Authors Note: I'm gonna continue with this back-and-forth between Nick and Ellis' POV's, I think. It's something I haven't really done before, and I'm kind of enjoying it 8D
EVALUATION
Empty.
Nick didn't know what he'd expected to see as he rolled over the following morning, light from the uncovered window filtering easily into the room, burning through his eyelids and forcing him to blearily blink his vision into focus. The kid had clearly got up some time before, made his bed (it was strange to think of Ellis as the kind of guy who tidily made his bed each morning), and had gone to meet with Ro or Coach. He could faintly hear the hick's voice, though not well enough to make out the words, so at least he knew all was well in the house.
It was a relief, really, to wake up in the room alone. The previous night had been a real spur-of-the-moment event, and now they'd have to deal with whatever consequences came of it. When it came to sex, Nick had an unfortunate habit of acting without forethought, which resulted in more than a few sticky situations for him to talk his way out of in the past, and a few lessons that had been learned the hard way. After that one time in Reno, he learned to always remember your partner's name after you screwed them, unless you wanted a sharp knee to the balls.
Ellis' towel was hung over the end of the bed, his clothes and boots gone. Nick groaned his way from the blankets, body aching profusely with a dull throb that came from the day upon day of survival. It was improved by last night's events, he admitted, as the relief had been much-needed, and took some of the weight of their situation from his mind. Funny how the world seemed that much simpler when you had someone to fuck, Nick thought to himself with a smirk. A smirk which quickly fell from his lips, when he realised he was already assuming this was going to happen again. That he and Overalls would fall into some kind of regular pattern of the kid bending over whenever Nick needed him to.
It was a one off, he reminded himself sharply. A desperate one-off. Come on, Nicholas. You can do better than him.
Could he, though? Really? Pickings for sexual partners were slim, to the point of near non-existence. He could try harder with Rochelle, he supposed... but for some strange reason, he couldn't help but think he'd prefer the Georgian mechanic over the reporter from Ohio. Why? He wasn't sure himself, considering the reasons in his own mind as he heaved himself to his feet, crossing the short distance to grab the hick's towel from the end of the bed.
He'd already successfully made a move on Ellis, and the kid ended up being quite... receptive to what was going on. He'd also seem embarrassed by it, meaning he wasn't going to go talking about it with anyone, thus keeping the dynamic of the group intact. He wasn't going to get pregnant; an experience which Nick definitely didn't want to have to go through again, and especially not in the goddamn zombie apocalypse. He tried to argue to himself that Ellis was the logical choice. The easier choice. Whether he was being honest with himself or not was another matter. Nick found lying an easy thing to do, even to himself.
Towel in hand, he left the room, ignoring the mingled voices downstairs as he crossed the hallway to the bathroom, closing the door a little louder than needed, just so they knew he was still alive. The room was small, but reasonably clean, the house having survived the apocalypse well so far. The small town they'd found themselves in must have evacuated quickly, as there were few of the shambling undead here, and they'd yet to see one of the special infected. The interiors of the houses all showed signs of having been abandoned in a hurry, but apart from that, they appeared to be untouched. Being able to sleep in a house not covered in blood and debris was a small return to normality they'd all been thankful for. Dropping the towel on top of the closed toilet seat, Nick began to peel his clothes from his skin, catching sight of his haggard face in the mirror. He'd seen better days. I've also seen worse, he reminded himself, and set to work.
When he finally made his way down the staircase that led from the upstairs hallway straight into the living room, he was greeted with a low whistle from Rochelle, followed by a chuckle. "Someone looks better when they're cleaned up!" she says, looking up at him from her cross-legged position by the coffee table that sat in the middle of the room. "...Shame the suit doesn't wash up quite so well."
Nick gave a sarcastic grin in response, dropping it quickly and instead surveying the room. The state of his suit, his best suit, irked him to no end, but he had a feeling that no amount of detergent would ever get it back to pristine white again. True, he could swap out for different clothes found in one of the houses, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Sentimental value, he supposed, and he appeared to not be the only one. None of the group had changed their outfits (though the bloodstains on Coach and Rochelle's closing seemed to have faded significantly. Had she washed them?). The other three had been up for some time, Rochelle now having returned her attention to a map spread out on the coffee table in front of her, Coach sat in a large armchair, head leant back as he gave a nod good morning to the gambler, before letting his eyes close, clearly just enjoying the opportunity to relax, for once. Ellis was across the other side of the room, sat right in the middle of a three-person couch, the entire weapons cache of their team spread out on either side of him as he went over the guns, checking, cleaning and reloading them each in turn.
Ellis had been the only one not to acknowledge Nick as he'd entered the room; something neither Ro or Coach seemed to take notice of, but was clear as day to Nick. The youngest of them just continued to run the kitchen cloth in his hand over the shotgun half-resting in his lap, the tension in his jaw so tight it was visible, if you cared to look. He stared so hard at the gun as he worked, it was little surprise he didn't burn a hole through it.
At least he hasn't said anything.
It was clear from their usual welcomes that neither Rochelle or Coach had any idea what they'd missed on the previous night, and Nick would rather have it kept that way. Rolling his eyes at the hick, Nick walked on through and made his way to the kitchen. The only thing that could make sex better was following it up with a shower, strong coffee and a cigarette the following morning. He intended to fulfil this need as soon as he could.
Was he just imagining the intense look Ellis had been giving the shotgun shifting to glance furtively at Nick's back as he left the room? Probably.