The fighting had been grueling: days of nothing but beating through the jungle, fighting off monsters, mosquitoes and terrorists. They'd made headway, but had also sustained several losses and many injuries. There was only so much that could be done with CURE and potions, the ShinRa helicopters had been steadily flying back and forth between Junon and the SOLDIER staging area, transporting out wounded and bringing in fresh men.
When night fell, Angeal dragged himself wearily back into the tent that he shared with his young student. He'd pulled several muscles in his back, trying to avoid a swipe from something that looked like a cross between a demented crab and a scorpion. He didn't bother to CURE it, other men needed the magic more and they only had so much to go around, and MAKO would take care of it, sooner or later. But it still hurt and made his movements stiff and him feeling old. Older. Standing around with the other team leaders and Sephiroth, discussing strategy and deployment for hours, hadn't done his injuries any good, either.
What he really wanted was a nice hot bath, a good book, a massage – preferably in that order – and a glass full of smooth, full-bodied red wine. What he was going to get was a tent, a pallet on the floor and SOLDIER rations. He sighed, hefting the Buster Sword higher on his shoulder. He'd actually had to use it today, the ShinRa issue sword breaking off in his hand after a particularly vicious firefight against AVALANCHE members. The Buster Sword would have to be cleaned, oiled, sharpened. But somehow he just couldn't muster the enthusiasm necessary for that task just now.
He passed rows of similar tents, nodding to other Firsts and Seconds as they went about their pre-sleep tasks. The distant drone of helicopters and the glare of search lights interrupted the night. The perimeters were guarded by magic, but it still didn't mean that they could relax. The boundaries of the encampment would be patrolled and watched with absolute precision and alertness. He was glad that at least *that* job wasn't any of his concern.
There, towards the middle of the southern quadrant of the encampment, was their tent. Equipment was stacked neatly out front, ready to be grabbed when needed. He pushed aside the heavy flap and ducked into the dim and humid interior. When they'd set up the tent, Zack had insisted on cobbling up something like a sleeping platform instead of the cots that they had been issued. He'd spread their sleeping mats over them and piled blankets on top, to make it more comfortable.
"If we're going to be squelching through jungle and swamp all day, I want a proper place to sleep at night," the younger man had said, pouting when Angeal had pointed out that this arrangement certainly wasn't up to military standards. And of course Angeal couldn't resist when his student looked at him like that. So he'd just shrugged and let Zack do as he wanted. After all, he really wasn't wrong. It *was* much more comfortable.
Sprawled across the expanse of bedding was his student. Fast asleep on his stomach, his head pillowed on his crossed forearms, Zack snored gently into the darkness. It looked very much like Zack had just dropped right where he stood, still fully dressed. They didn't get out of battle dress, not even for sleep. An attack could come at any time, and every SOLDIER would be up and fighting even before being properly awake. It was trained into them from the beginning.
Feeling slightly worried now, Angeal put down the Buster Sword across the wooden stand at the side, dropped his pack next to it and crawled onto the bedding next to Zack. First examining his student visually, then running light hands all over him, Angeal made sure that there were no serious injuries. The younger man was bruised, scratched and dirty, just like all the rest of the men. But there didn't seem to be any cause for concern. The dark circles under the closed eyes told of deep exhaustion and the fact that he hadn't stirred when Angeal had started touching him, confirmed it.
Zack had acquitted himself well during this campaign – never moving from Angeal's side, fighting just as focused and strong as his mentor had always known he could. Even Sephiroth had taken notice of Angeal's student, though he hadn't said anything in so many words.
Moving up so that he was lying stretched out next to his student, but still somewhat higher on the bed than Zack, Angeal tiredly propped his head on one hand and looked down at his sleeping student. There was so much innocence there. So much hope and trust. The young ones, like Zack, all saw their service in SOLDIER as something to be desired, as a place where they could do good. Angeal no longer had those illusions. Too much had happened, he'd seen too much, found out too much to still believe in all the tripe ShinRa spewed to lure in other young men like Zack. He often debated with himself whether SOLDIER was still the right place for him.
Then he looked down at Zack again, watched as the young man turned his head towards his mentor and slipped even deeper into exhausted sleep. He draped his other arm across Zack's shoulders and gathered him close. He breathed deeply of the familiar mix of young male scent, sword metal and leather, sweat and blood. Looking out into the shrouded darkness of the tent, Angeal suddenly realized one thing: this was what kept him here. This was what he would protect and nurture as long as he could. This innocence and purity. This joy and youthfulness. This love.