(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

[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?"

[aut_nihil]

"We're taking care of it," Pope snaps. This was a mistake. He looks at Shaw, who is always his calm in a storm.

[nootherway]

This isn't going well. Leah lifts her chin, centering herself. She shoots Pope a look - let her handle it.

"He's hurt," she agrees, softer. Anders gives her a sharp look, his anger so close to the surface. But she's had a lifetime of weathering angry men. "But he'd want you here. Can you do that?"

She'll kick him to the curb if he can't.

Anders exhales sharply. "Are you getting a doctor?"

"Yes," Leah agrees. "But this is classified. You cannot say a word."

"This his blood?"

This time, it's Leah who has to compose herself. "Some of it," she admits.

[aut_nihil]

God bless Leah Shaw. Pope stalks to the window, peeking out through the curtains, but no one is coming.

"Most of it isn't," Pope says. "We had to fight our way out."

[nootherway]

More black ops bullshit. Riley fights the urge to curse at them both. No doubt this was off the books, so far into the black nobody will ever admit to a damn thing. But then, Pope and his people are always into some bullshit. Even in the early days, there were rumors.

He cups a hand to Carver's face, feeling the heat of the fever. The way that Carver closes his eyes and presses into it, even though they're being watched.

It's bad, then. Carver's barely coherent, it seems like. Shock, or exhaustion? Something worse?

The dog whines. She presses her wet nose into Riley's hand.

"Okay," Riley says, very calmly. "What'd you do to him?"

[aut_nihil]

"I got him out alive," Pope spits, because all morning all he can think is that he should have acted sooner. This is his fault. "And I don't care for your tone."

[nootherway]

"Yeah, well, you can write me up," Riley replies flatly. He's never seen Carver like this - never. It scares him, and in his fear he turns sharp. "But you won't because I was never here, was I?"

"Anders -" Shaw tries.

"Don't." He closes his eyes, shifting to hold Carver's hand. "Just don't. He doesn't deserve this shit."

[aut_nihil]

No. Carver didn't deserve what happened to him. And that's why Pope went after him; that's why Pope defied it all and got captured with him. Because Carver deserved better.

"He knows his job. He chose this job," Pope says instead.

[nootherway]

Then why'd you let this happen, Riley wants to demand. He already knows the answer, though. He always does.

He just exhales through his teeth, furious and unable to do anything with it. "He loves you," Riley informs them both, with no small amount of bitterness. Of course they know. They rely on it, don't they? "And now here we are."

[aut_nihil]

They have never said it, of course. There are lines. But yes, he knows. Just like--he hopes--Carver knows Pope loves him like a son.

(He thinks, against his will, of what he was made to do to Carver and flinches.)

"No one signs up thinking they'll be safe, Anders. You should know that better than most."