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DISTRACTION

Ellis had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but his eyes were so heavy he supposed it couldn't have been long. The sun was still low in the sky, the mechanic guessing it was before seven in the morning, and pale light had begun to fill the room. The first thing he did was glance over at his roommate, still sound asleep and breathing deeply to prove it. The fact that Nick was a quiet sleeper was some small relief, at least. Keith snored like a beast.

Not wanting to wake the man, Ellis gathered up his clothing, still piled on the floor where he'd dropped it the night before, with the intent to dress in the bathroom opposite. As he bend over to scoop up his coveralls, he couldn't help but hiss slightly, wincing in pain at the movement. He snatched the clothing quickly so he could stand upright again, adjusting his stance to one that caused him the least discomfort. Aw man. Gonna be walkin' like a cowball all day, ain't I? He thought to himself, slowly gathering the rest of his belongings before leaving the room, very conscious of how his footsteps might look.

When dressed, his filthy closed starkly contrasted his now clean appearance. He'd shaved the stubble of that had grown across his cheeks and chin, cleaning the razor and leaving it by the bathroom wash basin, should Nick or Coach (or Rochelle, he guessed) wanted to use it. He hadn't realised just how much the hair on his face had come through over the past few weeks, and smooth skin felt blissful in comparison, once the shaving rash had gone down. His arms still bore battle wounds, however, though most of the bigger cuts were healing over nicely, a burn to the back of his hand where he'd thrown it up to protect his face against a spitter still looked pretty gross, however. Rochelle had insisted he leave the bandage off, get some air to it, now that it had stopped bleeding and weeping constantly. Still, the skin, red and blistered, was not the prettiest sight.

But that didn't bother the Georgian too deeply. He'd never been the kind of guy to get stuck on appearances, and after finally lacing up his boots, he gave his reflection a quick glance, straightening his cap, before leaving the bathroom and walking downstairs with the softest footfalls he could muster.

Everyone else was still asleep, which Ellis was somewhat glad of for once. Walking still hurt, but he knew he had to get rid of that as quickly as possible if he didn't want the others questioning him. Would they guess why he was walking strangely, if they saw? He didn't want to even consider it, so took it upon himself to wander the lower floor of the house, checking the doors and windows for any sign of break-in. All their barricades were the same as they'd left them, and the world beyond the walls of the small-town house seemed quiet.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday evening, but Ellis couldn't quite stomach the idea of food quite yet. He settled for pouring a tall glass of water from the tap, a splash of orange cordial added to it that he'd found in one of the cupboards, and his stomach silenced itself for a time, though he could still feel the ache that always accompanied hunger. He walked and sipped at the drink, until reasonably satisfied that he was walking normally (even if it did still hurt), and he flopped himself down onto the couch, draining the glass and stretching to put it on the coffee table in front of him.

It looked like the kid of houses people had in his neighbourhood back home. A small family place, where the lounge and kitchen were the hubs of the household, the former larger than the latter, in this case. There weren't many photos around the place though, which was a major difference between this house and Ellis' own family home. His mother had all but plastered the walls with pictures of herself and her son, extended family, Ellis' friends, her own friends. She'd been a huge fan of photographs, and possessed albums full of photos, particularly of Ellis. When Keith came over, the mechanic's best friend took great pleasure in asking to see them, watching Ellis' mother light up with excitement as she sat him down, drawing out one of the large annuals from the bookshelf, settling herself beside the young man to talk him through each of the pages. Keith would nod and comment, laughing when he needed to and 'aww'ing at the right moments... but Ellis never missed the glances and smirks that his best friend would throw in his direction at every available opportunity.

He wondered what the homes of his new friends were like. In fact, he tried to recall what he knew of their families. He knew Rochelle was single and had her own city apartment, and he could vaguely remember Coach talking about his elderly parents, so perhaps he lived with them to take care of them. Nick, however, never said anything. He'd mentioned his ex-wife a couple of times, though never in detail. Out of all the group, Nick was the one he probably knew least about. Was that why he was always so interested in the guy? Ellis had a habit for always wanted to get to know people, so Nick had posed something of a challenge to him. He'd never intended to 'get to know' him as well as he had last night, though.

He felt a painful twinge, and decided not to follow that particular train of thought.

He finally settled on reading some of the old sporting magazines he'd found underneath the coffee table, guessing there was definitely a man about the house when the place was still inhabited. Soon enough, he was able to lose himself in the months old articles about car races and baseball games, to the point he didn't realise he was the only one away until he heard Rochelle's foot hit the slightly creaky floorboard towards the bottom of the staircase. "Mornin'!" he said in his usual bright tone, perhaps a little too aware of his attempts to seem like nothing had happened. She returned the greeting, though a little more tiredly, and padded past to the kitchen, her socks treading quietly across the carpet and tiles. He heard the cupboards being opened, and guessed that hunger had woken her. While their dinner the previous evening had been good, it was the first decent meal they'd had in a while. Best to stock up on food while they could, he supposed.

Soon, they were joined by Coach, also clean-shaven. Ellis then noticed how their clothes, while still stained, both looked strangely clean compared to his own. Perhaps he was caught staring, as Coach dropped himself into the armchair, explaining "Master suite got it's own bathroom. We washed 'em in the tub last night and let 'em dry while we were sleepin'. Guess we should'a suggested you do the same, young'un..."

Ellis chuckled, nodding as he looked down at his own blood, dirt, and bile-stained shirt and coveralls, making a mental note to do that when they got the chance. Rochelle was soon in the room again, the smell of toast wafting in with her. "Bread was kind of stale, but still good. It'll taste just fine like this," she explained as she placed a large plate with what looked like half a loaf of toasted bread down onto the coffee table, Ellis's eyes instantly lighting up as he darted forward for a slice, his stomach seeming to sigh in relief that the introduction of real food. Butter had melted into the toasted (and in a few places, slightly burnt) bread, and soon Ellis was returning for second and third slices, though both Rochelle and Coach seemed to be eating with the same enthusiasm, at least. Soon enough, the plate contained only crumbs, and it was all Ellis could do not to lick them up. Coach took it away, wanting to get himself a drink anyway, and Rochelle was soon back down to business.

They needed to plan a direction, she said. Aimlessly wandering wouldn't do them any good, according to her, and she'd soon located a set of drivers maps on the narrow bookshelf in the corner of the room, putting them out on the table and looking over them, tracing her finger along various routes and roads. Ellis contented himself with watching her for a moment, before a clatter on the seat next to him made him jump. "Check 'em over, will ya? Didn't get me much sleep last night, and figure you know your guns better than me."

Coach patted the young man firmly on the back, returning to his armchair as Ellis nodded, smiling, and set to work sorting the guns and ammo piled next to him, retrieving a cloth from the kitchen so he could wipe the blood and mud stains from the metal. He was no gun expert, but he knew enough, he supposed. Rochelle piped up every now and then with route suggestions, Coach just humming in assent, and Ellis picking it up as a thread of conversation for him and Ro to go back and forth about, the morning having quite a relaxed feel to it. A welcome change! Ellis was almost enjoying himself, polishing guns and talking about plans with Ro as if they were preparing for a potential vacation...

He was much less relaxed when he heard a door slam shut upstairs. Nick was awake.

"Finally," Coach had mumbled, eyes still shut as he remained on his armchair, Rochelle smiling and shaking her head, getting up to locate a ballpoint pen so she could start marking her maps. Ellis bowed his head, suddenly very interested in the safety locking mechanism on the handgun he'd been wiping clean. His hearing was fixed on the upper floor of the house, only half-paying attention to Rochelle as she suggested they check out some of the larger towns next, in case there were other survivors or the authorities there, Coach mumbling how finding others might not be the best idea. Whilst they debated the pros and cons, Ellis heard the bathroom door open once more, and the sound of shoed feet on the stairs.

He was sure his face was heating up. He hoped beyond hope that he wasn't going red.

"Someone looks better when they're cleaned up! Shame the suit doesn't wash up quite so well."

The mechanic glanced up, Nick's sarcastic grin sending a small shiver through the base of Ellis' spine, prompting him to quickly grab up the dirtiest weapon on the pile, his shotgun, and setting to work cleaning up. His teeth were tightly gritted together, far too much attention being paid to the reasonably simple task... but he was left to it. Nick didn't so much as acknowledge him, and neither Coach nor Ro seemed to pay heed to the silence between the two men. As Nick stalked past to the kitchen, Ellis risked a sideways glance, missing Nick's face but catching view of his suit-clad back before he disappeared from view. He released a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding. Why had he become so nervous all of a sudden? His attention on cleaning the shotgun faltered, becoming more lazy again, his mind elsewhere, distracted by the man in the kitchen. Distracted by one recurring thought...

What's gonna happen tonight?