>>“You don’t.... think he was right about me, do you?”
“No,” Jo snaps practically in the same instant Sam finishes speaking, voice sharp and head whipping around to fix him with an expression caught between incredulity and something that, while not precisely anger, is still much too fierce to be anything pleasant. Part of it is just her natural irritable reaction to being startled because, really, where the hell did that come from? But it's more than that: What the hell, didn't I already prove I was on your side? Did any part of this whole thing suggest I was going to join Gordon and give a big thumbs up to painting you with blood?
A deep breath later though she's realizing that he probably didn't mean it that way, wasn't asking if she doubted him, just looking for reassurance, and her expression softens a little. “Sorry, crap, you're not really still thinking he might be right are you? I mean, yeah that...whatever it was...” her face pales a little even now remembering it and I wasn't even the one it was happening to “that was...sort of piss-your-pants terrifying and I have no idea what the fuck it was or what's going on but I don't think you're...anything like what he said.” It only really occurs to her that she's being completely honest after she finishes that sentence, that for all her doubts about what's going on with Sam she doesn't actually doubt him and even if that's not logical or going to be particularly useful if some more of this shit does hit the fan it's enough to ease the tension that's been gathering in the back of her mind since she saw the fabric of his shirt rise off the warehouse floor.
This would probably be a good place to drop the subject but Jo's never been much for tact and now that the door is open she plows on, “I still think you've gotta tell the others though, about what happened, I mean you really think they'll blame you? And maybe they'll know more, maybe they could help.”