(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.

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[fortitudosalutis]

“I didn’t have to come,” she snaps. “Jesus Christ. Show me or don’t.”

[aut_nihil]

He unfastens his belt, for Carver's sake. He strips down, for Carver. He dares her to say a goddamn thing he doesn't like.

[fortitudosalutis]

The doctor doesn’t say anything. Her expression doesn’t change, more soldier than caretaker. She doesn’t touch Pope but she gives him a long, cool look and then tells him to put his clothes back on. “If either of you have internal damage,” she says finally, “and there’s infection, it can get very bad. I can give you antibiotics but if you’re damaged inside—“

Her jaw works.

“It will be very bad. Do you understand?”

[aut_nihil]

He thinks of the train he pulled, man after man after man. He thinks of the sound Carver made at the end, the one that drove him over the edge and stopped him waiting for their moment and just made him rabid.

"How do you know if there's internal damage?"

[fortitudosalutis]

“I need to look inside,” she replies flatly. “If there’s damage, you’ll both need a hospital. The infection will fuck you up if it doesn’t kill you.”

She exhales.

“The fever could be stress,” she admits. “In that case it’ll probably pass with antibiotics and rest. I have medicine in my kit that’ll help with…whatever’s going on down there.”

[aut_nihil]

Fuck you, he thinks, but doesn't say because none of this is her fault.

"It's probably stress. Give us the drugs. If it doesn't get better you can look at us."

[fortitudosalutis]

The doctor just gives Pope a sour look, then exhales and starts pulling bottles out of her bag. “Either of you die, I was never here. Use these.”

She points to two bottles of cream.

“Inside. Then the antibiotics. If the fever doesn’t break, you’re in trouble and that’s not something you shake.”

[aut_nihil]

"If the fever doesn't break we'll bring you right back in," he warns. He takes the items.

One goes inside. It makes his stomach churn to think of.

He pulls his pants back on, goes to the door. "Anders! Bring Carver in here."

[fortitudosalutis]

Whatever they’re doing in the bathroom doesn’t speak well. It’s the sort of wound neither Pope nor Carver want the others to know about. Riley’s seen gunshots, the aftermath of IEDs, the awful shit that tears kids to pieces.

This is different. Carver’s crying and the others are looking away very deliberately to pretend they don’t see.

“C’mon,” Riley murmurs, getting his arm around Carver. “Just hold onto me, let’s go.”

He wonders if he can just take Carver and drive him to the nearest goddamn hospital. If he can get out the door without the others dragging them both back. Probably not.

But he gets Carver up, shaky and feverish as he is, and he tries not to think about the way Carver limps.

[aut_nihil]

"I've got this," Pope says to the doctor and to Anders both, taking Carver. "Go."

He'll handle this. "I've got you," he tells Carver gently. "We're almost done. It's all right now, son. You trust me? Let me do this last thing for us."

[fortitudosalutis]

The doctor just leaves. Riley tightens his grip on Carver. “Like hell.”

“It’s okay,” Carver murmurs. “I don’t want to fight.”

Carver presses his forehead to Riley’s, exhausted and hurting, and pushes Riley out the door. Then it’s just him and Pope, both of them so tired.

“One last thing,” he murmurs, resting his head against the wall.

[aut_nihil]

Pope hates this. Hates the men who did this to them. He'd kill them all again if he could.

"This goes inside," he tells Carver softly. "And we need to take pills. Then we'll be fine. Never have to think about this again. You want me to help?"

[fortitudosalutis]

Oh, Carver thinks. For a moment, he can barely breathe.

“…yeah,” he admits, and he can’t look at Pope. “I don’t, I don’t feel good, sir.”

He doesn’t what to be touched. He thinks he’ll die if he has to ask Riley and ends up crying again.

[aut_nihil]

His breath hitches. He locks that feeling down.

"You hate me now, son?"

[fortitudosalutis]

“No!”

Carver shivers. He forces himself to look at Pope.

“No. Don’t leave me behind, sir, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, I will—“

[aut_nihil]

"Hey, hey," he cups Carver's face in his hands. "I didn't leave you behind then. I'm not going to leave you now. I'm going to patch you up, all right? And we're going to get past this."

Carver doesn't hate him. Isn't disgusted by him. Thank God.

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver’s breath hitches. He feels like he’s going to cry, relief and fear warring inside him. He presses into Pope’s hands, sagging. Exhausted and hurting. “Okay,” he manages, shivering.

Nothing feels right. He wants to go home. He wants to lie down and pull a blanket over his head, to have Riley’s arms around him.

“Patch me up how…?”

[aut_nihil]

"Just like I said." He presses the cream into Carver's hands. "This goes up inside. You can apply it yourself or I can."

He's afraid Carver will ask him but he's afraid, too, of what it means if Carver won't.

"And then we take the pills. We eat. We rest. We get stronger."

[fortitudosalutis]

Oh, Carver thinks, staring at the cream. He wants to set it back down on the sink but he forces himself not to. That's as good as flinching right now. Maybe worse. He swings hard between wanting to be alone and score his skin off with his nails and wanting so desperately to be held, to listen to someone else's breathing and take their steadiness for his own. He wants to heal and he wants to disappear in the same breath.

He swallows hard. "I -"

Don't be a bitch, he thinks. Don't make it worse, don't be weak.

"Can you help me?" he asks, very quietly.

[aut_nihil]

"Yes." He takes the cream. A muscle in his jaw works. "I need your help too. For...me."

He can't stand for the doctor to touch him.

[fortitudosalutis]

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...?"

[aut_nihil]

"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?"

[fortitudosalutis]

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.

[aut_nihil]

"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.

[fortitudosalutis]

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.