Disclaimer: I do not own Gangsta. the manga or the anime.

Pairing: Nicolas x Alex

Genres: Drama, Hurt & Comfort

Rating: T for suggestive themes

A/N: Here's the original Z ficlet of the alphabet drabbles, scrapped for its unexpected length. This takes place in the same AU as Signs and Songs, so Nic and Alex are a bit closer than they are in canon – kind of like in Envy Jaw. (Guess where the inspiration came from?)

I wasn't going to post this originally, but meh. Hope you enjoy.

Zombie

It had been surprising at first, how quickly and quietly her first days in the office passed by. Disorienting, almost, but not in a bad way. She'd take deskwork, housework and even odd jobs if the opportunity rang over an endless monotony of turning tricks any day.

But things began to change. Routines formed, schedules shifted, habits and quirks became known and comforting in their familiarity. Even the sound of soft snores coming from the couch was strangely soothing.

Alex flicked her eyes from the notepad to the pair of legs hanging off the couch, absently nodding along to the voice on the other line.

"Yes, alright then," she intoned with a bright falsetto, jotting down notes with her free hand. "I'll have you penciled in for the upcoming Tuesday. Have a wonderful day."

She placed the phone back on the receiver and sighed. Business was slow on weekends. With Worick booked for other appointments and her out for occasional gigs at Bastard, most thought they were closed.

On one hand, she was glad the guys could take a breather from more dangerous jobs. But they also had a bottom line to think of, and Worick wouldn't hear a word of adding Alex's pay from Bastard to their income. She needed to keep that money for herself, he'd told her – for when she could finally get out of the city.

Her fingers curled tightly around the pen.

That day was coming sooner and sooner, wasn't it?

Where ya gonna run off to now?

Alex grimaced and set down the pen, bringing fingers to her forehead.

On impulse, she yanked open the desk drawer, sifting through its contents for the tranquilizer – finding nothing. For a panicked second, her breathing shallowed until her memory caught up with her. Her eyes snapped to the coffee table, to where the medicine bottle fell in sight (dimly, she was irritated with herself for leaving it there this morning).

Before she knew it, she was kneeling at the table, medicine in her hands, her breathing still slightly labored.

And then…nothing.

Everything stilled.

She furrowed her brow, bewildered. The little white tablets were just within her reach, but she made no move to uncap the bottle. She waited, testing the air. There was no voice taunting her, no slow drip of blood or flashes of a grisly grin, despite the chill prickling her skin.

Alex bit her lip, feeling a bubble of uncertainty swell in her chest.

Then, slowly, she let herself decompress. Leaning forward on her elbows, she cradled her head in her palm. The throbbing under her skull didn't recede, but her mind was clear.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

It was okay. She was okay.

Wasn't she?

A tap on her shoulder nearly made her jump out of her skin. Alex swiveled in the direction of the couch, towards the man she'd mistakenly thought had been asleep. Nicolas cocked an eyebrow at her reaction, and despite herself, she huffed.

"Don't scare me like that," she breathed, even though she was long past being afraid of him.

Nicolas lifted himself from the cushions, drawing one of his knees – the one he'd used to bump her, she realized – up to his chest as he signed to her.

"Not my fault you're skittish as a cat," he retorted, pausing to crack his neck. "How do you think I feel, waking up to a windstorm blowing past me?"

Her annoyance dissipated in an instant. "S-Sorry."

"I was just kidding."

"Oh. Still, I..." She started, but faltered as he signed something else.

"What are you waiting for?"

Alex blinked, not catching his meaning until he angled his head at the bottle of pills still in her hand. At the pointed look he panned towards her, she flushed hot. How long had he been watching her?

"N-Nothing," she stammered. Then, thinking better, she discarded the pills and repeated it in sign.

It was his turn to don a confused look, which quickly twisted into a scowl. How he managed such sharp looks straight out of sleep was beyond her.

"False alarm," she explained, taking care to form the correct gestures, hoping they seemed sincere. "I'm okay. Really."

The answer didn't appear to satisfy him, if the narrowing of his eyes said anything, but he didn't pursue it any further. A kind of deep rumble eased out him as he rubbed the back of his neck. Alex mimed him, suddenly feeling guilty. He may not be as gentle as Worick, but Nicolas didn't question, didn't demand anything of her. It felt wrong to take advantage of that.

A creak of springs broke the silence. She looked over to see Nicolas reaching for something under the couch. A moment later, he procured an unopened Perrier and held it out to her.

"For me?" She asked.

He hummed lowly and motioned for her to sit on the couch.

Alex wavered, gauging the spare space at his feet before gingerly complying. Once settled, she took the bottle from his awaiting hand, fingers curling around the glass, brushing lightly against his.

"Thanks," she signed, albeit awkwardly with the Perrier in one hand. Strange how the gesture hadn't lost any of the meaning it carried since the day she first signed it to him.

Even stranger was how Nicolas made no move to distance himself, only watched from behind disheveled bangs as she unscrewed the cap with shaky hands. Alex shrunk in on herself. She was too aware of his leg outstretched behind her while the other stopped just shy of her thigh. Even more worrisome was that it didn't feel bad. Just the opposite.

Heat curled itself in her stomach, and she hastily took a sip to dispel it. The water was lukewarm, long bereft of any coolness from the fridge, but she didn't mind. It was mild on her tongue and calmed her in a way an icy drink wouldn't have.

Off to the side, she heard Nicolas yawn. Alex looked over to find him rubbing his eyes, and nearly kicked herself for being so thoughtless.

"Here." She offered him the Perrier. He paused, peering at the bottle and then at her through sleep-hazed eyes. Alex squirmed under his scrutiny. "Or, I could go make some coffee –"

He cut her off by swiping the bottle from her hand – startling her – and downing half of its contents in a single swig. Blinking away her surprise, she nursed her hands in her lap and took the opportunity to observe him. His movements were less sluggish from before, but still not quite back to normal.

Alex tore her gaze away from the way his lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle, letting it land instead on the bandaged arm propped on his knee. She found herself relieved again that there were no difficult jobs lined up for today.

"How are you feeling?" She asked once he finished. "Better?"

"Slept it off," he signed dismissively as he handed her back the Perrier. "Any calls?"

"Just one for next week," she replied, eyeing his mussed hair and the drawn set of his features. "Sorry for waking you."

His brow pinched in irritation. "I said I wasn't serious."

"I know, but you came home late last night," she said, twisting to face him better. "You should rest a little more."

"Not tired."

She frowned at that. The pale shadows underneath his eyes told another story, but Alex didn't press him. After all, he'd backed off of her, hadn't he? He didn't need her to mother him. He knew how to care of himself. There was no need to cross lines.

But those lines had blurred quite a bit, hadn't they?

Idly, she swept her eyes over him – over the tags hanging from his neck, the bruise at the corner of his mouth, the plaster on his cheek. When she reached his eyes, he was staring intently at her. She looked down at the Perrier in her hands, hesitant to take another sip.

She remembered when this would've been impossible for the two of them. This closeness – no, nearness, she amended. That word was…better. Better suited for them.

Mutable.

Unbidden, she felt her shoulders droop and her lips press into a solemn line. That's right, she reminded herself. Whatever this was – it wouldn't last. It couldn't.

None of it could.

Taking calls, heading out to the market, or cooking meals that were forever so-so (if only just to pick on her in his indirect way). The quarrels over stolen clothing, or nights spent at clinic bedsides, the disjointed conversations in signs and spoken word...

She wasn't supposed to get used to any of it.

Not when she was slowly recollecting a life before Ergastulum – from before the TB blotted out everything else until she knew nothing but the city and its smeared, musty-aired backstreets. East Gate was still little more than a faraway notion and visions of brokenness and hardship, but it was there – a forgotten place of belonging.

But…was it too late to return to that place? If anyone had been waiting for her, they probably thought she was long dead by now.

Maybe they would be right. Every part of herself regained seemed like another lost somehow. Was she still the same girl from before falling into Barry's web of lies? Or had that Alex Benedetto been swallowed in the tides of the city long before being thrown a lifeline by a pair of Handymen? She didn't have enough pieces of the past to confirm, but part of her dreaded an answer.

Don't kid yourself. You know what you are.

Pain lanced sharply through her skull. Alex pressed fingers to the bridge of her nose. She tried to take her thoughts far away, but the voice followed her, dripped over her like blood out of sneering wounds.

Don't you know? You've done this before, Alex. Shit gets a little tough and you make tracks like the selfish whore you are. Abandoned your poor old man and kid brother just to make a living off spreading your legs in back alleys.

"Stop it," she whispered (whether to the voice or herself, she wasn't certain). Her hand tightened around the Perrier bottle.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Get a grip.

The couch cushion shifted next to her. Alex moved her hand aside, half-expecting to see rivulets of blood spilling over bullet-torn clothing and ashen flesh.

To her immense relief, there was only Nicolas. He'd leaned in closer to her, just barely enough for her to see the corners of his mouth downturned and tense, caution drifting in his eyes. The hand at his knee was now suspended in the space between them, hovering at a precipice of uncertainty.

Finally, he signed to her.

"Meds?" She read aloud absently, lifting her eyes from his hand to meet his. Then, wearily, she shook her head. "No. No, not yet."

"Why not?"

His voice caught her off guard. Not the sound of it – not anymore. But it did have a weird effect. It was almost like an affirmation of his presence – a reminder that she wasn't alone. It, too, was another unfamiliar thing turned familiar and assuring.

Why indeed, she thought. It'd be easy, wouldn't it? To let the pills do their job and numb everything out, to silence the voices and their cruel words.

But words couldn't hurt her the way hands had done before.

"I just…" she began, but trailed off. "I can –"

Wait a little longer?

Alex pursed her lips, squeezing the bottle slightly before depositing it on the table next to the tranquilizer – freeing her hands.

"Fine – this much is fine. I can handle it," she signed, motions steady and deliberate. It's – I'm okay like this."

She studied his eyes as they read the gestures, how they narrowed in what she hoped was concentration. How something unreadable flickered in them when they leveled up to hers. His mouth opened.

Closed.

Eventually, reclined back against the arm of the couch, eyes shuttering to a close. When they opened again, she could see the dregs of torpor lingering in them.

They were bad liars, the two of them.

"I, um…sorry," she finished lamely, folding her hands in her lap.

Nicolas rolled his eyes. "You apologize too much."

"I…yeah, I know." Easing out a breath, she lifted her hands. "I'll go. Get some rest."

His expression changed then, ever so slightly. Lips parting, the tight slant of his brow leveling, eyes softening – all in minute fractions that she never would have recognized months ago.

(Not on him, anyway.)

"What's your rush?"

In the same way his voice had done earlier, the motions of his hands arrested her, crystallized themselves in her mind. Reality snapped into sudden clarity, and she suddenly remembered how close they were sitting next to each other. Her cheeks warmed.

"I…" Alex glanced over his shoulder to the desk, to the phone that had been mercifully silent throughout this whole exchange. She started on her feet. "The phone. I should get back to –"

A number of things happened in one fell swoop – or at the precise instant Nicolas's hands grabbed her arms, and tugged her forward. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on top of him, face pressed into the crook of his shoulder.

"Wh-What are you–?" She braced her palms on his chest, trying for leverage, but his arms didn't budge. Her face burned. "You're hurt–!"

"Fool."

Alex froze. There it was again. That weird binding effect of his voice. Naturally, he couldn't sign to her like this, so he had no other choice but to use it.

But hearing it this close to her ear, feeling the warm vibrations from his chest underneath hers made her go still.

Everything stilled.

"Nicolas?" She tried lifting her head to meet his eyes, but one of his hands thumped against her head, pinning her back against his shoulder. She stiffened, not daring to move.

But his hold wasn't threatening. No, his arms were only curved over her shoulders, and made no attempt to edge southward. Alex opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure.

Then, slowly, she let herself relax against him. On cue, the arm slung safely over her back loosened its grip, bandages whispering against the fabric of her dress. One hand rested on her shoulder while the other slowly unraveled her ponytail, nails skimming through the soft strands.

Right. This touch was different. These hands wouldn't hurt her.

Sometime later, his breathing evened out and his hold on her slackened. She craned her head enough to see that his eyes were closed.

Her gaze shifted to the desk, contemplative. But instead of using the opportunity to escape, she snaked her arms underneath his back, careful not to stir him.

They really were such bad liars.

She exhaled slowly, feeling the tension ebb out of her. The dull ache in her head was unremitting, but her vision was clear, her mind unencumbered by whispers of the dead. There was only Nicolas and his steady breathing – his tags hanging off his neck, the bruise at the corner of his mouth and the plaster on his cheek. Alex rested her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

This nearness – this was okay.

They were okay.

Thanks for reading!