(Contains Nellis -_-; for those people who support it. I personally am OK with Ellis x Nick, but since loads of people do really like it, I want to satisfy them :p Also contains hints of Nick x Rochelle at the end!)
[Seeing as I am only alright with Nellis, it will be light: THIS MEANS FLUFF. JUST FLUFF. DON'T EXPECT ANYTHING OTHER THAN FRIENDSHIP OR HUGGING! ... This means NO kissing, and NEVER expect a lemon from me!]
{The origins of Nick's scratches are my own concoction. Also, the symptoms of becoming an Infected are mine.}
.:I do not own Left 4 Dead 2! Or Valve! Or any characters mentioned!:.
Chapter 1: Absence of friendship
The rain was pattering off Ellis' hat, his Bull-Shifters shirt soaked against his skin. The torrential downpour still didn't cease as they slogged across Fairfield, the quarantined city empty and bleak.
"No zombies this early in the mornin'," Ellis observed, the drawl in his voice tight with concern.
"Mm," Nick said shortly. His eyes were fixed ahead, his gun ready to blast those shitty demons into oblivion.
"It's a pity we split with Ro and Coach," Ellis continued. "We need Ro's steadiness to stop us killin' each other."
Nick replied with a scowl, eyes flicking to Ellis' face, and was slightly startled to see soft eyes staring back. Nick quickly averted his gaze, muttering curses under his breath.
Ellis suddenly gave a yell as a Smoker tongue snared his ankle. He swore as his gun fell from his scrabbling hands.
"Nick, ya son of a bitch, help me!" he shouted, being swiftly dragged down the road. Nick was alert, and saw the Smoker standing on a roof. His gun was aimed, the trigger was pulled. The Smoker gave a hacking scream as it exploded into smoke, the haze drifting over the corpse.
"Nick ... thanks," Ellis panted, unwrapping the slimy tongue and gratefully accepting the proffered hand.
"Don't mention it," came the gruff reply. Taciturn as he was, Nick had still given a brief reply. Usually he would lap up the glory, but now ... now, he was being modest. Ellis was surprised.
He grabbed his gun, straightened his cap, and carried on walking. Nick caught up, a surly frown on his face; although he kept his eyes firmly ahead, Ellis was beginning to find Nick's continuous furtive glances his way irritating. He swung round at the seventh time.
"Can ya stop lookin' at me?" he growled. Nick looked alarmed, whether it was because of the anger in Ellis' voice or that he had been caught Ellis couldn't tell.
"I'm sorry," Nick replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Would his highness also like me to wear blinkers, like a horse?"
Ellis gave an exasperated groan. Nick was always quick with a sharp reply, and it got on the Savannah kid's nerves.
After a long, silent interval, as the two tramped down the muddy, slippery road, Nick spoke again.
"Sorry," he muttered. Ellis was really surprised now; usually, Nick left the apologising to those he thought had wronged him. "Hey, Ellis, have you ever what my nickname 'hick' sounds li- Never mind," Nick said hurriedly, averting his eyes as Ellis looked questioningly at him. Ellis was now officially confused. First, Nick had been modest. Then, he had apologised before Ellis. And now he was uncomfortable! What was wrong with the brash, pessimistic, arrogant conman?
"Nick?" Ellis asked. He watched the man's reaction: alarmed eyes, firmly not looking at Ellis.
"What?" came the reply, hesitant and tight.
"What's up?" Ellis said sternly.
"Nothing," came the immediate reply. It was too quick, too hasty to be true. Ellis glared at the back of Nick's head. He could see the rain on the conman's neck.
"Hick ... does it rhyme?" Ellis asked, deciding to turn the boring moment into a game. Nick rolled his eyes, seemingly back to normal.
"I did say nothing, nosy," he snapped. "So forget it!"
"Why say it in th' firs' place then?" Ellis demanded.
"I said forget it!"
"But why in th' firs' place?"
"FORGET IT!" Nick shouted, striding away from the stunned Ellis, leaving him standing alone in the rain.
"All right!" Nick cried, his scowl breaking into a broad grin. He vaulted through the broken window of a shop, and walked over to the counter. He fiddled around a bit, before the till popped open. Money, banknotes, were inside. Nick took a few hundred notes and stashed them in his backpack.
"Good to know I've not lost my touch," he acknowledged, speaking more to himself than to Ellis.
The conman's eyes roved round the room, past everything destroyed. He realised nothing else was valuable. He looked at Ellis.
"Let's go," he said shortly. He pushed Ellis out of the way, hands shoving in a brusque manner.
Ellis rolled his eyes, and reluctantly followed the conman into the unrelenting, torrential rain. He firmly kept his eyes fixed on Nick's back, on his white suit: it was hard to see in such rain, and the stark - albeit grimy - white was clearer than the patch of brown that was the back of Nick's head.
Nick walked at a quick pace, and when they were eventually resting under an overhang free from the elements, he was panting slightly. He lifted his head, looking at Ellis. His eyes widened in shock and horror.
"Ellis-"
A Hunter flew through the air with a scream, batting Ellis aside and landing on Nick. Sharp claws tore at the conman's midriff, the white suit bloodied, the blue shirt almost shredded.
Nick's hands scrabbled for something, anything; it was no use, his gun had skidded out into the rain. Complete numbness took over the pain and the blood ... it would be so easy to just slip away ... into the darkness ...
"Sweatshirt wearin' little wuss!" came a roar, a voice with a drawl ... Ellis. The Hunter was riddled with gunshots and bullets; with an angry cry, it jumped off Nick and scuttled away.
"Nick-" Ellis said, helping the conman up. He had the briefest of moments to register the weak smile on Nick's face, before the man collapsed. Ellis hurriedly stayed upright against the unconscious weight, Nick's head lolling over his shoulder, Ellis supporting the conman with his arms. He decided to say one thing.
"Shit."
A small fire was burning, illuminating the warehouse in an eerie amber glow. The corners of the large metal building and the very top of the corrugated ceiling were in shadow.
Ellis had chosen to rest here, because the windows the windows were boarded up with plates of metal. The - had also dragged the large sliding door closed, barricading it with a long, thick beam of wood.
As he warmed his cold hands near the flames, Ellis couldn't help examining the conman's face. Nick's eyes were still closed, corners of his mouth still in a slight smile; his jaw was dotted with days of unshaven stubble; his brown hair was out of the slick (expensive?) hairdo it had originally been in, because now it had endured wind and rain; the white suit was splattered with drying spots of blood. Ellis had found it grisly, but he had bandaged the conman's wounds.
Grisly ... and embarrassing, since he knew Nick would hate him for making him feel weak.
"Ah, shit, Nick. I'm not sorry if ya hate me now," Ellis said, his voice echoing softly.
Talk of the devil, Ellis thought wryly. Nick was stirring, muttering incoherently.
"I'm gonna ... soup you up ... so you bleed from your fingertips ... you stupid zombie ..."
His eyelids flickered, but didn't open properly. All Ellis could see was a creepy slit of white, Nick's green irises nor his pupil showing. He looked like an Infected.
There was one thing Ellis intended to ask the conman: where had he gotten the scratches on his chest? Ellis hadn't been prying; since Nick always wore his '$10,000' blue shirt slightly open at the neck, they had always been slightly visible. Ellis mused over the scratches thoughtfully. Had Nick possibly been attacked by a Witch or a Hunter before he had joined the other three? Or was it just a souvenir from his exploits with an ex-wife or someone? Ellis shuddered, hoping that it wasn't the latter. Otherwise he would be slightly disgusted.
Nick stirred. This time his eyes opened, the moss-green irises visible, the black pupils enlarged from the lack of light. He blinked a few times at the sudden brightness of the flames, his pupils contracting as they adjusted to the bright, dancing fire. He noticed Ellis.
"Uh ... how long have I been out?" he asked.
"Hmm ... 'bout two hours. Give 'r take a coupla minutes," came the reply.
"Wow," Nick remarked. He gave a chuckle, the sound strained.
"Oh, Nick. I wanted to ask ya: what's with th' scratches on ya chest?" Ellis asked bluntly.
"What- the hell, Ellis?" Nick spluttered. "One, you looked. Two, you asked?"
"Actually, ya blue shirt has always been unbuttoned, so they're not exactly hidden. And I was curious, 'kay?" Ellis admitted. Nick remained silent. Then he spoke, albeit hesitantly.
"Well," he said curtly, as if he was merely a teacher addressing a student, "I got them when ..."
Ellis mentally crossed his fingers, ready to exhale with disgust if it was the answer he dreaded.
"When?" he encouraged.
"When ... I met a Witch. For the first time. When I was with you guys - and we first found a Witch - I feigned shock at her. But I encountered one before.
"I was on my own. I had no gun, since I couldn't carry a firearm - no, I won't still tell you why. All I had was a nightstick and a baseball bat. I thought she was a girl, a Survivor, crying. Hell, was I wrong! She screamed and leapt at me, almost decapitating me. I managed to whack her to death, but practically got incapacitated. So ... yeah. Sated your curiosity yet?" Nick added, but not rudely.
"Nope," Ellis grinned. "I also wanna know how ya know that brains wash out of white suits. And blood fr'm a wedding dress!"
"Classified information, Overalls. Don't go prying too far into my past, or you'll piss me off," Nick shot back, although a slight smile was forming on his usually stern face. Nick (to Ellis' surprise) was seemingly beginning to relax, his taut attitude loosening as the night grew older. And Ellis found himself enjoying talking to Nick, for he was talking - a bit - about his shady past, and also sharing his opinions on things.
"So, which Special Infected is th' ugliest, in your opinion?" Ellis ventured. Nick stifled a laugh, then answered in his gravelly Boston wiseguy accent.
"Spitters aren't too bad ... look a bit like my ex-wife. Hunters, well, they're creepy. You can't really see their faces too well. Witches cry, and sound like my ex-wife too. So I guess that they ain't too bad. But Smokers, Boomers, Jockeys, Tanks and Chargers are ugly. I'd say Boomers and Chargers are the worst."
"And," Ellis said slyly, just to see Nick's reaction, "if ya had to repopulate the Earth, which would ya go with?" At this Nick choked with laughter.
"Not any of the males, that's for a start, Overalls. If I had to ... Witch. Because, well, they're a hell of a lot better than Spitters!"
Ellis agreed. He looked into the flames, the soft glow lighting his cheekbones. Nick stared at his hand, the multiple rings glinting like sparks. The fire made the green of his eyes flicker various shades of brown. Nick lifted his head.
"Hey, Overalls? Sorry I've been such a ... what's the word?" he said.
"Prat?" Ellis offered, grinning broadly.
"Yeah," Nick mumbled. He looked exhausted. At Ellis' suggestion that they sleep, he flopped down and almost immediately began snoring. Ellis grinned, and kicked out the flames.
