The rapid beat of the conman's heart was the first thing Ellis noticed when he opened his eyes. He wasn't sure what had woken him, but he was confused by the hummingbird-like thrum that sounded from Nick's chest against his ear, his head resting comfortably on his warm, bare chest. He was still wrapped in the conman's arms and now there was sunlight pouring into the room from the sliding glass door that led to the balcony; the room glowed golden. Puzzled, Ellis blinked up at Nick, who was fast asleep. He looked startlingly young with his hair messy and free from product, cheeks still flushed from consuming too much alcohol the night before, and Ellis found that he loved this rare, unruly appearance. He watched as Nick's dark eyebrows furrowed, as they often did when Nick was stressed, and the conman's heart pounded faster against Ellis's temple.
Is he having a nightmare? Ellis watched the conman, unsure as to whether he should wake him. He didn't want to startle him; he'd seen Nick jolt awake swinging. Instead, he curled closer, and peppered light kisses along his chest, his good hand kneading gently at the conman's back.
"Nick, you up?" he asked innocently, voice soft and calm. The older man stirred, his fingers digging almost painfully into Ellis's shoulders.
"Hey Nick, you awake?" Ellis's own heart had picked up speed, nervous at the unpredictable situation he'd woken up to. The conman's eyes drifted open as his body reflexively jerked out of the nightmare – Ellis flinched, ready to catch his arm if he swung out – but his grip on his shoulders loosened.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake, everything okay?" Nick mumbled sleepily. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun and groaned.
"Uh, yeah, everythin's all good," Ellis replied, studying him with a frown. "You want some water or somethin'?"
Nick shook his head, instantly regretting the movement as it caused the room to spin and he closed his eyes against the spinning, though the dizziness continued to rock his brain. The idea of swallowing anything sounded horrifying as his liver sobbed in recovery from last night's abuse. Even thinking about the bourbon, all those shots, the stupid contest with Francis, the fact that they'd drained two bottles between the two of them…Nick suddenly pushed Ellis out of his arms and sat up as he attempted to leave the bed, but it was futile; he was too tangled in the blankets, and Ellis was completely in the way as he spluttered in confusion. He didn't even hear the younger man, had no idea what he was saying. All he knew was that his throat and cheeks had become watery, his face had gotten hot, his stomach lurching. Nick threw up all over himself and the blanket as he tried to double over and avoid getting sick on the southern man next to him, who was exclaiming in disgust. His throat burned from the acidity of the regurgitated bourbon, and the flavor of the alcohol reuniting with his tongue only induced more vomit.
"C'mon, Nick! Of course, ya had ta get sick in my bed, not even your own!" Ellis complained as he launched himself from the bed, miraculously dodging the emesis without flaring agony up his leg or arm. He didn't bother getting any towels; the blankets were already shot, and Nick was going to need a shower. He watched as the conman pressed his face into his shaky hands, the brown foul fluids streaming down his torso and dripping onto the soaked blanket. The sight and smell stirred nausea in his own stomach, so he made himself busy with starting a shower for the conman; he grabbed his crutches and hobbled slowly into the bathroom. As the water heated up, he brushed his teeth and washed his face, trying not to feel embarrassed by how ugly the healing bruises were. When he came back, Nick had rolled up the blanket to be laundered and looked at Ellis pathetically.
"Sorry," Nick said sheepishly. Ellis rolled his eyes and moved for the conman to slip past him. While he was in the shower, Ellis dumped his bedding in the white plastic bin he'd found in the closet and dragged said bin out of the room, which took quite a bit of creativity and skill, and headed towards the laundry room. When he entered, he saw Rochelle dumping bedding into one of the washing machines, too. He laughed and she turned, surprised.
"What, did Francis puke in your bed, too?" Ellis asked, an easy grin on his face as he claimed a washing machine for himself. Rochelle's cheeks flamed.
"Puke? What? No, it's not…He didn't…Who puked in your bed?" Rochelle stammered. The mechanic raised an eyebrow at her flustered reaction, his grin turning devilish as he realized what was actually on her sheets. But the grin quickly faltered when she questioned who'd puked in his bed. Now it was his turn to grow red and flustered. He dumped a bunch of detergent into the machine and closed the lid with his good arm, hitting the start button, stalling for time.
"Oh my God. You didn't. Did you and Zoey…?" Rochelle squealed, practically dancing in petty excitement. Ellis's face flamed as he vehemently denied doing anything with Zoey in his bed, except, well, she did crawl up and try to make out – Rochelle squealed again, clapping her hands.
"But jus' as she started, tha's when Nick came in. He was super drunk an' laughed at her, an' she got embarrassed an' left," he explained. So far, he hadn't had to lie to her. He hated lying, his ma hadn't raised him to be dishonest. Rochelle heaved a frustrated sigh.
"Yeah, sounds like Nick. What a cockblock," she grumbled, starting her machine as well. Ellis had started to feel relieved, hoping she'd forgotten her original question. That was silly, though; she used to be a journalist. She loved questions, finding the answers, and forming the story. She never forgot anything.
"So, if Zoey left, who puked in your bed?" Rochelle asked, following him out of the laundry room. She patiently matched the pace of his slow limp.
"Well, Nick did," he muttered, terrified of how this would go. He knew Nick was private about his personal matters; he really doubted he'd be okay with the team knowing. And to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure he wanted the team to know yet, either. It was a delicate matter and conversing with Rochelle about this felt like tiptoeing through a mine field. He had to choose his words carefully if he wanted to remain honest without stirring suspicion.
"Nick puked in your bed? Why? How?" Rochelle asked, completely flabbergasted. Ellis wrinkled his nose, heaving a tired sigh as if he'd been putting up with the conman's drunken shenanigans all night.
"Yep. He was so smashed las' night. You shoulda seen 'im. This mornin', he woke up all hungover an' tried ta get ta the bathroom ta, well, ya know, puke, but I guess he couldn't make it. The idjit puked all over my blankets. What a way ta wake up, amirite?" Ellis complained, quite proud of the way he'd remained honest without exposing their sexual relations. Rochelle looked disgusted.
"Ellis, that's awful. He should be doing your laundry for you, what a Class-A jerk! He's got too much pride and ego, that's what it is. He just had to compete with Francis. It's been too long since he's drank like that, he should've known his tolerance wouldn't be what it used to," she said indignantly. The mechanic shrugged, feeling oddly protective over the conman, and bristled defensively.
"Well, he had ta shower, he puked all over 'imself, too. I wasn't gonna wait for 'im to finish showerin'," he replied as nonchalantly as possible. She just rolled her eyes. At this point, they'd arrived at their suites. They paused in the hallway.
"An' hold up – you went ta Francis's room las' night. Those weren't your sheets. Whaddaya doin' washin' his sheets, Ro?" Ellis mercilessly teased, a wicked grin breaking out across his face. Her face immediately burst into flames, and she stuttered as he laughed at her.
"I'm gonna freshen up, God, Ellis! Just find us for brunch or something," she finally exclaimed, rushing into her suite. The mechanic was still chuckling as he entered his own suite. He shut the door behind him and glanced over at Nick's side of the room. Hair still damp, the conman was sprawled out on his bed wearing a fresh 'uniform', one toned arm thrown across his face to block out the light, lips slightly parted as he slept. His broad chest rose and fell slowly, steadily, with each breath, and Ellis found himself reflexively drawn to his side, like a moth to flame. He gingerly sat on the side of the bed, reveling in the conman's fresh soapy, minty scent from his shower and mouthwash. Ellis slipped a hand under the cotton undershirt and dragged his fingers lightly over Nick's stomach, up to his chest. Nick stirred with an incoherent murmur.
"Nick, are ya hungry? Ro an' Coach are gettin' brunch, you can come or I can bring ya back somethin'," Ellis said, mindful of his volume. The conman shook his head silently. It didn't matter; Ellis would bring him back something, anyway. He'd eventually have to eat.
"Alrighty, well, I'll see ya later. Feel better, okay? I'll check on ya," the mechanic said. He'd started to maneuver himself to his feet when Nick grasped his wrist, stilling him. Surprised, he looked down at him. Those deliciously dark eyes regarded him quietly, almost unnerving him, and then the conman was pushing himself up to cup the back of Ellis's head, angling him close, and pressed a warm, heart-stopping kiss to his lips, stealing his breath. The younger man felt almost dizzy when the kiss broke, and Nick gently massaged the wounded shoulder.
"Did I hurt you last night?" Nick asked, his voice low. Ellis leaned into his touch, his stiff, aching, healing muscles loosening with the massage. The memory of Nick shoving him away flashed through his mind and he averted his eyes.
"Naw, I'm good," Ellis said. And he wasn't lying; he had no residual pain.
"I didn't ask if you were good," the conman said, frowning. The younger man sighed.
"Who cares? I know ya didn't mean it, you was drunk," he insisted. Nick kissed him again and Ellis eagerly leaned into it, swiping his tongue across Nick's lower lip.
"I'm sorry," Nick murmured against his lips. He stroked his bruised cheek comfortingly, and Ellis knew he was struggling to express himself, to speak his mind, and that he had so much more he wanted to say but couldn't; maybe he didn't know how, maybe he was too embarrassed. Either way, looking into those dark, sorrowful eyes he knew and understood.
"Don't be, ya already made up for it," Ellis teased with a wicked grin. He was glad when Nick finally grinned back. The conman eased back down against his pillows, stretching languidly.
"Alright, Aylus, don't overwork that leg, alright? Be careful," Nick said with a yawn. Ellis scooted off the bed and pushed himself up with his crutches.
"Aye, aye, cap'n," Ellis said sarcastically as he limped to the door.
"Hey, Overalls."
The mechanic paused, hand on the door handle.
"Bring me back a pack of cigs later."
When he was finally alone, Nick laid there unmoving for a few silent minutes, even after the sound of Ellis's aided hobble disappeared down the hall. He slowly counted to one hundred in his head, and then rolled out of bed. There weren't a lot of opportunities to be alone on this ship, so a single moment couldn't be wasted. Grabbing his keys and jamming them into the pocket of his mandated sweatpants, he pulled the ugly rubber soled shoes on and hurried out of the room, locking the door behind him.
Nick made his way quickly and quietly through the snaking corridors until he reached the lowest level of the ship. The room he sought was placed purposely beneath the kitchen; it was a moderately sized wine 'cellar', dimly lit, unused, and probably forgotten. The shelves were nearly empty because the staff had moved anything worthwhile upstairs. He wasn't sure if they did it to save frequent trips or if they were still scarred from the apocalypse to tolerate the dark, creepy, hidden cellar. Either way, it was the perfect hiding place. Nick reached his destination and let himself into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. There was a long wooden bar at the back of the cellar, behind rows of shelves, and sitting at that bar was Francis. Dozens of papers were spread in front of him; maps, diagrams, confidential files, and sheets of paper crammed with Nick's neat script. The biker looked up sharply at the sound of Nick's footsteps and then visibly relaxed when he recognized the conman.
"Took you long enough," Francis commented. Nick slid onto a bar stool beside the biker and scanned the paper assortment.
"I'm sure that's what Ro was saying in your bed last night," the conman said. He reached for a map of the cruise ship and a red marker, pulling both items to his spot. The map wasn't the one they'd been issued upon embarkment; this was one he'd swiped from the captain's quarters the day before Ellis's release. Ever since they'd set sail, Nick had set aside time every day to sneak around the ship. He investigated the staff, the soldiers, watched and learned their rotations and protocols down to the habits of bathroom breaks, taking diligent notes and drawing detailed maps and diagrams. During a three-minute bathroom break for the captain, Nick had snuck in. To get past the soldiers guarding the door without raising suspicion, he'd worn one of the basic personnel uniforms that he'd stolen from the laundry room and carried a tray of pastries with a pot of fresh coffee, as if simply delivering an afternoon snack to the captain. They key to executing a successful act of deception was confidence. His stroll was casual and carefree, a look of bored indifference on his face as if this was a normal, menial task. He acted like he was supposed to be there, delivering this snack. The soldiers barely spared him a glance, too invested in huddling over a nude magazine to care about a kitchen delivery. Once in the room, Nick had moved fast, knowing he had roughly two minutes to snatch as much as he could while leaving no evidence of the theft. He'd rummaged through drawers, grabbing anything that stood out or seemed informational, knowing none of it would be missed too much; nobody would leave anything too juicy in an unlocked drawer or on an open shelf. It wasn't the first or only time he'd broken into forbidden areas of the ship; he'd acquired an impressive arsenal of confidential material.
"Real funny, Suit. Wanna hear a better joke? You tossing your cookies in the bathroom of an arcade," Francis shot. The conman rolled his eyes, not gracing him with an answer as he pulled their issued map out of his welcome folder, setting it down next to the confidential map to compare them. Using his red marker, he circled differences between the two, sketching small notes and arrows along the margins.
"Have you told anyone else about any of this?" the biker asked, lighting a cigarette. Nick shook his head.
"No. They all lost their tits when I merely mentioned the questionable future, there's no way in hell they would've accepted all of this. I figured I'd just update them once we solidified the facts and came up with a plan. What about you? Have you told Zoey?"
"Nah…she's a strong lil' girl, honestly. I wouldn't want anyone else on my team. But…she's young, you know? It really hit her hard when Louis and Bill died. She looked up to them in a father-and-older-brotherly sort of way, and I think that in a sense, she was trying to fill her dad's shoes with them. You see, her mom got infected pretty quick, right there in their living room, and she bit the father before he killed her. He begged Zoey to kill him before he turned next, and she actually did it for him. She didn't know there was such thing as Carriers. And when she found out later that there was a chance he could've been a Carrier and she might've killed him for nothing… Well, it wasn't a good day, let's put it that way. So now we're on this cruise ship, right? She's lost her family, her comrades, everything. But now she's on this cruise, and it's like Disney – it's got everything. Real food, warm beds, all sorts of fun activities, living people, hell she's even got her little heartthrob Ellis to fool around with. She finally feels safe, and I've never seen her smile like this. I can't take it away from her. What's the point in ruining this short dream for her? We're trapped anyway, ain't nothing she can do to fix anything. May as well let her enjoy all this for as long as possible, right?" The biker sounded so…caring. He was only sixteen years older than her – he was thirty-six and she was twenty - , yet he talked like she was his daughter. It was a reversed situation from Zoey – she looked to older men for a father-figure, and he looked to her as a child. This made Nick feel old because he was only a year younger than Francis, being thirty-five, and then got uncomfortable as he thought about how Ellis was a whopping twelve years younger than him at the age of twenty-three. The conman immediately shoved that realization away before the discomfort turned into disgust.
"You sure are a pussy without your vest," Nick finally commented drily; he had no idea how to react or respond to the biker's surprisingly compassionate speech.
"Bite me," Francis said, lighting a cigarette for the conman before handing it over. For the next twenty minutes, the two men studied the stolen material in silence. Nick had drunkenly confided in Francis at the arcade about his suspicions and doubts regarding the cruise.
"Think about it. Not one word has been said about where we're going and what the next course of action is. All aboard, next stop: a governmental safe zone! What safe zone? Apparently, they're trying to get us to California because the west coast has more locked down safety areas. I call bullshit. I heard the government was trying to separate everyone by colored wristbands; they were making wild accusations about survivors being naturally immune to the Green Flu, Carriers, or just plum lucky. How would you even know without some kind of diagnostic test? There's too many people, too many Infected, and too little time to properly test everyone. People were being slaughtered in mass panic. This whole thing is because of the government – they've lied from the very beginning. 'Wash your hands!' Nah, wash my ass, CEDA. It's a whole scheme, I know it. This virus had to have been engineered, and then those morons literally dropped the ball. If they really were trying to truly save us, they'd take us to Alaska, or Africa, or anywhere away from the United States and fucking Canada. I'm telling you; this is a trap. I don't trust anyone working for the government. We're sailing to our doom. Probably some kind of medical experimentation camp to be studied like rats; they'll poke and prod and try to figure out why and how we're alive and how they can use that information to work on a cure or a vaccine. Seriously, Francis, think about it. Why haven't we been debriefed on California?" Nick slammed back a shot in conclusion, staring at Francis with an intense, challenging glint in his eyes. The biker frowned in thought, nursing his own drink as he considered what Nick said.
"I just…. I don't understand how they would think they could accomplish something so sinister without a better cover. They're giving crumbs. Doesn't that seem off-putting to you? Maybe they don't obsess over every little detail because it's as simple as it sounds. We're going to a safe zone in California. What more do you want? You sound like one of those conspiracist nut-jobs," Francis finally said, though his eyebrows furrowed in discontent. Nick gave a bitter laugh.
"No, it's not off-putting. It's a perfect cover, actually. Every good liar knows to 'keep it simple, stupid'. The more extravagant the story, the more details and intricacies, the easier it is to get caught in your web of lies, easier to fumble the ball or make a mess. You never offer more than what is asked, and you answer in as few words as possible in a way that is difficult to formulate more questions in response. Sound familiar? It should; it's how this cruise line has been acting. And nobody cares, nobody questions it. Why? Because they're all a bunch of panicking, traumatized sheep desperate to save their skin and find a sliver of normalcy for their overstimulated brains. A locked down safe zone on the other side of the country? Hell yeah! And we get to take a fantasy cruise there? By golly, it couldn't be any better unless – oh, God, is that Marilyn Monroe completely naked and covered in chocolate sauce with whipped cream on her nipples? This really is Heaven; the government really does love us! All they want is for us to be happy, warm, and safe – this is me motorboating Marilyn's titties brghhh – and the government definitely would never lie to us, lead us to slaughter, or anything other than deepthroat our dicks 'til they gag. Wake up and smell the roses, Francis!" he said.
There was silence as Nick ploughed his way through shots like a man guzzling water in the desert and Francis slowly drowned in the deep, dark, terrifying abyss of honesty and cold fact that the conman opened his eyes to.
"Well, fuck. What do we do?" the biker asked, gazing at the rest of their companions, who laughed and played arcade games in ignorant bliss. Nick smiled darkly.
"Well, Scooby, we form our own little mystery gang and foil their plans. And they would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for us meddling kids!" the conman cackled, stupidly drunk. He laughed and laughed until he'd buried his face in his hands and shook in silence, and Francis couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying or simply terrified.
Later, shortly before becoming too drunk to formulate comprehensible sentences, Nick had returned to their earlier conversation and told him all about his stakeouts, thefts, maps, schemes, and plans. He told him about the wine cellar and suggested using it as their secret meeting spot to scheme together and share their findings. This would become the hiding place of all related acquisitions, so that nobody would discover anything incriminating in their suites, whether it be snooping staff or wandering companions.
So here they sat, in their silent attempt to save an entire cruise line of people from the government.
"There's a few interesting differences between the two maps," Nick said, breaking the silence. His partner-in-crime looked up from the notebook he'd been reading.
"Look, this box here represents the wine cellar. Clearly, it's not on the distributed map. Now follow my finger. This is an entire hallway that shouldn't exist. I'm think it's some sort of – God, I'm cringing even saying the stupid phrase out loud, but – secret passage. Wipe that dumb smirk off your face. It stretches from the upper deck all the way to the captain's quarters. There are other rooms, too, that aren't shown on the distributed map but are on the confidential map. It's like half the ship is some kind of whacked out Ghost Ship. We gotta check it out, get a feel for the true layout."
Francis looked at the paper thoughtfully, forehead creasing with alarm and disappointment – he'd hoped that Nick was crazy and paranoid, and that the cruise ship really was nothing but a cruise ship innocently taking them to a safe zone. He turned his attention to the honest conspiracist.
"So…If I'm Scooby, does that make you Shaggy?" he asked. Nick stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered. Francis smirked smugly.
"Well, last night you called me Scooby."
"First of all, I was plastered. You're not Scooby, you're Velma; a fucking nerd who never gets ass. I'm obviously Fred, the good-looking leader."
"Fuck you, I look hot in glasses."
The day wore on as the two very similar men studied, bickered, joked, and plotted in the secrecy of the hidden cellar, eventually cracking open abandoned bottles of wine to make the meeting more tolerable. On the other side of the ship, Ellis had returned to their suite with a to-go box of sandwiches and fries. His eyes immediately went to the bed he'd left the conman lying in but was surprised to see it empty. The sheets were wrinkled and haphazardly thrown to the side, as if he'd made a hasty exit, and that was very unlike the conman, who obsessed over tidiness. Ellis frowned, wondering if maybe he'd gotten sick again.
"Nick?" Ellis called out. He set the to-go box on the nightstand and hobbled over to the bathroom. But when he opened the door, he was only met with darkness. And the balcony was empty, too.
Right before he started to worry, there was knock on the door of the suite.
"Where've ya been?" Ellis asked, swinging the door open. But there wasn't a handsome, dark-haired, perpetually scowling man standing before him; it was Rochelle, with her hands behind her back and huge grin on her face.
"What are you talking about? We just spent half the day together. But I come bearing gifts!" she said cheerfully. With a dramatic flourish, his companion brought her hands around and triumphantly held out the gift: Ellis's hat. It was worn out and soft with age, colored a grungy gray where there was once white, but it looked cleaner than it had in a long time.
"Ta-da!" Rochelle sang. The southerner let out a joyous whoop and snatched it from her hands, his entire face lighting up with a huge grin, eyes misting as he enthusiastically plopped it on his head and adjusted it to his liking.
"Ro! Where'd ya find it? My hat! God, I've missed it real bad," he exclaimed. He leaped forward and dragged her into his arms for a giant, crushing bear-hug. She laughed, squeezing him equally as tight, her own eyes shining wetly from the emotional sentiment of the hat.
"Girl, you better tell him how you really got that damn hat."
They both looked to the source of the deep, amused voice; Coach stood behind Rochelle with an affectionate smile on his face, arms crossed proudly over his broad chest. Rochelle heaved a mock sigh.
"Yeah, yeah; Coach went down to the sterilization bay and spent, like, an hour asking around for your hat. Finally, they relented and turned it over to him since it'd been sterilized," she said. The youngest member of the group was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child on Christmas morning.
"Ya'll are the best, honest ta God," he announced. "Thank ya'll so, so much."
For a few minutes, Coach and Rochelle played fun at Ellis, teasing him about the hat and swapping amusing stories of all the adventures it'd been on. Then Coach's eyes swept the room over Ellis's head.
"Where's our little sourpuss?" he asked. Ellis was reminded of what he'd been doing before his friends had showed up at his door and he shrugged with a frown, toying with the brim of his hat.
"I dunno, I was lookin' for 'im before ya'll got here. Have ya'll seen 'im anywhere?"
The two other companions shook their heads.
"Weird. Not very Nick-like to jus' up an' disappear. I'm go wander 'round the ship an' see if I can find 'im," Ellis said. Rochelle scoffed.
"You won't have to try hard, I'm sure he's in one of the casinos," she griped, earning a laugh from Coach. But she was wrong; he wasn't in any of the casinos, nor the bars. For nearly two hours, Ellis roamed the ship, looking for Nick. Part of him was mildly concerned and wanted to check on him, but a very overwhelming part of him was simply excited to show him he'd gotten his hat back. As he started heading over to one of the 'restaurants' to meet the rest of the companions for dinner, having given up on finding the conman, he saw a very familiar face towering over the crowds.
"Francis! Where ya goin'? Have ya seen Nick?" Ellis greeted cheerfully to the giant biker. Francis waved and fell into step with the younger man; they were heading in the same direction.
"What's up, brother? I'm just heading to grab some grub. Spent the whole day in the casino with Nick. Sometimes I gotta remind him what a true winner looks like, ya know?" he said, boasting casually with a smug smirk. Ellis frowned.
"Ya'll were in the casino all day?" the mechanic asked, his stomach suddenly twisting uneasily. He'd searched the casinos – all of them – very thoroughly for the conman, and he knew for a fact that neither one of the men hadn't been in any of them.
"Yeah, literally just left! You shoulda seen what a sore loser Nick was," Francis replied with a chuckle. "He'll be here any minute, he wanted to shower before dinner. You know what a neat freak he is."
Ellis felt cold and clammy, alarm bells going off in his head. He knew the biker was lying, that they hadn't been in the casino, and now he was very concerned. There was no reason why they'd lie about where'd they been. There were only so many places they could've truly been, what could they possibly have been doing that needed to be covered up? One thing he knew for sure was that Nick would never lie to him. He excused himself from the biker, saying he'd forgotten the cigarettes he'd promised Nick, and went back to their suite. He was limping as normally and casually as he could, focusing on the rhythmic clicking of his crutches against the floor with every step, but his heart was hammering anxiously in his chest, and he'd started to sweat. The mechanic struggled to calm himself, repeating in his head like a mantra that Nick wasn't a liar, he'd never lie to him.
When Ellis finally reached the suite, Nick was just tugging his clean shirt over his head. Those dark eyes raised in surprise at the sudden, unannounced entry, and then his face lit up in amusement.
"Would you look at that; Aylus got his hat back," the conman teased warmly. The older man adjusted the crooked hat for him, his lips still tilted in a bemused smile, and Ellis forced himself to smile back.
"Yeah, Coach found it for me, ain't that awesome?" he said, his chest rising and falling quickly as he caught his breath from the hustled limping he'd done to get back to the suite. Nick gave a hum of agreement.
"So, where've ya been? I brought some food for ya earlier but you wasn't here."
It was the moment of truth and Ellis felt like he couldn't breathe as he gazed steadily at the conman, the professional liar who easily returned his gaze calmly and casually, unflinching and without hesitation.
"Oh, yeah. I got bored laying around, so I went to the casino with Francis. Whooped his ass and mopped the floor with his tears, it was great," Nick replied, smirking. Ellis felt like he was going to vomit as the conman's lies sank into his chest like a dull knife. It didn't make any sense; the conman had never lied to him before.
"Did ya? Tha's funny, 'cause I looked for ya an' you wasn't there," Ellis said tightly, a forced, stupid smile still on his face as anxiety ate away at his intestines, slithering around and around his spine. He was gripping his crutches so hard his armpits went numb. The conman shrugged nonchalantly.
"You probably went to the wrong one," he said simply. It was getting harder to remain calm as anger started burning through his throat.
"Nah, I looked in all of 'em," Ellis replied, false cheerily. Nick's face grew cold, eyes narrowing in irritation as the mechanic continued to push. He no longer looked humored.
"Well, Overalls, then you obviously just didn't see me," he said, voice edgy and annoyed. He spoke as though issuing a warning, warning him to stop interrogating. But Ellis didn't stop; he was beyond caring.
"You're right; I didn't see ya. Because you was never in the casino. Where'd ya go, Nick?" This time, Ellis wasn't smiling or faking any kind of pleasantries. His face had turned hot and flushed with anger, and his breathing was nearly audible as he fought to remain calm. They'd never truly fought before; there was never a reason. The most they'd ever done was bicker and quickly move on.
"What're you, my ex-wife? I gotta write a whole report any time I go anywhere or do anything? Do I have to ask permission, too?" Nick snapped. Undeserved fury radiated off the conman in poisonous waves, polluting Ellis's mind and causing his skin to crawl. His arms shook with the effort of continuing to hold himself upright, but the younger man refused to budge from his spot, as if sitting down would shred him of all credibility and dignity. So instead, his chest heaved with strain and his forearms trembled as he stubbornly stood before the other man, his baby blue eyes glittering in unabashed anger.
"Don't be a dick, I jus' never thought you'd lie ta me. Guess I shoulda known better, huh? Once a liar, always a liar. You ain't as different as I thought you was," Ellis seethed. His words clearly struck a chord in Nick; a fleeting look of shame and hurt crossed the conman's handsome features before twisting into a bitter scowl.
"You have serious issues. We're on a ship in the middle of the ocean, where the fuck do you think I went? We have one drunken night together and you turn into a clingy bitch, already digging your insecure claws into my back and immediately accusing me of being a liar just because you didn't see me? What are you, a hawk? Maybe I was in the fucking bathroom when you came in. Am I allowed to take a piss? Or do I have to go find you next time to hold my dick for me? I forgot I don't know how to wipe my own ass. I'm not some leashed pet of yours, I don't have to be at your every damn beck and call, Ellis," Nick snarled. The mechanic looked as though he'd been slapped. His cheeks flushed, eyes going to the ground in pain and embarrassment, and he took an uncomfortable, small step backward. If he'd had a tail, it would've been between his legs, like a kicked dog. Just the sight of the young southerner was enough to fill the conman with guilt.
"Is tha' how you see it?" Ellis mumbled, unable to meet Nick's angry eyes. "Jus' a…drunk night?"
There was a heavy silence in the room, a big, wet, hot blanket that suffocated the life out of both of them. Nick watched, unspeaking, as the tired mechanic limped slowly to his bare bed and sat down on the exposed mattress. The crutches toppled carelessly to the floor, but the younger man hardly seemed to notice or care; he scooted back and leaned heavily against the wall, shoulders sagging.
"Ellis, please. Drop the dramatics, you're too old for this shit. Let's just go get some dinner," Nick finally said, voice falling flatly in the thick cloud of tension that had cast between them. Those soft blue eyes still wouldn't look at him and remained casted downward in sad disappointment. That was worse than the anger. Nick would've preferred yelling and shouting over the depressing, anxiety-ridden disappointment the mechanic exhibited. He couldn't stand the fact that the mechanic refused to look at him. It…hurt.
"I know you was never in the casino," Ellis said softly.
"I'm not arguing over this, it's fucking stupid. You obviously didn't look hard enough, there's nowhere else on this damn ship for me to go. You can sit here and sulk all you want over nonexistent problems, but I'm going to get some dinner," Nick said, the bite gone from his voice. He paused for about a single heartbeat, dark eyes scanning his silent companion before exiting the room, slamming the door violently behind him. Ellis hardly flinched, having expected the slam. He sat on his bare bed in the silence, unable to believe that it'd only been just that morning that he'd woken in Nick's warm, strong arms. That it had only been this morning that Nick had kissed him so sincerely. Blinded by hot tears, Ellis reached into his pocket and pulled out the unopened carton of cigarettes he'd gotten for the conman per his request. He viciously ripped the plastic off, angry whimpers choking up his throat, and then flung the carton as hard as he could against the opposite wall. Cigarettes flew all over the room and he found himself jumping off the bed to storm towards the scattered pile, uncaring of the hot agony that shot up his injured leg, practically reveling in the pain. He used his good leg to stomp the cigarettes, grinding the mess into the floor, shouting wordlessly. The anger, fear, and hurt weren't satisfied. Chest heaving, Ellis limped to the desk and grabbed a pair of scissors. Piece by piece, he tore his splint off his injured arm, throwing the broken bits of hardened dressing and bandages to the floor until his trembling arm was free. It ached as he tested the flexibility and strength, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
Exhilaration spread darkly through his hot bloodstream with every act of defiance. The mechanic limped to his crutches and grabbed them. He swung violently at the desk over and over, splinters of wood exploding as the crutches shattered apart and ate away at the desk. He continued to beat the now useless device against the desk over and over until he didn't have enough to hold onto, and then he threw the remnants at the wall, satisfied when a small dent appeared in the wall.
When he'd exhausted every last drop of energy and strength, Ellis dragged himself painfully to his bed and flopped down onto the mattress. Face buried into his pillow, the mechanic sobbed, hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, searing pain throbbing at his arm and leg. If he couldn't trust Nick, who could he trust?