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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"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."

"I can stay. If Anders gets called back or something... I can stay with him." Wash has always been especially soft on Carver. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

Never mind that he took leave to try to patch things up with Sandrine.

"Good," Leah murmurs. "I can't. I have to report back, too."

She's been able to get away temporarily, but she'll have to make an appearance on base and in uniform soon, or there'll be trouble.

"Keep an eye on him around other people," she adds softly. "You know how he gets."

Carver, far more than any of them, has a hair trigger. He startles too easily, and too violently.

"I'll take care of him," he says, relieved to have this thing to do, relieved he's not going to be asked to go anywhere else. "Try to get that script going before you report in, okay? I'll work on it with him. Get it in his head early."

"I will." She hesitates a moment, glancing to the bathroom door. "If it comes to it, we can give him a sedative before he reports in. Something mild. Just...enough to take the edge off."

It's a dirty trick, but sometimes that's all they have. They need to get Carver through this. Pope, too, but Pope's older and more experienced; he knows how to endure in ways none of them do just yet.

"Austin's got some stuff." The kid has all kinds of things he probably shouldn't. "I'll have him meet me."

They can do this. They can keep Carver active, they can get through this. They'll handle it nice and tidy and in the family like they always do, like they've learned works best.

“Good. Don’t let Anders see.”

There might be a fuss. He isn’t one of them.

“Carver’s hurt,” she adds, meeting Wash’s eyes so he knows how serious she is. “Badly. It’s going to be hard at first but he’ll get past it. We’ll take care of both of them.”

A nod. Anders doesn't need to know. It's not like anything they're doing is that far out of bounds anyway; just a little self-help, because they prize their independence and don't need a doctor nosing into their business.

He glances back at the window but the curtains are drawn and Carver is in the shower anyway. Which is good. Wash wouldn't want him overhearing how worried he actually is. "Is he hurt worse than when the IED got him?"

That’s the question, isn’t it? There are objective measurements. Thresholds of pain, of injury. Leah doesn’t answer for a long moment and Freya pads over, whining and bumping her head against Leah’s hand.

She sighs and pets her dog.

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “I don’t think so. But he wouldn’t let me see, and these aren’t…it’s not the sort of injury you want on your record.”

She meets Wash’s gaze, solemn. “You understand?”

Oh, Carver, he thinks. Wonders about Pope, about that limp, about how short Pope's temper was even with Shaw who he never yells at.

"Then we'll keep it off the record," he says, straightening up, determined. "He's not going to go down for this. We'll help him heal."

Good. Leah's gaze drifts back to the bathroom door, solemn and tired. It's better to handle these things themselves. No one else would care. No one else will ever look after them like Pope does and it's been proven time and time again. She'll have to arrange STD testing, Leah realizes sadly. Take Carver and Pope to a free clinic, out of uniform. At least neither of them can get pregnant.

God, what a mess.

She takes a shaky breath. Exhales. "I knew I could count on you, Wash."

She always can.

"We'll take care of them both. Don't coddle Pope, he doesn't want it." He might need it, but he won't accept it, not from the men. He barely accepts anything from her. "But...be gentle with Carver. He needs time."

There's a softness to Wash, a desire to protect and care for the others that runs deeper than in a lot of other people. It's going to be hard for him to resist the urge to give his arm to Pope when he's limping, but he nods. Yeah. Pope will let Shaw help where he'll reject it from anyone else.

But Carver might take gentle. Might let Washington take care of him the way Washington's instincts push him to do.

"When's Anders leaving?"