Three Days

There was an edited photograph of a random piece of scenery that hung in Angeal Hewley's private quarters. It had a dusty frame and there was a suspicious stain in one corner that no one ever asked about. It was an obviously well-loved picture, as was evidenced by the faint wipe marks over its glass covered surface. It would have been an equally dusty rag that had cleaned it, but the effort was truly there nonetheless.

Men cry not for themselves, but for their comrades.

Infinitely emasculating, yet still masculine in its show of pride and dignity. Even Zack Fair thought so, after taking a better look at it one day, while his beloved mentor was in the washroom. He had breathed heavily on the glass and tried to wipe the dust from it with the back of his hand, leaving only trails in the filmy coating and a smear of gray on the normally immaculate black glove.

'“It's kinda sad, Angeal.”', he had said, after greeting the elder man upon his return. '”Makes ya think harder about losing your friends in battle, huh?”'

The Wutain swordsman had only nodded and returned to the paperwork Zack had been overseeing. The Second classman took up his position over the other's shoulder and resumed his constant watch, eager to be by the First Class SOLDIER's side, even when it meant long hours doing little else, other than watching the man type data into his personal terminal.

The months passed in much the same manner, though they became less and less enjoyable as the terrible sadness that had swept through the SOLDIER compound gradually receded and the emptiness again took hold. Zack found himself missing the elder man's presence even more so on the days that it rained, because Angeal had always been so adamant about his sword staying dry so that the rust did not set in.

From his fourth floor window he watched, a First Class SOLDIER himself now, with a young Second classman beneath him named Cloud Strife, who showed promising skill as a member of the grand squadron. There was happiness between the two when they sparred or shared a quiet meal, but it was nothing like Zack remembered, when he sat beside his beloved Angeal.

Zack had told Cloud about the poster that now hung in his own quarters, indicating to it each time he wanted to make a point, or spirits needed to be lifted after a particular troop was found dead outside the plate. Things happened in the great, wide world that no one could account for and the inspirational poster served as a beacon both Zack and Cloud could find comfort in, regardless of the reason for their desire to read it again.

And the well-respected and extravagantly expensive sword the larger SOLDIER member had so prided himself in, hung tight and proud against Zack's back when he walked throughout the corridors of the ShinRa building. It stood up to fight after fight in the badlands of Gaia, helping his fellow teammates, Cloud and those passersby and nobodies who nodded thanks to their SOLDIER saviours as the men retreated back to their cavernous quarters to wait for another battle.

Should time have been kinder to the men who worshiped the scrolled words on the fading poster?

Could the fates have waited only a moment longer--a half-century, a decade, a year—to take those from the ones who loved them, even if love was not the word they would use to describe what they had?

A First Class SOLDIER in his own right, Cloud lovingly tore down the poster he had inherited from Zack and rolled it neatly into a thick paper tube meant for shipping important documents. The glass had been broken years before and thus the poster had faded a little more, but it was still carefully stored away and packed into the blond's belongings.

The buster sword, so many years out of service and destroyed by years of weathering and erosion, remained where Cloud had stabbed it into the stark, desert-like wasteland surrounding the rebuilt city of Edge. He plopped himself down beside it three times a year—the day in summer when according to Zack, Angeal fought his last battle and died a hero, the day Zack had bequeathed the sword to him through a mouthful of blood and a frightened smile, and on Zack's birthday, which he had to scrounge through ShinRa personal files to find out.

On the rocky ledge he sat, fresh roses piled behind the sword where the sun wouldn't fade them as quickly, smiling as if he were with the souls that resided within the legendary steel item. He let himself smile only on the days when he sat alone with the sword, eagerly remembering the stories Zack had told him about Angeal, and also remembering the time he had spent with Zack; from the time he first introduced himself on the snowy mountain pass, right down to the day he heard a gunshot shatter the last piece of his relinquishable soul.

Three days a year to remember, and just enough days in between to forget again.