Fic: The Going Rate for Loyalty

[splinteredstar]

I had a snow day today. And the thought "Wow, Khint would make an awesome Turk" has been in my head lately, so I sort of splorted something out. It is more or less unedited.

Final Fantasy 7/Bravely Default fusion

Set in Midgar

Tseng has captured one of the most skilled private body guards in MIdgar - now, to convince him to stay. (Turk!Khint AU)

The man sat patiently in the interrogation room. Tseng watched him from other side of glass, and then glanced down at the file in his hand again. His eyes paused on one particular line, not for the first time, and then he closed the file.

Beside him, Reno raised an eyebrow. His sub-commander tapped out a staccato rhythm onto his thigh, still keyed up from expectation for a fight that hadn’t happened. The man in the interrogation room had a dangerous reputation, so Tseng had sent Reno and Rude to capture him – but faced with the two Turks, the man had evidently calculated the odds and surrendered without a fight.

It was unusual, but mentally reviewing the man’s file, Tseng thought that perhaps it wasn’t unexpected.  He nodded to Reno, checked his weapons and surveillance, and entered the interrogation rom.

Ciggma Khint glanced up at Tseng and then went back to staring at the glass in front of him. His expression was flat, as if events had nothing to do with him. But his shoulders were loose and there was a spark of awareness in blank eyes. If events suddenly had something to do with him, he was ready.

It was a good look for a bodyguard, and one Tseng was very familiar with. Rude was an expert at it.

But the man had been stripped of all his weapons, and it was unlikely that he could escape the electronic cuffs, and he surely knew that. The hint of threat in his bearing was habitual, and Tseng ignored it as he slid into the chair across the table.

“Hello. My name is Tseng, commander of the Turks.” Tseng began. He considered asking if it were comfortable, or if the man smoked, but considering the man’s normal employers it would likely be taken for sarcasm. Efficiency would be better. “I imagine you know why you’re here.”

Khint – fighter for hire, killer for hire, body guard to the rich and infamous – tilted his head very slightly. His long hair was tied back except for one thick bang on the right side, nearly covering a scar on that side of his face. According to his file, he’d been injured in a fight when he was starting out, and almost lost the eye. It was the last time anyone reported a serious injury on him.

Khint watched Tseng for a long moment in silence, and then shrugged very slightly. The cuffs jingled behind him. Tseng watched back, able to play the silence game with the best of them, and waited. He’d emptied his schedule for this – he had all afternoon.

Eventually, Khint broke the silence first. His expression didn’t flicker.

“…I don’t talk about clients.” His voice was rough, though he hadn’t asked for water. Reports said he spoke rarely, and only when necessary. “It’s bad for business.”

“We know.” Tseng set the file down on the table. It was quite thick, and had taken a great deal of time and effort to assemble. “And you run a very good business.” Khint inclined his head very faintly in acknowledgement. “But that’s not why we’ve brought you here.”

He would get information out of the man later.

Khint’s dark eyes narrowed very slightly. No one was entirely sure where he came from, originally, but the dark skin he maintained despite the time he spent in the slum implied Costa or Corel. Tseng let the man wait a moment longer. He considered leaning his elbows on the table, to make the meeting seem casual – but no, it would seem a power move, an insult. Only the captor has the luxury of relaxation, after all, and making the man resentful would be detrimental.

“I’d like to offer you a job.”

Khint’s eyebrows went up minutely. His expressions were mere flickers across his face, as controlled as any mercenary’s tells. Nevertheless, when he spoke this time, it came sooner, smoother.

“There are means of contacting me for a contract,” the man said, the faintest hint of something that, in another man might just have been sarcasm, in his voice, “Capturing me was unnecessary.”

Tseng had considered it, in truth – hiring him on a contractual basis, and using that to build a rapport. The Turks had any number of contacts and contractors spread across the city - but the man was mercurial enough that maintaining enough loyalty for him to be useful would be difficult. There were cards that Tseng could play, and he intended to, but he would not do so for someone he was not going to /keep/.

“I was thinking a more permanent arrangement.” Tseng watched as expressions, little more than muscle twitches, crossed the man’s face. “A position as a Turk, in fact.”

Dark eyes opened wide in surprise, the first full expression Tseng had seen on the man. That expression disappeared almost instantly, but what had before been careful disinterest now looked more like wariness. Tseng allowed the man a moment to consider it. Wariness was a sensible response. If the man had leapt on the offer, Tseng would have doubted the wisdom of hiring him.

“….What do you offer?” His voice betrayed no interest, but he wasn’t rejecting it out of hand. Perhaps he knew what happened to people who rejected the job offer. “The price is going to be high.”

“A stable position, the support of a team, and pay rate above what you receive on a monthly basis.” Tseng watched the flickers of expression on the man’s face, and thought of the information contained in the file in front of him – the single line that caught his attention over and over – and added, “Protection for your daughter.”

It was a flipped switch, a cast spell – Khint’s attention a sudden a blade at his throat. Tseng didn’t flinch back from it. It was the reaction he’d expected. “You’ve hidden her well, but the money transfers are traceable for someone with the right resources.”

“Is that a threat?” Khint spoke with little inflection to his voice and held Tseng’s gaze evenly– only the slightest timber to his voice displayed any emotion. It could have been rage, or fear. Easily both.

“Only a statement of fact.” Tseng replied, ignoring his own feelings on the matter. (Mourn the fate of young girls in private, Turk.)  “The Turks were able to do it, but we are not the only ones who could. A position with the Turks would give you more resources, and the opportunity to deal with any threats as you see fit.”

It was a good offer – a very good offer. Split loyalty was anathema to the idea of the Turks, and the President would be enraged if he knew. How dare Turks care about more than the Good of the Company? Their loyalty should be to him and nothing else.

Tseng had no intention of telling him.

The Turks were loyal to the Turks, to Tseng, and yes, to the company. They killed and lied and tortured and died for it, on Tseng’s orders. Such loyalty could not be won with money and threats alone. Tseng knew that those above him would not understand such things, and so made sure that they never found out.

Ciggma Khint stared at him for a long, silent moment – and then he nodded, sharp and short.

“We have a contract.”

Tseng stood and picked up the file again, and briefly pulled a small electronic device out of his pocket. A button press later and the cuffs clattered to the floor. Khint stood, still watching Tseng like a man at gunpoint, but took the offered handshake with only narrowed eyes.

Tseng smiled, as faintly as any of Khint’s expressions. “Welcome to the Turks.”