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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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.

"Yeah," Wash says, but he means no. He looks at her. "I've never seen him this bad. Pope too. The fuck happened to them?"

Leah scrubs at her face. "They were tortured."

There's more. Certain details. But that's not hers to share.

"It was bad," she adds, softer. "We brought Anders here for Carver, so don't start anything."

"I knew it had to be bad if Anders was here," he says with a bitter little smile. "Pope wouldn't even call Sandrine for me when I got blown up."

Sandrine, his wife. Estranged wife now, but that doesn't bear talking about.

"You good? This is a lot to have dropped on you."

"For this, he would have," Leah explains softly. It says enough while saying very little. Anders isn't one of them, but he's Carver's in a way that matters here.

She sighs.

"I'm fine. I'll be better with more coffee. And I'll need you to run interference with a few of the officers. This report will be spotless."

He purses his lips, like he does when he wants to ask something and isn't sure he should.

"How are we spinning this for the report?" Because no way in hell will Pope cop to what clearly happened.

"They were beaten. It was too hot for an extraction so alternative measures were taken."

As always, her voice is calm. Unflappable.

"No serous injuries were taken. We'll find someone to sign off on that. Perhaps more than one."

"They're going to make them see a shrink before they can go back out." And he's not sure Carver can pull that off, the way he looked back there.

"How hot are things? We expecting any trouble?"

Leah rubs at her forehead, exhaling. That's another problem. "I'll give him a script. I can't get them out of it entirely."

But she can give Carver the correct answers and drill him on them until he gets them perfect. After, she and Pope will keep him safe. Make sure this never happens again.

"No trouble," she adds, a little softer. "Everyone's dead."

All of them? He wonders, thinking about what that fight must have been like. Goddamn.

"Wish they'd left one for me. Love to blow someone's head off for what they did," he says quietly. "I'll help drill Carver."

"So would I," Leah agrees, iron in her tone. It cuts through the exhaustion. She held Pope up in the shower as the water washed away the filth of what was done to them. The degradation. At least they had their vengeance.

"Good," she adds, clearing her throat. "He'll be fine. He's just...."

The words trail off. Carver's badly hurt, is the thing. She's never seen him this shaken.

"He needs someone with him now. That's all."