(no subject)

[aut_nihil]

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.

Comments

[nootherway]

"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.

[aut_nihil]

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.

[nootherway]

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?"

[aut_nihil]

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.

[nootherway]

"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.

[aut_nihil]

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."

[nootherway]

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.

[aut_nihil]

"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?"

[nootherway]

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.

[aut_nihil]

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?"

[nootherway]

"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.

[aut_nihil]

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."

[nootherway]

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.

[aut_nihil]

"I can drive," he agrees stiffly, because he has to, if he could do it yesterday he can do it today no matter how much more intense the pain feels this morning. "Help me get him in the car. I don't think I can hold much of his weight."

[nootherway]

"You need painkillers. Both of you."

They need rest. How much time can she buy them? Not enough. Not nearly enough. Leah scrubs a tired hand down her face, then goes to get the go bags.

"Eat your breakfast," she adds to Pope.

[aut_nihil]

He eats standing up because he doesn't think he can get back down to a chair easily. He is ravenous the second he's had a single bite, and he devours his oatmeal in a few large spoonfuls.

He feels better when they're on the road. It feels like doing something; like going towards a solution.

"Is Veda on the way?"

[nootherway]

It's a tight fit with the three of them and the dog. But she refuses to leave her boys alone, same as Pope insists on driving. Carver stays slumped in the back, his head resting against the window. Freya's head in his lap.

"She's on her way. ETA forty minutes." Leah exhales. "Anders will be there first."

He drove all night.

[aut_nihil]

He's glad, actually. He wants to get a look at Anders for himself, and he also wants Carver to have a chance to compose himself in front of Anders before the corpsman shows up and notices anything.

So he drives fast and he gets them there, gets them checked in, helps get Carver into the room and onto one of the beds.

By then he's sweating with the pain, his heart beating hard. "You have pain meds?" He asks Leah quietly, ashamed to need them, but he does.

[nootherway]

Like before, Freya lays down with Carver. It worries Leah down into the coils of her soul that Carver allows it. That he's gone so quiet and still that he isn't trying to fight them, to do chores or clear the room.

She opens one of the gear bags without a word and shakes out two pills from an unlabeled bottle, holding them out to Pope. "Lie down," she orders softly. "Sir. You need to rest. I'll make you some more food."

[aut_nihil]

He takes the pills. He thinks about standing the full twenty minutes it will take for them to kick in but he's so tired, and so he levers himself down onto the other bed with a groan of pain.

"Don't fuss too much, I'm fine."

[nootherway]

"Yes, sir," she agrees, though she'll fuss as much as she pleases. She will not lose these men. Not after she's just gotten them back.

In the meantime, she fixes MREs. She's getting them ready when there's a sharp knock on the door. Freya lifts her head and growls, ears pricked.

Leah has a hand on her gun when she checks the door, but ultimately it's an ally. A tall, dark-skinned man with a raw dent in his cheek where the flesh was ripped away, nearly exposing the jaw underneath, and what remained was sutured together as neatly as such a thing could be. He's in uniform, his handsome face drawn into a worried mask.

Riley Anders is here.

[aut_nihil]

Pope gets to his feet and this time he doesn't let himself cry out. He looks Anders up and down. "We're waiting on a medic," he tells him. "Carver's running a low fever."

And Carver is still in his bloodstained clothes from the escape.

[nootherway]

Riley's gaze flicks between Shaw and Pope. By right, he ought to salute Pope. Stand at attention, pay homage to the propriety that's supposed to matter in moments like this.

Instead, he brushes past both of them and kneels down next to the bed, reaching for Carver. "Why the fuck are you skulking around in a Motel Six?" he asks, very evenly, because he refuses to degrade himself by shouting at these people.

He wants to, though. Fucking Christ.

[aut_nihil]

Pope bristles. "None of your business, Sergeant. You're here to help him. That's it."

[nootherway]

God, he wants to yell at these people. Carver turns toward him, fuzzy and exhausted, and so goddamn pale. There's blood on his clothes and a dog curled up on his chest, bruises around his wrists. And it's been a long time since he's seen Carver so quiet, so unfocused. Riley can't remember the last time.

Maybe after that IED. The really bad one that shredded Carver's armor.

Riley touches a palm to Carver's forehead, eyes widening. Jesus Christ. These fucking people and their pain Olympics. "He has a fucking fever. You know that, right?"