Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does.

Author's Note: I will be shifting the Primary/Secondary Characters to whichever two survivors the current chapter is focused on.

Author's Note #2: I skipped Blood Harvest in terms of settings. 'Why?' you ask? I loved the setting of the campaign, by far my favorite since it just reminds by so much of the typical 'let's hide in the farmhouse in the middle of nowhere' that seems oh so common in apocalypse movies. However, The Sacrifice provides me with an easier build-up for these final two chapters.

Ties that Bind

By: Confused Confusion

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Seeing Island to Island

Character Focus: Bill and Francis

"I gotta say it, Bill. I really hate this whole 'island plan' you've got laid out for us!" Francis shouted while ducking, narrowly avoiding a Hunter as it flew by overhead. The hooded Infected landed in a crouch, spinning around just as the butt of a shotgun slammed into its face. Francis grinned with satisfaction while flipping his firearm around, watching as the Hunter stumbled back in a daze. A gunshot later and the Infected's now-headless body dropped onto the concrete.

"Does it look like I care?" Bill snapped back while mowing down three Infected who came sprinting up the dock.

A hiss from behind the train caused the veteran to turn quickly, eyeing the Spitter as it bounded around the locomotive. The pregnant Infected stopped dead as Bill came into focus, a shrill screech emitting from its elongated throat. A bulge built at the base of its neck, the steady stream of glowing saliva from its mouth momentarily ceasing. Bill sent a burst of lead drilling into the lump as it ascended the Spitter's throat. The Infected's neck was all but ripped apart as the volatile substance erupted through the opening. The creature staggered back before falling to the ground, flopping around like a fish out of water. The Infected continued to twitch for a handful of seconds, the glowing substance flowing profusely from the torn throat, hissing and bubbling as it came into contact with the pavement.

"I dunno, come here so I can see your face!" Francis called with a laugh. His mirth twisted into predatory glee as a Boomer exploded from the bushes, the bloated Infected already inhaling. A gloved hand found its way around the chunky neck, squeezing tightly to prevent the disgusting bile from spilling forth. With a mad grin the biker hauled the struggling Boomer to the pier, and with a hard shove, sent the round Infected tumbling into the water. The plump creature thrashed about in the water futilely, angered groans and burps emitting from amongst the splashing.

Francis stared in wonderment at the struggling Boomer from the edge of the dock. "Huh, well what do ya know? Hey, Louis!"

The business glanced over his shoulder, unconsciously reloading his Uzi. "What?"

"Looks like I owe you a beer!"

"Why?" Louis shouted back with a frown.

Francis stepped to the side for the dark-skinned survivor to see, jerking his thumb at the Boomer. "You were right, looks like they actually float!"

Louis stared at the bloated Infected as it jerked around, gradually floating out into the bay area. The businessman's face broke into a victorious grin. "See, I told you!"

The biker shook his head good-naturedly and turned to face Bill's general direction. "I say we just stay here and kick zombie-ass!"

Bill ducked, using the oncoming Infected's momentum to flip the former human onto its back. Without even looking, the veteran lodged a bullet into its skull, his eyes focused on the larger survivor. "We're going to an island, and that's final."

"Bullshit!" Francis barked, a deep scowl imprinted on his features as he leveled another Infected with his magnum. "That plan sucks, there's nothing on those islands!"

The spry old man slowly made his way toward the biker, cutting down any Infected that hindered him. "Precisely!"

"I'm still in favor of kicking zombie-ass!"

"Island!"

"Kicking zombie-ass!"

"Island!"

"Kicking. Zombie. Ass!"

"Island!"

"Charger!"

The two bickering companions were practically nose-to-nose when Louis' warning cut them off. Still glaring at each other, the two took large steps back, unflinching as the speeding Infected shot by. The Charger slammed into a brick wall and pulled back with a stumble, obviously dazed from the impact. The two survivors held their gazes, both lifting their respective firearms and dropping the bulky Infected where it stood without even looking.

"Alright, fine!" Francis growled after a minute. "Island it is, but if we run out of food…I'm throwing your ass on a fire and having a 'Bill Barbeque!'"

Bill released a feral smirk, "I'll risk it, sonny."

"Unbelievable."

Louis glanced at Francis from his seat on the floor of the supervisor's office. "What's up?"

The biker ran a hand over his shaven head. "I know we've holed up in some pretty weird places before…but a brick factory? Seriously?"

"Think of it this way, least we're not camping out in the open." The businessman concluded his logic with a shrug before rummaging through his pack. "Speaking of which, what was the watch order again?"

Francis plucked a box of shotgun shells from his own bag, his answer automatic and mechanical. "Bill, me, you, and then Zo."

As the brunette's name left his lips, the large survivor glanced at said young woman, who was forcefully pulling various items from her bag. A scowl was etched on her youthful features, blue eyes darkened considerably from inner rage.

"Zo."

The youngest of their group either didn't hear Francis, or was choosing to ignore him…it better have been the former.

"Hey!"

Zoey finally glanced up, acknowledging the biker with an irate glare.

Francis lifted an eyebrow, not the least bit fazed by her attempt at intimidating him. The brunette held the gaze only for a breath longer, the fierce expression giving way as her eyes softened.

"Yeah, Francis?"

"…The hell is up with you?"

"It's nothing," the young woman muttered while shifting her attention back to her pack.

"You still mad at Bill?"

Zoey huffed. "Maybe."

Francis snorted while reloading his shotgun. "Yeah, well…get over it."

The young woman shot to her feet, the glare returning to her face. "How can you say that? How can you seriously be comfortable with the fact that we're running away when we could still save lives?"

The biker groaned and turned to Louis. "I do not have the patience for this right now. You wanna take a crack at it?"

The businessman brought his hands up defensively. "No way, man…you're the one who started this."

"Wuss." Francis muttered under his breath, concealing it with an exasperated sigh.

Zoey continued her rant, undeterred by the men's brief interaction. "Why are you defending him anyway? You hate the plan just as much as I do."

The biker eyed her and brought his free hand up, extending two fingers. "One, I'm not defending him. I'm telling you to get your shit together and let it go."

He dropped his middle finger. "And two…when have I ever been fully in favor of a plan that doesn't let me kill a bunch of shit?"

Zoey opened her mouth to protest as Francis went back to finishing the task of restocking his ammunition, but quietly shut it upon realizing that he was right on both accounts…unfortunately. The youthful survivor leaned against the wall in defeat.

"I just don't understand why…we can still fight, we can still help…"

Francis frowned at Zoey's small and distant voice, images of Riverside flashing through his mind.

"Then just ask Bill."

The biker's matter-of-fact tone earned him another glare from the brunette. "I have, Francis."

The tattooed survivor leveled her with a challenging stare. "Have you really asked him…or have you just been complaining to him?"

Zoey appeared flabbergasted, but quickly covered it up by huffing and stomping over to her sleeping bag.

Louis attempted to salvage the situation. "Francis."

The biker glanced at the dark-skinned man, who was pointing at a cracked clock on the wall. "That time already, eh?"

With a grunt, Francis returned his magnum to its holster on his thigh and retrieved his fully loaded shotgun.

"Nice job in pissing her off," Louis commented as Francis trudged past. His tone wasn't mean or mocking, just plain…a simple statement.

The larger of the two shrugged. "Maybe it's that time of the month…"

An empty steel can promptly found its way to the side of Francis' head from the other side of the room, earning a few chuckles from the businessman.

Despite the dull pain in his skull now, Francis couldn't help but smirk. "Nah…she's just fine."

Bill sat on the edge of the tall loading dock, his legs dangling over the edge in an idle fashion. The former Green Beret was ever alert, his M16 never out of reach, but he still found himself enjoying a nice cigarette in the peaceful evening. It was almost worth it…the hell they had to endure day in and day out for the rare, tranquil moments like these. Looking out into the shipping yard, one would never guess that the world was on the verge of collapsing. The only factor that offset the scene before him was that the air was too still. It was as if they were sitting in the eye of a hurricane. They had seen Hell…but they knew that this was only the beginning of what was to come.

Despite being so wrapped up in his thoughts, Bill easily distinguished Francis' presence as heavy footsteps approached him.

The veteran frowned, his moment of peace trampled upon by his large companion. "You're early."

The biker blinked at the terse and dry observation, slightly taken aback by Bill's sudden snippish attitude.

"That's not what the clock says."

"I'm impressed you can tell time."

Coffee-brown eyes narrowed into thin slits, their owner lashing back with equal aggression. "What the hell crawled up your ass and died?"

Bill shifted his cigarette to one side, sliding a winkled hand over his face while sighing.

"Sorry," came the mumbled apology. "This horseshit's just getting on my nerves."

Francis was silent for a moment, remaining a few paces from his companion's seated form. "…You mad 'cause you didn't get any peanut butter?"

The elder survivor eyed Francis momentarily before chuckling. "Yes…that's exactly why I'm mad."

"Figures," the biker smirked before sitting down beside him, eyeing the former Green Beret's source of nicotine.

Francis cleared his throat. "I know how protective you can get with those damn things…but do you have one you can spare, by chance?"

A gray eyebrow rose in amusement, Bill's hands reaching up to dig through his shirt pocket. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

The tattooed survivor ignored the tone of playful ridicule in the older man's voice, instead choosing to focus on procuring a cigarette from the carton before the old goat changed his mind.

"Thanks."

Bill watched as Francis placed the cigarette between his lips, letting the white stick sit there, unlit.

"I'm not lighting it for you…"

"I know." The sardonic reply came, a tone that Francis had grown so accustomed to using when Bill was bitching at him.

"I mean it, Francis. I know you have your own damn lighter…"

"I know, Bill." Francis snapped back, his disinterested manner torn away by a feral growl.

A tense silence lapsed over the two, the only real sound being the chorus of crickets outside. The pair of survivors sat like that for a few minutes, neither moving as they took in the cloud-cast sky.

Francis cleared his throat, "So…I see that you and Zoey are still fighting."

Bill snorted, "When is she not yelling at me about something?"

It was the biker's turn to snort. "True…in her defense though, you are being a little black and white about all of this."

"She's just too young to understand."

Francis shook his head in disagreement. "It's not that she's too young…"

"She's too emotional."

Francis chuckled. "She's a woman, Bill. They tend to think with their emotions."

Bill let out a low, impressed whistle.

The larger survivor raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Didn't know you were capable of such an intellectual thought."

"Har, har, asshole," Francis muttered while shooting the elderly man – whose shoulders were shaking with laughter – a glare. "I've had…experience, if you wanna call it that, with the matter."

At the veteran's curious glance, Francis shook his head. "You don't wanna know."

The duo shared a quiet laugh, and for a brief moment, things were simple again. All the stress and tension that had been building for nearly a month evaporated, their dire situation: a distant memory. Like all things, though, the carefree instant came to an end, basking the survivors in a somber silence.

"In all honesty, running off to an island to wait out the storm…it was the last thing I wanted to do." Bull murmured, suddenly feeling the weight of his age.

"Oh?" Francis hummed in mild interest, the unlit cigarette in his mouth shifting with the gesture.

"I thought like Zoey at one point…I wanted to stay behind and save as many as I could. It's impossible though, simply impossible; just the sheer way that this thing in spreading…what it's capable of producing…there's no way to save everyone."

"I could've told you that."

Bill ignored the biker's comment, his head suddenly perking up as a thought struck him. "Francis, why are you against the island plan anyway?"

"I hate islands." The tattooed survivor responded with a shrug. Francis sighed at Bill's unconvinced stare. "They're too constricting."

"Constricting?" The veteran echoed with a frown.

Francis nodded. "You're constantly surrounded by water with absolutely no escape. It reminds me too much of living in the middle of a city."

"It feels too much like being surrounded by authority…" Bill mumbled, catching onto the biker's train of thought.

"Exactly, except instead of the cops' authority, its nature's. That's why I love the open road so much…there's always somewhere to go, something new to see…without having to worry about authority."

"Understandable." Bill consented with a nod.

"What about you? Why are you suddenly so bent on running away to an island?"

The aging survivor sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Contrary to what Zoey may think, we're all alone now. The Infected are trying to kill us, the military's trying to kill us, and even if we do encounter any other survivors, we'll just end up infecting them and then they'll try to kill us."

Francis frowned. "So it's either go to the island or stay here and die."

"I don't like it myself, but we're saving lives by isolating ourselves."

The biker raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the 'We look after our own' talk?"

"Two birds, one stone."

Francis shrugged and the two once again fell into silence, which was broken by Bill's abrupt sigh.

"God, I'm old."

"I really could've told you that," Francis snickered.

"I mean it, Francis," Bill snapped before sighing. "I really do hope that this is the home stretch…dunno how much more of this I can take."

The tattooed survivor glanced over at his companion. "What are you? Ninety? A hundred? …Two hundred?"

Bill was prompt in shooting a glare his way.

Francis merely rolled his eyes and reached into a vest pocket, dispensing a chrome lighter. Once the cigarette was lit, he took a hefty drag. "Chill out, you're talking like you're dying or something."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not while I'm here."

Bill felt himself smirk at Francis' counter; the sheer sense of vindication that emitted from the large man brought a touch of pride to the veteran. Heaving himself to his feet, Bill leaned against the wall and flexed his leg, allowing blood to flow through his bum knee. The veteran nearly groaned in satisfaction as feeling returned to the limb. Clapping Francis on the back, he chuckled while trudging back to their room.

"You're right, not sure why I was so worried there for a second."

"…I'm not an idiot, Bill."

The elderly man stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the biker's sitting form.

Francis cocked his head, meeting the veteran's eye. "You have my word."

The unspoken promise lifted a great weight from Bill's shoulders, and the elder survivor felt his body relax for the first time in a long time. Nodding, he gave his beard a scratch while hobbling to their room. Bill frowned when he caught sight of Zoey's sleeping bag thrashing lightly about. With a paternal sigh, the old man moved into the room like a man on a mission, but not before addressing the biker one last time.

"…I'm glad…glad that we're actually able to see eye-to-eye on something."

Francis remained unresponsive, waiting until their leader was out of earshot before gazing back up at the sky. The clouds had parted slightly, revealing a small cluster of stars and a crescent moon. Staring at the sight, the biker took a drag on his cigarette before muttering.

"…I just hope that it's not the last time we do…"

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A/N: This was a little later in its release than I had originally intended. The first date was going to be around Halloween, but I was recruited into crazy, drunken shenanigans (I started the night off as Shaggy from 'Scooby Doo' and ended it as Wesker from 'Resident Evil,' my poor little goatee) involving…well, everything that revolves around the holiday, followed by going to see 'Saw 3D' (a decent closer…now they just need to leave the franchise alone for good and not try to resurrect it).

In regards to the chapter, the Francis/Bill bonding didn't really feel as deep as I wanted it to be, but at the same time, that's probably as close as I could get it without it becoming too sappy. For any confusion toward the title: "Seeing Eye-land to Eye-land." I had fun with this chapter, and I personally like how well most of it came out in terms of quality.

Up Next: Zoey – Bill (The final installment. Can I really complete a project on FanFiction? The mission is on!)

As always, reviews and feedback are appreciated.

- C.C.