"I -"

He feels sick, everything fuzzy. It hurts and he wants to go home, back to the barracks, back to Shaw's cabin. Somewhere he knows all the corners, that the enemy can't get them. But it's hard to think and he's getting fuzzy, shaking as Riley holds him and rubs his back. As Pope squeezes his shoulder.

Carver shudders. He hides his face against Riley's chest. "Okay," he whispers. He doesn't want a doctor. He thinks he'd rather die.

"It's okay," Riley says softly. "It's okay. Sit up with me, there you go. Just like that. We're gonna get you some pain meds, okay?"

There's iron in his tone. Something that books no argument.

"And then we're gonna eat, and you can rest. Okay?"

Carver shivers, eyes closed tight. He feels sick. "Okay," he whispers, miserable.