?”

Frank let out a little noise of surprise that was masked by the indicator clicking. River regretted it immediately. His weak whimpering voice crackled with the strain and dehydration and he had never sounded more pathetic in his pathetic life. “I would have to kill you if I did. You know too much about me and your brothers for you to be on the outside. And I don’t want to see you dead River. Despite our current positions, I have always wanted the best for you,” Frank explained.

“Selling my mum for guns and passports is wanting the best for me?” River tutted.

“You’ve been so defensive of the Cartwright family? Is this you finally admitting that it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows?” Frank chuckled.

“That’s not what I meant,” River blurted out, nearly hitting his head on the bars in his haste.

“I know I know. But I think about you. I wanted to check in but I couldn’t afford Cartwright getting closer to me than he had to until he became senile,” Frank continued. River had no reason to believe that his dad was lying to him. That was the problem; it would be so easy to tell himself that none of this mattered because Frank was a filthy liar. If River did that then he would be the liar. “Now I can see that their teachings, no matter how unorthodox have been inadequate in helping you reach your potential. Patrice’s success in bringing you to me has given me an unforeseen opportunity,” Frank continued, either uncaring or unaware of River’s dilemma.

River stopped again. There was something that he was missing. Everything was either hurting or numb and River hadn’t known how many muscles there were in his body until it pained him to even breathe. But now he was breathing through the pain and trying to will his brain to catch up with whatever was causing his heart rate to dangerously spike. There was something that he was missing.

“You didn’t plan this,” River whispered breathily. His brain caught up and kick started into gear. All the bits of information that River had been noticing but tucking away for when he had the energy to spare were slotting in place within this morose jigsaw puzzle. “You didn’t plan to kidnap me. That’s why we are just driving around with you trying to convince me. You have no way to get me to Amsterdam,” River laughed, the realisation pouring out of him hysterically.

There was silence from Frank when River’s abrasive laughs died away into painful wheezes. “Well done. You’re not as dim as you act.” All of the levity and ease in the conversation was gone with that realisation. “I saw an opportunity to spite MI5 and to get my son back at my side. I don’t have a plan River. But I am already winning despite that, and doesn’t that just tell you how outmatched you are.”

Chapter Text

“Go,” Louisa commanded as she answered the phone through the car speakers. They had been badly tailing Frank and River’s progress up the east coast. Every time they think they have got him, he stops and changes cars and is gone before they even get a hint of what car he is in. He is very skilled at avoiding the cameras when he wants to. They need to do something. The longer River is with him, the more likely something is to go wrong.

“Hello to you too,” Roddy mutters under his breath.

“I am not in the mood!” Louisa snaps. “If you haven’t got anything to tell me then fuck off.”

“Sassy, could have just told me it was your time …”

Louisa hung up before he could finish that lecherous sentence.

“He is foul,” Emma hissed.

“Why do you think he’s at Slough House?” Louisa huffed, scowl etching onto her face. The phone rang again, this time Shirley. Louisa answered.

“Say it,” Shirley snarled.

“I’m sorry for being a misogynistic asshole,” Roddy hissed through what sounded like gritted teeth then there was a satisfied hum and a breathy relieved exhale.

“What have you found?” Louisa asked.

“He’s changed cars again but this time they seem to be sticking to the main roads, heading north with a purpose,” Roddy explained reluctantly. That was, the most promising progress they had been given yet. The aimless backroads driving was making it very difficult to predict and make any sort of plan that wasn’t just to follow him and hope. Maybe if he was moving somewhere with purpose they could form a plan.

“Send us the tracking. We’ll tail from a far so we are in position when we have a plan,” Louisa explained. Her spirits were starting to lift.

They managed to come up with a plan, and by they she meant her and Lamb with some Catherine and Emma contribution. Roddy’s contribution was to say they should just run Frank off the road and some insensitive comments about River’s potentially already dead body. Shirley’s contribution was to threaten to shove a can of red bull in a very uncomfortable place. She didn’t even know where Moira and Coe were. But Louisa, Lamb, Catherine and Emma had come up with a plan. The first step of the plan was to get Roddy to hack into the smart motorway systems and close the road at a junction up ahead of Frank’s car to direct him off. Then alerts would be put out on local radio and to police in the area that the car was stolen. They needed to make him need to change cars and do it quickly. The plan was to get Frank to a location of their choosing, with a car there of their choosing; as soon as he and River got out of the car, then Louisa and Emma would strike. Louisa would focus on securing River and Emma would focus on detaining Frank. So that left Emma and Louisa racing to their target point and sitting in a winding country house drive waiting for Frank to pull into the neighbouring car park where they had identified the target vehicle. Louisa’s leg was vibrating, watching the little red dot that was Frank’s car making progress towards them. The diversions were working.

“We’re going to need to move fast. Frank may not have time to plan but he’s going to be suspicious,” Emma muttered, pulling her gun out of the glovebox and shoving an extra clip into her pocket.

“We know the plan,” Louisa nodded. Roddy’s efforts had been effective, but they hadn’t been subtle. Subtle wasn’t in Roddy’s vocabulary at the best of times.

The dot got closer. Louisa dropped her phone in the cupholder and drew her gun as well.

The car sped past. Louisa moved to open the door.

The car didn’t stop. Louisa froze in place, half out of the car, as Emma cursed and darted down to the end of the drive.

The car turned at the end of the road, completely ignoring the road closed sign that Louisa had stolen and put out. Louisa followed Emma to the end of the drive.

They were fucked.

“So fucking stupid,” Emma cursed, kicking the gravel underfoot.

“It should have worked,” Louisa mused, staring down the road. It should have done. Frank was a wanted man and had no time to plan. How was he still one step ahead of them?

“Of course it didn’t work. He’s been steps ahead of us the whole time why would it change now,” Emma snapped, effectively and angrily voicing Louisa’s own thoughts.

“Ok then wise guy!” Louisa yelled back, “If you’ve got such a glorious better plan then why not let us all know.”

“It doesn’t involve just trailing this car all the way up the country,” Emma hissed, storming back towards the car. “We are pointless, your computer guy can trail him. We need to just wait until he makes a mistake.”

“And River would likely be dead,” Louisa frowned, following behind her.

“River is likely already dead!”

Louisa stopped in her tracks. Her body and brain and lungs and heart all pausing as a collective as that sentence tore right through her. It was the thought she had been avoiding all the way through. It had been days. With each car exchange and stop for petrol or food or a toilet break there had been no sign of River. She had kept up hope, they never saw a body and they never saw him actually change cars or sleep. River could be alive. River could be alive.

“I’m sorry Louisa but you need to face the facts. We are doing all of this to apprehend a dangerous fugitive and get some answers for the people we have lost. But there is no evidence that River isn’t on that list,” Emma groaned.

“There’s no evidence that he is,” Louisa whispered.

“I need to know that you aren’t going to be a liability if this goes to hell Guy. If we get confirmation that River is dead then I need to know you are going to be able to stick to a plan,” Emma continued, now looking at Louisa with such infuriating pity. Louisa couldn’t think that River was dead, because if she had to face that then she would be a liability. When she thought he was dead before all of this started it had fractured her, and that time she was not responsible. She should be keeping River safe; she was his partner. Now, just like Min, if he died this was on her. So she couldn’t, wouldn’t, think that River was dead.

“I will finish the mission. Frank Harkness will be detained. But until we see a body we are not having this conversation again,” Louisa growled, jumping into the car and slamming the door behind her.

“You done with your little bitch fight?” Lamb’s voice echoed around her, filling the car with the last thing she needed when she was on the verge of tears in some random fucking field.

“Shut up,” Emma muttered, getting into the car in a more dignified manner than Louisa had.

“Harkness has stopped. A mile or so away in a barn, the owners are away. He’s changing vehicle and if you two can put your handbags away for long enough you might be able to catch him.”

Emma had the car in drive faster than Louisa could comprehend what Lamb had said. The chase was still on.

Emma broke more than a couple of laws of the road to get them to the target barn as soon as possible and Louisa would be more than happy to pay the fines if it meant they got River back. The barn itself was set away from the road and had a tractor and a jaguar near the garage doors. Roddy had told them that the owners had reported a jaguar and a Range Rover in their insurance documents. A perfect target based on Frank’s past thefts. This time when they got out of the car it was slowly and quietly. Emma nodded to Louisa and pointed at the west side. Louisa nodded and pointed to the east. They didn’t have anyway to communicate quietly without having to walk holding their phones which was not going to happen but sticking together and taking their time was not a luxury they had. Splitting up was the best bet.

Louisa slipped into the barn quietly, the hay strewn on the stone floor helping to disguise her footsteps. It was a sprawling structure with all sorts of rooms and corners and things in boxes stacked up. It was a nightmare to clear and so through the silence, Louisa worked systematically. Just as she was thinking there was no way that Frank was here, she stopped. Her reflexes worked quicker than her brain did and Louisa was rolling out of the way just as the stun grenade clinked along the floor and exploded. Her world lit up with roaring in her ears and blinking away black spots in her vision. She rolled behind a few wrapped up bales of hay and blinked desperately trying to clear her vision. That was when the gunfire started.

“Emma!” Louisa yelled. They knew exactly where she was, subtleties were not necessary. With the competent Dog at her side, Louisa would be more confident in pushing forwards and trying to shoot their way out of this. In one swift movement, she ducked behind a crate and pulled out the cartridge. Louisa groaned closing her eyes, she didn’t have anywhere near enough bullets for a firefight. The shots resumed, ricocheting all over the insides of this abandoned barn, each bang sending a sharp jolt though her bodies. Each shot had to matter. Louisa rolled out from behind the crate, righting herself for just a moment to shoot another of the armoured thugs in the neck, sending the body crumpling to the ground. Then she was back round the corner. The repetition continued. Shots fired at her. She fired shots back, more precise and careful to make the most of her ammunition. Until it stopped. Louisa ducked back around the corner but no one returned fire. The silence was eerie and uncomfortable, even worse than the shooting had been. Louisa threw a loose bit of brick around the corner, but the only noise was the clink of stone on stone as it rattled along the floor. Louisa’s eyes narrowed. Something was wrong here.

Then a phone started to ring.

It took Louisa a moment to locate where the noise was coming from. The pocket of one of the dead soldiers was lit up. Louisa’s eyes shot around, looking for something that would explain what was happening. But it just looked like a normal barn. There was nothing here expect old farm equipment and a shoot out that seemed currently on pause. Her only way out was back the way she came and she would get shot down as soon as she cleared the door.

The ringing stopped, then started straight up again. And there was still no gunfire.

“Fuck this,” Louisa groaned. She was glad that no one was around, it was less embarrassing when she then dropped down onto her stomach, sliding out to pull the vibrating corpse closer and closer. Once the pocket was within reach, she pulled out the phone. Unknown number, of course it was. Cradling it in her hands, Louisa shuffled back to the sanctuary of the corner. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and answered the call.

“Who are you?” she growled, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hello Agent Guy. I believe you’ve been following me.”

“Frank Harkness,” Louisa growled.

“Oh, you are clever. River thought you would have worked it all out when I told him you were following us,” Frank chuckled. Louisa looked around, there must be cameras or something. Frank had to know that she would be able to get to that phone and when to ring.

“So he’s still alive?” Louisa questioned. She couldn’t see anything but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. She grabbed an empty clip off the floor and launched it. When it clattered on the ground the gunfire resumed, but it couldn’t be heard down the phone. Frank wasn’t anywhere near here.

He tutted down the line, “you can stop trying to get clues agent.”

Louisa froze in place. “You didn’t answer my question about River. I want proof of life,” she muttered as the gun fire died down again. Where was Emma? Frank must have got his car out of here just before the ambush, if she could just get a message to Roddy.

“Your proof of life is you haven’t been delivered a body. A problem I will remedy if you and your little friend do not stop following us.”

“Give River back, just leave him somewhere. And I will stop hunting you,” Louisa counter offered. She pulled her own phone out of her pocket slowly, making sure not to look down and draw attention to it.

Frank hummed, “I’m afraid that doesn’t fit with my plans.”

“Your other son is dead. We killed him,” Louisa snapped, there were no messages from any of the Slow Horses or Emma. She sent Roddy a quick SOS and the number Frank was calling on.

A moments silence. Louisa didn’t really know what she was trying to do with that declaration; maybe he might get emotional and let something slip, or was it just to keep him talking for as long as possible? “A shame,” Frank stated although it didn’t sound like he really cared. His voice was still emotionless and methodical. He showed more emotion at her knowing his name compared to learning about the death of his son. “He failed, that is his consequence.”

“You really don’t care?” Louisa questioned.

“I feel the same way about his death as you feel about your little trap failing.”

Louisa gritted her teeth, jaw clenching. He was emotionless, he was a psychopath and knew that her emotions particularly her pride and her concern for River would be a point he could exploit. She had to keep herself in check. Roddy replied, it was a burner but he was trying to pull where the call was coming from. She needed to keep him talking.

“Is that all this call was really for? An opportunity to taunt me?” Louisa asked. “Because I am never going to just stop,” she hissed.

“You and your people have taken two of my sons from me. That has put a … stall on my operations. It is going to take a bit of work to train up River to take Patrice’s place but he has seemed amenable to my methods,” Frank explained, calmly and clearly. The talk of the two assassins as weapons not actual people who Frank raised from birth was harrowing. They didn’t matter to him, all that mattered was his mission.

“River will never agree to go with you,” Louisa spat.

“I’m afraid I can be rather persuasive. We had some rather lovely conversations about you and your team and his childhood today. It was enlightening. Did you know that he has an intense need to be needed. I can provide that purpose a lot better than your dysfunctional stable can,” he mused.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Louisa snarled.

A footstep.

Louisa fired another wild shot around the corner, hitting something and starting up the fire fight again. Where the fuck had Emma got to? Hopefully she wasn’t bleeding out somewhere, Louisa could really do with the back up.

“Louisa please.”

She stopped, her heart leaping in her throat as River begged. He didn’t sound like River, and not just in the sore crackle of his voice that she could hear even over the phone. It was strained, frantic, panicked. No matter the running, or stupid plans that River concocted, he sounded like he expected things to work out. Now he sounded like he didn’t; Frank had crushed his faith, crushed him. Louisa had asked for proof of life, to talk to her best friend but this was hellish. She had not anticipated that he would be the one asking her to stop.

“Where are you River? Tell me, help me help you,” it was Louisa’s turn to plead.

“I can’t.”

River’s voice was so quiet that she could hear there was noise in the background. The rumble of a car’s air con. The beeping of traffic lights. The honk of a car horn. Nothing useable. They were just as lost as they were that morning and now Louisa might not be leaving this building in one piece. She had been played.

“You’re a good spy River, you’re strong and so much better than the idiots at the Park or Frank or anyone tells you. Give me something.”

“You can’t stop this,” he wheezes, each word requiring a heaving inhale. What had Frank done to him? She wasn’t a doctor, she couldn’t diagnose him over the phone. “The best thing you can do, is stop. He’s …” River’s voice faded away. She held her breath expecting some violent reprimand from Frank but there was nothing. “I don’t want you or any of the others to get hurt. I’m … I’m alive, I can work this out. But not if you are dead.”

“River, we’re not just going to leave you,” Louisa gasped. She couldn’t, he knew how much losing Min rocked her because she had left him to fight alone. She was not doing the same for River she was not. But Frank was the one in control here wasn’t he.

“I hate begging, but please just stop,” River whispered. Frank was in control and they had no leads, they had nothing to go on and River would get hurt even more if she continued. If they needed to stop following to keep him safe, she would still find him and they would still save him.

“If I stop, you don’t hurt him,” Louisa hissed.

There was quiet and then, “if the both of you behave yourselves then he will not be harmed.” Frank’s voice was jarring after the sad familiarity of River’s.

“Fine,” Louisa snarled.

“Excellent, say thank you River,” Frank replied.

“Thank you,” River whispered, so quiet that Louisa had to strain to hear it. She wished she hadn’t. And then they were gone.

As soon as the call was hung up, the gunfire stopped. Louisa slumped back against the box, the burner phone clutched tightly in her hand. It was her only connection to River. Frank would be getting rid of his phone immediately and Roddy probably had everything he would need but she still couldn’t put it down. She had left him. He sounded so lost and broken and, most concerningly of all, compliant and she had left him. Louisa was all alone in this warehouse. River was all alone in Frank’s clutches. Her eyes started to prickle and Louisa pulled her knees up to her chest, curling up into the smallest ball that she could. The gunmen were gone. She should get up and find Emma but she couldn’t. All she could do was drop her head down onto her knees, breathe weak choked almost sobs, and clutch the cut lifeline of a phone in her hand.

Chapter Text

River is stirred out of his hazy melancholy by Frank’s cursing. Frank didn’t get angry, at least he hadn’t in the time River had known him and he didn’t have the demeanour of a person that swore. “What’s happening?” River asks quietly.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Frank barks back, and then the sound of the indicator clicking. It was quiet on the outside of the car and the soft jazz that Frank had put on to tell River it was not time to talk had been turned off.

“I mean I very much doubt that,” River scoffed. He had lost all feeling in his body now and was enjoying the bliss of not being able to feel anything; he didn’t dare move any part of his body in case it set off the chain reaction of pain. Even his breathing was slow and shallow.

“River,” Frank scolds and River clacks his jaw shut. It was cowardice pure and simple but Frank was frustrated and River quite liked being alive. Whatever was annoying him was not River, this time, and it would be helpful to keep it that way if he wanted this emotionless and unfeeling state to continue. The car juddered to a stop and River tensed every part of his body to stop the impact of the cage rolling. How insane was it that River was now so used to being in this damn cage that he had strategies to try and reduce the trauma?

“Yes?”

River froze, head lifted like a dog hearing it’s name. Was there someone else here? But there wasn’t anything else said or any movement or additional breathing.

“You’ll get your paycheck when you do what I ask,” Frank tutted. He was on the phone, ordering something. River didn’t like this, it was new and it was unfamiliar and it added a new element to this horrific dynamic they had established.

“You really think I wouldn’t pay? It is a simple request, do I need to go elsewhere. Losing my favour will not end well for your future prospects,” Frank snapped. River wanted to scream. He wanted anyone to know that he was there. Someone other than Frank needed to know where he was. MI5 weren’t coming and River was alone and Frank was on the phone.

“Exactly. Send me the phone number and the feed for the cameras,” Frank muttered. River closed his eyes, and allowed a quiet whine to squeeze out of his tense jaw. He couldn’t. These people, despite their apparent reluctance to do what Frank was asking, were in the same world as Frank and there was no guarantee that they would do anything to save him. There was also no guarantee that he would survive to their rescue. Despite everything River had tried to get out, Frank hadn’t killed him yet. But all of his escape attempts had been in vain, no attempt had come near to success and so there wasn’t a need to remove him from the board. River couldn’t have managed to survive all of this and then just throw it all away on a desperate cry for help. River was smarter than that.

River dozes through Frank hanging up and setting off driving again. They were on more country backroads and River was sick and tired of potholes sending him rolling into the hard metal bars of the cage. He can feel the bruises forming and each turn and movement deepened the indents and sent an electric shock through the effected limb. River squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and tensing every muscle he could feel. Not been able to see meant he couldn’t prepare, every turn was unseen and agony. They stop, suddenly and quicker than they had been changing cars before.

“What’s happening?” River hisses when the car boot is pulled open.

“Quiet,” Frank snaps. River exhales and rolls himself onto his least painful side and curled in a ball as much as he could. Everything was trembling and tingling and River’s eyes were so squeezed that tears were dribbling down over the line of his nose. At least Frank had been keeping him hydrated to be able to fuel all of this crying. His face however was sore and had red raw tracks where the salty tears had traced the lines of his face over and over. The side of the cage bumped over the lip of the car and River’s lip hooked between his teeth as he rode the wave of pins in and needles. His body rocked and suddenly went weightless; River felt like he was floating and then the ground thudded up to meet him. His head slammed into the base of the cage, spots rolling around in his vision. Blackness gave way to bright sunlight just adding to River’s misery. A cry of pain forced it's way through his contracted throat. He could feel everything; the bruises spreading across his back, his bad arm was smarting and as he tried desperately to stabilise it against his chest, he could feel the rise and fall of his chest being shallow and tight. He couldn’t breathe, blood was filling his mouth from where his teeth tore into his bottom lip. Frank fluttered into vision above him. River opened his mouth and tried to say something, anything but a sob was all his brain could manage. Blood pooled in the back of his throat, the iron tang coating his tongue. He couldn’t breathe, River convulsed shaking as Frank’s expression turned to concerned and his mouth opened to say something before it snapped shut. The blanket was pulled off completely and the cage door opened. River should try and run. The restraints around his wrist were peeled off and he was turned on his side just in time for the bile and blood that had been mingling in his throat to be violently expelled. River heaved and shook, the bile stinging against the gash on his lip and whimpers following each spasm. Frank’s hand rested on his shoulder, holding the abused joint steady as River shook. It was surprisingly soft and tender. River heaved the blood and drool dripping from his lips as he spat onto the blanket below. As soon as he stopped heaving another towel was laid over the mess he had thrown up and the cage door was closed again. This time Frank was more careful but why the time the cage was in the boot of the next car and Frank was behind the wheel. River’s eyes fluttered closed and he passed out from the exertion.

When River woke up again, it was to the car juddering to a stop over gravel. There was no way out knowing how long he had been out of it in a dreamless unconsciousness but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If Frank wasn’t willing to be kind when River was throwing up on the floor then there was no change of tugging on his heart strings. It was quiet as they stopped, was it really time for Frank to sleep? Why hadn’t River been fed or given water? The routine had been removed and it had River rattled. What had changed?

“Hello Agent Guy. I believe you’ve been following me.” River tensed, his mouth hanging open as his dad spoke. He squeaked, a pained and tired noise, but there was no response. Louisa, why was Frank talking to Louisa?

“Frank Harkness,” Louisa growled, her voice tinny and distant. On the phone, of course she wasn’t here. River didn’t want her here in the same place as Frank, but if she was here that meant that Slough House were still looking for him. He never should have lost faith in Louisa.

“Oh, you are clever. River thought you would have worked it all out when I told him you were following us,” Frank chuckled.  River frowned, when had that conversation happened? He didn’t remember knowing that Louisa was following them; he might have had more hope for a rescue if he knew Louisa was getting close. But he had been drifting in and out. It was one thing not to remember Frank saying something but it stirred an uncomfortable feeling in his chest that he couldn’t remember responding.

“So he’s still alive?” Louisa questioned, her voice started to pull him out of his sad confusion.

Frank tutted, “you can stop trying to get clues agent.” Frank was good but so was Louisa, she wouldn’t be beaten.

 “You didn’t answer my question about River. I want proof of life,” she muttered.  

“Your proof of life is you haven’t been delivered a body. A problem I will remedy if you and your little friend do not stop following us,” Frank snapped. River gulped, still able to taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth. Frank wouldn’t have to do much to kill him. It would really be a shame to have suffered so and just be killed. It wasn’t in River’s hands right now. He could barely hold his head upright.

“Give River back, just leave him somewhere. And I will stop hunting you,” Louisa counter offered.

Frank hummed, “I’m afraid that doesn’t fit with my plans.” Surprise, surprise.

“Your other son is dead. We killed him,” Louisa snapped. River perked up again. Patrice was dead? Now that was a surprise. He was a machine and was Frank’s perfect soldier. River had been avoiding thinking about the carnage that Patrice might have wrought on Aldersgate but he hadn’t anticipated dead. Who had done it?

“A shame,” Frank stated, “he failed, that is his consequence.”

“You really don’t care?” Louisa questioned.

“I feel the same way about his death as you feel about your little trap failing.” A trap? Damn so that was why Frank had been so on edge all day.

“Is that all this call was really for? An opportunity to taunt me?” Louisa asked. “Because I am never going to just stop,” she hissed.

“You and your people have taken two of my sons from me. That has put a … stall on my operations. It is going to take a bit of work to train up River to take Patrice’s place but he has seemed amenable to my methods,” Frank explained, calmly and clearly. River could feel the heat rising to his face as he glowered at where he thought Frank likely was in the car. River was not amenable; he was hating every moment and had no intention of becoming Frank’s little puppet assassin. However if he thought back to his captivity, he had capitulated at every turn; any time he had been offered any sembalence of kindness in this horrific brutality River had crumbled. He had begged to be talked to. He had not fought so he received a fucking reward. Who did River think he was? He was a push over, and Frank knew it now.

“River will never agree to go with you,” Louisa spat.

“I’m afraid I can be rather persuasive. We had some rather lovely conversations about you and your team and his childhood today. It was enlightening. Did you know that he has an intense need to be needed. I can provide that purpose a lot better than your dysfunctional stable can,” he mused. Frank’s voice got more distant as he got out of the car and walked around to the car boot and pulled it open. River blinked, squinting as the blanket was pulled off the top of the cage. Frank had the phone in one hand and the pointer of that hand pressed to his lips.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Louisa snarled, and that was what River heard as he spotted the gun hanging loosely in Frank’s fingers.

Frank uses the hand with the gun in to pull River upright and out of the cage. River should try and run, let Frank chase him or try and shoot him. At least if that happened then River could die with an ounce of pride. But his legs were shaking like a baby deer’s first steps and even without the gun pressing into his side, River wouldn’t get more than two steps before falling on his face. He used his good hand to support his bad shoulder and used the car to lever himself round. Everything ached and was sore and he could feel his skin chafing and splitting even know he was able to stretch and move freely. Everything in River’s body was so used to being compressed that it didn’t know how to be straight anymore. River is deposited on the back seat, seatbelt pulled down and clicked into place and door slammed shut. Before River could think of anything to do, Frank had appeared through the other door and the child locks were on. Frank placed the phone in between them and turned the microphone off.

“You tell her to stop following us. Or I will kill her,” Frank threatened.

“If you could kill her then you would,” River wheezed.

“I don’t want your friends dead River. I want you to agree. It’ll be easier for you, you can have a reward and she’ll live,” Frank shrugged. He was so dismissive, that was something that made River so uncertain. He was talking about killing someone, a British intelligence agent, like it was about the bin schedule. River could genuinely believe that Frank would kill Louisa because River made a selfish decision and he wouldn’t loose a wink of sleep over the decision.

River nodded. “Ok,” River whispered. He had lost all of his pride since meeting the Harknesses, if he had any left after his relegation to Slough House, and so there was no reason to risk Louisa’s life. She was more important than he was. She would be safe if she gave up on him. River had to accept that he wasn’t getting out of here; there was no point risking his best friend.

“Good boy.”

“Louisa please.”

“Where are you River? Tell me, help me help you,” Louisa’s voice was frantic and that only grew the frog that had wedged itself deep in River’s throat. He was doing this for her. He was doing this for her.

“I can’t.” River was well aware of her pitiful he sounded. His chest was still sore and unused to the depth of breath he needed for extended conversation. The throb from his shoulder was only growing worse with every moment.

“You’re a good spy River, you’re strong and so much better than the idiots at the Park or Frank or anyone tells you. Give me something.” There was noise in the background, River couldn’t quite make it out but it only deepened the belief that Louisa was in danger.

“You can’t stop this,” he wheezes, each word requiring a heaving inhale. “The best thing you can do, is stop. He’s …” River’s voice faded away. “I don’t want you or any of the others to get hurt. I’m … I’m alive, I can work this out. But not if you are dead,” he lied. River wasn’t just going to roll over and dig his own grave, but the longer this was going on for and the more injuries he piled up the less confident he was that he was going to get out of this in one piece. If River was going to do this then it had to be on River to get himself out of this. No one else would get hurt because of him.

“River, we’re not just going to leave you,” Louisa gasped. In an ordinary would River would be insulted that she didn’t think he could get out of this predicament; he would be even more insulted that she was right.

“I hate begging, but please just stop,” River whispered. There was a pause. River looked up meeting Frank’s expressionless stare. The gun was now resting in his lap but was still very pointedly facing in River’s direction. The threat was wordless but clear.

“If I stop, you don’t hurt him,” Louisa hissed. River bit back a sob and closed his eyes, rolling his neck to tilt his head upwards.

Frank took that opportunity to grab the phone before River noticed what he was doing. Frank clicked it off speaker and pressed the phone to his ear, cutting off the line of communication River had with the outside world. There was quiet and then, “if the both of you behave yourselves then he will not be harmed.”

Another pause, Louisa must be responding. But before River could come up with all the options of what she could be saying, Frank smiled. “Excellent, say thank you River,” he replied and held the phone out. Frank’s stare hardened, the smile still lingering on his face with the crinkle of his eyes. His fingers twitched over the metal of the gun on his lap.

“Thank you,” River whispered.

“Well done, you did well and were convincing. Hopefully she does as she promised,” Frank states when he tosses the phone out of the window. All words have deserted River. What is there to say? He just debased himself and ruined the only chance he had of rescue; he was going to die in Frank’s clutches. What did someone say to that?

“Because of that, as long as you let me tape your hands again, you will be allowed to sleep on the backseat. I’ve even found you a new blanket,” Frank smiles. River wants to spit in his face and throw his horrific attempt at kindness back at him. He wanted to rage and scream until he was deemed too much of a problem. But he couldn’t; River was in pain and tired and all hope was draining out of him with each tear. What was the point? All his career people were telling him that he was useless and a problem. Maybe they were right.

“Will you cooperate River?” Frank asked, appearing back in River’s eyeline with a roll of tape in his hand. River couldn’t see the gun anymore, but it must be in reach somewhere. Frank was so close, River could reach out and try and strangle him or gouge his eyes out. But he didn’t, instead he tried to outstretch his hand. His left hand wouldn’t move. He tried again and cried out at the pain in his shoulder.

“Oh,” Frank sighed, laying down the tape and instead supporting River’s fucked up arm. He had tried his best to support his shoulder and ironically trapped in the confines of the cage, there hadn’t been any room to move it so he hadn’t noticed how bad it was. Frank undid River’s seatbelt and helped River peel off the shirt that was crusty with layers upon layers of dried sweat and other fluids that River did not want to be thinking about. Frank wrinkled his nose at it; if River cared he would make some remark about it being a biohazard of Frank’s own making, but he didn’t care so he didn’t. He went to bite his bottom lip to hide the pathetic whimpers, but his teeth recoiled from the still tender flesh. There was no part of him that wasn’t tender.

“I don’t think it’s dislocated,” Frank hummed, poking and prodding at the abused flesh. His shoulder was swollen with a tie dye of different bruise colours. The deep almost black ones were in a criss cross pattern, an imprint of the bars of the cage. River was going to throw up again. “It’s just bruised.” It didn’t feel just bruised but River finally had Frank in a somewhat lenient mood, he wasn’t going to ruin it with unnecessary sass. Duct tape wasn’t the ideal method of securing a damaged joint but it would have to do. Frank made quick work of ripping off long strands of duct tape from the roll with his teeth. River tensed, his whole body ramrod straight as Frank rested River’ elbow on his hand. Just as effective as he had been with everything else, Frank silently and efficiently strapped up River’s shoulder. It seemed running a terrorist cult equipped you with good first aid skills.

“Roll it,” Frank ordered, moving his hands away from River as soon as the interwoven tape was finished. River slowly and cautiously tried to move the joint; it resisted with the stiffness of the tape and the pain was dull and throbbing which was an improvement over the stabbing River had grown used to. “That better?”

“It is, thanks,” River wheezed. This time the thank you didn’t need coercing. Frank didn’t need to ease River’s pain; it was no different for Frank if River suffered in the back of the car compared to if River did it in minimal comfort.

“Good,” Frank nodded with a half smile. “Shirt on or off?” Frank asked, holding the biohazard in his hands.

“Off,” River grunted. It wasn’t that cold in the car, he had a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and so the opportunity to cool off. Plus if he had to pull that shirt over his head again and feel it scratch over his skin he might be adding vomit to it as well. Maybe Frank could be persuaded to get him a new one at the next stop they made. Frank nodded and tossed the shirt into the boot near the cage. He reached over and River flinched reflexively. Frank paused for just a heartbeat and then moved slower to click the seatbelt back into place.

“Now hands.”

River sighed and stretched his hands out. He had hoped that Frank might have forgotten about the restraints in all of the shoulder bandaging. River didn’t have a plan for what he would do if he was left unrestrained but it would be his opportunity to do something. Now with his hands tied in a way that looped through the seatbelt as an added restraint, River wasn’t going anywhere.

Being able to see out of the windows was a strange experience. It was only moonlight that illuminated the dirt track and trees outside but River found himself sat drifting in and out of sleep just staring at the trees and the sky. It was dark but it wasn’t the true darkness he had become used to in the cage. With the blanket over the top blocking out even the littlest slivers of light, River’s eyes had become useless; he couldn’t even make out his fingers in front of his face. Now outside it was dark but there was still life in his vision. River didn’t sleep properly, instead he just dosed in and out. Every time something moved outside, his eyes twitched open and he found himself transfixed by even a squirrel darting along a tree branch. Frank was asleep in the driver’s seat, no such feelings disrupting his beauty rest.

As morning ticks around, River feels just as tired as he did when Frank rang Louisa. He had hoped that time where he was able to stretch out and sleep without his airway being obstructed would mean that he would wake up feeling more alive and like a real person. The whole point of caving and conceding to Frank’s demands was to get into a position where he was well enough to save himself. River could not drag Louisa and the horses back into this; he was either going to die at his father’s hand or he was busting himself out. But he had stretched in the night, pillowed his head back against the head rest and had been able to breathe fully; yet everything still hurts just as much as it did in the cage. Every joint and muscle ached and throbbed whenever he moved it. Even if he could get out of the car without Frank stopping him, River wasn’t sure he would get more than a few paces before he collapsed.

“You’re awake,” Frank stated, stirring River out of his distant staring out of the window. River didn’t have it in him to respond. He didn’t really have it in him in that moment to care. His body was twitching and trembling and he was so damn cold in this stolen car overnight. “Your behaviour has been good this past day. I know how difficult it must have been talking to your partner,” Frank continued when River didn’t did him anything to work with.

River’s forehead rested against the cool glass, his eyes blinking listlessly. But as Louisa was mentioned River found the energy to roll his head around and glare at Frank; his neck creaked and strained even at that simple movement.

“I promised a reward and you did well this night. You can stay sat up in the backseat as long as you remain restrained,” Frank explained.

River exhaled deeply. Another of the chains loosened around his chest and his good shoulder dropped a couple of inches. Surprisingly, River hadn’t been actively dreading getting back into the cage. But now that threat had been taken off the table he was relieved. River didn’t feel noticeably better now he was out of the cramped restrictive conditions, but maybe all he needed was longer.

“Thank you,” River murmured. As he rolled his head back to look out of the window, River caught the grin spread on Frank’s face.

Chapter Text

“I took your file from Molly Doran’s system,” Frank broke the silence about an hour into the drive. River’s head was lolling against the window as he watched the world pass by. His limbs were still twitching and he felt like a pensioner whenever he rolled his ankles or tried to stretch out his back. River didn’t usually look his full six foot height but that was exceptionally the case now, all of his muscles were stuck in that contracted state; his time in the cage might have been the thing to tip him over into a hunchback, now all he needed was a tower to hide in. “It is not the most glamourous of reading,” Frank laughed softly.

“If you’re gonna be like that we can go back to silence,” River hissed.

“Defensive are we?” Frank chuckled. “I wasn’t going to criticise. Your actions with that boy were commendable. Good detective work,” he hummed.

River flushed red, and sighed. His breath fogged up the window obscuring the fields lining the side of the twisting country road. Of course the one thing that Frank was actually complimenting him about was Lamb’s work. River didn’t work out anything to save Hassan; all he did was the leg work and followed Lamb around as he worked it out. Frank Harkness was not going to be praising the man that puked over a dead body. Not that he wanted to be praised by him.

“And Stansted wasn’t your fault.”

That was the statement that spurred River’s muscles into actually doing something other than just twitching and screaming. He tensed and his head rolled to look forwards and frown at the back of Frank’s head.

“Yeah,” River whispered. Frank was siding with him? He wasn’t using this as an opportunity to belittle and crush his spirit end further. All the bullets to shoot him with were right there and Frank wasn’t taking the bait.

“Although …”

“Here we go,” River snorted under his breath. He thought too soon, Frank was just buttering him up before he stabbed another knife into River’s self esteem.

“Although,” Frank repeated a little more firmly and River’s jaw snapped shut. “You rush in too quickly,” he added.

River’s brow furrowed into a frown. This conversation was taking all sorts of twists that he wasn’t predicting and he hated on the being on the back foot. He had just settled himself to waiting out his captivity in silence until it came to its natural conclusion but what was the harm? He knew who Frank was and he wasn’t going to be talked into whatever plan Frank had to get him to the Netherlands. He would rather die than cross borders. But he didn’t have to suffer needlessly until that point. Trying to resist hadn’t worked. Trying to run hadn’t worked. Trying to antagonise hadn’t worked. Waiting for rescue hadn’t worked. He was so fucking tired.

“So what?” River sighed, catching Frank’s eye in the mirror.

“Your so called friend gave you the wrong intel and you took down the wrong man but charging after the correct target was what got you the results that you received. You were ordered to stand down weren’t you?” Frank stared down River until they had to change lanes.

“You, you are advising that I should have listened to the service’s orders,” River laughed, the breathless sound tearing out of him hysterically.

“When they are right. You charged, you ran and bulldozed and forced the bomber into a collision course that you were not in control of,” he stated like they were discussing his marks on a fucking maths test not a drill with a suicide bomber. “You willingly gave him the upper hand and if you give a desperate man an inch then he has control over you,” he explained.

There had to be some metaphor in this. There had to be something that River was supposed to apply to his current situation but all he could think about was Spider’s voice in his ear telling him to stand down. In that moment, listening to the service felt like admitting he had failed. It still did.

“When people expect you to run, sometimes the most valuable thing to do is to stand in place. To think, be smart not brash.”

“If I stopped, I’d have lost him. He would have made it onto that tube and it would have been worse or he’d be gone for good,” River countered.

“You’re smarter than that River. Even with service training dulling your instincts you are smarter than that,” Frank sighed, fully channelling his disappointed parent aura. River wonders how many times he had to pull that with his assassin offspring or did they immediately cede to his will. “He was a bomber who has prepared himself to die and take as many people out with him as possible. His opportunity has been squandered and all the security in the place would stop him before he could set up where where casualties would be guaranteed. Where would you go to get out of there with a confined space that could take out people if you needed to?”

River worked out where this was going and cursed internally because yeah … Frank was right. The express train was the logical place to think he would be going. River had spooked him and so he had run and escalated the plan. “The train,” River confessed.

“Exactly,” Frank chirped, way too proud with himself. “So if you had stopped ...”

“I could have worked that out, taken a team and intercepted him, diffusing the situation and not leading to a fiasco,” River groaned, his head rocking back to stair at the lightly felted ceiling. Frank was right. And River hated it. “That wouldn’t have stopped me being sent to Slough House though, I fucked up the observation on false intel,” he countered.

“You gave them the silver bullet. Yes second desk may have found some other way to remove you but you made it so much easier on her. It’s like they say in football …”

“I don’t watch football,” River retorted just to see Frank’s eye twitch when he looked down. And it did, success. “Not really a sports person. Assuming that wasn’t in my file,” he added with a weak twitch of a smirk, emboldened by that tiny predictable reaction.

“Shame, I was hoping we would be able to bond by talking about sports like most other emotionally unattached fathers and their adult sons.”

River couldn’t hold back the genuine peal of laughter that escaped out of him. It had been so unexpected a comment that his brain took a minute to catch up. Was Frank making jokes now? Had they unintentionally reached the making jokes stage of this reluctant relationship? What did he do with that?

Thankfully Frank didn’t wake for River to reboot and have a response to that. “Well they say in football when a referee makes an incorrect decision that is against your team, that you can’t complain because you gave the opening. If you had been squeaky clean it is a lot harder to give a foul,” he explained.

“Or exile someone from the service,” River muttered. That made an irritating amount of sense. He had been existing since the reveal in a state of feeling like he was innocent, it was all a cover up so it didn’t matter what he did but he had made it easy. He did run in without thinking and had made things worse by doing that more than the once. If he had stopped, thought then he might have seen the manipulation for what it was at the time.

“Exactly,” Frank countered, and the pride in his voice made River feel sick to his stomach. “You are not a bad operative River. Just unpolished. You deserve better than Slough House and their scorn,” He didn’t say the threat, but it lingered in the air between them as they fell back into silence.

“Come on,” Frank taps on River’s window so he can roll slightly. Since their bonding chat about River’s spy skills, he had been dozing in and out and become one with the door, using it as a support. He could feel the absence of the cool window against his cheek as soon as he moved away from it. The door was pulled open and Frank’s hands were all over him again; now River didn’t even flinch, that would require precious energy. He had slept for what felt like hours with just the sounds of the car acting as white noise but somehow felt worse than he had before. He was supposed to be feeling better now he was out of the cage. The tape was cut away from his hands and the strapping on his shoulder checked.

“I got you this,” Frank held out a zip up hoodie and before River could say anything or react in any significant way he was being manhandled into the fabric. Frank kept doing this, making it look like he was being considerate of River’s choices but then going on about his business anyway. It was a good power play, it might be working if River had the energy to give a shit. The hoodie was zipped up, pinning his injured arm in place under it as Frank worked River’s good arm into the sleeve. But that meant his hands couldn’t be tied. He couldn’t move his bad shoulder but River tentatively stretched out his right hand, not trying to do anything but seeing if Frank reacted; he didn’t. Frank seemed more trusting now that River had told Louisa to leave him; River was out of the cage and had received medical treatment and was unrestrained. He could have been doing this all the time; maybe if he had been less resistant and petty from the beginning then he wouldn’t be in this much pain. His whole body was trembling and sweating with his muscles barely able to move. River was having to consciously think about breathing to make sure his sore ribs were moving enough to get the oxygen required, even with that he was lightheaded. Even if he wanted to, River couldn’t fight back now. Doing anything to resist would be a death sentence.

“We need to change cars. Do you want to walk yourself, unrestrained?” Frank asked, his hand hovering near River’s injured shoulder.

“Yes,” River muttered. It wasn’t a question asking if he wanted to really, River would be an idiot to turn round and say ‘no, manhandle me or put me back in the cage’. What Frank was really asking was ‘will you behave if I let you walk on your own?’ and River was willing to do anything to regain any control over his own life in this hellish situation. Fighting was pointless, all it had done was get him into this position and he would not survive it getting worse.

River could feel the straining and twitching of his muscles as soon as he tried to lift his feet up off the floor. Sweat was already beading on his brow just from thinking about moving. Frank may have physically broken him. He had been able to run for miles, fist fight with the best of them and brush of injuries like they were nothing. Prior to this River had been at peak physical fitness, Frank had methodically and ruthlessly torn that away from him. Frank didn’t have to worry about River’s physical prowess any more, he could just think about twisting his mind instead. But River wasn’t going to let that happen, he would rather die. He managed to place his feet down against the cold wet concrete, the chill tearing through him again. But as soon as he used his right arm to lever himself upright, the floor came to meet him rapidly. His knee buckled and River couldn’t stop his own fall. Frank did, he gripped onto River’s good shoulder and pulled River up to rest against his side as River fumbled to get both of his legs underneath him. His head swum, the heat from Frank’s body at his side burnt as he focused on breathing and standing … two things that should come naturally to him but no longer did.

“Do you need help?” Frank asked and River couldn’t not any faster without throwing up down the new clean hoodie had had just earnt. Frank lifted River’s good arm over his shoulders slowly and carefully. “There we go, one step at a time. It’s just this car here,” Frank muttered. River nodded, slower this time, and then put all his focus into one step at a time. It was agony to try and get his rusted hip joints to cooperate but his ankles thanked Frank for taking most of his weight. The car door was pulled open and River was able to basically fall in, heaving in the stale and musky air, lightly fragranced with lemon from the dangling smiley face that was taunting him. Frank’s hands wrapped gently around his ankles and River just let his sore and tender legs be manipulated into the footwell. His eyes fluttered closed, shoulders loosening as he sunk into the prewarmed heated seats. Without the cage in the boot, River did not miss that fucking thing’s presence, Frank clearly had been able to get a car that was more designed for the passenger’s comfort. The seat belt clicked on and River used his free hand to adjust it away from his neck. Frank hummed satisfactorily before brushing the sweat matted strands of hair out of River’s face.

“Rest up. We’ll be stopping for the night soon,” he stated and that was all the permission River needed for his breath to ease out and to sink into oblivion.

When River wakes it is to his head screaming at him. Then the rest of the pain follows. His muscles were seizing, shivering as he sweated buckets into his new clean hoodie. The world spun around him, Frank’s breathing felt like daggers in his brain as he tried to move. He would do anything to escape this agony. River had been feeling tired and run down but who wouldn’t after everything he had been put through in however long it had been since the Old Bastard had been attacked. River hadn’t stopped. He had fallen through a roof, been attacked by the dogs, been in a car accident, shoved in a car boot, looked in a cage … no wonder his whole body hurt. But this was worse than just hurt. He tries to move his arms but can only twitch his right one. He tries to call out but only a whimpered sob crept past his lips. His throat spasmed, coughs shaking his whole frame. Tears filled his eyes, refracting in the street lights they were parked under. They didn’t need to hide as much now that there was no risk of someone spotting a restrained man in a cage. Anyone who walked past would just see two men sleeping in their car. Frank was fast asleep in the drivers seat, blanket pulled up over him but still sat like he could stand up or start driving in a heartbeat. River needed him to wake up; he didn’t know what to do. He was boiling, itching out of his skin but he couldn’t move; there was no escaping the pain or discomfort. River was shaking so hard he was jostling his sprained shoulder with every breath and sending his vision swimming. River couldn’t do anything, he was helpless and hopeless. He needed Frank.

“Help,” he whimpered, throat so sore that it was breathy and croaking. “He…” he tried again but it descended into a coughing fit that had bile tricking down his chin as all of his focus was on breathing. Frank didn’t stir. The doors were locked, child locked unsurprisingly; River couldn’t move more than a few inches but Frank had still ensured he couldn’t bolt. The wiggling of the door didn’t wake him either. River took a deep breath, as deep as he could through the wheezing in his chest, and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body tensed, he needed do to something bigger. Another breath, and then River channelled all the strength he had into one firm kick.

The kicks when he was first trapped didn’t work in the way he wanted to get Frank’s attention. All it had done then was amused him that River was being petulant in his trap. This time the kick shook the back of Frank’s car and stirred him awake with a “fuck!”

River whimpered, tears streaming down his face as all the pain that had been building in his joints, particularly his strained and compressed hips came back in a wave. He slumped over sideways, head spinning.

“River?”

River’s body was shaking, twitching more than shivers as he laid, bunched up and crumbled along the backseat.

“Christ son. Come on tell me what’s wrong,” Frank’s voice cut through the haze but River couldn’t. All of his focus was going on holding himself together. His body was coming apart, his insides burning as his extremities froze. Frank’s hand pressed down on his shoulder and River leant into the touch, anything to get any sort of comfort. His breaths were shallow and wheezing and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Frank shook him lightly but that was all it took. River’s throat spasmed, chest heaving as all the watery bile and badly digested fast food he had eaten splattered all down his front and into the footwell of the car.

“Shit, shit,” Frank cursed, his hand recoiling from River’s shoulder as River convulsed. Everything that River had in his stomach was expelled out of him and even after that he carried on retching. “Let it out. It’s ok let it out,” Frank whispered.

At some point while River was struggling to breathe and just exist, Frank had started to drive. One hand keep on gravitating back to River’s hair as the vomit and fluids stuck his cheek to the seat. It smelt foul and was grim as well as uncomfortable but River was scared that if he even tried to move then he would start throwing up again. The rolling of the car was bad enough but the comforting hand through his hair was helping ground him. Breathing was the only important thing. River just needed to breathe. Before he knew it, Frank had stopped and the door by River’s feet was pulled open.

“You need to get up River,” Frank’s voice was as soft and kind as it had been since all of this started. Tears were joining the other bodily fluids seeping into the car detailing as River shook his head weakly. He couldn’t get up. If he got up then he would fall apart; it would hurt too much. He couldn’t do it.

“I’ll help you but I need to get some painkillers and some water in you then we can go get cleaned up,” Frank’s hand was a grounding weight on his hip and his words soothing. It would be good to have some painkillers and his lips were so chapped he could taste the iron when his tongue flitted over the bottom lip to moisten it.

“Ok,” River whispered.

“Good lad.”

Getting River upright was harder than it sounded. Every movement was sending sparks through his muscles and all strength was gone from within him. River could move himself slightly but Frank was having to do all the heavy lifting getting River out of the car. If River survived this he would have to find out Frank’s arm day routine because he was pulling River’s bulk around like it was a shopping bag not a six foot tall service agent. River’s feet pressed onto the concrete and his hand wrapped around the door frame. He could stand up; he just needed to stand up. Frank’s hands were reassuring around his waist and acted as guides as River slowly pulled himself up. As soon as he stood straight, River was saying in place. His head throbbed, vision swimming as all the blood drained out of his head. Frank stumbled as River’s weight went all onto him when River’s legs crumpled. River hit into Frank’s mass and whatever was left in River’s stomach emptied all over Frank’s shoulder and down his back.

That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. River started sobbing.  “I’m sorry,” he wheezed out between bone shaking sobs, crumpled against Frank’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok kid. You’re not doing well but we’ll get you sorted,” Frank used his leverage around River’s waist to get him back into something like upright.

“Sorry,” River apologised again. He didn’t even really know what he was apologising for anymore but everything hit him all at once. River had been kidnapped and tortured and gaslit and isolated and now he was sick and everything hurt. His dad, who had had waited his whole life to learn about only to find out he was a terrorist, being kind to him and holding him softly … that was the thing that had broken him. Frank had done all of this to try and break River into something that was malleable to his wishes and here they were, with River shattered into pieces.

Frank managed to drag River into the disabled bathroom at the coach stop and deposit River onto the toilet before disappearing to go get them things to clean up with and into. The emergency cord was taunting him. Frank hadn’t even tried to move it away from him, he probably hadn’t even seen it in his haste to get some fresh clothes. River could pull it. He could pull it and tell whoever came that he had been kidnapped and the man buying new clothes with vomit on his shoulder was his kidnapper. He could but there was no guarantee of safety for him if he did. What this had made clear was that Frank didn’t want River to die. If he did he could have put River down with a bullet to the brain like a lame horse but he hadn’t. He had comforted River, and reassured him like a dad should do with his ill son. River talked a good game about being willing to die over going where Frank wanted him to. But it was a lie. He didn’t want to die. He really didn’t want to die. Tears streamed down his face as he looked down at his nearly black stained socks and pale trembling hands. River didn’t want to die. He wanted to go home and make sure his grandad was ok and see Louisa and Catherine. He wanted to walk back into Slough House and he given a box of bullshit to sort through. He wanted to live. Frank returned with bags of things to clean them up to find River slumped against the tiled wall, sobbing so hard that his body was vibrating and there were no tears left to fall.

“I’ve got you son, I’ve got you,” Frank muttered, pulling him into a hug. River slumped forwards, burrowing his face into the crook of Frank’s neck. He sobbed, shaking and crying so hard he shattered into a million unrecognisable pieces.

Frank’s hands were strong but tender as he helped River remove all the stained clothes and get into the shower. River couldn’t stand without his head swimming so he sat on the shower stool and just kept crying as Frank’s hands cleaned the grime away from him. The water was warm but he still shivered.

“We’ll get you warm and comfy soon,” Frank promised when River flinched at the cold shampoo squeezed into his hair. That only started the wheezing sobs again. Frank was being so kind and tender. River couldn’t remember the last time someone had washed his hair for him. River had been hit by a grenade and bruised up his back so bad that he couldn’t lift his arms and he had still just gone home and stuck his head under a tap. David hadn’t been the care and nurturing type; he had loved River but he hadn’t coddled River. This was new and River knew he should be shirking it. He couldn’t, it was exactly what he needed and so he instinctively leant into the touch and mentally berated himself as he did.

“There we go,” Frank smiled tensily when River was clean and dressed in the new clothes. He still didn’t have any shoes but he had clean socks and a warm fluffy hoodie that he sunk into when Frank helped him pull it over his head. The water and cup of soup sat heavy in his stomach but the painkillers were starting to give him a warm fuzziness by the time he got into the car again.

“Go to sleep. I’m going to sort this,” Frank cupped River’s chin and stroked his cheek as River slumped back into the seats of the newly stolen car. That statement should worry him, but River was already falling asleep.

River has no real awareness of the next hours, days, he’s got no clue. He feels like his body is boiling from the inside; his throat is so tight and sore that he’s not sure anything he is saying is making it to audible. Yet he can’t stop babbling and whining. His brain is fuzz and tv static and every bit of focus is going into trying to keep his lungs working as his chest screams to just stop. His blinks take seconds and although he’s in new clothes and had showered, the taste of vomit still lingered and his stomach twisted. He’s miserable and in pain and Frank doesn’t seem to be faring that much better. Every time River regains any sort of coherence, Frank seems to be all over the place and diving in and out of the car. They also haven’t changed cars since whatever was afflicting River had hit him. Whatever plan Frank had been formulating had been tossed out of the window. Sucks to be him. Unfortunately it also sucked to be River.

He continued to drift in and out and bake while he shivered in the back seats and Frank pulled together whatever he was trying to do now. River didn’t have the wherewithal to care. He didn’t want to die. It didn’t seem like Frank was feeling good about River dying either. Whatever was happening outside of that goal just wasn’t a priority anymore. He drifted and did some bastardised version of meditation to try and keep himself going; so when Frank opened the car door he didn’t react.

“River, some water,” Frank grippled tightly onto his shoulder, shaking it ever so slightly. River whimpered, eyes flickering open into slits and seeing Frank’s face. A water bottle was pressed to River’s lips and he sipped at it; even water was burning and scratching at his sensitive throat.

“Good lad,” Frank praised as he pulled it away and chucked it onto the front seat. “Now just sit still. A little pinch.” Frank pulled out a needle and a small vial. River’s eyes widened. No. He couldn’t let Frank inject him with something. Who knows what that could be? It could be something to kill him. This could be it. River thrashed, good arm flying up with a dexterity that he hadn’t possessed since pre-cage. The bottle skittered into the grass and Frank stumbled backwards.

“No,” he wheezed.

“River this is to help you,” Frank sighed, pulling another one out of his pocket. Fucking superspies and their back up plans.

“No,” he argued. He wanted to say so much about the distrust and him not wanting to cloud his mind any further but it just came out as the singular petulant word.

“River stop fighting,” he snapped, gripping a hand around River’s jaw to hold his head still.

“No, please no,” he whimpered, thrashing and bucking trying to shake off Frank’s hold. “I don’t, I don’t wanna die.” Tears trickled down his face.

“You won’t feel a thing River. I promise, you won’t feel it.”

River tried his hardest but Frank moved his grip to cup River’s head against his chest and pin River in a twisted hug.

“No please,” River whispered.

“It’ll be ok son,” his whispered as the needle plunged into the side of River’s neck. River knew it was a figment of his imagination but he could feel the cold of the mystery injection spreading within his veins. “Just let it work, I have you,” Frank whispered, his hand came up to cup the back of River’s head. His fingers twisted through the strands of hair as River’s breathing became even more laboured. It felt like an anvil was pressing on his chest as he tried to breathe in time with Frank’s languid heartbeat. A whimper was pulled out of him and Frank’s petting continued as he muttered soothingly. “Rest River.”

River’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing slowing. And he slipped into unconsciousness with the feeling of soft and tender touch from his dad guiding him there.