Title: Maturity

Author: Eeevee

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: This story is a stand-alone and does not connect with any of the other drabbles. I'm not sure where it came from except the thought of "what would the Gandors be doing today?" and then I started considering the novels, where Firo's personality and maturity are the same throughout. People change during their lives... but is there a reason to change if you're immortal? History might be slightly off because I don't remember when exactly Dallas was getting into trouble but WW2 started at the end of the 1930's. An odd piece, very somber.

The old man slowly wandered down the street, peering down side streets and frowning at unfamiliar street signs. It had been far too long since he had visited, but his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren made it nearly impossible to visit the mean streets of New York City. The only reason he was here now was because most of his family was on vacation in Europe.

Bah, he'd been to Europe before- hell, he'd been all over the world- and he was quite satisfied to visit his birth place instead.

Still, nearly a century changed a lot of things, but it was no matter. He wasn't lost because he wasn't looking for much. He could feel it; the tug in his bones claiming him for this ground, where his blood relatives were buried. It sung in his blood and made his limbs tremble slightly. Placing his cane forward, he went to step off the street, mindful of those god-awful taxis; one would think the driving would improve over the decades not get worse.

It took a moment to register when the rubber foot of his cane caught in a crack, sending him head first into a busy street.

A brief flash of exasperation went through him at the thought of being hit by an automobile (he still had trouble calling them 'cars'), but there was no fear. He was past such simplistic fears as death and pain. It would be painful, oh yes, but he wouldn't die. Perhaps the driver would, after swerving madly to avoid him, or perhaps the driver wouldn't. In any case, he would go on as he had done for the past eighty years, and it would be hailed a miracle by the tabloids (and hushed by the government).

What he wasn't expecting was a strong hand to grab the back of his jacket (which his great-grand kids giggled at, calling him old fashioned) and yanking him back onto the sidewalk. A white car swerved sideways a little and its horn blared, fading into the chilly autumn air.

"You should be more careful, old man."

The old man froze, his mouth open to let loose a tirade against whomever had manhandled him. It snapped shut abruptly and the corner of his lip tugged into a slight snarl. Of all the coincidences in this world, he would have to run into one of his long-time enemies. This, in his mind, reassured him that even after being a good citizen, coming clean, and raising a healthy family, that God still thought of him as a cosmic joke.

He pondered what to do. It was obvious he had not been recognized, and who would recognize him after fifty some odd years? He could simply swallow his anger and thank the man for being a nosey jackass.

But apparently his mouth had other plans, "Good afternoon, Luck."

The old man turned just to see the other man's reaction. As expected, it was priceless. Luck looked the same as ever, although his clothing had changed with the times, and he wore an expensive black suit and carried a leather briefcase. His jaw set and his amber eyes narrowed. He looked odd without a hat, but those kinds of hats had fallen out of business fashion ages ago.

"Do I know you?"

"Once upon an era." The old man replied lightly, enjoying the wary confusion blossoming across Luck's face. "But it has been at least half a century since we have seen each other."

He could see Luck trying to categorize all of his acquaintances over the decades without much success. He smiled to himself, tucking his delight behind wrinkled lips. Reaching into his pocket, he procured a knife. Deftly he slid the knife down his arm, careful to hit the large, blue veins that stood out proximately on his liver spotted skin. Blood seeped out, running down his arm and splattering the sidewalk below.

"You are crazy, old man. I think you've had a few too many, staggering into traffic and thinking you know me." Luck said, but not unkindly. "And now I will have to take you to the hospital. They'll get you fixed up and get you-."

The rest of his sentence faded away as the blood arched off the cement and slithered back up the wrinkled flesh into the cut. Slowly the skin folded together like someone hand stitching a leather purse and sealed without a smear or scar.

"—You're an Immortal."

The old man hummed at Luck's shock and suspicion. He was sure Luck had met several other Immortals over the decades, as he had, not just the ones they knew mutually. He was right to be suspicious of course.

Over the silence of the next few seconds, teasing Luck lost its appeal. The old man couldn't muster the hate and bitterness he used to harbor. He might still be holding a grudge for the injustices done except he had met his wife. As a youth he had scoffed at the thought of love and devoting—his family was hardly a good role model as his parents could barely stand to live in the same house before his mother died—but as with most things in life, he learned he was wrong.

And he had never been so glad to be wrong in his life.

"I am lost, not senile." The old man spoke suddenly, realizing there was one place he had wanted to go, and this man would know where to take him. "I need to visit my sister."

Luck raised a brow and remarked archly, "I'm not an escort service or a phonebook. And you still haven't told me who you are."

"Eve Geonard, I believe you knew her."

The silence stretched longer this time, heavier. Luck peered at him over his sunglasses, which he had neglected to actually take off, clearly unhappy he had mentioned her name.

The old man had kept track of his sister for years without her knowing. Partly to avoid meeting her, because in his young, befuddled mind he was a failure and tainted and no good for her, and partly because he wanted to know she was safe.

"Dallas Geonard?"

The old man gave a short nod, switching his cane to his other hand. He hoped that it wouldn't be too far a trip. He found immortality kept him alive, but it did not keep him from becoming too tired or too sore. A flaw, in his opinion, he could do without. Looking at Luck, a brief surge of jealousy jolted through him. He doubted Luck became overly tired or had aching joints in the cold.

"I suppose I have some time for an old… friend." Luck said reluctantly. "You are aware Eve died five years ago?"

Dallas nodded again. He was aware. He had considered going to her funeral but decided it would be too awkward. He never told his wife about his past or his family, and he would not have known many at her funeral in any case.

"She-," Luck's voice cracked slightly and Dallas peered at him from under white brows, "Had cancer. She fought it for months, outliving the doctors' expectations and predictions, but in the end, she said she had to obey God's call."

Dallas frowned as he tried to picture his little sister a frail old woman clutching a rosary between shaky, skeleton fingers. The image overlapped with the last time he saw her, a young, hopeful girl with big brown eyes and beautiful brown hair.

"You have done well for yourself." Dallas replied, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. There would be time for grief and sadness in the cemetery, and it wouldn't be the first one he had visited over the years, outliving his wife and some of his children as well. "And I am sure that you treated her well. Thank you for taking care of my sister."

There was an unspoken echo of 'because I couldn't and didn't.' He wasn't sure if Luck felt what he was trying to say. Time had taught him what was important but had robbed him of whatever menial courage he had started with.

Luck gave him a crooked smile, "Office life doesn't suit me well."

"Good thing you aren't an office man." Dallas replied shortly, not appreciating being lied to. "Trafficking illegal weapons and selling them overseas is not much of an improvement since I last saw you."

Luck gave a snort, "Just bigger and better, that is all. War is money and business, no matter who we sell to. We own several side ventures as well, and I have been delegated care of the casinos. So I am an office man. I push paperwork, make deals, and smooze it up with all the hoity-toity CEOs."

The pair started walking down the streets, ignoring the traffic and crowds and setting sun. Dallas found it hard to keep up with Luck's pace, his tottery legs occasionally bowing sideways instead of bending forward, and he placed his cane carefully.

It would not do to have the man touch him again. He was not made of complete forgiveness, no matter how many years had passed.

"You do not seem happy with your role in life." Dallas observed and Luck gave a bark of a laugh. He turned his head, a mocking smile on his lips, and shot back, "And you, what have you done with your life? Your immortality?"

Dallas sighed, although it was in happiness, not exasperation or exhaustion. A younger version of him might have done the latter at what he had done with his life after coming home from the war. Although his draft had not been entirely voluntary- the government had caught wind of some of his less-than-legal activities and arrested him offering his release if he enlisted—it had changed his life.

And he could tell Luck had not reached that turning point. He was living the same life he had been living in the 1930's, stagnant and dull with the decades of routine. He wasn't living life, he was merely acting out the motions of duty.

"I have had a full life. I had a wife, she died eight years ago, and seven children. I have fifteen grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. I fought in World War Two for our country. I founded my own local grocery store chain and served on my local government for years. I am a stable, respected and beloved in my community." Dallas said with dignity, feeling somehow he had gained a victory over his old foe. "Eventually, my body will give out. You saw how slowly I healed; it took several minutes, instead of moments. Then I will be laid to rest, if there is anything left of me at that point, by my wife."

Luck openly stared at him, fox-eyes wide in shock and disbelief. Dallas busied himself with scaling the concrete steps they were climbing.

"But you cannot die."

"True, but I can age." Dallas would've held up a hand to illustrate his point but he needed it to balance. "And as cells age they deteriorate and shrink. So while I can't die, I suspect I will someday disappear. I hope for it, being trapped in this old, hurting body."

Luck was silent the rest of the way to the cemetery, probably rethinking his views about immortality and wondering why he had the bad luck to run into Dallas. Dallas didn't care at that point. His lungs were making little wheezing gasps puff through his lips and each step was a little less sure than the previous one.

Luck weaved through the tombstones without thought, showing this was a path he knew well, and paused in front of a particularly nice headstone of marble. Unlike the stones around it, it held only one name with the neat chiseling of her name and dates, instead of the standard two. A scripture verse flowed across the bottom with some illustrations. Flowers, life ones and silk, decorated the grave site.

"Life was worth living for Eve." Luck said unexpectedly, "It wasn't work or family when I was with her. Just a quiet reassurance that things were as they should be. I miss her terribly, although I suppose you understand, also having lost your wife.

"She was devastated when the doctors told her she could not bear children. She pretended she was not, calling it God's will, and threw herself into charity work, but I knew how deeply it bothered her. She wanted to leave me something, so I would not have to be alone."

"Children are…" Dallas considered his wording, "Irreplaceable. You would have made a good father and Eve a good mother."

Dallas placed a hand on the cool marble, eyes brushing over the fancy font of the scripture and lingering over the flowers. It reminded him that he had another cemetery visit, pending his return home to Iowa, and finding fresh flowers might be tough this late in the season. In his mind, he was speaking to Eve, even as his mouth spoke to Luck. He didn't think it quaint or crazy to address the dead anymore.

"Somehow I feel you have matured far better than I have." Luck remarked ruefully. He was standing to the side, looking awkward, with his sunglasses back over his eyes. His briefcase was settled at his feet like a loyal dog and for the moment he looked like a young boy playing dress up.

"Perhaps you have no reason to mature." Dallas replied quickly for he had thought about his deeply over the years, "After all, your time is infinite. You will be walking the Earth when it is lifeless and desolate from the remnants of humanity, along with all the other Immortals."

Luck pressed his lips together tightly and offered a hand. Dallas wordlessly brushed it off, although he was limping slightly from the climb up the stairs, and gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

"Thank you for bringing me to visit my sister. I was something I have put off so long until it became much too late. You may visit her if you wish; I will leave you two alone."

Luck looked like he wanted to say something more, perhaps invite Dallas out for drinks, but he ended up giving a tight smile and inquired, "Do you need me to call a taxi?"

Dallas considered for a moment before agreeing. His old bones wouldn't make the trip back to the hotel on foot and he was meeting an old acquaintance for dinner in any case.

"Good bye Luck. I wish you well with your immortality."

"Good bye Dallas. You have given me much to think about. Have a safe journey home."