Title: Skills and Wisdom are Acquired not Inherent
Author: Eeevee
Rating: T for language
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.
Author's note: Written for my sister. She needs a little pick-me-up and for some incomprehensible reason likes LuckxDallas.
Luck laughed quietly in his quiet bedroom. He was tucked away, swathed in blankets and propped up with several goose down pillows. The tattered book in his hand wavered as he laughed then started to cough. Ruefully he waited until the fit was over then took a sip from the glass by his bedside.
He already knew that immortality did not equal invincibility but to be laid flat by the common cold was a bit humiliating.
Once his breathing softened, he glanced back at the dog-earred page that he found so amusing.
He had found the book half-forgotten in the backroom of his favorite bookstore. It was buried beneath several others and when he dug it out. This access to the backroom was a privilege he enjoyed immensely and if he had free time it was invariably spent digging through second-hand books. There was an intangible pleasure to finding a forgotten or rare bit of paper and binding.
The intricate symbol on the front had drawn him in, but it was the actual meaning behind a familiar name that made him laugh. Dallas. Skilled or wise one. This was most certainly an instance of big aspirations for a child that never came through.
Abruptly Luck stopped chuckling. Time seemed to have taken on a new meaning for those who were immortal. He hardly noticed the days because they felt like seconds. Years were marked only by the seasons' change.
He knew it was late winter. Ice coated the streets and pulled down the balconies. Trash cans froze to the cement and the turfs wars cooled. It had been several years since he had last seen Dallas, who seemed to once again be up to no good.
That simply seemed to be Dallas' nature, and Luck certainly felt inclined to judge. But he tempered himself for reasons he hardly knew himself. He never told his brothers his conflicting opinion of the man and for awhile it seemed to be a faded issue.
But now he was thinking about it. And it bothered him. Sometimes he wished his brain would not be so obnoxious; it was much better when he was simply enjoying reading the book.
He brought the glass to his lips and let the last of the liquid trickle down his sore throat. Reluctantly he pushed his way out of the snug blankets and stood. For a few seconds he swayed then gained his balance. His bare feet slid across the threadbare carpet and he wandered towards the kitchen. Eventually he knew he would have to fix the place up, but to do so would ruin the nostalgic value of a time when it was just him and his brothers.
Bachelorhood suited him but sometimes it was lonely.
Coming around the corner he instantly sensed the intruder. He realized immediately that he was weaponless, weak from illness, and completely off guard. Even the years of being shot up and put back together did not dull his instinct, which were alternating between aggression and flight.
When he heard the voice address him, it did nothing to relax him.
"Evening Luck."
Luck came around the corner to see Dallas seated at his kitchen table. He had helped himself to the liquor cabinet but did not look entirely at ease. The fingers on his left hand twitched with nervous energy.
"It is after midnight." Luck corrected mildly, still trying to come up with an appropriate response to an intruder in his kitchen that did not involve a tommygun or a string of insults. "And I do not recall giving you a key."
Dallas shrugged and Luck gave him a hard look. The years between their last meeting had changed the other man's appearance. He had lost the juvenile delinquent look and had a hard edge that meant business. He was dressed smartly and no longer slouched. Time had been rather kind to him it seemed. He was sobered up with maturity and quite good looking.
"It was easy enough to get in," his fingers drummed and a small smile played across his face. "You're slacking, you bastard."
"Immortality does that." Luck retorted and coughed. He went to the sink then thought better. Grabbing the bottle off the table, he took a big gulp and set it back down in front of Dallas. The alcohol burned as it touched the infected skin of his throat and cleared his mind with the pain.
Dallas took the invitation and swigged.
There was a long pause between the two. Luck was trying to take in the new, mannered and clean Dallas. He was not sure which bothered him more: the lack of profanity or the appearance of the tie.
What had not changed was Dallas had set something in motion and now he was not quite sure how to handle it.
Abruptly he started laughing. It was not the kind of laugh that showed merriment and Luck was puzzled. He was beginning to wonder if Dallas' sanity was impaired.
"God dammit, I just can't catch a break. Fucking up like usual," he gave another desperate laugh. Now this sounded like the Dallas Luck knew. "Another failure. That's me, Dallas the god damn failure."
Luck leaned against the kitchen wall and watched the man in front of him have a breakdown. He stepped into save his table, which had turned into a wooden punching bag, and grabbed the other man's fist. Dallas immediately froze and slight tremble rippled off of him.
Luck let go quickly.
And this was why both Claire and Firo told him he was not fit for the mafia.
Because he was too nice. Even to a man he should not be nice to, who should fear him, and who he should have evicted at knife or gun point.
"Do not destroy my furniture with your tantrum." Luck said quietly, "It has sentimental value."
Dallas stared at the table and scowled. Stiffly he picked up the bottle that had tipped and stood up. Fishing around in his suit pockets he pulled something out in his closed fist. Luck tensed, although he was not sure what kind of weapon was so small that it could be concealed that way.
They both watched as Dallas' fingers uncurled slowly. A small wad of paper lay innocently in his palm once the fingers were retracted. Luck knew instantly what lay written on the small, crumpled sheet and why Dallas was sitting in his kitchen.
Luck paused to consider the massive tangle of emotions that were writhing around in his abdomen like a basketful of snakes. Disbelief. Trepidation. Disgust. Amusement. And, strangely enough, hope and delight slithered right along with the rest. He covered his mouth to muffle a cough and hoped his face did not show what he was feeling. Of all the times for Dallas to do this, it would have to be when he was weak and ill and alone. It would have to be a time when he would be fuzzy in the head and complicate things that were really quite simple. And he was not even tipsy this time.
"Do you think you are that man?" he asked quietly, tensing for the answer. Such simple words were deceptive. 'That man' was subjective and they both knew it. It was a matter of who knew whom better and how far they wanted to play this game of words.
Dallas' fingers drummed slightly on the wood and he rolled the bottle around in a small circle. He looked up steadily, his dark eyes trained on Luck, "I've been working on it."
Luck smiled, "And you think that is good enough? To merely work towards a goal rather than achieve it? It is no wonder you are, as you so blatantly termed it, a failure."
Dallas lost all pretense of being humble and behaving. He exploded to his feet and shouted, "You fucking bastard!"
Luck chuckled, enjoying the moment, and tsked, "Language. I did not say you are a failure yet."
"What the hell does that mean?" the other man grumbled sounding mollified that Luck did not really mean he was a loser.
It was hard not to draw away when Dallas flinched, but Luck kept his hand on the other man's shoulder. If this were to go anywhere, the two of them would have to get used to physical contact.
"Do I have to spell it out or have you gained some intelligence along with those fantastic manners and expensive ties?" It was just too much fun to tease.
Instead of exploding again, Dallas considered his words. Abruptly his face lit up although he scowled at the same time.
"Then just fucking say that instead of making up some fancy words."