A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone! It sure was fun. :D
The Man with No Name
( Part Fifty: Let Love Reign )
They exchange an ordinary goodbye, the type to occur between two friends, when he hands her the train ticket and stands on the platform. Since she has no money, and his saddlebags are packed for a week or two on the road, he purchases her voucher without hesitation and shoves the receipt in his pockets as they wait for the next scheduled departure.
Arms and legs akimbo, Dark Ace stands up behind her, slouches a little without the weight of his sword at his back, and eyes the other passengers as they crowd around Piper and usher her towards the entrance stands. Her feet drags; and impatient people shove past her to board. Finally, she picks up her heels and heads towards the doors. The last whistle calls.
The conductor is nearby; his polished boots click smartly as he double-triple checks the cars to make sure all is in working order. Meanwhile, the Cyclonian remains still, and replays the instant – just a few seconds ago – the moment Piper hops over the last step and swings herself over to an open window.
"Goodbye," she says as elbows jostle her sideways, and Dark Ace wants to yell, "Good. Now find your seat!"
Her friends will come pick her up at the next town, considering the telegraph she sent this morning will reach them in time. If not, she will have to wait in one of the local taverns.
It's strange to imagine Piper entering a bar without him already there. But there is no prick of worry regarding her safety, at least, not anymore. If he had the initiative, he would have realized the only hazard to her well-being was his person, but honestly, it is beyond his capacity to think so. The outcome of their time together leaned heavily towards his benefit, and therefore it must be good.
She keeps waving, a small brown hand obscured by heat and smoke as the engineer shouts "All Aboaard!" The wheels of the black express churn madly which results in several tons of billowing smoke – he is standing too close, steam threatens to burn his face – and Dark Ace retreats several paces back. The monotonous fog deceives. Cries of 'farewell and good luck' on both sides of the platform diminish Piper's voice. They swallow her person until she is part of the ruckus.
She hopes to see his face in the chalky mist before she sends her farewell.
And all he wants to hear is her calling his name. His true name, but knows she can't. His boots ache to run across the smooth floorboards, throw caution and identity over his shoulder and sprint along the tracks. However, his arms are firmly clamped to his sides and all he can manage is a seemingly impartial, single "Bye."
That evening, he parks his beloved Switchblade just outside a large outcropping of rocks, and starts a fire using some dry fagots and the dead twigs of a nearby bush. It burns a deep orange and the middle is a mixture of hot yellow-white. Dark Ace tosses a few more branches into the pit to keep away the night scavengers planning to sneak up on his camp while he dozes.
He'll admit, the colour of the flames reminds him of her warmth.
Dinner is a meager affair, but he doesn't feel so lonesome. Instead, he reclines on his mattress, propped up against a gray boulder, and gazes up at the stars. This is the life, he thinks, I've found my peaceful, easy feeling.
The wireless transmitter in one of his saddlebags crackles with an incoming message from Faroe. He exchanges brief words with the damn mechanic who interrogates him on his whereabouts. What day and what time will he drop by? Did he stop Repton? Where the hell was the cured bacon? The Talon rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs into the mouthpiece.
Hey Faroe, why don't you tell me I'm just eating you out of house and home?
What time, Ace?
You'll know when I know, old man. Click. The transmission is cut off.
Dark Ace ruffles his hair, stretches his back, and gazes over at his bike. The Switchblade is dirty and her oil is good, but nothing beats a little tune up at the shop. Faroe will likely go on a head hunt once he sees her condition in the garage, but he'll slave away for hours until she looks factory-new.
The velvet curtain falls, and the tundra serenades him with the sounds of the night time. Hard to believe last night he and Piper camped under the stars and shared a sleeping bag. She fell asleep before him, something he found amusing considering he was the one who usually passed out early – back when he was drunk.
Dark Ace surprises himself when he laughs.
He thinks about her now, calculates two hours ago the train reached its destination. Imagines her getting out of her seat, berate herself for not taking her backpack and staff along, and hops off the steps where her teammates are waiting for her. It's about time she comes home.
The fire crackles. He'll wake up early tomorrow, just before sunrise, so he can see the orange in the sky. She'll be there, he's sure, up in the clouds where they belong. He knows Piper's an early riser. He knows she will look down at the desert and hope to locate his telltale tracks. He'll be there soon, but for now, he's got a few more letters to deliver and an old friend to annoy.
So tell me have you ever really – really, really ever loved a woman?
You want to know her name, girl? Piper. Her name is Piper.
Well, have you?
