(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

[fortitudosalutis]

It's a simple answer, said almost kindly. Unlike so many of the officers in Korengal, Pope explains his reasons, too. The logic behind the choice that has to be made. It doesn't lessen the hurt any, but Carver breathes through it. Closes his eyes and grinds his forehead against Pope's leg.

"Okay," he agrees softly. What else is there to say?

[aut_nihil]

Pope hesitates, then strokes his fingers through Carver's hair. "I'm not walking out of here without you. So you need to save your strength and be ready to run. You got that?"

[fortitudosalutis]

For a moment, Carver just holds very still. Barely breathing, not sure what to do now that Pope's touching him. Stroking his hair.

It's nice, he thinks. But the officers don't touch them, ever. Not unless it's a test.

He shivers a little but doesn't pull away. "I got that, sir."

Part of him wishes that Pope hadn't come. Hadn't seen him like this. But then Carver knows he'd be alone and probably dead. It's better to live and fight, even if it hurts.

"If they kill me," he starts, and then goes quiet. Pope knows his grandma's dead. His mom, too. "Give my stuff to Delaney. And Sergeant Anders."

Riley should know. Riley should have his dogtags, at least.

[aut_nihil]

"They're not going to kill you," he says, his voice dark again, growling. He won't lose Carver after all this. He fucking won't.

"Delaney needs you to keep her out of trouble. Get her away from the dumbasses she finds in bars."

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver just huffs and stays where he is, pressed against Pope. "God, she really likes 'em dumb. Like illiterate dumb."

It's better to joke, he thinks. Better to think about his friends and Delaney's dumbass hookups and the time she just walked bare ass naked through the barracks because someone stole her clothes after a bender and she gave no fucks at all. Better to joke and be thankful that Pope doesn't ask why Riley rated a mention when he's not even one of Pope's guys. It's been said, and if something happens, Carver knows Pope won't forget.

"Thought women were supposed to be wiser and shit. Goddamn."

[aut_nihil]

"They are and don't you doubt it," Pope grunts. "Delaney might pick a loser for herself, but she'll always pick someone good for you. So ask her advice before you go home with someone."

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver hums at that, forced to admit it's true. Delaney's choices in men are baffling and hilarious in turn, but all her friends have their shit together. "She does steer folks away from the crazy," Carver has to admit. The bars near their bases take all kinds. "Course she's always drinking Fireball, so I gotta ding her for that one. On principal."

He wrinkles his nose. "Shit's too sweet. Alcohol shouldn't have cinnamon in it."

[aut_nihil]

"No it should not," Pope agrees. "Or gold flakes."

That other godawful cinnamon liquor he has run across from time to time. "Alcohol has one purpose. It does it right or it doesn't do it at all."

[fortitudosalutis]

"Amen to that," Carver murmurs, settling a little. He still feels sick but it's easier to talk like this, shoot the shit. To relax, ever so slightly, as Pope run his fingers through Carver's hair. "That's what vodka's for."

[aut_nihil]

"Mmhmm," he agrees. "Vodka's the only thing I drink anymore."

Something clean and burning, no flavor except that. Crisp.

"We'll get out of here and we'll go drinking, Carver."

[fortitudosalutis]

"You and me both," Carver murmurs. He'd drink beer because the others were, but he never liked it. His mom and his grandma were always drinking beer. "I'd like that, sir."

Get a drink, pretend this never happened.

[aut_nihil]

"Stay with me, Carver. I'll get you out of this."

The worst is yet to come, he's sure. But if he can keep Carver strong throughout it they'll survive, because he knows he won't break. So all that's left is rescuing Carver.

[fortitudosalutis]

"You always do," he agrees softly. Always. Pope could have written him off so many times before but hasn't. Didn't.

Carver presses close to him. Breathing out.

"Didn't think anyone was gonna come for me. But you did."

He wonders, secretly, if Pope regrets it.

[aut_nihil]

And maybe in answer to that unasked question he grunts. "I'm always going to come for you, Carver. You're one of mine. No one gets to fuck you up but me."

[fortitudosalutis]

It's a relief. It almost hurts. Carver takes a deep breath, then lets it go. Some of the tension bleeds from him, like excising a wound.

"You're worst than my drill sergeants," he murmurs. "Swear to God, sir."

He would do anything for this man. Anything Pope asked him to.

[aut_nihil]

"Good. That's what I'm trying to be," he chuckles. His thumb strokes a slow circle over Carver's temple. "I'm here to keep you alive. They were only there to get you ready for me."

[fortitudosalutis]

He presses into the touch wordlessly, eyes closed. Maybe he won't be able to sleep without dreaming, but he can rest like this. Curled into this man he trusts with more than his life. It almost doesn't feel like Pope fucked him. Like that happened in a strange dream, or a book that Carver read, and not to him. Not really.

"I'm yours, sir," he murmurs. It's not the first time he's said it. It won't be the last. "This is all I got now."

[aut_nihil]

He breathes out slow, measuring each breath.

"Everything I'm doing is to get you out alive," he says softly. Carver, even more than himself. "I need you to remember that."

No matter how depraved the act is, it's to keep Carver alive. To get him out of this situation.

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver's quiet for a long time. The thing is, Pope's never lied to him. Not once. He and Mancea were the only officers who never tried to sugarcoat things in the Valley. Not once. They told the truth and they took care of their people and sometimes they sent their boys and girls out to die. It's the way of it. And Carver doesn't want to die, not really, not like this.

It's going to hurt, he knows. Surviving always does.

Quietly, he curls his hand around Pope's knee. "They're gonna make you fuck me again," he says, very quietly. "Try and play us against each other. They gotta, right? It's the..."

He swallows, trying to focus on his training.

"The obvious angle."

[aut_nihil]

"Yeah," Pope says on a sigh. "Yeah they will. Or they'll make you fuck me. But it changes nothing. You're mine and I'm yours and we're going to get through this. Everything they do to drive us apart will only make us stronger. You understand that?"

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver nods his head against Pope, taking a shaky breath. He's hurt bad enough he won't be much use in a fight, not like this, not without time to heal and come back to himself. But if they were trying to break the two of them apart or get intel, the enemy failed. That's what matters, right?

"We're gonna survive," he agrees softly. "I'm with you, sir. I would've followed you back to the Valley."

[aut_nihil]

Back to the Valley.

Back to the worst moments of their lives.

He hears that and it sticks in his chest. It's a loyalty he sometimes doubts he's fully earned.

"I'll get you out," he promises. "To the bar we're going to visit. To safety."

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver sighs, settling a little. Maybe he could sleep. Just for a little bit. "I'll owe you a drink," he murmurs. "Vodka, not beer."

They'll get out. They'll survive. The commander said it, so it must be true.

[aut_nihil]

"Top shelf," he tells him gruffly, to keep Carver going. He'd drink swill if it meant being free. "Best stuff you can afford."

He's listening for people coming in the hallway.

[fortitudosalutis]

"Top self on an E-4 salary," Carver allows, because he's not quite broke but his bills eat up his paycheck more often than they don't, even with combat pay. He's not sure how his friends with spouses or kids do it.

He breathes out slow. Better to think about top shelf vodka than this place. He keeps his eyes closed and he almost sleep for a while.

Almost.

There are footsteps coming down the hall, though. And Carver just breathes out slow again. "Someone's coming," he murmurs.