I'm so sorry.
Title: Nate Of The Dead
Movie Prompt: Shaun of the Dead
Rating/Warning: 15, warning, contains zombies. (And I'm sorry!)
Word Count: ~910
It started out like any other down day. Nothing going on, no one to save - well, except maybe for anyone in the path of the Omega 6 space probe which had crashed down days earlier than expected - and about two thousands miles off course. In fact, Nate considered, he was firmly stuck in a rut here. Every day the same thing: check the newspapers and find nothing to do, then head down to the bar and spend the rest of the day "socializing" with the rest of them.
Which was why it was more than a little surprising that Sophie suddenly declared how bored she was of doing this every day and couldn't he just for once take her somewhere nice, just the two of them?
Nate sighed, he'd been afraid of this. That when this thing between them had become an actual thing everything would change. It had taken him long enough to get used to the idea of having people in his life every day as it was, and now he was in a kind of routine with that she wanted it all to change. How could he tell her that he liked spending time with Eliot (no matter what he'd said about them not being friends…). Hell, he even enjoyed being around Parker and Hardison some of the time… Well, okay, so maybe not a lot of the time, since any length of time in their company led to his head spinning, but still…
Apparently Sophie took offence at his reticence and stormed upstairs to what he still liked to think of as his apartment, but that he was slowly coming to terms with the thought that it was actually a communal home now. Surprisingly it was Parker who followed her up, further displaying the unexpected growth in the thief’s growing humanity. Hardison took a look around him and, realising he’d been abandoned in an almost empty bar with just Nate and Eliot, sloped off in her wake.
Nate sighed again; he just couldn’t win could he? No matter what he did, he just couldn’t seem to keep on top of things. Well, maybe there was something he could do. He stood, a little shakily he admitted, but he knew that was purely down to stress and not for any other reason, honest, and headed over to the bar where he grabbed the ever-so-handy bottle of Jameson’s Gold. He was aware of movement behind him but it was only when he heard the click of a lock turning that he realised Eliot was shutting them in, or shutting everyone else out - which was either a good thing or it was really worrying. Nate looked over to the hitter to see if another talking-to was coming his way or not, and was a little surprised when Eliot just took the bottle from his hand and poured himself a glass before handing it back.
“What, no lectures?” he asked with a wry smile.
Eliot just shrugged. “No point beating a dead horse. Figured you could use some company after all that drama.”
Nate didn’t answer, just toasted the other man and knocked back the whiskey and pouring another.
An hour – and one and a half bottles of Jameson’s – later, there was nothing but silence over the coms and Nate figured that Sophie would be giving him the cold shoulder for at least a week after this, and he was starting to think that maybe he should make the first move when there was a thud at the door.
“We’re closed, man.” Eliot called out, but whoever it was at the door just thumped again causing the two of them to turn round.
“Nate?” Eliot said in that quiet cold voice that usually signalled a fight about to start. “Get upstairs. Now.”
“It’s just a bar bum, ignore him and he’ll find someplace else.”
“Nate,” the Hitter repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now.”
He took another quick look over his shoulder at the shadowy figure and was shocked to see the glass partition shatter as the man forced his way through.
Eliot weighed in with an upper cut which should have laid the man out but somehow he just staggered back and came at the hitter, like he was trying to bite him.
“Nate! Go!” Eliot shouted as he fended off his attacker. Nate took one more look and saw there was nothing he could do to help and there were three people upstairs who might be able to do something. He turned and ran for the stairs, throwing open the door of the apartment and somehow managing splutter out one word.
It didn’t quite get the reaction he felt it deserved: Hardison just cocked one eyebrow at him in disbelief; Sophie on the other hand glared at him before turning to Parker and saying pointedly, “He’s finally done it. He’s finally gotten so drunk he’s hallucinating.”
Nate couldn’t believe how they were reacting – didn’t they understand what was going on here? Thankfully, right at that point, Eliot appeared in the doorway behind him clutching at a gaping wound on his shoulder. The hitter was pushing his cell phone into Nate’s hand, “Call this number; ask for Faith. Tell her what’s happened.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Because you’re going to need to cut my head off in the next two minutes.” Stunned silence greeted that. “Oh, and by the way Nate. You’ve got red on you.”