Oh, Carver thinks, and he's too tired to be shocked or brace himself, but he'd expected another order. Something unyielding and cold. He watches Pope, swaying slightly, and tries to focus on the commander's voice. This will just be a memory someday.

Carver just stares at Pope for a long moment, water drumming against his skull. Then he puts his head down on Pope's shoulder, too exhausted not to. "Promise?" he murmurs.

He wonders, distantly, if Pope liked fucking him.