She tried to move on her chair, free her arms, anything. It was impossible, she was trapped on that chair, her fate at best uncertain. She wondered with a small sob when she would learn to follow instinct and not protocol or the law.
Her touching faith in law and doing the right thing, her moral compass as John termed it, was a mistake.
A mistake that had already got John shot and critically injured once before.
Now her naivety had gotten them both captured.
Joss clenched her teeth together in agony. This time was far worse. They were going to torture him in front of her. She knew it wasn't really for answers, they just wanted to demonstrate their power.
He was sitting in front of her, bound to the high backed chair, his wrists twisting as he tried to fight his bonds. But she knew it was useless.
She had no idea how Elias had found out, about Kohl and the needles, and the torture, but some how he had.
Now she was going to watch John suffer.
A hand fisted her hair, pulling her head back. "Just a little reminder. Close your eyes, look away, and we start all over again." The hand released her head, and through the blur of her tears Joss concentrated on John.
He had fought hard and bravely, a good soldier to the last, but there were too many of them and they had the drop on Joss. He'd surrendered to save her.
She stared into his eyes, willing him to understand, to hang on because surely help was coming. Knowing that he would suffer for her. He would die for her if needs be.
He was bound securely to the chair, his arms pinned at the wrist, just above the elbows and just below the shoulder, gagged with a knot of thick cloth shoved in his mouth and tied securely behind his head.
The blue-gray eyes stared into hers. Promised her that they would get through this, survive.
Elias' man started with the ulna nerve. So very precise, just as Kohl had done. She had only found out by accident what Kohl had done to John. But there was no knowing how Elias found that information.
She watched the man push the needle home through John's left elbow. It must have been agony, but John didn't scream. His jaw clenched tight as he bit down on the thick cloth in his mouth. She saw his eyes tear up, and she wanted to cry right then. As sick as she felt, she kept watching because they would only repeat the pain over and over again for every moment she looked away.
She wanted to gather him into her arms and hold him and promise him that no one would ever hurt him again.
They kept going, with each needle inserted into his body, Joss flinched. His blue-gray eyes were filled with tears, the black lashes clumped and spiky. Even now he was still trying to protect her, although he could no longer hold back the whimpers of agony at each fresh assault on his senses.
She knew help was coming, Finch would not fail them. He cared too deeply for John to let him be killed. Where she found the courage to hang on, not reveal the answers to the questions being thrown at her, she didn't know. But to give them the answers would seal her death warrant and John's.
His eyes were pleading with her for her silence, right up until the moment he passed out from the pain.
She didn't hear it at first. Then the door flew back with a loud clang, she couldn't turn her head, couldn't look away from John, she had no idea who rescued them. Someone cut her bonds, and Joss was on her knees in front of John. Her whole being consumed by him.
Hands freed him from the ropes holding him to the chair, and she gathered him gently close as someone pulled needles from his arm, shoulder, back and neck. She couldn't know about that, kept her eyes closed as she supported his limp body against hers, resting her forehead against his, she talked to him in a low tone. Nonsense words, promised him the moon and stars too if he would only wake up, tell her he was all right.
The vast easy chair was comfortable. But she couldn't worry about that. Just about John. Joss made arrangements for Taylor to stay over at her mother's, so that she could stay with John. She knew that Finch's seemingly inexhaustible supply of background helpers had brought John back to an apartment. That he was getting the best care, he had been thoroughly examined, cleaned up, treated for wounds, that sleep was what his exhausted, tortured body demanded. But the sum total of her knowledge was insufficient for her needs. So she remained, waiting for him to wake up. People came and went, but she couldn't worry about that.
He looked younger in sleep, the lines of pain softened and blurred and he looked very like the young soldier in the picture that was still burning a guilty hole in her heart. John before the CIA and covert operations and killings had torn his soul to rags.
Joss leant forward, taking his hand in both of hers, his skin was warm and that reassured her. She bent and gently drew his arm a little closer so that she could kiss his hand.
He moved, made a sexy little moan deep in his throat. Sleepy eyes opened, he blinked a few times, and she made an attempt to let go of his hand, confused by her own feelings.
Strong fingers gripped hers, and didn't let go.
"Hello." He whispered, his voice low and raspier than usual, a teasing look in his eyes that made her heart skip several beats.
"Hello, yourself." Joss fervently hoped that he wouldn't notice the tremor in her voice. He was too confident and sure of himself at the best of times.
Then she had just seen him endure almost unimaginable physical pain.
And he could have died. He would have died to save her.
It all became a little jumbled in her head, she wasn't even aware that she was crying, until a very strong pair of arms reached out and pulled her towards him.
She didn't just need to know that John was safe, it was reaffirming that she was safe too. They could shut out the world for a little longer. She shed her shoes and pants and crawled under the covers next to him.
He was bruised and sore, and he ached all over; his left arm more abused than the other, throbbed painfully, but holding Carter in his arms was worth the discomfort.
She spooned up close, the softness of silk beneath her cheek as she rested her head against his shoulder. Finch had great taste in pyjamas. The dark red silk looked good on John.
She would think about the rest of it tomorrow. Or some other time. Right then it was just her and John. And that was all that mattered.