The Angel's Halo
By: Sinead

Chapter Two

Willow awoke with a groan, feeling old sore parts all over again, alongside new places that hurt. She had been beaten, interrogated, and raped, all with methodical indifference. Wincing, she pulled herself up to lean against the side of the metal cell she was in. Thankfully they had let her have a blanket, and this she used to wrap about her shoulders, bit by painful bit.

A scream echoed hauntingly, along with snickers from Grunts down the hall. "Teach that heretic right! Mark of Shame stays! Hooo!"

Heretic? Mark of Shame? That was new. Who was this heretic they were talking about? She jangled the bars. "Water . . ."

"Human thirsty again?" one of her five-foot, ugly-as-sin guards teased. "Not until we get order! Drink bath!"

He hit the bars, causing Willow to jump back, but not before she saw the screen. It was an Elite that had apparently been accused of heresy. But why? An hour or so later, when she was bored and leaning against the outer door of her cell, the bars, she saw them dragging the Elite towards her. Driving her away from the bars with long staffs, they then threw him into her cell, knocking her up against the back wall while Tartarus grinned. "Have fun, human."

This time, the door slammed shut completely so that the only light was from the small overhead bulb-thing. Blast. They didn't even let her have the bars to jangle to annoy her captors. They were on the other side. Life is always so full of disappointments.

Willow looked at the large amount of muscle, sinew and bone that was pinning her against the wall, all slumped in an unconscious state. She gently started to move him, but pulled her hand back out from where she had touched his chest. After quite a bit of huffing and getting her legs out from under the Elite, she turned him onto his back.

And saw the mark.

Swallowing, she went over to where a bucket of bathing water stood. If anything, these Covenant abhorred being filthy, and had near-drowned her when she hadn't washed after a torture session once. A rag was in there, and for once, she was glad that the water was cool. Placing the wet rag carefully over the burnt skin, she looked at the first bare Elite face she had ever seen. They didn't look that fearsome, nor even that nasty.

His eyes opened. Willow backed up, away from him, keeping the blanket around her shoulders. The Elite watched her silently, placing one hand upon the wet rag. Neither said anything for a long while. Willow broke the silence. "Are you all right?"

The Heretic blinked at her in shock. She knew his language! Impossible! And furthermore, she had used the correct pronunciation, tense, and even the respectful additives that one would use in addressing one of the Elites on the Council! Not . . . not for one like him, marked and shamed . . .

"Sir?"

He blinked, sighing and nodded slightly. "Maybe."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know many words."

Chuckling lightly, the Elite replied, "That's more than what a normal human can say. I can translate your language."

"So can I," she replied, tapping the back of her skull, watching the Elite nod that it was the same with him. "That cloth should be warm by now."

He carefully peeled it from his chest, sighing, resting his hand over the burn, almost to prevent her from seeing it. She came close again, taking the cloth and putting it into the water, wringing it thoroughly before letting it soak in water again to be brought over to the Elite. He took it, asking, "Why do this for me?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. I guess that it's because I don't like judging the species by the individual."

The Elite seemed to have trouble placing the rag upon his chest easily. Willow took it back, noting that his hands were shaking from the shock, and gently let it rest upon the burn. He sighed, letting the coolness of the water seep into his skin. "What do you mean?"

"One of your kind killed my brother in front of me."

"He gave you an escape. Honorable, for a human."

"No. I made my own escape. I killed the Elite with its two companions, two Jackals, and five Grunts." She sighed, watching his clearly shocked face. "Moved on once my brother had died, took out two Hunters, then rejoined with my squad with a shotgun to blast our way out of some hellhole that someone tried to make for us." A memory resurfaced, one of when she had given herself as POW, of the white-armor Elite, connecting it with another, and she shoved them back down. "And I know that you've killed at least fifteen humans. It's required of Elites in command positions."

"You killed three of my kind with ease . . . and . . . By the Prophets . . . you're . . ."

"I've actually killed many more than that, but what is it?"

"You perfectly fit the description of the one that blew the Spec-Ops Leader's left mandibles apart! The . . ." he started to scramble back against the wall. "The one whose only better is the Demon."

"The 'Demon'? Who's that?"

"Master Chief, in your words."

"Huh. No kidding. Hah!" She laughed kindly, then said, "I don't kill for fun or for sport. Nor would I kill you. You're obviously in the same kind of position that I'm in, and I haven't had any intelligent conversation for over a week."

"You would not kill a weakened foe in battle?"

"Battle's different. In battle, your people are continually trying to add me onto their kill list. Dunno about you, but I don't find that flattering."

The Elite clicked his mandibles in a way that sounded amused. So he smirked, Willow thought. His voice followed. "You know the Demon, I take it."

"Of him, yes. I had the honor of meeting him face-to-face before I went on my recon mission and was captured."

"So you've met him. Fearsome, isn't he."

"You sound almost as if you have a vendetta against him. Not that I would necessarily blame you, since you're Covenant and all."

Peeling the rag off of his chest, the Elite looked down at the mark. "I failed in my duty to safeguard Halo. The Demon destroyed it, so I am marked as a Heretic for not being able to have prevented something that I had no control over. Your Master Chief is my enemy. And if you be his friend, then you are my enemy as well."

"I said that I met him. I didn't say that we got to know each other."

Something opened the door, and the two prisoners looked up to see Tartarus. "Well. Looks like I'm going to have some fun with you two after all."

Willow swallowed, fearing what this "fun" would end up being. The last three times . . . it was hell.

-

"Human."

Willow passed out again. But the insistent whisper continued. "Human, wake up."

"Blast you, Elite . . . What."

"He'll pass you from one Sangheili to the next to be used . . ."

"Like he ordered you to do? Yeah, I figured."

She started to slide out from under the Heretic, but he caught her right shoulder, shaking his head. "He's gone for one moment, to check in on a few of his other torture victims."

"Then why shouldn't I move?"

"Because he'll be back, and he told me to continue with you."

She watched alien emotions flicker over his face, then sighed. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Some Elites have used an old system called 'Claim' to prevent some humans from being passed from one to the next."

"Why do you care about me? I'm only a human . . ."

"But one that the Spec-Ops Commander respects for her wily ability to survive. You have something almost Elite about you, human. Something that makes me want to keep an eye on you."

Footsteps. Tartarus' footsteps. At the far end of the hall.

"Whatever it is, do it. I don't like this any more than you do."

"It will hurt . . ."

"Do it!" she hissed.

"You can use a sword?"

"Yes, but I don't see . . ."

"Which hand?"

"Right, but I can–" Many sharp, stabbing pinpricks of pain bit into her left shoulder. Yelping, she dug her fingers into his arms, growling curses out in many various human languages, but added in a few that she had picked up from the Covenant while being interrogated.

Tartarus entered, but Willow was just this side from passing out again. A snarl of many evil quantities emitted from the Elite above her, and the Brute snorted. "Fine. Claim her. I just came back to tell you both that you'll have a nice time watching each other be broken on the morrow, so rest up. I want fresh screams."

The door slammed shut, and with surprising agility, the Elite was off of Willow, over at the fresh bathing-bucket, and quickly bringing back a clean rag to press it over the small wounds. She glared up at him. "That. Hurt."

"It had to. Here." He picked her up, then wrapped the blanket around her before setting her upon the thinly-padded bed. She sighed, and looked up at the Elite as he wiped the blood free, inspecting each puncture-wound with care before tearing a small piece of the free end of the blanket off and putting a padded, clean rag over the wounds, tying it securely, if awkwardly. Willow watched him silently for a long while afterwards, seeing him sit back upon his haunches and watch her just as silently.

"What's your name, Elite?"

"I have none. I had a rank and a name once, but both disappeared when this mark was placed upon me."

"I can't keep calling you 'Elite,' you know."

"Tell me your name." His tone was imploring, quiet, not wanting to startle her with the strange new protective feelings that were running roughshod over him.

She gave the name she had taken on when she had married. "Willow Takayuurei."

"No rank?"

"I was a Sergeant-Major. Trained recruits how to deal with Covenant beasties."

The Elite clicked his double-jaw multiple times in amusement, leaning back upon his heels. "Did you tell Leader that?"

"Yeah. Told him some of the truth. Told that gorilla-thing all lies, though."

"He deserves nothing less."

Willow sighed, then looked up at the Elite. "So what can I call you? I definitely don't want to call you 'Elite,' and calling you 'heretic' feels the same as if you were calling me 'whore' or 'slut;' neither of us like it."

Wistfully sighing, wishing that he could call himself by his birth-name, he shrugged. "I have no use for a name, as being a heretic, I do not exist."

"C'mon, humor me. Can I name you?"

"Hah. In some human language? No."

"Not any human language. The language of a society that had been born and bred into war-making and battle for thousands of years."

Willow's eyes were alight with knowledge and memory. It was the first time he had seen her face shine like this. "Go on."

"They were known for their relentless slaughter of their enemies, and if their lord died, they committed ritual suicide to save his and their honor. They used swords for battle; a long one in the right hand, usually, and a shorter in their left."

"What were you about to say before I put Claim on you?"

"That I use both arms for sword-fighting. I use their ancient style."

The Elite sighed. "Then I'm sorry I had not listened to you."

"Don't worry. I have the feeling that it will work out better than either of us had planned."

"Willow . . ."

The woman blinked. "You said that perfectly."

"Fortunately, it is a word that is like one of our own, meaning 'fire.'" He grinned. "So it suits you well. What would you call me?"

"It's long, I tell you."

"Oh?"

"Satsujinhan'nin."

"By all the Rings . . ."

"It means a professional killer or hitman. I just thought it sounded cool. There's another one, though, called hirokiri, which means the same."

The Elite came closer to the human again. For him to sit on the ground, his head was at her level while she was upon the bed. His voice was earnest. "Tell me more about this culture."

"They call themselves nihonjin, but to the others, they're called the Japanese . . ."

-

By the same time the next day, neither wanted to talk much about anything. Both curled up together in one corner, too stunned by the torture they had been forced to watch and the torture that had happened to them to do anything other than cling to one another. Willow couldn't stop shaking, even though she knew that it hadn't been as bad as the first two times she had been interrogated . . . but she didn't know why. Beside their torture, another Elite had been killed by slow dismemberment by a Brute, while Tartarus had preformed multiple acts of grotesque torture upon the human and the heretic, culminating it all up with a violent rape of each.

Willow still hadn't gotten the information she was sent to get. She was lucky, too, that she had been bed-partners with a man who she had loved, married, and had held while he had slowly died of needler-shards, knowing what true love-making was. Her mind would not be corrupted by this, she resolved. She would not allow herself to be broken by that gorilla's temperamental treating of the prisoners.

"Willow?" a trembling bass voice asked.

"Yeah?"

"What would you name me?"

She buried her face into the warm neck, not caring anymore about the war that waged between their separate species. She needed to comfort another hurting soul, and she needed that comfort herself, but she wouldn't allow herself to retreat into her mind while this Elite was wounded far worse than she was. "I'd name you for strength or for pride."

"How can you say that?"

"Because in some cultures, the name someone was given could be changed, so they could either grow into a name, or have that name reflect what they really were."

"You know that language, too, don't you."

"Strength is chikara or tsuyosa, and pride is jisonshin."

"I wouldn't want to be named after either."

"Tatsu, then."

"Meaning?"

"Dragon."

The Elite sighed, shivering and pulling the warm body of his Claimed against his own. "Dragons can be weak, sometimes. But . . . they are ferocious fighters. Call me by that, then. Dragon, not . . . that other word. It is too complicated."

Willow nodded, reaching back to pull the forgotten blanket up around both of them before tucking her head under his chin, resting her hand lightly upon the Mark of Shame. "Tell me more about Claim."

"You have to go where I go; do what I do."

"Even into death?"

"Possibly. Or you could continue my work past my death, even though the majority of the other humans here would not do so."

"You've taken human POWs?"

"Many. Most are looked upon as a novelty to own. But since you allowed yourself to be under Claim, you are many steps above being a slave. In Claiming you, I proclaimed that I felt you to be my equal or better, saving you from a worse fate."

Sighing, Willow shifted slightly. "Thank you."

The newly-named Elite smiled in his odd way, then settled against the wall for the night, still holding the human woman close as she fell into slumber. Strange feelings, these protective ones. Ones that nearly cost him, earlier today. She had not struggled, merely closed her eyes and seemed to send her mind elsewhere . . . while Tartarus had enthusiastically raped her many times over. She never cried out except for when they had reopened painful wounds, or created more painful wounds.

He tried his level best to do the same, but always felt that he fell short.

Deciding not to think about it more, he rested his head upon Willow's left shoulder, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

-

Dragon had been dragged out of their shared cell sometime during the night, leaving Willow to pace and mutter to herself, wondering what could have happened to him. Just as she was pacing past the door, it opened, causing her to curse and leap backwards to rest in a fighting crouch, facing this strange Elite, flanked by . . . she grinned, straightened, and said, "So . . . you lived. Sorry that I had to blow half of your face away, but you have to understand that I was trying to save my own skin."

"Arrogant human. You're to accompany the Arbiter to help us subdue some real Heretics. He has your armor and assignment." The white-armored Elite strode over to her and leaned down slightly, clicking his intact mandibles into their smirk while he whispered, "And I would like a chat with you as soon as we are able, hm?"

"You got it."

He turned and left, and this Arbiter took his helmet off, revealing him to be her Elite after all. She recognized an old, dimmed scar running down the center of his head. She sighed. "You, my friend, have some interesting explaining to be doing."

"I will." He replaced the helmet. "Come."

She picked her blanket up, wrapping it around her as she followed the Elite through the complex and to a residential area, opening the door to a single large room. He closed the door, soundproofed the room, and said, "I have been given a second chance, but slim. Being Arbiter is willingly asking for death."

Willow sighed, smiled, and nodded. "I understand."

"I want to know what you do about the Demon."

"In time. Right now, you have to show me what I'm going to be wearing, because I am not running nekkid around these cold halls."

The Dragon Arbiter laughed, resting his arm around her shoulders, careful of the wounds and bites, showing her what she would be wearing. "But first, I'm properly attending to those wounds. Mine already have been seen to."

"You can't get at the one wound that hurts the most."

"All your wounds will be treated," he insisted gently.

"My heart hurts more than anything physical."

"What do you mean?"

"I've held my brother while he died . . . and then did the same with my husband."

Arbiter crouched to come to her eye-level, then sighed. "I was wrong, then."

"Yes. But it's forgivable."

He nodded, changing the subject. "Willow, you . . . are . . . you are being made an honorary Elite, since you are my Claimed. I think that you will find that our brotherhood is . . . almost unusual for you. From what I know, it is closer than the tightest human military group."

Even though she doubted that, keeping the Spartans in mind, she asked, "Hey, Dragon?"

"Yes?"

Willow smiled up at the Arbiter before leaning her head against his lower chest, just under where she knew they Mark of Shame to be. "Just so long as I don't have to fight humans."

"No, Willow. I promise you that." He picked her up, deposited her upon a tall stool, and proceeded to tend to the scabbing cuts and wounds.