Title: Dirty Rat

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. Again. Because, apparently, this is her OTP. A little more light-hearted than usual and possibly slightly OOC. Prologue for another planned ficlet. Other stories are being worked on but I owe lots.

Dallas stared at the small, white creature before him. It stared back, head swaying slightly, pink eyes bulging out. It wasn't any different than any other rodent at first glance. The fur was white and it's long, pink tail and pink feet were dirty with street grim. In fact, it was behaving extremely docilely considering earlier it had tried to chew off his fingers, earning a few swear words.

Bored with the staring contest, it sniffed the air and then grabbed a chunk of cheese that Dallas had thrown in there. Rats ate cheese, right? Or was that mice. Whatever, the disgusting animal was eating it.

Dallas sunk down into the chair to get a closer look. This rat seemed perfectly normal, until you looked closer. Its fur was thinning and silvered while the pitifully thin and aged body swayed slightly. The pink eyes were filmed over with white and the whiskers were kinked and broken. It wasn't sick, just old. Except anyone who'd been a native of the mean streets of New York City knew there was no such thing as an old rat. It was a damn fairy tale.

Luck chose that moment to walk through the door. His sharp face was twisted in a scowl and he thumped down a big, black bag. His coat was covered in blood and he chucked his hat at the table.

Dallas knew that now was not a good time to bother the other man. Any idiot could see that. So he didn't say any greeting or even look fully around. In fact, as little movement as possible would be good right now. After all, he was in an amiable mood at the moment, pensive actually, and he didn't feel like getting in a huge fight.

"What is that?" Luck's cold voice floated over his shoulder, "And why is it on my table?"

Dallas shrugged, "What does it look like?"

He half-expected to be whipped around and slammed into the wall for his insolent answer. It wouldn't be the first time. Of course, it usually degraded into a full-blown fight with fists and curses, and that was probably what Luck felt like right now.

"It looks like a fucking filthy animal sitting on the place where I eat my food." Luck growled, still behind him. Dallas turned seriously, careful to keep his language clean; it was a good habit he had fallen into, "It is but I'll clean it up. You're covered in blood, you know that? You can't really talk about things being filthy when you're dripping on the floor. Why don't you go take a shower or something?"

It felt weird to be the one offering high-handed suggestions, and if Luck wasn't so agitated, it would probably earn him a good, solid tongue lashing.

Instead of going to the shower, Luck sunk down into a chair and glared balefully up at Dallas. His sharp brown eyes were probing and his lips curled up into a twisted expression of question.

"So what is special about this creature?" Luck asked, looking down at the rat. It was now grooming its whiskers.

"This." Dallas abruptly slammed a large book down on the animal with a violent thunk and crunch. More bright blood splattered on Luck's suit, making a contrast over the old, dried blood. He swore and jumped at the sudden violence. "Language, Luck, isn't that what you're always telling me."

"You just destroyed my book."

Dallas looked down in surprise and realized what he was holding. Grimacing sheepishly, he realized he probably could've skipped the dramatic point and just used a knife. Now he was going to have to buy Luck a new book. Fuck. And with his luck, this would be the most oldest, pointless, signed, expensive volume. Double fuck.

"Oops, sorry. I'll buy you a new one?" Dallas offered weakly really expecting to be punched. No one messed with Luck's collection of books. Dallas had once tipped over a bookcase in a temper tantrum. He never did that again. Ever. It was not amusing to be doused in gasoline and thrown out in the middle of a snowstorm for an hour. Not to mention it hurt like hell. "No, really, I didn't mean to. I just wanted to show you something."

"I know." Luck's voice was chilled and Dallas knew he was still in deep trouble. "But why you insisted on not only housing a filthy rodent on my table, but also smashing it and smearing blood everywhere, better have a good reason beyond show and tell. I already know you can kill things weaker than you are."

Dallas narrowed his eyes and was about to retort when it happened. The rat, getting spooked by the loud noises and threats, jumped up and landed on Luck's face. It scrabbled desperately, sharp little nails digging into flesh, and gripped his hair until it was perched on top of his head.

Dallas couldn't help laughing. And it wasn't a nice laugh-with-you sort of laugh. It was a nasty haha-I-told-you-Fucker laugh. He reached forward to grab the rat, which was once again a pristine white and no longer soaked in crimson. It bit his thumb with needle-sharp teeth and launched itself onto the table. Hitting the wood with a solid thump, it scuttled back into the now-crushed box Dallas had been keeping it in, shivering pitifully.

Luck just stared in amazement.

"Crazy, I know. I saw it get run over by an automobile on the street this morning. It's immortal."

Luck picked up the box, temper and disgust forgotten, and peered in at the animal. It chattered nervously before turning its back to him to continue cleaning.

"It appears to not be in particularly good shape."

"I saw that too. The little bastard looks like someone threw it through a shredder." Dallas replied, happy he wasn't going to be trounced for the book or the rat. Then again, the book was no longer soaked in blood, so he was probably okay.

"So what does this mean?"

"Hell if I know." Dallas growled darkly. "Means it's like me?"

The two stared over the table. Luck, perpetually nineteen, and Dallas appearing to most to be in his late twenties. The elixir had slowed his aging, he was actually thirty-seven, not that he was counting or anything, since Luck never bothered with dates. Time didn't matter much to him. Depending on when the rat was given the elixir, it was at least twenty years old. For an animal that rarely lived over twenty months, this was amazing.

"Get rid of it." Luck said finally.

"What?" Dallas smirked, "I was planning to keep it for a pet. It's just as cute and hairy as your brother. It'd be like a keepsake to remind me of how much he fucking loves me."

"Say that to his face and you will find out how much he loves you." Luck chuckled darkly. Both of them had decided that introducing Dallas to Luck's family was not the wisest course of action. The secret seemed to bother the other man at first, and probably still did, but he had relaxed over time.

"No thank you. The asshole would turn me into paste and probably successfully bite off my hand instead of my thumb." Dallas declined, fighting back a quick shudder at the thought of one-on-one with Berga.

He scooped up the box with the rat in it and went to the door. Suddenly his morbid interest in the creature was crushing and painful. He really shouldn't have picked it up. Knowing the future wasn't all it was cracked up to be and he sure as hell didn't want to consider being half-blind and crippled.

He chucked the box out into the hallway without a backwards glance and firmly shut the door. It was almost out of his mind by the time he returned to the kitchen because he was good at ignoring things that required deep thinking. Shit happened and thinking about it wasn't going to change it.

When he returned to the kitchen, Luck had gone.