Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters, Valve does.

Barbara Dane had just removed piping hot onion rolls from the oven when Agnes shuffled into the back and informed her she had a visitor. Barbara had been immediately nervous, as she was worried that she would find herself face to face with Mark Creevy for some reason. True, he hadn't bothered her or even contacted her since their confrontation at his apartment, and yet she still had an uneasy paranoia lingering about her. So when she left the kitchen and saw that Creevy wasn't out in the store, she was momentarily relieved.

At least, until she saw that it was Rochelle that was waiting for her. Barbara paused a moment, cautiously wiping her hands on her apron, and put on her bravest and least wary face. She moved to the counter, and tilted her head to the side.

"Hi Rochelle," she said, kindly. "Is there something I can do for you? Would you like a loaf of bread, or maybe some muffins, or-?"

"Actually Barbara, I'd just like a few moments of your time," Rochelle replied, voice a bit sweeter than the blonde was used to. Usually Rochelle would give Barbara as much heed as she would give a gnat. Barbara had tried to be friends with her, as she thought that becoming friends with Ellis' friends would get her some points. But the reporter had never been keen on the idea, and Barbara, try as she might, had never been able to call her a friend. So the fact that she was in the bakery, out of the blue, was off-putting.

"Well, I'm kind of busy-."

"Do you have a break coming to you soon?"

"I can take my break whenever I want-."

"Take it now."

Barbara hesitated a moment, but then nodded slowly. "Where do you want to go and talk?"

"Somewhere private."

"….. I suppose the alley out back would be best."

"Alright."

They walked in silence out the front and around the block, the tension bubbling up more and more with every step. Barbara had a feeling that Rochelle was going to talk about the Tank attack, even if she had no reason to. It was just a feeling she had. She hoped it was just her guilty conscience having a panic attack, but she just knew it wasn't.

They paused outside the back door to the bakery, and Barbara crossed her arms nervously as she leaned against the brick wall. "What can I help you with, Rochelle?"

The reporter said nothing, and merely looked at her with a neutral expression across her features. Barbara met her gaze, and shrugged. "Rochelle. What do you want?"

"… Been getting a bit colder around here lately, hasn't it?" the reporter said, seemingly making small talk. Barbara was caught off guard, and tilted her head to the side. "I mean, I know that I've been reaching for long sleeved shirts more, and I'm from Ohio. We know cold weather up there."

"…. I guess it's getting colder."

"You're from Texas, right? I would think that any temperature change below seventy would just be unbearable."

"I make do."

"…. It was kind of cool last Friday," Rochelle continued, arching an eyebrow. "Were you at the Harvest Festival before the Tank attack? Because I have to imagine that you were wearing a sweater."

Barbara shrugged slowly, averting her eyes. "…. I don't remember."

"Well who does remember what they're wearing the day that something terrible happens?" Rochelle said, flippantly. "Though I do remember what I was wearing the day the Green Flu broke where I was. It was this awesome, bright pink Depeche Mode tee shirt. I love that band, and I loved the way the shirt looked on me. But I can barely look at that shirt anymore. Too many bad memories. It just hangs in my closet, left alone and never worn. Part of me thinks that I should get rid of it, but there's this other part that just can't quite part with it. It will always remind me of those few days I spent with Ellis, and Coach, and Nick… I really do miss the days when that shirt was just my favorite shirt."

"…. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It sucks when your favorite shirt gets wrecked for you, doesn't it?" Rochelle asked, aloofly.

"I don't know, I've never had that happen."

"Really? Never?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Well, what about that lavender sweater I've seen you wearing around town lately? What are you going to do now that it's like good ol' Depeche Mode?"

Barbara shifted her weight. "… I'm not sure what you mean. That sweater is in my closet."

"Is it?" Rochelle asked, tilting her head to the side. "Because some friends and I took a road trip this morning and found one eerily similar to it. Never thought I'd find something like that out beyond the West Gate. In the hands of an Infected."

"….. That doesn't sound like MY sweater."

"Doesn't it?"

"No. Like I said, mine is in my closet," Barbara repeated, and Rochelle snorted, starting to lose her cool. She had half expected the blonde baker to snap by now, as Barbara had always come off as being meek and fragile. Apparently many had underestimated her. This just irked the reporter even more, and so she slapped her hand against the brick wall.

"Cut the crap, Barbara!" she snapped. "I know it's your shirt, just like I KNOW you were out by the West Gate during and after the Tank attack!"

"I don't see how you could know this, seeing as I went straight home after the pie contest and stayed there all night and into the next morning," Barbara insisted, stubbornly.

"Wednesday saw you on your bike the next day, covered in mud and all wet. You were out by the creek and you left your sweater out there to prove it!" Rochelle snarled.

"I don't know who Wednesday saw, but it certainly wasn't me," Barbara said, stiffly. "That sounds like the story of a very sad and very traumatized girl. I feel very bad for her, I do, and I'm not saying she's a liar. I'm just saying that she doesn't know what she saw. And MY sweater is hanging in my closet….. And honestly, if I ever DID lose it, I would just go to Wal-Mart and replace it. I've done it before. I love it, but it's a dime a dozen there."

"Jesus CHRIST Barbara!" Rochelle finally exclaimed, anger finally exploding off of her. "Stop bullshitting me!"

"I'm not doing that," Barbara said, and started to pass the older woman. "Rochelle, I have to go make muffins, so if you'll excuse me…"

The reporter would have loved to take the pan to said muffins and smack the blonde across the face with it. But instead, she decided that perhaps another strategy would work. So Rochelle stepped in front of Barbara's path, and looked at her very, very pointedly. "Barbara. Please. I understand that you're scared. Shit, I would be really scared too. I know you aren't a bad person, I would even go so far as to say you're a GOOD person! A good person who has made a huge mistake. Don't you want to make it right? Think of all the people who lost someone! Don't you think they deserve to know what happened?"

Barbara didn't try to walk around her this time, and for a brief moment, Rochelle was sure that she had gotten through to her. It was clear that for that one moment, the baker wanted to tell her everything. Or if not everything, at least something.

But then Barbara shook her head. "….. And what if I said that more people would be hurt if I said anything?" she asked, quietly. Rochelle began to open her mouth, but Barbara held up a hand. "No, just listen to me!... I don't want anyone else to get hurt. Especially not Ellis."

"... Did Creevy threaten you?" Rochelle asked, reaching for Barbara's shoulders, but the blonde took a step backwards. "Barbara, what did Creevy say? Did he make threats against Ellis-?"

"STOP," Barbara snapped, waving her hand violently. "….. Tell Nick that if he really DOES love Ellis, he should just take the fall for this."

"…. Barbara-," Rochelle began, but the younger woman strode past her, rushing into the bakery through the back entrance. Rochelle scratched her head, and looked at her watch. Time was certainly running out, as Nick and Francis were due in D.C. the next day. True, the hearing probably wasn't for another day after that, but once in Washington they would have little to go on.

She kicked a cardboard box, and stamped towards her car. See if she ever bought cookies from that damn bakery again. But what irked her the most was that mild mannered Barbara Dane had outlasted her interrogation. Back when she was seventeen she could have made any of the girls in her homeroom answer any question she threw at them. Especially the withdrawn and meek ones. While she wasn't per se proud of her Queen Bee behavior, she could at least recognize that it was, in some ways, a gift. So for Barbara to be able to withstand her questions either meant a), Rochelle was losing her touch, or b), she was incredibly determined to keep herself safe. Or, more likely, keep Ellis safe.

"Fuck," she muttered, and stamped out of the alley.


For the entire rest of the morning Nick had avoided any room that Francis was in. If Francis was in the kitchen, Nick was in the living room. If Francis was in the living room, Nick was upstairs in his bedroom. If Nick heard Francis coming, he would automatically stand up and stride to a different part of the house. Seeing as Ellis was following Nick wherever he went, the mechanic had long grown tired of playing a game of, what he called, 'musical rooms'. 'Why are you bein' such a chicken about this?' he'd asked his boyfriend, and Nick wouldn't answer and would instead opt to move to yet another room. After Rochelle had left to try to get some answers from Barbara, Ellis had put his foot down and demanded that Nick go into the kitchen and talk to his partner.

"Why should I talk to him? He's being a huge baby!" Nick protested, and Ellis shrugged.

"Cuz he's one've the only people in the entire world who can stand ya maybe?" Ellis suggested, and Nick scowled. "Just sayin' that you shouldn't burn bridges so easily in that regard."

"Oh ha ha."

"C'mon, Nick," Ellis said, settling on that and that alone, and the older man sighed dramatically before rolling his eyes.

"… You're a pill," the gambler said before leaving the living room and venturing into the kitchen.

Francis was sitting at the table, sloshing a glass of sarsaparilla around pensively, and Nick lifted his eyebrows as he closed the door behind him. The biker looked up briefly, and then focused on the glass again. Nick nearly rolled his eyes, but restrained himself and sat down across from him at the table.

"… So are you going to act like a bitch the entire rest of the day?" he asked. It probably wasn't what Ellis had in mind, but dammit, the fact he was even in here talking to the whiner was, in his opinion, leaps and bounds into the reparative.

"Fuck off."

"I take it that's a yes," Nick muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "So what's it going to take to get you to get over it?"

"I don't know. You dying a painful death?"

"That's a bit extreme."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Nick pinched at the bridge of his nose, annoyed that Ellis had convinced him to do this, and huffed. "Do we have to do this the way we did things back in training?"

Francis finally looked up from the drink, eyebrow arched ever so subtly. "We haven't done things that way since….. Was it Santa Fe? Before the Witch?"

"I think it must have been," Nick confirmed, letting his arm drape behind his chair lazily. "So what do you say? Is this how we're going to work this out?"

Francis pushed his glass away, and nodded firmly. "Yeah. Let's try it. But easy on my ribs."

"Easy on MY chin."

So they both stood up from the table, chairs scraping across the floor, and walked through the back door to the house and out into the backyard.

Back when they were training together, Nick and Francis hadn't exactly taken a shine to each other off the bat. It had started in Rayford, when Nick had called Francis a monkey, and Francis had called him Colonel Sanders. The antagonism had become a bit more belligerent during training, when name calling evolved into flat out verbal abuse towards each other. After one particularly disruptive spat during a session, Morgan had taken both men out of the room and made them march out of the building into the humid D.C. air. Once they were outside, Morgan had simply said 'duke it out'. Both men questioned it, and once it was clear that their handler wanted them to literally bare knuckle box their issues away, they protested. So he downgraded it to a simple round of fisticuffs. To which Nick and Francis reluctantly acquiesced. After a five minute fight, leaving both men bloody and bruised, Morgan asked them how they were feeling. And surprising to both of them, they realized that they felt better. So during training and after they were partnered together, Nick and Francis would duke it out if they got really mad at each other. Morgan said that since they always felt better afterwards, their problems couldn't be that invasive.

Ellis whistled as he walked into the kitchen, his personal goal for the moment to retrieve an apple. As he took one from the bowl on the countertop, his gaze jumped to the backyard, and on Francis and Nick, who had planted themselves about twenty five feet away from the house. Ellis chewed on his fruit and watched in confusion and awe as the two Z-Men exchanged a few words, and then began to throw punches. The mechanic's first reaction was to go out and stop them, and he began to set off for the door. But then he instead decided just to watch carefully, as he was able to recognize that maybe the two agents needed to get this out of their systems. So he observed at a distance, shaking his head and wincing as he munched. He wasn't going to try to understand their friendship, as he found it nice that a couple of introverted and anti-social crabs had become so close. Even if they were beating each other up.

Nick and Francis soon re-entered the kitchen from the backyard, superficial cuts and bruises peppering their already marked faces and bodies. Nick groaned as he sat back at the table, and hissed slightly as he touched a cut above his left eye. "Shit, Francis, I think I'm getting too old for this kind of conflict resolution."

The biker shrugged coolly as he opened the fridge to remove two beers. "Old man."

"You're five months younger than me."

"Whatever."

Nick winced as he shifted his weight and accepted the beer that the biker set in front of him. "So are we cool then? I think you might have ruptured my spleen, so we better be."

Francis took a long gulp of beer, and wiped his mouth on his arm. "Actually, Suit, no. I'm still pissed."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Hey, I'm just as surprised as you are!"

"What's it going to take? Are you going to have to knock out my teeth or some shit?" Nick demanded.

"Jeeze, I don't know! And as much as throwing a few more punches sounds tempting, I don't think it'll help all that much!" Francis growled, crossing his arms. "…. You really pissed me off."

"… Yeah clearly."

Francis' forehead wrinkled in thought, and the biker drank some more beer before continuing. "You were really just going to blow town? I mean, really? Without a word to me or nothin'?"

Nick snorted, not happy that he was, once again, going to have to pay for something he didn't even do. But he nodded slowly. "I was going to leave you a note though."

"Oh wooow, a note, how fuckin' great of you."

"Yeah, I've learned that leaving a note isn't an acceptable form of saying goodbye, okay? So there's no need to harp on that."

"It just pisses me off that not only are we friends, but I've had your back probably a million times and you STILL were gonna ditch out!" Francis snapped.

"A million times, huh?" Nick said, sarcastically.

"Yeah! AND I gave you about five pints of blood when you needed that transfusion! I gave you BLOOD, man!"

"Okay, first of all, the human body only has about ten pints in it, so if you gave me FIVE you probably would have died. Try one pint. MAYBE two if you were a pig headed jerk to the medical staff, and seeing as you ARE a pig headed jerk, sure. I'll give you two," Nick simpered, leaning forward on the table. "SECOND of all, DROP DEAD! You think I'm ungrateful for all that? Because I AM grateful! If I could do the same for you, if you were on a goddamned doctor's slab bleeding out I would roll up my sleeve and tell them to take as much as they're allowed!"

"And yet you were going to take your little boyfriend and vamoose with nothing but a post-it note goodbye!"

"You don't know how long that note was, it was practically a novel!" Nick sneered. "So what, is this about the fact I was leaving, or the fact that I was leaving with ELLIS instead of you?"

Francis' jaw opened, about to protest, but then it shut, and instead snorted. "Look Suit, let's just get one thing straight and clear. I like pussy. Aside from that one time in Santa Fe, I'm all about the ladies and I have a great chick who I really dig! I'm not in LOVE with you or anything-!"

"Well fuck, I know that, I didn't mean it ROMANTICALLY," Nick said, shaking his head.

"Okay, good! Cuz it's NOT that I have the hots for you or anything," Francis said, drinking more beer in a macho fashion as if to further prove his point. "….. But yeah, Suit. Why would you take Motor Mouth with you and just leave me, your PARTNER, in the lurch?"

Ah ha, Nick thought. Well, yeah, that would be a bit less superficial than the problems fisticuffs would usually solve. He scratched the back of his head, and slowly shrugged. "Okay, this is going to sound bad but bear with me… In the note-."

"Oh for God's-."

"SHUT UP. In the note I… I DID tell you that I thought you should run too," Nick admitted. "And…. I DID say that if you decided to run too, we should, like…. Pull some 'Shawshank Redemption' shit and meet at that beach park you liked so much outside of San Francisco."

Francis studied him, trying to discern if the con man was being sincere or merely conning him. "… Point Lobos?" he asked, voice a slightly less frigid temperature. Nick smiled cautiously, and nodded.

"Yeah, that place… Didn't you call it 'Porn Lobos'?"

"Yeah, only cuz there were, like, ten pairs of panties scattered all over the dunes."

"Some of those might have been because of me."

"Yeah, me too….. Well, that's not so bad…." Francis trailed off, and the gambler could tell that he was still a little sore about the whole thing.

"…. And in terms of Ellis and me asking him… Well, I was going to do the same to him, he just caught me and called me out on it."

"So you HAD to ask him?"

"No, I didn't have to," Nick said, firmly, hoping to dispel any thoughts that didn't reflect his true motivations. "I wanted the kid to come with me because I'm crazy in love with him…. And for me that's kind of a big deal. I mean, you DO know that, right?"

Francis couldn't help but chuckle, and nodded as he shrugged. "Yeah, I do. Shit, just you SAYING it is kind of a big deal."

"Right?" Nick said, smirking. "And don't even try to tell me that you wouldn't do the same with Rochelle. I know you would take her over me in a heartbeat. A HEARTBEAT."

"… Yeah, probably." Both of them chuckled sadly, knowing that while they were still partners and loyal to one another until the end, they had both found people who would, ultimately, have to come first. It was different for the two carefree Z-Men, and it was as bittersweet as it was divine.

"…. Regardless, I'm sorry," Nick finally said. "I'm sorry I wasn't going to tell you about that, and I'm sorry I knocked the wind out of you. And punched you in the back. And stomped on your feet and pulled your hair-."

"You fight like a girl, that's all you have to be sorry for," Francis said, and Nick leaned forward more on the table, relieved that he'd repaired the other important relationship in his life.

"Good," he muttered, propping his chin in his hand and drinking more beer.

"And I'M sorry that I was a whiny douche about it," Francis said. "Oh, and I'm also sorry that Rochelle and I totally fucked on this table one night and I never told you about it."

Nick leaped up from the table, spewing beer in disgust and alarm. "JESUS CHRIST FRANCIS!" he gurgled, his neurotic sanitation obsession causing him to writhe and try to futily wipe his hands and arms off on the rest of his body.

"Yeah, it was some night you were at Ellis' place and the moment took us," Francis said, propping a foot on the wood, smiling triumphantly.

"Whatever happened to your 'shared space' rule?" the gambler exclaimed.

"Oh please, you break it too!"

"We don't eat off the living room floor!"

"Speak for yourself, sometimes that's the only place to put a pizza, man!"

"God I hate you!" Nick snapped, and Francis shrugged as Ellis walked into the kitchen.

"Aw hey, you guys look like you're back to normal!" he chirped, and Nick shook his head at his partner, who just smiled at him smugly, his revenge served cold and expertly.

"Yeah, you could say that," Francis said, and Nick was going to really tear into him, but before he could the front door opened.

"Guys?" Rochelle called.

"In here, Cupcake!" Francis called, and grinned at Nick. "She's REALLY familiar with this room."

"I hate you so goddamn much," Nick said as the reporter entered the room.

"Oh good, you guys are back to normal, at least SOME news is good news," she muttered. "Get me a beer, I need it."

Ellis complied, and brought one to her as she sat at the table. "What's wrong, Ro? I take it talkin' with Barbara didn't go so well, huh?"

"No it didn't," she nodded as Ellis started to sit down too, but Nick took him by the shoulder and shook his head. "For being a lackadaisical girl next door she sure knows how to keep her secrets."

"Seriously? You didn't get anything out of her?" Nick asked, crossly. "Jesus Ro, for being a self proclaimed Heather Chandler in high school you sure don't know how to take down the town Betty Finn."

"Oh wow, using Eighties pop culture to wound me, you just keep living up to every stereotype," Rochelle bit back. "Point is, I don't know what to do now. She isn't talking."

"Well we still have the shirt and Wednesday's statement-," Ellis began, but Rochelle shook her head.

"I'm pretty sure that if she hasn't already replaced that shirt she's going to," she said, bitterly. "And I completely believe Wednesday, but others may question what she saw, given her mental state at the time. And I'm pretty sure that Barbara's gonna keep her mouth glued shut."

"Well yeah, she has to keep her ass safe," Nick muttered, but Rochelle shook her head.

"No, it's not because of her," she said, and turned to look at Ellis. "It's because of you, sweetie."

"Me?" Ellis asked, scratching his head. "Why me? What do I hafta do with-?"

"I'm thinking Creevy threatened her," Rochelle explained. "Well, more specifically, you. She basically said that if she confessed, more people would be hurt, and that if you, Nick, really loved Ellis you would just take the fall for it…. I think that she thinks that if she confesses, Creevy will go after Ellis next."

"The hell he will," Nick snapped. "Like I'd ever let him get within a MILE-."

"That may be, but she's pretty convinced of it," Rochelle interrupted. "And she's not budging."

"Great, what are we supposed to do then?" Francis asked, frustration starting to seep in. 'If she doesn't own up to it, we're boned. Like dildo up the ass boned, no offense Nick and Ellis."

"None taken," Nick shrugged, and Ellis slowly raised his hand.

"What if I tried talkin' to her?" he suggested, meekly, and the other three looked at him. "Think maybe that'd help?"

"Psh, yeah right, why would that make any difference?" Nick scoffed, but Rochelle was catching on. She nodded at Ellis, pointing emphatically.

"Actually, yeah sweetie, that would probably help a lot," she replied, and Nick narrowed his eyebrows. "Think about it, Nick. Barbara helped Creevy for him. She's keeping silent for him. I bet she'd confess for him too."

"Ah haaaa, I get it," Francis said, stroking his goatee. "Nice thinking, Motor Mouth. Creevy used her crush on you, now you're gonna do it."

"No I'm not!" Ellis protested, heatedly. "I'm not gonna make goo goo eyes at her or nothin', I'm just gonna ask her, honestly, to please tell the world what happened. She might listen to me."

"She'll listen more if you got you flirt on," Rochelle said, arching her eyebrow, but Nick held up a hand.

"Vetoed," he stated, flatly.

"What, the flirting won't be real or nothin'!" Francis exclaimed.

"Not just the flirting, the whole damn thing!" Nick threw back, angrily. "I don't want him anywhere near that man eater!"

"Um, Barbara Dane is hardly a man eater," Rochelle said, chuckling at the very thought. "I don't think she'd even qualify as a man taster."

"Regardless, I say no," Nick reiterated. "Me or Francis can go talk to her-."

"Oh sure," Rochelle jeered, slamming her hands on the table. "Because she just LOVES you and wants to respect YOUR wishes. Please. She hates your guts, and I'm pretty certain that Francis scares her."

"I am kind of scary," Francis admitted, shrugging.

Ellis looked over at his boyfriend, quizzical and confused. "Why don't you want me talkin' to her?"

Nick glowered at the floor, being out voted but trying to remain steadfast. His face turned gloomier and gloomier as his arms crossed stubbornly. "Can we talk in private, kiddo?" he asked. Ellis exchanged glances with Rochelle, who made an encouraging face, and then nodded.

"Sure," he nodded, and he and Nick walked for the kitchen door.

"Oh, and try not to have sex on the kitchen table while we're gone!" Nick called over his shoulder, snidely. There was enough time to hear Rochelle snap 'Francis!' before the door closed behind them.

Ellis followed Nick up to his bedroom, the tension hanging over him stubbornly. He wasn't sure of what Nick's problem was, but whatever it was it was incredibly personal. He could sense it. He closed the door behind them, and sat on the bed as Nick paced by the window.

"What's wrong, Nick?" he asked. "I mean, are you jealous, or-?"

"Not jealous," Nick interjected, holding up a hand. "Not that. Just… Look, you'll go in there, and she'll have all the power. We need something from her, something that's going to completely change her life for the worse. And if she's smart, she'll know that she has all the aces…. And I just…" He trailed off, scowling again, and leaned against the wall. "….. What if she wants you to sleep with her?"

Ellis tilted his head to the side, completely thrown by such a suggestion. "Oh come on-."

"Two to one that's what happens when you walk through that door, El, I would bet a fortune on it," Nick said, tapping his foot nervously. "And, you know, back in the day I might have liked those odds. Hell, I might have encouraged you to do it just because it would get me and Francis off the hook. I've done stuff like that for other people-."

"For Sam, you mean," Ellis said, neutrally, and Nick paused. The kid was catching on to where all his neuroses came from.

"….Yeah, for Sam… Francis will probably want you to do it. Rochelle, I don't know about her, but she might too. And I know that I should just suck it up and let it happen if it means freedom for us… But I really don't want you to do it," Nick said, somewhat conflicted about how he was supposed to feel about it.

Ellis sighed silently, and then smiled his best reassuring smile. "Well hell, Nick, I think you're just thinkin' in worst case scenarios here!"

"Yeah, well, we can't all be optimistic all the time you know," the older man muttered.

"Sit down," Ellis said, hitting the bed airily.

"I'd rather stand."

"Would ya just sit down?" he repeated, less patient this time, and Nick huffed, but did so, though he kept a small distance between them. Ellis carefully took his hand, and raised his eyebrows at his lover. "I'll do just about anything to get you an' Francis off the hook here, but I probably hate that idea as much as you do, probably even more than you do. So I'm not gonna do that, Nick, okay? There'll be other ways to help you guys."

Nick nodded slowly, somewhat reassured. "… Yeah?

"Yeah," the younger man nodded, and balled his hands into fists. "You know, the more I learn about this Sam guy, the more I kinda hate him. Cuz I know you pretty well, Nick, an' while I bet you acted like that kinda thing wasn't a big deal or nothin', I know you probably hated it."

Nick smirked, the bad memories only getting so far before he shooed them away, and nodded. "Yeah. I was doing a lot of things I didn't want to do because he wanted me to."

Ellis gently rested his chin on Nick's shoulder, and the gambler squeezed his hand tighter. "Well, thanks for not makin' me do things I don't wanna do."

"…. I'm just worried that if I did want you to do it I'd be singing a different tune," Nick admitted.

"I bet not," Ellis said. "I never met that sonofabitch, but I can tell that you're nothin' like Sam."

Nick turned his head to look at his boyfriend, and all out smiled at him. It was for sure a relief, as there were definitely parallels between the two relationships. Hell, the twelve year age gap was even the same. So he placed a hand on the back of Ellis' head, and winked at him.

"Best thing I've heard all day," he said, and Ellis grinned before pecking him quickly on the lips. "Alright. So when are we going to talk to Barbara?"

"We?"

"If you think I'm staying here while you go to her place you're wrong."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Fine, I won't talk to her, but I'm waiting in the car," Nick said as they both stood up. "No way I'm leaving you completely alone with her. If you find yourself in trouble, adjust the shades or some shit."

"Like a spy or somethin'!"

"Yeah, like a spy or something."