aut_nihil | (no subject)

(no subject)

Pope doesn't go on as many missions as he once did. But he sees trouble brewing in the future, in the solo orders Carver was given, and he can't stomach staying behind when Carver might face the worst alone.

So he defies his own orders and he goes with Carver.

And things go sideways. They're outnumbered despite his best efforts and his warnings, and they're gathered up, hoods on their heads, arms tied behind their backs.

Carver's strong though. They're going to make it through this. He's going to get them through this.

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The doctor just leaves. Riley tightens his grip on Carver. “Like hell.”

“It’s okay,” Carver murmurs. “I don’t want to fight.”

Carver presses his forehead to Riley’s, exhausted and hurting, and pushes Riley out the door. Then it’s just him and Pope, both of them so tired.

“One last thing,” he murmurs, resting his head against the wall.

Pope hates this. Hates the men who did this to them. He'd kill them all again if he could.

"This goes inside," he tells Carver softly. "And we need to take pills. Then we'll be fine. Never have to think about this again. You want me to help?"

Oh, Carver thinks. For a moment, he can barely breathe.

“…yeah,” he admits, and he can’t look at Pope. “I don’t, I don’t feel good, sir.”

He doesn’t what to be touched. He thinks he’ll die if he has to ask Riley and ends up crying again.

His breath hitches. He locks that feeling down.

"You hate me now, son?"

“No!”

Carver shivers. He forces himself to look at Pope.

“No. Don’t leave me behind, sir, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, I will—“

"Hey, hey," he cups Carver's face in his hands. "I didn't leave you behind then. I'm not going to leave you now. I'm going to patch you up, all right? And we're going to get past this."

Carver doesn't hate him. Isn't disgusted by him. Thank God.

Carver’s breath hitches. He feels like he’s going to cry, relief and fear warring inside him. He presses into Pope’s hands, sagging. Exhausted and hurting. “Okay,” he manages, shivering.

Nothing feels right. He wants to go home. He wants to lie down and pull a blanket over his head, to have Riley’s arms around him.

“Patch me up how…?”

"Just like I said." He presses the cream into Carver's hands. "This goes up inside. You can apply it yourself or I can."

He's afraid Carver will ask him but he's afraid, too, of what it means if Carver won't.

"And then we take the pills. We eat. We rest. We get stronger."

Oh, Carver thinks, staring at the cream. He wants to set it back down on the sink but he forces himself not to. That's as good as flinching right now. Maybe worse. He swings hard between wanting to be alone and score his skin off with his nails and wanting so desperately to be held, to listen to someone else's breathing and take their steadiness for his own. He wants to heal and he wants to disappear in the same breath.

He swallows hard. "I -"

Don't be a bitch, he thinks. Don't make it worse, don't be weak.

"Can you help me?" he asks, very quietly.

"Yes." He takes the cream. A muscle in his jaw works. "I need your help too. For...me."

He can't stand for the doctor to touch him.

Carver rocks on his heels, anxious. He doesn't want to be touched. He wants to curl up in a ball and maybe fall into a coma. But this has to be done, doesn't it? He can feel the fever creeping up, am impending sense of wrongness churning through him. Worrying everyone.

"Okay," he says, very softly. He'll help Pope. They'll never talk about this again. And Pope will help him.

Carver swallows. "How...?"

"Do me first," he says, in the hopes it will show Carver it isn't so bad. He just has to hold together and not flinch. "Just put the cream where it hurts."

He reaches for his belt. Hesitates. He doesn't want to do this. Don't be a bitch.

"You got that?"

There are a lot of words they aren't saying. Just where it hurts. Carver rocks on his heels, but nods. After a moment, he goes to the sink and washes his hands very carefully. He tells himself this isn't stalling.

"I got it, sir," he murmurs. "Won't hurt you."

He could never hurt Pope.

"I'll take care of you," he promises. he unfastens his belt, he lowers his pants, he spreads his legs a little and braces himself against the counter. Breathe in, breathe out.

And then there's no more stalling. Carver breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. Slow and steady as he touches Pope's arm first, and then rests his head against Pope's shoulder for a moment. Just for a moment, to take some comfort from the closeness. Then he swallows hard and gets the cream on his finger.

He presses inside as slow as he can, as careful as he can.

It hurts like hell but he breathes, he doesn't fight it. He braces himself on his elbows and tries not to think. Be strong for Carver, he tells himself. Show him this isn't so bad. They need to heal.

Pope doesn't make a sound. Just holds still and lets Carver do it. It's fine, right? Carver bites his lip, fighting back anxiety, and tries to spread the cream as best he can. It'll help, right? It'll make things easier to bear. It has to.

"Okay," he murmurs, and pulls back. "That's it, right?"

"Easy as that," he says, but his voice is softly gruff with restraint. He does his pants back up, washes his hands. Lets Carver arrange himself however works for him. "I won't hurt you."

It's fine. Everything is fine, it just takes a moment. Carver swallows hard, telling himself not to be a bitch. To just take it. Survive it. But his hands are twitching as he undoes his belt and works his pants down, as he braces his hands against the sink and bends over.

He closes his eyes tight. "Won't fight," he whispers. It'll be over soon. It's like a test.

Pope is not a gentle man. He doesn't touch his people much, praises them only when they've really really earned it. He is gentle now with Carver, though. He's afraid of hurting him, making him bleed again, but he spreads the cream, makes sure there's plenty.

"You want a shower?" He asks, because Carver is still feverish and it might help, and he's still filthy and that might help too. "I can bring Anders in."

Oh, God. Carver breathes in slow, but it hurts. It really hurts and he bows his head, taking a shaky breath. It'll be over soon, he just has to hold still for it. Get past it.

"I - yeah," he manages, eyes closed tight. At least he's not fucking crying anymore. "Don't fight with him."

Carver shivers. Eyes closed tight. "Please."

"Tell him that," Pope scoffs. But he squeezes Carver's shoulder and goes to the door, opens it a crack.

"Anders!"

Carver pulls his pants back up, shivering. He can hear Riley suddenly there, knows he’s peering in.

“I need a shower,” Carver explains very quietly. “I—I need your help, Riley.”

Pope eyes Riley then steps aside to let him in.

"I'll be right outside," he tells Carver.

He moves out of the room, goes to find Shaw to work out logistics.

Outside, Leah and Wash keep watch. She moves closer, crossing her arms.

"You good?" she asks softly.