aut_nihil | (no subject)

Pope wants very badly to say something about it, but he doesn't. Isn't this why he asked for Anders? Because Carver needs some gentle attention, something that doesn't hurt?

Besides, this thing, whatever it is that's going on between them, is temporary. When Carver is a Reaper it will be over.

"You'd better be good at hiding that shit from everyone else," Pope says. "I won't see my boy thrown out before his time, lose all his benefits, because of you."

Carver's more out of it than not, but he makes a small sound and curls into Riley's chest. And it's easy to get an arm around him like this, to cup a hand to the back of his head and just hold him while the dog watches and these two, sober and bitter, watch in turn. Pope looks so goddamn smug saying that shit.

They always do, don't they?

"Your boy?" Riley repeats, softening his voice so he won't disturb Carver. "Your boy?"

What the fuck.

"Pope," Shaw warns softly. Sensing a fight.

"My boy," he says again, though he doesn't take a step forward to challenge Riley like he would have if not for Shaw.

"You think I went through hell for just some soldier?"

"Enough," Sergeant Shaw warns, stepping between them. Riley almost pushes, puffing himself up to raise his voice and make a fucking scene because how dare these fuckers, how dare they try and claim Carver?

But there are deep bruises around Pope's wrists, too. They've been tortured, Riley knows.

"We're trying," she continues, her gaze flicking between Riley and Pope in equal warning, "to keep him calm. I'm going to make some coffee. Stand the fuck down."

Pope listens to Shaw where he ignores every other person in the world so he scoffs and steps aside.

"We need to get some fluids in him," he mutters to her.

Leah steps closer to him, lowering her voice. Some sniping was inevitable, she thinks, but she has no patience for it. No time. They need to keep Carver calm so he won't fight when the doctor comes, so it'll go as smooth as it possibly can with the rest. In that, she thinks, Riley Anders will do his job. She's never caught them in anything, but she's seen how they move around each other. The way that they look to each other from across a crowd and smile ever so slightly.

There's kindness there. A level of care that isn't written first in obligation.

"I'll get another IV in him," she murmurs. "It'd be better if he could eat some more. Maybe Anders can get him up."

She's worried. They both are.

"I'll make some food. You get the IV in him." He needs to do something, move around, even if MRE's aren't exactly difficult or engaging work.

"Don't start a fight," she murmurs, meeting his eyes. It's clear that Pope wants to. Clearer too that they cannot afford it.

But she goes to get an IV into Carver, in the meantime. His stillness scares her, deep down.

"If he wants to fight me I'll throw his ass out," Pope growls.

There's nothing Riley can do for Carver that Washington can't do instead.

"Pope," she warns, very softly. This is important. She just gives him a long look, her gaze drifting over to the bed where Carver's curled into Anders, how he's finally settled and isn't shaking anymore. How Anders stares back at them with a flat sort of intensity and strokes Carver's hair.

Pope bristles but before he can say anything to antagonize further there's a knock on the door. Pope lets Washington in, who looks at Shaw with a little nod and a, "Hey, sis."

Then he sees Carver and rushes to him. "What happened?"

Everyone’s angry now, even if they’re not yelling. Carver curls himself tighter around Riley, hiding against his chest and almost sick with gratitude that Riley just holds him and allows it. That he can close his eyes and pretend to disappear, breathing in the scent of Riley’s skin and the starch of his uniform.

He stiffens at the sound of the door but just holds tighter to Riley.

“He’s hurt,” Riley explains softly.

“Wash?” Carver murmurs.

"Yeah," Wash says, trying not to sound as worried as he is. He pushes Carver's hair back, frowns. "You're burning up. You look like shit," he says then, trying for a joke. "Where you been?"

Carver shivers and just hides his face against Riley’s chest, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t…matter.”

Riley holds him tight. “Just rest,” he murmurs. “I got you. We got you.”

Carver shivers again. “It hurts,” he whispers. It really hurts.

"Hey no one's getting through that door to hurt you more, you get me?" Wash says, his voice quiet but iron clad.

He looks up, sees Pope. Sees the bruises and goes a little grey.

"Where the hell is that doctor, Shaw?" Pope snaps.

"Ten minutes," she responds, checking her phone.

Carver stiffens, lifting his head. "No doctor," he insists. "I'm fine."

"Brandon-" Riley tries.

"I'm fine!" he snaps, louder, anxious. "Nothing happened!"

Pope moves to his side.

"Easy, son. We're going to take care of you. We're... Going to take care of me, too. I'm going through it too you hear me? One last thing and then we're done."

Carver shudders, rocking, feeling pinned between all of them even as he grab for Riley's uniform and holds on tight. He's shaking, he realizes; he thinks he's going to cry, or start screaming. "You said we don't tell," he hisses, miserable, "we don't tell, nothing happened...."

Riley rocks him. Pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his head. "Shh," he murmurs. "Brandon, you've got a fever. We're just worried about you."

"We don't tell. But you've got an infection. She's going to give you medicine. Me too." Because God knows he's starting to feel sick, too.

Washington looks at Shaw, helpless.

Pope squeezes Carver's shoulder. "You just take those pills and eat, you hear me?"

No one has to know details.

"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.

Pope Strauss there, hand on Carver's shoulder, hating everything.

"Go guard the door," he tells Washington, who is reluctant to leave but obeys.

Something is really wrong. Riley rocks Carver, holding him close and rubbing his back, trying to soothe a man who's so rarely rattled. But Carver's shivering, feverish, and he sounds scared. Whatever they did to him -

It was bad, Riley thinks. It was really fucking bad.

He meets Pope's gaze, wary, but he doesn't let go of Carver. "C'mon," he murmurs. "Try and eat, okay? We've got painkillers for you."

Don't fight, Riley prays. Don't fight, just take the goddamn pills.

Carver makes a small sound, almost a sob, but he nods.

Pope steps aside so Shaw can deliver the meds. He limps over to the MRE he made and brings it to Carver.

"Eat," he orders.

Carver feels like he's on the verge of crying for no goddamn reason. Hiding his face against Riley's chest, his skin crawling at the thought of being touched but unwilling to pull away. He doesn't want a doctor. He thinks he'll die if anyone tries to take his clothes off.

But he leans against Riley and he takes the MRE, eating listlessly. Riley holds him, stroking his hair.

"I don't need a doctor," Carver murmurs, almost pleading. "Nothing happened."

"Relax, son. I won't let anything happen to you." He leans against the wall, feeling sick and cold and too hot at the same time.

He resents Anders being here, seeing them like this.