'And the tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression'
Riley slammed into the office of the general, his farm-boy eyes blazing, his face taught and mottled with his anger. "Why," he began without preamble, his voice menacing as he advanced towards the composed figure of the General, "Why are you doing this? Why isn't she dead?"
"Surely," MacGruder began, his voice the epitome of calm reason as he surveyed the soldier before him, "you can see how great an asset she could be to us, to our Cause."
"To hell with the Cause," Riley shouted, his large meaty hand coming to rest on the General's desk. His voice dropped to a whisper as he regarded the man before him, the man he had thought he could trust, "You promised me her death."
MacGruder regarded the young man before him coolly, his impassive demeanor concealing everything from the boy before him, "I promised only that there would be revenge."
Riley stilled, his eyes dulling as his mouth thinned, "This is not what I meant when I said I wanted revenge. You're playing right into her hands --"
"For God's sakes, Finn!" MacGruder brought his hand down hard on the desk, sending paper's flying as he stood, "The girl's locked in a glass cell! She's be intoxicated, experimented on, coerced!" He stopped, taking a deep breath, his steely eyes locking with Riley's, the vein in his forehead throbbing uncontrollably, "It is not your place to question orders. Your job is follow them, boy. Do you understand me?"
Riley straightened and gave a quick jerk of his head, "I understand you, sir."
"Good," MacGruder settled back comfortably into his hair, "Now get the hell out of my office."
* * *
The soldier peered curiously into the cell, unconsciously he hefted his gun onto his shoulder as he studied the scene before him. The blonde girl, Buffy, he reminds himself, sat on the floor, her eyes closed as she drifted into a light sleep beneath the hot white lights. Behind her sat Hostile 17, his hand tracing the curve of her jaw protectively. His ice-grey eyes met his and the soldier swallowed, forcing back the nervousness that arose in him at the sight of those two orbs filled with so much hate and determination. What she saw in him he'd never know. Even now, despite the obvious genuine quality of their embrace, he was barely able to accept what was before him. The concept that vampires could treat anyone with the tenderness and protectiveness that Hostile 17 demonstrated was something his mind was desperate to eject.
He knew he wasn't the only one affected by the sight of the two lovers; the other soldiers assigned to guard duty over the two had been studiously ignorant of them, their eyes passing over them as if they weren't really there. It was so much easier to ignore the quandary than to explore what the possible ramifications of such proof could be. He sighed and turned away from the two, the rifle, and his guilt, heavy upon his shoulder. There was no denying that what he was preparing to do was wrong, a violation of everything he had held dear in his life.
The sound of boots trudging down the hall pulled him from the reverie. He sighed, pushing away his observations as he inclined his greeting to the guard who had come to claim the next watch and who had unwittingly given him more time to ponder his course of action.
* * *
Buffy sighed, her eyes fluttering open unwillingly as the over bright light engulfed her. She sighed, shifting against Spike's body as she snuggled deeper into the comforting holds of his embrace, his arms tightening reflexively around her as he slept on. All around them the compound was quiet; few soldiers were required to maintain the secure cells during the early morning hours. No real resistance was expected from any of the prisoners, themselves included. Buffy frowned, pushing the thoughts from her as she felt the familiar feeling of panic begin to overtake her; now was not the time to lose her head, for their sake she had to find a way out of here.
Despite her lingering exhaustion she found herself unable to drift back not the uncomfortable sleep that had greeted her sometime following the confrontation with MacGruder. He had left her with the warning that he would be requesting her presence later to continue their "discussion" on her assistance to the Initiative. His emphasis on her willing cooperation baffled her. It was obvious that the Initiative could force anything out of her while she was trapped within the compound. Here, she could expect no assistance from anyone or anything; whatever the Initiative wanted could be theirs within a few hours and then she and Spike easily expended. All in all, MacGruder's obvious desire to have her willing acquiescence to the experiments they planned had her more than a little worried.
Carefully Buffy extracted herself from the protective circle of Spike's arms and ran a disgruntled hand through her hair which, through the grace of some miraculous deity, hadn't become irrevocably tangled during the night. A toothbrush however, she thought wryly, would be more than convenient. All around her she could hear the subtle sound of the machinery of the Initiative waking for the day; the omnipresent electrical humming intensified as the echo of more and more footsteps filled the corridors around her. She tensed, trepidation gripping her as she thought of her impending meeting with MacGruder.
There was nothing for it -- she would have to follow along with his game and see where it would take them.
'Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow'
Riley's eyes were bloodshot when he entered the common area of the Initiative. His face was more haggard than it had been in days, a cruel shadow covering his face and meshing with the five o'clock shadow that covered his chin. His blue eyes that had once shown with pride and the reflection of the wide corn silk blue skies of Iowa were dulled and listless in the harsh lighting. He was a lost man and he knew it. The others seemed to sense his inanition and avoided his more assiduously than they had since his return; none wanted to tangle with him with the memories of his squadron's ate and the training sessions still fresh in their minds.
Riley shrugged off their disregard, outwardly showing every sign of eschewing the others company as dearly as they did his. Despite his best efforts however his alienation slipped passed his carefully controlled mask. His loneliness served only to embitter him further, exacerbating the cancer that spread within him, devouring everything that he had once been. He clung to his hatred like a drowning man, inventing ways to place the blame for his current predicament squarely on the shoulders of his ex and lover.
He caught a brief glance of himself in the mirror in the locker room as he slipped into his light training closed. For a moment he was taken back by his haggard, menacing appearance; there was no trace of the jocund youth he'd been left and he was damned if he was going to let that blonde bitch get away with it. MacGruder or no MacGruder.
No expression, no expression'
Riley slammed into the office of the general, his farm-boy eyes blazing, his face taught and mottled with his anger. "Why," he began without preamble, his voice menacing as he advanced towards the composed figure of the General, "Why are you doing this? Why isn't she dead?"
"Surely," MacGruder began, his voice the epitome of calm reason as he surveyed the soldier before him, "you can see how great an asset she could be to us, to our Cause."
"To hell with the Cause," Riley shouted, his large meaty hand coming to rest on the General's desk. His voice dropped to a whisper as he regarded the man before him, the man he had thought he could trust, "You promised me her death."
MacGruder regarded the young man before him coolly, his impassive demeanor concealing everything from the boy before him, "I promised only that there would be revenge."
Riley stilled, his eyes dulling as his mouth thinned, "This is not what I meant when I said I wanted revenge. You're playing right into her hands --"
"For God's sakes, Finn!" MacGruder brought his hand down hard on the desk, sending paper's flying as he stood, "The girl's locked in a glass cell! She's be intoxicated, experimented on, coerced!" He stopped, taking a deep breath, his steely eyes locking with Riley's, the vein in his forehead throbbing uncontrollably, "It is not your place to question orders. Your job is follow them, boy. Do you understand me?"
Riley straightened and gave a quick jerk of his head, "I understand you, sir."
"Good," MacGruder settled back comfortably into his hair, "Now get the hell out of my office."
* * *
The soldier peered curiously into the cell, unconsciously he hefted his gun onto his shoulder as he studied the scene before him. The blonde girl, Buffy, he reminds himself, sat on the floor, her eyes closed as she drifted into a light sleep beneath the hot white lights. Behind her sat Hostile 17, his hand tracing the curve of her jaw protectively. His ice-grey eyes met his and the soldier swallowed, forcing back the nervousness that arose in him at the sight of those two orbs filled with so much hate and determination. What she saw in him he'd never know. Even now, despite the obvious genuine quality of their embrace, he was barely able to accept what was before him. The concept that vampires could treat anyone with the tenderness and protectiveness that Hostile 17 demonstrated was something his mind was desperate to eject.
He knew he wasn't the only one affected by the sight of the two lovers; the other soldiers assigned to guard duty over the two had been studiously ignorant of them, their eyes passing over them as if they weren't really there. It was so much easier to ignore the quandary than to explore what the possible ramifications of such proof could be. He sighed and turned away from the two, the rifle, and his guilt, heavy upon his shoulder. There was no denying that what he was preparing to do was wrong, a violation of everything he had held dear in his life.
The sound of boots trudging down the hall pulled him from the reverie. He sighed, pushing away his observations as he inclined his greeting to the guard who had come to claim the next watch and who had unwittingly given him more time to ponder his course of action.
* * *
Buffy sighed, her eyes fluttering open unwillingly as the over bright light engulfed her. She sighed, shifting against Spike's body as she snuggled deeper into the comforting holds of his embrace, his arms tightening reflexively around her as he slept on. All around them the compound was quiet; few soldiers were required to maintain the secure cells during the early morning hours. No real resistance was expected from any of the prisoners, themselves included. Buffy frowned, pushing the thoughts from her as she felt the familiar feeling of panic begin to overtake her; now was not the time to lose her head, for their sake she had to find a way out of here.
Despite her lingering exhaustion she found herself unable to drift back not the uncomfortable sleep that had greeted her sometime following the confrontation with MacGruder. He had left her with the warning that he would be requesting her presence later to continue their "discussion" on her assistance to the Initiative. His emphasis on her willing cooperation baffled her. It was obvious that the Initiative could force anything out of her while she was trapped within the compound. Here, she could expect no assistance from anyone or anything; whatever the Initiative wanted could be theirs within a few hours and then she and Spike easily expended. All in all, MacGruder's obvious desire to have her willing acquiescence to the experiments they planned had her more than a little worried.
Carefully Buffy extracted herself from the protective circle of Spike's arms and ran a disgruntled hand through her hair which, through the grace of some miraculous deity, hadn't become irrevocably tangled during the night. A toothbrush however, she thought wryly, would be more than convenient. All around her she could hear the subtle sound of the machinery of the Initiative waking for the day; the omnipresent electrical humming intensified as the echo of more and more footsteps filled the corridors around her. She tensed, trepidation gripping her as she thought of her impending meeting with MacGruder.
There was nothing for it -- she would have to follow along with his game and see where it would take them.
'Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow'
Riley's eyes were bloodshot when he entered the common area of the Initiative. His face was more haggard than it had been in days, a cruel shadow covering his face and meshing with the five o'clock shadow that covered his chin. His blue eyes that had once shown with pride and the reflection of the wide corn silk blue skies of Iowa were dulled and listless in the harsh lighting. He was a lost man and he knew it. The others seemed to sense his inanition and avoided his more assiduously than they had since his return; none wanted to tangle with him with the memories of his squadron's ate and the training sessions still fresh in their minds.
Riley shrugged off their disregard, outwardly showing every sign of eschewing the others company as dearly as they did his. Despite his best efforts however his alienation slipped passed his carefully controlled mask. His loneliness served only to embitter him further, exacerbating the cancer that spread within him, devouring everything that he had once been. He clung to his hatred like a drowning man, inventing ways to place the blame for his current predicament squarely on the shoulders of his ex and lover.
He caught a brief glance of himself in the mirror in the locker room as he slipped into his light training closed. For a moment he was taken back by his haggard, menacing appearance; there was no trace of the jocund youth he'd been left and he was damned if he was going to let that blonde bitch get away with it. MacGruder or no MacGruder.