A/N: I'm happy you've made it to this chapter! It's a long one, but I hope you enjoy it~ Unfortunately, I don't own anything associated with the L4D franchise.
It was like nothing had ever happened.
"C'mon Ellis, rise and shine! We got a cruise to catch!" Rochelle sang, ruffling his sandy locks. The young mechanic blinked blearily, glancing to his side, and noted that his bedmate was gone, leaving nothing but wrinkled sheets and neatly folded pajamas. Memories of the previous night felt fake, like he'd only imagined it. Imagined the conman's strong arms around him, holding him tight, laughing at the mechanic's tears. Imagined an hour of hushed conversation in the darkness, Ellis listening as Nick told him of life in Vegas, only the good memories, never once interrupting with a story of his own because he had Nick opening up to him. He'd fallen asleep in that warm, secure embrace, Nick's deep voice murmuring about crazy parties he'd attended slowly fading into nothing. Waking up alone, Ellis hardly believed any of it had ever happened. He stretched languidly with a yawn and then reached for his hat. Rochelle got it first and flopped it onto his head haphazardly with a laugh, earning a good-natured grin from the younger man.
"Where's everybody?" he asked, clambering off the pull-out bed. He accepted clean clothes from Rochelle, disappointed that his Midnight Riders shirt was still too wet to wear; Coach had taken everyone's clothes and scrubbed them in the sink with soap and water and had laid them out to dry. The humidity didn't exactly encourage the drying process.
"Nick was up first; I think he's out stocking the boat right now. Coach went to go help, but he told me to get you up, we're running out of time to get to the port," Rochelle replied as Ellis changed out of the pajamas and pulled on the hermit's jeans and dry-fit long-sleeved shirt, colored the same light blue as his eyes. The pants were too big, and she laughed as she went to fetch him a belt.
"Yeah, real funny; you're not the one who's gotta get all chafed up from too-big jeans," Ellis complained, pulling the belt tight until the jeans were snug around his hips. She shrugged, pointing at her own outfit; an undershirt tucked into gray sweatpants.
"True, but I'll be sweating my ass off in these sweatpants until our clothes dry, so I guess we'll both be miserable together," she said. "Coach and Nick are too stubborn to wait; they're wearing their own damp clothes."
That didn't surprise him; he'd probably fall over if he saw Nick wearing anything but his suit in daylight hours. The two teammates brushed their teeth together quickly before joining the others outside. Sure enough, Coach was loading the last box of food into the boat while Nick finished filling the engine with gas he'd found at the back of the hermit's house.
"Alright, everyone get in, we've got six hours to make it to the port," Nick ordered. He didn't have to say it twice; everyone quickly poured onboard, taking up the same assigned posts they'd had yesterday as Nick started up the engine.
Navigating through murky waters once more, Ellis stifled a yawn and chanced a glance at Nick. The conman was a picture of his usual neat, collected self, his dark hair styled away from his handsome face, shirt perfectly buttoned. His lips were curved into a frown of concentration as he avoided fallen trees and boulders. Ellis's chest warmed at the image of Nick standing behind the wheel, highlighted by the sun, and he couldn't explain why he felt so smug and elated about the bonding moment they shared last night as he enjoyed the current view. He turned his attention back to the tree line before Nick could catch him gawking.
Hours passed and soon the unease of the group grew palpable.
"You sure we're headed in the right direction?" Coach finally broke the silence, speaking the mind of everyone on board. They all looked to Nick, who scowled.
"Yeah, I'm positive. See that dock up there? That's where we get off, the rest of the trip will have to be on foot, and nobody better drag ass because we're going to be cutting it pretty close," Nick said. They shared a collective, solemn nod, and watched as they slowly approached the sketchy dock. The bags of food, weapons, water, and other necessities were divided evenly among the group according to strength; of course, Coach and Nick carried the heaviest packs. And then they were making their way through sticky, sucking, unstable swamp ground as quick as they could, following Nick's lead.
"I think I liked it better on the boat," Rochelle commented, grimacing as she smacked a giant mosquito away from her neck.
"I lost my shoe," Ellis whined, searching the muck for where his sneaker had been sucked off. The conman heaved a sigh, not even turning around or slowing his pace as the team bitched and moaned behind him.
"Coach, you got anything to complain about?" Nick asked sarcastically. The larger man chuckled deeply.
"Don't get me started," he replied.
Ellis miserably pulled off his one remaining sneaker and tossed it into the marsh, his feet squelching in the revolting mud and swamp water that had infiltrated his socks. The journey only seemed to get worse as no-see-ums, gnats, mosquitos, and other relentless bugs constantly buzzed and bit, the brutal sun drenching them all in sweat, and everyone was denied a bathroom break. Nobody spoke a word, not even Ellis; the mood was so sour it could've made a lemon pucker. They simply hiked along, clutching to the hope of being rescued once and for all.
A twig snapped and at first Ellis ignored it, heat exhaustion distracting him. But then a few more snapped, and there was a splash. He finally turned around, just in time to shoot a Hunter that had been attempting to sneak up on Rochelle. The crack of his bullet caused the rest of the team to whirl around, guns drawing up. The Hunter burst upon impact, guts splattering against the trees, and they paused, listening for more. Where there was one, there was always more.
"Good job, Ellis," Coach praised, receiving a tired smile from the younger man. The moment of approval was short-lived; screams, gurgles, and groans erupted like wildfire around them, overpowering the shrill of the cicadas.
"It's a horde, run!" Rochelle screamed, immediately breaking into a sprint. She managed to keep up with Nick and Coach, who led the race, their guns pointing in their own respective directions. Ellis stayed at the back, his backwards run careful and slow, knowing that his group was losing him but also knowing they'd never make it to the port if this horde caught up. He rummaged through his backpack and grabbed a pipe bomb as countless zombies sprang from all sorts of hiding spots in the swamp, chasing after the living, breathing meals they sought. The air vibrated with their howls and shrieks, turning his blood cold despite the heat, and he quickly triggered the pipe bomb, hurling it as far as he could towards the crowd of undead. He could hardly hear the rapid beeping as he took the opportunity to catch up with the group, glancing over his shoulder to watch a large crowd huddle around the flashing light. It detonated with a teeth-rattling boom, effectively destroying a decent portion. Despite the danger of the situation, Ellis broke out into a wicked grin; watching the explosions never grew old, it would always look awesome to him.
"Let's go! I can see the port!" Coach shouted, his AK-47 blasting, nearly drowning his words. Rochelle was panting too heavily to waste air on words; her submachine gun was deafening, anyway. The zombies were catching up, their decaying flesh and rotting teeth assaulting their noses as they gained on them. Ellis threw another pipe bomb, wasting no time in quickly lighting up a Molotov, tossing it as well. Flames erupted into the sky from both explosions, the smell of cooking zombies nauseating. His laughter was drowned out by the deafening booms. Whooping excitedly, Ellis looked towards Nick with wild eyes and watched as the conman continued to sprint, raising his Magnum every now and then to pop off a zombie that got too close for comfort. At that moment, Nick glanced back and caught his eye. His dark eyebrows furrowed, displeased by how far back Ellis had managed to become, and further irritated by the stupid grin on the young man's face.
"Come on, Overalls, pick up your feet!" the conman shouted. Ellis rolled his eyes, cocking his own rifle.
"You try runnin' through a swamp with no shoes, Mr. Fancy-Suit," he hollered, pulling the trigger, and released a spray of bullets at the unliving predators. As if reminding his feet that they were on their own, he lost his footing on a slimy patch of moss and went sprawling across the mud. The fall went unnoticed as the team focused on shooting at the walls closing in on them, their pace never faltering. Ellis clambered up as fast as he could, but he knew he was screwed. His mud-soaked chest heaved as he attempted to catch back up to the team, not even bothering with his gun, knowing that the slightest pause would result in his death. He never ran so fast in his life, his lungs dragging in air painfully sharp, his pupils dilating as they focused on the team, vaguely aware that he could see the silhouette of the port up in the distance. He was almost back at the tail end of the group, relief starting to tickle at his throat, when a jockey latched onto his head and neck, throwing him to the ground face-first into the mud, suffocating him as it humped, beat, and clawed wildly at his back and chest. Ellis fought as hard as he could, refusing to let panic cloud his mind, even as he felt his own warm blood stream down his body and his lungs screamed for air. The weight was suddenly lifted, and he was being grabbed. He waited to be devoured by the horde, but it was a rough human hand that wiped across his face, clearing his eyes of the mud and blood so that he could see Nick's narrow, determined eyes.
"Keep running," Nick ordered, yanking him into step beside him. He couldn't catch his breath; his body fought against his desire to run, and his vision darkened with weakness as Nick forced him to sprint. The conman shot him a warning glare.
"Overalls, you pass out and you're dead. Look ahead of you, the port is coming up. You can make it. Don't stop now, not when you're right there," Nick yelled, leaning over to force Ellis's head up, pointing at the port. It was too far away. They both knew it was too far when they locked eyes, but neither said it out loud. Ellis wasn't going to waste his precious oxygen by arguing, and Nick was too stubborn. The conman wrapped an arm around his waist supportively, protectively, and shot at every zombie that approached them with perfect accuracy, his loyal Magnum not failing him in this dangerous time of need. Ellis finally raised his rifle, deafened by his rushing blood pounding in his ears, dizzy as his blood ran rivers down his chest and back, and fired rapidly, flattening the nearest row. The movies always made running and battling seem so effortless; they failed to portray the exhaustion that grips painfully at your muscles, the burning in your lungs, the dizziness from the adrenaline and effort.
"Coach, help me!" Rochelle screamed as a smoker's tongue wrapped tightly around her hips. Coach took out the smoker before it could begin to drag her away, and was then immediately spit at by a spitter, the green acid pooling rapidly through the team.
"Damn it!" Coach yelled as the initial glob burned his shoulder, slapping the foul liquid off of his skin. Nick nearly slid into the acid, but Ellis yanked him away from the edges, shooting across his face at the spitter, creating another pool of acid for the team to dodge. The ship at the port let out a long honking wail; the soldiers had spotted the approaching horde. They were going to deport before the zombies could get to the passengers. Rage lit the fire within Nick, and he dragged Ellis faster.
He watched as a charger ran towards Coach and Rochelle, unable to help them as he shot at a group of common infected that had started to grab at Ellis, who had run out of bullets in his own gun. The charger ploughed through the other two members, sending them flying forward. They both skidded through the dirt and grass, their bodies rolling and flailing from the impact. Coach was back on his feet first and managed to kill the charger as it ran back towards them, and then turned to Rochelle, who lay unmoving in the mud. He scooped her up and flung her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry as he sped towards the port, determined to make it on board. The ship honked again. They were almost there. They could smell the salt of the sea, hear the screams of the passengers on deck who watched their race and feared for them, some cheering them on. Coach turned every now and then to let loose a spray of bullets until he, too, ran out of ammo. And then he was throwing back pipe bombs as rapidly as he could. Nick jammed his empty Magnum into his waist band as bombs exploded behind him. There was no time to reload, and no point; either they were going to make it onboard, or they were going to die. Ellis was gasping for air violently beside him, but the kid still managed to stay up and running, his big blue eyes focused on the ship. Nick caught his eye and gave him an approving nod, silently encouraging him to keep going. The southerner's bloody lips tugged into that stupid grin that always succeeded in melting Nick's heart. Coach had made it to the boarding ramp with Rochelle; he was being hustled inside by soldiers. The ramp started slowly raising with a creak.
"Race ya ta the ramp…last one…there….is zombie food," Ellis wheezed with a breath of laughter. Nick smirked.
"You're on, hope you're good at jumping," Nick responded. They'd finally reached the raised ramp. He let go of the mechanic's waist and leaped up, grasping the floor of the ramp, and pulled himself up with muscles shaking with exhaustion. He barely managed to crawl up, and then turned and leaned out, extending his hand to Ellis, who was too wounded to pull himself up. The ramp continued to raise slowly, and Nick grasped onto the handrail to prevent himself from tumbling onto the deck.
"Come on, grab my hand," Nick shouted. Ellis jumped, his fingers brushing against Nick's, and then jumped again, this time grabbing the conman's wrist. Relief flooded the mechanic's young, muddy face as Nick pulled his arm up, grasping under the younger man's armpit to get a better hold to heave him on board. And then Ellis was yanked viciously out of Nick's grip by the infected, dragged into the horde below.
"Ellis!" Nick screamed hoarsely, watching in horror as Ellis's body disappeared. It was like time stopped; he could feel each individual beat of his hammering heart, feel the expansion of his lungs. He couldn't hear the soldiers shouting behind him, the screams of the passengers. He couldn't feel the ramp sliding up. His eyes were glued to the horde. And then he was shielding his face from an explosion within the horde. Zombie parts and guts blew everywhere, and Nick watched, stunned, as Ellis stumbled back, arms held up to protect his eyes from the fire that licked at his body. The kid had set off a pipe bomb. Nick laughed, bewildered. But then Ellis was thrown across the dock by a tank that proceeded to smash him nearly through the flooring. Before Nick realized what he was doing, he was leaping from the ship. Ellis was going to make it onto that ship, even if he had to drag him on.
He didn't have anything on him except a hunting knife, but that was all he needed when he landed on the tank's back and drove the blade repeatedly into its thick neck as the zombie pounded at Ellis. Nick put every last drop of strength, energy, and anger into each stab, penetrating as deep as physically possible. It worked. The tank crumpled beneath him, landing on top of Ellis, and the conman hopped off the massive corpse, shoving it aside to pull Ellis free. The younger man was unconscious, and Nick could hardly tell if he was even alive, but he didn't stop. He knelt and hauled him up over his shoulder, his teammate's bloo d quickly soaking through his suit, and he raced through the water towards the ship that had already departed.
"Hey! Help us!" Nick shouted, desperately wading through water despite his inability to swim. He rushed until he was chest-deep, and then he was suddenly smacked with something. A rope ladder.
"Climb!" Coach yelled from where he stood at the top of the ladder. He didn't need to be told twice; Nick launched himself at the ladder, immediately grasping it as tight as he possibly could. His body trembled with the effort of supporting Ellis's weight and his own as his exhausted muscles pulled step by step at the rope, propelled solely by adrenaline at this point. When he was towards the top, Coach grabbed his arms and hoisted the two men onto the deck, yanking the ladder up as well. Nick wheezed for air and rolled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself up to shake Ellis's unmoving form.
"Get up, Overalls, you made it. You're on the ship," Nick gasped, rolling him onto his back. The younger man was beaten so badly he was hardly recognizable, and he couldn't tell where all his wounds were; there was too much blood. Coach knelt and pressed his fingers against Ellis's neck, lowering his ear to his mouth. Soldiers surrounded them, saying things Nick didn't care to hear, his attention glued on his teammates. Coach looked up at him.
"He's alive. He's alive," Coach said, voice thick with relief.
"He's alive," Nick repeated weakly. One of the soldiers called for a medic team, and he was obeyed immediately. The medics slid Ellis onto a backboard, easing him into a C-collar, and carried him towards a flight of stairs leading down from the deck.
"Where are they taking him?" Nick demanded, squaring up to the soldier who'd ordered the medics. The soldier met his gaze levelly.
"To the infirmary in the sanitation zone, which is where you two will be going. You'll be completely sterilized, evaluated for sickness, and – if you pass our requirements – you'll be assigned living quarters. Our designated guide will explain the rest to you, as well as give you a tour of the cruise ship," the soldier said, glancing at Coach inclusively. Nick looked to Coach, who gave an affirmative nod.
"Lead the way, then," Nick said wearily.
The conscious half of the team went through the sterilization process; they were stripped naked and given an extremely thorough shower by workers in hazmat suits. Their skin was scrubbed nearly raw with some sort of chemical wash, and then they were dried off in a closet of pressurized air. Neither man spoke to one another during this process, avoiding eye contact, their minds thrumming with questions and concerns. They were then given sterile clothes to change into; a matching set of black sweatpants, fresh boxers and socks, white T-shirts, and gray rubber shoes that had safety grips at the bottoms. Nick felt like a patient in a mental ward, watching as the ship personnel inventoried their belongings and placed them into bins labeled by name and date of birth to be sterilized and possibly given back.
A doctor and a nurse fully evaluated them, asking questions about their health, medical and surgical history, wounds, and any symptoms of the green flu. By the time Coach and Nick were given their folders containing their assignment of living quarters, ship itinerary, welcoming information, rules and regulations, and map of the ship, they were both completely drained and hardly capable of formulating full sentences.
"Our friends are in the infirmary…Where is that? Can we see them?" Nick asked one of the guides. She was a small, pretty, young blonde, easily his type – but his thoughts consisted only of Ellis. The girl smiled reassuringly at them.
"They're still being sterilized and treated. You'll be notified as soon as they're allowed visitors," she said cheerfully. Nick was already shaking his head.
"No. That won't work. I want to see them. Right now," he snarled. The girl's sweet expression faltered, fear flickering through her eyes, and Coach quickly clapped a hand onto Nick's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, he's just tired, we understand the rules. Please let us know when they've been advanced into the visiting stage," Coach said to the girl. She glanced at him hesitantly, and then gave a small nod before scurrying off to the next set of survivors. Coach twisted the conman around to face him.
"If you do one more thing to risk our passage on this ship, I promise I will suffocate you with a pillow in your sleep and throw your stupid corpse into the ocean. We finally made it on board. Don't ruin this by being an idiot. They're safe in the infirmary. We'll see them later. For now, we need to rest and wait," Coach growled threateningly. Nick shoved his hand off his shoulder, shooting him a glare but remained silent. The living quarters assignment showed that the four of them were going to share two suites next door to one another. Each room contained two queen beds, two closets already stacked and organized with fresh clothing, linens, and towels, one desk, two trunks per resident, and one small bathroom. There was also a private balcony for each room.
"I don't think I have to verbalize the fact that I won't be rooming with you," Nick said flatly as they stood in the doorway of one of their suites, taking in the setting. Coach scoffed.
"Please, I'd rather sleep out on the deck than be your roommate," he responded. He took that opportunity to head into his own suite, the door shutting firmly behind him. Nick glanced around the hallway and then shut himself into his suite, as well. He set the informational folder down on the desk, fingers trailing the glossy front, eyes roaming the comfortable, decently sized room. It was quiet. His nerve endings shook and vibrated in the silence, and he sat down on one of the beds, taking a deep, steadying breath as his adrenaline began crashing.
He never thought he'd be able to fall asleep without knowing the status of Rochelle and Ellis, but then he was opening his eyes to a steady knock at his door. Nick rose, cautiously approaching the door, and looked through the peephole. There was a middle-aged nurse standing outside his door, wearing crisp white scrubs with a red cross on the front and back of her shirt. He opened the door.
"Hello, I'm one of the nurses from the infirmary. My name is Sue. I was told by two of my patients to retrieve you and your friend, Coach. Rochelle and Ellis are awake, they'd like to see you," Sue said politely, formally. A wave of relief so huge it nearly knocked him over washed over his brain, and he nodded. They retrieved Coach from his suite, and the two men followed the nurse corridor after corridor until they reached the infirmary. The ward was larger than Nick had expected, considering they were on a cruise ship, but everything looked clean, bright, and state-of-the-art. She led them to a corner of the ward and drew a curtain back. Ellis was propped up in a hospital bed, Rochelle sitting at his side in a plastic chair.
"Howdy, ya'll," Ellis greeted cheerfully, Rochelle grinning beside him. Coach immediately guffawed, going to Rochelle and gave her bear hug, and then leaned over to ruffle Ellis's hair. Rochelle had a smattering of bruises around her arms and legs, but she otherwise looked fine, a Velcro brace supporting one of her wrists. Ellis, on the other hand, was completely battered. He had two black eyes, abrasions all over his face, a split lower lip, bruising all over his arms, and his left leg was in a cast, elevated by pillows, one arm held close to his body in a sling. He was shirtless, and Nick's eyes wandered over the tanned, sterilized flesh. He had three huge scratches from his throat down to his nipple line. They'd been deep enough to require quite a number of stitches, and Nick knew he had matching wounds on his back from the way the jockey had clawed at him. He didn't even want to think about what kind of internal damage he was suffering. Despite all of this, Ellis was grinning that goofy grin of his.
"Wouldja lookit that, we finally did it. We're on the ship. We're on the fucking ship!" Ellis hooted, his expression pure elation. Rochelle and Coach laughed, but Nick didn't miss how Ellis was careful to not move, or how his tongue swiped at his swollen lower lip repeatedly.
"Does it feel weird to wear something other than a suit, Nick?" Rochelle teased. Nick rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I feel like a mental patient. What about you, Hayseed? Missing your hat yet?" he said, gesturing at Ellis's hat-free head. Ellis shrugged his good shoulder, but Rochelle chuckled, running her fingers through his waves.
"Please, it was the first thing he said when he woke up. 'My hat, where's my hat?' They technically aren't supposed to give clothing back, we have to be uniformed to keep track of who is who between personnel and passengers, but he made such a to-do about it that they finally relented and agreed to give him his hat back once it was done being sterilized," Rochelle said. Coach rumbled a deep chuckle and sat at the foot of Ellis's bed, careful to not touch his broken body. For a long moment, they were all silent, regarding each other, their nerves all completely wired as their adrenaline crashed. Rochelle's eyes were swimming with tears, blinding her, and she gave a wobbly smile.
"I…I can't believe we made it," she finally said, her voice breaking with a sob that she refused to release and instead forced a pitiful laugh to hide the wavering. Coach gripped her hand comfortingly, maybe too tight.
"Gotta say, it got a little hairy at the end, there. Was mighty worried about you and the kid," Coach said quietly. She smiled softly at him, Ellis averting his gaze for reasons unknown to Nick.
"Thanks for saving my life," she said to him. Coach laughed.
"What was I gonna do, leave you in the dirt? I didn't even leave Nick behind, though boy was I tempted! Saved his ass from the water," he chuckled, earning a glare from the conman.
"Yeah, you're a real hero," Nick said sarcastically. He looked over at the young mechanic, who appeared to have spaced out, those light blue eyes focused unseeingly on the floor. Nick frowned.
"Pretty beat up there, Overalls," he attempted to tease, though the concern in his voice betrayed him, and he failed to force a smile. The other two teammates looked over at him, too, and they stared as Ellis continued to space out. Rochelle gently caressed his raw cheek, and he flinched, eyes darting to her. He then glanced at the other two men and realized they were all looking at him. His tongue tentatively swept at his swollen, bloody lower lip and a fake grin stretched across his face, causing the laceration on his lip to ooze more blood. Rochelle quickly dabbed it with a rag Nick hadn't noticed earlier.
"Huh? Sorry, ya'll, I'm pretty tired," Ellis apologized with an embarrassed chuckle; nobody else smiled, the concern not leaving their faces. He huffed.
"Hey – Hey, I'm fine. Jus' a few bumps. A good nap an' I'll be right as rain. An' we don't gotta even worry 'bout no zombies sneakin' up on us in our sleep!" he insisted, that grin still on his face. His fake cheer was starting to boil Nick's blood. He didn't understand why the kid felt the need to mask his suffering in front of his friends; nobody would judge him. His eyes narrowed at the mechanic, who was completely avoiding his stern gaze.
"If you say so, kid. Wait 'til they let you outta here; we got our own suites! Well, not privately. You'll be bunking with Nick. But we do get our own beds for once! And by God, they are comfy. Not to mention, we're on an actual cruise ship. There's all sorts of things to get into around here," Coach said, oblivious to his lies. Ellis whooped excitedly, reaching up with his good arm as if to mess with his hat, a nervous habit of his, until he remembered it wasn't there, and instead ran his fingers through his hair.
"Just a few bumps? Look at yourself, Ellis, you're a wreck. It's gonna take far more than a 'good nap' to fix you up. What're all your official injuries? Why are you lying?" Nick interrupted; a deep frown etched into his face. Coach and Rochelle both glared at him as Ellis's lips parted in stunned silence.
"Why do you gotta be an asshole? Don't you ever get tired of it? Leave the kid alone, he's been through enough," Coach snapped. Rochelle had gingerly taken Ellis's good hand, stroking her thumb along the back of his hand comfortingly, her glower still aimed at the conman. Nick scoffed in disbelief, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning against, uncrossing his arms.
"How the hell am I being an asshole? He's lying! He's not fine, look at him! Am I the only one with eyes and a fucking brain around here? We're a team, we've made it this far together, there's no reason to hide anything. Aren't we all friends? I, for one, thought -,"
"Shut up, Nick! If he doesn't want to talk about any of it, he doesn't have to! It's his choice, not yours. It's his health, not yours. Not everyone likes to focus on the doom and gloom, like you. If he wants to be excited about safety and focus on the present and future, then let him. It's not hurting anyone. The infirmary is taking care of him, and he'll be fine. We couldn't be any safer. Don't you get it? We're safe! Once he's recovered, they'll let him go and we can enjoy our new freedom, together, as friends and teammates. Stop turning everything into a fight," Rochelle burst in, eyes aflame. In her anger, she gripped Ellis's hand too tight and he winced; she immediately eased up and gave him an apologetic frown.
"He should talk about it! It's not okay to keep that shit in, it just makes things worse. It's not 'focusing on the doom', it's accepting the trauma and talking through it with people you trust. And am I the only one wondering what the hell happens next? We're on a ship. Eventually it'll have to dock. What's the destination? What's our plan from there?" Nick hissed, hands curling into fists at his side. Anxiety twisted at Ellis's face and Coach stood up to push Nick against the wall violently. Nick met his furious gaze evenly with his own heated eyes.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Nicholas? Can we have one damn day to relax? One day to be happy and feel safe? Why do you have to constantly be…you?" Coach snarled, Nick's shirt wrinkling in his fist.
"That's not how you survive," Nick snarled back, wrenching out of the other man's grip. He futilely attempted to smooth the wrinkles from his t-shirt, furious gaze still on Coach. The bigger man's expression turned into one of utter rage at those words and he looked like he was physically restraining from beating the life out of the conman.
"You don't have to constantly be in survival mode anymore! We're on a fucking ship in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by sterilized civilians and soldiers! Don't you get it? We're fucking safe, Nick! It's okay to relax!" Coach's voice had grown almost too loud; Rochelle went to him and grabbed his forearm with a warning look, glancing pointedly at the closed curtain as if to remind him they weren't alone and it would be unwise to draw attention. Ellis's eyes were closed tightly as if he was imagining being anywhere else but here, light tremors of pain shivering at his body.
"You should leave," Coach snarled at Nick. The conman crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.
"I don't recall you being in charge of the infirmary, why don't you ask Ellis what he fucking wants?"
All eyes turned to Ellis, who had paled considerably. He wasn't looking well at all; he looked worse than he had when they first entered his section.
"Ellis, are you -," Nick began, but was immediately interrupted by the mechanic.
"I want all of ya' ta go away an' leave me be." Ellis's eyes looked sickly glassy and his words sounded thick and slurred, voice broken with pain and anxiety. Rochelle brushed his hair from his face, frowning.
"Honey, you're burning up," she said softly. His one good hand gripped his sheets tight.
"Yeah, well, I'm in fuckin' pain! I don't feel good! An' ya'll never know when ta stop. Jus'…leave. Send a nurse on your way out," Ellis snapped. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face and he was met with surprised silence; they'd never heard Ellis direct such irritation towards them. He was always so annoyingly cheerful. His head dropped back against the pillow in defeat and he dragged in a labored, pained breath.
"We're sorry, Ellis. We'll let you rest. I'm going to get a nurse to come give you some pain meds, okay? You're going to be okay; I promise. When you want any of us, just let one of the nurses know. We'll be around," Rochelle said, her voice gentle, not giving either man a chance to make things any worse. Ellis smiled at her and accepted the rag to hold against his lower lip himself.
"Damn right I'll be fine. Tha's what I've been tryna say. I'm dandy. I jus' need ta rest. An' I sure would love some pain meds. Don't be worryin' none 'bout me, I'm all good. This bed's pretty cozy, an' Coach's snoring won't be keepin' me up," he said quietly with a light chuckle, sending the bigger man a teasing smile from behind the bloody rag. Coach laughed and ruffled his hair gently.
"Get some sleep, kid. We'll see ya later," he said. Rochelle had ducked out to fetch a nurse, and Coach left to follow her, leaving Nick alone with Ellis. Ellis still couldn't meet his eye, which frustrated the conman.
"What is your damn problem? In case you forgot, I saved your fucking life, so you're welcome," Nick snapped.
"I don't got no problem with ya, Nick. Thanks for savin' my life," Ellis mumbled. The conman scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Don't lie to me, you're not good at it, Hayseed," he said, voice edgy with anger. He wanted to grab the younger man's battered face and force him to look at him. The evasion boiled his blood and quickened his heart rate. He didn't understand; he hadn't done anything to trigger this behavior. There was silence for too long – Nick was ready to shout at him, but then Ellis finally spoke.
"I…I almost got ya killed. You woulda missed the ship cuz ah me. An' ya shouldn't of, ya shoulda jus' stayed on the ship." His throat closed with a repressed sob and he squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation, refusing to look at Nick, refusing to see his expression. Nick gaped at him.
"Ellis…I would never leave without you. If I had to choose between saving your life or staying on board the ship, I'd choose your life every time. I'd never forgive myself. You think I could live happily knowing you'd been torn apart at the dock?" he said, stunned. Ellis's eyes flashed open angrily, filled with tears, a droplet escaping and running down his swollen cheek.
"You don't care nothin' 'bout yourself and tha's gotta change," he hissed. The conman stalked to the side of the bed, where Rochelle had once stood.
"This has nothing to do with that. It's not like I stood there pondering life and decided my life wasn't worth saving over yours. I saw you ripped away from me and watched as that fucking creature pounded you into the ground, and there was no way in hell I could just turn away. I thought you were going to die, Ellis. I mean, I didn't even know if you were even alive when I dragged you to the ship. Of course I went back for you. Wouldn't you have done the same for me?"
Ellis stared at the conman with an unreadable expression, his slashed chest hitching with swallowed sobs, and Nick reached to dry his tears. But the curtain swished open and he pulled his hand back to his side. A nurse entered the 'room', her arms full of medication packages and tubing. She glanced at Nick as she began arranging the bags of clear liquid on his IV pole.
"I'm sorry, but visiting time is over, the patient needs to rest. It's medication time," she told him, not unkindly. Nick nodded silently and shot a final look at Ellis, who was still looking at him strangely. He didn't know what to say, and the kid wasn't talking, either, so he didn't say anything; he ducked through the curtains and left.
The conman released a frustrated breath as he walked slowly down the hall. He wasn't sure where he was or where he wanted to go, or where the others had gone, but he was grateful for the solitude. Ellis's damaged, grieving body was stamped into his brain, his emotional voice echoing his mind, the guilt and desperation of the younger man utterly confusing him. It didn't make sense why he was so worried about Nick's self-preservation, and the confusion made him regret ever telling Ellis about his lack of purpose in living. It's not like he wanted to die, he just wasn't afraid to. What really mattered to him was Ellis's survival.
Nick stopped abruptly in the hall, in front of the doors that led to the deck. Two young children raced past him, their mother trailing behind them, through the doors, shouting excitedly about the slide at the pool. Why did the hick's survival mean so much to him, and since when did that become a thing? He blinked, thinking back. All that came to him was images of Ellis throughout their travels; his goofy grin, contagious laugh, stupid endless stories, unfailing cheeriness, the way he whooped and hollered during horde attacks and seemed way too happy about detonating pipe bombs. The genuine concern he held for the team, his constant positive outlook, and the encouragement he always provided to anyone who seemed tired or down. He was the light of the team, the glue. It was impossible to dislike the mechanic with his bountiful sense of humor, undying loyalty, and ability to make anyone feel better. He was fearless and down to do anything to contribute to the group, no matter how crazy, stupid, or dangerous. One time, they'd been traveling through an abandoned rural area full of ranches and plantations. They had run out first aid supplies and ammo, and desperation had started to set in; all they had on them were a few axes, one chainsaw low on fuel, one pipe bomb, one Molotov, and about two days' worth of food. But then they came across an old plantation manor. It was in awful condition, falling apart, and only needed one storm to send it to the ground. However, on the crumbling, weak roof, was a plethora of supplies. Someone had once camped out on the roof to shoot at zombies and hide out. There looked to be an unbelievable amount of ammo, first aid kits, weapons, food, and more that they couldn't see. Nick had deemed it impossible to obtain; it was way too risky. The structure didn't have the strength to support any weight, it would be stupid and insane to even try. As they quietly crept through the plantation, they'd suddenly heard a huge crash and the team had whirled around. Ellis was hanging onto the gutter of the manor by his fingertips, and the pillar he'd shimmied up had collapsed to the ground. Horrified, the team had all yelled as quietly as possible for him to come down, but Ellis had ignored them all. He managed to pull himself up to the roof and then turned, giving the team a playful salute with a wink, and proceeded to crawl towards the old camp-out. Shingles and clumps of rotted roofing fell to the ground, but he was never deterred. When he reached the campout, he tossed the supplies to them. Med packs, an actual defibrillator, backpacks full of food and water, enough ammo to store away after reloading all their guns, and even a couple of rolled up sleeping bags and some flashlights. The med kits were not only loaded with first aid care; they were crammed with bottles of pain pills and adrenaline shots, too. He'd really saved them. Afterwards, he'd carefully made his way back to the ground, unscathed.
Ellis was so much more than just a valuable member of the team. He was genuinely kind and a good person, always putting everyone before himself. He never attempted to claim the best sleeping situation or last piece of food, and was quick to easily bandage someone up with the last of his medical supplies. That stupid accent of his was endearing, and it was embarrassingly easy to get lost in his beautiful baby blue eyes. He was devastatingly attractive, from his lean body of firm, toned muscle to the way he grinned with perfectly straight and white teeth. Even when he was covered in weeks' worth of dirt and grime, he managed to shine through like a diamond hiding beneath coal dust. Nick would be lying if he said he wasn't fond of that dumb hat of his that he wore so dutifully, no matter what they went through, the hat always survived. It was a part of him. He loved the way he toyed with it throughout the day, from the way he constantly adjusted it due to sweat or movement, to the way he'd flip his hat on backwards when it was dark and he needed to see better.
It was with a sinking, nauseating feeling that Nick realized he'd grown feelings for the young mechanic. He'd hooked up with men before, as drunken one-night stands, but nothing more. It wasn't even something he was open about or told anyone. He certainly never had feelings for a man. But it was impossible to deny the affection he felt towards Ellis, the sexual hunger that warmed his groin when he thought about stolen glances as the mechanic changed, unaware of Nick's gaze, or when he slept beside Ellis and the young man was stretched out all warm and peaceful, his shirt pulled up just enough to tease Nick with a glimpse of his lower abdomen. It was impossible to deny the knowledge that Nick would do anything, even sacrifice his own life, for Ellis, and that he'd never been more scared in his life than when he'd seen Ellis swallowed up by the horde right in front of his face, the memory of Ellis's fingers ghosting his wrist. Nick swallowed with an audible click, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as he realized the truth of his feelings. He wanted the mechanic, in every way possible.
This wasn't good. It couldn't be a thing. Feelings, relationships…they only got in the way of survival. Nick wouldn't allow it. Not for himself, and certainly not for Ellis. Dizzy, Nick shoved the forbidden feelings deep into the back of his mind and forced himself to continue walking.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a review if ya'd like! It's very encouraging and makes my day. Next chapter coming soon! (: