It upset me, when I skimmed over my page and noticed that I hadn't written a fic since October 16th of last year. I'm sorry to all of those waiting for Hetalia, but I've since denounced all anime haha. I still really love the history and humor of Hetalia, and I'd like to rekindle my love for it, but I'm not sure if my conscious will let me. Hope for the best, and I apologize again.

I am now entirely immersed in video games, and spend hours upon hours playing Team Fortress 2 and Left 4 Dead.

I was also really tired of the stereotypical Nick/Ellis on , but I don't think I did them much justice either. I just wanted something beyond "hey even though I was married and you were raised a god-fearing Catholic, I am super gay for you let's fuck". Not that I proved my point...

Ahh well here's some shit, hope you like it.

Nick should have stayed at home.

It was a stupid business venture. Sure, hopping aboard a casino ferry heading down the bayou was a great fucking idea, especially during Mardi gras. He'd made hundreds every night that week, slept with beautiful women up from the city that were going down to New Orleans to celebrate, and oh, did they go down. He was having a grand ol' time, but things turned crazy. Nick had been leaning on the railing out on the deck enjoying a smoke when his customers ran at him like animals, and he hopped off that boat as fast as he'd hopped on. His brilliant white Tom Ford suit, the one he'd had custom tailored, was drenched in grime from the river, and as he trudged up to shore, his pant legs turned black from the muddy bed below his feet. I'll get it out, I'll get it out, have to find a dry cleaners was the only thing he thought of for the longest time. The apocalypse came second.

It spread quickly, a terror that could not be stopped with any cocktail of potions, no matter how bold the ambition, the determination. It killed in seconds, you came back dead, and there was no more God.

He'd barricaded himself in a nearby hotel, a tacky sofa holding the door closed, armed with the pistol he had carried well before his customers turned into flesh-eating zombies. There was a window in his room, a big one, that overlooked the city since he was on a double-digit floor, and he could see everything burning and all the people screaming and running, but there wasn't an escape. And he knew that.

He'd shot a zombie that had torn a hole through his door. It wasn't a large one, but it was enough to warrant a few bullets to the brain, and said brains were splattered all around the man, on his pristine three-thousand-dollar suit. He screamed bloody murder for a moment, threw a vase at the wall, and reminded himself, whoa, whoa, it doesn't matter anymore. It's fucked up beyond help.

"Three thousand right down the fucking drain," he hissed at the remains of his attacker, a woman with a gray face and a red, red mouth that opened in horror, in hunger. "Put you out of your misery, didn't I? You're fucking welcome."

Days went by. He passed the time by playing with a deck of cards and flipping through the fuzzy static of television stations long since abandoned. He'd occasionally look outside, but all he would find were the slow limping masses of things that were supposed to be dead.

He had time to think. Too much time. He didn't want to think about how he was stuck in there, how the dingy hotel mattress would be his deathbed. He didn't want to think about Maddie, no, he really didn't. But where was she? What was she doing? What about Christopher?

Shit.

He was getting a bit hungry. He'd already raided the mini-fridge long ago, and his stomach was alerting the zombies roaming the halls that there was still a man, a delicious one at that, he was sure, that was just waiting to be found.

Can't stay in here forever, Nicky.

His resolve was shattering and fast. But the moment he'd finally decided fuck this, I'm fucking starving, there was a loud crash, some gunshots, and he realized he wasn't the only hungry and trapped person here. Alive, at least.

He peered through the bloodstained hole in his door, seeing the hall partially on fire, dead bodies strewn about, and then a large black man rushing past. He was startled enough to remove himself from the door and grip his pistol tightly. Raiders?

"C'mon, Rochelle! Only a few more floors!" were the first words he had heard in at least a week.

He jumped back to the door to see a lean black woman limping along, trying to catch her breath. Nick watched curiously. "I'm running on low, Coach!"

Then there was a loud Southern laugh, and his curiosity doubled, tripled. He leaned further into the hole, watching them pass.

"Ro, jus' stay still an' lemme heal ya!"

"Sweetie, I think I'll be fine once I reach that chopper!"

The Southerner finally came into view, taking slow tired steps. He had a mechanic's suit wrapped around his hips, and his white skin was dirty and grimy, and the only thing going through Nick's head was hillbilly.

Big blue eyes turned to him, and they turned bigger and brighter, and the man's sideways smile jumped up his face in a grin.

"Well wha'dya know! Hey there, buddy!"

The man flew to the door, disrespecting his personal space as he shoved his face into Nick's peephole and laughed and smiled and if Nick could muster the imagination, there'd probably be some tail wagging involved too. He backed up quickly so their faces wouldn't meet tragically, but he was still close enough to notice how young the man looked, so happy to see him.

"My name's Ellis! How ya doin'! What's yer name?"

Nick wondered if he should relay that information. Then again, these were the first people he'd seen in weeks that weren't out to eat his brains. The kid stared at him as if he were the biggest stuffed animal at the county fair.

"Nick," he answered after a short moment. Ellis's grin grew.

"Nick! Well ain't you a snazzy-lookin' fella! You one o' them mafia guys I seen on TV?"

Nick could already tell he wasn't going to like this little ball of energy. That voice was grating on his nerves.

"No, I'm not from the mafia," he answered with restraint, watching as the kid pushed against the door impatiently with his whole body. Nick sighed and pulled back the sofa, letting the mechanic prance into his room with unneeded zealous. He stuck out his dirty hand and smiled like they weren't in a fucking apocalypse and there wasn't a 99.9% chance of them being killed by brainless eating machines. "Nice to meet 'cha!"

Nick took that hand reluctantly, and he couldn't think of a better option then the one right in front of him.

He followed them like some lonely puppy.

And he swore if Ellis opened his mouth one more time, he was going to shove something unorthodox into it.

The spastic hillbilly ignored his disapproving looks. He doubted that anything could deter the boy to shut his fucking trap. He talked about the stupidest things at all times, and Nick nearly regretted coming with them at all.

There was no helicopter on the roof of his hotel. They kept moving from place to place, finding escape one way or another, but all routes lead them back to the mainland, back to the zombies, back to a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

Ellis wasn't helping.

Nick had gotten to know more about their little dysfunctional team. The man who called himself "Coach" was a football has-been who wholeheartedly enjoyed a meal. He refused to disclose his actual name, and Nick felt like he'd made a mistake giving his own name. Not like they'd use that information against him when the only other people to talk to were gnawing at your ankles. There was little Nick could do to get a rise out of the man, and when he became annoyed, he'd give him a glare that sent his ego running. It reminded him of those looks Maddie would give him when he came home from the bar. Nevertheless, he tried to stay out of Coach's way.

Rochelle was something different. He couldn't help his eyes from wandering, when she'd bend over in just the right way to retrieve essentials. And she'd play along, because of course she'd notice when men surround her. But he knew there were boundaries, and with the way she swung an axe, he didn't want to be on her bad side. It was too risky, and they had no time to be fucking around. She was tough and fast, but she was as sweet as a new mother, and she gave that side of herself to Ellis.

He wished he knew less about Ellis.

His mouth was always open. And he was always talking about the same thing.

"This one time, me and my buddy Keith were out in his backyard practicin' with some peashooters on a bunch o' pigeons..."

"That's great, Ellis," Coach would mutter, and Ellis would smile, and end the story there. But then it'd be open again.

"Did I ever tell you guys 'bout the time me and my buddy Keith tried to make fireworks?"

"Yes, sweetie. Several times."

"Okay!"

It didn't matter if Ellis were in the front of their party, behind, or even in the goddamn middle. There was always a smoker or a charger who wanted to know all about Keith.

Nick was never a good baby sitter, let alone a family man. He'd never made a commitment to a woman for longer than a Vegas night, excluding Maddie. He had no relatives of who he wanted to closely associate with, much less their offspring. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd seen a child. They were the first to be eaten.

Though that didn't explain Ellis.

He was like a 6 year old with all the toys in the world. He found amusement, absolute delight, in the way his automatic shotgun tore through what was once a human's skull in just a loud instant, blowing brain and fluid and blood and mess everywhere with no remorse, sympathy, or class. But Ellis wasn't a classy guy anyway. A shotgun was just an upgraded peashooter, really. And the pigeons were people.

There were times when Nick could handle Ellis. Ellis was always the first to fall asleep, and he would do so kindly, not even waiting for the other survivors to secure the area before conking out and staying that way through the whole night. Nick liked the silence, the lack of an alarm-sounding target.

He remembered a night where they were just finishing the rounds and he stood right over a sleeping Ellis, watching him breathe deeply through his mouth, which was drying out and would be a bitch in the morning. And Nick thought Holy God; maybe he would shut the fuck up for once. But the more he thought about it, the less appealing it sounded in his head: a silent Ellis. It would be like a legless dog: pitiful, awkward, a loss.

Rochelle had whispered something about Ellis being adorable, but fuck if Nick cared. All he cared about was how fucked up the situation had gotten.

He had grabbed a canteen and poured water into Ellis's open mouth, making him wake with an insane start, spraying the water everywhere and choking wetly. He turned angry briny eyes up to Nick and gripped at his bobbing throat. "What the fuck wazzat fer, Nick? I was fuckin' sleepin'!"

Nick shrugged, and stepped away to create his own makeshift bed alongside his current posse. Ellis didn't go back to sleep until he knew Nick was already there, unable to drown him when he was least expecting it. When all was still, he curled close to Rochelle and fell back into that silent peaceful sleep, not conscious for the way Nick glanced over his shoulder at him, blinked a few slow times, and finally went to sleep.

But over their godforsaken adventure, Nick had gotten used to the constant chattering, and found it to be a sign that everything was still okay for them. If Ellis were silent, that meant something was wrong, terribly wrong. Few things could deter Ellis from telling his reassuring if not entirely fictional stories. If he was injured to the point where he limped and grunted out in agony, someone better as hell fix that. Tanks kept him pretty silent, not wanting it to be yet another special infected out for his blood and his blood alone. But both of those things were pretty bad anyway.

It was a surprise when they came to a barren little neighborhood and Ellis let out the loudest holler Nick had ever heard. He ran into the street so enthusiastically, he tripped over his own feet.

"It's my ol' neighborhood!"

Nick wasn't all that interested, actually, not at all. He watched as Ellis took Rochelle's hand and dragged her around from house to house, pointing and crying out like an excited toddler. Nick could only imagine the tour he was giving Rochelle: "Here's where me and Keith wrestled some pigs in the mud!" or "this is where I drank my first Budweiser! I was a week old!"

Admittedly, it made him laugh. Coach turned to him with a confused look, but he shook his head. "Nothing, Coach, nothing."

Coach sighed before calling out to Ellis. "Hey now! Don't go runnin' off before we've secured the area, boy!"

Ellis turned to him like a kicked puppy, but it only lasted a moment, and he nodded and gestured them all forward. "It's a real small place, Coach. Oh! Shit, I'm gonna check out my ol' house, kay?"

"Sweetie, I don't think that's-"

Too late. Ellis was running off. Whatever. It was pretty damn small, that was for sure: Only ten or so houses in total, with a murky black pond full of trash and dead people.

Funny how Ellis hadn't noticed that.

Ellis fired a shot in the distance, making some crows scatter in quite a fuss, but that was all, and Rochelle looked to Coach worriedly, who only shook his head, and Nick sighed with a tone of annoyance. There were a few zombies scattered around, no hordes or anything, just here or there, and it would probably be best that Ellis didn't have to shoot what could possibly be his relatives and neighbors.

Coach managed to find some beer (as if it were hard to do in this place) and Rochelle had gathered somewhat clean blankets from one of the houses.

The sun was orange, and the crickets chirped loudly in the evening air. The area was searched, a safe room secured, and everything was slowing down for the night. Rochelle had been worrying about Ellis since she heard the gunshot. "What if it had been a hunter? What if he's dead now?"

"We would have heard them screaming. Ellis is a vocal thing, ain't he?" Coach said, his beer flat, but worth it.

Rochelle agreed silently, and then turned to Nick, who was trying to get over his spoiled taste for alcohol so he could enjoy the shitty warm beer he was given. "Please go get him, would you, Nick?"

Nick frowned into his disgusting beer. "Why me?"

"He likes you," Rochelle gave, and pushed him lightly in the chest to get him out the door. He scoffed and answered in some colorful language, but threw his drink aside and obeyed anyway.

He doubted he was anything special to Ellis. Ellis liked everyone.

The neighborhood was an eerie gray and orange, both cold and warm, every shine of the sun comfortable, and every crack of shade unrelenting. Nick could only imagine what Ellis's house had looked like before the apocalypse had left it to rot, and it didn't look much better in his head. The door was hanging off the rusty hinges, and the off-white paint chipped and curled. Windows were broken open from the ransacking that happened in the first week of the infection, but everything from the inside was strewn on the outside when the zombies got to them too.

"Ellis?" Nick called, tapping his gun on the side of the house, staying careful of the risky-looking door. The screen had bloody holes torn through it.

Something crashed dully, dirt and dust flying about, but it was subdued, like mice knocking over dishes. He peeked inside, but it was dark from the setting sun, black silhouettes of furniture among the burnt ending of a day and the turning to night.

A shadow moved roughly, angrily, and made little frustrated breathing noises not unlike a zombie's. Nick didn't think there would be any more infected in the area, but he still kept his pistol close, and he cocked it back to direct it to the shadow drawing near him quickly. The one time he doesn't have a flashlight...

Ellis glared at him.

Glared.

The gun was right at his nose, but Ellis didn't look surprised or fearful that Nick might have shot him, but daring. He stared down the barrel right up to Nick's eyes, and Nick noticed that Ellis was shaking.

"Do it," he uttered, his tone a cockiness Nick was unfamiliar with. It wasn't the "yeah let's kill some zombies" cockiness, it was an "I'm tired of this and I dare you" cockiness. "Go on, shoot me."

Nick scoffed and readied an insult that wasn't really meant to insult, but rather scold ("I'm not going to shoot you, hayseed, so shut up."), but as soon as he lowered the pistol, Ellis shoved him back and out of his way without so much as an explanation.

"Hey, you fucking idiot, I was just coming to get you because Ro was worried!"

Nick saw the fault in Ellis's stomping. He turned his head to Nick a little, but refused to look him in the eyes any longer. His fists were clenched desperately as he hurriedly made his way to the safe house, not caring if Nick was behind him or not. The gambler rushed to catch up, but Ellis had already all but dashed into the room and hid under his blanket like a child afraid of the boogeyman. Rochelle looked from the quivering blanket to the man standing in the doorway, not knowing whom to speak to first.

"Save it, Ro," Nick gave, carefully setting aside his guns and other accessories to pull together his own makeshift bed. "I want to get some sleep. Please don't berate me over stupid shit right now."

Rochelle frowned and puffed out her cheeks in an angry pout. "Fine, but we're talking first thing tomorrow morning, Mister Gambler."

"Hell has no fury like a woman scorned, I know, I know."

Rochelle jumped up to defend herself, but Nick just put up his hand and shook his head.

"Sorry, out of line."

She watched him drop onto his pile of blankets and a med kit for a pillow, turning his back on her, leaving him open to attack, giving her all his crumbling walls and a shot at his vulnerability. Nick never apologized.

Rochelle didn't answer. She slowly sat back down and turned her attention to Coach, who was still staring at the cowering lump of blanket that was Ellis. "Wonder what's got him so scared?" he whispered. Ro gave the mechanic a worried look before scooting over to him, laying beside him for comfort. Her hands stroked the blanket, feeling the tremors, and sighed tiredly.

"Maybe we'll know tomorrow."

But tomorrow didn't help.

The next morning, Ellis wasn't talking, and Nick was downright pissed.

Rochelle put up quite the opposition that day, trying every few minutes to persuade Ellis to speak to them, but all that ever came out of his usually unstoppable mouth were directions or warnings. Beyond that, his lips were sealed.

Sometimes, he would go out of his way to not say things. When a horde was coming, he wouldn't announce his position or if he needed help. When he was caught by a special infected, which happened more often than not, he wouldn't scream for help. He'd let it happen, and Nick had designated himself as Ellis's savior. Ellis didn't thank Nick, or even look at him, but hell, he didn't look at any of them, not even his motherly Ro.

It was the final straw when Ellis had stopped to heal himself, and hadn't told anyone. They'd accidentally left him in the building they'd been fighting through, and when Nick realized he wasn't behind him, he rushed back to find him incapacitated by a hunter.

"You fucking," Nick trailed off angrily, shooting the hunter off with a loud bang, a splatter of blood, and a startled yelp of death. He loomed over Ellis, who lay limply on the floor, refusing to meet Nick's eyes. He was twitching and trembling from his grave wounds, but his lips were tight and white, as if he were holding back his tears and his words and everything that was just Ellis.

It was a heartbreaking sight, but that didn't stop Nick. It never did.

"You fucking idiot," he hissed. He hadn't helped Ellis up yet, and even through the harsh words, Ellis didn't look at him. "Fuck, overalls, I thought you were a fucking zombie-killing machine! What the fuck are you doing?"

It was a long silence, and Nick could hear the labored breath of the injured boy on the floor, stifled hastily and painful. He was biting his lip until blood rushed over his cheek like a Glasgow smile. There was a small moan, a whine, of pain and repression, and Nick watched Ellis's eyes go glassy and wet. He closed his eyes lightly, so the tears gathered in his lids wouldn't drip out and took long ragged breaths.

He didn't say anything.

Nick wanted to be angry, well, angrier. But the kid was practically giving up, not caring if Nick picked him up off the ground or didn't. He looked about ready to curl up and die like he was past his expiration date.

"Come on," Nick said after a few moments of hesitation, leaning down to touch Ellis's arm gingerly, but the boy jerked it away roughly, not making a sound. That's when Nick grabbed it, not caring for what Ellis thought he wanted, and yanked him up. Ellis made another frustrated noise from behind clenched teeth and a shaky throat ready to all but sob. He helped him to his feet, and before Ellis could hobble off, he set to work bandaging his wounds.

Ellis squirmed like a kid being forced to eat spinach, pushing against Nick's face when he was trying to wrap the gauze around his front.

"Stop it right fucking now, Ellis, and hold the fuck still or so help me God."

Ellis calmed a little, not much, but at least he wasn't pushing against Nick's face so hard anymore. He shoved at his shoulders like an animal trying to find escape, turning his head to one side so Nick couldn't see his face.

The healing took a short moment, hasty, because Nick would do it better when they got to the safe house, if they ever got to the safe house.

Nick had to practically drag Ellis back to Rochelle and Coach, covering the entrance to the building. When Rochelle bothered over him, asking what happened, Ellis answered "Nothing". Coach was unimpressed, and let out a shallow sigh, but Nick was livid.

"Ellis, I am going to kill you with your own gun if you don't cut it the fuck out."

Ellis didn't say anything. So Nick didn't say anything.

In truth, the silence hurt a lot more than it should have. He thought he'd be glad for Ellis calming down and shutting up, but it left him with this empty feeling in his ears, like a broken hearing aid. He needed something to fill that void, but there wasn't anything.

As if Nick weren't already royally pissed.

Nick blew it off, dragging the silent Ellis along as they ventured into the city to find a safe house. Upon not finding anything relatively safe, they staggered about until they found an information kiosk in the downtown area, and it had told them that they were farther from their destination than they thought.

"We were going the wrong way?" Rochelle hissed at the crumpled and burnt piece of map that had been littered all over the asphalt.

It wasn't much of a distance, they supposed. It was just a bit of backtracking, backtracking that could have easily been avoided. When the news was broken to Ellis, he simply tensed up and remained silent, and Nick noticed the little quiver of his lips, the uneasy shifting of his eyes. They were all going back to Ellis's neighborhood.

"Just for a little while. There aren't any safe rooms up this far into the city."

Ellis didn't say anything. So Nick didn't say anything.

It was when they reached the neighborhood that Ellis threw down his bags and supplies and stalked off to a home off in the distance, swerving as far away from his old house as he possibly could, as if it had an anti-Ellis barrier around it. The mechanic had a determined face, one of frustration and fear too, and Nick didn't want to analyze it, but there it was.

He led his party to a two-story with a large red barred door, with a pantry stuffed secretly beneath bare shelves and many large luxurious beds, and he wondered why they hadn't seen it the first time around. The beds looked like they were worth a pretty penny, or a few billion pennies. Whatever the case, Rochelle had a ball picking which one she wanted, probably the most fun Nick had ever seen her have, and for such a trivial reason. Ellis didn't have much of an input, but that was expected. Coach had taken a bed on the first story along with Rochelle, so the dusty loft was all for them. Nick looked to Ellis for any sign of ye or nay, but found nothing.

"Well, buddy," Nick mumbled, not in the least bit chummy at the moment, "Looks like we're having ourselves a sleepover."

Ellis shifted his head in what Nick would have liked to think was a nod, and sat on a large gold-foil canopy bed, dust flying off. Nick decided not to pursue anything and took a bed beside it. Who knew how secure this room really was anyway?

Getting to sleep was hard for Nick. The moon shone through the bars on the windows of the room, and put thick black and white stripes across his face. He couldn't enjoy the peace of the night, the chirp of crickets, with his brain on the fritz. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but Ellis was worrying him. He needed to talk soon or else Nick was going to go insane. He didn't like this kind of quiet, this kind was terrible and awkward and sickening. It made him feel lonely, a feeling he wasn't akin to having before the apocalypse.

Ellis had done this.

Nick grit his teeth silently, staring at the bleach white ceiling, probably the only thing that wasn't covered in dust and blood and grime.

Go to sleep, he growled to himself, shutting his eyes to the half darkness, half moonlight, taking deep breaths, Go on, go to sleep. It's quiet; just don't think too much on it. Enjoy it-

There was a sob, a quiet one, but it sounded like a scream to anyone in that awful stillness. He slowly turned his head to where Ellis was sleeping but feet away on his own large canopied bed. The sheets and blanket, as dirty and dusty as they were, shook like a Chihuahua. Quietly as he could, he removed himself from his own bed and touched his bare feet to the cold hard wood floor, being careful of splinters and trash and god knew what, and slinked over to Ellis's side.

Curiosity didn't usually get to Nick. He was seldom curious about anything, and he liked to keep it that way, because curiosity in this apocalypse earned you a one-way ticket to hell, and it wasn't a pretty ride. But there was something worth looking into, he wasn't sure what. His own survival, he supposed.

"Hey," Nick whispered as gently as he could, actually requiring willpower to seem so soft. He kneeled on the ground, cushioning his knees with some discarded and ruined clothes, and waited for Ellis to react. He hadn't made a noise since the first glimmer of despair. "Hey now, what's wrong, El?"

The nickname seemed to be a password into Ellis's secret club, because he'd lifted the blankets a little to show his face. It was still dark under the covers, but it was a bright night, so his face showed gray skin and the brilliant whites of his eyes. The tears on his cheeks met with the tears that had streamed from his eyes to fall over his nose, and had cleaned Ellis's dirty face in little zigzags of white. His plump chapped lips quivered and his teeth nipped at them, holding it all in. And he looked at Nick, those big blue eyes narrowed from all the crying. He closed his eyes, furrowed his eyebrows, and grimaced as the tears doubled, tripled. His mouth opened and out came a squeak.

"Nick."

Nick had prided himself in his ability to put on a social face for his customers, for his lays, but he'd never gotten to fully understand the necessity of truth. He doubted he'd ever told the truth to his own wife. Sure, he was a sweet kid, or at least that's what his mother had told him, or would tell him, every night he came home with vodka on his tongue and a lady hung over his shoulder like the meat from a good hunt. What had happened, she would ask, where was her sweet boy?

"I'm right here," he whispered, tilting his head toward the opening in the blanket. He put his hands on the bed, and the second they touched down, another hand snapped out from beyond the covers and gripped his tightly. Ellis's hand was clammy and shivering, shifting over Nick's to get a hold that would cure all his pain and worries.

"Nick," he called again, a soft whining noise among the hiccups and sobs. Nick snuck his non-captive hand into the opening of the protective blankets to press it softly to Ellis's forehead, fingers grazing dirty brown hair, dancing down to his cheek and his ear in what he wanted to think was a comforting motion. Ellis cried harder, and Nick thought he'd done it all wrong, but Ellis looked at him through glassy blue eyes and took a long deep breath.

"I killed 'im," he whispered wetly, sniffing back tears, though they still reached Nick's hand, hot and unwanted. "I killed 'im, Nick."

Nick opened his mouth to ask who, but Ellis just opened his own mouth to cry out, curling up tighter to hide his face in his shrugging shoulders.

He knew.

Nick watched Ellis cry into his arm, barely letting himself breath with the harshness of his howling. Nick pressed a hand into Ellis's hair again, smoothing it back, and he supposed this was how you comforted a child after a nightmare.

This was all a giant nightmare.

"He came at me," was muffled out from beyond flesh and cotton, still shaky and breathless, "He was...He was gon' kill me, Nick. There...He was th-throwin' up blood, an' 'e saw me an' started r-runnin' at me an' I...I panicked!"

Nick realized he wasn't going to get anything else out of him when he buried himself back into the blankets and sheets and all but screeched. But his hand remained in Ellis's, and then a second hand clamped over it too, and dragged it under the covers. His hand met a wet face, knuckles on a sopping cheek, rubbing up and down in a nuzzling motion, Ellis's nose bumping into his thumb with each roll of his head. Nick wasn't doing anything, and it was all Ellis, but he found that to be just fine, because hell if he knew what to do.

"Hey, it's alright, El," he whispered, rubbing his thumb as advised in his head, running the pad of it across his lips and back to the cheek with the rest of his fingers. The boy hunched up and cried still. "It's alright."

Nothing was working. He sat there with that broken thing for what seemed like hours and waited for it all to blow over and calm down. Nick was sure he had enough reason to, learning that you'd just killed your own best friend, but he kept crying and crying and no amount of shushing could get him to stop. He remembered the way his wife would do the same thing when he was in trouble. But he wasn't allowed to touch her, because his hands had touched another woman in just the same way. She'd just cry until he couldn't take it anymore and leave for yet another night of roaming.

He laid his head down on the bed, not caring of the dust, and let his eyes wonder slowly closed.

"Hey," Nick whispered again to the sharp black under the blanket, shivering and sobbing and tearing itself apart. He was tired. Hell, they were both tired, and this episode was not helping. "Tell me a story."

The sobs were drawn back into wet sniffles and choked hiccups after a moment, full out blubbering done. He couldn't see Ellis's face, not with his eyes closed so pleasurably. He held that wet hand tight, giving it a firm squeeze to let him know he wasn't sleeping through his panic attack.

"...Wh...What kinda story?"

"You know what kind."

A pause.

"N-Nick, I don-"

"You can do it, overalls. Tell me a good one."

"You hate my stories," he whispered, and Nick heard it crack and fizzle and could feel the tears coming back, but he wasn't going to let that happen. He cracked an eye open to see blue eyes peering at him from beyond the blanket, strong, a little bit frustrated, a little bit self-loathing, but he gave a sigh of relief and closed his eyes again.

"I'd rather not hear your stories while we're being mobbed by zombies, but a story before bed is just fine with me, El."

A soft chuckle emerged from the dusty darkness, and Nick knew everything would be fine.

"...I never told no one this story," he murmured gently, frightened of being rejected, and gave Nick a moment to interrupt as he always seemed to do, but Nick nodded against the sheets, waiting for Ellis to continue. Ellis gave a weak smile, and it was okay, because Nick didn't see it anyway. "But this one time, Keith asked me to marry him."

Nick opened his dreary eyes and stared at Ellis. "Did he now?"

Ellis smiled and nodded, letting a few leftover tears jump down his face. "It was his birthday, and he got real drunk, ya know? And I was drinkin' a bit too, but hell, this fucker was down right hammered."

Nick nodded, spreading the dust on the sheets, and Ellis's smile grew, his own eyes closing to the tears threatening to return.

"And my momma was there an' everything," he laughed, "'cause my momma was real good friends with Keith's momma. And he said, he says to me 'El, you sure are a sexy fella. Why ain't you married yet?' and I was drunk, ya know, and I says 'Ain't found no one as..."

Nick looked up to Ellis again, watching the waterworks interrupt the story. "...Ain't found no one as fine as you."

Nick frowned a little, trying to hide it lest the kid see it and cry harder. But he sniffed back his tears the best he could and continued shakily.

"A-An' he says t' me 'Well dang, El, I guess we're soul mates. Let's get married'."

The little laugh that Ellis gave him was sad, dead, and choked. "Momma said it'd make sense, 'cause we'd known each other since we was just babies. It'd be one o' them arranged marriages."

Nick waited for Ellis to continue, not looking away from those watery blue eyes.

"He took me by the hand and I remember our mommas were laughin' real hard an' he dropped to his knee and tol' me 'e...'e loved me...An' he'd make me real happy..."

Ellis's Adam's apple bobbed harshly, swallowing his frustration and depression and his memories to let them fester in his stomach rather than in his head and his voice. Nick felt his hand get squeezed from beneath the covers. "We was too drunk to go find a church, an' he had no money for a ring, so he married me right there in his backyard with our mommas as witnesses, an' he tied a thread from his shirt 'round my finger so tight it almost turned purple an' shit. An' he said 'El, you better not cheat on me' an' I said I wouldn't ever, never ever."

Nick played with the dirty brown string tied around the mechanic's finger, something he'd never even noticed. "...I thought he got on the 'elicopter with everyone else-"

"Were you serious? Did you want to be with him?"

Ellis pursed his lips, jerking his hand away and under the blankets. "G'night, Nick."

Before Nick could get in another word, Ellis had turned his back on him and cowered back into his blankets. The gambler grit his teeth in annoyance, but swallowed his fury for the kid. It might have been stupid and he wasn't a man known for emotion and a caring attitude, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Come on, kid," he whispered, lifting his knees from the hardly cushioned wood floor, wincing at the screech of pain it sent to his brain, to slide them to the gold canopied bed. He lay there beside Ellis, waiting to see if he'd turn to face him, but he didn't.

He fell asleep during the standstill, at what time of night he didn't know. He didn't want to, not with Ellis hating on him so fiercely, but the day had been absolutely taxing and their mornings started early anyway. He hadn't stayed awake long enough for Ellis to turn to him, watch him, to hold the hand that had comforted him during his breakdown.

Her face was like one out of a magazine. He knew she'd spent hours and hours perfecting it. He saw her, and his everything turned to mush, because that was his girl.

"Keep staring, maybe this is all a dream," his brother had told him, knocking their elbows together. "She's an angel, bro."

"Shut up," he shot back, and she watched him from afar, down that aisle, her father hooked around her white arm. Her grin was mischievous, but so subdued with those painted lips so bright and red. It was a familiar grin, lopsided, silly, even.

The church was white, but it dimmed in comparison to her dress, trailing down red flower-sprinkled carpet. She was gorgeous, and Nick wanted it.

"Ready set go. Right, buster?"

She was next to him, in front of him, holding his clammy hands, and he could only nod when she kissed him and the room was in an uproar.

"Where did you go?"

Dusty gold billowed past the barred windows and turned the room into a haven, and there was Ellis, sound asleep with his dirty bloody hands clasping loosely over Nick's. His split and chapped lips hung open in soft heavy breaths, calm as he always was when he slept, and his curly brown hair had shifted over his eyes messily.

Nick stared.

Before the apocalypse, he'd usually start his day in a hotel room in bed with a woman he'd never see again, grab whatever was in the mini-fridge, and take off before she woke up to the inevitable hangover and the age old question of "what happened last night and why is my dress on backwards?" During the apocalypse, he usually woke to the sound of a zombie scratching and screeching at the safe room door, staring at him like he was the breakfast special that came with free pancakes.

"Where did you go?" he whispered.

Ellis shifted his head into the pillow, nudging the soft cotton with his button nose and inhaling a concoction of dust and death that Nick imagined didn't smell all that amazing. The thumb on his left hand twitched, grazing the back of Nick's hand, and he mumbled something unintelligible just as he did when he was conscious. Outside was still, a stillness that Nick had yet to find in this godforsaken disaster movie, because the neighborhood had either evacuated long ago, or all the zombie residence found a better food supply closer to the city. Nick didn't want to think about the latter for Ellis's sake, as much as he didn't want to care.

He gave the kid one last look-over before detaching himself and slowly, carefully, slipping out of the bed like the serpent he was. He tossed about in the room's closet for some clothes, anything that didn't have a beer logo on it, and found a dusty blue t-shirt, similar to the shade of his dress shirt, which he was already too fond of. These were his, and of course he was going to get out of this hell with only the clothes off his back, goddamn it. He managed to find some swimming trunks that were nearly 3 sizes too big, but they had drawstrings, and he doubted he would really find anything his size and flattering at the same time. He replaced his clothes and held his ruined suit close to his chest as he slid out of the room, watching Ellis turn slightly in his heavy golden blankets, sighing in the sleep he truly deserved.

As soon as he was out of the room, he climbed slowly down the rickety stairs to the ground floor, and was immediately intercepted.

"What did you do?" Rochelle hissed out, and the fire in her chocolate eyes burned for his flesh, her teeth gritting like they wanted to chew him up and spit him out. Coach sat at the meager kitchen and chewed on some potato chips he'd found in the mini pantry, and made no move to support either of them. Nick expected him to say something about being too old for this kind of thing, but he was silent, ignoring. "I heard him last night. You better as fuck have something to say."

"I didn't do anything," he said quietly; as if Ellis were listening to them right there, a whole story away. "Just...Calm down, Ro, we had a rough night."

They were both tight-lipped, waiting for the other to blow up, to give explanations, to do anything, but it sizzled to nothing, and then they were waiting for someone to cave.

"What am I going to do with you two?" she whispered after their intense moment, finally forfeiting the battle, and Nick took time to notice that there wasn't any dirt under her fingernails, how smooth her hair looked, and the lack of dirt on that little pink shirt.

"Did you take a bath?"

Her eyes lit up like a flashlight at midnight.

"Jesus, Nick, clean running water!" she cried out with a smile on the lips of a woman who was usually so serious and nagging. A safe place to sleep, a beautiful bed of her choice, and a bath or three? It was like a dream come true. "Only the kitchen sink seems to be working and there's no hot water, but there's a hose right outside!"

He nodded to her with a half-hearted smile, pushing her in the shoulder playfully as he left their safe house. He took a hesitant look around the neighborhood, not a zombie in sight, and rushed to a rusty copper spigot attached to the side of the house, green hose limp in the weedy grass. It wasn't much, but it was clean water, and with shampoo Rochelle had found in the upstairs bathroom, he began to clean himself along with his suit.

The idea seemed stupid, as he tried in vain to scrub out the guts and grime of a zombie apocalypse with his untrimmed fingernails, but his suit was something that made Nick the man known as Nick. It held memories, none of which were completely good, but still memories of a time before it all went into a tailspin and crashed, turning his life into something resembling burning debris and mutilated passengers. The suit was his last bit of humanity; or vanity, whichever one preferred.

It had appeared that humanity had manifested itself elsewhere in his life anyway.

He scrubbed his head a hundred times over with the fruity shampoo, having forgotten what cleanliness smelt like. His hair felt as it should, clean and silky and groomed. He rubbed the shampoo into his face, cleaning off infected cuts and scrapes, removing coagulated blood and goo from god knows what, until his face could finally breath through the suddenly unclogged pores. As he washed the suds from his fresh cheeks, he blinked his eyes open to a certain house with chipped paint and rotted wood framing.

He's still there, isn't he?

He stood slowly, leaving his suit to dry on the cement as he made his way toward the house he'd abandoned in Ellis's strange behavior. The floorboards on the porch creaked eerily, and the weeds and grass growing through the cracks shifted loudly against his out-of-place shoes. The door was still displaced amusingly, but he could see this time.

The body was sprawled beside a kitchen table, which he was sure Keith and Ellis had spent far too many drunken and friendly nights at. He had once looked as young and stupid as Ellis did, but with the addition of facial hair, a thin brown beard coming in only half past a 5 o'clock shadow. He had the same hat as Ellis, and only then did he remember a story Ellis had been trying to tell him about having some mechanic shop with his friends. Of course, he hadn't really been listening, seeing as he had been fighting tooth and nail through a particularly thirsty horde.

"So you're Keith," he told the corpse, as if it hadn't known.

Yellow eyes that were once brown didn't glow like the other zombies did, having been dead the last 6 or so hours. They stared up at the ceiling sadly, with his fuzzy chin high in the air and his mouth agape with horror and hunger. His skin was as gray as stone, and he wasn't the man Ellis had loved. "Nice to meet you."

As if he were asking for Ellis's hand in marriage; being cocky to an ex-boyfriend; meeting the in-laws.

The morning air was humid, and made the room smell as bad as anything left to rot for 2 or 3 weeks, maybe even worse. Keith didn't seem to mind. The thought of burying Keith for Ellis popped into Nick's head and was instantly smashed, deciding it was Ellis's place to figure it out. He could leave it to decay in the home they grew up in, or he could bury it properly despite the terror he would feel toward burying the greatest friend he ever had: His call.

Nick wiped a hand across his face to remind himself of the smell of clean and living flesh among the dirt and death. Ellis would be waking up soon, he guessed, and he didn't want him thinking he had messed with the sacred corpse of his lover.

"Lover," he said out loud, only to himself and the dead thing in question.

The sound of footprints hitting dry dirt and clumps of grass had him turning toward the door.

"I was gonna tell you I cooked up some stuff Coach found in the pantry," Rochelle called softly, hands pressed to the doorframe, "If you're hungry."

"Thanks," he answered, wondering if he could get out of the house without Ro knowing about Keith. He walked with quick feet toward her, hoping to usher her out with his much larger body, but she cocked her head to look around him. "What were you lookin' at?"

"Nothing," he said all too quickly, and for a conman, he wasn't doing so well with lying through his teeth. He wasn't sure why.

She pushed against his chest for him to move, which he did reluctantly, and she walked over to the table to stare at the body on the floor. Without much thought, she turned back to him and said, "It's just a dead one."

Nick nodded, and he was lucky to get away without her asking anything else.

"Is it finally getting through that icy heart of stone you got there?" she grinned, as if she weren't joking about the zombie apocalypse they were constantly fighting through. "These were people, Nick."

Oh, he knew.

Telling Rochelle about Keith wasn't Nick's place either. If Ellis wanted her to know, he'd tell her. Nick was trusted to keep his damn mouth shut and take care of Ellis his own way: discreetly. That was the plan.

"...Is this Ellis's house?" she asked. He nodded stiffly as she looked around curiously.

"His old one."

"Bet none of his stuff is still here then," she hummed out. "I almost wanted to see if there were Metallica posters on his wall."

Nick didn't answer.

"Come on," she whispered, an uncharacteristic smile making itself present on her face. Nick decided he'd like to see that more often. "I know you're starving."

His stomach made a sound of agreement, and he followed after her quickly, her beautiful laugh echoing in the house lined to the brim with death and sadness.

Ellis had slept long into the morning, and Rochelle thought it best to stay another night. Might as well, he thought, the house was the safest thing he'd had this whole ordeal. It was secluded, no wondering infected, nowhere near a big thriving city. They had food to last them longer than another day, and they were thankful for it. Especially Coach.

Night came swiftly, dark, as it had always been, darker in the apocalypse. Ellis had spent all his energy crying and hating and worrying the night before, but his sleeping face looked so soft, one would never know. His eyes danced over the kid when the midnight moon came out from behind the clouds and blared white through the barred window. The room would fade into black when the clouds swallowed it up again. It was soothing, and his insomnia was proven to be just a case of the jitters when he felt everything numb and his eyelashes hit his cheeks for the last time. He knew he could sleep if Ellis could sleep too.

Ellis stared at Nick from across the small space between the beds. If he looked in just the right way, it seemed as if Nick were laying right beside him, his mouth pressed into the pillow so all Ellis could see were the lines of age and the narrow bridge of his nose. He was more than ten years older than him, and Ellis could tell, because that tired face couldn't hide anything in sleep.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Ellis hid under the blanket quicker than a rabbit that had spotted a fox. Nick opened one lazy eye, breathing difficult in the cotton filter of the pillow. He wasn't going to admit that he was quite the hypocrite, watching the kid until he was ready to pass out for the night, and as soon as he thought he was done, he saw blue eyes staring right back. Ellis flipped over in the blanket, huddling up in a way Nick was afraid would become a habit.

"Sorry," he murmured beneath the thick covers, so delicate in the cold night air.

He wanted to say "No problem" or "Don't apologize", but nothing came. He stared at the lump in the blanket named Ellis and waited for it to stop moving around and go back to sleep, like a mother making sure her child was asleep before she went to sleep herself. He'd rather not resemble a mom, but really, this kid was demanding.

He kept his eyes low-lidded to feign sleep, just for shits and giggles, he supposed. He had wanted to sleep, and his body told him to do so and quickly, but his mind was all over the place. And just as he thought, that bundle started to wiggle again, like the restless kid it was. Ellis turned to face him again, his eyes searching his face for anything to deter him, but he was fooled by the conman. He slipped one foot out from beneath the covers, then another, and they gently rooted to the floor.

Nick kept his mouth shut, his breathing even, because goddamn it, he was sleeping. The kid had fallen for it, and Nick was going to get what he'd bargained for.

Ellis slid from his bed as slow as molasses, still keeping his eyes trained to the gambler's face, seeing if he'd wake up and yell at him, Nick guessed. He gained inches, lost them, and then he was right beside him, staring at him but moments away. Ellis's hands fidgeted, grasping at the sheets as if he were in pain and begging for a vice. Nick tried hard not to blink, because even a twitch of his eyelashes would send Ellis sprinting back to his little nest.

Why am I even doing this?

Fingers brushed the temple not pressed against the pillow and dragged themselves up into his hairline, newly cleaned and soft, and he remembered then that Ellis had yet to bathe himself and finding Nick's hair in such a way must have made him curious. He rolled hairs between the pads of his index finger and thumb, reveling in the lack of acid and vomit and brains that didn't belong to him. He inhaled strongly above the conman, and Nick felt the hand go deeper, pressing against dry scalp, immersing his hand in dark thin locks. A perfect time as any, Nick decided.

"You thought I wouldn't wake up with the way you're touching me?"

The hand disappeared as if struck by a slap to the wrist and so did the man it belonged to, snapping up from his sitting position beside Nick to try and run back to his bed, as if that would make them both forget what just happened. Nick would have liked to think it was reflexes that made him snatch up Ellis's hand before it left his vicinity, and he watched him jerk back from the force of being held back suddenly. He fell gracelessly; as he did with nearly everything he did, onto Nick's legs, choking on his own gasp loudly. His other hand held him upright above Nick so he wouldn't crush him entirely.

Nick found it a little amusing.

"What were you doing?" he asked, that smirk lighting up in the striped darkness. He could make out the jump of Ellis's Adam's apple as he gulped nervously.

He expected a retort, a childish one, like "nothing" or to change the subject, "You were faking!" But he didn't, and the only warning as to what was to come was the hesitant breath on his face and the shifting of Ellis's nervous blue eyes. He kissed him as if he were to die, or die of embarrassment, rather. Hell, Nick was so surprised, he nearly spit into Ellis's mouth. But he just hunched his shoulders defensively and let it happen, and the moment that was probably only that, a moment, felt like too damn long, and he took notice of the little things. He felt the strange sensation of having stubble rub against his own stubbly chin, something he'd never known and never thought he would. He tasted Ellis, and it was a taste he didn't care for in the least, as he hadn't brushed his teeth since the day they'd stumbled into a dentist's office and Rochelle nearly cried in happiness for proper dental hygiene, and that had been weeks ago. Having the kid pressed against his face, he smelt the musk of a dirty desperate survivor, maybe desperate in a different sense, after this stunt, maybe dirtier if things turned out the way Ellis was leading them to. It wasn't pleasant, no, but it wasn't terrible.

He shoved Ellis back, disconnecting them with twin sighs, but Ellis went straight back for more, shoving Nick down again to where his head collided with the pillow and sunk deep into the fluff, attacked vigorously.

Jesus Christ.

Nick laughed to himself. What was he doing, letting this kid do what he wanted as if he knew how to go about handling him? Nick was a master in the art of seduction, and the girls back in Vegas would say just the same. Hell if he didn't know how to undo a bra with his hands behind his back, because he'd done it several times in Reno alone. Ellis was sloppy and hesitant, and Nick could tell he was trying to hide it with forcefulness and passion; things Ellis had always excelled in.

The whole gay thing was new, though. He'd always loved the softness of the ladies, the jut of supple hips and breasts alike, perfect diversions in his broken marriage, his alcoholism, his chain smoking, and the works. He'd lost count of how many he'd sweet-talked over the edge of a stage covered in glitter, dollar bills, and the stickiness of alcohol and evidence of premature excitement from the audience. He loved the way their lips were always bright with paint, a paint that always ended up on his collar, a paint that always got him caught in the wrath that was Maddie.

Nick pushed the heel of his palm right into Ellis's sternum none too gently, and the kid put distance between them with a pained groan. He licked his plump lips, and Nick snickered at the red cheeks and dazed blue eyes, striped from the bars, that completed the look of a desperately horny teenager.

"Never thought you worked that way, El."

"Oh shuddup, ya knew," he hissed, the palms pinning Nick down shifting back and forth on the sheets nervously. "Don't make this inta a game."

"I wasn't about to," Nick surrendered into the harsh darkness, patches of Ellis visible from the moon and suddenly alluring, distracting.

He'd never acknowledged men for partners in crime. He'd amuse the guys who came in for ladies' night, couldn't say he disliked the way they eyed him just as the ladies did, because he was a high roller with a handsome face and a handsomer wallet. He'd tease the guys who came in on Thursdays at Rick's, how some looked just as good as the girls who performed every other night but that night, because that night was reserved for the fanciest fags he'd ever seen in his life. It was flattering to know he could get lap dances for free. He never took up the offer, but it was always there: always.

The nervousness was overwhelming, and the air around them was thick like fog, steamy and uncomfortable, and Ellis seemed about ready to pass out. Nick didn't want to startle the kid, or even make a move, lest it lead him to thoughts he'd rather not let him consider. But this was getting difficult. He hadn't fucked anything since that ferry had given him the joys of whiskey and women combined with the gambling he so very much loved, creating scenario after scenario, all of which ended with him nestled in a woman high off his own pheromones.

"Please don't push me away," he whispered. If he insists, why not?

Sure, this was probably just him groveling over the loss of his unrequited love and best friend, something to take his mind off the idea of being alone after this shit storm is over, but it was something. And as dopey as Ellis tended to be, Nick doubted he was that lost in his woes. Especially the way his eyes shifted everywhere at once, the way his lanky limbs faltered like a little virgin, unsure of what to do, but determined to do it all the same.

"Come here," Nick breathed, pushing himself up off his back, making Ellis slowly scoot back into a full sitting position. He slid his legs out from under the hillbilly, who jumped a little in surprise and anxiety, and let Nick lean him all the way back onto the warm comforter beneath him. From the position he had been guided into, the moon shone onto his face in such a way that Nick could see it all: those nervous eyes, that red face, and those teeth chewing away shakily on the lips enclosing them. "Calm down, overalls. You've got my attention."

It settled in. He stared up at him, confused and unbelieving, probably. Those eyes couldn't lie even if they tried, doubtlessly from all those lessons in Sunday school and the advice from his dear sweet momma. And they told Nick that they wanted him.

Ellis smiled nervously, his teeth glinting in the moon. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered, and as he leaned forward to take the same stance Ellis had stumbled through, he was interrupted.

"I don't know what yer thinkin' 'bout me righ' now, but...But I ain't no floozy."

Nick bit his tongue at the way Ellis pouted up at him as if he were trying to be serious. He couldn't help his outburst of laughter.

"Ellis, I've been around enough floozies to know what they're like, and you are not one of them-"

"-And this ain't 'cause o' Keith."

Nick shut his mouth and eyed the younger man beneath him, breathing unsteady and skin trembling. "...It ain't cause o' Keith," he repeated, barely a breath of noise.

Nick wasn't about to push further. The look in the man's eyes told him to leave it as it was, take it as the truth, hope, forgiveness; a compliment.

"Alright," Nick assured, and they dropped it.

Hands ventured not bravely, but all knowing. He knew the way to please a woman, any woman, and being a man, he was sure it was along the same lines: the grand prizes were in the same places, after all. His fingers glided under the kid's shirt like an expert, distracting him with a tongue trained in the art of turning brains to mush.

He could tell Ellis was overwhelmed. He'd probably never been kissed by a girl, let alone by a Casanova ten years his elder.

Ellis squirmed lightly under Nick, getting used to the feeling of a man dominating him so easily. Nick was sure that his momma had never told him about this kind of thing. She had probably hoped he'd bring home a sweet little brunette from church, hoped for a grandkid or four.

This is what Ellis got instead.

He wanted it. He was the one who made advances toward the conman, and this is what he had asked for. Nick wasn't going to feel guilty for some kid who didn't know what was good for him. He was a man of strategy, and he took his advantages as they came.

"Nick," he whispered harshly as Nick pulled that dirty yellow shirt over her head, ruffling his dirty brown hair and smudging the smudges on his smudged face. "Nick, man, slower."

Nick suddenly remembered why he didn't fuck virgins.

Spending his adult life in bars, he'd come to know that virgins were as rare as the hope diamond. There were the occasional 21st birthday parties for young ladies, crowds of scantily clad things asking for as many drinks as the birthday girl could handle without dying, but one would have to have an eye for nervous shy girls, and even then, nothing was guaranteed. It's always the quiet ones that are kinky.

The women he'd met had the balls to walk up to him and compliment his suit and buy him a drink, because they knew the rules and how it was done. They were in no way virgins. And he'd find that out quite literally after the courting rituals.

"You're a grown up, Ellis. You should know where I'm going. You wanted me to go there."

Ellis frowned and furrowed his eyebrows like the child he was. At least he'd had the balls to act like a slut rather than beat around the bush forever and then some.

"Look," Nick surrendered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Just don't think, alright? You've got me. You've got me, and I'll take over from here on, okay?"

While he'd never fucked a virgin, he knew what it was like to have a nervous lover. Maddie hadn't been one of them. She was as fierce as they came. But he'd had a few girls who were a little too drunk to know who he was or who they were, and had saved the sense that they were about to have sex with a strange smooth talker they'd met only an hour ago. He'd have to take it slow, gentle, give them a few more fruity cocktails to keep their blood and brain diluted. After that, he'd have it all the same.

Ellis nodded, pressing his head back into the mattress enthusiastically and keeping his eyes trained to the man about to do to him an act of sin the bible had told him would send them both straight to hell.

Like their world wasn't already a hell.

"Okay...Just not so fast."

Nick rolled his eyes and shut the hick up before he could form any other coherent thoughts by bucking his hips against Ellis'; making him squeeze his eyes shut and whimper. Nick supposed that Ellis had wanted this to be tender and slow and loving, like he'd seen in those Lifetime specials his momma would always watch. And that just wasn't Nick's style; he was a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort of guy. But maybe he'd humor the kid. Just a little.

Nick began to untie the sleeves from Ellis's rolled up workman's uniform, and finished unzipping the already partially unzipped one-piece. Ellis grabbed at the dusty blanket under him when he felt Nick's hand brush his erection, standing at attention against his Joe Boxers. Nick took the time to study the kid's face as it morphed from one pleasured visage to the next, chewing on his plump lips to pursing them so tight they lose their color, snapping his eyes shut and hissing to staring up at the ceiling and uttering a moan that could make the dead walk.

Ha ha.

"N-Nick, Nick," Ellis called out as he was finally disrobed. He snapped his legs together like a nervous little girl, and Nick sneered. "Ya ain't naked."

Nick tried to glare at Ellis, because who was he to tell him how to do what he'd been doing for years? But it was the kid's place to tell Nick what he wanted, he supposed. It came with being a girl, or in this case, the girl.

"Yeah," he bit out, but still removed the shirt and trunks he'd borrowed from the closet while his suit dried. Ellis cocked his head, as he hadn't questioned why he'd been wearing a dead man's clothes or how he'd been so clean, but now he wanted to know, it seemed, because he opened his mouth.

"I'll tell you in the morning." And that was all. Ellis nodded.

He wouldn't say he pounced on Ellis, because pounce had a horrifying and painful connotation between all of them now. It described what happened when you barely had time to see that hooded little dog raise on its hackles and sail right into you with a deafening screech and claws that tore out your insides to make them outsides. No, Nick merely... sprang.

"Nick!" Ellis cried as his everything turned into sap, Nick successfully taking him over. He'd crushed his slightly larger body against the mechanic's, hips moving against each other in a slow rhythm, hands pinning, teeth biting soft neck.

Nick was going to have a field day. And Ellis was going to love it.

"Fuck," he uttered out as Ellis rolled his hips, losing that nervousness to mind-numbing pleasure. He let his body move in the way it needed to. Nick was happy to go along with it. They rubbed until it hurt, and kept going, because it was fucking great, but they both knew they'd have to get down to business, and they weren't very ready for it.

"Nick," Ellis cried out against his lips, smothered to his face gracelessly. He pulled at Nick's arms and clung to him like some baby animal, desperate for a hold. And Nick was getting desperate too. "Nick!"

"Shit!" Nick snapped. If he knew anything about fucking, and he knew a lot, Ellis would need something to ease the ride. He wasn't a player like he used to be; a player that always took the best strategies, used all the pieces, and came prepared to win. He had left his equipment back on that godforsaken ferry.

What the fuck else is there? He doubted the people who had lived and/or staked out here had a collection of erotic oils and lotions, much less any lotion, because proper skin moisturizer wasn't really on the list of essentials for a zombie apocalypse.

But who knew for sure? Maybe Rochelle had found some in the bathroom she'd raided. She had smelled really good, after all...

He moved to go scour the bathroom, but Ellis wasn't having any of it. He clung harder, grip tight and shaking, and buried his face into Nick's chest.

"Don't leave."

"Ellis, I am not going to carry you around the house while we're both naked. It's already enough that I have to go myself."

Ellis shook his head.

There could be a million reasons why Ellis was acting the way he was, Nick supposed. One of which could be that nervous virgin personality of his. Another could be his desperate need for emotional support after losing a loved one. Whatever it was, it was annoying. But there wasn't much Nick could do to change that except take it slow.

"Fine."

Ellis' eyes lifted up in surprise at that response, and felt himself being hefted up with the conman in tow. The movement brought their hips together like they had melted that way, every inch of skin squeezed to another's, and it was glorious. "J-Jesus," he muttered into Nick's chest as his legs encircled the other's waist and large calloused hands held up his thighs to keep them set in place. Nick let a sideways smirk play over his face as he bounced the kid's hips on his, making them both moan and hiss like cats in heat.

The bathroom was just a few yards from the room they'd settled into, but it was directly facing the stairs that lead down to the story where Coach and Rochelle were sleeping peacefully without the thought of the prissy conman and the naïve mechanic doing the nasty right above their heads. Nick had to keep as little movement between he and Ellis as possible, or else the kid would make a noise and blow their cover.

As he tiptoed to the bathroom, he gripped Ellis's thighs tightly and kissed him until he was breathless, and no breath meant no inappropriate noises in the middle of the night to wake mama and papa and get their ears chewed off. The door was open, but it was still shrouded in darkness. There wasn't a window to let in the moonlight like the bedroom had, and there wasn't any electricity. He felt around aimlessly in the dark, finding a sink, the faucet, a mirror, and a lone toothbrush (and he didn't care if it had been in someone else's mouth, Ellis was using it in the morning, goddamn it). Pushing against the mirror, he realized that it popped open to reveal a medicine cabinet.

Pills were relevant later, he took into account, but the priority was fucking the hell out of Ellis. He patted his hands over the shelves, feeling for containers similar to lotion bottles. Ellis grew restless in his arms, ass pressed to the cold ceramic counter. He breathed into Nick's ear and bucked impatiently, and knowing he had to stay silent, he made soft rhythmic breathing noises that were on the same levels as eroticism. Nick bit at his neck, right where his ear met the column, and Ellis shivered wildly in his arms. It acted as a non-verbal "shut up".

His fingers danced over something short and square, a type of container Nick was very familiar with. And finally finding the prize that he was surprised even existed, he pressed it between their naked chests so he could carry Ellis with both his hands. Ellis kissed him forcefully as they made their way back to the bedroom, and the white light danced over their ivory skin in long thick lines.

Nick had been right, in his assumption of what he'd grabbed. The container of Vaseline was half empty and lavender scented. Ellis gave a soft sleepy moan and sniffed deeply, enjoying the smell as Nick opened it. Sneakily, Nick proceeded to kiss Ellis until he didn't know up from down, and with one hand, scooped out two finger's worth of the jelly. Ellis's thighs quivered in the other hand, lifted over his shoulder and heel pressed against his shoulder blade. His hands trailed lower and lower, petting the kid's erection gently and playing around the area teasingly. Ellis whined a little too loudly, and Nick shut him up quickly with more kissing.

"Ready set go," Nick whispered against him, and pushed in a sly finger.

Ellis bolted up, nearly colliding their heads, and trapped Nick in his arms.

Well, what the fuck.

Ellis didn't say anything, but the trembling breath in his ear was like a monologue. The marks from those tearing fingernails in his back were tingling from the tight pressure. Nick sat still until Ellis finally spoke, his voice quivering and soft.

"Feels weird."

I bet. Nick rolled his eyes and leaned forward to get Ellis to lie back down, but he wouldn't let go.

Nick was quickly getting fed up with the kid's clinging. He didn't recall having a woman this grabby in his career of tail chasing. It was annoying, and it was making this moment last forever, and maybe Ellis wanted that, but Nick just wanted something to put his dick in.

"I know," Nick uttered lowly, even though he didn't, running his other hand through Ellis's hair and kissing down his neck. He pushed the finger in and out, and Ellis's Adam's apple bobbed, and Nick was there to kiss it.

One finger moved on to two, in which Ellis bit Nick's lip in the middle of a kiss that was meant to be distracting, but ended up not doing much of anything. But two fingers were still better than one, and Nick began to piston those as well. The trend continued until Nick decided enough was enough and he needed release or Ellis would be sporting a few bruises he could have gone without. He spread more of the Vaseline across his dick, twitching at the attention, and positioned himself between Ellis's spread thighs. The kid just looked at him with eyes that weren't sure of anything.

"Take a deep breath," Nick advised. Ellis didn't remove that questioning and loyal stare from Nick's face, and obediently let the stale dusty air seep into his lungs quickly, loudly taking in the oxygen through his nose. He puffed up his chest as his lungs expanded within, and didn't even blink.

Until Nick decided it was as good a time as any to stick it in.

Ellis didn't know what to say, to that feeling between his thighs, as Nick entered into a place Ellis had only ever known as an exit. His ass throbbed as his body went into panic mode and squeezed around the intruder, as if to kill it.

"Shit you're gonna break my fucking dick off, overalls."

Ellis didn't reply and could only gasp like a fish out of water. His thighs pressed against the hot skin of Nick's chest, toes twisting and curling in a definite pain and erotic sensation. His mouth hung open even as his head crashed back onto the bed and mouthed at the comforter beneath him. His saliva coated the bedding to make a tiny wet spot that was cooling fast against his fevered skin. Nick's cock kept moving, going in deeper with each second and each inch. He didn't stop until his nestle of black curls pressed against Ellis, and he let out a deep pleasured sigh, like a sweet wave of relief.

He'd forgotten how good it felt.

He secured his hands on either side of Ellis's body, lifting up the thigh pressed to his chest and bending it to where it was trapped between the both of them snugly. Ellis breathed with an open mouth, eyes clenched and skin sticky and red. His hips trembled and quaked beneath Nick's.

"How," Nick whispered breathlessly, "How is that?"

Ellis took in as many deep breaths as he could, but they all ended too short. It was like his lungs weren't working at all. Each exhale came out as shaky as a rabbit, and loud between the two of them.

"Don't know," Ellis replied.

Nick tried to distract him with nips to his neck and romantic things he supposed he'd pulled on all his lady friends, but nothing could distract Ellis from the fact that he wasn't much of a virgin any longer, by textbook standards, and that the feeling of Nick inside him was something he wasn't ready to handle.

"N-Nick," he cried out helplessly, when finally the shock subsided and the pain had yet to dull. His hands clenched and unclenched, and Nick didn't say anything. He took his hands, gave them a squeeze, and got to work.

Nick left Ellis, in the drawing back of his hips, and left Ellis empty. But then the tip of his cock nudged his opening again and shoved back in with a speed and force that triggered a lapse in Ellis's head, and he jolted and moaned. Nick shushed him, stopping the delicious movement, and making Ellis beg. He wasn't about to have this romp ruined due to two angry campers who only wanted a good night's rest. Ellis squirmed and pleaded quietly, because that would be the only way Nick did this, and he gave in.

They moved together. Nick helped Ellis's hips meet his once in a while, and after a few times, Ellis could do it himself. He felt like he was contributing, and anything that didn't annoy the conman was good enough for him to strive for. He watched Nick's face as his brows furrowed and his eyes closed and his throat tightened to make his Adam's apple jump up and down his neck. And it was quite a sight for the kid beneath him, as signs of emotion and facial hints were rarely seen with Nick, at least the kind that didn't involve pessimism and condescendence.

"Are you happy like this?"

It burned deep, like a fever he couldn't sweat out. Nick thrust up into Ellis, making his whole body jerk in time with it, making his head short-circuit. Ellis watched and felt the conman lean closer, crushing him as he pulled in and out, leaving little room to flail or even breathe, and that was rightfully stolen from him with kisses lined with grunts.

He'd whisper his name over and over again, just as all the girls had before him: breathless, passionate, needy, and desperate. But the pitch was deep, the voice more than just a noise he'd forget in the morning. His voice had become familiar and he'd probably never forget how it sounded, even if he were to go deaf. Just like he'd never forget hers.

"Look at what you're doing to me. Look at what you've done to us both!"

"Nick, Nick," he cried, sensitive skin shifting back and forth hurriedly over the blanket, and he wasn't going to last long. He grabbed hold of everything in front of him, strong biceps and triceps and fingers and Nick leaned down to press his face right to his collarbone, nipping and biting. Ellis's stifled moans and squeaks made Nick want to tear him apart with pleasure, made him wish that they were just a team of two so he could fuck this kid to high heaven and make him scream the whole way there but it was far too late and they were very much not alone. Ellis wrapped his arms around Nick's neck, bending his elbows at his shoulders to rake dirty fingernails down his naked back in agonizing sensation.

"Is this my fault? Did I do something?"

Nick shook his head, biting at the neck pressed to his mouth suddenly, and he took to a new level as words poured from his brain to his ears and all he could hear was her, and all he could see was her, but this was Ellis, only Ellis. His hips snapped hard and fast, making Ellis swallow his own tongue and hold on tight.

"You're sick. You're absolutely vile."

They came together in a fit of sweat and gaping mouths and when they gasped, they forget to exhale, and held their breaths as the pleasure drowned them. Ellis fell onto his back, making dust scatter about them. In the moonlight it was almost beautiful, but neither of them saw it. Ellis learned to breathe again, and as soon as he did, he was out.

"What are you doing, baby? Are you still having fun?"

Nick ran a hand through his hair. He removed himself from Ellis to tiptoe to the bathroom and grab some toilet paper to wipe them both clean. Ellis didn't even stir.

Nick wished he had some cigarettes.

He shifted Ellis under the blanket, taking care to make sure he was comfortable. And as he moved back to his own bed, he wondered if he could lead Ellis to believe that what they'd just done had been a dream.

A good dream.

She looked as if her dog had just died. But what did he know? It was only several times worse.

"Is it because you don't want one?" she asked him. And he wondered if she knew what she signed up for. She'd known him long enough; she should have been able to guess.

"Did you?" what a stupid question. Of course she did. Of course.

She looked at him with eyes that bled disappointment, a horrifying shock and anger. He remembered how she'd stood, so gracefully, and walked to the bedroom like a wisp of wind and didn't look back. Everything about her was beautiful, even in times of hatred and sadness that he knew was his fault. And as she walked away, he was walking to the bar.

"You're a bastard. I hope you know that."

He liked watching the way Ellis slept.

He curled his hand next to his face, and the thin calloused fingers twitched every once in a while. He began to count the intervals: forty-nine seconds. Ellis's mouth hung open slightly, plump lips wet with drool that seeped into the pillow beneath. He thought about how young he looked.

And he thought of his Christopher. If he remembered correctly, he'd be eight in October. He wondered if he'd still be alive in October. He wondered if Christopher would live to be eight.

Ellis murmured something, licking his lips and snuggling into his damp pillow. His legs shifted under the thick dusty blankets, the movement undefined in fabric. And then he was still.

Nick looked out the window. It was nearly sunrise, and the sky was still dim, but getting warmer and warmer. The birds sang, because they didn't have to worry about zombies. Their lives weren't ruined in the least.

"Hey Chris," he called.

A little brunette head twisted in his direction. He stood from his sandbox, abandoning his neon-colored shovel and pail, and waddled over to him with a smile as wide as a slice of melon. He'd just lost his first baby teeth. His eyes were dark like his.

"Daddy!"

Something inside him was burning, festering like an infection not unlike the one they were living through. It churned his gut, and made his brow furrow as if he were stumped with a Jeopardy question. How do you go about finding salvation in a hellhole?

Ellis didn't seem to mind it. He was thinking up something nice, he was sure, by the way his lips twitched up every now and again. He was an expressive dreamer.

At least he still dreamed.

Was Christopher dreaming? What about Maddie?

Nick wanted to dream too.

His hand trailed over Ellis's dirty face, still dark with dirt and oil. He didn't stir, and Nick took the moment to do as he wished, knowing it wouldn't make a lick of difference. His knuckles grazed the boy's temple, brushing down the coarse hair of both a sideburn and an eyebrow. Fingernails against a cheek made a smoother noise, if there was any noise to it at all, and made the skin give a little under the slight pressure. Eyelashes fluttered gently, and even if Ellis were still dreaming, that was enough to scare the conman away.

He was dressed in what used to be his best. Now it was just a reminder of what he'd lost and would never get back.

"Going out again?"

"What's it to you?"

She didn't say anything, and turned back to rub her pale thin hand over the boy's back as he slept on the couch. His tiny body rose and fell gently with soft gentle breaths.

"One of these days, I hope you don't come back."

The stairs didn't creak as they had before, in the team's constant upstairs downstairs look about. Each step was quiet, silent, and the wood and nails keeping it together knew that this was all they could give to Nick. It was their last gift, and as he silently crept down, he thanked it.

There was Rochelle, tucked tightly under blankets she'd personally aired out and beat the dust from. The pillows had been fluffed, even the pillowcases washed, and she looked gorgeous. There was no worry on that face, no doubt, no hopelessness. It was pure slumber, indifferent, uncaring. Her thick dark hair curled around her cheek and jaw, and she was beautiful. Coach was turned to the wall, in the bed he'd been saddled with and the linens Rochelle had insisted on cleaning for him. His large form rose gently up and down in stress free breath, unmoving. He'd never known Coach to snore, no matter how much he looked it, and he was noiseless as ever.

He looked at the home he'd spent the last 7 years in, the house he'd bought for his family with his own money. There was the tall white door that had begun to stick after a few years of slamming. There was the window Maddie always sat at, because she liked to watch the seasons rather than daytime television. A bright yellow toy truck lay upturned under the oak tree he'd tacked a tire swing onto.

Good bye.

The rifle at his side moaned for him to go. He'd overstayed his welcome. Go out there, get out, they're slowing you down. They aren't the ones you want.

Nick took a look around the darkened kitchen, a little more staring at his companions, wondering if they'd wake up just in time to stop him. He was almost hoping they would. Hell, of course he was hoping. Don't lie.

"Nick, you don't need t' go. What 're ya thinkin'?"

Ellis would be standing in his naked glory, with that dopey look on his face, posture sleepy.

"Was last night nothin'?"

Nick would smirk, and say, "No, it was something, overalls. Now get back in bed before Rochelle chews me out for ruining you. I'll be there in a bit."

Ellis would smile that lopsided smile, just like his Maddie.

"Alright, mister gambler. Don't make me wait."

Nick watched the stairs, waiting for the encounter. But there wasn't anything, no Ellis, no Rochelle or Coach waking up and yelling at him to go back to bed. He waited a moment longer, then another, and another. Someone stop him.

"Would you miss me, Chris? If I left?"

The child in question toyed with the Peter Rabbit plush he'd bought him for his birthday last year. Its fur was dirty with adventure, remnants of an action-packed play date.

"Left? Left to where?"

"Far away."

"You'd come back wouldn't you?"

"No."

Chris looked puzzled. "Why would you do that?"

Good question.

His steps were not of his own volition; he swore it. The door was open, and the morning dew made the air humid. His lungs were gassed with it, and he kept his breath tight and even. Nothing more than dreams.

He turned the knob as he closed the door so there wouldn't be a clicking noise. The neighborhood was quiet, and as he looked around, he realized this would be the last place he'd be so calm. From then on out, he could never breathe this deeply again.

Savor it, Nicky. You're so lucky, and you're gambling it all away.

The grass crunched under his shoes like ice, but it was as quiet as the stairs. They wanted him to go, they wanted him to dream too.

He came to the nearest road, and looked in both directions.

Which one would take him home?

He took a step, and then another, and then even more, and he could only guess which way would lead him back to what he'd only ever wanted. There was a 50/50 chance, after all.

And he was a gambling man.

Ellis's eyes shot open as soon as the door had closed.

The blankets were thrown back in a sweep that sent them fluttering in the air, and by the time they'd landed back onto the bed, Ellis was sprinting down the stairs in nothing but his birthday suit. The stairs screamed at him with every stomp, and the front door groaned when he flung it open, brisk air hitting all of his skin at once. Rochelle and Coach had jumped up from their bed, scrambling to get their thoughts together as Ellis rushed outside and into the street.

The fog masked the distance of the road. Ellis turned in frantic circles, looking both ways quickly, and then back again; in case he missed the silhouette of the man he had lost in his hours of weakness. But there were no shapes in the mist, no movements in the oblivion, and he was left with nothing but the skin on his bones.

A downy blanket circled him like a cocoon, and he didn't need to look up to know Rochelle was beside him, hands pushing the blanket to his cold skin. He had no voice to give her, and she didn't offer hers, only the gentle lips on his shivering cheek and hands persuading him back into the house. They moved slowly, like a death march, mourning, because they were. Coach stood in the doorway, but he said nothing.

He moved to let them back in, and shut the door.