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"It's what," Dallas says, staring at the bottle on the table. He can't believe he heard that right. Can't believe that Luck would --
"The complete formula," Luck says. "The one that stops aging, along with everything else." Dallas tries not to look him in the eyes, because it's a little too much to handle. "It's true immortality."
Dallas swallows hard, wishes he didn't feel so God damn sick. "You can't give that to me."
"Why not?" Luck says. Not even like he's trying to be an asshole, just -- like he doesn't see the problem with it.
"I -- lots of reasons," Dallas says. He looks away, stares into the fireplace. He knew it was a bad idea to agree that Luck could come over here, but he didn't have any idea how bad. "Starting with Eve. If you think I want to stay young forever and have to watch her get old and sick, and --" He can't even say 'die' where Eve's concerned, Jesus.
"I'm not that heartless," Luck says. "I know...how important family is. There's enough for you to split the bottle between you."
That doesn't make it better. Not really.
"So, what?" Dallas says. "You've gotten used to fucking my ass and you want to make sure I don't get ugly before you get bored?"
Luck stares at him like he's just pissed in the fountain at church.
"I'm not your God damn pet, Luck Gandor," Dallas says. His hands are shaking. "You can't just -- expect me to come when you call for as long as you fucking feel like it."
"Dallas," Luck says, "I'm not trying to --"
"I don't want it," Dallas interrupts, because he can't let this keep going. "I don't want to owe you." And that's too much plain God damn truth -- why won't Luck yell back at him, argue or explain or threaten, anything but --
Dallas looks at him, and shouldn't have. Luck's holding very still, his hands at his sides, his face so blank it makes Dallas realize just how expressive he is the rest of the time. They stand there like that for an awful moment, and Dallas thinks, whether Luck kills him now or not, Berga probably will once Luck gets home looking like that.
Luck takes a deep breath after a minute, and his voice is completely calm and flat when he says, "Good night, Mister Genoard." He turns, gets as far as the door before he pauses and says, "Merry Christmas." His voice cracks then, and it's a low God damn blow. Dallas flinches, and Luck doesn't even slam the door behind him.
The bottle's still on the table, red ribbon tied around the neck and everything.
Dallas doesn't want to look at it.
The sun's down and it's starting to spit cold winter rain now, the kind that freezes on the sidewalks and weighs down heavy coats with soaking chill. Luck doesn't even have his coat on, didn't stop to retrieve it before he left the Genoards' house. He wanders blindly away from Millionaire Row, and the lights in the windows sparkle and blur with the -- the rain clinging to his lashes. It's cold and dark and he tries to think about how much the cold bothers him, stinging his face, numbing his fingers, instead of anything else that hurts.
"Did you know this would happen?" he asks, wondering if the demon is listening. "Or is this another curiosity for you?" There's no answer, though a man sleeping in a doorway pulls back warily as Luck passes.
He's being absurd, Luck realizes. This is no great tragedy; he's no Lear, wandering bereft of what's most precious to him. He has his home, his brothers, and if Dallas still resents him so much -- if Dallas is still angry about what they've done...well, he'll recover from that, won't he? Claire and Firo are right; he's too sentimental and always has been.
The rain is soaking through his suit, and he's shivering hard, chilled down to the bone. If he weren't immortal he'd have to worry about making himself sick like this, wouldn't he? About dying from a stupid, preventable fever, worse perhaps than being gunned down in a bookstore -- not even business, just idiocy. Maybe the real luxury of being immortal is the chance to make all the stupid mistakes he can think of and come back for more.
If only it meant they didn't hurt at the time.
The bottle stays right where it is, because Dallas has told Samantha he doesn't want her cleaning up his game room. It just sits there on the card table while Dallas ignores it. He spends more time in the rest of the house, is all. Eve frowns, this tiny crease between her eyebrows that means she's worried about him. That's harder to shrug off.
"Little Eve," Dallas says at last, when it's almost New Year. He turns words over in his head. "I think maybe I could use some advice about something."
Her face lights up like she's been praying he would ask. Hell, she probably has. "I'd be happy to help," she says.
"Knew I could count on you," Dallas says. "So. It's like this."
Claire calls on New Year's eve. He still sounds giddy as a kid on the phone, wishes Luck a happy new year on behalf of his strange, silent fiancee. Luck tries to sound happy for him, returning the well wishes, but Claire sighs all the same.
"Has he broken your heart?"
"I don't know what you mean," Luck says.
"I can tell when you're lying," Claire reminds him.
Luck takes a shaky breath. "It was never that serious."
Claire hums thoughtfully. "Should I say it again?"
Luck closes his eyes. "Please don't."
Dallas doesn't feel any different. He's not sure why he expected to.
Eve shifts more of the family earnings into long-term investments. Dallas tries to pay attention when she explains how it all works. They're in this together.
"You just forget about him," is Berga's advice, over whiskey. "He's no good."
"Forget about who?" Luck says. Smiling hurts.
Berga laughs, and claps him on the back. "That's the spirit!" he says.
Keith cuts the cards, and says nothing.
"Mister Dallas?" Samantha says. "Mister Gandor's coat is still hanging up in the closet. Should I box it up and send it back to him?"
"He left his coat here?" Dallas says. "No, I -- I'll take care of it."
Even for a business like the Gandors', Sunday nights are slow. Unless there's real trouble brewing with one of the other families, the three of them almost always have Sunday dinner together -- more than three, now that Keith and Berga are married, and sometimes Claire comes back to town. It's the high point of Luck's week, lately.
One of the young guys who's just started working for them drives him back to his own place -- it's not far, but it's cold, and Keith frowns when he takes stupid risks in any case. Just because he'll get up again is no reason to invite someone to shoot him down.
"Someone's waiting for you, boss," the kid says when he pulls into the alley. Luck shakes himself, looks up in surprise. They haven't been having much trouble lately, so who --
"Wait here," he says, reaching for the door handle.
"But Mister Gandor," the kid starts, but Luck doesn't stay to explain. They're all guilty of being too personally involved in the business, especially since the elixir.
"Looking for someone?" he says to the figure waiting in his doorway.
"What took you so long?" says an extremely familiar voice. "It's cold out here."
"Dallas," Luck says. His heart pounds -- ridiculous, that it would do that now, when he knows there's no danger, instead of before when he couldn't be sure. He turns back to the car. "Angelo, you can go," he says. "This isn't trouble."
The car backs out of the alley, and when Luck looks up, he can see Dallas watching him. "No trouble, huh?"
"Well," Luck says, "not the kind where it would do me any good to have backup, anyway." He digs out his keys, has to step past Dallas to get to the door, tries not to let his nerves get the better of him. "Come in for a -- a drink, maybe?"
"Sure," Dallas says, follows him inside and up the stairs. He's carrying something under his arm that he shoves at Luck when they get up to Luck's apartment. "You left your coat at my place."
Luck takes the parcel, blinks at it, feels tongue-tied and foolish. "Thank you," he says automatically. "I was -- I wasn't thinking very clearly when I left, was I?"
"Yeah, well." Dallas won't look at him. "That's because I was such an asshole."
"It's --" Luck hesitates, not sure he means it. "It's all right." He doesn't expect to get more of an apology than that, and he'd rather accept it than not.
"It isn't really," Dallas says. "I was an asshole and it -- wasn't the first time, and it might not be the last time, either." He looks up at Luck then, awkward as a puppy caught misbehaving. "But at least I'll -- have time to learn better habits, right?"
For a moment Luck can barely breathe. "You changed your mind?" he says at last. He sounds hoarse and too needy.
Dallas looks nervous, but he doesn't look away again. "I'm not promising I'll hang around forever, or anything like that, so don't get the wrong idea," he says. "But I've been...doing this because I wanted to." It sounds like he's been rehearsing to say this, so Luck doesn't interrupt him when he pauses. "So it'd be dumb to quit just because you -- you wanted to keep our options open for a while. Right?"
Luck nods. "I wouldn't ask you to stay forever," he says. "I...can't imagine asking that of anyone, right now." When he takes a step forward, Dallas matches it, brings them within arm's reach of each other, and that makes it easier to go on. "What about just tonight? Think you could hang around that long?"
"Yeah," Dallas says, and reaches for him. "Kind of hoping you'd ask."
They lean into the kiss at the same time.