Chapter 18 - Time

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Angeal was sparring with Zack in the training room when it happened—the one time he'd laid a hand on his student in anger.

"Alright Zack, you've got five minutes," he called to his young student in a sing-songy voice. Zack was pacing like an angry tiger around the training room again, his sword flung clear to the other side. Angeal was young once too. He knew Zack's post-teenage brain was still jumbling around up in that thick skull, trying its best to sort itself out in a blind haze of weird chemicals and anger issues. Maybe it really had been Angeal's fault today. After all, he admitted, sometimes he set Zack off on purpose just to see him wig out.

Now the kid paced in a half-running march, swearing up a frustrated storm.

"This is stupid! Why are we even training like this? I'm never going to get it. Why don't you just give up on me now!"

Angeal laughed, which only seemed to frustrate Zack even more. The cursing and self-depreciating self-talk continued in a rage as Zack tried to figure out what he wanted to put a first through in the first place, and why.

"Okay Zack, it's been ten minutes. Pick up your sword."

"No."

"Come on Zack," Angeal coaxed, like a stern parent who was running out of patience.

"No! I'm done with this! I'm through!"

"That's nice Zack. Now go pick up your sword."

Angeal possessed the patience of a saint, he would have been a great father. Today though, Zack whirled on him with a fury that trumped hurricanes, hot tears welling in his eyes.

"Why? You don't care about me! You're only training me for the Apprentice pay!"

Angeal snapped in an instant, his fist flying straight into Zack's face. Zack flew across the training room hitting his head on the ground, and passed out as Angeal still stood stunned.

Zack woke up in phases of blurry and clear, feeling strong hands palpating his brow. He knew he was in the medical bay, and groaned as he tried to push the medic's hand away, until he saw that he was still in the training room propped up on a chair. Angeal's hands swept the gash over his eye with a cotton swab from a pocket first-aid kit, his fixed gaze intent and focused on making sure Zack didn't need stitches. There was alcohol on the swab that made Zack wince in pain. Angeal let up whenever he cringed, tending to him like a child who fell off his bike.

"The way this is supposed to work," he explained to Zack in an even tone, "is that I give you a taskbook with various skillsets in it. I take you out on a few missions, sign off that you completed the given tasks, your booklet goes on Lazard's desk and you get in line with every other 2nd Class who's applied to be a 1st. You're in and out of my life in a month, and I get the bonus when you turn in your taskbook."

He pinched the cut together with his bare hands, not caring if Zack's blood got on him, and put a butterfly bandage over it to seal the wound. Zack's anger faded like a squall, and the sadness set in, threatening to consume him where he sat. Angeal looked at Zack then, with eyes that regarded him like calm seas.

"Have I ever given you a taskbook, Zack?" He looked up at Angeal then, with little boy eyes that were holding in a smile. The big man did the same as he put a strong hand on Zack's shoulder. "And I never will."

Angeal Hewley, a man who took care of his own, that's just the kind of guy he was.

After being kidnapped, Aerith had awoken on the floor of a dark room in a place she didn't recognize. She saw him kneeling at a small coffee table in front of her, sipping hot tea from a pinming cup. She sat up frightened, hugging her knees against her chest, and he hushed her with soothing sounds. He poured her a cup of her own and beckoned to her, saying that if he was going to hurt her, he would have done it already.

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