aut_nihil | (no subject)

"I have you," she murmurs, and she does not let him go as the water drums down on them. "Sir."

She holds Pope tight, breathing slow, bearing the weight. Watching the water swirl down the drain.

The blood on his chest and stomach was so thick it's congealed into a crust, and he takes the soap finally and scrubs hard at it until it comes loose.

"I'm all right," he grunts, though he still has hand on her, steadying himself. Little by little he comes clean.

He feels foolish holding onto her and makes himself let go. "You said there were clothes?" If not he supposes they can wash these pants.

Leah just breathes, and braces, and holds him steady. Pope is the strongest man she knows, a survivor to the core. He taught her the importance of endurance in turn, one of the few men who's ever cared for a thing she might offer them. She loves him the way she imagines daughters are supposed to love their fathers.

"I keep spares," she agrees, ignoring his nakedness. Ignoring the wounds and the signs of what was done washing down the drain until he finally lets go and she only watches him a moment before stepping out of the water. She won't let him fall, but she knows, too, that he wouldn't appreciate her coddling.

Even so, Leah stays close.

"Sometimes the kids stay with me."

He turns the water off and gets a towel and finally, semi clothed in something that isn't soaked in blood and other things, he can give her a tiny smile. He can pretend she isn't dripping wet now because he'd needed a goddamn hug, like something small and weak, like a bitch.

He can pretend he hadn't needed it and that it didn't make him feel just the tiniest bit better.

"They call you Big Sister." And he'd known he would be safe here and there aren't words for what that means to him.

He takes a cautious step but no, he still needs support. So he leans on her, and he doesn't feel anger about it this time. "I want to sleep near Carver."

"They do," she agrees, pulling Pope's arm around her.

Deep down, Leah knows she should make them call her sergeant and cut the sentiment away lest she (and they) be accused of improper relationships. It's not her place to be friends with the men and women she commands when she so often walks them to their deaths. But a quieter part of her craves it, treasures it, holds it close to her heart. They are her boys, her girls, and she does what she can.

"I'll get you clothes," she continues, leading him back to her bedroom and the trunk she keeps of spare men's clothes. "And then I'll put you down on the camp bed next to him. Freya will keep watch."

She won't sleep, Leah knows. She'll make phone calls and run logistics. Get ahead of the problem.

It's work to get dressed. He can barely bend at all even after the heat of the shower loosened some muscles. But he gets dressed and he feels human again, finally. He can go back to ignoring what's happened. He can survive it.

He knows Leah probably had just laid down to sleep, and knows too that she won't sleep again until tomorrow night at the earliest, and he feels bad about it but also so grateful. He helped train her for these emergencies. She'll handle things.

"I asked him. Carver," he says. "I told him I'm starting the Reapers when I retire. He wants in."

"You're moving up the timetable," Leah observes, surprised and not surprised in the same breath. It makes sense, doesn't it? Why wait? She has a few months left, same as Carver. The question had been hovering all of them. Once, she intended to go career. She'd even considered, in an idle sort of way, applying to one of the service academies. But the Army disappointed her, as most things have in the end.

As all things have, she realizes, except Pope and her boys. Her girls.

She steadies him and moves him back out to the living room with Carver, leaning him against the wall as she gets the camp bed out.

"I'll need your help to keep my dog," she says simply. "I'm with you, of course."

The Army will try to keep Freya. Leah doesn't intend to let her go.

"I'll pull some strings." He looks at Freya and can't help the way his expression softens to see her curled up with Carver. "We're not leaving her behind. We'll get her some real body armor too."

Real gear for all his boys and girls.

"Delaney's too."

Leah bites her lip, ducking her head to hide her smile. Even under these circumstances, she can still smile. They have a future, don't they? They're strongest together. Even amidst all the bullshit and the horror, she has a family that won't abandon her, won't ever leave her. And she will fight to the death to keep them.

"Good." She clears her throat, setting up the camp bed next to the couch. Carver's out cold, Freya's head resting on his chest. She lays out blankets and the softest pillow she has, and then she offers her arm out to Pope - knowing, without needing to ask, that it hurts him to bed. To lie down. "Try and get some rest, sir."

If Carver was awake--if anyone else was around--he'd have just stayed standing a while longer. But he takes the help offered and he manages to make only a small, kicked sound as he goes down onto the cot.

He shifts and twists until he finds a position that doesn't hurt as bad.

"Get Washington here," he says. "And Anders. It'll do Carver good to have them here."

At least Pope doesn't fight her on this. She'd worried that he would. That he'd order her to make a pot of coffee and immediately shift into logistics, trying to solve this when he's still badly injured and dead on his feet. Carver was in shock and the wounds she saw on Pope, on both of them -

Leah eases him down and pulls the blankets around him to keep him warm, doing it quickly before he can fuss.

"I'll get them here," she promises, even though Anders isn't one of theirs and she wonders at the insistence Pope has when saying his name.

Anders isn't theirs, no, but he's Carver's. And she wonders if Pope knows that.

"Just rest, sir."

That relationship won't be allowed in the Reapers. It's not allowed in the Army, but that hasn't stopped Carver--but he's already decided that if Anders joins them, that relationship will end.

But that's for later. That's for months from now, after Carver is healed up and discharged.

"Wake me up at 0400," he murmurs, unaware that's only an hour away. He's so tired. He's in so much pain. But he got them here, and for the moment they're safe. He'll handle the rest in the morning.

"Mhmm-hmm."

She touches his shoulder very briefly, then stands with a sigh. Carver hasn't moved. He's gone quiet and still, breathing evened out. They'll need to get him cleaned up in the morning. See if he can walk. Get both of them in fresh clothes, then get enough food and drugs in them to pass inspection.

It'll be a long day.

Leah breathes out. She goes to make coffee.

He doesn't dream. It's a miracle, all things considered, but he sleeps and he sleeps and he wakes when the sun peeks in through the curtains. He ought to get right up but he doesn't, yet. Just lays still, thinking. Planning.

She lets them both sleep an hour longer. Pope, no doubt, will snarl at her for it, but they need the rest.

In time, she comes over with two bowls of sweetened oatmeal, and coffee.

"Try and eat something," she murmurs. "How's Carver?"

He gets up--painfully, with enough of a struggle it's humiliating, and he wishes he could kill those motherfuckers all over again but slower.

"It's not 0400," he says, because of course he does, but it's Shaw. She gets a pass.

"He's still out," he says, and reaches out, touching Carver's forehead, checking for fever. Worrying.

"No, it's not," she agrees. They needed the rest. He can snarl at her, but that doesn't change the truth of it.

It worries her that Carver hasn't stirred, though. And that Freya hasn't been agitating for her breakfast, that she's chosen to stay curled up around Carver instead.

She steps closer, frowning. Carver looks so pale. And she worries that he's got a fever, that something's infected, that she should have insisted on checking him closer.

"Is he running a fever?" she asks softly. They'll have to take him to a corpsman if he is, there's no way around it.

He remembers two days ago, that first time they ganged up on him. What they did to him. He was injured then.

"I can't tell," he admits, but that's wishful thinking and he looks at her, real worry in his eyes behind his glasses. "He feels warm to me."

Fuck. Okay. She kneels down as Freya whines, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. It worries Leah deep in her soul that Carver only twitches, and doesn't wake. It's unlike him.

"He's warm," she agrees quietly. If there's a fever, at least it isn't burning him alive. Not yet. "Realistically, can you make the report without him?"

Pope can at least stand. She can bribe and threaten her way into help making him look the part for an hour or so. But if Carver can't even do that much, then they need to figure something else out right now.

Leah strokes Carver's hair, trying to wake him. "Hey," she murmurs, shaking him. "Brandon."

He twitches. Eyes half-lidded, more than a little unfocused as he peers at her.

"I can do it alone," he says, though the report is far from his mind right now.

He didn't fight like hell to get Carver here just to lose him now. Not to what those men did to him. "We need a doctor. Who can we call?"

This isn't good. There are reasons Pope took them here and not to a proper doctor, but Leah regrets not insisting now. There'll be a cost, but she won't allow them to die. She doesn't lose anyone else, not here.

She bows her head and strokes Carver's hair, trying to think. Going into damage control.

"Veda," Leah says after a moment. Not one of their own, but someone Leah has leverage over. "She'll keep her mouth shut."

A weak woman with a gambling problem and a skill they need.

Leah exhales. "You could say you're at a safe house. That you need time to ensure you weren't followed and prepare for extraction. You're both injured but stable."

Blatant lies. But the sort people expect.

Yes. Yes, that will work. "There's a motel not far from here. We can go there."

He squeezes Carver's shoulder. "Wake up, Carver. You hear me?"

"Request that I be taken off my current detail. I'm in the area. I understand the gravity of the situation."

More lies. But how close will anyone look, really? Leah trails her fingers over Carver's forehead, taking a breath when he finally turns his head toward her. Unfocused, but awake. "Big sis," he murmurs. "Your dog's heavy."

Thank God. She bows her head, and then bops him on the nose. "How're you feeling, huh?"

Carver closes his eyes, sighing. "Tired." He pauses. "Hungry."

"How's your pain level?" she asks, as gently as she can.

Carver just thins his mouth and doesn't answer.

Hungry. Hungry is good.

"Eat," Pope says, setting the bowl of oatmeal by Carver. "We're moving out to a new location in ten minutes. Going to tell them we're holed up waiting for extraction."

Carver opens his eyes, watching Pope. Looking worried and relieved in the same breath. But he sits himself up slowly, jaw going tight. Leah steadies him instinctively. "Yes, sir," he murmurs.

Leah squeezes his shoulder. "Eat," she orders softly, and then she stands. Stepping closer to Pope and lowering her voice. "I have go bags. Are you good to drive?"

She'll make more phone calls on the road. Get Anders and Washington the new location.