note: Ah, I'm really nervous to be posting this here. I haven't written fanfiction in a long time, but this plot bunny just wouldn't leave me alone. I got L4D2 at midnight on Monday, and I haven't stopped playing it since. I noticed there was a lack of Nick/Rochelle stories, so I figured I'd contribute my own -- mostly because I love Nick.
This originally was going to be a drabble/ficlet, inspired by one word (my word was 'forecast'), but the story started to morph into something much, much longer. I'd love to hear what you think! :)
WORTH FALLING FOR
by: T'starla
-
"And for today's forecast, expect shit."
Rochelle looked up from her shoes. Sitting on the warm pavement with her knees drawn up slightly, she had to crane her neck to see Nick, who was leaning back against the old and broken game machine. When they'd first made it, Ellis had been all too eager to play the Stache Whacker game, and he'd actually been upset when he'd found out it didn't work anymore. Sometimes Rochelle worried about that kid's health.
Nick didn't seem to notice Rochelle looking at him, instead focusing on the handgun he was holding. He popped the magazine in and out of it, the metallic clicks seeming strangely loud in the silence of the evening. A light rain was falling from the dark sky, making soft tapping noises on the awning above them, and the water only made the smell of the carnival worse.
She looked away from Nick, her gaze going across the courtyard. Coach and Ellis were busy looking through boxes at one of the concession stands, trying to find something that wasn't yet rotten. Rochelle's stomach ached just thinking about food – neither of them had eaten for what must have been days.
"It's not that bad," she said, her voice cracking slightly. She licked her chapped lips and shrugged one of her shoulders. "I always thought the rain was kinda calming and all."
"It's just what we need," Nick said pessimistically. Despite his rather negative outlook on a lot of things, Rochelle had truthfully grown to like his personality – he had a dry sense of humor that matched his cynical behavior all too well. And occasionally, it was amusing.
"Come on, fancy man, what's the matter? You don't like carnivals?" She tossed him a little smile, but wasn't affronted when he didn't return it. "Yeah, me neither. If only we could all share Ellis' attitude."
"I'd rather you shoot me in the head," Nick said.
"I couldn't do that," she said, shaking her head. "My aim's much too worse."
That made Nick crack a smirk, and she couldn't tell if the flutter in her stomach came from hunger pangs or something else. She studied Nick briefly, looking him over for about the hundredth time since they'd met. His slightly receding hairline was off-putting at first, but there was something charming about the rest of his appearance.
Maybe it was the three thousand dollar suit.
His gaze lifted and she quickly looked away again.
After a moment or two, the clicking from Nick stopped. He stepped up beside Rochelle and glanced down at her, although he said nothing. Something seemed to pass between them, but it was broken when the sound of Coach cursing out loud caught their attention. They both turned.
It looked as if Ellis had dropped something on Coach, because Coach seemed to be lecturing him. Ellis was hanging his head, but patted one of Coach's shoulders lightly, and Rochelle could just imagine the sheepish apology he was giving the older man.
"I sure could use a cigarette right about now," Nick said.
With a little sigh, Rochelle climbed to her feet. She was exhausted and her whole body was in pain from all the running they had been doing, but she knew if she didn't get up now, she never would. "Didn't know you smoked," she said, looking sideways at him.
"Ex-wife made me quit," he told her.
"You sound bitter."
"Do I?" Another smirk curved his lips.
"Do you know if she's okay?" Rochelle asked. "If she got out alright?"
"Don't particularly care," he answered, although there was something about the way he averted his gaze that made her think differently. "She was like a damn cockroach – a nuclear war couldn't have killed her, so I'm bettin' she's still alive and well somewhere."
It was almost strange. At some times, Rochelle felt closer to her three comrades than she'd ever been with anyone else, but when she really thought about it, she knew next to nothing about their personal lives. She couldn't help but wonder if they'd still be friends when they all made it out of this alive.
If they'd ever been friends at all.
"What?"
She realized she'd been staring at Nick this whole time, and she blinked a few times, before turning away. "Sorry," she said. "I'm plum tuckered out – just wish I could find some nice comfy bed to curl up in."
"We're all exhausted," he said. "Just a little longer.... We just gotta make it out of this shithole."
"Just a little longer," she echoed. "That's what I kept telling myself back when we were trapped in the mall. What's next? We get out of here and dropped somewhere in the middle of the swampland?"
"Are you trying to jinx us?" he asked.
"I'm trying to decide whether or not this is all really worth it," she said. "How do we know there are even any people left in the world? Before I came here, it'd been reported that this... Infection had broken out in cities all across the states – who knows how far it's spread?"
Pausing, Nick looked Rochelle over as if he was seeing her in a new light. "Aren't you supposed to be one of the optimistic ones?" he asked. "Smart little city girl, coming up with all the plans?"
"All the plans end up as shit anyway," she said. "Even the ones that start off good."
"Man, you gotta stop being such a downer," Nick said simply. "Besides, this is the story you came to Savannah for, right?"
But what if I don't survive long enough to report it? she thought to herself, not wanting to talk about that anymore.
She felt suddenly vulnerable, as if the conversation had made her seem smaller in Nick's eyes, more like a damsel in distress. If she knew one thing, she wasn't no damsel. In distress, maybe. But definitely not a damsel.
Coach and Ellis had returned, and by the grumpy expression on Coach's face, she figured they'd had no luck. Ellis was spinning something around in one of his hands however, and she realized it was a gun – a magnum, to be exact.
"Looky what I managed to find hidden over there," he said, all too proudly. He all but dangled it in front of Nick's face. "Who's your favorite person on the entire face of God's green earth?"
"What, do you want me to cartwheel for joy or something?" Nick arched an eyebrow, holding out a hand, but he did nod in thanks as Ellis gave the gun to him.
"Yeah, I was gonna keep it for myself, but I figured it might be unfair, seeing as I have the most weapons out of all of us," Ellis said. "'Course, if you wanted to trade me back or something, I wouldn't mind one bit. Got a sweet Beretta in my pocket...."
"Nothing else?" Rochelle asked Coach.
"Just a couple of crowbars and enough bad hotdogs to make you sicker than them zombies," Coach said with a sigh. "We best keep moving, folks. The only thing we're doing here is wasting time."
"Or delaying our inevitable demise," Nick said casually.
It was a show of how much they'd grown used to Nick's pessimism when none of them responded. Or maybe it was because they were all secretly agreeing with him and thinking the same thing.
"There's a safe house up ahead."
Ellis was standing with his chest flush against the gates, his hands wrapped around the iron bars, and he was staring dead ahead of him. Rochelle came up behind him and followed his gaze – one of the homemade signs depicting a house was lying against the wall on the other side of the gates, an arrow pointing towards the stadium.
"Why do I feel like it's not going to be so easy to get to it?" she asked.
"Aw, come on," Ellis said, throwing her one of his boyish grins, "Lookit how far we made it already – and that Tank back there by the Screamin' Oak. Girl, we can take on anything."
"You really believe that, don't you?" she asked, and she couldn't help but smirk. Ellis had that effect – no matter how low you were feeling, he could make you smile. "Think you're some sort of Superman?"
"Well, I ain't got no powers or nothin', but I do got me a fancy combat shotgun," he said. "It'd be cool to have X-ray vision though, you ever imagine the things you could see with that? Why, I bet you --"
"You girls done gabbing? We aren't exactly getting anything accomplished just standing here."
Rochelle rolled her eyes, turning to give Nick a skeptical look. He was leaning against the wall beside the gates, and he pointed with his magnum into the broken window. She neared him in a few steps, unsure of what he was pointing at – it turned out to be a switchboard.
"Open sesame," he said.
"Something tells me we're gonna regret this," Coach said as he appeared beside her. "Do y'all hear that?"
"No, what?" Rochelle asked.
"My point exactly, little sister," Coach said, and he shook his head. "Too quiet out here, ain't a good sign."
"So we open the gates and make a run for it," Ellis said. "The safe house is close – we can make it."
"Are you sure this is the only way into the stadium?" Coach asked, still a little apprehensive.
"Hell yeah I'm sure. Unless we're talkin' aerial entrance, like being dropped from a helicopter or somethin'," Ellis said, and he let out a bark of laughter.
There was suddenly a click, followed by a loud groan of metal against metal. Rochelle, who'd been busy watching the exchange between Coach and Ellis, turned to Nick, who'd just pressed the button to open the gates. He readied his guns in his hands, and he threw a slightly conceited look around, shrugging one of his shoulders.
"Better get ready to run," he said.
The sound of the gates sliding open was almost impossibly loud, enough to make Rochelle's ears want to bleed. She cringed at the scraping noise, but her blood ran cold at what accompanied it – a much louder, much more terrifying noise. It was the howl of a horde, a big horde, and they sounded close.
Even with all she'd been through, she never could get used to that sound. She didn't think she ever would.
"Aw shit." Coach's voice seemed silent, even though he was half-yelling.
"Okay, so we'll be having a little bit of trouble," Ellis said, his voice almost inaudible.
A mass, no, more like a wave of zombies appeared on the other side of the gates, dropping down from walls and coming out of shadowed hiding places – some of them seemed to just sprout right up out of the cracks in the cement. While a handful ran straight at the gates, as if ready to squeeze themselves through the bars to get the survivors, most of them seemed smart enough to climb the wall – and they were sure as shit some fast climbers.
Rochelle felt a little light-headed for a moment or two, but it passed as her fingers tightened around the handle of the axe she was carrying. She'd found it in one of the barns, behind a poor dead cow, and when she'd picked it up, it'd just seemed right – as if it'd been made to be wielded by her.
She wasn't exactly good with a gun, but when it came down to her and her axe (or that baseball bat she'd carried throughout most of the mall), she felt like a force to be reckoned with. As soon as some of the Infected started to reach her, she let the weapon swing.
Blood gushed, splashing down her front and into her hair, but she didn't pay attention to it – she couldn't. Her eyes were half-closed against the spray of gore, but she could see limbs flying as she swung the axe with all of her might. The dull thuds that sounded each time the blade buried itself into the flesh of an Infected made her feel nauseous, but she wouldn't stop. Not even when she felt the top of one of their heads brush past her leg.
Infected were pouring down the steps after them now, back from where they'd come – they were surrounding the four of them. Gunshots rattled off from the men, and she heard Ellis yelling incoherently – she almost didn't realize it when she joined him, letting out a battle cry of sorts.
Zombies scratched at her arms, at her back – how had they gotten around to her back? – and she gritted her teeth against the pain. She felt the pressure on her back subside, and she sent a mental thank you to whoever had helped her out, unable to turn and see for herself who it'd been. Arms aching from exertion, she paused for just a moment, and lifted one of her legs to kick away the two that had been nearly on top of her.
"Little Jockey bastard around!" Nick's voice rose up over the chaos, and Rochelle wondered how he could even hear it.
"We ain't got time for this!" Coach boomed.
Rochelle felt something pierce her foot, and she looked down to see a zombie crawling towards her, missing one of its legs and still trying to get to her. Its mouth hung open in hunger, and it was holding her foot in a death grip, its insanely sharp nails (claws?) digging in. She cried out again, her tone one of anger and fear, and she swung the axe down, burying it in the top of the zombie's head.
"Gates are open! Go!" Ellis shouted.
She ripped her axe out of the thing's head, and then kicked it away from her before ducking out of the way of another and taking off towards the gates. Coach was right beside her, but the two of them were getting pummeled by the mob of zombies that ran at them. She could see Nick's white suit somewhat ahead of her, and she saw him turn towards her, as if he were looking for her.
This made her feel slightly stronger. Seeing Nick made her actually want to beat these bastards.
She used the head of the axe to knock a few of the Infected back, and she punched one in the face as it neared her. The decaying and spongy skin nearly melted as her knuckles sank into it, and her stomach flipped over as it's face practically fell off.
There were too many.
A Hunter's wail pierced the air, and Rochelle realized that she could no longer see any of the others. She couldn't tell if Coach was still with her, or if he'd fallen behind. Or if she was the one who'd fallen behind. There were way too many Infected, and she was drowning in a sea of them. She felt like she was going to suffocate from both the thriving bodies pressing in all around her, and the God awful stink that overwhelmed her nostrils.
She swung her axe a few more times, trying to hack her way through them, but it seemed like there were just more and more coming out of nowhere.
"Nick!" She didn't know why she was calling for him. Or maybe she did and just didn't want to admit it.
She'd never been much of a religious person, but dear God if she could just make it out of this alive, she'd go to church three nights a week and on Sundays.
A noise of fear left her as she stumbled, and she could hear the Hunter's growls becoming closer and closer. This was it, she was done for. And who would be next? Coach? Ellis, maybe? Would anyone live to tell their tale?
Sometimes Rochelle wondered if any of this was really happening. Things shouldn't have been like this, they couldn't have. It was humanly impossible, wasn't it? Things like the Tanks and the Witches, they weren't supposed to be real. Silly monsters you see in movies or video games, not real life.
Sometimes Rochelle thought she'd wake up from a very long and very powerful dream. Or maybe she'd realize that she was living in her own head in some mental institution somewhere.
But the pain was real. The smell was real.
And the way she felt for Nick was real, whatever it was. She needed to get out of this, she needed to get to Nick.
She went down.
Zombies closed in on her as she lay on her stomach on the ground, her axe beneath her and the blade a hair away from slicing into her stomach. She covered the back of her head with her hands, unaware that the muffled scream she heard was actually coming from her own lips, and she struggled to try and shimmy away from the things scratching and pulling at her back.
And then, the Hunter was on her.
It was heavy and hot, it's fervid growls and grunts were right in her ear, and her scream intensified as it began clawing at her back. The few times any of the others had gotten pounced, they'd been lying on their backs, but this was different – maybe it was better, she thought, to not have to look up into that gray and decaying face, to have to see the animalistic rage in its glowing eyes.
And suddenly, the pressure was gone. A noise much like the yelp of a dog sounded from somewhere behind her, and she looked up to see Nick shoving zombies out of his way, his magnum still aimed at where the Hunter had been, smoke curling from the tip of it.
A rush of emotions swelled inside of her, but she couldn't speak – the pain in her back was brutal. White hot agony seared through her very veins, and she wanted to scream just lying there – she could feel the blood oozing from her wounds, hot and sticky, and she became convinced that she could even smell it. The zombies around her had thinned slightly, and she knew she should get up, but she just couldn't.
"Come on," Nick said on a grunt, bending and grabbing her under one of her arms. "You aren't dead yet."
Even with Nick helping her, her body screamed in protest. The scratches and bites from various Infected seemed like mosquito bites now compared to the Hunter's slashes – she didn't think any of them had ever actually been slashed like that. Usually when they were pounced, the others were able to get the Hunters before any real damage was done.
Did this mean she was going to turn into a Hunter? How did all of that work? Dear God, just let her get out of this alive.
"I got you, just keep moving." Nick was talking to her, holding her close and practically dragging her. His breath was warm on her cheek, and she figured that if she was going to die, at least it was going to be in Nick's arms and not the Hunter's. He spat out a string of curses, and she realized she had to work harder – it wasn't fair for him to do this on his own.
Weakly, she pulled a handgun out from the makeshift holster at her waist. She hadn't been able to grab her axe, but maybe that wasn't so bad – she probably wouldn't have been able to carry it anyway. She aimed ahead of her and shot lamely at some of the Infected who were still trying to close in on them. Bullets smacked wetly into the zombies' shoulders and arms, and while she wasn't able to kill any of them with her blows, it was at least making them stumble and slowing them down.
Nick guided her into a small hallway, and when the safe house came into view, Rochelle almost couldn't believe it. Nick was still talking to her, urging her on between his breathless curses, and while her legs felt like jelly, she forced herself to push harder, to try a little more.
Coach and Ellis were standing outside of the room, one on either side of the door, and they were shooting at the zombies that came in behind Nick and Rochelle. Ellis' face was flushed, but Coach's seemed to have drained of color, and Rochelle almost wondered what was wrong, why they looked so scared.
As soon as she'd crossed the threshold of the safe room, Rochelle felt her legs give out beneath her, and she all but collapsed. Nick slowly eased her to the ground, but he straightened and turned to help the others push the door shut.
The pain was still burning and immense, and now that Nick wasn't holding her, Rochelle had nothing left to focus on but it. She wanted nothing more than to lay down on her back and go to sleep, but instead found herself on her hands and knees, trying to stop the involuntary tears that squeezed from her eyes – she hadn't even realized she was crying.
The door was pulled shut, and she looked up to see the three men moving to lock it and stack things in front of it. There were boxes and discarded tables, what looked a water cooler, and they piled it all in front of the door as outside, the Infected scrabbled and pounded at it.
And then Coach was over her, looking over her back.
"Oh shit," he breathed.
"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked, hanging her head and swallowing against the hard lump that had formed in her throat, threatening to make her vomit. "It feels bad."
"We can fix it," Coach murmured quietly, his low voice strangely soothing. "You'll be alright, Ro."
She didn't feel like she'd be alright. She felt like she was going to keel over and die any second.
Ellis was standing in front of her, looking down at her with a frown so deep that it caused lines in his forehead. The light that was usually in his eyes seemed to have dulled, and she figured out what it was that she saw in his face.
They thought she was going to die. Despite Coach's reassuring words, he thought she was already dead. And Nick, where was he?
Pacing in front of the door they'd come through.
The Infected were still pounding on the door, as if they thought they'd be able to break it down, but it seemed like it was starting to die down. The silence of the safe room was deafening and Rochelle hated it. She wanted to speak, but didn't know what to say.
"You guys should have left me," she said finally, her voice sounding oddly hoarse.
"We didn't leave when Ellis got cornered by the Tank," Coach said. "You didn't leave when I was getting tore up by that Charger. We're gonna fix this, Rochelle."
Nick said nothing.
Ellis watched as Coach went to work on Rochelle. He used the salve from the med kit, applying it to her wounds to keep it from getting infected, and to cut back on the inflammation. She gritted her teeth against the waves of pain that shot through her as Coach touched her, but almost instantly she could feel the ointment's effects – her skin was numbing, and the pain was fading to a dull (yet still fiery) throb.
"It's not as bad as it looked," Coach was telling her. "It was just because there was so much blood – I think you're going to be okay."
"Thank God," she mumbled.
When he started to wrap the bandage around her, he wrapped it over her shirt, and she tried to keep herself upright as he worked, but her eyelids felt heavy and her head was too full. Before she knew it, Ellis was holding out a bottle of pills to her, and she reached up to take them, her motions slow and sluggish.
"Here. You might want to take some now," he told her, before he pulled out the bottle of water he kept at his waist. It was almost empty now and she was disappointed that there wasn't more – her throat had become dry.
"Thanks."
The painkillers only made her feel more dizzy than she'd already felt, and she found herself curling up on her side on the cold floor. Coach, Ellis and Nick had moved off to one side of the room, and they were talking in hushed tones – she knew they were talking about her.
Were they wondering the same thing as her? Was she going to turn into a Hunter now? Would the Rochelle they knew be gone the next time she opened her eyes? She didn't feel like she was changing, but she didn't feel good either.
The last thing she remembered before she passed out was being covered with something warm; Nick's jacket.
When Rochelle stirred, her vision was clouded and blurry.
It took her a long moment to remember that she was lying on the floor of the safe house of the arena, the hard floor. Her gaze swept the room and she felt her brow furrow as she realized that it was empty – until she caught sight of Nick.
Nick was sitting on the floor close to her, his back against the wall and one of his knees drawn up. His magnum was still in his hand, as if it had become an extension of his arm, and a hunting rifle lay next to him. His eyes were closed but she could tell he wasn't sleeping. He looked different, and she realized that it was because he wasn't wearing his jacket. The blue shirt he wore underneath it seemed relatively clean compared to the rest of him, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and exposing well-toned forearms.
Rochelle was surprised by how little pain she was in, and she wished she could turn her head all the way around so that she might look at her back. The pain seemed like a dull ache now, an echo of what it'd been before she'd fallen unconscious, and she had to wonder if she was still under the effects of the painkillers.
And as far as she could tell, she wasn't going to turn into a Hunter.
She shifted on the floor slightly, clearing her throat, and Nick stirred.
He cracked his eyes open, his gaze sliding sideways to look at her. The dark circles under his eyes had become darker, and the frown lines had become harder, but there was a sense of relief that crossed his features.
"Where are the others?" Rochelle asked slowly, biting her lip against the pain that came from sitting up.
"They went ahead to clear the way, to look for anything that might help us get out of here," Nick answered. "They just left just a little while ago."
"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked. "We all could have gone. They shouldn't be out there on their own."
"We didn't know if you were even going to wake up," Nick said, matter-of-factly. He paused. "How do you feel?"
"Not bad, actually," she said. "I guess Coach fixed me up right good."
"Found these." Nick slid a bottle of pills across the floor. "Might want to hold onto those, just in case."
"Thanks," she said. She turned the bottle of pills over in her hand, and hesitantly looked up at him again. "For coming back for me and all, too. I thought I was a goner."
"We're a team," he said too simply, shrugging. "We got a better chance of getting out of here if we all stick together."
A jaw in his muscle clenched as he fell silent, and Rochelle studied him for a long moment. There were a hundred things running through her head that she wanted to say to him, but she didn't know where to start. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly, and she felt like a bump on a log.
"And maybe... I wouldn't have been able to stand it if you'd died," he added after what felt like an eternity.
"Really?" she asked lamely.
"God, why do you women always need men to spell shit out?" he asked.
Before she could retort, there was a knock at the safe room door, the one that wasn't blocked, and Nick was on his feet. Ellis and Coach had returned.
As Nick let them back into the room, the two looked to Rochelle who was climbing to her feet with a little difficulty. A look came to Coach's face that was very much like Nick's relieved one, and Ellis grinned.
"Back in business, I see," he said. "How d'ya feel?"
"Like a million bucks," she answered dryly, making Coach chuckle. "What's next?"
And just like that, everything was back to normal.
Maybe this had been what Rochelle needed, the fuel to her fire. Having overcome this, she felt like she actually had a chance to get out of there alive. Someone was going to need to report what happened, and that someone was going to be her. Besides, who better than someone who'd had such personal experience?
"As long as you're feeling up to it, Ro," Coach said, after he'd explained his plan in detail. "If this all works out, that chopper will be taking us out of here, and we'll be saved."
"Hate to say it, but it actually sounds like it might work," Nick said.
"Aw, hell yeah." Ellis cocked his gun.
Rochelle popped a pill or two to get rid of the ache that was starting to grow stronger, and she nodded her head firmly. "Sounds good to me."
When they were getting ready to leave, Coach and Ellis were out of the room first, leading the way since they'd already mapped it out. Nick paused just in front of the doorway, now wearing his jacket again, and he looked over at Rochelle with an unreadable mask on his face. He looked as if there were many things he wanted to say to her, but a long moment passed before he actually spoke.
"I only hope you'd do the same for me," he said finally, tone arrogant and cynical as always. "Come back, I mean."
She nodded again. "Truth is, I wouldn't be able to stand it if you died." She threw his own words back at him, but she meant it with her whole being.
Nick smiled.
And then the moment was broken, and the two of them were leaving the safety of the bunker to follow Coach and Ellis. They were going to try and signal a helicopter by using what was left of the Midnight Riders' light show, and if everything went according to plan, they were going to be saved.
And Nick would be at her side the whole time.