aut_nihil | (no subject)

He nods. Takes that in. "Then we bide our time. We get you strong. We wait for our moment. They're not going to kill us anytime soon."

Too much fun to make them suffer, and so far they're entertaining their captors so things haven't escalated.

"Figure out how to keep them interested without pushing us too much further, boy. You think on that. Let me know what you come up with."

There are other concerns. They can drink water from the sink, but he hasn't seen any food in the room. Any clean clothes or medical supplies. If they're really locked in here, the enemy might be waiting for them to weaken the old fashioned way. Carver scrubs at his face, trying to think. To calculate the odds. They haven't been killed yet and the enemy kept their masks on the whole time; they don't want to be identified. Means there's still a game. Means there's a chance they get out alive.

"They wanted us to crack," Carver says after a while. "Turn on each other. That didn't work so now the leader's playing for pain."

Seeing whether one of them will crack watching the other get brutalized. It's an old tactic. He wishes he didn't understand it.

"He's a sadist," Carver adds, matter-of-factly. "He's getting off on it. The others are following his lead but I don't think they'd dare if he wasn't leading the change."

"Way I see it is, we get him to get with us alone. That's the aim." They can kill him or use him as a hostage, either or. "We pretend to break. See what they do then."

Carver nods slowly. "I'm more his type," he says softly.

He's noticed certain things. Less about how the leader fucked him, which felt pretty much like all the others, but more about the shit he said. The tone he took. The things he implied.

"Maybe because I'm younger. Or not white." Carver works his jaw. Exhales. "I stop reacting to it, he's gonna wanna shock me out of it. Won't wanna let the others do it. He might try it with you, too. I don't know."

It was hard to focus in the middle. To think tactically.

Yeah. Yeah he's noticed that too and it worries him. "I'm the commander. They know my rank, know who I am. We want them to think they've broken me. It'll take focus off you and give me a chance to give them misinformation."

It's the smarter play. Carver still balks at it inside. The commander shouldn't be in the line of fire. But he promised to back Pope's play, didn't he?

He exhales. Okay.

"Where'd you want me to send him spinning?"

"Maybe act like they've broken you too much. I'll offer information for your safety." It's all he can think of to keep the focus on himself.

Carver puffs out a breath. "I'll get on my knees. Go empty. Don't think that's much fun. He'll get pissed."

It'll work, Carver thinks. It makes him sick to think of it, but it'll work.

Pope hates it, too. Hates anything that degrades his people. But needs must.

"Aim him to me. Whatever you do, make sure he lands on me." That's an order.

Carver bows his head. Wondering if he dares to disobey. He thinks maybe he will if it spares Pope from the worst of it. What the enemy did the first time -

No. Pope should be above all that.

He shivers. He wants to go home. To lie down next to Riley so bad, or do shots with Delaney. Anything.

"Yes, sir," he promises softly.

"None of this works if you can't follow my lead, son," he says, stepping out of the bathroom doorway and closer to Carver. "Tell me now if that's going to be a problem but I know what I'm doing."

Carver rocks before he can think better of it, watching Pope close. He feels so tired, and so sick.

“Don’t you get tired of it?” he asks quietly. “All the evil shit people do to each other?”

"I do," he admits. "Of course I do. But we're here to protect people from that. We're here to take the pain for them. That's our job. Our calling from on High."

Take the pain. Carver watches Pope for a long time. Wondering if that’s what the commander means to do now. Take the pain that’s coming.

He bows his head.

“I’ll follow you, sir. I just…”

What do you even say?

“None of the tests were like this,” he murmurs. “I knew people did things like this, but—“

Yeah.

"we're above this kind of torture. I never trained you on it because...we're above it. And maybe that's a weakness on my part." He'll own that. That he didn't train his people to be immune to rape. "But I thought it was important we don't sink to this level. Was I wrong, Carver?"

“No, sir.”

He swallows hard, feeling wrenched, but he meets Pope’s eyes. There are things Carver never thought he could do to people that he’s now become very good at. Inflicting pain is a skill. But this?

Please, God, he prays, never make me do this.

“We have lines. We have rules. We’re better than the ones who don’t, you taught me that.”

"We are better. Never forget that."

He looks at Carver, assessing him. "You're still with me, huh? This isn't going to change that?"

"Always."

He doesn't waver, not this time. His voice stays steady.

"Bad shit happens, but you never lied to me. Not once. You taught me how to get through it and we're gonna get through it."

That's what he needed to hear. That he hasn't warped Carver, that he didn't leave Carver with such a weak spot that these people could exploit.

"Damn right we are." A stiff nod. "I'm going to shower. You rest up."

They haven't eaten in almost two days, he thinks, and wonders how long that will last.

"Okay," he murmurs, hoping there'll be time for him to shower, too. But he won't be greedy with it. Cannot be greedy with it. He's hungry and tired, and hurting, and he knows Pope has to be feeling it, too. It can't be helped, though. Maybe they could kick the door down and try to fight their way out, or break a window, but how far would they get?

Not far enough. They have to be smart.

"I'll rest," he adds, meeting Pope's eyes. He'll lie down on the floor. He doesn't want to sleep on the mattress.

Most showers Pope takes are quick, five or ten minutes at most, and that's including shaving. Today he spends almost an hour in the water.

He comes back out and finds Carver on the floor and can't blame him a bit. He wants nothing to do with the bed either, but he can't risk the captors coming in and seeing them avoiding it, letting them know that the torture is working. So he lays down on a bed that is softer and finer than what he has in his own home.

It hurts.

Carver stirs briefly when Pope does, watching him with half-lidded eyes. Exhausted and hurting, but still alive. He pulls himself up slowly, gingerly, every move made on pins and needles because he is so goddamn tired, and he hurts inside. It hurts in his soul, he thinks, and he wants to go home and be with their brothers and sisters, with Riley. To get that vodka with Pope.

He gets himself up, though. He showers with what's left of the hot water and scrubs his skin raw, comes back with damp hair and tired eyes to lean against the wall.

"You okay, sir?" he asks quietly, not sure if Pope's even awake or not.

"I'm just fine," he says and it's mostly true. "Just thinking what my first meal when we get out of here will be."

Carver is still limping slightly, he notes.

"Mhmm."

Carver watches him for a moment, leaning against the wall, then breathes out and lies down next to Pope before he can think better of it. He doesn't want to be on this mattress, smelling what he smells here, but the closeness is easier. He doesn't try to touch Pope but he knows the commander is there and that's easier, a little.

Just a little.

"You gonna go all out?" he murmurs. "Something fancy?"

"Nah," he grunts. "There's a barbecue joint on Route 9. Run down little place, best ribs I've had since leaving home."

He doesn't move to or away from Carver. He welcomes him here, something solid.