The entire base is abuzz the moment the plane touches back down in Montana. Crowds gather around, waiting to see if the infamous Reaper was actually found, or if it was another failed mission that will be the end of so many careers.
Liz remains attached to Riley’s side, watching all the other soldiers collect their belongings and line up, ready to file off the aircraft and accept whatever punishment awaits. Sneaking a peek out the window, she sees too many people, too many gathered to see if they can catch a glimpse at Riley.
“Hey Alex,” she shouts over the voices. The unit commander finds her, standing over Riley, gently raking her fingers through his blood-soaked hair. “He can’t go out there like this,” she says, pleading.
“There is no other choice, he needs medical attention. He is stable now, but there is no telling how long he will stay that way. We have to get him to the infirmary as quickly as possible,” he counters.
“What I mean is, he can’t go out there likethis.” She motions to his face, completely bare except for the oxygen mask covering hismouth and nose. “He needs something to cover his face––everyone on board has already seen too much. We can’t let everyone outside see, too,” she argues, tears welling in her eyes.
She knows what it feels like to be violated, to be stripped bare and watched against your will. He does not deserve to be paraded in front of all the prying eyes, especially his fellow soldiers.
With a nod, Alex leaves her side, rummaging around in his bag until he finds something she considers suitable. She picks his head up, the same care and gentleness of holding a newborn baby, and tucks the scrap of cloth under it. She makes sure it covers from his neck to his cheek bones, only letting his eyes show, just as he would want.
The short walk to the infirmary is daunting. Liz is forced to walk a few steps behind the men pushing Riley across the lot, nothing more than a dutiful soldier escorting her commanding officer. The wide-eyed stares from the crowd as they pass by quickly turn into gossipy whispers. Her one and only goal right now is to keep it together long enough to get him safely into a hospital bed and start receiving real care, she will figure out the rest later.
One step after another, her eyes focus on the man in front of her until they finally reach the double doors she has been waiting for.
Inside is quiet, away from the murmurs of those wondering if Riley is dead or not, and Liz can finally breathe easier. She follows them to a room, standing just outside of the door while they get Riley moved from the stretcher onto a proper bed. Looking around, she is amazed at how quickly everyone moves to take care of him. The only experience she has had was with civilian hospitals, where even in the most dire of emergencies, you are forced to sit in an overcrowded waiting room and pray to whatever, or whoever, you believe in that you don’t die before the doctor seesyou. When the two men leave, she takes the opportunity to slip into the room, pulling a chair next to his bed.
Just as she is about to reach for him, she remembers what it was like for her just a few months ago. No one has any idea what he has been subjected to, and even Liz can only make assumptions based on her own experiences.
She snatches her hand back, cracking every knuckle she can, focusing on the pop each one makes to keep from touching him. Guilt courses through her. The moment he was down, she held him, she kissed him. What if he doesn’t want to be touched, let alone kissed?
All the doubts about how he truly feels about her come rushing back. If he didn’t hate her already, there is no doubt he will now. She tells herself she can apologize when he is awake, but for now, a silent vow to keep her distance will have to do.
They aren’t waiting long before a woman in teal scrubs marches into the room like she owns it. Liz stands, placing her arms straight at her sides with her legs together, trying to remember everything her team had told her about military customs. The woman ignores her, going right to Riley’s bedside where she begins checking him over.
“What can you tell me about what happened?” she asks, her voice shrill and grating.
Liz looks away when she pulls bandage scissors out and cuts her way up his pants.
“He was held for forty-eight days. There is no information on what was done to him while he was captive. How––”
“Lift his leg for me,” the doctor cuts in.
Liz quickly does as she is instructed, slightly holding up his leg while she rolls him, pulling the fabric from under his body.
“He was strung up with hooks through his back, and his arms were also chained above him, although we have no way of knowinghow long he was left like that. He was in and out of consciousness when the hooks were removed. Since then he has had a morphine drip that has kept him sedated. They also gave him two bags of different IVs on the flight over,” Liz states, lifting his other leg so the doctor can finish removing his pants.
When she is done, she slides the chair to the other side of the room and sits, watching the woman check every inch of Riley.
After his heart rate and blood pressure are checked, and rechecked for good measure, the doctor peels his eyes open, shining her light into his pupils before moving on to the rest of his body. Liz can’t help herself from looking as the doctor pulls back the sheet, revealing his torso, still strong and defined, even with the loss of some muscle mass. New injuries cover his body, everything from small scratches and cigarette burns, to deep slices that look as if they had been crudely stitched back together. She looks away, her stomach threatening to expel its contents thinking of all he has been through. Instead, she sits quietly, watching the steady thump of his heartbeat on the monitor off to the side.
“Well, all things considered, he seems to be doing remarkably well. When will your commanding officer be here? I need to speak with someone who can understand his injuries and limitations.”
“Oh, um, I’m not sure. He has a lot he needs to take care of. I am more than capable of telling him everything if you would like to just tell me,” Liz says, taken aback by the woman’s hostility.
“He should wake up soon, so hopefully your C.O. will be here when he does. I’ll speak to them then,” she sneers, walking out the door.
Liz slumps in her chair, throwing her head back in frustration, and wondering what she could have done to piss off someone she has never met before.
She sits in that chair until her legs fall asleep, switching between playing childish games on her phone and getting lost in amusical, waiting for anything to change. Meanwhile, the rest of her friends are most likely being screamed at and punished for something she begged them to do. The guilt threatens to overtake her, realizing that everyone in every shitty situation they are in was caused by her.
“Princess?” A raspy, beautiful voice says from across the room. Tears spring to her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she looks over to find Riley, barely awake, looking at her with those impossibly stunning amber eyes she thought she would never see again.
“Hi,” she chokes out, not knowing what else to say, wiping the tears from her face.
“Am I dead?” he asks. His voice is too rough. He sounds as if he hasn’t had a drink in weeks.
