God, he wants to yell at these people. Carver turns toward him, fuzzy and exhausted, and so goddamn pale. There's blood on his clothes and a dog curled up on his chest, bruises around his wrists. And it's been a long time since he's seen Carver so quiet, so unfocused. Riley can't remember the last time.
Maybe after that IED. The really bad one that shredded Carver's armor.
Riley touches a palm to Carver's forehead, eyes widening. Jesus Christ. These fucking people and their pain Olympics. "He has a fucking fever. You know that, right?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-06-19 01:46 am (UTC)Maybe after that IED. The really bad one that shredded Carver's armor.
Riley touches a palm to Carver's forehead, eyes widening. Jesus Christ. These fucking people and their pain Olympics. "He has a fucking fever. You know that, right?"