Silver Bullet to the Heart
By Rhino7
Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts its characters or storyline. I do own this story, as well as the Fractured Circle, Corbin Franks, and Tabaeus McCallister. This is the third installment of the trilogy and takes place three months after Lay Down the Salt Lines. Ask Mercy Not of Me takes place three years after the events of Kingdom Hearts II in my Alliance-verse. Lay Down the Salt Lines takes place two years after that.
..:-X-:..
Chapter One: Elements
'Closing time' meant nothing in this part of town.
"I saw him with my own two peepers, I swear it!" The elderly man at one of the tables was ranting.
His companion, a middle aged man who was missing an ear, snorted. "I don't care what you say, old man, I never heard nothing about him having a machine gun for an arm."
"I seen it!" The old man hit his fist on the table. "And he was plowing down these Heartless like moving targets on a carnival game!"
"You're crazy." The other guy shook his head.
Tifa finished propping the chairs up on the unused tables. The rest of the lingering drinkers were beginning to filter out of the bar. Busty women hung onto drunken arms as they staggered out the door and into the heat of Thebes. Only the handful of regulars remained.
"You callin' me a liar? There've been crazier stories than mine!" The old man scoffed. "It's not so ridiculous for that Keybearer to have a machine gun for an arm."
"If he did, what would he need the Keyblade for?" His friend commented.
"Well…then he could shoot with one hand, and swing that sword with th'other!" The old man said.
"That's stupid." The other guy rolled his eyes.
Tifa nodded to the third remaining customer as he tipped his hat. Then he made a perverted gesture and she pointed at the door. He chuckled, hiccupped, and staggered out the door.
"How come I get called nuts for what I saw first hand, but that guy back in Radiant Garden gets promoted for callin' that Broken Arrow fella a shapeshifter?" The old man was saying.
Tifa kept turning over the chairs, but her ear strayed to the conversation.
The younger man snorted. "Fractured Circle, you senile old fart. And nobody called Leonhart crazy because that boy doesn't lie."
"Ha! So if HE said that Sora had a machine gun for an arm, people would believe him?"
"No, because he wouldn't say that because it's stupid." The man lit a fresh cigarette and sat back in his seat. "Besides, everybody knows the kid is holin' up in Halloween Town. There isn't any use for guns there because everything's already dead."
"Halloween Town? Last I heard, he was out in Neverland, joined up with Captain Hook."
"Why in Hades would he do that?"
"He's still on the run, ain't he? When the good guys are after you, piracy prevails!" The old man cried out dramatically.
"All right, guys." Tifa interrupted, not hearing anything interesting. "I'm seriously closing now."
"Yeah, all right." The middle aged man conceded and stood. "I've reached my crazy quota today anyway." He jeered at his older friend.
Tifa finished stacking the chairs and went back behind the bar counter, pulling the used shot glasses and empty bottles off the surface and setting them in the bussing tub to wash later. She heard the bell on the door chime and looked up to see the two walk out, still bickering over who was stupid about what idea, etc.
Their exit let in a gust of hot air from outside and she was grateful when the door closed. The fans she had set up around the joint did little to cool the air, but they at least caused some circulation. After spending a childhood in mildly temperate Radiant Garden and growing up in the mountains, it was hard to adjust to the suddenly scorching climate of Olympus.
After clearing the bar counter, she moved the tub of dishes off the surface to the sink area against the wall. Barely in business for two months and the register was already in a constant state of transaction. It was probably the bar's location: just a few blocks from the Coliseum. All the sore losers and triumphant winners flocked to the alcohol stash…and sometimes the stories were worth hearing.
But usually not.
Straightening, she pulled out the notebook she kept beside the register and flipped it open. Several pages of scribbles fluttered past as she found where she'd left off in her notes. Any and all gossip and rumors that she heard about Sora, about the Alliance, about anything relating to that situation. Olympus was full of people who thought they knew everything if their 'friend of a friend' told them. Heroes, wannabe heroes, rookie soldiers from the Alliance: this place was a breeding ground for hopeful warriors looking to attract Phil's eye, or to show off in the tournaments.
It was the perfect place for her to keep tabs on what was going on, after sorting the fact from the fiction. She pulled out a pen and jotted in a quick bullet about Sora possibly being in Halloween Town. Neverland truly was ridiculous, piracy, ha. She closed the book and slid it back against the register. She was just turning her attention to sweeping the floors when the bell on the door chimed again.
"We're closed." She announced without looking up, pushing her hair out of her eyes…well, her remaining eye.
The door chimed closed again, clicking against the frame. Tifa pulled the stools away from the bar and looked toward the door. The rest of her good mood evaporated and she pursed her lips as she saw the figure darkening her doorstep.
"What do you want?" She asked, as nonchalantly as possible, pulling the rest of the stools aside.
"Hello to you too." Leon said after a moment, not stepping any deeper into her bar.
Tifa glared at him, snatching up the broom and starting to sweep the floor. He folded his arms, glancing around the bar. Neither of them said anything for a long, awkward moment.
"We need to talk." He finally said.
She grunted, keeping her eye on her sweeping. "About what?"
"The weather, what do you think?" He said tersely.
She straightened. "Everybody out there—"
"They don't know I'm here. I'm not stupid." Leon cut in. "I know Thebes isn't exactly Alliance-friendly." He said.
"Especially not high ranking officers such as yourself." Tifa said. "I heard about the promotion. Congratulations I guess." She said flatly.
"Then you heard I turned it down again." He countered. "So you're keeping your ears open."
"Of course I do. I'M not stupid either." She snapped.
"Fine." He gave her an even look. "What have you heard?"
"Apparently Sora has a machine gun for an arm." She tilted her head, looking at him.
The ghost of a smirk touched his mouth, but then he went serious again. "About Franks."
"And his appearance-morphing boss?" She quipped. "Not much."
"Good." Leon looked sideways at the large windows of the building. "Can we talk somewhere more privately?"
"There's no one else here." Tifa gestured to the empty tables.
"I meant…Not as public." He said, heard himself say it, and gave her a flat expression.
Tifa lifted an eyebrow, but shrugged, letting him follow her into the back office room where she kept the bookkeeping papers. It was a cramped, windowless room with a desk, two chairs, and an over-stuffed file cabinet. Leon closed the door after himself, finding this room satisfactory.
"Why so secretive?" Tifa said skeptically.
"Had three attempts on my life in the past month…Forgive me for not being trusting of open windows." Leon replied smartly.
Tifa's good eye widened slightly. Three… "Are you okay?" She asked involuntarily.
He looked at her slowly. "Ask me again later."
She grimaced but decided to change tact. "How are no leads on those two gunes good?"
"We've been keeping it under wraps." Leon responded. "Only a few on the Head Council, the king, and I know all of the information on them."
"Honesty really is the best policy then." She grinned.
"And ignorance is bliss." He remarked. "We didn't want it leaking out, and those two becoming aware of how close we are to getting them."
"Are you close?" She asked.
"Very. Apart, the leader and his second are tricky to find, but together they're sloppy." Leon replied.
Tifa nodded vaguely and folded her arms, leaning against her desk. "And Sora?"
"He's…not sloppy." Leon answered just as vaguely. "And the newly appointed Head Council doesn't see his arrest as a high priority. They're more concerned with catching the other two and focusing on reconstructing the Alliance."
"You should be happy then." She grunted.
He looked at her sharply. "Why are you pissed at me? I'm not the one who left."
She bristled. "We're done. Show yourself out."
He didn't move. "We're not done."
"What do you want?" She snapped, straightening.
He took a step closer. She didn't back away. There were a lot of things stewing behind his eyes. She could see them, even read some of them, but he was holding them back, not saying them out loud. She wanted to know why. What was holding him back? Leon was not one to divulge anything easily though, so she squared her shoulders, clenching her jaw.
He breathed slowly, taking a second to swallow anything threatening to burst out of him.
"Three months." He finally muttered. "In the three months since you left, I've never bothered you, never contacted you, never asked you for a thing. I've left you alone, just like you wanted."
She narrowed her eyes, "You think this is what I wanted?"
He stayed toe to toe with her. "The rest of the Council may not be concerned about where Sora is, but I am." He changed the subject like a chameleon, always had. "Have you heard anything?"
She stared right back at him, just as intensely. "I hear a lot of things about him. Most of them are total shit."
"Any idea where he is?" Leon dropped his voice a few notches.
Tifa looked at him for a quiet moment, becoming more and more aware of how closely they were standing. "Gossip points to Halloween Town, but it's gossip." She said quietly. "Dark portals?"
Leon shook his head, "I don't think so. Dark magic leaves traces, and all of our leads and sources haven't left any evidence of that kind. However he's travelling, it's legitimate. Harder to track."
"How?" She asked.
"He's getting help…from the inside." He ran a hand over his forehead. "It's Private McCallister. No one else would stick with him for this long."
"She's—"
"She doesn't know that we know she's his mole. If she does, she's a damn good actress."
"Why the sudden concern?" She pressed.
"Sora needs help. He's going to get himself killed over something not worth getting killed for." Leon looked to her seriously. "We were wrong to push him away like that. I'm not saying he was right either, but the king was right: alienating Sora isn't going to help anything."
Tifa pursed her lips, her skin heating slightly at their proximity. She abruptly turned and took a few steps away, turning the evasive maneuver into pacing in front of her desk.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could help, but all of my information is drunk and shady." She said.
He watched her pace, remaining where he was. "Any information is something."
She turned her back to him as she continued pacing, but came to a stop at that.
"Is that it, then? I'm just an info-mule that you can plug into whenever you want?"
She heard him sigh heavily behind her.
"No, of course not." He muttered. "But it would help."
She put her hands on her hips and faced him again. "Like I said, Halloween Town is the best guess from my customers, though some say he's been seen in Traverse Town and Land of Dragons too."
"Land of Dragons is too heavily populated by Allied soldiers." Leon shook his head, "And Traverse Town is too small; they all know his face there."
"Disguise—" She started.
"You can't disguise how you fight, at least not easily."
"And the Keyblade isn't a common sighting." Tifa sighed.
"He still can't use it. No one's seen a Keyblade in three months, not since the apparent deal that McCallister said he made with the leader of the Fractured Circle."
"Well, we can't all be shapeshifters." She offered a small smile.
He started to give her a look of exasperation, saw the look on her face, and exhaled instead in the closest form he ever came to a laugh. A quiet moment that wasn't as tense or awkward as the previous half hour passed, and Leon looked to her.
"Thanks for your help."
It sounded like a goodbye.
Tifa pushed her hair from her eyes, finger trailing along the elastic of her eye patch as she did so. "No problem. It was good to see…I mean…Three months is a long…I missed…um…"
"Yeah." He averted his eyes. "Me too." He took a half step toward the door. "Should probably go."
Tifa bit her lip. "I'm not chasing you off. You don't have to."
"Yes I do." He opened the door. "Some of us have work to do besides serve drinks." He offered the tiniest of smirks.
She smiled and followed him out of the office. As they walked back into the main bar area, he paused by the door, but didn't look like he wanted to say anything. She stood by the bar, wanting to say something, but unsure how to say any of the stuff on her mind.
"Whiskey." She blurted finally.
He looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. "Come again?"
"Er." She blinked. "I'll save you a drink…When…If you ever wanna swing by again."
He relaxed slightly. "Right." He opened the door. "Take care of yourself."
"You too." She nodded.
The door swung closed after him and she stood alone in her bar again.
"Stay safe." She whispered.
..:-X-:..
Everything ever said about Tortuga out of Port Royal was right. It was crowded, filthy, rum-soaked, and violent. It was always five o'clock somewhere at the port, and Sora depended on that as he navigated through the bacchanalian part of town, heading toward the address he'd pulled from a fisherman a few blocks down.
Despite the technology of Gummi Ships and other worldly contact, this place seemed content to keep to its code of wooden ships and white wigs. It made foreigners stand out quite starkly, at least until the third or fourth pint. For that reason, he had left his Gummi Ship way beyond the town limits, hitch hiking his way in under disguise. Drunk and disorderly they may be, but the residents of Tortuga could still recognize the former General of the Alliance, mostly because he had an underground bounty on his head the size to pay for rum for a year, and a steady stream of 'pleasurable company'. Enough to put every person in this world on his tail.
Maneuvering through the streets toward the old warehouse, he checked his surroundings. The pirates and ne'er-do-wells passing him were too distracted by their own good times to pay him any heed. That suited him just fine.
Sora sidled up to the back door of the warehouse, looked over and read the street marker. It matched the address he'd memorized and he inhaled slowly, adjusting the cloak over himself as he opened the door and slid inside.
The interior of the warehouse was full of cigar smoke and the air was rank with the smell of too much perfume, body odor, and alcohol. A few lanterns were stationed to light the open floor just enough to make sure one didn't bump into anything as they entered. Sora blinked several times to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, walking slowly deeper into the warehouse.
A group of around 20 people were splayed out carelessly near the center, all smoking, drinking, and playing cards. It was like walking right into a cliché. Sora strode over to them casually, keeping one hand on the pistol in his pocket. The first person to notice him was the only one he cared about.
"Clyde, you scoundrel!" The man threw his hands in the air, big stupid grin on his face. "Long time no sprechen!" He greeted.
Sora finished walking up to the main table. "Cobb, still as…hygienic as ever."
"Get over here, you old codpiece." Cobb chuckled, gesturing for a hug.
Sora didn't come any closer. "I'd rather not." He looked around at the company Cobb was keeping. "I'm here for my order."
"Of course, of course. Always strictly business with you, sir." Cobb gave a little salute and stood, hiking up his faltering trousers and setting his hand of cards down. He walked toward the back wall.
The others in the group eyed Sora curiously, his odd choice of dress. He looked like a foreigner, but he didn't bother trying to dress like a native. As long as he didn't look like an Allied affiliate, that was disguise enough. He stared back at them until they looked away. They weren't curious enough to raise any comments. Cobb soon sauntered back over to them anyway.
"Two crates, sealed and insulated, full order." He said, sounding proud of himself.
Sora tugged a pouch of gold coins from his belt. Allied munny had no power here: that he'd learned quickly. He tossed the pouch onto the table in front of Cobb. The arms dealer tilted his head and toyed with the pullstring, allowing the top of the pouch to spill open.
He let out a whistle. "My, my, I'm a slicker seller than I thought, charging you this much."
"Don't flatter yourself." Sora said sharply. "That's payment for the order and a down payment on my next order. Same details, same amount."
"You drive a hard bargain, mate." Cobb bit on one of the gold pieces. "One month you been coming to me, and I've been keeping me silence." He looked to Sora. "But some of the fancy pants are starting to get edgy, and my suppliers don't like people peepin' into our affairs."
Sora rolled his eyes and tossed another pouch on the table.
Cobb tugged it open as well, inspecting the contents. "My lips are sealed, Clyde boy."
Sora nodded and shouldered past him, not sparing any other words as he headed for the back exit. His hand stayed around the pistol, but no one followed after him. His phone vibrated against his thigh as he stepped out into the alley behind the warehouse. Sure enough, two storage crates were sitting there, unmarked and sealed, waiting for him.
He pulled out his phone as he crossed to the boxes. Text message from McCallister.
Detected. Norrington's men heading your way. Half an hour away.
He swore under his breath and hastily popped open one of the crates, peering inside. As promised, ammunition, machetes, grenades, sniper rifles, and a few RPGs. The other crate held weapon cleaning supplies and other weapons. Half an hour wasn't enough time to get these supplies transported to the ship. Another text rolled in.
Abandoned welding house, new ride.
A relieved smirk turned his lips and he pocketed his phone. McCallister had definitely not been worthless these past three months. Her communication was short, strict, and to the point. Just the way he needed it. She never tried to contact him in person or on the phone. He wasn't sure what to make of that, but it was optimal at this point.
Pocketing his phone, Sora jogged the fifty feet to the welding house and stepped inside. The roof was collapsed and there were no working doors, but the Gummi Ship sitting there waiting for him blended right into the darkness. Small, compact, and armed with forward and reverse weapons. McCallister had taste in transport, he had to give her that.
By the time the uniformed militia ran in, rifles up and ready, Sora was long gone from the world of Port Royale.
..:-X-:..
Construction on the new headquarter building was already well underway in the old Great Maw. The office building currently being used was only temporary, and it was proving to be impossible. The air conditioning had crapped out, so it was subzero in the cubicles, and power flickers in the lower departments were making work the most inefficient atmosphere possible.
Tabaeus McCallister had had worse days.
Luckily, the Major General had allowed her to work in the Brigadier General's old office. Since Lockhart had resigned three months ago, many of the officers and lower ranked workers in the building had more or less avoided the Major General, and his mood had been less than predictable. McCallister was one of the few that braved it. She had handled Sora at his worst, and he had none of Leonhart's control.
It still felt like she was trespassing on forbidden ground every time she walked into Lockhart's old office. But it was the only place where she could securely work on the more classified documents and files that she was required to handle, so she made do.
She was alone in the upper floors of the building right now, and would be for another few hours. She bit the corner of her lip and opened her laptop, picking through a few active windows before checking her connection. It was secure and it was private, untraceable. Satisfied that no one was spying on her internet dealings, she tracked down the cell signal that she had used to send the texts to Sora.
It took a few minutes to load and she glanced at the office door. It was closed, and the light at the bottom of the door revealed no one to be standing there, waiting to barge in on her. Taking a slow breath, she turned her eyes back to the computer screen.
According to the system, Sora's phone was on board with him now, leaving Port Royal and moving into deeper space. She felt some relief that he'd gotten out safely and closed the window, not needing to know where he was going next.
Three months was a long time.
She closed her eyes briefly and picked up the phone, paused, and set it back down. This was insane. This was stupid. This was…her job, what she did best: keeping Sora alive…whether he noticed or cared or if the Alliance found out or not.
She needed a vacation.