Dead Lucky
Title: Dead Lucky
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: gambling
Summary: The thing about winning is that eventually, you lose.
Notes: Written for the May week 3 challenge at brigits_flame, theme “nothing to lose.” Early post is early because I’ll be at Anime Boston all weekend--this is being posted from the Iron Cosplay line! :)
…
When he was seven years old, Little Timmy Daniels was struck by lightning.
It wasn’t at all odd, back in those times-the air was hot and dry, static electricity crackling over everything, and Little Timmy was the third boy in his class to get struck.
He was, however, the first boy to live through it.
When Timmy Daniels gasped back to consciousness, sparking with residual energy and bewilderedly asking where his ball had gotten to, his mother cried for a week, his father drank another entire bottle of Chivas Regal in celebration, and Little Timmy became Lucky Tim Daniels.
…
When he was twelve, Lucky Tim Daniels got handed his first pair of dice.
“We both pick a number,” Bobby Lane told him. “And then you roll. Whoever rolls closest to the number they picked gets to walk Sarah Beth home from church on Sunday.”
“Gambling’s a sin,” Lucky reminded him, but he shuffled back to give Bobby room. “What number are you picking?”
Bobby looked thoughtful. “Nine,” he said decisively, and rolled the dice.
A six and a four. Bobby’s grin turned gleeful. “Beat that,” he said, handing over the dice.
Lucky turned the cubes over in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved numbers. “Seven,” he said after a moment. “It’s a lucky number, right?” Bobby shrugged and Lucky cupped his hands around the dice, blowing on them like he’d seen his dad do and then rolling them onto the floor.
A three. The second die spun, wobbled, and landed on a four.
“Huh,” Bobby said. “Guess it’s a lucky number after all.”
…
When he was fourteen years old, Lucky Tim Daniels won his first bet.
Staring down at the pair of snake eyes on the floor, Phil Baxton frowned. “No way you can do that again.”
Lucky looked down at the dice, then back up at Phil. “Bet you I can.”
…
When he was sixteen years old, Lucky Tim Daniels won the first bet that mattered.
He leaned over the counter at the bowling alley, toying with the laces on his rental shoes and grinning at Sarah Beth. “How about it? You pick a number, any number between two and twelve. If I roll it, you let me take you out.” Sarah Beth looked uncertain, and Lucky grinned encouragingly at her. “I’ll even use your dice.”
Sarah Beth rolled her eyes and snapped her gum. “Fine,” she said, fishing her lucky dice out of her pocket and handing them to him. “Let’s see you roll a three, Lucky.”
“That’s what I do, sugar,” Lucky said, and rolled.
They went out for dinner the next Friday.
…
When he was twenty years old, Lucky Tim Daniels beat out a God-fearing man for a spot at the altar.
“Getting married this weekend,” Johnny told him, lounging back against the porch chair. “Booked a little church down in Ardsley, just me and Rachel.”
“Yeah?” Lucky blew out smoke and let the condensation from his beer seep into his other hand. “Just the two of you? Eloping?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t know, though. It’s a surprise.” Johnny took another sip of his beer. “I want to do right by her, you know? She deserves a nice guy. I can be a nice guy.”
“Huh.” Lucky rolled his eyes toward the sky, thinking about Sarah Beth in the white summer dress she’d worn to church last week, the sun shining on her hair and a laugh in her eyes. “This church,” he said, turning his head to look Johnny in the eyes. “Where’d you say it was?”
…
When he was twenty-two years old, Lucky Tim Daniels bet against God.
“It’s complicated,” the doctor told him, and Lucky clenched his hands into fists. “The baby’s position is wrong, and your wife’s condition is delicate.”
“What are her chances?”
The doctor looked flustered. “Mr. Daniels, I really couldn’t-”
Lucky grabbed him by the lapels, a little bit drunk with anger and fear. “What. Are. Her. Chances,” he bit out through gritted teeth.
Squirming under the heat of Lucky’s eyes, the doctor managed, “Fifty-fifty. At the absolute best.” When Lucky said nothing, the doctor squirmed some more. “Sir,” he said. “I really need to get back to your wife.”
“Right,” Lucky said, and let him go. When the doctor had disappeared back behind the STAFF ONLY doors, Lucky stumbled back into the waiting room chair.
“Fifty-fifty,” he said, half to himself, half to no one.
He flipped a coin.
…
When he was twenty-five years old, Lucky Tim Daniels won his daughter’s smile.
“I want to go to the park,” she said, tugging at his sleeve.
“Daddy’s working, baby,” he told her apologetically, tugging one of her pigtails and turning back to his desk.
She stamped her foot. “I want to go!”
Lucky sighed. “Why don’t you ask your mother?”
“I did,” Annie said, making a face. “She said to ask you.”
“Did she now?” Lucky pretended to think about it, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Well, what do you say we flip for it?”
…
When he was twenty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels crossed a line.
“Going out tonight,” he told Sarah Beth, pulling on his jacket. “Game with the boys.”
Sarah frowned. “You can’t go out tonight, it’s a Thursday.”
He paused, reaching for his hat. “So?”
“We go to my mother’s on Thursdays, Tim, you know that.”
“We go to your mother’s every Thursday, Sarah.” Lucky put his hat on, pocketing his wallet. “I’ve had a long day, I need to go out.”
Sarah glared at him. “And when do I get to go out? I’ve got a day that’s just as damn long as yours is, and I don’t get to go out and play silly dice games afterwards.”
“Tell you what,” he shot back. “When you’re the one paying the bills, you can be the one who goes out for a game. How about that?”
He left his lucky dice on the table.
…
When he was twenty-nine years old, Lucky Tim Daniels bought a gun.
“That’s the problem with winning, lads,” he told Skippy and Ten-Buck later. “You win too much, and all of a sudden everyone’s after you.”
“Thought the problem with winning is that eventually you lose,” Skippy said.
Lucky smirked at him. “Eventually most people lose, maybe,” he said, and put the gun under his jacket.
…
When he was thirty-six years old years old, Lucky Tim Daniels watched his little girl walk away.
“Where the hell does she think you’re going?” he asked Annie as she came down the stairs.
“Out,” she said flatly, fluffing her curls in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs. “Mickey Roberts asked me to a film.”
Lucky put his newspaper down. “Who told you you could go?”
“Mama did.” Annie picked up her scarf, twining it around her neck. She fluffed her hair again and picked up her handbag.
“No one asked me.”
“You’re never here,” she shot back as someone knocked. Making her way to the door, she snapped over her shoulder, “Don’t you have a game anyway, Dad?” and slammed the door behind her.
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels watched his family fall apart.
“Sarah Beth, don’t you dare walk out that door!”
She whirled around to face him, face red with anger. “Don’t you speak to me that way,” she hissed. “It’s not your right, not now, not ever. I deserve better than this, than some little boy playing with dice and cards and coins.”
Annie peered around the door. “Mom?”
“Wait in the car, Anne,” Sarah snapped, at the same time Lucky said, “Anne, get back in this house this instant.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Sarah said, very quietly, “I’m leaving, Tim. I’m done.”
“Wait. Just-” Sarah looked back at him and Lucky swallowed, groping for anything, anything to make her stay. A last ditch effort, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his dice. “Pick a number. Anything between two and twelve.”
Sarah closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Tim,” she said, and was gone.
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels agreed to a rigged game because all he could think about was his empty house.
“There’s a game down in the tunnels tonight,” Skip told him.
Lucky cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”
Skip nodded, embers flaring as he lit up a cigarette. “You going to go?”
Lucky reached out and took the cigarette from him, taking a long, thoughtful drag. “Might do,” he said casually, climbing to his feet and smoothing the front of his suit. “Might do.”
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels made a bad bet because he hadn’t seen his daughter in twelve weeks.
“Uh, boss?” Ten-Buck said cautiously. “You can’t pay that.”
“Yeah,” Lucky said, “I know.”
He rolled the dice.
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels’s luck ran out.
“The next time you make a bet,” Bobby Lane said, cocking the gun, “make sure you can follow through.”
“I’ll do that,” Lucky promised. He cracked a grin and pulled a quarter out of his pocket. “How bout right now? Heads you kill me. Tails you don’t.” Bobby hesitated. The gun wavered. “Come on,” Lucky said. “Last deal for a dying man.”
Bobby’s smirk broadened, just a bit. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
Lucky flipped the coin, and neither of them waited to see how it landed.
He was thinking about Annie’s smile and Sarah’s laugh when Bobby pulled the trigger.
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: gambling
Summary: The thing about winning is that eventually, you lose.
Notes: Written for the May week 3 challenge at brigits_flame, theme “nothing to lose.” Early post is early because I’ll be at Anime Boston all weekend--this is being posted from the Iron Cosplay line! :)
…
When he was seven years old, Little Timmy Daniels was struck by lightning.
It wasn’t at all odd, back in those times-the air was hot and dry, static electricity crackling over everything, and Little Timmy was the third boy in his class to get struck.
He was, however, the first boy to live through it.
When Timmy Daniels gasped back to consciousness, sparking with residual energy and bewilderedly asking where his ball had gotten to, his mother cried for a week, his father drank another entire bottle of Chivas Regal in celebration, and Little Timmy became Lucky Tim Daniels.
…
When he was twelve, Lucky Tim Daniels got handed his first pair of dice.
“We both pick a number,” Bobby Lane told him. “And then you roll. Whoever rolls closest to the number they picked gets to walk Sarah Beth home from church on Sunday.”
“Gambling’s a sin,” Lucky reminded him, but he shuffled back to give Bobby room. “What number are you picking?”
Bobby looked thoughtful. “Nine,” he said decisively, and rolled the dice.
A six and a four. Bobby’s grin turned gleeful. “Beat that,” he said, handing over the dice.
Lucky turned the cubes over in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved numbers. “Seven,” he said after a moment. “It’s a lucky number, right?” Bobby shrugged and Lucky cupped his hands around the dice, blowing on them like he’d seen his dad do and then rolling them onto the floor.
A three. The second die spun, wobbled, and landed on a four.
“Huh,” Bobby said. “Guess it’s a lucky number after all.”
…
When he was fourteen years old, Lucky Tim Daniels won his first bet.
Staring down at the pair of snake eyes on the floor, Phil Baxton frowned. “No way you can do that again.”
Lucky looked down at the dice, then back up at Phil. “Bet you I can.”
…
When he was sixteen years old, Lucky Tim Daniels won the first bet that mattered.
He leaned over the counter at the bowling alley, toying with the laces on his rental shoes and grinning at Sarah Beth. “How about it? You pick a number, any number between two and twelve. If I roll it, you let me take you out.” Sarah Beth looked uncertain, and Lucky grinned encouragingly at her. “I’ll even use your dice.”
Sarah Beth rolled her eyes and snapped her gum. “Fine,” she said, fishing her lucky dice out of her pocket and handing them to him. “Let’s see you roll a three, Lucky.”
“That’s what I do, sugar,” Lucky said, and rolled.
They went out for dinner the next Friday.
…
When he was twenty years old, Lucky Tim Daniels beat out a God-fearing man for a spot at the altar.
“Getting married this weekend,” Johnny told him, lounging back against the porch chair. “Booked a little church down in Ardsley, just me and Rachel.”
“Yeah?” Lucky blew out smoke and let the condensation from his beer seep into his other hand. “Just the two of you? Eloping?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t know, though. It’s a surprise.” Johnny took another sip of his beer. “I want to do right by her, you know? She deserves a nice guy. I can be a nice guy.”
“Huh.” Lucky rolled his eyes toward the sky, thinking about Sarah Beth in the white summer dress she’d worn to church last week, the sun shining on her hair and a laugh in her eyes. “This church,” he said, turning his head to look Johnny in the eyes. “Where’d you say it was?”
…
When he was twenty-two years old, Lucky Tim Daniels bet against God.
“It’s complicated,” the doctor told him, and Lucky clenched his hands into fists. “The baby’s position is wrong, and your wife’s condition is delicate.”
“What are her chances?”
The doctor looked flustered. “Mr. Daniels, I really couldn’t-”
Lucky grabbed him by the lapels, a little bit drunk with anger and fear. “What. Are. Her. Chances,” he bit out through gritted teeth.
Squirming under the heat of Lucky’s eyes, the doctor managed, “Fifty-fifty. At the absolute best.” When Lucky said nothing, the doctor squirmed some more. “Sir,” he said. “I really need to get back to your wife.”
“Right,” Lucky said, and let him go. When the doctor had disappeared back behind the STAFF ONLY doors, Lucky stumbled back into the waiting room chair.
“Fifty-fifty,” he said, half to himself, half to no one.
He flipped a coin.
…
When he was twenty-five years old, Lucky Tim Daniels won his daughter’s smile.
“I want to go to the park,” she said, tugging at his sleeve.
“Daddy’s working, baby,” he told her apologetically, tugging one of her pigtails and turning back to his desk.
She stamped her foot. “I want to go!”
Lucky sighed. “Why don’t you ask your mother?”
“I did,” Annie said, making a face. “She said to ask you.”
“Did she now?” Lucky pretended to think about it, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Well, what do you say we flip for it?”
…
When he was twenty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels crossed a line.
“Going out tonight,” he told Sarah Beth, pulling on his jacket. “Game with the boys.”
Sarah frowned. “You can’t go out tonight, it’s a Thursday.”
He paused, reaching for his hat. “So?”
“We go to my mother’s on Thursdays, Tim, you know that.”
“We go to your mother’s every Thursday, Sarah.” Lucky put his hat on, pocketing his wallet. “I’ve had a long day, I need to go out.”
Sarah glared at him. “And when do I get to go out? I’ve got a day that’s just as damn long as yours is, and I don’t get to go out and play silly dice games afterwards.”
“Tell you what,” he shot back. “When you’re the one paying the bills, you can be the one who goes out for a game. How about that?”
He left his lucky dice on the table.
…
When he was twenty-nine years old, Lucky Tim Daniels bought a gun.
“That’s the problem with winning, lads,” he told Skippy and Ten-Buck later. “You win too much, and all of a sudden everyone’s after you.”
“Thought the problem with winning is that eventually you lose,” Skippy said.
Lucky smirked at him. “Eventually most people lose, maybe,” he said, and put the gun under his jacket.
…
When he was thirty-six years old years old, Lucky Tim Daniels watched his little girl walk away.
“Where the hell does she think you’re going?” he asked Annie as she came down the stairs.
“Out,” she said flatly, fluffing her curls in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs. “Mickey Roberts asked me to a film.”
Lucky put his newspaper down. “Who told you you could go?”
“Mama did.” Annie picked up her scarf, twining it around her neck. She fluffed her hair again and picked up her handbag.
“No one asked me.”
“You’re never here,” she shot back as someone knocked. Making her way to the door, she snapped over her shoulder, “Don’t you have a game anyway, Dad?” and slammed the door behind her.
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels watched his family fall apart.
“Sarah Beth, don’t you dare walk out that door!”
She whirled around to face him, face red with anger. “Don’t you speak to me that way,” she hissed. “It’s not your right, not now, not ever. I deserve better than this, than some little boy playing with dice and cards and coins.”
Annie peered around the door. “Mom?”
“Wait in the car, Anne,” Sarah snapped, at the same time Lucky said, “Anne, get back in this house this instant.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Sarah said, very quietly, “I’m leaving, Tim. I’m done.”
“Wait. Just-” Sarah looked back at him and Lucky swallowed, groping for anything, anything to make her stay. A last ditch effort, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his dice. “Pick a number. Anything between two and twelve.”
Sarah closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Tim,” she said, and was gone.
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels agreed to a rigged game because all he could think about was his empty house.
“There’s a game down in the tunnels tonight,” Skip told him.
Lucky cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”
Skip nodded, embers flaring as he lit up a cigarette. “You going to go?”
Lucky reached out and took the cigarette from him, taking a long, thoughtful drag. “Might do,” he said casually, climbing to his feet and smoothing the front of his suit. “Might do.”
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels made a bad bet because he hadn’t seen his daughter in twelve weeks.
“Uh, boss?” Ten-Buck said cautiously. “You can’t pay that.”
“Yeah,” Lucky said, “I know.”
He rolled the dice.
…
When he was thirty-seven years old, Lucky Tim Daniels’s luck ran out.
“The next time you make a bet,” Bobby Lane said, cocking the gun, “make sure you can follow through.”
“I’ll do that,” Lucky promised. He cracked a grin and pulled a quarter out of his pocket. “How bout right now? Heads you kill me. Tails you don’t.” Bobby hesitated. The gun wavered. “Come on,” Lucky said. “Last deal for a dying man.”
Bobby’s smirk broadened, just a bit. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
Lucky flipped the coin, and neither of them waited to see how it landed.
He was thinking about Annie’s smile and Sarah’s laugh when Bobby pulled the trigger.