Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does.

Author's Note: I will be shifting the Primary/Secondary Characters to whichever two survivors the current chapter is focused on.

Ties that Bind

By: Confused Confusion

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The Lion and the Mouse

Character Focus: Francis and Zoey

Francis dropped his pack on the floor with a grunt, not caring to move it from the middle of the room. Bill shot an annoyed glance at the back of his shaven head, but the glare went unnoticed by the biker. The room became filled with an uncharacteristic silence as the survivors moved to various spots in the large area. The uncanny stillness wasn't brought on by the fear of swarming Infected, but rather, it was caused by the weight of their situation. The stress and anxiety that had been mounting for nearly three weeks had finally reached their zeniths and the very probable reality gnawed at the back of each and every survivor's mind…

They may not make it out alive.

They had endured many things in their short time together, but none of them compared to what they realized yesterday. Riverside, the rumored town that the military was fortifying to fend off the infection, had fallen. The survivors' hopes had rested with the safe haven, only to discover that the virus had slipped in and tore the place apart. The townspeople, who had fenced themselves in, were reduced to nothing more than caged animals, unable to free themselves. Here they sat, on the second floor of a two-story building in the middle of said zombie-infested town, unsure of what to do or where to go. Looping messages over the radio suggested a variety of areas, but signs, posters, and graffiti had all voided such places. They had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and before long…they would have nowhere to hide.

Things had changed, they were alone…the military had abandoned them…

Bill sat at the cheap, wooden table, his taxed eyes skimming over the scribble-covered map that he had pilfered off of the chopper pilot's corpse. The veteran desperately sought out something, anything that could point them in the direction of another safe zone. Louis had curled up into his sleeping bag as soon as Bill had confirmed that they would be holding out for a few hours before continuing onward to, well, wherever the hell it was they were going. No one could really blame him though; having the air driven from your lungs while staring into the eyes of the Smoker responsible would affect anyone.

Zoey had yet to say a word since their encounter with the hordes of Infected on Main Street, choosing to silently sit outside on the covered balcony. Bill had begun to voice his protest against her actions, knowing full well that where she sat put her in a very vulnerable position to any roaming Smokers or Hunters. Upon seeing the hollow look in her eyes, however, the spry old man decided against it. The ex-Green Beret was never good at comforting women, that much he was willing to admit. Most of his life had been devoted to training, killing, serving his country, and drunkenly easing his troubles in the aftermath. For Bill, there had simply been no time for emotions.

Francis had plopped down onto a folding chair against the far wall, a bucket of bullets at his feet and shotgun in hand. Methodically and almost mechanically, the biker popped new shells into the worn pump shotgun while he allowed his gaze to sweep to and fro over his companions. Bill was still staring a hole through that damn map and Louis looked to be out for the count. Stony brown eyes finally fell on Zoey's passive and still form. From his angle, Francis could see the side of her face as the brunette held out her hand, numbly catching water droplets from the light rain that still assaulted the forsaken town.

She won't make it.

The large man allowed the grim thought to run through his mind. Zoey was only nineteen, still a child in his eyes, but when in the middle of a sea of Infected, she disconnected herself, donning the emotionless, distant mask she had worn when entering the room. The look made her appear years older than she was, years older than she should be, and it unsettled Francis to some degree. Although now, unbeknownst to his stare, the brunette looked years younger, like a lost child. The more he thought about it, the more the biker found himself hating the idea.

Nineteen…she hadn't even gotten a taste of the real world before shit hit the fan, and she knew it. The mask was just a desperate bide to stay on their level, to not fall behind…to not be left behind. She would never reach their level though; rather, she would never stoop to their level. Francis supposed that it was a good thing; God only knows that she wouldn't be able to handle it…mentally at least. After all, she was traveling with a Vietnam War veteran, who had learned to kill even women and children on command, a biker who had seen his fair share of deaths and had served time behind bars because of it, and a businessman who visited the gun range at least once a week.

The tattooed survivor didn't give a shit what Louis said or came up with to defend himself, the man despised his workplace, was forced into a cubicle day in and day out, and was relatively handy with a gun. Whether the dark-skinned man admitted it or not, if the infection hadn't struck, he would've gone to the office with gun in tow…it was only a matter of time. Francis supposed that was for the best too, after all, had the infection hit afterwards, and they came across an uninfected, unstable Louis, he'd probably pop a shell into his face anyway to protect the others. Fortunately, the tie-wearing survivor still had his humanity and was a trustworthy guy, albeit somewhat skittish.

Francis allowed his attention to turn back to Zoey, who still had not moved from her spot. If she made it through this, the brunette still had a shot at living a semi-normal life. Again, the nagging feeling chewed on his brain, the sense that Zoey wouldn't live through this nightmare. Sooner or later, the burden of keeping everything bottled up would overwhelm her, and she'd crack. Whether it would be emotional turmoil or the slipping of her sanity, Francis was unsure, but what he did know was that if something wasn't done soon to stem it, she could end up dragging them down with her.

However, Francis had to hand it to the spunky brunette, when they had rescued her from her zombie-infested dorm, he honestly didn't think she'd make it to downtown Fairfield. He wasn't the only one either; Bill had his doubts about her, but in his good conscious, couldn't just leave her to her only two options: die of starvation or be ripped to shreds by a pack of Infected. She had come through though, and brought to the table an intelligent mind, uncanny skills with a rifle, and the knowledge of a self-proclaimed "Zombie Expert."

Tearing his gaze away from the young woman, Francis chose to glance at Bill, catching the elderly man in the act of yawning. A gloved hand rapped quietly against the edge of the table, drawing the veteran's focus. The biker gave Bill a look before nodding to the green sleeping bag near his pack. Bill heaved a weary sigh before nodding, offering Francis a small appreciative glance while rising silently from his chair. Wrinkled hands folded up the map…their lifeline in a sense, and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

Silence filled the room once more after Bill took a rest. Francis leaned back in his chair, resting his shaven head on the cold plaster of the wall. For his entire life, Francis breathed by one rule: live free. He had quickly found out, however, that to actually live free, he'd have to defy law, so he did just that. His time with Hell's Legion had been the greatest years of his life, ignoring authority, doing what he wanted, and letting the worries blow away with the rushing wind. Now, with authority (minus Bill) gone out the window, allowing anarchy to reign supreme, he had to admit that he sort of missed the cops. The world, or at least their world, had been reduced to a primal game where the fittest survive. For once, Francis felt unnerved at the realization. He wasn't stronger than a Tank, faster than a Hunter, or as dangerous as a Witch. He was arrogant and cocky, but he was no fool, and he damn sure wasn't going to lie to himself.

It was when he saw tears that Francis muttered a long string a curses and rose to his feet. Shuffling around Louis, the biker shouldered his firearm and moved to the balcony. Zoey barely acknowledged him as the large man stepped outside, shooting her an almost cautious look. Her only response was the miniscule tightening of her grip around her hunting rifle and the recoiling of her outstretched hand. The water that had pooled in her palm fell, splashing against her leg that dangled idly over the edge. Francis lowered himself into a sitting position beside her, resting his shotgun at his side and noting, with a feeling akin to concern, that the brunette hadn't even attempted to wipe away her tears. Tense silence engulfed the two.

Francis' shoulders sagged with a sigh, "Alright, what's up?"

A dry, cynical chuckle left Zoey's lips, "'What's up?' That's the best you could come up with?"

A casual shrug was her response.

The brunette shook her head in disbelief, "Nothing's up, just the end of the goddamn world. Zombies are running around, killing people on a whim, the army's ditched us, and everywhere that's supposed to be 'safe' is crawling with more of those things."

Her voice was breaking, and her eyes were dilating…not a good sign, the stress was getting to her.

"You need to take a page from Louis' book and look on the bright side. At least you're still alive."

A scoff, "Right, better to be alive and face this hell up close, than to be dead and not have to worry about it."

"True…but at least you're not one of them."

"If you can't beat them…join them," Zoey argued in a hoarse whisper.

Francis snorted, "Yeah…but then I'd have to kill you."

His words didn't seem to comfort her in any way, forcing him to heave another sigh.

"Listen, I know there's not much that I can say that'll help…but you need to seriously snap out of it, Zo."

Another dry laugh, "And how do you suggest I do that, Francis? Should I close my eyes and tell myself that this is all just a bad dream?"

"No, but…"

Zoey ignored him, "Or maybe I should click my heels together and wish this all away?"

"Zoey…"

"Perhaps I should just shoot myself right here and now!"

Francis' fist slammed against the floor abruptly, derailing Zoey from her rant with a look of astonishment.

"…Don't ever say that," Francis muttered darkly, his eyes piercing through hers.

Anger swelled within the brunette's being, and she answered haughtily "Oh, and why not?"

"Do you have any idea what would happen if you killed yourself right now?"

The biker's dangerous tone stole whatever retort Zoey had in stock from her throat.

"Bill would go on a damn killing spree and end up being torn to bits, while Louis would probably go homicide on the nearest Witch in his grief. Whether you like it or not, those two care about you, and there's no way they'd be able to live with themselves if something happened to you."

Zoey remained silent as Francis' words swam through her head. Sensing that he wasn't going to receive a decent response, the biker rose to leave, shotgun in hand.

"…What about you?"

The question was so quiet that Francis had to strain his ears just to hear it. Out of all the things he expected Zoey to say, that wasn't one of them, and it caught the large survivor off guard. "What?"

Zoey lifted her gaze to him, "What about you? What would you do if I…died?"

Francis suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and the brunette had to suppress a laugh upon seeing the expression on his face. The biker scratched his cheek, the embarrassment almost reaching his face…almost. Hell, he didn't know what he'd do, and what the hell should he tell her? He glanced at Zoey from the corner of his eye. Shit! She was still staring at him expectantly.

With a sigh, Francis met her gaze, his face once again wrapped in somberness. "I won't let you."

Zoey blinked in surprise. She hadn't seen that coming.

The biker scrambled to correct himself, looking away, "At least…not before me, anyway."

Francis risked a glimpse at the brunette, expecting some form of mockery to emit from her lips. Instead, to his astonishment, he was met with a curious gaze, a risen eyebrow complimenting the expression.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was small, almost childlike…and it annoyed the hell out of him.

Crouching down in front of Zoey, the large survivor shot her an even stare, "What I said about Bill and Louis were true, as for me…hell, I'd probably find a Tank and try to rip its spine from out of its ass."

Silence.

Zoey stared at Francis.

Francis stared at Zoey.

Pink lips twitched briefly before the brunette's expression cracked, peals of laughter erupting from her throat.

Francis blinked in confusion, taken aback by the unexpected reaction. Was she seriously mocking him for trying to comfort her? The biker huffed indignantly, but felt the rush of anger vanish as he listened to the girl's mirth. The laughs were no longer cynical and scornful; instead…they were melodic and full of amusement…full of life.

The tattooed survivor felt a scarred eyebrow rise as Zoey gripped her sides, tears streaming down her face. "You know, if you keep that up, you'll wake the others."

Zoey's laughter began to die down while she wiped her face with her sleeve, traces of amusement still on her lips.

"Sorry…just the mental image…" The brunette let out a small fit of giggles. "You're such an idiot, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Francis replied slowly, gauging his companion's reaction.

Zoey rose to her feet, rifle in hand, moving past the biker and into the room. Stopping, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing that Francis was still giving her a weird look.

"Did you mean it?"

Her voice hadn't reverted back to its former melancholy, nor was it one of amusement. It was an honest question, and for that, he'd give her an honest answer.

"Even if it means I have to throw myself between you and a Witch."

Zoey moved faster than he had anticipated, and was kneeling before him in an instant, one arm wrapped around him in a half-hug.

"Thank you," she whispered before rising once more.

Francis sat, dumbfounded, staring at the brunette's retreating back as she crept back over to her knapsack.

With a bewildered smirk, the biker shook his head, "Women."

"Francis, quit being a stubborn jackass about this!" Zoey yelled, frankly not giving a damn if every Infected in Newburg heard.

Francis swatted the outstretched med kit away with a look of irritation, "I'll stop being stubborn when you quit being a bitch about it!"

Taking the insult in stride, Zoey snapped back venomously, "If being a bitch is what it takes to get it through your thick skull, then so be it!"

"It's just a scratch! 'Sides, that's our last piece of first aid, save it for when someone's dying!"

"For God's sake, Francis, you're bleeding all over the place! You will die if you don't get patched up!"

"I'm fine!" Francis snarled in return, ignoring the pain that coursed through his veins.

Louis raised his hand slightly, like a student waiting to be called on, "Technically…you're not."

"STAY OUT OF IT!" his two companions roared in unison while whirling around on him.

The businessman shrank back until he was standing next to Bill, "Okay."

Bill sighed and turned to Louis, "As much as I hate the idea of splitting up, I think we need to let them work this out on their own."

The dark-skinned man gulped and nodded, following the veteran into the adjacent room. Glancing over his shoulder at his two comrades, Louis let out a nervous chuckle, "We'll, uh…we'll just be in here if you need us."

Ignoring the two's departure, Zoey glared daggers at the biker, who was more than happy to return the gaze. "Seriously, why are you being so damn adamant about this!"

"Because I can be!" Francis growled out.

Okay, so maybe he didn't throw himself between Zoey and a Witch per say, but a Tank was close enough, right? After all, it wasn't that long ago that they had their heart-to-heart in Riverside. What, did she think he was just spewing crap from his ass when he had said all that? Shit, this was really starting to hurt.

Zoey threw her hands into the air, tossing the red object to the floor in the process, "Fine, sit here and die for all I care! At least I tried to help you!"

The brunette stomped over to the other side of the room in a huff, setting up her sleeping bag as far away from the jackass as possible. Flopping into the cocoon, Zoey rolled over to glare at the wall, pointedly making sure her back was facing Francis. She heard the biker mutter a string of curses, but chose to ignore him. Bill and Louis had eventually returned, and Zoey felt a smirk cross her lips when she overheard Francis chewing them out whenever either of them attempted to help him. Hey, if the idiot was going to refuse help in general, then he deserved whatever punishment that it wrought.

Zoey was unsure how much time had passed, the last she had heard before dozing off was Bill wishing them a goodnight before shuffling into the next room to keep watch, followed by Francis' pained voice telling him where he could shove his good night. However, now the room was relatively silent, with exception to Louis' quiet snoring.

"Shit!" The hissed profanity cut through the air.

Ah, so that's what had awoken her.

Turning over quietly, the brunette peeked at the source of the noise through her bangs. Francis was still sitting in his chair, the formerly discarded med kit in his lap. The large man's brow was furrowed in agitation as he awkwardly attempted to wrap a piece of gauze around one of his battered arms. Ocean-blue eyes rolled in their sockets as Zoey silently stood from her sleeping bag, a bottle in her hand.

Zoey suppressed a triumphant laugh when Francis jumped in surprise, startled by her sudden appearance. Snatching the first aid from the biker's lap, the young survivor simultaneously dropped the bottle of pills into his hands. The brunette pulled a chair up to Francis wordlessly, sorting through the container as her companion graciously inhaled a few tablets.

"You really are an idiot, you know that?" Zoey murmured while carefully disinfecting the various gashes littering the biker's frame.

Francis gritted his teeth at the stinging sensation, but smirked nonetheless, "So I've been told."

"Seriously though," the brunette said while meeting Francis' gaze. "What the hell are you trying to accomplish with the whole 'tough guy' act?"

Francis arched an eyebrow, "Is Bill alive?"

Zoey frowned at the obvious question, "Yes?"

"And Louis?"

"Yes."

The biker smirked, "And what about you?"

"Francis, what the hell are you talking about?" Zoey questioned with a confused glare.

The biker pushed on, "Are you hurt?"

"Obviously not."

Francis leaned back into the chair, a victorious grin on his face, "That's what I accomplished."

The brunette gawked at her companion, "What?"

Francis rolled his eyes, "Everyone has a job. Bill makes sure we're on the right track in getting the hell out of here, while Louis makes sure we don't kill each other."

Zoey stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You give us the heads up on shit before it gets to us…as for me, I make sure the three of you get hurt as little as possible."

Blue eyes glowered at him, "So what, you're just going to keep intentionally throwing yourself at the zombies until we make it out?"

A casual shrug from the tattooed man only increased the intensity of her venomously look. "That's so stupid!"

Francis remained indifferent, shrugging his shoulders once more, "Eh."

Zoey shot to her feet, deciding to humor him, "What if you die before then!"

The arrogant grin appeared once more, "I won't."

"Really?" Sarcasm dripped from the word. "Because you already look like you're halfway there."

The grin never left his face, "I'm indestructible, remember?"

An aggravated noise emitted from Zoey's throat, but she ultimately chose to fume in silence. A conflict raged in her eyes, causing the biker to once again raise an eyebrow.

After a minute, the brunette sighed and glanced at Francis, "Knowing you, you'll keep on doing this shit even if we tell you not to."

"Yep!" the biker chirped. A feminine hand was suddenly positioned in his face, causing Francis to blink.

Zoey stared down at him, "Since you won't allow me to die before you, at the very least…promise me you won't die in this hellhole, no matter how stupid you are."

Francis eyed the hand momentarily before weakly grasping it in a gentle handshake. "Deal."

With that, a strange air surrounded the two as Zoey helped the biker to his feet. Perhaps this would be a new start for them, a clean slate, the brunette thought while helping Francis into his sleeping bag. Turning away from him, Zoey retrieved the discarded bottle of pills, setting it beside the biker's pack in case he needed them before the night was through.

"Thanks," Francis mumbled while shifting awkwardly.

Zoey, in her turn, offered him a small smile before standing, the now empty med kit in her hands.

"Zo," the biker called as the young survivor began moving back to her own pack.

"Hm?" Zoey hummed while spinning on her heel.

"Nice ass."

The med pack smashed into Francis' face, causing the biker's laughs to be muffled. Zoey dusted off her hands and returned to her sleeping back in a huff for the second time that evening.

Then again, maybe some things would never change.

A smile reached Zoey's lips.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

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A/N: Hey all, Confu (formerly Reap'em) here and I'm back from the dead. This piece right here is only the beginning, as I plan on throwing in more chapters that ultimately dive into the relationships between ALL of the original survivors. So I hope you enjoyed it and hope you continue with me as I finish this project.

As always, reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated.

- C.C.