Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters, Valve does. But they should really consider making Nick and Francis BFFs, because that would be amazing!

"Where the fuck is that asshole Creevy?" Nick asked, head tipped back and bloody napkin stuffed in his nose. Francis just sipped his beer and laughed some more to himself. "It's not fucking funny, Francis, I'm bleeding all over the goddamn place!"

"Actually it's really funny," Francis replied, voice nearly giddy. "And here's why: I never get sick of seeing people slap you in the face, or spit on you, or scream at you, or anything like that."

"You're an ass," Nick spat. "I swear to God if she broke my nose-."

"So when'd you meet her?" Francis asked, stroking his goatee pensively. "Before or after the Infection?"

"You've met her too, what do you think?" Nick asked, pinching his nose as hard as he could without blinding pain.

"When?"

"When did you meet her? You met her in Rayford!" Nick exclaimed, tipping his head back down to get a better look at his partner. "I was travelling with her and-!"

"Oh SHIT!" Francis exclaimed, hands smacking the table and craning his neck towards the door. "I remember now! THAT was Rochelle!"

"Brilliant."

"She looks damned good too! Man, the thought of her got me through some tough nights, I can tell you that," Francis said, punctuating the crude comment by bouncing his fist up and down, and Nick groaned as more blood dripped onto the table. "Keep it elevated, bro."

"Fuck off."

"Why's she so mad at you? Aw DAMMIT, you got to her first didn't you?" Francis asked, disappointed. "I made a promise to myself that I would never go for your sloppy seconds, who knows where you've been?"

"Need I remind you of that one night in Santa Fe?" Nick snapped, snidely, and Francis flushed a bit and chugged the rest of his beer in one large gulp. "But no, if it eases your dick I did NOT get to her first."

Before Francis could continue the interrogation, Wednesday set their food in front of them. "Can I get you two anything else?"

"Your phone number maybe?" Francis said, slyly.

"I'm sixteen."

"Oh. Yeah, I'm not going to jail over you."

"What about you, sir?" Wednesday asked, turning to Nick. She didn't know what exactly had gone down between him and Rochelle and Ellis, but she was pretty amused that this big shot Z-Man was gushing blood, compliments of the journalist. "… More napkins, possibly?"

"I'm good, scram," Nick mumbled, and she shrugged and left them to their food. "How quickly Rochelle left your mind."

"Well when she finds out I'm your partner she'll want nothing to do with me, thought I'd hedge my bets," Francis said, taking a big bite of his hamburger. "If you didn't do her, why's she so sore?"

Nick scowled, fumbling around for his sandwich, and shrugged. "Well…. I didn't sleep with HER…."

Francis chewed his burger a bit, thinking about the implications of that statement. Once it had clicked, he nodded, face neutral. "Ohhhhhh. So you fucked the little twitchy one?"

"The little twitch-? Ellis! His name's Ellis, Christ," Nick nipped, though he brought down the disdain a notch, since anger just made his nose hurt more.

"Oh, THAT'S the guy you wouldn't shut up about when we first started working together?"

"Yes, that's Ellis," Nick admitted.

"And she was mad about that? Pissed you picked him over her, right?"

"NO, it has nothing to do with-! I'm not talking about this, where the FUCK are Chief Jacobs and that scumbag Creevy!"

"That scumbag Creevy is right here," the officious voice said, and both Nick and Francis looked up to see Mark Creevy, a man in his mid forties, staring at the two Z-Men with both contempt and quiet annoyance. Next to him was a man in a cop uniform, mid fifties, peppery hair, and a look of wonder and resentment on his face.

"…. Boy, what happened to your nose?" Chief Jacobs asked.

"Nothing," Nick replied, hoping that the blood would just clot already. "Hello, Creevy."

"Nicholas," the government suit replied, looking to be just as thrilled to see Nick as Nick was to see him. "I see you haven't been here an hour and you've already found yourself in some trouble."

"It just seems to follow me everywhere, SIR," the gambler replied, though it was hard to be smug with a napkin stuffed up the nose. Creevy shook his head disapprovingly, and turned to Francis.

"Francis."

"Boss," the biker replied, though it was drenched in insubordination. "Long time no see."

"Are y'all gonna quit the happy reunion and introduce me?" Chief Jacobs asked, impatiently, and the three government workers turned to look at him.

"I'm Nick," the con man said, extending a hand. "This is Francis. We hear you've been having a zombie problem."

"You could say that," Chief Jacobs said, shaking both their hands earnestly and sitting down, Creevy following suit.

"So where's Mayor O'Dea?" Creevy asked, looking around. "I thought we'd be meeting with him as well."

"He would have loved to attend, but he's traveled to Raleigh on 'official business'," Jacobs said, wiping his brow. "Assuming everything goes according to plan, he'll be back in a few days. But so few things do lately. Hey Wednesday, darlin'? Can I get a Bud? And get Mr. Creevy here one as well."

"I'm not drinking on the job," Creevy stated, eying Nick and Francis for doing such a thing. Wednesday nodded from across the bar, and went to put in the order.

"Well now, did you find the place alright?" Jacobs asked the Z-Men. "Your boss here had some car trouble but otherwise found it alright."

"Wasn't too hard," Nick confirmed, sniffing.

"And the food and beer are alright?" Jacobs asked, turning to Francis, who gave him a thumbs up as he gobbled into more of his burger. "Well that's good to hear. We want to make you feel as welcome as we can. We here at Roanoke II are a hospitable bunch. If you need anything, please feel free to ask me."

"You got it," Francis said, chewing.

"That being said, I think you should know that if I had my way, we wouldn't have the two of you here at all," Jacobs continued, nonchalantly. "I think you Z-Men are glorified thugs with a badge and a penchant for killing things. My men could handle these problems all on their own, but that wasn't my decision to make, and my opinion fell upon deaf ears. While I'll cooperate with you, as that is my job, I will do so under protest. Understood?"

Nick and Francis slowly exchanged glances, sharing all knowing smiles. It wasn't the first time they'd been met by antagonism from the local law enforcement of a town. It was somewhat comforting to see that the resentment towards the feds from small town cops was still alive and well.

"Let me be the first to assure you, Chief Jacobs, that I can say with the utmost confidence that I will make sure these two men stay in line," Creevy said, a malicious flicker in his eyes as he said it. Oh Christ, Nick thought. Such a prick.

"Why do we need supervision anyway?" Francis asked. "That's not how it's usually done."

"Things change," Creevy stated. "With Z-Men of similar backgrounds falling more and more into scandal, we've pinpointed possible trouble makers to keep an extra eye on. You and Nick were at the very top of the list."

"Backgrounds my ass," Francis muttered. "CEDA shouldn't even be sticking it's nose in Z-Man business, you're the ones who fucked up the ENTIRE situation in the first place and WE have to clean up your mess!"

"All the more reason to make sure you do a good job of it," Creevy responded.

"This kind of bickering isn't giving me any faith in your organizations," Jacobs muttered.

"You said it, Chief," Nick said, finally removing the napkin and taking a bite of his sandwich. "So tell me. How many of these things have you killed?"

"I've lost count."

"Ballpark it," Nick said, chewing. "Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?"

"…. I would say that I have probably killed a little less than fifty," Jacobs said, voice low. "But I never do it lightly. I recognize that they are sick people, people who used to have lives, people who used to have families. Me and my boys, we have respect for them after we've killed them. You Z-Men? You just let them rot."

"That may be," Nick continued, setting down his sandwich and cocking his eyebrow. "But between me and my partner here? We've killed hundreds. We've emptied out nests, we've dismantled hordes and herds, we've taken care of business all over this broken little country. We do our jobs, and we do them well."

He sent a pointed look at Creevy, who had a dark gaze over his face.

"And last time I checked the info we got on you, you have had a dozen Infected attacks in the past two months, nearly half of which ended with casualties. Including a three year old girl who was snatched by a Smoker, am I right?" Nick asked, harshly, and Jacobs said nothing. "If you and your 'boys' could handle it, you would have gone out there, burned the ghouls, and it would have stopped after one, two tops. So just let us do our jobs, and the sooner you do, the sooner we'll be out of your hair and out of your shit town. Is THAT understood?"

Francis raised his eyebrows as he popped the last bit of burger in his mouth, amused and perfectly happy to sit back and watch his partner take the reins on this one. Jacobs stared at Nick for a few beats, and Nick stared back, just as Wednesday strolled by and dropped more napkins on the table for him.

"Well, I guess we understand each other, then," Jacobs finally settled on, and Nick shrugged, dabbing at his nose. The cascade had slowed to a languid drip, and he was pretty sure it wasn't broken. Somehow this didn't improve his mood. Jacobs turned back to the CEDA official. "Tell me, Creevy, what is on the agenda? I want to know just what my town can expect from you and these guys in the next couple days."

Creevy straightened his tie, and opened up his briefcase, removing his own scribbles and charts. "Town Hall meeting tomorrow. We'll lay out our plan for the people here, these two will answer some questions. Then they start up the patrols the next day. They won't go too far into the Grey Zone, as the Government understands that they're needed close to town should something happen."

"We know how it works, man," Francis said, before letting out a belch. "Let's talk about accommodations now. Where exactly are me and my partner going to be staying while we're here? I don't see any Four Star Hotels like in San Francisco."

"We have a house for the two of you," Jacobs answered, and Nick frowned, pushing his half eaten sandwich away. Francis gladly accepted it.

"I thought there were separate arrangements," the gambler said, skeptically.

"You thought wrong," Creevy responded.

"Aw come on, man, I have to share a house with him?" Francis exclaimed, turkey and lettuce flecking on the table. "It's going to be like 'The Odd Couple'!"

"Can you guess who's who?" Nick asked, though he wasn't too pleased either.

"It's all we can do for you," Jacobs stated. "This isn't San Francisco or anything. We're just a shit town, remember?"

"Well we certainly won't forget now," Nick replied, not missing a beat. "Are there two bedrooms at least?"

"What do you think we are? Hedonists?" Jacobs scoffed, and Nick smirked over at Francis, who shrugged, shaking his head. "Of course there are two bedrooms. Wouldn't want our Z-Men to turn sissy on us, would we?"

"It's a bit late for some of them," Creevy muttered to himself.

"J. Edgar Hoover would spin in his grave," Nick said, coolly. "Well could you take us to our house, please? We've been driving since eight a.m. this morning and my nose is killing me."

"Where are my manners?" Jacobs asked, though it was clear to the Z-Men that he'd deliberately misplaced them. "Just let me finish my beer and we will be on our way. Creevy, you can find your way back to your apartment, can't you?"

"I'll manage," Creevy said. "If we're finished here, I'm going to head that way. I will see you at the rec center tomorrow night, gentlemen…. It's so nice to see you two again."

Francis simply glared at him as he smiled coldly, and Nick shook his head. This day was just getting more and more headache inducing.

They followed Chief Jacobs' police car, and slowed to a stop at a two story house near the outskirts of town. "Oh my God, it looks like The Waltons," Francis muttered, shaking his head.

"This whole fucking town is like The Waltons," Nick muttered, killing the engine. "Or even creepier, 'Twin Peaks'. Christ, if I have dreams about weird dwarves who like to dance I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Never saw it."

Nick glanced over towards the cop car, and snorted. "Think if we stay in here he'll just go away?"

"Nope," Francis said, and was the first to leave the car, stepping into the dreamy mid September evening, bugs buzzing in the North Carolina grass. Nick rested his wrists on the steering wheel, really not in a mood to contend with this lawman anymore, but he just rubbed his temple, and stepped out of the car as well. He maintained a distance as he let Francis talk with the guy, and opened the trailer they'd been dragging with them. It housed a lot of things that many Z-Men wouldn't take along with them, but Nick and Francis weren't only a couple of the first ones, they had always been the more rebellious ones. There was a reason they were on the top of Creevy's supposed list. The trailer held Francis' Harley Davidson, Nick's vinyls, various other belongings, and crate after crate of liquor. Whenever they found an abandoned or run down bar in The Grey Zone, they would ransack it, taking all the good and favorite booze for themselves. It would be awhile before the really good stuff started coming back, so they just piggybacked on the stuff that had been left behind.

Francis waved off as Jacobs drove away, and he strolled up to his partner. "It's furnished, I guess. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. All the appliances work. The border limits are about a mile that way, downtown is three that way. We've really stumbled into Bumblefuck, Nowhere this time. This is worse than Laramie."

"You're telling me. Between the local fuzz and Creevy I can't imagine how this could get any more terrible."

"Oh Betsy!" Francis cooed at his bike, hopping into the trailer and petting his Harley a bit. "I hope the ride didn't hurt you too much." Nick didn't say anything as he lifted up his box of vinyls and his small turntable. "Hey, I get dibs on the bigger room."

"I get dibs on the better bathroom."

"Fair enough."

Nick didn't say much more as he carried his first box into the house, flipping on a light and frowning. It was pretty threadbare, but wasn't terrible. The main room had a nice stone fireplace, and the steps were carved out of a sturdy looking wood. He wasn't sure how the kitchen was going to look, but for now he just wanted to claim a room and throw himself down on the bed. God he hoped the sheets were clean. It had been a bad day, and if the sheets weren't clean he was going to be even more pissed.

He had started setting up his music in his room (he did leave the bigger one for his partner, as his own not only had a bigger bed, but a nice window that overlooked some of the trees), when Francis knocked on the door.

"What a dump," he grumbled, and Nick shrugged.

"Sheets are clean anyway."

"We'll see about that… How's your nose?" Francis asked, plopping down on the bed.

"Hurts like hell."

"It's still funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"I've been punched like that by an angry chick before," Francis said, grinning at the memory. "But I completely deserved it."

"… You know, I did too," Nick admitted, though he didn't look up from his records. Francis sprawled back on the mattress, and chewed on his fingernail.

"I might be regretting calling the bigger room. My bed is lumpy," the biker stated. "This one seems pretty legit."

"Too bad."

"Nahhh, I think I'm staying here tonight."

Nick shoved him off the bed.

After Francis had left for the evening, Nick turned his record player on and listened to The Dream Academy as he stared up at the ceiling. He'd hoped that the music would have chased his lingering thoughts away, but here he was, mind wandering back to Ellis. It had completely thrown him to see the kid that night, and it brought back a lot of memories and emotions that he'd tried so hard to repress.

He'd had every intention of telling the mechanic that he hadn't meant any of the things he'd said near the Sugar Mill. His plan should have been perfect: just let him think that he didn't care about him until they were rescued. That way the little dolt wouldn't take any unnecessary chances on him, risking limb and life all in the name of…. Well, whatever it was. He was going to wait until they were safe, and sheltered, and no longer in the wilderness. Then he was going to explain everything, and let him know that he DID care about him, more than he'd ever thought he could.

But then they were separated. He hadn't planned for that, or that he would have tested as an Immune, and therefore sent to a whole other ship. He certainly hadn't imagined that he would be forced into experiment after experiment in the quest for a cure, and he REALLY hadn't imagined that they would then draft him for more zombie killing. By the time all of that was done, he knew that Ellis was long gone. He had just resolved to thinking of him as 'the one that got away'. Most people had one. Nick never thought he would, he always figured HE would be the one who got away and was pined over.

He now had to figure out just what he was going to do. Ellis almost certainly wanted nothing to do with him, if the exit from the bar (and the right hook from Rochelle) was any indication. He'd probably been living with Nick's words for the past three years. Shit. He rolled over in the bed, and rubbed his eyes. Three years was a long time to stew. And even if he hadn't meant them, he'd still said them. So maybe that wouldn't even matter anymore.

He'd have to sleep on it. Maybe sleep would be a welcome respite. He let the cotton envelop his body, and shut his eyes tightly. Welcome to Roanoke II, Nicholas, he thought crabbily.

Ellis woke up in a daze to his alarm going off incessantly at 8am. He must have slept through it's whining for at least five minutes, and he clumsily slammed at it, turning it off and rolling over. Even though he'd gone to bed at nine, he still felt like he was at the pinnacle of exhaustion. He'd tossed and turned all night, and had awakened once an hour with a sick feeling in his stomach and a heavy fog in his head. He trudged into the kitchen, desperate for something to eat, and saw that his phone had three missed calls on the answering machine. One was from Rochelle, who'd called at about ten the night before asking if he still didn't want to talk. The second was from Barbara, who had left a message asking if he was going to the town hall meeting and if he would perhaps like to escort her there. The third was from his boss, Rick, at the auto shop, taking pity on him and letting him have the day off since he had to work the day before. And with that bit of permission, he went back to bed. Once he realized that sleep just wasn't going to be in the cards, he moved to the couch and watched a horror movie while eating lunch.

This was ridiculous. He was afraid to leave his house in case he ran into Nick, but at the same time he didn't want to be a prisoner in his own home. That would be giving the guy too much power.

Someone began to knock at the front door, and he paused his movie and wrapped a blanket around himself more, the comforter bringing him a sense of security he really needed at the moment. He opened the door, and saw Barbara on the front stoop, worried look on her face.

"Oh. Hi Barbara," he said, not even trying to mask his disdain at the moment. "I went to the garage and your boss said that you were home today," she said, stepping inside.

"Aren't you workin' at the bakery today?" he asked, and she smiled at him, sitting on the couch and making no comment of the bloody site that had been paused on the screen.

"It's my lunch hour, silly. I was wondering if you wanted to escort me to the Z-Man meeting tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah, I got your message," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm actually not feelin' too well, Barbara."

"Oh no!" she said, standing back up and putting a hand to his forehead. "What's wrong? Is it a cold? The stomach flu? The regular flu?"

"I jus' feel off," he settled with, taking her hand away from his face. "It's nothin', but I think I'm gonna skip the meetin' tonight. Gonna try an' kick it before it gets out've control."

"That seems wise," she said. "I'll just ask Rochelle if she'll go with me. Do you want me to check on you after the meeting is over? Tell you all I learn?"

"Um, naw, that's okay," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sure I can read all about it in the paper tomorrow. Ro's gonna have an opinion one way or the other, she might call me..." She blinked once, and then smiled, even though it seemed a little hesitant.

"Well, okay," she said. "… You should get some sleep if you think you're coming down with something. Turn off the TV and just rest."

"Yes ma'am," he said, and she nodded, touching his cheek. Oh great, he thought, and stepped backwards. "Well, thanks for comin' by. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel better."

"I hope so," she said. "Being sick is no fun. Get some rest."

"Okay." He walked her to the front door, hoping they wouldn't find themselves in that always repeating awkward situation of 'will he kiss me or won't he kiss me?' Because he wasn't going to kiss her. "Well, have a good rest of the day."

"You too, Ellis," she said. "Feel better!"

"Thanks." She walked down the steps and back towards her bicycle, and he closed the door behind him, a whole other sour feeling rising in his chest. So he sat back down on the couch, ignoring her suggestion as he turned the movie back on, and pulled his knees to his chest. Dalton soon joined him, and he snuggled with his cat as he distracted himself.

When the phone rang around five thirty, he swore as he paused his third movie, disturbing the tabby with his abrupt departure. He stamped to the kitchen, and picked up the receiver with a resentful flourish. "Hello?"

"Are you going to the meeting tonight?" Rochelle asked.

"How'd you know I was home?"

"I called the garage and they told me you had the day off."

"Man, Rick hasn't heard of privacy I guess!"

"Are you going tonight?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't feel well."

"Is it because of Nick?"

"No, I don't feel well."

"Because if it's because of Nick I'll be there next to you the whole time-."

"I'm not a baby, Ro! It's not because of Nick!" he snarled. "I think I'm catchin' a cold!" He tried to sniff as hard as he could, hoping it would sound like impending illness.

"Well if you change your mind let me know," she said. "I have a few questions for them that you may appreciate. Such as 'what do you say to those who claim that Z-Men only care about furthering their own agendas rather than those of the greater good?' I was going to say 'pleasure' instead of agendas initially, but decided that would be a little obvious-."

"Fine. Great. Barbara's gonna ask you to escort her to the meetin' tonight."

"What is this? Cotillion?" Rochelle asked, snidely.

"It wasn't MY idea."

"Would you just tell her to knock it off already? I don't want her thinking that she and I are default besties or anything," Rochelle complained.

"You don't have the worst've it, okay?" Ellis stated.

"Are you really going to let him have this much power over you?" she asked, sternly. Seeing as he'd been asking himself the same question earlier, he didn't answer. "…. I think you should go to the meeting. Show him that you aren't scared. Somehow I think he'd get off on it if you were. You don't have to say anything to him, you can just…. Hold your head high."

Ellis sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, and cleared his throat. "… What time are ya headin' over there?"

"It starts at seven, so in about an hour," she said. "At least come so you can protect me from Barbara."

"I should be askin' the same thing've you."

"So you're going?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Good for you," she said. "I have to get back to work-."

"Okay, bye," he said, hanging up quickly. He wasn't too pleased that he'd been convinced to go to the meeting, but he had no one to blame but himself. Once again, he was too susceptible. But at the same time, no. No, goddammit. He was going to that meeting because if he didn't go he would only see a coward when he looked in the mirror. He was going to that meeting, and his head was going to be held not just high, but incredibly high.

Now if he could just guarantee that he would keep this confidence as soon as he saw Nick again.