Chapter Text
“Carrie.”
The contam kept his eye closed, hands folded over his chest. Maybe if he held still, pretended he had died in his sleep, and didn’t react to the voice, it would go away. And then he could sleep in until they came to take his body, at which point he would— no, that wouldn't work. He was clearly still breathing.
“Carrie.” Again, with more force behind it. Carrie continued to ignore the voice. His bunk was warm, it was-- Well it was warm. Comfort was out of reach here, but warm was good enough for him to not want to leave. Warm meant his joints didn't ache.
Suddenly it was a lot less warm as the blanket he was huddled under was suddenly ripped away.
“Hey!” Carrie sat up, glaring down at the owner of the voice, who was now holding his blanket. “Give that back you cunt-”
“Language.” Warwick chastised him, though the Corporal had no indication of actually caring too much.
“What fuckin’ time is it?”
“About… 0500 hours.” Warwick replied. “Follow me. And that’s an order, Carrie.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, swinging his legs off of the bunk and dropping down. “Where to, sir?”
The honorific was dripping with sarcasm that Warwick ignored as he tossed Carrie’s blanket back on the bunk. The person underneath - the amnesiac - looked at the two of them blearily, still half-asleep.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Warwick had his hand on Carrie’s shoulder as he prepared to steer him out of the room. “You can go back to sleep until the lights come on.”
“Oh, so he can go back to sleep?” Carrie griped. Warwick hadn’t let go of him, as if he thought the other man would cut and run the moment he was able to.
Which, to be fair, he would.
“You didn’t answer my fuckin’ question. Where are we going?”
“Showers.” Warwick replied. “You stink.”
“Do you even have a sense of smell anymore? How would you know?”
“There’s been complaints.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Warwick continued to ignore Carrie, who continued to complain until the pair were in the showers. It was Warwick who began to undress first, unbuttoning his wool uniform and stripping down to cotton undergarments while Carrie stood by, glaring at him. This was far from the first time he'd seen Warwick naked, and probably wouldn't be the last if the showers stayed communal.
“Thought I was the one who needed a bath.”
“We both do.” Warwick sighed, running one of his hands over his head, feeling for the line where mask and skin met. Every day it was harder to find. “Come on, m’boy. It's just us.”
“Don't call me that while I can see the outline of your cock.”
“Carrie.” The corner of Warwick's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Come here, the water should be… relatively warm. It's early enough.”
Carrie mumbled something indistinct, but he slowly unbuttoned his uniform.
“Are your hands hurting again?” Warwick asked, closing the distance between the two of them and taking over the process. “You should get that checked out.”
“Eh, I think a couple bones got put back wrong. Nothing a round through the rezzer can't fix! Heh.”
“Hm.” Warwick was clearly unamused by Carrie's attempt to deflect with gallows humor, but he didn't push the issue — opting instead to pull off his underclothes and start the water. It was lukewarm at best, but it wasn't cold. Warwick let it run for a few moments to see if it would get any warmer.
It didn't.
“Just don't look at me.” Carrie finally said, and Warwick found a point on the wall to study while the other man hastily washed himself.
“I don't think that was enough.”
“Fuck off. Sir.”
“Carrie.” Warwick turned around to look at him, and Carrie’s already mutilated face twisted further into a look of betrayal. He flinched away as if he had been burned, covering the ruined half of his face with his hand.
“I said don't look-”
“I can't help you if I don't look.”
“I don't need your fuckin help, Warwick.”
“I know.” The gentleness in Warwick's voice stunned Carrie into silence for a few moments. Warwick took a clean washcloth and reached out to Carrie with it. “I want to.”
“You… Want to.” Carrie repeated, disbelief etched in every word.
“I had help when this became permanent.” Warwick gestured to his face as he spoke. “This may come as a shock, but I didn’t take it well at first. I had to hold it together but it… I still don’t always recognize myself in the mirror. So please. Let me help.”
I know at least some of your pain.
Carrie broke eye contact first, turning and leaving. He returns dragging a chair, putting it underneath the showerhead and sitting down. Warwick takes the washcloth and carefully begins to clean Carrie’s face.
At no point does Warwick act disgusted, and that's what pisses Carrie off the most. Even as Warwick takes Carrie’s chin in his hand to tilt his face back so he can remove dirt and rot from the wound, he never reacts with disgust.
Carrie is a soldier under his command who needs some help, and Warwick has seen worse.
He makes small talk that Carrie doesn't listen to, the firm hand under his chin taking up most of his focus. Something in the pit of his stomach stirs, and Carrie once more averts his eye even as strong, blunt fingers hold him still so he doesn’t flinch away when Warwick irrigates the path the bullet took through Carrie’s face.
It's wrong. It's wrong. Warwick is his superior officer. It's not like either of them care too much about rank, but it's wrong and Warwick being his superior officer is the easier feeling to deal with. He can’t think about the times that Warwick had saved his ass in the field. He can’t think about seeing the Corporal throw his solid form against a collapsing support beam to hold it steady for a few moments longer. He can’t think about the way his command style was a firm but gentle hand that some animal part of his brain responded to with… submission? subservience?
… and he certainly can’t think about watching the muscles in Warwick’s hands flex and relax as he cleans his rifle. The calm dexterity. The way he smacks the gun when it jams. The way those hands are now touching him with the same delicacy.
“Still with me?” Warwick asked, causing Carrie to start slightly. “Ah- sorry. You were… You went somewhere.”
“That happens sometimes.”
“Shellshock?”
Carrie grunted in response. This wasn't a topic he wanted to continue. Mostly he was glad that Warwick had startled him out of the reverie before anything started happening with that thought process.
“I'll go get clean bandages.” Warwick shut the water off, going and getting a towel to dry off. He handed another to Carrie, who quietly dried himself.
By the time Warwick returned, Carrie was half-dressed. The less time his body was exposed, the better - lest it betray him again. He grabbed the bandages from him and quickly wrapped his injuries, headed back to the barracks to try and get at least a few minutes more rest before--
An alarm blared and the lights came on with a pop of electricity. Carrie sighed dramatically, turning on his heel and joining the throng of soldiers headed topside.
Maybe something interesting would happen this time.