Work Text:
Daisuke was a man of few words.
After spending many of his younger years practically alone, with only the sunset, his hat and a bottle of whisky for company, he’d learnt to appreciate the silence.
He recalled sitting on the top of train cars out of sight of the attendants, legs swinging against solid iron almost unbearably hot in the desert. He’d have his guns loose in his hands and hat tucked under one arm as he dozed gently, and waited for his chance to strike.
Sometimes it was money. Sometimes it was revenge.
But most of the time, it was just another journey. Another place to travel so he wasn’t stuck haunting the same streets night after night.
At twenty he’d killed Goldbeard and stolen his gold. By twenty one he’d lost the money through ill advised betting on an underground chicken fighting ring.
By thirty, Daisuke Bucklesby was sure that he’d already done everything he would ever do in his life, and every day was just another day closer to finally getting a bullet through his skull and meeting his maker.
It was only dry heat, corse desert sand and train tracks extending further than the eye could see.
-
At sixty, Daisuke met Comfrey Macleod.
-
Daisuke was a man of few words, and Comfrey Macleod had a way of monopolizing almost every single one of them.
She crashed into his life, a blessed tidal wave against parched, blistered skin.
He’d never seen anyone so beautiful. He doubted he ever would. So it was a shame she was sleeping with the man he’d been paid to eliminate by sunrise.
-
Daisuke admired the grandfather clock in the drawing room as he waited.
It would have been a good few centuries old, but its finish was pristine and polished, and the clockwork precise as it gently ticked each second by.
Every minute or so the clock was interrupted by a thud and a groan, but Daisuke was a patient man. He’d waited longer and in worse conditions for a paycheck.
He was under a roof with access to a comfortable couch, and a pretty stocked liquor cabinet. All in all, a rather good night.
He sighed gently and took a swig directly from the bottle. Rum. Sadly the mark didn’t have any whisky. But free alcohol, was free alcohol. Daisuke wasn’t going to complain. He was going for another swig when he felt the hair on the back of his neck starting to stand up.
He calmly finished swallowing his latest mouthful and silently shifted so his gun was pointing directly at the new occupant of the room.
“I’m impressed by your stamina, but I admit I’ve been getting bored waiting.”
Finally turning to face the newcomer, Daisuke found he had to school his features to not immediately react. He was expecting his target.
He was not expecting the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
She was grinning at him, her own gun pointed at his head. He hadn’t even heard it cock.
She was wearing just a silk dressing gown enticingly falling off one of her shoulders as she shifted further into the room.
“Haven’t you heard it’s rude to eavesdrop?” she drawled at him. She was still grinning.
Daisuke’s mouth went dry. “Apologies, Ma’am,” he dipped his head at her. “I did not realise that Mr Robertson had company tonight.”
The woman’s eyes sparkled. Daisuke refused to believe that she was laughing at him. “Lemme guess. One of the boys down at the bar gave you a little job to carry out?”
“Not at all, I’m an old friend here for a chat.” Daisuke was usually better at lying, she was definitely laughing at him now.
She took a few steps forward and Daisuke got to appreciate just how built she was under the caress of the silk. He swallowed nervously and out of habit took another sip of rum.
“An old friend who has wanted posters pinned up on every street corner in Pilby? Some friend I bet.” Another step forward.
Daisuke felt small on the once comfortable couch, now unforgiving at its refusal to swallow him whole.
“I keep rowdy company,“ he tried. She was imposing. And god, oh so beautiful in the lamplight.
The grandfather clock ticked on in the silence that stretched.
The woman sighed. “I’m a little disappointed. I always thought that Daisuke Bucklesby might be one able to get one over me.”
Daisuke’s eyebrows shot up. He waited for her to continue.
She watched him with a small smile, gun still aimed directly between his eyes. And then she laughed. “Look, mind if I have a drink?” And she gestured at the still mostly full bottle of rum.
Daisuke on instinct handed it to her. It took all his years on the job to keep his own gun steady. “It’s a bit shit.”
“Eh. I’m sure I’ve had worse.” And she shotgunned the rest of bottle like it was water.
Daisuke watched stunned, his eyes glued to the single drop that missed her mouth and curved down her chin before dropping down the front of the dressing gown. He swallowed again, wishing he had another drink handy.
“Okay, so maybe I haven’t had worse.” The woman threw her head back and laughed at her own joke. “Glad he’s dead. His taste in alcohol was shit.”
A beat.
Then Daisuke was on his feet. “Excuse me?” His legs moved before his brain fully caught up. He pushed past the woman to look into the bedroom door behind her. She simply moved to the side, eyes dancing with mirth.
Sure enough, lying at the foot of the bed was the guy whose likeness had been sketched onto the bounty poster currently tucked into Daisuke’s breast pocket. (Well…likeness before presumably getting his head bashed in against the headboard by the woman standing behind Daisuke)
“You killed him.”
The woman tucked the pistol into the pocket of her dressing gown as she sidled up beside him. Daisuke realised that he’d lowered his own in his scramble.
The woman turned to Daisuke. “To be fair, he killed an old friend and stole their research. I was just paying him back in kind, and hoped to run into you as I did.”
Daisuke was rendered speechless. He was sure they’d just been having sex. How had he misread the situation so poorly? He’d lost his spark.
“It was a trap,” he realised. “For me.”
The woman shrugged, dressing gown falling lower. “You’ve made a name for yourself, Mr Bucklesby. I simply have a job offer.”
Daisuke had to work to maintain eye contact. He could see the woman was clearly enjoying teasing him. He wondered if this was her usual MO. Now he was closer, she did look a little familiar. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Depends on the job…?” He petered off searchingly.
“Comfrey,” the woman supplied. “Professor Comfrey Macleod.”
Daisuke had definitely heard the name. Everyone in Gath had.
“You’re an inventor? Why would you need a man from the wrong side of the tracks?”
Professor Macleod looked at Daisuke for a long moment, eyelashes fanned against her cheeks. She was so close to him and he might have been a little in love. “Honestly? I’m assembling a crew and need some braun to balance the brains. And I heard you’re the best.”
Daisuke wasn’t blushing. He was sixty for God’s sake. And he already knew he was the best at what he did.
“What’s in it for me?” he croaked and stepped closer himself as if magnetized.
Comfrey winked and she reached up to take off his hat. “Adventure of a life time? Fame and fortune beyond anyone’s wildest dreams?” She threw the hat onto the couch behind him.
Daisuke grinned at her, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And they were definitely about to have sex in this dead man’s house. God, sometimes he was so fucking lucky. “Well when you say it like that.”