A Question of Honor

Title: A Question of Honor
Fandom: FFVII CC
Pairing(s): None – Angeal, Genesis, Wutaian soldiers
Rating: PG
Warning: angst
Summary: A mission goes wrong for Angeal...


He crawled through the underbrush, working his way deeper and deeper into the woods and darkness. Hot wetness trickled down his left side. The slash over his hip must have reopened. Damn! Why wasn’t the Mako healing kicking in faster? He’d used his last Cure on his broken leg, though it really would have needed at least three more. He could walk on it, but only barely. Certainly not run or fight. He’d lost his sword somewhere along the way, probably when he fell down that ravine, a few miles back. And why did every second bush have to have thorns the length of daggers – and with equal sharpness? He was feeling like a badly used pin-cushion by now.

Thank the Gods he’d left the Buster sword behind at ShinRa Headquarters. He really wouldn’t know how to face his family if he’d managed to lose that sword. Not only had his family gone deeply into debt in order to gift him with the sword, but his father had handed over the family honor and pride into what he hoped where capable hands, when he gave the sword into Angeal’s keeping. He was glad that his father couldn’t see him now. He’d probably beat Angeal’s ass bloody with the flat of the blade and he’d be right to do so.

Wiggling further through the dense bushes and tangled weeds, he tried to ignore the twinge of pain from his sprained right wrist, doggedly pulling his pack into the depths with him. He had to get under cover before the storm that was already shaking the trees above him with mindless fury broke completely. There had to be caves here somewhere, at least that’s what Angeal remembered from the briefing. The forest ran right up to the cliff wall and water and wind had eroded the soft rock over the millennia. If only he could get through this mess of green stuff that was impeding his progress. Normally he loved nature, even going so far as to keep a small plot of land on the outskirts of Midgar, where he tended flowers and fruit trees (no Banora white, unfortunately – it just didn’t take in Midgar soil) whenever he had time. But this… this… argh! He couldn’t even find any proper word to describe this tangle in front of him.

It was getting darker and colder with every minute. The wind was picking up and making the thicket around him quiver and shake, driving the thorns along his unprotected skin, opening more scratches and cuts than he already had. How much further? He couldn’t remember how deep this belt of thickets around the cliff was supposed to be. But he *had* to be almost through! Pushing past another bunch of bushes with unpleasantly prickly leaves, he broke out into an open space, only to be immediately lashed by driving rain! Lovely!

Dragging the pack close, he climbed awkwardly to his feet. Before him loomed an even darker wall of something. This had to be the cliff that he’d been aiming for. Ignoring the rain, the cold, the pains of his body and the storm threatening to bash him into the unyielding rock, he took several deep, calming breaths, willing the Mako in his bloodstream to do its work. Slowly, his surroundings seemed to brighten, become more distinct. He scanned the high, broken rock in front of him, searching for… There! A deeper darkness in the night, of an almost regular oval shape – a cave! And it looked big enough to shelter him easily. It wasn’t too far up and the rocks and crevices made it easy to climb up, despite his injuries.

He pulled himself over the lip of the cave, groaning at the renewed pain from scraping over the abrasive rocks. Then he came to his feet, catching a hold of the edge of the opening when the sudden movement made him dizzy. He stumbled forward into the dark and dry opening. Suddenly he stopped. There was a scrabbling and scratching in the darkness beyond. An animal?

Then light flared up, white and bright, overwhelming his over-acute vision and blinding him for a moment. He tried to turn, to propel himself out of the cave but froze in place when he heard the unmistakable ‘click’ of several guns being brought to bear on him. A voice, deep and authoritative, called to him from beyond the brightness burning into his eyes:

“Don’t even try it, SOLDIER!” the voice said with an accent that sounded familiar. “You don’t look like you’re in any condition to fight and even you can’t evade gunfire from the five of us. Drop your pack, put up your hands and come in, before you drown where you stand.”

For just a moment, Angeal debated trying after all. Another wave of dizziness and a flare of pain from his injuries almost brought him to his knees. So he did the only reasonable thing that he could: he surrendered.

Hands reached out from beyond the light, pulling his pack away. Then the light was lowered slightly. With normal vision returning slowly, Angeal could make out several figures crouched along the walls of the small cave, all with guns pointed at various parts of his body. Bit by bit he made out more details: the strange clothing, the ornate armor, the curved swords, the angular eyes – Wutai troops! Damn! He’d really walked into it! Well, there was no help for it now. He was wounded, tired, sore and hadn’t eaten in two days. If they had wanted to kill him, they would have done so as soon as they had recognized him. Better to just let himself be captured now and look for a way to escape later. Another wave of dizziness swept over him. He tried to steady himself, tried to fight it back. But the darkness washed over him like the rain outside and he dropped where he stood.


When next he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was rock and the gray feeble light of dawn. There was a large black spider making its way slowly over the moist stone, intent on some errant that only it knew and understood. He followed the spider’s path with his eyes until it was suddenly blocked by a shadowed face that bent over him. Angeal tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go. He was wedged into the far end of the cave, bundled up tightly in insulating blankets and held immobile, though he couldn’t tell how.

The face retreated and he moved his head to the side, watching the Wutaian soldier, who had obviously noticed Angeal’s awakening, move back to consult with the others. The soft, lilting sounds of their liquid language was clear to the SOLDIER’s enhanced hearing, but he only caught a phrase or two that he understood. Something about him waking, dangerous (oh yes, he was that – when he wasn’t trussed up like a goose ready for roasting), storm and contact. It didn’t make much sense, really, so he simply watched the men confer. He’d find out what they planned, soon enough, he assumed.

Instead, he sent his awareness inside his body, taking stock of his injuries and general state instead. Most of the cuts and scratches were gone, but the injury to his left hip still stung and smarted. It felt like the Wutaians had treated it with one of their potions and then bandaged it. His leg and wrist still smarted. For some reason, the Mako wasn’t healing him as fast as it should. Maybe because the last injection was a week overdue. Whatever the reason, it made him vulnerable and weak. A fight against five fresh men – even unenhanced ones – was not going to end in his favor.

Gaia, what a mess this mission had turned out to be! Only his third mission as a SOLDIER First Class and he’d insisted on handling it alone. And instead of breezing through it, like he’d done with the first two, it had all gone to hell on him within hours of mission start. Instead of the Wutai army camp that he’d been briefed on, all he’d found near the drop-site was a village full of elders and children. It seemed like their intelligence had been faulty from the beginning. When he sneaked into the village under the cover of darkness however, trying to make sure that this was *really* just a peaceful Wutai community, he’d been ambushed by a whole troop of Wutaian soldiers, streaming out of the quaint houses and down tight alleys to fall on him like a herd of wild chocobos. Somehow they’d known that he was coming. He’d almost made it to the edge of the village, fighting his way savagely through clusters of soldiers, all determined on stopping him, when something slashed through the flesh on his left hip. Whatever it was, it cut deep and brought an instant wave of nausea with it. Some thrown weapon, coated with poison or a drug? He didn’t know. What he did know was that his senses were suddenly shutting down, his movements slowing and his swings becoming more and more erratic. He’d felt the soldiers drawing back, as if waiting for him to succumb to whatever they’d used on him.

Instead, he gathered what strength he had left and dashed (well, more like stumbled) for the edge of the village and the concealing woods around it. And that’s where he’d been floundering and staggering through for the last two days, always on the lookout for Wutai patrols, often avoiding them only by a hair’s breadth. It was only his iron will and determination that kept him from blacking out and being captured. Only to run into what looked like another patrol, taking refuge from the storm just like he had, here in the cave. Somewhere, some of the Gods were probably laughing their asses off at the young First’s mishaps.

The conversation stopped and one of the men, a somewhat older and taller Wutaian, stepped towards Angeal. He looked down at the captured SOLDIER, his expression neutral, his dark eyes searching for something in Angeal’s expression. Then he spoke:  

“We are honorable men. Despite the fact that we are enemies, we will not harm you, while you are injured. If you will swear on your honor that you will not attack or try to escape, we will free you and let you share our breakfast.”

Oh Gaia! How had this Wutaian known that grabbing him by his honor was the only way to render Angeal inactive? He’d rather die than compromise his honor and pride. There was no way that, once given, he could break an oath like that, no matter what happened. On the other hand, there was really no other option. He was still injured badly enough not to be able to fight. And he was hungry, he had to admit to himself. So he matched the Wutaian commander stare for stare, taking the other’s measure, like he himself was being measured.

Then Angeal nodded. “I…,” he croaked, his throat dry, making his voice sound like that of an asthmatic old man, “I swear, on my honor.”

Another moment of consideration, then the Wutaian nodded in agreement. The men unwound the wide fabric ropes that they had used to bind the SOLDIER with and helped the injured man to sit up. Another dizzy spell almost made Angeal fall over again, but the Wutaians supported him until it passed and he could sit up on his own. Then they handed him several packs of opened army rations – unfamiliar in taste, but warm and filling. Together with the food, he received a bottle of clear water and one filled with a strange, blue liquid. His unspoken question was answered by the commander.

“It’s a potion to help you regain your strength. Not like your materia potions, made from herbs instead, but similar in effect. It will not harm you.”

Well, if they’d wanted to kill him, they could have done so any time while he was unconscious. And it wasn’t unheard of to drug a prisoner in order to make him compliant. He didn’t want to take the chance, but on the other hand he couldn’t stay as weak as he was. So he sighed in resignation and downed the sweet tasting potion with several deep gulps. Immediately, he felt better, more awake, his mind clearing and the pain of his injuries receding to a dull ache.

“Thank you.”

The other man simply inclined his head. Then the Wutaians, too, began to eat their rations.

When they were done, they gathered up their gear, stowing the blankets and the leftovers from the rations in small packs, then strapping on swords and checking their guns. The leader again stepped over to Angeal and said, “The storm is gone. We will move out now. Will you promise not to try to escape? We will take you to our camp and you will be treated honorably, like any prisoner of war. My superiors will decide what will happen to you.”

Tensing, Angeal tried to think of some way that he could avoid giving that promise. But a quick look at the other soldiers showed that they were again targeting him with their guns. Though he felt better, he was still not fully functional and while he could probably take them on and escape from the cave, it wouldn’t be without new injuries. And maybe this time he wouldn’t be so lucky to avoid the other patrols. Better to stick with what he knew than take his chances with the unknown.

“I swear. I will go with you. I will not try to escape.”

The relief among the Wutaians was palpable. Though they did not lower their weapons, there was a slight relaxation of tension visible in their bodies and expressions.

When everything was gathered up – the leader having taken Angeal’s pack in his care – the small group moved out, Angeal in the middle. They moved as silently through the dense forest as was possible for a group of soldiers who were not Mako enhanced, all senses alert to their surroundings. The direction they took through the woods was exactly opposite from where Angeal had been dropped for his mission. So much for ShinRa intelligence.

He moved stiffly, his leg still hindering him, but he kept pace with his guards. It would not take much longer and they would come out of the forest and reach one of the larger plains to the west of his original destination. He assumed that this was where the army camp that the Wutaians were taking him to was to be found.

Suddenly he felt something, a tingling along his senses, a thrumming with the Mako in his blood. Unobtrusively, he looked around, but the forest seemed unchanged – somewhat lighter now that they were no longer trudging through the dense underbrush – but there was something there. Something that only he could feel, since the Wutaians gave no indication of having noticed anything. They were cautious, yes, but no more than before.

Then a sudden flash of fiery red from above galvanized him into action. Screaming “NO!” and diving at the two soldiers in front of him, he shoved them out of the way of Genesis’ long blade just before he could slice them apart. “Genesis, stop!” he called, frantically wrenching the Wutaian leader’s sword from his belt and awkwardly blocking Genesis’ return swing, fouling the other First’s aim so that the blade passed over the Wutaian’s head, instead of taking it off.

Stunned by Angeal’s reaction, the fiery First stopped dead, his sword held high and to the side. All around them, other Seconds and First were dropping from the trees, surrounding the small group, swords at the ready.

“Stop! Don’t harm them!” Angeal ordered.

“What…?” Genesis replied, perplexed at his friend’s reaction.

Angeal turned to the stunned leader of the Wutaian patrol. “I’m sorry. Please drop your weapons. You’ve dealt fairly with me, let us do the same with you.” He held out his hand for the Wutaian leader’s gun. “You can’t win. Not against these,” and he indicated the blue and black clad SOLDIERS hemming in the small Wutaian patrol with a net of glittering steel.

No one moved. Angeal could see the emotions flitting over the Wutaian’s face: frustration, the will to fight, determination, then finally the realization that all he could achieve was the death of himself and his men. Slowly, making no sudden moves, he opened his hands and let his gun drop to the soft earthen ground. Then he nodded to his men, motioning them to do the same.

A collective sigh of relief went through the SOLDIERS. No blood would be shed here today.

Genesis, too, put up his sword, dampening its energies so that it returned to its normal, unenhanced state. Then he stepped up to Angeal and gripped his friend’s shoulder in a hard grasp, conveying his relief at his friend’s well-being and safety in the only manner that he would allow himself in front of strangers. Angeal grasped Genesis’ hand and squeezed, hard. Then he turned to the leader of the Wutaian leader whose hands were being bound by one of the Seconds.

“I am Angeal Hewley, SOLDIER First Class. I owe you. I always repay my debts. If ever there is something I can do for you, within the limits of my honor, I will do so. Just ask for me.”

The Wutaian searched Angeal’s face for any sign that he was being made fun of. Then he replied, “I am Commander Masanori Ichido of the Second Heavenly Phalanx. I accept your oath. You are an honorable man, Hewley-san. I will remember.” Then he bowed slightly to the SOLDIER and let himself be led away by the Second.

“What was that all about?” Genesis wanted to know.

“I’ll tell you later. First, I want about 10 Cures and at least two Restores. And something proper to eat. I’m famished!”

“Well, if you say so. Come along, evac’s this way…” Genesis replied, still perplexed by his friend’s actions. Together they followed the other SOLDIERS and their prisoners to where the black ShinRa helicopters were waiting.

Even six years later, Angeal never forgot that mission and what it taught him about honor and pride, even though he never heard from Commander Masanori again.