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Unspoken Laws	By : spongebobsmyhero Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Jonas Brothers Views: 3562 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction! I do not know the Jonas boys, and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Unspoken Laws
- 1
Author's note: Hope you guys haven't forgotten me. So, I spent a really long time writing this! Like, too long. But, I hope it is to your liking, and it is very obviously AU. I got all excited from all the hype about zombie attacks (which I don't believe in, but I think is a pretty cool idea for a story...) and poof. This was born!
There's a bunch of OC's in this fic, so sorry. Hope it's okay.
xx
Unspoken Laws
xx
PPA PUTS PROTOTYPE VACCINE FOR 2.3 VIRUS UP FOR VOTE AT BOMA, SET FOR DEC. 23
By Susan Hallmark, Circulation Editor
On Friday, Nov. 12, senior adviser of Plague Prevention Associates (PPA) Isaac Goldburg announced at a public press conference that the Bureau of Medical Allegiances (BOMA) has agreed to hold a hearing over the newly proposed bill for a mandatory vaccine, labeled Vaccine Delta. If the bill were to pass, all legal citizens of New York will be required to receive a set of four vaccinations over a two-month period, all expenses covered by the new Tax Act set as of past January 2, 2125.
"It's been a long haul," said Goldburg. "But we believe, one hundred percent, that we have what the nation needs."
When asked to comment on the Rebellion 2.3, Goldburg responded, "The NFA has always worked in the best interests of the people, and that includes the group who refers to themselves as the Rebellion 2.3."
Goldburg gave no further comment when asked to elaborate on potential new security measures to protect PPA staff after the most recent bombing.
"The new strand of the virus is only the twenty-third of a constantly changing epidemic plague," said Tish Wonson, head of the medical branch for PPA. "Every day, dozens are exposed to the airborne toxic contamination the creatures excrete, and for every dozen, there is one who will begin to show symptoms within the first four to sixth months. By the time it is detectable, it will have grown unstoppable. The new vaccine will cause these symptoms to become hypersensitive, and will therefore show earlier on, making it easier to treat. The vaccine is by no means a cure, and never has the PPA claimed it to be one. It is merely a new way of diagnosing the patient and preventing this deadly contraction."
President of PPA Joe Adams was unavailable for comment on his latest victory, but Vice President… (Cont'd. on page 8A)
Nick didn't bother to turn to page 8A. Instead, he calmly folded the paper into a neat square, smoothing down the crinkles in the page. A black and white image of Adams' face smirked faintly under his palm. His fist clenched, and the newsprint was suddenly a jumble of words in his useless, useless fist. Shaking, he threw it across the room, over the wire gate and into the fire that flickered with false cheer in the hearth, the only thing heating the broken down apartment building he and his team lived in.
David, having read over Nick's shoulder, pulled a pack of cigarettes he told his wife he wouldn't buy from the pocket of the ripped and stained jeans he'd promised to throw out. He lit a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and took a deep drag before asking of his leader, "Now what?"
"Now," Nick echoed. "You need to call your wife."
"Ch," David snorted. "She's gonna divorce me if you keep this up. Demi may be his secretary, but eventually she's going to run out of strings to pull."
"I don't care," Nick growled, staring into the blazing fire. A small hole of fire bloomed over one of Adams' eyes in the burning newspaper and Nick felt a tremor race up his spine. "I need to see him."
Resigned, David withdrew the phone from his pocket and made the call.
xx
Nick pressed the up button that Demi had directed him towards. The hallway in which he stood was empty, and so was the elevator he stepped into. He hit "30," watched the doors shut, and waited out the ride.
Nick Jonas, leader of Rebellion 2.3, had been public enemies with Joe Adams from the day the man had founded the PPA. Adams seemed to be there shutting down every rally and every protest personally. Likewise, Nick crashed whatever public hearing the man held in his expansive office building with an upwards of fifty of his team. Their outlook on life, and the plague, ran polar opposites of each other. Nick defended the weak and the dying, while Adams defended the healthy from becoming the weak and the dying. Nothing much was said of the constant feud between the two. It was more of an untold story; a known fact. Like the sun set at night; like taxes came at the end of every year, Nick Jonas and Joe Adams hated each other.
The ride seemed to take longer than usual. Nick had these private meetings with Adams at least once a month. Usually twice. Because as much as their ideas and arguments were executed publicly, there were some aspects of it that they preferred to keep under wraps.
Nick knocked on the door, and heard a muttered, "Come in." His heart began to race, determination set deep in his eyes. He turned the doorknob and entered into the room.
Adams was sitting behind his desk when Nick walked into the room. He didn't even look up as Nick closed the door behind him.
"I'm busy," Adams said distantly. He was scribbling something on a stack of papers with a pen that looked like it cost as much as Nick's apartment building. "I'm sure a bit more of a compromise could have been made on your part concerning our meeting time."
"You can make time," Nick snapped irritably, moving to the great desk. It was glass, completely glass except for the thin black wire that framed and connected the pieces. Nick could see Adams' long legs beneath it.
"Excuse me?" Adams said distractedly, carding through the papers with a narrowed look in his sharp eyes, a task that was made considerably more difficult when Nick promptly snapped the papers out of his hands.
"What?" Adams snapped, a sharp gleam in his eyes as he glared up at the man now standing over his shoulder. "What is it you could possibly want this time?"
Nick kicked Adams' chair back by half a foot before sweeping the rest of the papers from Adams' desk onto the floor, scattering them like snow, along with the pen and pencil holder, undoubtedly important documents, ink pads, stamps… and replaced them all with himself. With his hands he eased himself so he sat in the center, legs spreading to accommodate Adams' legs.
Nick smirked. "You," he answered in a low hiss, reaching his hands forward to Adams by his tie, yanking on it like a leash until they slammed into each other, lips-first.
Ad—Joe, now, growled into Nick's mouth, his tongue trying to push its way in, only to be met with a strong resistance. From his angle, Nick had the advantage, and he used it to tilt Joe's head backwards, exploring his mouth with messy and bold strokes of his tongue.
"Fuck," Joe moaned. "Nick."
"Missed you," Nick panted, arms jerkily wrapping around Joe's shoulders as his lover stood, Nick firmly attached.
"Mm," Joe panted, making his way to the door ten feet from his large glass desk. "I'll bet you did."
"Bastard," Nick said. In retaliation, he attached his lips to Joe's neck, biting more than kissing. Joe hissed at the pain of it, and somehow managed to key a six-digit code into the panel by the door, simultaneously locking the door to the office and unlocking the one in front of him. Joe stumbled through, using his free hands to support Nick by cupping his ass, hands squeezing the cheeks through the thin pants Nick wore. Nick purred, fucking purred, Joe thought, his fingers digging into his crack and making the lithe body arch into him.
They fell onto the bed together, Nick furiously scooting backwards while trying to pull Joe with him. But Joe stayed up, straddling Nick's waist and pinning his hands to the headboard and undressing him with the other.
"What took you so long?" Joe demanded. Joe made quick work of his shirt, easily unbuttoning with one hand. He let go of Nick's wrists just as abruptly at he'd captured them and began pulling at Nick's hips with it. Nick wrapped his legs around him, pulling them together tighter. Joe ground down furiously against him, loving the half-pained moans from Nick's mouth, his ears drinking in the sound with a lustful fervor. He painted a river of fire with his tongue down the column of Nick's throat, biting at the area covering his collarbone. He was working his way down towards Nick's nipple when the young man tangled his hair in his hands and pulled up. Joe's hands were working at Nick's belt, never stopping pulling at them even as he hissed, "What?"
"We can do that stuff later," Nick insisted, wriggling his hips and shimmying from his pants. He unwrapped himself from Joe to quicken the progress. "Later," he repeated. "I want you now."
"Fuck," Joe groaned, yanking free the tie Nick had tugged at like a leash earlier. He shed both it and his suit jacket, throwing them away and hearing something break from where it landed. His hands worked at his belt, Nick's feet pushing at his own to get the loafers off. Cool toes ran up his calves and Joe plunged his mouth downwards, tongue slipping into Nick's parted mouth before their lips even met.
"Fuck me," Nick groaned into Joe's mouth, repeating it over and over as their tongues slid hotly together. "Fuck me, fuck me." Joe couldn't tell if it was a demand or Nick's simple meaningless mush of speech, but fuck if he cared because he would take it as the former. Nick had grabbed either side of Joe's shirt and pulled, the buttons popping from their strings and then Joe's pants were down, his cock hot beneath his palm as he stroked and thumbed the wet slit of it.
Tearing their mouths apart a minute later, Nick turned so that his stomach pressed into the mattress while Joe began to dig through the bedside cabinet. Nick put his hands down, ready to push himself to his knees when two strong hands gripped his waist and turned him back over. "Joe? What—nngh!" Nick's eyes slammed shut, his breathy coming out in one long guttural breath. Joe slid his hand between Nick's thighs and quickly inserted a finger, wriggling and thrusting it inwards in long, deep strokes.
"I want to see your face," Joe panted as explanation. Grunting, he reached a hand between them and aligned Nick's erection with his own, pulling and pumping and Nick groaned. How was Joe always so damned hot against him? The tanned body held nothing but white, hot heat. He groaned in pain as a second finger slid in, stretching too quick and too rough and fuck, he'd missed this so much.
Joe's pants were still around his thighs. Nick struggled to pull them down further. Joe began to yank at the back of Nick's shirt with the hand that wasn't buried tightly into him. Neither made far progress. Cursing, Joe removed his two fingers. In half a minute flat they were completely naked, pressing every square inch of skin to each other. Nick pressed open-mouthed kisses to Joe's jaw, mouthing praises over and over against the skin and praying Joe could understand them because he couldn't ever say them out loud. His respect for him, his god damned everything, his loyalty, his passion. Joe slid three fingers into him and Nick bit down on his shoulder.
"Nick," Joe groaned, eyes glazed over like frosted glass. "Loosen your arms, I can't move like this."
Nick didn't retract his arms from around Joe's back. He just spread his legs open further and hooked them about Joe's sides. He lifted his hips from the mattress, his arousal sliding wetly across Joe's abdomen. Nick dragged one calloused hand roughly down Joe's back, making the leader arch and hiss in discomfort, until the hand glided across pale buttocks, reaching between his thighs and helping to guide Joe's erection. He knew the exact position to be in now, had memorized countless techniques to help ease his muscles at the first push. It was a familiar dance; one that would never grow old.
"Haa…" Joe sighed out, then inhaling sharply when Nick squeezed about him. He jabbed sharply with his hips in retaliation, gaining another inch. Nick's thighs shook around him and he was always warm, always hot, always Nick.
"Goo—d," Nick said after a minute in which Joe remained still, making gentle grinding motions with his hips, "Move… Fuck, Joe, move."
Joe didn't need to be told twice. A solid month of wanting, of holding out and waiting for this one damned moment when he'd finally have Nick all to himself. To be able to touch like he wanted. Feel warm skin, be close to a heart that was still beating. His. Nick was all his.
For now.
Fifteen minutes later they lay comfortably close under the blanket Nick had pulled from beneath them. It was warm, and everything smelled like them. It was a scent Nick had long since memorized but could never recall exactly right. There were too many elements to completely rebuild in his memory.
It had been this way for the past five years. During that period of time there were long breaks. Tense communication shared nearly daily, but never much beyond that. They never planned a time to get together.
"Stay the night," Joe whispered, slowly stroking down Nick's cheek. He pressed his face to Nick's head, and then threaded a hand through his mussed hair. He inhaled deeply. Nick smelled so good, like sandalwood. The other hand went to Nick's neck and stroked his Adam's apple, feeling the blood pulse beneath his fingertips. That precious, precious blood.
"I can't," Nick said, but made no move to get up. He ran a hand over Joe's chest and scowled at how perfect it looked. Nick's own body was littered with bruises, burns, his hands rough and calloused. "I need to get home tonight."
"Don't call that hell hole your home," Joe demanded tiredly. Nick scooted further up the bed so that they were now nearly eye level. Careless in the pleasant afterglow of sex, he said, "And there's no need to go home tonight. I know you're planning to bomb Warehouse sector 14 tomorrow at 6. The place is heavily guarded. Neither you nor your men will be getting in."
Nick froze in Joe's arms, eyes bulging. Spy, Nick thought. Who…
"And Foster, before you ask."
"That bastard," Nick hissed, fists curling against Joe's chest. Then he looked up and caught a glimpse of dark brown eyes. No, wait, mad at the wrong person. "You bastard!"
Joe rolled his eyes. "Perhaps this will teach you not to trust everyone who says they think your cause is a good one."
"You fucking asshole!" Nick scathed, obscenities flowing like a river from his mouth. He thrashed, but only in one place, more out of anger than to get away. It wasn't fair for Joe to make him mad like this when he still wanted to spend another two hours in bed with the man. Talking, eating, fucking, for the love of Christ, just sleeping next to each other and finally feeling safe. Inside this room they were still best friends. Lovers. Outside, they were enemies. Nick didn't like it when the two clashed.
"Don't be such a child," Joe snapped, holding Nick tighter to him. "And stop acting so surprised whenever I outsmart you."
"And don't you underestimate me, Joe," hissed Nick. "I can outsmart you, too! Just last week, I…."
"Last week was a freebie." Nick stopped thrashing. Joe paused, as if he was regretting the words that had just come from his mouth. Deciding he might as well finish what he started, Joe grudgingly carried on.
"You were getting sloppy," Joe explained. "Rash, out of place. You would have done your organization more bad than good. Rushing in like you did last week was reckless. You didn't even bother to disable the most general of security cameras. I had to do that part for you. I knew that if you weren't going to get in then, you'd only act brasher. And…" Joe sighed, loosening his grip on Nick. There would be no keeping him here after what he said next. "Zac was in the building at the time."
"Zac…?"
"He was a researcher. I have spies that work on both sides of the fence, Nick. I even spy on my own people. Zac was secretly working to undermine the newest formula for the vaccine we're launching next month. He was going to blow the entire thing. I had to—"
"And he had every right to!" Nick shouted at him, propping himself up on his elbows. "That vaccine isn't doing what you and your shit PPA say it will!"
"Shut up, you think I don't know that?" Joe snarled. He reached a hand up and once again put it to Nick's throat. Feeling the pulse, and that blood. The precious, precious blood that only so few had. "The rumors, the superstitions that have been aroused from this blood type. But I've found a way…"
"No, Joe. You haven't," Nick croaked. Selfishly he wished for another hour, one that could have occurred before this. They could talk about the weather, the games they played as kids, the times before they broke apart and went down separate paths. "You can't change a blood type."
Joe groaned and began to reiterate the information he told Nick every time they had this argument.
"There is only .45 percent of the worldwide population with AB- blood," he said tiredly. Joe tried to wrap an arm over Nick, but he just snapped the appendage away, glaring. "So far, they are the only portion of the world that has remained untouched by the plague. I don't know what it is about our blood that is immune, but whatever it is, it works. No matter how far the plague mutates, we remain untouched. Unaffected. If we can find a way to mutate the blood of the other types…"
"And that's another thing!" Nick interrupted. "The only thing that mutates about this disease is the process. The result is the same. If you found a cure for that…"
"Then people would still be getting sick. Find a way to provide immunity, the source dies out."
"Dies out!? Joe, those are people."
The conversation was toeing dangerous ground. Joe found an easy route out, an age-old argument. "Nick, I have to put a stop to this," Joe sighed, pushing Nick away from him slightly to better look into his eyes. "Every day I worry about those ridiculous riots you so commonly host. I worry that the police will miss a shot. I worry about your home being too close to the Ravine. Every morning, I wake up wondering if border control took a shot at you. Every night I don't get contact from you, I don't sleep. I've given orders to assure your safety, and whilst PR assumes it to be a clever political stunt, the guards consider it to be a weak obstacle to get out of the way."
"Weak," Nick repeated, finally shaken from his silence at the heavy word.
Instantly Joe was on damage control. "That was a bad choice of words," he corrected. "What I mean is… Nick, don't be stupid…"
Nick was already off the bed, and it amazed Joe how fast he was able to gather his clothes. He was wrestling with the buttons to his shirt by the time Joe unfolded himself from the blankets.
"Nick, don't be a child about this," he snapped. "Don't go…"
"And that still doesn't explain the fact that you used me to kill someone," Nick said, ignoring Joe's plea. "Do I look like a fucking tool to you, huh!?"
"Like you don't use me, too!" Joe reiterated angrily. "You think I don't know you sneak through my files while I'm sleeping, on your way out the goddamned door!? You think I don't notice that you move them? You're as subtle as those fucking monsters crawling out the city! The monsters which you're hell-bent against letting me destroy!"
"It's not those monsters you're destroying, but the whole population of New York!" Nick yelled, far past caring who might hear him. He had finished dressing and strode out the door, Joe hot on his heels. "Even if your stupid vaccine does manage to change their blood type, do you realize the long-term side effects? Did you know that a transplanted organ in another body has a lifespan of only a few years? Does it occur to you, even a little bit, that the human body might actually reject foreign blood!? You haven't run nearly enough experiments on this…"
"Because we are running out of time!"
"And what about those people…" Nick said slowly, making Joe wince. He knew this question so well, and every time he was forced to give the same answer. "What about those people already infected? The ones exiled to the other side of the Ravine?"
Joe kept his gaze steady. He was naked, but the natural feeling of insecurity that came with that was nothing compared to the desperate scrutiny Nick was giving him. He loved Nick, and knew that through everything Nick loved him, too. But he was afraid that if he kept giving this answer, even they wouldn't survive it.
Quietly he forced out the words like they were chunks of hot coal on his tongue. "Their loss will never be forgotten."
The door slammed shut behind Nick's back. Lovers in, enemies out.
xx
Nick was thirteen when his mother killed his father. Joe had slept over that night, and they were both thirteen when Joe pulled him by his wrist, dragging him away and shouting for his useless legs to run before he gave up and carried him from the house. Thirteen when Nick moved into a room in the Adams mansion, and sixteen when he ran away, never to be seen again for two tears.
And when Nick did come back, with a group of people and the security that came with his precious blood type, Joe had done more damage than Nick could ever fix.
Nick was pulled from his thoughts when the sound of footsteps set his heart rate off like a bomb. Heart pounding, he whipped his head around. But it was only David, looking bored and slightly scolding. "Catch you off guard?"
"Yeah," Nick panted. "Shit, don't scare me like that."
David didn't apologize. "Stay alert," he reprimanded, "and that won't happen again."
"Sorry," Nick muttered, turning his gaze back to the street. This time he paid attention. His hand fumbled for his water bottle beside him, knocking down the power rifle as he did so.
"Here," David said, handing Nick the bottle. "I was refilling it for you,"
"Thanks," Nick grunted, taking a drink. It was easy to carry extra water with them when they went on these trips. Out of the Rebellion, only five of them had AB- blood, the only type that granted them immunity from the plague. David and Nick were always on the same team. Selena, Aaron, and Matt made up the other.
Thirst quenched, Nick's eyes were drawn to a small cluster of the monsters a block away from their spot atop an abandoned hotel building. There were three of them, and between them was a bundle golden-brown fur. Probably a stray dog. Their hands, mottled and branded with scabs covering nearly inch of their skin, tore and clawed at the poor animal. Their shovel-like hands scooped raw meat into their mouths. Their jaws were perpetually unhinged and hanging open loosely, teeth like gray and black tombstones in infected gums. Saliva and blood ran down their chins and naked chests. One was a female, Nick could see. Her breasts were like water balloons that had sprung a horrible leak, pubic hair trailing greasily down her thighs. Her body, once probably slender, had a bulging gut that was the result of gluttonous feeding. The other two were male. One was missing most of his hair, his fat hanging so loosely his body seemed to quiver like water. His penis was like a limp piece of string, swaying beneath him. The other male was missing his.
Every one of the creatures was blind, all other senses seeming to have stayed intact. They never seemed to care if food was alive or dead when they found it, only that it was edible. Some strung together in groups. It was the most effective way of traveling, as stragglers were usually eaten.
The mutation process, Nick knew, was a painful one. The first symptom was blurred vision when waking up. Eventually it persisted to all hours of the day, followed by complete blindness. At that point they developed a horrible, itching rash that created blisters and boils, even on their scalp. After going nearly mad from the insatiable itch, they began to lose calcium in their teeth and nails, both turning yellow, and then black. Their appetites increased tenfold, and they lost all control of their bladders. The boils and blisters began to pop, which was a worrying sign that put them into solitary confinement. This was when they were most contagious. When the boils popped, they left bleeding gashes and like cotton, the rest of the skin began to fray. Putrid puss formed over the gashes, stopping them from bleeding out. But the degraded humans were kept, all with sometimes the barest semblance of sanity. The last stage was the most pitiful of them all—total deterioration of mental process. Doctors knew they had reached this stage when both of their pinky toes shriveled and fell off, causing the legs to buckle and them to walk awkwardly, sometimes on their hands and feet, as their center of balance was completely thrown.
It was at this point that the "creatures," no longer labeled humans, were transported by helicopter over to the Ravine and to the other side where they were confined by an electric fence, a ten-yard thick cement wall that reached up ten stories, and another man-made trench that plunged fifty feet. By law, the creatures were human, even if they weren't referred to by that term. Committing no crime except for that of existing, the creatures were confined like rabid animals in order to keep the people of England from suffering the guilt of genocide. The area was now a dumping site for all non-recyclable items, the creatures eating up the soils of the city they were once citizens of.
It was wretched, and it made Nick want to be sick.
Nick's nose scrunched up against his face. There were two more coming down the street now, one on all fours and one limping along. The female turned and hissed at the newcomers.
"Think those three are related?" Nick asked, motioning at them with his pen.
"Could be," David allowed. "Make a note of it."
Nick scribbled a quick few lines, checked his watch and wrote the time next to it in the margin.
"You know, I've been wondering something," David said after another ten minutes of quiet observation. All five beasts had departed, leaving the street deserted.
"What is it?" Nick asked, twirling the pen in his hand as his eyes surveyed the streets. There were no more that he could see. Perhaps they should move? David was silent for so long that he was about to suggest they head to the apartment building a few streets up when his quiet friend finally spoke.
"Does Joe know you come out here to study these things?"
Nick froze. Not a single person in the world knew of the real relationship between the leader of the Rebellion 2.3 and the president of PPA. Those who knew them when they were friends assumed the stark difference between their opinions lead them down paths that would never, ever cross again. Their meetings were secret, uninterrupted, and took place in a sound proof room. No one should have known.
But then again, this was David.
"On a first-name basis now, are we?" Nick said airily, praying that his friend would allow him to play it off. But no such luck. The fact that David was pressing this so hard told Nick how long this had been on his friend's mind.
"I've known you for eight years, Nick. Don't mistake me for an idiot."
Nick's eyes narrowed on the road before him. The creatures were quiet when they arrived, and quiet when they left, like leeches crawling up a leg struck into a lake. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," David embellished, "does your boyfriend know you're risking your neck out here two, three times a month?"
Nick debated briefly whether or not to continue to deny it. But he was tired. His argument with Joe last night left his nerves sizzling and his morale a hundred feet below sea level. He missed him, like an organ he'd forgotten on the bedside table that morning in a rush to leave. Being out here was the most dangerous thing known to this century's mankind, and his memories were in movement in his conscious. Like his life was constantly flashing before his eyes.
Finally, Nick muttered a bit petulantly, "He's not my boyfriend."
David snorted. He came up to sit beside Nick on the ledge and folded his arms across his bent knees. "You meet once or twice, sometimes more, a month for a fuck."
"We don't just have sex!" Nick defended automatically. "We do other stuff too!"
"So you fuck and you spend time together. I'd call that boyfriends."
Sensing that there was no way to win this one, Nick rolled his eyes and said, "Call it whatever you want. How long ago did you find out?"
"It's not like I just stumbled upon it one day," David said. "I just knew. From the moment you said his name to me, I knew you hated him. For every reason that you should. But… I also knew there was something else."
Nick didn't say anything to deepen the subject. David and Demi were some of the first few to join him in his cause, followed by several other core members. They branched out from there. Nick could remember each of their faces. Photographic memory allowed him to recall every detail he'd ever learned of their lives. As well as…
"You think I don't know you sneak through my files while I'm sleeping, on your way out the goddamned door!?"
Guilt surged through his veins at the memory, as well as an insatiable desire to abandon his post, run back to the bastard, and apologize. Anything to rid the betrayal from his eyes.
But he used me, too, Nick remembered. To kill someone. He knows I avoid that at all costs. He used me to get rid of the traitor trash in his staff and as a means to label the Rebellion as murderers. He'd never apologize. Ever. So why should I?
Because I always said from the beginning that I'm the bigger man in this. Nick's shoulders hunched at this. This isn't just a game.
"So what happened between you two?" David asked him. "You both have pretty similar personalities, so how did you end up where you are now?"
Nick had told this story countless times, and he went through the very basic motions of it on autopilot. "When we turned fifteen, we found out that his father was leaving the company. His father was dying, and his medical research company needed someone to run it. Joe was next in line, and he'd take over when he turned sixteen. I thought that the first thing he'd do was try and find a cure for all those millions of people in the world infected. To join the fight to heal. Obviously, he chose not to."
Nick's fists clenched and the bottle of water in his hand buckled slightly inwards at the pressure.
"He didn't even stop to think about healing those people. He just wants to cut losses." Nick's glance drew to David's solemn, cloudy blue eyes, which looked more tired and serious than Nick had ever seen them. "Joe doesn't realize that cutting the stem off a weed will only keep it at bay for so long. Without digging out the roots, it will only come back stronger. If he doesn't work on a cure… Eventually he'll need new vaccines to keep up with the mutating plague. And all that could be prevented if he…" Nick cut himself off, burying his face in his hands, breathing deeply. "And now he's lying to everyone, to all of New York. Saying this vaccine will protect them. But it won't, David. He's trying to mutate blood. He's trying to change a person's blood type, and planning to launch it in the next year. Without the proper longitude research to show what'll happen to these people in five years, ten years, twenty…" Nick trailed off again, looking away and back to the vacant street.
David was quiet after his little speech. Then, he said, "I've heard all this before, Nick. Dozens of times. But what I want to know is what happened in the past few years. If you hate him so much, why do you go back to him?"
"I don't hate Joe. Just the things he wants. Joe is still Joe. I've known him all my life. And when I see him…" Nick laced his fingers together and examined his clasped hands. "I forget about this plague. About the dead, the alive, and the dying. I forget that my mother might be out there running around." He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "I forget everything, and I'm so stupid, but so is he. At the time. We're both stupid, just ignorant idiots, and it's the only time I'm happy.
"I left home at sixteen, to try and find people to support my cause. I left England for two years, gathered as much research from neighboring countries as I could, and allies. But by the time I came home, the whole nation was in Joe's hands. He had the finances, the support, the name, the genius, the power… everything that I didn't. No one in England would support me, and before I could get my say in, I was the rebel. The leader of the Rebellion. Unwelcome here.
"I demanded to see Joe. I didn't know what I wanted to do to him. I wanted to kill him, to beg him, to join him… heh, he would've loved that. I was surprised when they let me see him without guards. I figured it was a trap. I was the face of the Rebellion. I was a traitor. I'd left him two years ago and come back only to try and destroy what he was trying to build. When I got to his office, and shut the door behind me, he was there. Standing right there. And everything I was mad at, everything he stood for… it was like there were two Joes. The one I hated, and this one. Genuine. The real deal. And he grabbed me, and I just… Couldn't stop it."
There was quiet for a lasting moment. David watched him for a bit, then looked out onto the street. Everything was still and silenced. The sun was beginning to set. The Ravine, a mile deep fissure that ran eight miles either way from New York, was difficult to navigate across in the dark. They used a system of ropes and pulleys to cross from one side of the other, and they couldn't chance shining lights.
"We should be heading back," Nick said after a while, sighing. "We'll head to a new site in a few days. This place seems abandoned."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," David said calmly. "Move slowly." Nick looked at him in confusion. The dark-haired man jerked his head slightly forward, gesturing behind Nick. Slowly, Nick pivoted his head. Behind him were the five they'd been studying on the street. Three of them had faces crusted in what looked like red dirt, although Nick knew it to be blood.
Slowly, Nick's hand found the slim handle of his gun. He was regretting this before he even started. But every time he blinked, the monsters seemed closer. He could hear their rattling breaths like rusted tin cans over the street. Even their milky, blind eyes had been robbed of their beauty by the yellow puss that leaked from beneath their eyelids. They looked in so much pain…
"Let's go," David said, and like a spell, all Hell broke loose. And Nick remembered something of the mutation process. That beneath the rotted nails, the peeling skin, the scabs, were muscles with the strength of steel. Nothing expressed that more than the way they launched at them then, at a documented speed of thirty-five miles per hour.
"Fuck," Nick snarled, and then he was flying backwards.
xx
"Yes, Mr. Adams?"
"Demi," Joe said, stroking the breast of the white pigeon perched upon his knee. "Call down to the kitchens and order up dinner for three. I'm having a private dine-in with Wonson and Goldburg."
"Anything in particular, sir?"
"No. I'd like it in the next fifteen minutes. Also, a kettle of tea and a bottle of wine."
"Yes, sir."
Joe hung up and returned his attention to the fluffy bird. Its intelligent, bright eyes searched out the room. This was one of the only two ways Nick and he communicated outside this room. The first, and most common, was that Demi would be called with a request for a private meeting with Joe. Joe met with Demi twice a day to go through such requests. Nick always used a name they'd decided on during their previous encounter. Once given a time slot, Demi would call the number back and relay the information, leaving Nick the rest of the afternoon to sneak through the door underground that started two full streets away, and make his way up Joe's own personal elevator with a keycard Nick had given him.
The pigeon was the last resort. When Nick sent one of the trained birds up to his room, Joe would let it in. When the coast was clear, Joe would set it free, and wait.
In ten minutes flat, there was a knock on the door, and with Joe's mumbled approval, the head chef of the building's own personal restaurant wheeled in a stainless steel cart. Knowing Joe's routine well enough by now, the man bowed and backed out, shutting the door behind him. Without bothering to look at what the kitchens had made, he went to the window, opened it, and gently tossed the bird out the window.
It would take Nick another half hour to get here, Joe estimated. He went to the food cart and peeled over the cover. There was a copper pot of tea with three cups, then three smaller ones, and a bottle of finely aged wine sitting next to a black iron burner. Using the small matchbox beside it, he lit the oil heater and placed the bottle on top to warm. He had just straightened when Nick walked in through the door, shutting and locking it himself. Then Nick was in his arms, kissing him. Joe responded in kind, letting Nick take control for the time being. He smelled good. Running his hands smoothly over the planes of his body, Joe finally felt at ease. Although he did feel vaguely shocked at the quick arrival. He could feel Nick's heart thundering in his chest from the exertion.
They broke apart a short minute later, staring at each other. Neither of them were apologizing, and neither planned to. But their unspoken rule to leave their problems for public seemed back in effect, which was fine by Joe.
Joe slid the aluminum door aside on the bottom section of the cart and Nick nearly groaned at the site. A pot roast with roasted potato chunks, a bowl of buttered peas and carrots, a wicker basket of crescent rolls, a plate of thick slices of Yorkshire pudding. Joe chuckled and handed Nick a plate. Kneeling down, (and elbowing Joe in the shin along the way) Nick helped himself. He didn't question the third set of dishware. Joe always ordered enough for three so that Nick had something to take home with him. Joe moved to pour them both a cup of tea, thinking to save the alcohol for later. But Nick shook his head, stopping him. "Wine," he said. Joe frowned, but set the mugs down and reached for the smaller china cups to pour them generous amounts of the alcohol.
Nick waited until Joe fixed his own plate before diving in with a gusto that suggested he hadn't eaten in a month. Joe's mood was slowly declining from the elation he'd felt when Nick first showed up. Whenever they had a fight like they did the last time, and Nick showed up a few days later, it was always either to fish for an apology or give one in his own off-handed way. But since Nick was doing neither, Joe was left to ponder the alternative.
Nick was hurt.
It didn't happen often. Usually the riots caused by the Rebellion and lead by Nick, were diffused peacefully by Joe's heavy hand on the government-issued troops and a full wallet for bribes. But beside the act of arson from over a week ago, there had been no more upsets.
Nick seemed to carry about him the aura of Superman. Indestructible; immortal. And whenever he got hurt, his morale took the brunt of it and he was brought just a tiny bit closer to death. The realization of that got to Nick more than anything, and he'd go to Joe.
Joe gave Nick's body a quick once-over, his fork hovering above his plate. Nick didn't notice. He was moving to the cart again, helping himself to more of the roast. When he sat back down, Joe asked of him, "Where?"
"Where what?"
Joe rolled his eyes. Here it goes. "Where and when did you get hurt?"
Nick snorted into his food. "I'm not hurt anywhere. I just came here to talk to you about a few things."
Joe resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was also another dead give-away to an injury. No matter where it was on his body, Nick would do his damnedest to keep it hidden. Once, when all the fingers on his left hand had been broken when an officer had forcibly torn the gun from Nick's hand, the idiot had worn gloves to Joe's office. In the middle of the summer. And then he'd try to keep away from the bed, claiming he wanted to discuss "a few things" like this really was a business meeting. Anything to keep from getting naked, to not let Joe see.
Selfishly, Joe denied him this.
"What is it you want to talk to me about, then?" Joe asked, setting his half-finished plate aside. He lost all appetite the moment he realized why Nick was here.
"The court date, what else?" Nick snorted. "I have a friend in Canada." He tore a bite from a roll with his teeth. "He leads his own medical team, kind of like yours but without all the scum-sucking brown-nosers. They've been compiling a lot of research data from the DNA of the creatures," Joe noted that Nick had brought with him no folder that could contain data of any such research, "and they think they've found a way to slow down the mutation."
"Really." It wasn't Nick's face or hands. Not his legs or feet, he'd walked in here limp-free. That left the arms and torso. He seemed to be favoring his right arm, but then again, he was right-handed.
"So I was thinking you might consider pushing the date back, maybe to February." Joe hated this professional tone Nick was using. He didn't want to hear this while they were alone together. Nick was just filling in the space with useless words that would get him nowhere. "I think they've really got something."
"Hm," Joe said blankly. Nick had set down his silverware and was pouring himself another serving of wine, still not meeting Joe's eyes. "So, what? They'd progress from the third stage of mutation to the final stage in four days instead of three? Quite a break through. I can see the point of your visit now."
"If you're not going to listen—" Nick was getting testy, his voice shaking. How badly is he hurt? Joe pushed the plate from Nick's lap. It broke somewhere on the floor. "What, you bastard—" Joe slipped his hands under Nick's backside, squeezing and causing Nick to simultaneously yelp and blush. He pulled Nick onto his lap, one thigh on either side of his hips, and those long, tan legs wrapped around his waist as Joe stood up. Nick was all legs, as he'd always been, and God, was Joe grateful.
"Hey!" Nick yelled as Joe made his way to the adjoined bedroom. "I didn't come here to have sex! Let me go!" But the fists hammering with lack-luster strength against his back paled in comparison to the hardening erection Joe could feel against his abdomen. His fingers traveled along Nick's rear, pressing in where he knew his entrance was, and Nick bucked against him just as they went toppling sideways to the bed. Nick grunted as he was pressed into the bed, searching hands roaming freely over his chest, Joe's cool fingertips searching for the warmest and most sensitive parts of him, and more importantly for the injury Nick was trying to hide from him. Thumbs and forefingers found his nipples and pinched. Nick arched into the touch, panting and tugging at his own shirt.
"I'm doing that," Joe growled, slapping Nick's hands away.
"You're too rough," Nick complained. "I'm not rich. I can't replace my wardrobe every time you feel like destroying it." Barely lifting himself from the mattress, Nick tugged the shirt over his head. Joe was already working on his own, and when they were both discarded on the floor, Nick wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled, chests pressing together and mouths moving fervently over each other. Their tongues stroked quietly, movements turning slow, and finally, they began to relax. Joe's hands roamed over his chest, his arms, his shoulders. No sore spots.
Maybe I was wrong, Joe thought, but any intentions of furthering that thought were shot down when Nick grabbed his hand and forced it to cup his erection, grinding against it and making that high, breathy keening noise that Joe would forever fall victim too.
Twenty minutes later, Joe was in heaven. Everything in the room grew surreal, like an old movie reel. Their cheeks were pressed firmly together, Nick's tongue licking at the shell of his ear. "Harder," he was groaning, "right there," and Joe obliged, feeling so fucking close he could already taste the white hot heat that tongued his insides every time he came. His hands left Nick's hips and wrapped around the small of his back, fingertips digging in and forcing Nick's body at a different angle. Nick always liked this, the heightened sense of enjoyment of being this open, thrust into just like that. Nick clenched tightly on him, a groan pouring from his lips. He tensed tight enough that it actually hurt.
"Not that tight," Joe grunted, because it really did hurt.
"Sorry," Nick said, and he immediately loosened. "Sorry, keep going, please don't stop…"
Another minute later Nick's hand finally fell from himself, his stomach slick with his own semen while Joe's hips pounded relentlessly between his legs, chafing the skin. Joe bit into Nick's shoulder as he came, a wordless cry as the world died and was reborn right around his very skin, Nick still so very hot and slick around him, I'd be happy dying like this. Joe collapsed, breathing deeply, smelling their sweat and essence and wanting the smell to stay forever.
Nick's muscles twitched sporadically about his cock and he growled, pulling out with a loud wet sound. They would have a second round, but not now. He still wanted to ask Nick about his reasons for coming here so unexpectedly. But the raven-haired beauty pulled him to his chest instead, hands in his hair before he could ask what it was Nick was doing. Joe didn't complain, eyes lolling shut as nimble fingers scratched at his scalp, undoing the tangles in his hair, palms smoothing the bangs away from his sweaty forehead. Joe sighed, turning his head to plant a chain of chaste kisses that wrapped across his chest.
"So why the sudden visit?" Joe asked huskily, no longer really caring for the answer. Nick never appeared on such short notice without reason, but who was Joe to complain? The two hardly saw each other, and with the added stress of the upcoming court date, Joe thoroughly enjoyed this outlet.
"No reason," Nick assured him. Joe drew back and Nick seemed reluctant to let his head go. His hands draped themselves lightly over the back of his neck. "Just wanted to see you."
Joe smirked. "Really?" He draped one leg over Nick's, straddling his waist. "No covert plans to get anything out of me?"
Nick snorted. "What would I want from someone like you?"
Joe grinned. "Oh, I can think of a few things." He punctuated the word "few" with a slow roll of his hips against Nick's, causing the man underneath him to wince. He bent down to Nick's neck, licking at the slope of it. His hands ran smoothly over Nick's sides, mouth traveling over his shoulder….
Then Nick grabbed his head painfully and dragged him up, initiating an open-mouthed kiss. Joe kissed back, but broke away when Nick wrapped his legs around him once again in a demanding manner. Joe could feel Nick beneath him and he felt nowhere near ready for another round.
"I don't want to rush," Joe snapped.
"Who said we're rushing? I thought you liked when I did that!"
"Since when did you go out of your way to do such things?" Batting Nick's hands from his hair, he attempted to wedge his hands under Nick's back to pull it up. Despite how much Nick complained about Joe's pushy nature, Joe didn't like seeing Nick willingly on his back too long. It went against the very nature of Nick's character. But to his great surprise, and even greater suspicion, Nick refused to budge.
"Nick," Joe grunted. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Unbidden, the two reasons behind spontaneous visits arose in his mind. When Nick wanted to apologize, and when he was hurt—
Joe froze, hands still on Nick's hips. Nick had his hands around Joe's elbows, attempting to push him off. But he, too, stilled. He grew apprehensive as understanding lit his gaze.
"Nick, get up."
Nick bristled. He hated that tone of voice. It was the authoritative one, the belittling one, the one he used whenever Nick arrived for public hearings and press conferences.
"Show me your back."
Nick stiffened. "Make me."
"I will," Joe said, his voice sending chills up Nick's body. He was nervous now, a bit. Slowly, Nick lifted himself up onto his elbows and began to inch away. As if Joe wouldn't react unless Nick made too sudden a movement.
He was to be sorely disappointed.
Before Nick could realize what was happening, the world was spinning. The bastard had gripped his upper arm in a cruel grip and jerked him up, twisting until Nick turned completely. Now all Nick could see was the deep sea blue of Joe's bed sheets. His heart hammered in his chest and he wished reverently to be anywhere, anywhere else.
Silence befell them with the weight of the entire building. Suddenly the room had too little oxygen. He could feel Joe's eyes on the back, deep and penetrating, and Nick could only guess at the look on Joe's face. Shock? Anger? Sadness? Several cool, light fingers pressed into his shoulder blade, running up until they hit one of the five pads of gauze. Swallowing, Nick muttered, "They had to drain it," by ways of explanation. No need for Joe to think he got cut, too.
"Nick…" Starting from mid-shoulder, stretching down and ending below the small of his back, was nothing but dark, dark blue, an inch or so of purplish green at the edges. The bruise was mottled, becoming the darkest in the middle. There it was nearly black. It pounded and ached far worse than when Nick had gotten here, but up until now it had been worth it. He needed to see Joe. Even for just a few minutes, he needed to see him. To take in his face, and to remind himself of what he was fighting so hard for.
"Who?" Joe growled from above him. He wasn't so much mad that Nick had gotten hurt, although the fact did add oil to the fire. It was that every officer in this city had strict orders to leave Nick untouched. Diplomatic security, he called it, and PR ate it up. Besides Joe's own reasons, it helped their cause if they treated the leader of the Rebellion 2.3 with respect and kept him unharmed. Any injury Nick had, Joe had a file on it. He even had one on a sprained wrist.
But this injury had to be one of the worst of them. Not only did Joe not know its origin, but he had no idea what could have caused it, or why Nick wouldn't have let him know about it. If anything, he'd be rubbing it in Joe's face. And the length of it, the strength it must have taken to throw Nick so hard into something his entire back turned black. No human possessed that sort of strength…
Nick could feel Joe tense above him as the second shoe dropped. Nick sighed, his whole body shaking. This was always meant to remain a secret. Just this one, little secret. Nick shared everything with Joe, even the location of their base if Joe ever needed to find him in an emergency. The research they were contracting from Canada. Everything. But not this…
Joe lifted himself from Nick's body and for a few moments, Nick remained there. Too tired, too worried, too miserable to bother. This sucks, Nick thought. No word in the human language could describe this. This really fucking sucks.
When Joe found his voice a long minute ago, he asked Nick, "How long?" His tone rang deep with suppressed emotion. Not anger, because today very obviously wasn't Nick's day. An angry Joe Nick could deal with. But Joe sounded betrayed now. Disappointed. And Nick didn't like to disappoint.
Playing stupid would be an insult, and feeling that he'd already insulted his lover enough, Nick said, "Ever since I came home." He paused, looking up to meet Joe's gaze only to find Joe's eyes were no longer on him. He was staring out the window with a blank expression on his face. "You have to understand… if I told you…" His sentence went unfinished, and Joe didn't press him to complete it, still looking away from Nick, like he was too disgusting to look at. "That research I told you about, from Canada." Nick's voice grew stronger with every word, conviction battling out guilt and starting to win. If he could make Joe understand, if he could just get through that thick skull of his, to really make him see. "They're trying to classify the mutation process into stages, and they think it's neurological. I've been sending them my observation reports, comparing it to the amount of visible decomposition. The receptors in their brains shutting down area by area. It's causing their bodies to degenerate. If we could group these crea—people into stages, we can try and save those with the least amount of neurological damage. We can reverse it, Joe, with minimal brain damage. Think about it! If more research went into—"
"Your mother is dead."
The words were like the clean swipe of a blade, and Nick's mouth was left hanging open like it had been cut at the hinges. Joe hadn't looked at him when he'd said it, but when he looked back at Nick, he said, "I killed her."
Nick swallowed. "Whatever you're trying to do," he said, "won't work. This isn't about my mom. This is about all those people who—"
"I killed her," Joe repeated, and once more Nick was spellbound into stupefied silence. "The night she slaughtered your father. You wouldn't move. I had to move you. She'd already lost all sane thought, tracking us like animals while I tried to run with you over my back. I hid you. You can't remember this, but do you recall the tree house you, Aaron and I used to use as a clubhouse? I hid you in there, in the corner, put a blanket over you and waited for morning. The city was in chaos. There was a no-exception curfew in effect. We had to wait it out, so I cut the rope ladder. And then, your mother began to climb up the tree."
Nick didn't realize he was shaking his head until Joe reached out a hand to steady it. Joe angled his body in Nick's direction. His back felt heavy, so damn painful, like his skin was starting to peel off. He'd had a nightmare of that once, nails scratching and scouring away his own skin in thick, gunky ribbons until he could see his own naked skull.
"I threw things down at her. Whatever I could to stop her, but she didn't relent. Eventually she got up, and just crouched there. Staring at me, with those lifeless, blind eyes. Breathing. But she just stood there, and for a moment, I thought she was back to normal.
"And then, her eyes left mine and went to you under the blanket in the corner. I grabbed what was within reach, and I did what I needed to do."
Joe's palm fell from his face, only to have a finger trail below his eye. "I protected you," Joe said, "in a way in which you'll never forgive me for. And I accept that. Even now, I'm doing my best to do the same thing. To protect you."
Nick didn't know what to say first. That it wasn't Joe's job to save him, that this wasn't about his mother, that how dare Joe get mad at him for keeping a secret when he'd kept this bottled up all along. Because even though Nick knew statistics pointed to his mother's death, that the longevity of these creature's lives wasn't more than four or five years, that her elevated condition would have rotted her too far for science to ever fix her…
He could still, still smell her hair, see her eyes. Remember every word of every story she'd ever read to him at bed time. The exact way she'd brushed his hair, starting behind his ears. The wild bounce of her own gorgeous curls, the light, chestnut eyes that matched his, and Nick had never given up. Ever.
"This isn't about her," Nick managed to force out the words, even though it was now entirely about her. Dead. She'd been dead, killed by his own best friend, his lover, for years. And years. "This is about saving those who most have already given up hope on."
"No," Joe said quietly, hand falling to find Nick's. Nick didn't give it to him. "This is about preventing those who are healthy, sane, from contracting it. Soon, not even AB- types will survive with the way it's mutating. I won't be safe. You won't be safe."
"I don't care if I'm safe," Nick said, and now realized why Joe had been running his fingers beneath his eyes. He hadn't done this in years—cried—and now he wished for the tears to run down his back and soothe the ache. "I'll fight," Nick said. "I'll fight everyone. I'll fight you. I won't give up on them."
Joe's gaze left his and returned to the window. He was silent for a long, long time, thinking before murmuring slowly, "That, I can respect."
Nick knew it was time to go; he eyed his clothes. When he left this place angry, it was always with the thought that he might not come back. But this was it. This was finally the end. Nick would not be coming back to Joe without a gun and his people. "No more."
Joe nodded. "No more," he agreed. "You and I are enemies."
"We are," Nick affirmed. That had always been a fact, but a fact that existed out there, in the real world. Their dreamt-up reality was no more. The peace of it shattered into unrecognizable pieces.
"I've hurt your back," Joe said. "I'll get some ice, and some balm, and when I come back you can leave." It didn't sound either condescending or desperate, but Nick nodded.
"Thanks." He watched Joe slowly stand and dress. Everything was in slow motion. His eyes drank in every inch of skin he could see, for what he knew would be the last time.
When Joe left, Nick slowly put everything on except for his shirt. Every inch of his body was on fire. He wondered what they'd be doing if Nick hadn't gotten lifted and thrown into that building. If they'd be talking in bed, if they'd be going at each other like starved men, if they'd drifted in and out of sleep like a dream that would inevitably end...
Nick shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He tried so hard. He collapsed back on the bed, face in his hands, trying to breathe normally. When that failed him, he got up and went to the window to open it for some fresh air. It was locked, and he sighed, pressing his forehead into the window pane. He wondered where Joe was. There was a bucket of ice in the cart, and usually basic medical supplies in the bathroom. Deciding, he went to look for him.
The living room was empty, the cart untouched. He poked his head into the bathroom. The lights were off, the room empty. Nick sighed, going to the door and pressing his ear against it. He heard nothing. But then again, the room was completely sound proof. Joe had designed it that way when they started having their secret meetings. He opened the door to peek his head out...
Only the door would not budge.
A memory arose in Nick's mind, of their first time seven months after Nick had returned. He'd straddled Joe's waist, Joe's firm hand on his hip helping him keep steady. Nick had been shaking and so had Joe. But Joe was the one to lean forward and whisper into his ear, "You're safe, you're safe with me." Nick had been glad, finally glad, to come home. As Joe helped lower him down, and unfamiliar pain shot up his spine, as a sense of being so full he could hardly keep himself together, and a strong voice, "I will keep you safe."
The door would not budge, and Nick began to scream. He couldn't understand the words spewing out of his mouth, but he was sure that Joe's name slipped in there once every five words, along with every curse in every language that he knew. The doorknob fell off with the first hit Nick took at it with an iron lamp, although it did no good. It was more to make him feel better. The doorknob was just for show. A twist of it sent a signal to the metal bars that ran through the thick, heavy oak into the door. Everything in this room was old fashioned in design, but modern in its technology. Nick had always been glad for that. The locks that kept outsiders out, the soundproofing.
Now, it was his enemy.
"You and I are enemies."
"I will keep you safe."
No matter what, Nick supplied his own mind. To every extent in the universe. Nick retracted from the door, his shaking legs letting him sink into the universe. He gasped as his back hit the buttery leather and he flinched forward. Joe might just have gotten distracted. Someone could have gotten his attention and drawn him away. Never mind that it was night, that they were probably the only ones in this building except for the guards.
Tired, Nick sank into the couch, muscles seeming to detach themselves from his bones and leaving his whole body limp. The moment his head hit a pillow, Nick knew he wouldn't be getting up. He was so tired...
Every noise in the room sounded like footsteps, like Joe opening the door with ice in his hands and a question in his eyes. Every smell was fresh air. Before he knew it, Nick was asleep.
xx
When Nick awoke the next morning and opened his eyes, he was alert instantly. The dinner cart was gone, replaced by another one. The warm smell of cinnamon was in the air. Nick listened carefully to his surroundings, but heard nothing. His back didn't hurt him as much last night. He scratched at his arm, trying to rid himself of a tingling feeling it seemed to be retaining, before doing a once-over around the apartment. Joe was nowhere to be found.
Nick went back to the cart and opened the doors, looking inside. There was a tray of ice on the bottom with cold cuts, presumably for making sandwiches in the afternoon. On the second shelf was a basket of an assortment of rolls, jars of different jellies, some sort of pastry. Breakfast things. Were he a few years younger, the cart would have been toppled over in adolescent outrage and childish anger.
Now, it was thrown across the floor in blind rage, in a betrayal that undoubtedly beat out Joe's. Nick didn't care how immature it was. It was better than doing nothing.
He considered pounding on the door, but it was useless. Joe didn't scare him. At one point, he'd get over himself and let Nick out. It was only a matter of time.
Nick stood and went to the bathroom, undoing the button to his pants, wanting a hot bath and to use lots and lots of bubbles because he had a lot of thinking to do—thinking he couldn't do unless he saw his face reflected in countless, colorful bubbles, looking so lost.
xx
According to the clock on the wall, Joe came back at 8:07 that night. His hands were empty, his jacket off, and bags beneath his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept that night. Nick felt no pity.
"What, no ice?" Joe's expression was as distant and emotionless as it had been whilst he looked out the window. Nick had redressed himself in his clothes, even his shoes. The meat without the ice had been sitting all day, and was beginning to smell.
Without a word, Joe moved from the door, leaving it open. Nick stood and walked past him, because if Joe could get away with this betrayal without saying anything, then so could he.
But when Nick was out in the hallway, when the door was nearly shut behind his back, he heard Joe say, "I'll see you tonight," and then the click of the wooden and steel framework.
Nick paused, debated going back there to murder him or forgive him, and then remembered his resolve. To not forgive. To not go back. Enemies out.
Nick left.
xx
The city was closed off and quiet at this time of night. The curfew started at seven. Without the UV rays from the sun, the germs from over the Ravine bred like wild fire, slinking across the streets and licking at the windows of the people. The monsters cawed and roared, a desperate noise like they'd cried for so long they could no longer use their vocal cords properly.
It broke Nick's heart. Help. They needed help. The children, the men, the women, the teenagers, perhaps with a conscious trapped in a body they could no longer control. He fell prey to something akin to Stockholm's syndrome. Being around them for so long made him like them more than the humans. The humans that hid and cowered and would never lift a finger to help—not for even their own family who were transported across the Ravine when they reached Stage 3.
It made Nick nauseous.
But that didn't excuse his ignorance that night. He should have known something was wrong as he walked along the outskirts of the city, towards his base, when the noise level only increased instead of getting softer. There was the sound of sirens.
Somehow, Nick knew what had happened before he even got there. He could see the lights already. But somehow, his brain couldn't quite accept Joe's betrayal. One like this was too catastrophic.
What would I do if we changed places? Normally Nick liked going through that scenario. It helped calm him down after all the ridiculous things Joe would do to ensure his safety. But he didn't like the answers it wielded this time around.
I would do this, too, Nick thought, approaching what used to be his home. The exact same way, by the same means.
There were many trucks along the side of the road. Most of them were filled with very familiar boxes. Documents. Research. Lap equipment. Movers still hauled the stuff in. There were a few ambulances. His people hadn't embarrassed themselves. Joe refused to think that it was some of them in there.
Guards crawled over it like cockroaches over a fallen piece of taffy. There was Goldburg there, he could see, and Wonson, who was shaking her head at what she saw in one of the boxes as she handed it over to someone else. The building was in worse shape than when Nick had left it. Every window was broken. Smoke drifted lazily from the top floor. And, of course, the police vans were absent. They'd probably already transported everyone to the correctional facility. And with no lawyers, with such a bad reputation Nick had only recently found out was orchestrated, they stood no chance. Nick needed aid. He needed a gun with endless bullets. He needed…
Finally understanding Joe's parting words, Nick began to walk away, listening to the cry of the creatures like coyotes in the night. He needed aid. Joe expected Nick to come back, and he was sure that after twenty-four hours or so Joe would put out a search for him. Nick didn't plan on staying. He'd leave, head to Canada. Get reinforcements to fight New York for his people. He had neither the manpower nor the technology to free them on his own.
But first… Nick had something to wait for.
xx
"Everyone in this world, in this city, in this courtroom, is the center of their own universe."
Nick sat near the back in a suit he'd stolen from a man's closet on Broad, hair reddish-orange from a dye he'd stolen from the man's wife's closet. His skin looked more sallow, his body thinner from lack of food. His back was nearly healed now. His body felt frozen on the pew.
"And in that universe are people. Important pinnacles in that universe. Not money, not cars or other material possessions. But the ones we love."
Joe, Nick noted, needed no microphone in the massive court room that held upwards of six hundred people. He paced in front of them, and the jury of the twelve elders. Everyone was listening.
"I've heard, and I'm sure you have as well, that when you find someone you love so deeply, so much that you can't cut them out without sacrificing parts of yourself, that they become the center of your universe. But that is untrue. It will always be you saving them. It would always be them saving you. Even when you love them more than you love yourself, you will always be at the center of it all."
His voice was crisp and quiet, loud and clear, like chapel bells. It was daylight outside, and the light shown through the windows like through a church's windows. Nick felt like praying, and for a few seconds he did. But when he was done, he could no longer remember what he'd prayed for.
"I'm not here to speak for the ones you have undoubtedly lost," Joe said. "I am here because you can no longer control your own universe. The pivotal point of it has been knocked askew, and like a ship without an anchor, it is slowly drifting off course. You need help. I need help. We all do, and ironically, none of us like to admit to this. But I stand before you today, ready to do just that. I want your help so that I can help you.
"The bill I bring before you today will not cure those we've lost. It will not save the wretched souls who've lost themselves mentally, and lose themselves more physically each and every day. I am here to help you, and every person in your own personal universe. I'm here to give you a way out."
From his position in the back, with his disguise painstakingly built, Nick felt nothing but shock as Joe's eyes scanned the crowd and finally locked onto his.
"I am here," Joe said to him, "to save the lives loved by everyone in this room. I am here to protect them. I'm not here to save them, as this will eliminate all need for that. I'm here for you, the ones you love… and the one I love."
Joe's eyes narrowed into his, and Nick knew then that it was time to go. He shifted restlessly, Joe's eyes keeping him pinned, as he said, "I am here for you."
The applause broke Joe's concentration, and when their eyes broke from each other Nick took the moment to flee, running with the lost quiet of the room and eyes on his back. Still hurting. Always hurting.
xx
Joe tugged his tie off as he entered the room. He took off his shoes, placed them on the rack, and without turning said, "Your hair looks ridiculous." He knew Nick was there. Had no clue how he'd gotten in. But Nick had been up to God knew what for the past month. Who knew what kind of allies he'd gained?
Nick sat on the couch, thinner and older in his stolen suit and stolen hair. But his eyes were that deep, soft, brown the only part of his physical appearance Joe had ever really cherished. They were the first thing he remembered seeing as they shared a playpen. He had always thought that they would dull over time, but they never had.
"I thought it would go well with your speech," Nick said dryly. "What was all that 'center of the universe' shit, anyway? How far up your ass did you go to dig that out?"
Joe didn't rise to the bait. Handing his suit jacket on the coat rack, he walked over to Nick and promptly straddled his lap, one leg on either side of him, hands in his hair and they were kissing like they still obeyed that unspoken law. Leave the problems out, leave them in. Lovers in, enemies out. Neither of them tried to deepen the intimacy, which suited both of them just fine. Their wild tangle of tongues slowed to a pleasing rhythm. Then it was just warm, wet lips, giving pressure and relenting. A slow dance.
"What are you doing here, Nick?" Joe breathed into Nick's open lips, letting every word fill Nick's mouth with his breath.
Nick hummed. With his hands, he massaged Joe's back, feeling his lover arch into him. "I'm here," he explained slowly, "because this time, I know you'll let me leave."
"You couldn't possibly know that," Joe disagreed lightly. "I could lock you away. Knock you out, lock you up. It would be easy."
"It would," Nick said, "but you won't."
"Mm." Nick was kissing his neck lightly. "I know." Their eyes met, gently smiling, before kissing again. Joe lay down and Nick crawled on top of him and they both couldn't help but think that they'd gone mad. No, they'd earned that title long ago. Joe hugged Nick tightly to him, relishing in what Nick thought was their last good-bye. But it couldn't be, never would be; Joe wouldn't let it.
"You've nowhere to go," Joe said. "Stay."
"I do too. Just who do you think I am?" Nick laid his head against Joe's chest, enjoying the gentle rise and fall. "My ride is picking me up at seven." Joe didn't bother saying that that was half an hour ago. He had a feeling Nick already knew. Joe also was aware that no matter how much he asked, or begged, Nick wouldn't tell him where he was going. Nick didn't trust Joe like that anymore.
Somehow, this was fine by him.
"Hey, bastard," Nick whispered.
Joe guessed at the reason for the quiet tone. He thought that perhaps Nick hushed his voice in order to keep it from cracking. He knew this because he felt the same. Joe held him tighter for that. "Idiot," he murmured back.
"Are we enemies?"
Joe smelled his hair. It may have been an awful color, but it still had the same scent. So humanly, unbelievable Nick. "No. We never were."
Nick kissed him again.
Half an hour later, Nick began to lift himself up. For a second or two, Joe's arms just tightened as he realized what it was he was letting go. Everything he'd ever worked for, everything he'd ever wanted, the only person he loved…
Joe stood up after Nick, following him to the door. Nick opened it and turned. Joe couldn't tell what it was he expected. He wouldn't get a goodbye, or a threat. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't be totally meaningless.
So Joe settled for bending forwards and pressing Nick's lips into one more kiss, its length immeasurable, the heat sweltering and comforting; familiar as breathing.
"I love you."
xx
SURPRISING NEW EVIDENCE LEAVES NATION IN TURMOIL
By Susan Hallmark, Circulation Editor
In a move that left the nation stunned, the Royal Justice System ruled against the new bill mandating the Vaccine Delta set by Plague Prevention Associates (PPA) due to new evidence submitted to the court by an anonymous source. The decision was revealed to the public on Feb. 2 at a public hearing.
The evidence submitted through electronic transfer has been scrutinized by a specially contracted team of the jury's choice, and the new findings have been declared legitimate.
"What the PPA failed to mentioned," her Judge Constance Truman commented, "was that this vaccine has serious effects on the blood of certain individuals. Primarily the blood of all who aren't AB-. That is, over 99 percent of the population."
Nick Jonas, former leader of the recently abolished Rebellion 2.3 and current ambassador for Canada, was available for comment. "It's not that we're trying to debunk the PPA," Jonas said. "But we're taking this new evidence into consideration. We're just trying to clear up a few misconceptions that they've failed to mention, and to do what we've always wanted to do. Secure a safe, happy life for both the ill and the healthy. To protect the ones that we love." (Cont'd. on page 5A)
Joe folded the newspaper into a neat square and slid it onto the desk. From the page, black and white eyes he could almost see the color of smiled at him.
There were no witnesses in the room to see Joe smile back.
xx
THE END.
xx
So, that's that! :) Let me know what you think!
Just know that your reviews are greatly appreciated, if you do end up reading this! :)
Much Love, Carlie
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Unspoken Laws