Sounds of Thunder

by darthvair65

At the request of his order a preacher attempts to navigate the murky moral and social grounds of a mining town dominated by greed and lust. After forming an unlikely partnership with a local bartender and gossipmonger, Father Riku is drawn into a world of murderers and thieves - but as he becomes more involved will he heed the warning signs - or become one of them?

1. Part 1: The Players Assemble

Title: Sounds of Thunder

Pairing: Sora/Riku, Axel/Roxas, Axel/Larxene

Rating: R

Wordcount: 9000

Betas: alovelysilence

Warnings: random historical inaccuracies, character death, violence, language, sex, drug references, a whole smattering of other things

A/N: Loosely based on the historical town of Deadwood, South Dakota and the HBO series "Deadwood," as well as a myriad of things including: my summer job and homesteading research, following parts of the Oregon Trail, and playing the classic Oregon Train game growing up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters within.

Summary: At the request of his order a preacher attempts to navigate the murky moral and social grounds of a town dominated by greed and lust. After forming an unlikely partnership with a local bartender and gossipmonger, Father Riku is drawn into a world of murderers and thieves as he tries to save the town from those very sins. As he becomes more involved, will he heed the sound of thunder?

Part 1

The Players Assemble

One of the least charming indications that a town is going to be less than savory is when one can smell it before one sees it.

Such was the case with Casper's Gulch – Riku didn't even have to open the stagecoach doors to realize just how much work and despair lay ahead of him. The odors of urine, excrement, and unwashed bodies drifted uphill in a light breeze, slithering into Riku's cocoon of safety and causing him to gag slightly. Instantly he tugged the embroidered cotton handkerchief from the pocket of his sturdy, plain waistcoat and held it over his nose and mouth, face twisting in disgust at the first whiff of the town he was about to enter. Riku had his work cut out for him if he was going to save this Godforsaken town and bring it back to grace.

As he was traveling, Riku had been alternating between stage and train, as they were available, for several days in the hopes of arriving in Casper's Gulch as soon as possible. Not more than a month ago he'd sat with one of the Catholic bishops, discussing where they would be sending their most lively and energetic preachers to spread the Word of God, and Riku had taken the assignment of Casper's Gulch thinking it would be a challenge to strengthen his faith and his character. It was renowned across the states as a city of sin and debauchery, full of gambling halls, murderous lechers, and prostitutes plying their trade on every corner, and Riku found himself charged with saving this city of devils and vagrants.

He'd been studying the maps and reports from earlier missionaries during his travels, memorizing details about the various institutions and persons of interest his predecessors had encountered; it seemed that there were numerous institutions of a highly questionable kind, but one in particular had stood out to the last missionary before he'd been dragged into the desert by an unbroken stallion. The Heart's Desire functioned primarily as a saloon, and the man tending bar had apparently employed several prostitutes in the upper levels of the establishment – and the comments were rather vague, but his predecessor seemed to have been subjected to numerous uncomfortable situations and disagreeable comments. Riku wondered what on earth he might have been talking about.

As the stagecoach jostled its way down the hill towards Casper's Gulch, Riku opened up his well-worn Bible and began to reread Leviticus from the beginning.

Xxx

Casper's Gulch was a town in its infancy; barely twenty years had passed since its establishment, and not much had changed since its inception. Miners had rushed west into the unexplored frontier following the discovery of gold, steady streams of hard men coursing across the prairie and into the hills in search of the precious metal. One lucky miner happened upon a riverbed studded with gold, and it was thereafter known as Casper's Gulch. The town boomed, growing almost too fast for its own good with stores and pleasure houses popping up within months. Miners flocked, and soon even more women came to join the first few, arriving nearly every week by stage in lush silk gowns, lace, and ornately-decorated feather hats to join the others occupying the whorehouses in entertaining the starved miners. Two missionaries had been sent to the town before him, and both had been chased out of Casper's Gulch within months of their arrival.

Riku hoped to last a little longer than the past two, if only to save the souls of the men and women who would listen.

Xxx

Casper's Gulch was truly a city of Sodom; the prostitutes lined the streets even in the broad light of day, entertaining their customers sometimes right in the alleyways much to Riku's abject horror. Within five minutes of his arrival Riku had witnessed two outright murders, and the local lawmen – if they even existed – were nowhere to be seen.

Once his quarters in a small hotel were set up, Riku peered out the tiny glass windows at the street below, watching the gamblers and drunks amble down the dirt alleys with bottles of rum in hand. It was pitiful to watch.

Xxx

The arrival of the preacher in the town was met with little recognition or care as far as the lawless men and women of Casper's Gulch were concerned. Most saw him as a stuffy, nosy brat of a preacher, too young to truly know what he was talking about in the first place. High class and refined, he stood out too much as a total outsider for any locals to listen to.

Even the most accomplished and polished citizens did not seem so impressed with the preacher –even so religious a woman as the cattle baron's wife seemed not to care.

The town whispered, though. The young man tending bar at the Heart's Desire seemed to be the most adept at encouraging whispers; he knew most of the town gossip and often spoke rumors freely.

"What d'ye think?" glossy, red-stained lips asked, edges curving up in a sly, secretive smile. "Preacher's got an interesting look 'bout him."

"Agreed," the bartender said with an almost identical grin, pouring the young woman sitting across from him another glass of bourbon, amber liquid sloshing gently into the glass tumbler. "He does seem to be a most interesting fellow." A second glass – for himself – poured, the bottle was returned to its place on shelf. "A wager for how long it'll take for him to seek us out?"

"I'll give 'em another half a week. I don't think he'll last," the young woman said confidently.

"If he goes around preachin' hellfire and brimstone, he definitely won't make it," the bartender agreed. "But those sorts are lots of fun to play with," he said, his grin widening. "Play with words and they start choking on theirs."

"You've an evil mind, Sora," the young woman said, taking a sip of her bourbon.

"You know me all too well," Sora muttered, relishing the taste of bourbon in his mouth. "Can always ask your sister what might be in store, y'know."

Deep blue eyes narrowed and plump lips pursed together in thought. "Might see about it. She likes you better though, she's more likely to tell you what she sees in the cards."

Sora shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. You know I like a bit of a surprise, though."

"As you please."

Sora had known his companion for months now, and though many assumed they were romantically attached, the rumor could not be further from the truth. His companion was a free woman who'd travelled across the plains with her sister and who chose prostitution as her source of income freely; Sora's only part in it was that he rented her a rather spacious apartment above the saloon, aside from the fact that he found her to be rather pleasurable social company and an amicable drinking partner. She was a beautiful woman, of medium height with rich auburn hair that fell below her shoulder blades, and deep, penetrating blue eyes that stole men's hearts as they bought their time with her. Her fine clothing, jewelry, and porcelain skin were sights to behold in their backwater town; they distinguished her from some of the others, enough that Sora suspected she'd been married to a man of some means before coming here. No one could have afforded such jewels or frocks on their own. But she'd never confirmed or denied his theories, so Sora presumed he'd probably never know her true story.

Contrary to most of the young men who'd made their way to Casper's Gulch, Sora had come for what he viewed to be a much more profitable venture than mucking around in a stream searching for gold: manning a hotel or a saloon. That was five years ago though, and after working two years around the clock for a nasty brothel owner cleaning rooms, Sora had saved up enough money to buy his own place and make something of himself. He didn't have much interest in alcohol, gambling, or whores, so that made his saving much easier. Even now some of the other players in town tended to underestimate him, mostly for his size. Though he was pretty tall, he was rather slight and didn't seem the fighting type – but that was a mistake to assume.

Sora glanced over his companion's shoulder, meeting the gaze of the gold prospector who'd just burst through the doors before the other man's eyes went straight to the slender form of the woman leaning against Sora's bar. The prospector's eyes were alight with excitement and lust as they raked over her, his hand trembling while holding something between his fingers.

"Well I'll be damned," Sora chuckled. "I think you have a visitor, Kairi – and it would appear he's gotten lucky recently, if the gold in his hand is anything to judge."

"How lucky?" Kairi countered, narrowing her eyes and wiggling her brows discretely.

"Like the size of my thumb lucky," Sora whispered in return.

"Ugly?"

"His face is lopsided and he had smallpox as a kid," Sora reported, at which point Kairi nodded.

"The soiled dove, then," Kairi chuckled, a playful smirk on her painted lips as she schooled herself into character, plotting how to steal her suitor's dignity and more of his money, if she could.

"Have fun," he grinned before Kairi turned around to face her customer, engrossed in the whores' game of pulling as much out of drunken prospectors as possible.

They would eat very well tonight.

xxx

It didn't take long for Riku to find the lawmen who were supposed to be minding Casper's Gulch – but when he did, he wasn't impressed. Seifer appeared to less of a sheriff and more like a teenage bully who'd been given a badge for his efforts; Rai, Seifer's deputy, was a hulking man made of pure muscular tissue, but had little in the way of brains, and the quiet woman in the back who was there 'to give last rites' when needed did not ease his anxiety at all.

"There's lots of crazy fucks in this town," Seifer said smartly, leaning back in his chair to display the numerous pistols and knives he carried; Riku supposed the young man playing sheriff must have gotten the scar that stretched from eyebrow to cheekbone in a knife scuffle some years ago. "You're never gonna get the big bad guys on your own, don't try it. But I've been keepin' an eye on the guys behind the Heart's Desire saloon, the barkeep seems to know a lot about what's happenin' in this town," he whispered conspiratorially, "including some of the illegal shit. I know he's in on somethin', I just know it. We've even got a bet on that he knows somethin' about the cattle rancher's death."

Riku made a mental note; the Heart's Desire saloon had been listed among the suspicious establishments in Casper's Gulch by his predecessor. He gathered from the man's notes that the last missionary had been inappropriately harassed by someone there, though the gold baron in charge of that part of the town seemed to be an upstanding gentleman according to Father Remington. He would definitely have to pay Xemnas Fairchild and his wife a visit, along with the mourning cattle baron's wife in the near future.

"What kind of illegal," Riku swallowed and stepped around the curse, "things?"

"He rents one of the apartments above the saloon to a whore," Seifer whispered salaciously. "They seem pretty friendly. Not sure if he's her pimp or what, but it's a bit strange to run a whorehouse of one, right?"

"Perhaps she is his sister," Riku offered, clearing his throat. The suggestion sent Seifer and Rai into fits of boisterous laughter, with the sheriff leaning over the table and practically gasping with mirth. "Did I say something amusing?"

"There is no way in hell that whore's his sister," Seifer laughed hysterically. "I can guarantee it."

"One, er, prostitute living above a saloon does not seem like a den of villainy."

Seifer snorted again. "Listen to you – 'den of villainy,' making it sound like a pit of sin. You're in the pit, boy. That saloon's just got an eye for the smuggling and robbing, that's all. Got his ears to the ground and all that so he can hear the whispers. Start there, see where it takes you."

Riku sighed. It seemed his destination was set. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen – ma'am," he said, nodding his head slightly in the direction of the silent woman towards the back before making his exit. Seifer was right; the town was a pit of sin, and it would take time and patience for Riku to cleanse the whole place of its multitude of temptations.

But first: the Heart's Desire saloon.

Xxx

The second Sora heard the sharp, high-pitched scream he put the bottle of brandy down and pulled the six-shooter from its holster at his hip, looking up the wooden stairs sharply. The crack of a gunshot rang out, followed closely by enraged, masculine shouting and banging as the prospector lurched out of the room he'd been occupying with Kairi. The thumping got louder as the man stumbled noisily down the hall and tripped on the first wooden stair, rolling all the way down to the landing at the foot of the steps. With a heavy thud, god-awful screaming and cursing filled the saloon's atmosphere as he clutched his upper arm, which was blooming blood. As Sora moved around the bar to see to the man he looked up the stairs; seeing Kairi in a disheveled and furious state, her beautiful dress ripped and her lip cut but wielding a tiny handgun as she made her way down the stairs, Sora's expression turned murderous. He stalked over to the squalling man and pressed the heel of his boot into the man's injured arm.

"You alright, Kairi?" Sora asked, his furious gaze never leaving the cowering man's face.

The redhead nodded, pocketing the small gun she'd just used on her wayward customer. "I'm fine."

"Alright, listen up you disgusting piece of shit," Sora seethed, scowling and pressing the heel of his boot against the man's arm even harder. "You even so much as lay another finger on her and I will personally cut your balls off and throw you to the pigs – d'you understand me, fucker?" he demanded menacingly.

"S-she shot me!"

"Yeah, and I'll shoot you too if you don't say 'yes sir, I understand,'" Sora growled, showing the gun he held to his captive. "But the lady on the stairs went easy on you; I'll put the bullet right between your eyes myself."

"Y-y-yes sir, I understand," the man yelped, eyes bugging out of his head.

"Good, now say 'pretty please Mr. Freeman, don't kill me.'"

"For God's sake, let the man up," a low voice spoke plaintively, making Sora jump and look towards the sound. His head swiveled over to the saloon doors, where a young man in a plain black suit stood – the white collar marking him as the preacher everyone had been talking about, and Sora had to take pause. The man was an imposing figure, standing more than a head taller than Sora and bearing a strong, muscular build. His hair was long and silvery, pulled back in a ponytail with strands framing his strong jaw and almond-shaped green eyes.

Well I'll be damned twice, Sora thought to himself, an unconscious smile unfurling almost instantly. "Your Holiness!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms out in a welcoming gesture, his foot still firmly on his captive's wounded arm. "So glad you could join us."

"I'm not the Pope," the preacher said patiently. "Now let the man up, I won't be having anyone shot while I'm around." The tone in his voice told Sora the man would give no quarter in that matter, though what he intended to do about it if he did happen to witness anything was something Sora certainly questioned.

"Good luck with that," Sora sniggered, releasing his hostage and pushing the man away with his boot. "Get on out of here, you shitty excuse for a human being," he snarled as the dirtbag hightailed it out of there, grasping his wounded arm. A satisfied grin snaked its way onto Sora's face as he watched the other man disappear out the door. If he ever came into his saloon again, he wouldn't know what hit him.

"Was that really necessary?" the preacher asked, tone bordering on incredulity. "To cause more pain when he'd already been shot?

"Perhaps not," Sora shrugged, his smile twisting on his face, "but it sure as hell made me feel better. If you'll excuse me a minute." Sora turned from the preacher and headed up the stairs towards Kairi; she'd taken a seat at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall while she dabbed at her eye daintily. Tears had already started to ruin her makeup somewhat, but no amount of makeup would cover the cut in the corner of her lip or the developing bruise on her cheek. The sleeve of her dress was torn as well; that would need to be mended by a professional. "Are you alright?" he asked, tilting her head up gently with fingers beneath her chin, looking at her critically.

Kairi nodded. "I'm fine. Told him he wasn't allowed to get rough, and he didn't listen."

"Did you give him a bit more warning than a gunshot?"

She gave him a withering look. "I kneed him in the balls first," Kairi said flatly. "He got the message – he just didn't like it."

"Have Annie run you a bath and relax for a bit, alright?" he suggested, helping Kairi to her feet. "I'll have her bring you some of that brandy you like." She nodded and headed up the stairs towards her room, whispering a discrete "have fun" to his ear before disappearing.

"Is the lady alright?" the preacher asked as Sora walked down the stairs. "She seemed distressed."

"Course she's distressed," Sora snorted, going behind the bar to pour himself a shot of whiskey. "Not every day that Kairi has to shoot a paying customer because he doesn't play by the rules."

"You mean she-" the preacher started, eyes widening, "she's the one who shot that fellow?"

"She most certainly did," Sora confirmed proudly, downing the shot of whiskey.

"Has she been saved?"

"Nope, and I don't think she wants to be," Sora laughed a bit, pouring himself another drink. Preaching types were fun to play with, but sometimes the alcohol numbed Sora's annoyance towards their obnoxious tendencies and made it all the more fun. "If you're looking to find people who want to be saved, I think you're in the wrong place, preacher."

"Accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior will absolve your sins from this life and lead you into everlasting light when it ends," the preacher said in a rush, standing taller and clutching the Bible in his hands like his life depended on it.

"So, is defending oneself from an attacker considered a sin?"

"Not necessarily," the preacher swallowed uncomfortably. "But her profession-"

"Is her own business," Sora interrupted him. "What's your name, preacher?"

The other man seemed startled by his sudden change of subject. In truth, Sora thought the look of surprise was a good one for him. "Ah. It's Riku. Father Riku Dalton-Artenberry."

"That's quite a mouthful," Sora commented, smiling and committing the name to memory. "Father Riku, then. Sora Freeman," he introduced himself, extending his hand across the bar. Riku walked over hesitantly and clasped his hand in greeting. Sora took that moment to assess the man in front of him, from the strength in his handshake to the tentative smile on his lips. To be a recognized priest when he was so young, Sora credited the other man with an impressive force of will to make his way through whatever school they made the religious folk go to before they went legit on their own at such a young age. He must have been considerably focused on his faith, possessing a single-minded determination in his goals, if Sora's intuitions were correct – and they usually were. As Sora assessed him, he could sense Riku doing the exact same thing; the older man's eyes were narrowed as they searched his face, matching his strong grip in the handshake. He even found it a bit difficult to let go of the other man's hand, holding it a bit longer than was customary or necessary.

When they did finally release each other's hands, Riku was staring at him with a most inscrutable expression. "Have a seat," Sora invited, extending his arm towards the stool just opposite of him. Riku took it, though he seemed almost suspicious of the offer. "I'm gonna be honest with you, preacher – I expected you'd be coming in at some point, but is there something in particular you're looking for around here?"

"What do you know about the illegal goings-on in the town?" Riku asked seriously, getting right down to business.

Sora paused, brows furrowed and just barely keeping his mouth from quirking into a smirk. "Care to be a little more specific?"

"Are you serious?"

"As the grave," Sora quipped back at him.

"I have been charged with saving this town from the pits of hell by tackling the sin and debauchery running rampant throughout it," Riku hissed, sitting up stiffly in the stool. "And according to the local sheriff, you are someone who knows a great deal about what is going on in this town so I would appreciate your help in this."

Sora sighed and put his glass to the side, then leaned down on his elbows to look at Riku squarely. "You can't save those that don't want to be saved," he muttered sagely.

"Then tell me what's going on so I can figure out who might," Riku retorted, staring at him levelly.

Sora grinned. "Well you're a feisty one," he snickered, leaning over the bar's counter and folding his hands. "I kinda like that. Why bother going out there when you can stay right here with me? I'm willing to be saved, after all."

"You," Riku faltered, blinking rapidly. "What?"

"I'll tell you everything you wanna know," Sora continued unabashedly, practically purring the words. "And some things I bet you've never heard before, preacher."

"I'm not entirely sure I like your tone," Riku responded, shying away from Sora ever so slightly as the other man leaned forward.

"I'm offering myself up to be saved," Sora said heedlessly.

"I think you are being facetious with me."

"No fucking shit," Sora snorted.

"Are you mocking me then, Mr. Freeman?"

Sora considered this carefully. "Maybe a little."

After a moment of outright staring, Riku sighed. "Is there anything of note that you can offer me, Mr. Freeman?"

"A blowjob?"

Riku left without another word, scowling as he stormed out of the establishment, muttering under his breath. His processor had been right about the man.

Xxx

Mrs. Strife, nee, Lockhart, was a proud and indomitable woman if Riku's judgment of character was correct. Statuesque and well-dressed, she seemed the epitome of the wife of a well-to-do businessman, despite the fact that Mr. Cloud Strife, her beloved husband, was dead and buried in the cemetery just outside of Casper's Gulch. So recent was her husband's death that Ms. Strife was still wearing black frocks in mourning, which only seemed to highlight her already pale complexion and dark, calculating eyes. Her pitch-black hair was pulled into an elaborate bun, with wisps curling around the onyx gems set in her ears; she was wearing a long black lace gown with a high collar that came up beneath her chin, a salmon-pink and ivory cameo affixed to her throat. Mrs. Strife was staring out the window, teacup in hand as she surveyed the miners and prospectors roaming the street below; the cameo bobbed slightly as she swallowed hard, closing her eyes and looking down at the watery tea in hand.

Riku sat a few feet away, holding his own teacup carefully as he watched her intently. "Are you absolutely sure, Mrs. Strife?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. "I am absolutely certain. There is no doubt." The tension in the room following her assertion was quite palpable, and Riku sought out something to distract himself visibly from the cloud of darkness Mrs. Strife was emitting. He glanced around the room, eyeing the display of military swords in her former husband's library. A finely wrought oak desk sat on a plush carpet at the very center of the room, and large bookcases lined the walls, save for the one displaying the swords for all to marvel at. Mrs. Strife had explained that her husband had been a military man in his youth – a captain in the Union cavalry during the clash between North and South, and the swords were his pride and joy. One was said to be that of a general, whose presence had come from Captain Strife personally removing it to remember his victory.

Captain Strife had clearly spared no expense in furnishing the house just off the main street in Casper's Gulch that his wife now occupied solely; they seemed to have all of the modern amenities available by catalogue or special order, despite the fact that the Captain only operated a cattle herding business. Riku wondered what the owner of the primary gold mine's house looked like; it was probably some sort of palace where everything was wrought with gold.

"Do you have evidence?"

Mrs. Strife cleared her throat. "Unfortunately, no. The culprits were too cunning to leave any such thing."

"Then how can you be so certain?"

"My husband was in perfect health," Mrs. Strife spoke over the last half of Riku's sentence. "He was a strong, healthy man with no medical ailments whatsoever who enjoyed morning and afternoon constitutionals to maintain his strong heart."

"Healthy men have died suddenly before."

"Not with their bones crushed," she answered thickly. "The doctor said his lung had been punctured, though whether it had been by a rib or a sword he could not tell."

"I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Strife."

"I know it was someone in this camp," she continued doggedly. "They murdered my husband, and now that I hold the title to his land and cattle herds I have received visits from . . . unscrupulous sorts in the town attempting to wrench the deeds from my hands. They must have hoped Cloud had not included me in his affairs."

"Did he say anything strange to you before he died?" Riku queried. It would seem the widow's suspicions regarding her husband's death were well-founded thus far, but he wasn't sure what he, a man of the cloth and gospel, could do about it.

"He was wary. Nervous," Mrs. Strife recalled. "My husband was not the type to scare easily – he'd seen death and worse all around him on the battlefield. But he was on edge enough to send for our nephew in upstate New York. He has a great financial mind, so he will come to manage the business on its surface."

"Only on the surface?"

Mrs. Strife gave him a bit of a smirk. "I grew up on a cattle farm, Father - I am more than capable of managing a herd. I may not look the part, but I was roping and branding cattle by the age of ten alongside my father. If need be, I will join my herders in the field."

"When will the boy be arriving?"

"Given good conditions, within the month. He had some affairs to wrap up before he could leave, but God willing he will be here soon. Then he will be able to take more active interest in the property."

"If the lands and cattle are legally yours, then there is nothing to fear."

"To say that they are legally mine means very little out here, Father. You have seen this camp. It is lawless and primitive. I will not stand behind laws only recognized in the states to uphold my husband's claim."

"Then how will you maintain it until your nephew arrives?"

Tifa Strife glanced at Riku over her shoulder, a grim smile on her face. "With gunpowder and a hot branding iron if necessary. "

Xxx

Soon enough, Riku got a taste of what Casper's Gulch was truly like in all its lawlessness. A fire swept through the block, destroying a hardware store and the small hotel Riku had been lodging in. As he stood out in the shit-strewn road, staring at the still-smoldering building, Riku realized that he could count on one hand the number of personal items and clothing he had rescued from the flames before the building collapsed: his Bible, a stack of letters yet unsent, a bottle of sacramental wine, and a worn felt hat all escaped with him, along with the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet.

He'd been in Casper's Gulch for barely two weeks and he'd already lost his lodgings, apparently due to a drunkard letting his still-lit pipe fall amongst some unfinished timbers before he fell asleep. Riku heard several miners mention that the man had perished in the blaze as well. He blinked, trying to think of what to do.

The sound of feet squelching in mud alerted him to the presence of another, standing a few feet away but not approaching – just watching, for the moment. When Riku turned to survey his companion, he found Sora standing off to his side; the other man was covered in soot and sweat after helping the fire brigade put out the blaze. He was even patched up in a few places from where the fire had licked his flesh, but it was his larger-than-life blue eyes that bored into him from his soot-caked skin.

"I'm sorry about the hotel," Sora ventured finally. When Riku didn't answer him, he heard Sora huff and start again. "I have an extra room, if you want it. The rooms are pretty spacious, everything's clean and all. If you want it, anyway."

"Are you serious?" Riku asked skeptically.

"If it's about Kairi and her customers, she's on the other side of the hall," Sora said hastily, as if prematurely smoothing over his anxieties. As it was, Riku wasn't sure what his superiors would say about him living above a bar and gambling house and down the hall from a whore. He turned away, stroking his chin in thought. "I'm sorry if you got a bad impression of me the last time we met," Sora tried again, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll give you a discount – hundred percent off the first week, how about that? Cheaper rate for the preacher putting up with us heathens?"

"You don't have to do that," Riku muttered. "I don't want to impose-"

"The room's been empty for a while, you're not imposing," Sora huffed again. "Do you want it or not?"

Riku paused, considering the other man's offer carefully. It was a charitable offer to be sure, but Mr. Freeman's intentions were less than clear; the last time they'd spoken, Sora had made a lewd suggestion that gave Riku strange dreams for days, leaving him with less trust in the other man than he'd hoped.

"Alright. I'll take it."

And this was how Riku came to live at the Heart's Desire saloon. It was a bit of a strange transition, moving from living in a quiet, secluded hotel room away from the main streets to living above a rowdy saloon in the heart of the camp and down the hall from a prostitute. Half the time he walked down the stairs he walked right into one of Kairi's patrons as she brought them up to her rooms. Smells of bodily odors frequently drifted up towards his rooms and the sound of shattering liquor bottles often startled him awake at night, but otherwise Sora had told him the truth: his rooms were clean and comfortable, and it was a large enough apartment that he didn't feel contained in his workspace. That was really all he needed.

Sora's rooms were in the middle, right between Riku's and Kairi's. He didn't sleep often, or much at all from what Riku observed; he was keeping an eye on the bar and managing the place the majority of the time, often long into the night and starting around midday. The saloon opened every day, even the Lord's Day, without question – despite the fact that Riku had moved into his apartment above the business, Sora was bound and determined not to adjust his operating hours for the sake of worship that did not take place in the camp. That was their first stalemate.

Their second stalemate came upon them when Riku suggested that he hold religious meetings in the Heart's Desire – which Sora vehemently opposed. His saloon was not a place of worship, no sir. No matter what Riku said, Sora would not back down. It bothered him; he'd never met anyone so combative and yet accommodating, but Sora's argumentative nature put him off like no one else ever had. Sora was friendly enough, and mysteriously hadn't asked him for even his discounted rent quite yet – but when Riku tried to suggest any changes that might bring religion into the place Sora shut down and argued fiercely to maintain his semblance of independence from religion.

Their arguments even took place in different rooms; one morning Sora was late getting out of his room so Riku questioned him from outside his door. This continued for a little while, escalating to the point where they were shouting at each other, with Riku rubbing the bridge of his nose agitatedly at Sora's snarky and obnoxious responses. Riku wasn't sure what he said, but he felt harsh saying it, and suddenly the door to Sora's room slammed open, revealing a seething young man on the other side - a seething, mostly naked young man.

Riku swallowed thickly and forced his eyes up to meet Sora's narrowed gaze as he shouted, studiously ignoring his naked and damp chest, indicative of a recent and rare bath. He was wearing pants, luckily, but in is anger and need to respond to Riku's mutual rage he'd come out of his room without his shirt or waistcoat.

The argument carried on, but that wasn't what bothered Riku. It was the fact that he had to remind himself to look up, to meet Sora's gaze rather than survey his body. He had to force himself not to study his toned chest and stomach, to not linger on the sharpness of his collar bone and the smooth tendons in his neck as he shouted. Riku was completely baffled, and becoming more and more rattled with every second and word that passed between them. Ever since he was a child, Riku could remember forcing his thoughts towards much more acceptable processes; he'd schooled his mind to block out unacceptable thoughts over the course of college and divinity school. Riku remembered learning early and very quickly what was proper for a young man, and whether it was by the rod or a harsh backlash, he came to realize his thoughts were impure – and he learned to snuff those thoughts out.

But now, with some of those thoughts filtering back into his mind, Riku lashed out angrily. "For fuck's sake," he hissed loudly, snarling at the shorter brunet. Sora startled, eyes widening at Riku's sudden use of the curse. Even after he spoke it, the word tasted strange on his lips. "Put a fucking shirt on, for Christ's sake." Riku shoved the door to Sora's room right in the brunet's face, slamming it shut before twisting around and stalking back to his own room.

He slammed the door and stared at the wood grain, his jaw set and his teeth grinding together as he tried to force his body and mind back under control after that outburst. Above all other things Riku despised the times when things went beyond his control. It was despicable really, when a preacher could not maintain control of his own thoughts during a conversation, could not maintain his semblance of self control enough to not shout obscenities during a quarrel. Riku let his forehead drop to the hard wood of the door, smacking it in frustration as he breathed deeply, slowly regaining control of himself.

The thought of apologizing to Sora entered his mind a few moments later, once he'd sufficiently calmed down enough to realize that he'd treated his host unfairly. Acting out due to his internal frustrations was in no way proper.

When he did eventually get around to apologizing to Sora, he expected the brunet to rub his face in his complete lack of manners or his idiocy or any number of things. What he didn't expect was for Sora to shrug it off and apologize for agitating him. Then he said something Riku wasn't expecting at all: "Friends fight, don't they?"

Riku was positively stunned. Were they friends? He'd only been in Casper's Gulch for a few weeks, and during that time he and Sora had only shared tense conversations and the occasional argument over beliefs and whatnot – and yet Sora claimed they were friends? He was a bit bewildered by it. Sora had to be one of the strangest friends he'd ever come across, but if that was what he wanted to call their relationship, Riku wasn't going to correct him.

"You wanna know what friends also do?" Sora prompted, prodding him in the bicep. "They forgive each other. We're good, right?"

After a brief moment spent digesting those words, Riku nodded. "Yes, we're good." He breathed a little sigh of relief after that, hoping there would be no reference to the last fight between them again.

"Perfect. Now come on down to the tables, I'll get you some poker chips – on me."

"Wh-what? Why?" Riku sputtered as he was tugged by the arm down towards the bar and dealing tables.

"You said 'fuck' to me – twice," Sora explained simply. "I feel like I owe you for damaging your moral character or something."

"But I don't know how to play poker."

Sora turned and gave him a maniacal grin. "Then I'll show you."

Xxx

Thirty miles away, five people sat around a blazing campfire in the dead of night, passing around bottles of whiskey and laughing uproariously. Five horses were tied to a tree nearby, saddles splayed out across a tree branch while their owners grazed lazily. The bottles were passed again, and a burly man sitting on the far right of a fallen log chuckled in a low, sinister tone. He had long black hair wrapped up in braids and pulled back into a tail, with thick black sideburns along the sides of his jaw. He, like most of the others, was dressed in dirty buckskins for long rides on the open prairie and a dirt-stained broadcloth shirt, though he opted out of a waistcoat.

"I can't believe you sent Demyx down there by himself," he muttered, shaking his head as he took a long drink of whiskey. "Fool's going to fuck up."

"Not our problem," the tall, gangly man with bright vermillion hair to his left said, snickering as he sipped his own liquor. He was dressed a little more flamboyantly, with a dark green shirt, black waistcoat that looked brand new, and a gold watch chain glimmering in the light of the fire. As the fire crackled, it cast dramatic shadows across his face, accentuating his bright green eyes, high cheekbones, and the sharp tattoos right beneath his eyes. "Doesn't take more than one man to kill a brat. Sending all six of us out to kill a kid just seems plain sick, ya know? Demyx can take care of it."

"My confidence in him is not exactly the greatest, especially in matters such as this," a young man with long, dark blue hair hanging in his face muttered. The fire cast artful shadows across his face from the locks as he spoke, boredom in his voice. "He's not exactly the best assassin."

"Of course not, I am," the redhead crowed proudly, sniggering into his whiskey. "But he'll get the job done."

"You better hope he does," a sharp female voice spoke up, the woman's blue eyes shining like daggers in the firelight. "Otherwise the boss'll start to ask why the job wasn't done right, and I am not associating myself with your damaged reputation, asshole." She was just as rowdy as the rest of them and would have passed for a smaller man but for the way her tight waistcoat revealed the swell of her breasts.

"And here I thought our love was eternal," the redhead scoffed, vaguely mocking. "You wound me."

"If this is going to turn into a spat, perhaps we should leave," the young man with dark blue hair stage-whispered to the silent, hulking man beside him. "Theirs is a coupling you do not want to be a voyeur for."

The hulking man barely lifted a thick eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Because you're not sure if you should be disgusted or call for a medic," the blue-haired man answered wryly.

"We ought to be more careful," the sole woman muttered slyly, leaning in towards the redhead. "Zexion's been spying on us."

"I was under the impression you liked it that way, Larxene," the redhead practically purred, the corners of his lips pulling up into a leering smirk.

"Zexion's a prude. No fun."

"I am still here, you know."

"So were we. And you are a prude, get over it."

Zexion rolled his eyes.

"So who is this kid the boss wants dead?" the man with the long black hair and sideburns asked, passing the bottle of whiskey he'd been drinking from along. "Axel, you're the one the boss chose to lead this one. Who is he? I only heard him say the name once."

"He's the kid that Strife bastard called in," Axel answered, shrugging and wrapping an arm possessively around his lover's shoulders. "His nephew or something. It's got something to do with the claim on grazing lands, I never really worked it out."

"So if he doesn't show, the widow'll be forced out of the claim?"

"That's the idea, but I wouldn't necessarily count on it," Axel said shrewdly, pushing a few locks of red hair back from his face. "The widow's a sharp one. I'm willing to bet she'll put up one hell of a fight."

"That's right, I forgot she almost shot you," the man with the long black hair snorted.

Axel grumbled darkly. "Shut it, Xaldin."

The sound of galloping hooves distracted the five from their discussion; the all fell silent, quietly assessing where the sound was coming from.

"Sounds like Demyx is back," Zexion eventually concluded, squinting his eyes to see in the moonlight.

"That you, Dem?" Axel called loudly, receiving an affirmative shout in response. Moments later the long, powerful legs of a brown Quarterhorse came into the light, slowing to a walk; it was followed by the sounds of heavy breathing and agitated snorting from the horse. "How'd it go?"

The man still sitting astride the horse, Demyx, looked pale and fearful. His blond hair was loose and windswept, as he'd been riding through the night. He didn't even bother trying to get off the horse, as it was still moving about agitatedly beneath him. "Um. Well."

Five hopeful expressions fell simultaneously. "Spit it out you sonofabitch," Axel snapped impatiently. "Did you kill the brat?" he demanded, his voice ringing in the night.

Demyx sputtered and shrugged dramatically, his arms flapping helplessly as he tried to form words that wouldn't end up with him getting shot or maimed. In the end, there was no way out. "I couldn't find him," he muttered, frustration flooding his voice.

The people around the fire erupted into outraged shouts and screaming at the blond cowering on the horse; the Quarterhorse shied away as they shouted, making Demyx panic even more. Axel stormed forward, grabbing the bridle to steady the horse and dragging Demyx down off the animal violently. He took hold of the front of the blond man's shirt and pulled him up, lifting Demyx off the ground. "Hey hey hey, cut it out, man!" Demyx yelped, scrabbling at Axel's wrists. "I told you you were sending the wrong guy!"

"Shut it," Axel snarled, "now what in all the fucking hells happened?"

"The caravan was already under attack," Demyx choked, his legs dangling. "I looked for ages, but I couldn't find the kid!"

"Are you absolutely, positively sure," Axel demanded menacingly, snarling in Demyx's face, "that he wasn't drowned or scalped or something?"

"No," Demyx gasped. "No, there was no one that looked like 'im. I looked, Axel, I looked, I swear, please please put me down! Please don't hurt me, Ax, I did my best, you gotta believe me."

Axel dropped him abruptly, releasing him and letting him fall to a heap in the dry prairie grass. He stalked away, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly as his long legs took him in a circular pattern. Finally he stopped and tilted his head back to the stars and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Fuck!"

"Boss isn't gonna like this," Larxene muttered, her expression twisted as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"If the boy pulled a runner before Demyx got there, there's nothing to be done," Xaldin muttered. "Besides – the river crossing's fifty miles from the nearest settlement, and the little bastard has no idea where the fuck he is or where to go. Even if he did grab a horse, there's no telling whether he'll make it anywhere close, and if he does – we'll know about it."

"Then I guess it's time to head back into town," Larxene sighed, going over and pulling on Axel's arm. "Let's go."

Xxx

When Riku had been in Casper's Gulch for nearly a month, he stopped to assess the progress he'd made in the camp; they weren't many, but Riku was satisfied given the way the camp was when he arrived. There appeared – to Riku, anyway – to be fewer murders in the streets, and the miners did not jeer at him when he went out to talk to them about the gospel. They seemed to just accept his presence, which was an incredible feat given their somewhat violent reaction to him in the first place. Sora seemed to be helping that, as much as he could anyway; he was openly friendly with Riku, and that friendliness seemed to spread bit by bit to the other miners - especially when Sora pulled Riku into a poker game with a group of them. That definitely seemed to amuse them.

Things changed though, when three of the Strife widow's cattle herders rode into town at a breakneck speed, shouting for the town doctor. Riku had been out on an errand getting food supplies for Sora and happened to see the riders arrive; one of them – a woman, he was surprised to see – was carrying the limp body of a young man in her arms. Riku raised his hand to offer space in his apartment for him, but Sora caught their eyes first and waved them over frantically. He watched as the young man's body was carefully passed down to one of the cowboys who'd already dismounted his horse, and they all disappeared into the Heart's Desire saloon. Riku grabbed the satchel of food he'd gathered from the stands and jogged over to the saloon to see what was going on.

Tidus, a friend of Sora's and occasional bartender at the saloon, directed him up to the little spare room in Sora's apartment; the door was open, and Riku went in without a second thought. Sora's room was cluttered, not unlike the way he imagined it would be. There were clothes and mementos scattered all about, with half-empty bottles of liquor on different shelves amongst worn, tattered books and catalogues from the last few years. Worn posters had been tacked up on the walls too – they were faded now, but Riku could tell they had once been colorful depictions of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. He followed the voices through Sora's bedroom and into the spare room, where Sora, Kairi, and two of the widow's cowboys were crowded around a body on the bed.

"Riku," Sora called, his head popping up from the swarm of bodies, beckoning him over. "You know how to help people, right? The doctor's not here yet, can you help?"

Riku nodded instantly and maneuvered his way around the people surrounding the figure on the bed towards the young man's head; he leaned down and pressed two fingers below the man's jaw, searching for a pulse. It was there, slower than it should have been for a young man in his early twenties – if he aged him right – but still, he was definitely still fighting. Riku gauged him to be around Sora's height, but he looked smaller in comparison, and did not appear to be in good health at all: his skin was red and feverish, and his wiry frame appeared to have been drawn thin from lack of water, food, or both. Lank and dirty blond hair stuck out in all directions, and even unconscious the man's mouth was set in a frown.

"Where did you find him?" he asked hastily, noticing a tear in the young man's shirt; upon further inspection Riku realized he was indeed injured and pushed his shirt sleeve up to reveal the wound. It was a relatively minor laceration, but his bicep was covered in the dried blood.

"The middle of the prairie," the cowgirl responded, tossing her hat onto the table beside the bed. "We were driving the cattle out to graze a few miles out and there he was, layin' out on the grass with his horse off a ways, grazing. He didn't respond, so we grabbed him and brought him back here."

"We need water," Riku announced, "to wash that wound out and get him cooled down bit by bit. Can you get us some?" he asked, looking over to Sora.

"If it's what you need, yeah," Sora nodded confidently, rising immediately. Within seconds he was gone.

"Kairi, do you know where Sora keeps spare rags for mopping up and all? They'd need to be clean."

"I know what you mean. I've got some," Kairi whispered, her voice rushed. She stood, smoothing out her silk skirts before sweeping out of the room in search of the rags he requested.

"Gonna send me out to do something or are you out of orders?" the cowgirl asked, a hint of waspishness in her voice.

"What's your name?" Riku asked, checking the man over for other injuries.

"Olette," she answered.

"I'm not trying to give out orders, I'm just trying to make sure this man doesn't die – maybe we'll even find out who he is."

"I think we know," Olette said somberly.

Riku's gaze jerked across the bed towards her, eyeing her freckled cheeks, deep brown eyes, and long brown braid draped across her shoulder. He'd never met her before, but Riku could almost sense the weariness in her eyes; they must have ridden all night. "Who do you think he is?"

"Strife's nephew," Olette answered promptly, amid commotion from Sora and Kairi returning at the same time.

"Are you sure?" Riku balked; could it actually be him?

"He's the spitting image of our old boss," Olette's companion answered this time, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'd definitely wager that's him."

Sora put the bowl of fresh water he'd retrieved down on the table next to Riku and went to peer at something out the dusty window; Kairi handed over the rags, which Riku dipped in the water to wash off the young man's injury and put a cool cloth over his forehead and eyes.

"Perhaps we should be telling Ms. Strife, then," Riku suggested. "She'd look after him."

"I don't mean to kill the idea so fast," Sora muttered, the tone in his voice catching Riku's total attention. "But we've got a problem. Bad news just rode back into town, and I'm willing to bet every dollar I own they're looking for him."

Riku stood abruptly and moved to stand beside Sora, peering out of the glass and onto the street below. A small cadre of riders were just getting off their horses, all in black except for the shock of blond, red, and black that he presumed was their hair. A sick feeling developed in the pit of his stomach as he watched them disperse, most of them heading in the direction of a saloon and brothel down the street.

"Trouble?"

"I know every soul in this God-forsaken camp," Sora responded through gritted teeth. "And those guys are more trouble than you even know." Swallowing thickly, Sora continued, "He stays. If we send him out there, he'll be dead before you even realize a shot's been fired."

"And what about the widow? What do we tell her?"

Sora looked torn. "Let's make sure he survives the night first, alright? Then we'll work from there."

TBC