Finally finished this! It's a Nick and Ro fic.
I don't own any of Valve or Left 4 Dead 2.
-present day: early afternoon-
It was a rare occasion for Nick to voluntarily eat breakfast in public without someone to accompany him. Not much about it was appealing. The food, the time, and the people were all incredibly unappealing to the conman. How strange it was he detested these factors, but enjoyed dinner for the same reasons, excluding the people of course.
The place was flooded with customers much to Nick's rather unfortunate luck. It was too damn crowded. Every minute felt like an hour in the dreaded overpopulated outside-café.
How long had he been waiting? Ten, twenty, maybe even thirty minutes?
Nick sighed to himself before finishing a small amount of wine from the glass in front of him. He hadn't a clue what kind he was drinking; he didn't even read the list of wine presented to him by the waitress earlier. Out of habit Nick pointed to a random drink in the list and shooed the server away quickly. It was an odd gesture by a restaurant staff to offer a beverage containing alcohol in the morning of all times to a customer, but it killed time nonetheless.
He preferred to be left alone more than usual when it came to eating, with only one exception.
The conman quickly dismissed thoughts concerning the subject. Now was not the time to daydream about such things, as pleasant as they were.
Speaking of time, it needed to hurry its ass up.
Nick exhaled rather audibly as he put his emptied glass down on the table. Patience, patience, patience, he constantly repeated to himself. He glanced at a suspicious man sitting in a far corner of the outside area Nick sat in. Perhaps the guy just seemed suspicious because Nick knew what the man had done earlier that week.
The fellow, maybe in his twenties, sat alone dressed in dark slacks and a grey collared shirt. Exactly what he wore when working at the bank, Nick thought. Resting on the ground next to the "bank teller" (Nick questioned the man's legitimacy) was a moderately sized briefcase with a number-code.
He needed the contents of that case.
The thought felt almost foreign in itself. The last "need" Nick had for money was a long time ago when he used to take on trivial jobs regarding illegal cash.
It took the conman a few minutes in order to clearly recall the last time he tailed someone as thoroughly and persistently as this. The last time, he recollected, took place a year or so ago when he was more involved with the underground and treacherous lifestyle. Someone requested his services for a hefty price. Nick, not wanting to decline such a large sum of money, obliged. He was to deliver his commissioner's briefcase of cash to some low-life selling drugs. After tracking down the dealer, Nick gave the man the briefcase, got the drugs, and was on his merry way back to his commissioner. The dealer, however, checked the money and noticed it was counterfeit. Although Nick outran him and completed the task, besides money the transaction in addition got him a bullet to the shoulder. It was no fatal would, but it was severe enough for Nick to keep on the down low and avoid all of "those" kinds of jobs.
In doing so, he ended up in this city as if it were fate.
Most of his perilous ways came to close after coming to know a certain pink-shirted woman in this place. What was more to that was that he was here for her financial sake, not his.
That fact alone would have surprised the old-Nick. He wasn't doing this for himself or for personal (monetary) gain, but instead for the reason he abandoned many of his life-endangering old ways.
Her.
All because of her.
True, the conman still retained his gambling and drinking habits, but he otherwise deserted what could have been considered "criminal" doings. He also was certain he had enough money in bank accounts to live off of; so returning to underground exchanges wasn't necessary.
And to think, a large chunk of his motive for dropping those small-time jobs was for this woman. She didn't even ask him to stay around; hell, she didn't even directly tell him to drop his old ways. From his choice to settle in this city to his decisions to pursue to be apart of this girl's life was all on his accord. He wasn't changing himself just for her, no, but was determined for their lives to further intertwine.
Nick glanced at a clock nearby. One twenty-two.
Was the man still there? Without moving his neck, Nick looked out of the corner of his eyes to checkup on the dark clothed man who happened to be looking in his direction: still there.
Nick readjusted his sunglasses and fiddled with his empty wine glass. No way in hell was the poser-bank teller aware Nick was following him, or staring at him.
The sunglasses provided him with the ability to spy on the man without being noticed, so long as Nick didn't turn his neck. Thankfully, they were both eating outside with the sun glaring at Nick. If he weren't eating outside, the conman wouldn't be able to wear sunglasses without looking like an absolute idiot. That was rule number one in his book: don't look like an idiot. What kind of moron would wear un-prescribed sunglasses inside? Well, maybe Ellis, but now was not the time to contemplate such unnecessary exceptions.
"Your meal sir," the waitress who took his order earlier suddenly manifested herself next to him. When the hell did she get there? Not outwardly reacting to her sudden appearance, Nick pushed his empty wine glass forward making some room for his meal. The woman placed a bowl and plate in front of him.
He intimidated her; it was obvious from her fidgeting. What an easy read.
"Is there anything else you need sir?" The waitress feebly asked.
"No."
"Are you sure sir? No refill for your wine?"
"I said no," he asserted again.
The woman nodded and scurried away.
Couldn't she even take that order without stumbling? When Nick ordered the bowl of fruit, the waitress insisted on him having another item off the menu. In the end he was more stubborn and grating than her.
Fuck manners. He wasn't in the mood, although he knew she wouldn't approve of such behavior.
He wasn't changing himself for her, no; he just had to keep his manners. Nick hated to admit he himself wanted to improve on all those tedious things even before meeting her. Now he just had an additional motive.
The conman peered down at his bowl of fruit. Nothing was wrong with ordering only a bowl of damn good fruit even if the waitress bickered to him about such a thing. He jabbed a hearty strawberry with his fork, ate the sustenance, and proceeded to do the same with the rest of the assorted fruits in his bowl, all while keeping watch on the man in the far corner of the area. He, too, was indulging in food.
Breakfast was still a meal Nick had to become accustomed to. It wasn't that the food tasted like shit, but more because that said food became shit on his suit if he wasn't careful. Meals in the morning to him were far too sloppy for his interest and required too much precision and caution. Pancakes and waffles had no taste appeal to him unless coated in shit-sticky and shit-slimy syrup, and it was incredibly easy for the blasted liquids to drip on his suit even if he was a tidy eater. Crepes often were crammed with fruit, cream cheese, or ice cream, and in addition topped with whipped cream or, again, syrup. Toast broke apart too easy when bitten and eggs were leaky. Hard-boiled eggs would never appeal to him.
Breakfast was just not a preference, unless it was with her, with the one woman who seemed to neutralize all negativity.
The one woman who had been fiddling with his mind and heart for too long. She didn't even intend to, in fact, it was his entire fault.
He was in goddamn infatuation and he couldn't stop it.
Rochelle.
Ro-freaking-chelle.
He couldn't even bring himself to cuss around her name it was so delicate.
Nick immediately feigned a coughing fit into his napkin in attempt to suppress a smile. He couldn't think about her without the natural urge to crack a small grin. How old was he, twelve?
Then again, she was the reason he was here. The reason he was tracking this man. The reason he was staying put in this city.
How was he willing to do so much for one woman?
"Thank you," a man said, breaking Nick's train of thought.
Nick looked up and saw the man he was keeping an eye on exiting out the cafe's gate.
It was about god damn time the bastard got up to leave.
Nick left his table a few seconds after. He left a twenty beside his empty dishes. Twenty dollars more than covered the total and tip. Usually he was stingy and frugal with getting exact change back, but hell, this took higher priority.
"Hear that Rochelle? You're damn important," the conman mumbled with the slightest smile as he trailed some feet behind his prey in the crowded sidewalk. He could hear the waitress in the distance complain loudly about how his meal was only halfway finished, left without receiving the check (at least he left more than the proper amount; what a nagger), and how rude he was, but he had heard complaints far worse than that.
As he followed the man, Nick couldn't help but contemplate the exact reason why he was doing such a thing.
-earlier that morning-
Nick dried his face off with an all-too good smelling hand towel. There was something extremely appealing to him about washing his face, especially at someone else's place, in this case, Rochelle's apartment.
Her bathroom could have used some cleaning up.
He loved cleanliness to the point where he felt uncomfortable if the particular area he happened to be in didn't achieve a certain degree of hygienic standard. Perhaps the conman cared a little too much about such things; it could serve as a distraction and weakness. Only if his life depended on it would he willingly run through something as disgusting as a foul sewer, but he would of course try to find a way around it in attempt to avoid the god-awful situation. A bribe of one thousand dollars to carry him through an incredulous occurrence such as that should suffice. Although he was taking the situation seriously by preempting legitimate plans, he hoped that would never happen. What were the odds of that actually taking event anyway?
"Almost done in there, Nick?" Rochelle called out. If Nick remembered correctly, she was down the hall by her apartment room's door.
"Just give me a few more minutes."
"I know how much you love looking at yourself, but please hurry up."
"You can't deny you'd look at me for as long as you could too."
"Just hurry up Nick."
"Have you thought of the possibility I'm taking a shit and you're talking to me?"
"You're not."
"How do you know that?"
"You left the door open. I know you of all people detest that. Also, you didn't turn the fan on."
"You know me too well sweetheart," Nick readjusted his blue shirt's collar once more. Perfect. Everything had to be to his liking.
"Done now?"
"Almost," Nick peeked his head out the bathroom's door. She wasn't in sight.
"How do you even take that long in the bathroom?" He could hear the clanking of various objects; she must have been putting away dishes. That bought him some time.
Her room was directly across from the bathroom. Within a few steps, he crossed the small hallway into her room and replied, "Was that a rhetorical question?"
"Not at all," judging by a sudden clashing noise, Rochelle must have dropped a plate. "Sweet Lincoln's mullet…"
"You okay cupcake?"
"Just dropped a cheap dish. Oh well, this one was chipped and cracked anyway."
"Don't leave it there to clean up later," Nick looked around her room quickly. He hadn't been in here too many times. He walked straight ahead (passing an unmade queen bed that he was quite tempted to fix) to the dresser on the other end of the room. He opened its first drawer, validating his guess of where she stashed the cash from her bank visit earlier that week.
Ten thousand dollars worth of counterfeit, he thought. She wasn't even aware it was fake cash.
"Now are you done?" Rochelle yelled.
"Are you done cleaning that dish up?"
"No."
"Then you have my answer."
Nick grabbed two long envelopes from inside his suit, shoved the money in them, and stuffed the rather-now-huge envelopes into hidden pockets lined in his suit's top. After closing the drawer, he hurried back to the bathroom to inspect how he looked.
His top weighed a lot more, but it looked no different (and how the hell that was even possible he didn't know and wouldn't question it; ah, the magnificent power of suits). If anyone happened to see inside his clothes, they wouldn't have seen the envelopes tucked away in camouflaged pockets. Although the piles were bulky, they weren't all too visible at first glance.
Even he impressed himself at times.
He shut the bathroom light off and walked down the hall to find Rochelle packing her purse in the entryway.
"All done," Nick confirmed.
"You take longer than my mom before she goes to eat," Rochelle commented.
"Nice to know."
"Why exactly do you come here this early Nick?"
"Mainly to make sure you get to work on time," he shrugged and leaned against a wall
next to Rochelle. "I know how groggy you get in the morning."
"Well, I admit your pounding on the door in the morning has helped a few times, but it isn't something I look forward waking up to."
"Glad to know I'm useful at least," he grinned.
She shook her head, "That's one way of putting it..."
"I'm more surprised you let me come around."
"Sometimes I am too, but a little company doesn't hurt."
"Change that adjective and your sentence will be more accurate."
"You mean 'little'?"
"Yes."
"I don't think you come over that often."
"Then I guess all the days blend together for both of us," he teased.
"Do you really visit that often?" Rochelle slung her bag's strap over her shoulder.
"If I confirm that claim, will you put a stop to my hospitable visits?"
"Not necessarily. You're a friend, if that's the correct term."
Ouch. Labeled as a "friend." Well, that was a start. Her implied self-debate over the label gave him some hope, not that he'd show or tell her that. This might have been a first for such a sensation.
"What do you do when I'm not around?"
"Nothing, really," she blandly put.
"Nothing?"
"Same as what you do when you come over. Nothing."
"I don't think that's necessarily true."
"Not used to doing nothing in a woman's place?" Rochelle asked while ensuring her bag was securely strapped to her side.
"We aren't doing nothing per say," Nick watched her reexamine herself in the body length mirror.
"I'm surprised you don't get bored staying here. You don't give off the vibe of someone who settles down. How long have you been staying in this city? Five, six months?"
"Longer than that. And I never said I wasn't bored and not enjoying my time. In fact, I think I spice things up making things not boring for you."
"Whatever you say Nick."
"Unless you want to do something, if you think we're doing nothing," he shot her one of his thousand dollar grins only to find out she did not equate the damn smile to even a penny.
"You know I don't do things like that, and we both know you've, well, hopefully, grown out of 'that' habit," she grabbed her keys and walked over to open the door. "The door automatically locks when you close it."
"Never said we had to do things like 'that' and I wouldn't call it a habit. I haven't slept with as many women as you think I have," he ambled towards the door where she was.
"More than I'd like to hear for the wrong reasons," she looked up sternly at him.
The man slinked in front of her and stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, leaning against part of its frame, and questioned, "You've got morals, don't you sweetheart?"
"They're just not as low as your floozy standards. I don't advocate one-night stands."
"I thought someone like you would have done things like that once or twice."
"Move Nick, I'm going to be late."
"You're not denying it."
"I said move Nick."
"Did you know I have sweet tooth?"
Rochelle stared at him for a few seconds, thrown off by his comment, but eventually shook her head. "I don't have time for your games right now."
"It's not a game. I'm just telling you a fun fact about me. Aren't you lucky?"
"Nick, I'm serious this time. Move."
"So you weren't serious those last times?"
"I won't ask again. I've got legs to kick you, you know."
"Nice ones at that."
She lightly slapped the side of his cheek and darkly smiled at him, "Thank you for the compliment, but grownups have to go to work now."
Nick gently placed his hand on her petite one.
She was so god damn fragile.
"You know, I don't just stop migrating around the country for any reason," his voice and expression softened.
"What are you getting at?" Rochelle frowned. "Don't tell me you've been hitting women whole time."
"Not at all sweetheart."
"Then what?"
"I have a sweet tooth, remember?"
"Discover a bakery then?"
"Metaphorically, yes."
"What am I supposed to make of that?"
"I haven't had an affair in over a year, you know."
"I'm running late. You can bring you and your nonsense back here after my shift. Don't expect me to have any of these 'sweets' you're getting at," she was clueless, and he was okay with that, for now.
He smiled back genuinely at her, pulled her hand down from his face, and stepped out the door while still loosely caressing her hand, "Okay then, sweetheart."
"You're an enigma, you know that?" With her free hand she closed the door shut behind her. "Keys, wallet, purse... Am I forgetting anything?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Maybe you would."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're you. That's the best way I can put it."
Her hand left his as she sped down the apartment's aisle.
He watched her leave and shook his head, mostly taking note of how quickly her hand left his. She didn't fall for anything, did she? That's what made her different, what made it okay with Nick that doing "nothing" in an apartment was more than satisfactory, so long as it was with her. It was relaxing, comforting, and strangely a nice change of pace.
It made him happy.
Nick caught up with her in a matter of seconds.
"You sure you'll be warm in that?" He nodded at her.
The news producer looked taken aback for a second, but eventually glanced down at her pink t-shirt and jeans, "Yeah, I'll be fine."
Judging from her reaction, she must have not been expecting that side of him. The walls he built between him and the world were slowly disintegrating (the ones between him and Rochelle, at least).
What had he gotten himself into?
The two continued their way down the apartment's hallways talking of the most obscure things. She commented on how the walls could use a refreshing paintjob, along with some new pictures. The ones currently hung up were of poorly painted flowers and animals. "Even you could do a better job," she had remarked to a slightly amused Nick.
Nick had warmed up to these relaxed conversations between him and Rochelle; they were surprisingly something he looked forward to.
Far too quickly for his taste, they were already outside the apartment with cold winds beating at their faces. Rochelle turned to him, hugging her arms.
"You sure you'll be okay?" Nick questioned her, still suspicious of how warm she was.
"Just fine. Our place has heating. We don't function in a box."
"I don't know about that. I can see you working in a box…"
She smiled and shook her head, "You have the worst sense of humor."
"Better than Ellis's."
"That's definitely debatable."
"You're going to be late."
"Right."
"So, the usual after work?"
Rochelle shook her head, "Actually, change of pace. Come to my place and bring some vegetables for a salad. I'll cook for you."
What? Cook? In his half a year (perhaps a month or two more; giving somewhat accurate estimations of time wasn't his forte) of knowing her, he'd gotten into the habit of meeting with her after work and escorting her back home, but never before did she offer to cook for him. The closest to this were dinners he paid for. "Why the sudden gesture?"
"I might as well treat you, especially after all those meals you've covered for me. Plus, it's more special than eating out."
She probably didn't even consider them dates, he thought. Her word choice of "special" did, however, again give him some foreign feeling of hope. The grocery store was one of the last places he wanted to go, "I've got some vegetables at my place. Want to check if they're what you need?"
"If I wasn't going to be late for work, I would. As long as you have a salad head, it should be fine."
Nick only offered because he had settled in a small apartment complex a few blocks away from Rochelle's some months ago. Despite not working an "official" job, he was able to pay the rent and live off of several bank accounts packed with money from previous exploits. His (rather high, he'd admit) standards were surprisingly met for a place nearby. Living near Rochelle was just a bonus. He grew weary and irate at the low quality hotels and motels in the city, so he decided to upgrade to a more pleasant place. Price wasn't an issue, thanks to some jobs a long time ago that paid a little too well.
He grinned and nodded at her, "I'll see you after work then."
"Catch you later Nick," the woman smiled. Christ, he loved that. She waved and turned around, making her way down the street towards her workplace. The building was out of sight, but Nick trusted her safety wouldn't be an issue.
It was no longer a surprise to Nick he had the most substantial connection with Rochelle, more than anyone else he had ever met. No other relationship ever held such a potential pivotal turn in his life, and he was okay with it.
He was okay with change.
He was okay with change for the better.
-present day: evening-
Out of all the days Nick could have tracked the man, he happened to pick the day the bastard had to go to the goddamn grocery store. Even though Nick had to buy produce for tonight's dinner, he wanted to spend the least amount of time as he could here. Who knows how long this guy will take, Nick thought. What luck.
After a couple boring ass hours of pointlessly wandering around the city, the man decided to make his stop at a grocery store of all places. Nick detested these stores. They often were, in his experiences, too bright, packed with moronic people not paying attention to their obnoxious brats, the candy was often overpriced (especially in October; fucking Halloween), and overall, grocery stores were simply not classy.
Judging by how the man Nick was following (not "stalking" per say; the word gave off the wrong connotation) snatched a grocery cart instead of a basket, the conman was going to be stuck in this hellhole for some time.
How dreadfully accurate his estimation was for once.
An hour sluggishly ticked by with Nick's suffering increasing exponentially each coming minute. How much longer was this guy going to take?
Already had what he needed. In his hand basket there were only vegetables and a vanilla scented candle.
The candle was for Rochelle, of course.
Some months after meeting her, the two dined out to breakfast together during one of her breaks from a morning shift. While waiting for their food to finish being prepared, Rochelle had mentioned something about baths being relaxing. Nick found it incredibly strange he didn't conjure any sexual thoughts when they were conversing a topic with such potential.
It was then and there he accepted those pestering thoughts, ones that were of the utmost nuisance. Of course, it was just a small crush back then. After much time, the previously miniscule attachment to Rochelle festered to something larger and its presence was undeniably and without a doubt there. The damn feeling was viral; he just had to accept the fact.
Nick was infatuated with her. Unfortunately to his discontent, the sentiment was one-sided.
Just when he thought to stop trusting people, she came along. He was no longer numb to everything. The glacial outlook on life and isolation from others was slowly melting away, and it was all because of her. The chain reactions she unknowingly took responsibility astounded him to no ends.
Nick snapped back to reality when receiving a handful of change from the cash register. He tried his best to tune out social interactions, except when his full attention called for it, but now was not the case. No one's life was in danger; nor was anyone's health at stake.
Just, when exactly did he get to the counter and pay for his items? Was he in a daze from Rochelle? That woman made him delirious.
"Have a good day sir!" The worker at the register chirped to him.
He nodded, grabbed his bag, and walked towards the door.
Holy shit.
Just outside was the damn bank worker with a bag of groceries. The bastard almost got away.
Wait, Nick thought. The man had spent over an hour in a grocery store only to buy one bag of groceries? A fucking bag. Just one. That's all. One fucking bag of groceries. Christ, the horrors Nick had to suffer through.
The man began walking, and Nick pursued him for a straight hour.
Eventually the two came to be on an abandoned street.
Perfect.
Nick wanted to make this quick with the least amount of interaction as possible.
Quickly, Nick caught up behind the man and tapped him on his shoulder.
The man turned around, not recognizing Nick from the time when he was with Rochelle at the bank. He asked, "Yes sir?"
Nick nodded at the suitcase, "I need that."
"What?"
"I said I need that."
"I'm pretty sure this is mine."
"And I'm pretty sure the contents of that case should be mine," Nick glared daggers at him. Within seconds, the "bank teller" spun around on his heel to run, but ultimately fell flat on his face. Momentum and physics clearly weren't in his forte.
"Crap!" The suitcase slipped out of his grip, sliding away from both him and Nick. Nick hurried over to the suitcase and grabbed it.
"Nice suitcase you've got here."
"Give it back!"
"Give back the cash I need and you've got yourself a deal."
"What? Who are you? I don't have your money!" He sounded hysterical. Must be new to this sort of "business."
Talking to this guy clearly wasn't going to get him anywhere. Nick looked at the case's five-digit combination. Thankfully Nick saw the man open the case at the café right when he was seated. Who the hell does that? Nick rolled the number slots into place.
0-4-8-5-9.
Click.
The case clicked opened.
The man, covering his bloody nose, stumbled to his feet and trudged with an obvious tremble towards Nick. His voice was pitchy, "Stop!"
Nick rolled his eyes, "Like you could hurt me."
The male attempted to grab Nick's shoulder, but Nick slapped his hand, "Ow!"
"Stop that. How the hell did that even hurt?"
The blonde – was his hair bleached? – dove for the suitcase in Nick's arms. Nick stepped back, leaving the stranger to fall on his stomach.
"Christ, you're terrible at this."
"Why are you taking my money?"
"I'm taking it for someone."
"Who?" He looked up at Nick.
"You shouldn't have picked on her for your badly forged con-scheme," Nick closed up the suitcase after taking the ten thousand dollars he needed from it. Now this was real cash. "You had the shittiest counterfeit money I've ever seen."
"I'm not sexist," the man stumbled up on his feet. What kind of out-of-place excuse was that? Much like the waitress from earlier, he was too obvious at showing his intimidated state.
"Me neither," Nick chucked the open suitcase at the guy's legs, some wads of cash falling out. "You just messed with the wrong woman."
The man tugged at his collar. He looked back at the suitcase that still held money, and then looked back up at Nick, "You didn't take all of it?"
"Would you rather me do that?"
"No!"
"Then I don't see any problem here," Nick replaced the real money with the fake wads of cash inside the pocket of his suit. He tossed the badly forged ones to the ground.
"Why?"
"Listen, I have enough money and I don't want to take anymore than what was taken from her, okay?" Bullshit. As if anyone could have enough money.
"But you could have the rest if you wanted to."
Christ, why wouldn't this shithead shut up? "I have enough."
"Enough?" Stop with the goddamn questions!
"Okay look, I've been in your shoes before. I know goddamn well that you need money in order to make a living off of this sort of life. That suitcase there?" Nick nodded in its direction. "There's enough left in there for you to either attempt a few more gambles to rake in cash or get a cheap ass apartment and get a job, unless working at the bank is your job, but I have my suspicions about that. If you're not successful for the first choice you will be in for a world of shit. I guarantee that."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I don't know. Just know you have choices. Someone taught me that. I also don't want to see anymore of these half-assed done schemes. Giving your crappy counterfeit bills away at a bank? Yeah no, that's a terrible idea. You give con people a bad name," Nick turned around and sauntered back down the street from whence he came.
And with that, Nick exited the small alley and began his way towards Rochelle's.
-present day: late evening-
It was around five in the afternoon when the conman checked his apartment's phone's voicemail. Rochelle had left a message suggesting him to visit her home around seven thirty; that's when dinner would be ready. The two and a half hour gap until then gifted Nick the time to shower and clean up after the day filled with walking around outside. Thanks to irritating dude he tracked down, Nick spent an excessive portion of his day dealing with conditions that did shit to his hair. It was sunny but windy: Nick's least favorite weather. The two weather patterns occurring simultaneously didn't click for him and proved to be more of a nuisance than something puzzling and intriguing to ponder. There were surely scientific reasons as to why this could happen (damn scientists could figure out anything), but he didn't want to bother going out of his way to find out the logic this time. That could wait.
Nick locked his place up, departing for Rochelle's just around seven ten. He arrived inside her apartment's hallways just outside her door at approximately seven thirty. Though time wasn't his specialty, he was aware the trek between their apartments took twenty minutes.
Nick knocked on her apartment door.
The door opened to a smiling Rochelle, "Hey Nick. Come on in, the food's ready. Got the salad?"
"Yep," he held up a plastic bag with one lettuce head and a candle.
"What's that inside it?" Nick followed her inside and closed the door.
"A candle."
"What for?"
"You like them, don't you?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Just a gift from me to you. Nothing special. Now how about that salad?"
"Right," she paused. "Thank you Nick."
"…You're welcome," he reluctantly responded. He still wasn't used to any words of gratitude.
"Have a seat. You can start without me," Rochelle took the bag from Nick and walked back to the kitchen, a bit inwards into the apartment.
Nick walked forward to find her petite dining table graced with two plates of food, utensils, and water filled glasses. On the white plates were slabs of steak, slices of garlic bread, and some mashed potatoes topped with thyme. Overall, the dinners seemed appetizing. An amateur's work, clearly.
"Looks good."
"Thanks. Made it myself," Rochelle turned the faucet on and began washing the lettuce head. "Do you want salad?"
"No thanks."
"Okay. Go ahead and start without me. I don't want to keep you waiting."
"Can't eat your masterpiece without you."
"Really, it's okay."
"Not at all," Nick sat down and fiddled with a fork.
"Well in that case, how was your day?"
"Could be better."
"Same. I'm just glad I'm finally home. You would not believe how swamped we were at work today…" She began tearing off scraps of the lettuce's leaves and put them into a bowl.
"More workers playing hooky?"
"That and so much more. I don't even want to think about it."
"Then just relax. You can tell me about it another time."
"I suppose," sighed the news producer. Rochelle walked over to the table with a bowl of lettuce and sat down with Nick. "Dig in."
"Thanks," carefully, Nick cut off a chunk of steak to eat. Jabbing the portion with his fork, he put the tender meat in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
"Is it okay?" She took a bite herself, not reacting any which way or another.
"Satisfactory. Better than I expected."
She laughed, "What a Nick-like reply."
"Didn't think you could cook."
"Gee, thanks for the support," they each ate more of their meal making small talk here and there until their plates and glasses formally filled with water were emptied. Nick wiped his mouth with a cloth. Something came to his attention.
"Is the music playing new?"
"Just some instrumental station with no commercial breaks. One of my coworkers recommended it to me."
"Fits the mood."
She laughed, "A homemade dinner, two people… all we need are candles and dim lights."
"We have a candle."
"It's in the bag though."
"We could dim the lights."
"I'd rather not right now."
"Picky," he teased with a grin.
"Says the one who needs the toilet paper hanging a certain way."
"That's a whole different story."
"Not at all!"
The two stayed quiet for a minute or two. Nick wouldn't stop staring at her, curious about this woman who swooned him. When he took time to think about it, he knew how to read most of her emotions and was cognizant of various facts concerning her life, but he didn't know any specific details of her.
He wanted to know everything, goddamn it.
"Do you dance?" He questioned.
"No, can't say that I do."
"Have you ever?"
"Probably a few times when I was younger."
Nick got up from his chair and stood next to Rochelle sitting down, offering his hand to her.
"What?"
"Let's dance."
"I don't dance Nick."
"Yeah, right."
"I don't even know how."
"We can just sway in rhythm then. Trick the bastards."
"Who are the 'bastards' you're referring to?"
"Me and you," he smirked.
They shared a short-lived staring contest until Rochelle sighed and gave in, ultimately taking Nick's hand. He took a few steps backwards, gently tugging at her arm as she got up out of the chair.
"So how-"
"Nothing fancy," Nick said while his smirk faded.
"I've only seen people dance in movies," Rochelle thought out loud.
"I wouldn't know."
"You don't seem like the movie kind of guy," the two-backed further way from the table, Nick delicately holding onto her hand. This time, she wouldn't let go. He would never let her go.
"I've got better things to do," he stopped with her in her spacious living room. "What you do is-"
"This?" Rochelle instinctively wrapped her arms around Nick's neck, naturally bringing their faces closer. Nick managed to control his urge to flinch, but hoped to hell his cheeks weren't tinting pink.
He almost stumbled over his words, "Yeah, that works."
She brought her body closer to his, into a more comfortable position, and smiled, tilting her head slightly to lock eyes with Nick, "This almost feels natural."
Hell yes it did, "Glad to know."
"Then… swaying, you said?"
"Right," get it together Nick. He slid his one arm around her waist, bringing her ever so closer. "This is yours, by the way?"
"What is?"
He slipped his free hand into his suit's top, and tossed quite a few wads of cash onto her couch behind them.
She didn't sound amused, "Nick, what is that?"
"Money."
"Mine?" Her tone was neutrally frightening.
"Okay look," he briefly glanced to the side, then back at her, "that bank teller? He gave you fake money. I know counterfeit when I see it. I went to him today and got what you should have gotten. I know you don't like these sorts of things, but I didn't want something like that happening to you."
All was quiet for a couple minutes (it felt like forever with Rochelle staring blankly at him), but he finally got his long-awaited reply, "Nick… thanks. I'm not comfortable with those things, yes, but thank you."
Why was he so worried for a negative response? Could it be fear of disapproval?
"I'm still slightly mad you did something potentially dangerous, but if you told me, that's your way of opening up."
Nick grinned, "You know me too well."
"Not as much as I'd like."
"Oh? What do you mean by that?"
"I just wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours."
Mostly you you infectious woman, he thought. He, of course, said something else, "Right now, swaying. Just sway with the rhythm of the song."
He put his other hand around her waist, bringing her faintly closer. The two swayed, stepping to the left and right every so often.
This felt hypnotically alluring. There wasn't one thing he disliked at the moment. Perhaps it was due to his infatuation with her, but all his senses seemed magnified – he could feel her gentle but secure touch, her soft exhales, her warmth, her smell, her face (oh how close she was to him ), and more.
He sounded like a stupid teenage boy with a fat crush. He dreaded even the slight notion of reflecting upon the past, not that he had a crush when he was a teenage boy. Nick loathed nostalgia.
"Something wrong Nick?" Rochelle broke his train of thought.
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"What is it?"
Couldn't hide it from her forever, "I hate nostalgia."
"Now where did that come from?"
"My mind wanders."
"I can see that."
"It looks ridiculous crying if you're not some kid."
"Everyone should sometimes when they need it."
"Bullshit."
"I call bullshit on your bullshit," she smiled genuinely. "Nick…"
"Don't 'Nick' me sweetheart."
"Do what you want, I just want to see you healthy."
Wasn't expecting that response. He cautiously spoke up, "That's a first."
"What?"
"A want for me being 'healthy.' Not used to hearing something like that."
"I can tell you don't open up much in general, so this must be rare for you," Rochelle teased him with facts.
"That is true," he mumbled. He revealed much more of himself to her than to anyone, even if that didn't seem like much to her. "I have an ex-wife, you know."
"I'm aware of that."
"That doesn't worry you?"
"A bit, but that's only natural of you. I won't pry."
"Why not?"
"You'll tell me when you're ready."
"What makes you think I'll ever tell?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure. There's something about you. Why all these questions?"
"Because I've been interrogating myself a lot lately. It's nice to change the target."
"What do you mean by that?" She looked at him more intensely than usual.
"You know what detectives do, right?"
"Of course. You could even consider some of my co-workers detectives in a way."
"I was being a detective."
"Alright," she played along.
"I was on the job of solving a case of who did something to me, trying to find the truth if you will."
Her eyes harbored a look of worry, "Did someone hurt you Nick?"
"I'm fine, and not hurt, no."
"Will this all make sense in the end?"
He nodded, "Of course sweetheart."
"I'll let you finish then. Sorry for all my interruptions."
"You're forgiven," Nick took in a deep breath. "I found out something about myself in the past few months. It took a hell of a lot accepting, but eventually I let it become a part of me. You don't know how much I questioned myself and denied it."
Nick looked at her more delicately than usual, a subtle signal she should pose a question, "What did you find out, exactly?"
"What do you consider us?" Here we go.
"What do you mean?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"I just need clarification."
"Us. This," Nick moved his right hand up to lightly cup her cheek. They stopped swaying some time ago, resulting in pure gazing and conversing.
"Friends."
"Just friends?"
"I guess, I mean, I don't know."
"You sound indecisive."
"Yeah, I'm not usually though.
"I know."
"I can help you with that. It'll be either a yes or no."
"How would you do tha-"
Before she could finish, Nick had leaned down and cut her sentence short by placing his lips on hers. He could feel his body slowly release tension and ease into the kiss. He had wanted this contact for much too long. He might have been delirious, but he swore he could feel her kiss back.
Tenderly, Nick pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. As much as he wanted to continue, he took into the painful consideration of how she might not have wanted what he longed for.
Her voice broke the silence between them, "I think I came to a decision."
"What is it?"
"Not just friends."
He kissed her again, "I hope more than that."
"We'll see," she smiled.
"Didn't you say I needed to find a woman that hated herself?"
"I'm an exception."
"You always have been," he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.
"I don't want to take things fast-"
"I'm aware of that."
"-but you can stay over for the night."
He looked rather surprised, "Are you sure?"
"You're sleeping on the couch, of course."
Nick chuckled, "Good enough."
"I should probably clean up…"
"I can do it. You go get a pillow for me for the couch, alright?"
"I'm feeling generous, so I'll throw in a blanket too," she joked.
"Fine with me," they let go of one another.
"Want to go out to breakfast tomorrow?"
"Sure."
"We'll go whenever you're up since I have the day off. I'll go get your couch things."
"Thanks," Nick kissed her once again. "Good night, sweetheart."
"It's only eight o'clock Nick."
"Well, it's been a good night."
"I agree with that. Be right back. Don't disappear, alright?"
And as she smiled at him and went to prepare for bed, he too smiled, knowing that breakfast the following morning would for once be enjoyable.
As long as she was there, he wouldn't have to worry about anything again.
I hope you enjoyed it!
Thank you for reading!