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[nottheboss]

It's late at night. The corridors aren't quiet; they're full of men and women restlessly trying to sleep in their quarters. Bossie should be one of them. But instead he slips barefoot down the hallway to Carver's room, where he knocks.

"Hey, man, you up?"

Comments

[nottheboss]

He thinks about the new rules Pope is coming up with. How bit by bit they're being taken out of the world. How much safer that is.

"We won't let anything happen to them," he promises. "I just wish it didn't hurt you to have him around."

[fortitudosalutis]

"So do I," Carver murmurs. He flips the first pancake. "Hey, I'll give you first dibs on these. You like 'em crisp, right?"

He'll make them special for Bossie. This, at least, he can do.

[nottheboss]

"Yeah I do," he grins, taking in the moment, enjoying being given special treatment. He sips his coffee. "Hey what was the first thing you ever learned to make?"

[fortitudosalutis]

That gets a faint huff from Carver as he flips another pancake. "Pancakes, believe it or not. My grandma liked 'em with bananas. I was real messy with 'em at first, though. They were burned to shit."

He motions with his hand, smiling. "Trade you some coffee for the first ones."

[nottheboss]

"Deal." He fills Carver's cup, grabs the cream out of the fridge and offers it, too.

He can picture a young Carver, a little kid, earnestly working in the kitchen for his grandma. "Man I bet you were a cute little kid."

[fortitudosalutis]

He hums in thanks, doctoring his coffee, and taking a long drink. God, that tastes good.

“I was real quiet,” Carver admits. “Dunno about cute. But I didn’t get into trouble or anything. Real boring.”

[nottheboss]

"I was like that, too. I never got in trouble at school. My dad found things to be pissed off about anyway, you know, but now that I'm older...I don't think I was such a bad kid."

He could have been so much worse, he could have been one of those kids who was so bad off the Army wouldn't even have wanted him. Thank God he was never that bad or he never would have escaped Tennessee.

[fortitudosalutis]

He'd suspected that, Carver thinks. Maybe known on some level. None of them come from perfect families, the kind that'd want them back. He breathes out slow and flips a few pancakes onto a plate, offering it out to Bossie. "Doubt you were," Carver murmurs. "Some dads just suck, that's all."

[nottheboss]

"Yeah." he's still reluctant to say his dad sucked. Even after everything. There are parts of his dad that remind him of Pope. That can't be bad, can it?

"What was yours like? Did you ever know him?"

[fortitudosalutis]

"Ah..."

Part of him wants to wave it off. Change the conversation. But that wouldn't really be fair, would it? Not after Bossie told the truth about his own father, even if only in fragments.

Carver sighs, returning to his cooking.

"Dunno what he was like sober. I only met him the one time, when I was fifteen. He showed up with my mom when she was on leave. Just showed up on our porch when I came back from school. They were both sitting there, drunk off their asses."

He shakes his head.

"His name was Brandon, too. Maybe I look like him, I don't know. He told me to get him another beer and I did. That was all he said to me."

[nottheboss]

"Fuck, man. That's...bullshit." He grimaces, and offers Carver more butter for the pancakes. "I never knew my mom. She was probably bullshit too."

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver just shakes his head. It's just something that happened, he almost says, but that feels close to a lie given how he'd cried after. How he thought about that moment for years and years, replaying it in his head trying to figure out what he did wrong because he must have done something wrong. And if he could just figure it out, solve the riddle, then they would've -

What? Loved him?

He returns to the pancakes and the sausages, sliding a few onto Bossie's plate. "Some people shouldn't be parents," he murmurs. "Never knew what I was supposed to say to my mom. She sent money and she wasn't an asshole most of the time when she showed up, but."

Yeah.

"She was a soldier," he adds softly. "Had me when she was seventeen and already enlisted. She went back in. Did OSC, even. Thought we'd have something to talk about if I enlisted, too."

[nottheboss]

He takes the plate, holds it close, but he won't eat until Carver does. Carver's the boss.

"I get that," he says softly. "I do. If going to the coal mines or whatever would've given me an in with my dad? I would've done it. But he was a loser. He didn't do anything. Nothing was going to make him make sense to me. So I ran to the Army."

He reaches out, clasps Carver's shoulder. "I think your mom would be proud of who you are now."

[fortitudosalutis]

Bossie keeps holding his plate. Waiting, Carver realizes, and he huffs a little before he takes some pancakes for himself. The butter, too. Can't leave the people hungry, can you? It isn't fair. And he doesn't want to be the sort of leader who makes his people stand around hungry just to prove a point. So he puts food on his plate and butter on his pancakes, and he lifts it all in salute before taking a bite so Bossie can, too.

"I'm glad you're here," he replies gently. "Eating my pancakes. I don't know about my mom. Guess I never understood her, not really. But this? This is good."

[nottheboss]

"Seems to me you've only got to understand me, then," he says pleasantly. "And I think you're fucking great."

He eats his pancakes. He moans, even, to have such goodness in his mouth. "Never stop cooking for us, Carve."

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver huffs again, bumping his shoulder against Bossie's. "Flatterer," he drawls, taking a sip of coffee. "C'mon, eat, I made it special for you."

This feels good, he realizes. This feels human.

[nottheboss]

"Eat with me," he urges. "I can't do it alone anymore. I'm fucked. I need other people to enjoy my meals with me."

And there is a meal here, pancakes and bacon and eggs. He lifts his fork in salute.

[fortitudosalutis]

"Ah, hey, don't say that," he murmurs. He puts an arm around Bossie, bumping their heads together. "I got your back, don't I?"

Somehow, they'll figure this out.

"Least the food is good, yeah?"

[nottheboss]

"Hell yeah. The food's perfect," he grins, wavering a little, holding a hand at the back of Carver's head. "Thanks."

He's okay as long as he has his brothers with him. As long as he has Carver here.

[fortitudosalutis]

Good, Carver thinks, some of the tension bleeding out. He bumps his head against Bossie’s and stays close to him, almost cheek to cheek. An intimacy.

“I won’t always be like this,” he murmurs. “I’m really trying, kid.”

[nottheboss]

"I know you are. You've been through hell. It's okay if it hurts right now." He gets it. He's frankly impressed with how well Carver has been handling it.

[fortitudosalutis]

Carver closes his eyes a moment, listening to the hiss of grease and Bossie’s breathing. Trying to center himself, to be steady the way he knows David needs him to be steady.

“Wish we didn’t have to be on all the time,” he admits. “But we have to be. There’s no relief. We fuck up, then bad shit happens.”

[nottheboss]

A soft sigh. Yeah. It's hard. It's exhausting.

"I got your back. You slip up, I'll catch you. We've all got you, Carve. Don't worry."

[fortitudosalutis]

It helps to hear that, a little. Carver breathes out slow. "I'm supposed to be the one who catches you," he murmurs. "That's my job, little brother."

[nottheboss]

He'd thrilled the first time Carver called him that. Little brother.

"What kind of brother would I be if I didn't return the favor? You're mine, you know. I take care of what's mine."