Author's Note: Two written in the same day? Can it be possible? Oh, yes it is! I have high hopes for Nick/Ellis. Oh, and for anyone wondering about my other fanfics … I haven't forgotten them. I'll hopefully get back to them, sooner or later.

Oneshot. Drama/Angst. Nick's POV. Slash.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned, and if I did … well, I'd still put Nick through hell anyways.

Acknowledgements: Thanks, as seems to be the case as of late, to Sean for reading this over for me. I'd also like to thank Amanda for reading it over as well.

Summary: Nick can physically escape from infected people, but how can he find sanctuary when he's running from his thoughts?

No Refuge

Darkness had already engulfed the safe house. Nick didn't know the exact time, but if he had to estimate … it was probably around three in the morning. Maybe earlier, maybe later. He didn't have a clue. He hadn't seen a clock in … shit, he didn't even know.

He'd had everything he'd been sure of fall away from him, leaving him with nothing. He'd taken everything for granted: his safety, his family, his finances, his future.

Living in a world where the establishment had fallen, where tomorrow wasn't a guaranteed thing, where no one knew if that step he'd taken outside the safe house door was his last, had made Nick come to grips with the fact that he was probably never going to see the inside of a casino again. He would most likely never get to hug his little sister Rebecca and look down into her face – into the eyes that he saw every time he looked in a mirror – one more.

A noise outside the barred red door made Nick jump, and he was startled out of his thoughts. Through the pitch-black darkness, he couldn't sense anyone else moving, though, so he guessed that the three sleepers hadn't heard anything.

Good. They were all easier to deal with – and keep rational – when they had had enough sleep. Especially Rochelle. God, that girl was horrible when it was her night to keep watch on the safe house doors. Usually Nick took her shifts chivalrously, just to make her stop complaining the next day. He didn't mind, however. The hours of silence were almost peaceful, and the thirty-five year old needed that quiet. Without it, he knew he wouldn't make it anywhere the next day.

The hardest part was walking out the safe house door after being somewhere mildly, well, comfortable. Inside, no one had to worry about a smoker or a hunter or a boomer or whatever.

Despite Nick's love of the darkness, it made him uneasy. It was just like every time he closed his eyes … his fears ravaged his body, his mind, his soul. He didn't let it show, usually. He was determined to live, and he knew – hoped – that he would survive everything that was being thrown his way.

Surprisingly enough … it was his sister's life that worried him the most. He didn't know where Rebecca was. He had been living at her house in Savannah, but he wasn't home when the infection had hit. When the shit had hit the fan, he'd only been concerned about his own life.

Strike one against his soul, and he was paying dearly for it.

In the back of Nick's mind, he knew she hadn't survived. Rebecca had been small, well built but tiny, and she had had no survival instinct at all. But, maybe, somehow she had been evacuated. CEDA had to have done some good –

"Nick?" Ellis' voice broke into his ever-moving mind. Quickly, Nick flicked on his flashlight, which was lying beside the shotgun he'd picked up earlier, and moved the light to where he knew Ellis was resting.

Ellis' eyes shone white in the light, and Nick trained the flashlight on the wall past the younger man.

"Yeah?"

Ellis didn't make another sound. As Nick watched him, he pushed himself up and scooted over to sit beside Nick. They were now shoulder to shoulder.

Nick could smell the younger man: the sour smell of stale sweat; the metallic twang of still fresh blood; the sickly sweet smell of boomer bile; and, somehow … the sharp, almost acrid smell of fear.

Somehow, Nick and Ellis had never sat side by side before. Nick generally avoided touching any of the other survivors. He wasn't a fan of personal contact, never had been, but … right now, with Ellis, he didn't mind.

Inside his mind, the gambler tried to shake himself out of whatever he was feeling. What the hell was wrong with him?

"… stay awake with you? Can't sleep anyways," Ellis was saying, his voice low.

Nick wet his lips with his tongue before replying, "Your choice. Sleep would be better, but okay."

Both men sat in silence. Nick was listening intently – not to anything outside the metal doors of their haven, no … he was listening to the sound of Ellis' measured breathing, the slight whistling noise as the air escaped out of his long nose. With each breath that the twenty-three year old took, his shoulder moved gently against Nick's.

An urge to move away stole over him, but he resisted. Why? He didn't know. All Nick knew was that he needed the contact – he needed to feel Ellis next to him.

He needed to feel like they were going to be all right. That they would all make it out alive.

Nick turned off his flashlight and the room fell back into the impenetrable blackness once again. Still he listened to the man breathing beside him.

Ellis groaned softly as he moved his left leg a little bit. It was now touching Nick's outstretched right leg.

"You hurt?" Nick whispered before he could restrain himself.

"Naw. Bruised, maybe."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

Silence again. More breathing, and Nick listened with all his might. Panic was overtaking him, making him lose focus of what he'd been trying to achieve in the peacefulness of the night.

He might never get to hear Ellis breathe again. This might be the last time the two men talked to each other – the last, and first, time they'd ever touch.

Nick's whole body tensed up as he silently screamed inside his mind, "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?"

Ellis seemed to have noticed, because he promptly murmured, "You okay?"

Nick didn't know how to answer. He couldn't stop thinking about Rebecca, about how he didn't even try to go home after the infection hit; he was disheartened, as always, about the prospect of leaving the safe house soon; he hadn't eaten in a day and a half, and he was thirsty, too; and he was terrified – scared shitless – of feelings he didn't even know he was capable of feeling.

"Just fine," he finally answered, his voice low and gruff.

Beside him, Ellis sighed, and Nick felt guilty. It was a sad sigh – a little sigh of defeat.

"Okay," Ellis whispered.

More silence.

And then Ellis pulled away slightly. His left shoulder was no longer pressed up against Nick's.

"Ellis," Nick blurted out, his voice loud in the stillness, "I –" but he didn't know what he was going to say. He wanted to feel Ellis against him again, he wanted to know his sister was all right, and he wanted to be able to see a sunrise without fearing for his life.

Nick wanted to be able to live, because there was more to life than just surviving.

Ellis seemed to be able to feel all that Nick wasn't saying, because he moved closer to the older man and reached out to pat Nick's knee.

That friendly gesture – that simple, innocent gesture – made Nick lose his composure completely. He couldn't handle what was happening. He needed a mental refuge, and now the inside of his mind was filled with thoughts he couldn't explain; it was filled with ideas that would never come to anything; it was filled with half-formed hopes and lost dreams.

Nick pulled his right leg toward his body and wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling on the fabric of his white suit to try to keep himself together.

"Nick, man, it's all right," Ellis' voice was close to his ear, and that made Nick try to pull his appendages tighter.

He wanted to keep his thoughts inside his mind, because there were no repercussions there. He wanted to keep everything private. Furthermore – he wanted to keep Ellis out.

He felt Ellis' hand – small, but strong – grasp his right forearm.

"Nick …"

He could feel himself breaking apart. Ripping at the seams, just like his suit had done days before as they ran for their lives.

"What's wrong?"

Still, the gambler said nothing. He couldn't. If Ellis said his goddamn name one more time, that would be it. The end of –

"Please, Nick?"

It was the way Ellis said Nick's name. The way it rolled off the younger man's tongue … the way it had that southern twang … the way Ellis said it so easily, so lazily, and so tenderly. Almost as if he –

One of the other survivor's flashlights turned on, and Nick was blinded for a second as he tried to see if Coach or Rochelle was now awake.

"What time d'you think it is?" Rochelle asked as she moved the flashlight around the room.

"Not sure," Nick replied, feeling the coolness of air against his right shoulder. Ellis had pulled away. Their contact was broken, and Nick didn't know if it would ever be restored.

He felt hollow, empty.

Maybe … maybe the next night –

Nick physically shook himself as he reached for his own flashlight, listening to the sounds of everyone else getting ready to move as soon as dawn hit the earth.

There was no point in hoping for anything to ever happen. They were in a goddamn zombie apocalypse, pretty much, and any thoughts of the future were completely pointless.

There was a high chance they would all die as they fought their way to the next safe house, and if they survived the journey … well, they would probably die as they moved yet again.

But, even as he lifted up his shotgun, Nick's eyes strayed to Ellis as the younger man strapped his med pack onto his back, and Nick knew he would never forget the feeling of Ellis next to him.