Just My Luck
Nightshade
She sits with her head down, eyes lowered to the floor. Her hands are clasped in her lap, to take the harsh weight of the manacles off her wrists. She is terrified, but she's valiantly attempting to hide it. She freely admits her guilt. Not once has she made an attempt to hide anything of who she is, or what she has done. Four hours into the court-martial proceeding, every past grievance she had committed, every act of insubordination, no matter how small, has come to light. General Crowether would see her hanged if he could have his way. She expects nothing more than a full dishonorable discharge, perhaps two or three years in a military prison, before she is thrown to the wolves of Los Angeles once more.
There is no notion that scares her more than to face the ganglands once more, without the protection and stability of her elder brother. She is thankful that there are no media moguls allowed inside the proceedings; her anonymity will be preserved. Just like her brother's. The grief welled up inside her as she pictured Eric's body lowered into an unmarked grave in the Middle East, a victim of a covert operation gone wrong. She had to get a grip.
Taking a deep breath, she shoves the images out of her head, shifting her focus from the floor, to the ceiling. Along her peripheral vision moves the figure of her defending officer, and two men from his unit appointed as her guard dogs. Why anyone would even attempt to defend her, after her actions, remains beyond her scope of understanding. She clenches her fists to hide the tremble in her hands as the defending officer sits down beside her.
"How are you holding up, Private?" General Abernathy seems like such a nice guy, but it's a nice veneer over a hard core. To his credit, he doesn't touch her, doesn't try to comfort her in any way.
"I'd like to puke, sir," she tries to joke, offering up a wan smile. "But beyond that, I think I'll be fine with whatever they decide to mete out. No matter what happens, it'll be a good two or three years 'fore I have to worry about the hombres back home."
Abernathy grins, and it's the grin of someone who knows more than he lets on. Across the room, Crowether's prosecuting military lawyer watches the two carefully. Crowether himself shuffles through files, not even looking up when he is spoken to. She lifts both her hands to rub at her face, her handcuffs jingling softly.
"You won't be waiting much longer." Abernathy's voice brings her attention forward. There's a scrape of chairs, and a rustle of clothing as everyone in the room rises as one entity. Five generals move into the room, salute, and take seats. She remains standing, watching the generals with controlled fear.
"Private, First Class, Cassandra Riviera. You stand accused of nearly every military infraction aside from outright treason. You have plead guilty and no contest, to a majority of those charges. It is the verdict of this tribunal to inter you to three years of disciplinary action." The presiding general, Frakes, paused long enough for the words to sink in. Her face drained of color, even as Crowether beamed in triumph. "Over the next three years, you will be subject to intense scrutiny, and after the three years has passed, this tribunal will convene again to determine if further course of action is to be taken."
Riviera shakes herself back to awareness. She opens her mouth to question the meaning, but is cut off with a warning glance from Abernathy. Feeling confusion creep up her spine, Riviera sits down heavily. What sort of disciplinary action would cause her sentence to change? Crowether's ears begin to go red with fury, but he contains himself. Abernathy grins like a cat who ate a canary, and salutes Frakes.
General Frakes returns the action. "She's all yours, Hawk. Transfer papers should be completed within the hour."
One of the M.P.s comes over to unlock her cuffs, but Riviera remains seated, bewildered and stationary. Abernathy's two men move to flank her, and one claps her on the back cordially. "Welcome aboard, Riviera!"
Nearly three hours later, Cassandra Riviera sits in her new barrack, staring quietly at a small frame in her hands. The room is small but comfortable, consisting of the most basic amenities. Riviera has brought along only the most basic personal items essential to her sanity. Her beloved Gibson guitar remains in its case, leaning up against the wall beside her bunk. Beyond that, there is only the picture.
In the picture, she is eleven, and her brother is thirteen. Eric is grinning with a broken front tooth, and the beginnings of a black eye, but he is proud and standing tall. He had just passed his initiation into Mara Salvatrucha, surviving the boot-stomping and physical beating while staying conscious. Young Cassie is wrapped around her brother's waist, gazing up at him with devotion and love. Less than a year after the picture had been taken, she had undertaken the same hazing ritual, and survived. In the corner of the picture, Eric had written:
No matter what we are always family.
I will always be here for you.
Love Eric.
Cassie places the photograph gently beside her, turning it slightly to face the bunk. Her brother would be her charm, and for a moment, she raises her eyes to the ceiling, imagining she is staring up into the cloudless sky. She plans on making these three years something Eric will be proud of, looking down on her from Above.
There's a light knock at the slightly open door, causing her attention to snap focused. She rises automatically upon seeing the General standing there.
"You ready to meet the rest of the team?" Hawk doesn't order her; its a quality of his that she admires. He leads out of respect. She is lucky to have caught his attention.
"Yes sir." Riviera squares her shoulders inside her new uniform. Tailored for her specialty, she already feels comfortable in her blacked-out BDU's. She lets her hair down for the moment, before she glances once more at the photograph. "I'm ready for anything you can throw at me."
She digs deep for a moment, finding some of her famed confidence. Walking beside Hawk, she gets a strange feeling, as though she's finally someplace that she can make a difference. She feels a tugging at the corners of her mouth, and lets herself slowly begin to grin. By the time she catches sight of the full formation of her new team, she is understandably awestruck. Hawk claps her on the shoulder.
"Welcome to the Joes, Nightshade."