Guiding Way

 

Based on Francis and Nick before infection, but after prison, we've got a little Formspring thing going on if anyone's curious.

.me/OneBadMan

.me/chipsonthetable

Lastly, this is all before the infection by a few years, so early 2000's (we're guessing around 2002) so they're younger than in the game.  Since Nick has a ring with the same gang insignia that Francis has tattoo'd on his arm, this is where we gathered that they were from the same gang.  We're also aware they wouldn't share the same cell since they are known associates, but we really wanted to play them off of each other and hope you can suspend belief for that. 

 

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"I get top bunk." Nick groused as he walked further in the cell while the door locked behind him.

There was just something overly-vulnerable about how Nick looked then. Bright orange jumpsuit, holding pure white sheets and pillows.

"I get top bunk." He argued, walking over to Nick.

"Fuck you, you got me into this mess, least you can fucking do is give me that." He retorted, walking over to the bunk.

"No. I fucking claimed that shit." Wonder how long it'll take him to get grossed out... I didn't even do anything to it.

Nick's hand paused just short of touching the bunk. "Claimed it?" He asked, almost scared of the answer as he turned to face Francis. "How the fuck does someone 'claim' a -" he stopped

That took him longer than I thought it would. Francis stayed quiet, now giving Nick a once over.

"Huh. Never thought orange looked so good..."

You're disgusting. The conman grimaced, ignoring Francis as he sat his sheets on the bottom mattress, carefully making it up until the sheets were crisp without a wrinkle.

Francis snorted when he saw that.

"No point in doing that, bitch." he grinned before hoisting himself up onto his own bed, lying down, hands behind his head, an ankle propped up on his bent knee.

"Just because I'm in prison doesn't mean I'm going to start living as a slob like you." He retorted. Move to Vegas, they told me, we've got the perfect guy for you to work with, they told me. When I get out of this I am going to find out who paired me with him and break his legs.

"Don't say I didn't warn you..." He trailed on as he shifted onto his side, eyes closed. He was tired; so, he was going to have a nap.

Prison was pretty much what he thought it to be. Schedules, men trying to prove their masculinity and shit food. After a particularly long day, Nick was trying to sleep when he paused, wondering what the hell he was hearing before he gagged and kicked the bed above him.

"Francis stop fucking jerking off, I'm trying to sleep!"

Francis gave a grunt. Apparently that kick helped a bit.

"You wanna help then?" he asked, though already having an idea what the answer would be.

Nick gagged again.

"Fuck no!"

"Then shut the fuck up and be happy I'm not bending you over instead!"

Though in situations like these, he wasn't against it.

Nick is a pretty good looking cellmate. If it weren't for his god damned attitude.

Fuck, I'm desperate.

"You aren't bending me over fucking anything." He retorted, rolling over with a soft grumble of annoyance. Of all the fucking people I get stuck with, it's fucking him! If there's a God he fucking hates me

The next day saw Francis actually doing push ups in their cell. Feeling a bit more energetic that day, he couldn't wait for their hour of 'physical activity.' He gave a grunt every now and then as he pushed himself upwards. Nick sat on his bunk, legs crossed, back against the wall as he flipped through a novel he had gotten from the prison library. He glanced over at Francis, glad that today was showering day. Last thing he wanted was to sit in the cell all day with his sweat and stink.

The sounds of crisp footfalls were heard through the hall as Francis stopped and got back onto his feet in a swift movement, stretching a bit. He walked over to the bars, leaning against them to take a peek.

"Time for some fresh air you two." The guard said, letting them out of their cell.

Placing a bookmark in the novel, Nick stood up, following Francis and the guard out to the yard where another thirty men where already wandering around, talking, playing cards, working out and playing basketball. Nick headed over towards the table of card players; he was getting low on cigarettes. Francis glanced over, taking a peek at the men. For now he'd be fine, he knew that. But, it was always good to look out for your own. Even if you hated the little shit. For now, he went over to where the exercise area was and picked up a dumbbell. Pulling out a smoke from his pants pocket and lighting it up, Nick sat down and started a round of poker with the men. They were various ages and races. Each sized him as they played cards. Various items were tossed on the table; amongst them was a nice cigarette set; a flip lighter and a full pack of smokes. As the round continued, the mood turned sour. Nick was winning too much. Francis paused in his work out, having switched arms. He started walking over, taking the exercise equipment with him. One of the players, another white man threw the cards down and stood up.

"New meat's fuckin' cheating us!"

"I'm not cheating anyone; you're just a lousy player!" He retorted as he pocketed the items he had won calmly. In his pocket, he kept his hand curled around a small knife.

"Fuck I am!" The other three stood up as well, starting to circle around Nick.

"I think it's time we teach this little bitch his place." He smirked. "Boy's got a nice mouth on him..."

Another gave a laugh.

"And he's got those bedroom eyes."

Nick stood up carefully, palming the knife until needed as he watched the four men.

"And I think you guys oughta cut your losses and call it a day." He replied quietly, watching each one as best he could.

There was a small moment before they just ganged up on him.

Shit.

Francis moved swiftly, keeping the dumbbell in his hand before he saw Nick move and one of the assailants stagger back, clutching his stomach. In another heartbeat, he was next to Nick, keeping an eye on his blind side.

"Fuck, you've got a knife!" he asked, grinning before clobbering another's jaw with his exercise equipment.

There goes that guy's good smile.

"Had a knife." He retorted, pulling back to crack his fist across the temple of another guy before the guard came over, gun waving in their faces.

Fuck, all I went through for that little fucking prick of a knife and I lost it in two seconds.

He almost wanted to go over and just pull it out of the asshole.

Back in their cell, the prison on lockdown for a good week while searches were made for more weapons, Nick looked over at Francis.

Hope we didn't just lose shower privilege to because I am starting to smell.

"Thanks,"

Francis looked over, having decided to finish his 'exercise' time with sit-ups.

"Ehn." He replied as he came back up.

"You had four guys on you. Shit ain't fair." Down he went. A short moment later, he was back up again.

"Where the fuck'd you get that knife? Heard they sent Fred to the hospital."

Nick shrugged, deciding he needed to get some exercise in himself. Doing pushups, he looked over at Francis.

"I got to know a guard." Was all he said.

Francis gave a nod, going back down. On his way back up he looked over at Nick. It was strange to see the man doing actual exercise.

Decent arms. Wouldn't guess it under his monkey suits.

"Can I know this guard?" He asked.

"No."

After several minutes, Nick paused long enough to shed the orange shirt, leaving on the white undershirt instead and went back to push ups.

"What?" He asked, scowling as he watched Nick for a few pushups. Why the fuck does he hides all that under layers of god damned gay clothing?

He started his sit ups again.

"Why the fuck not? I just saved your ass."

"Because I don't feel like sharing." He retorted.

"Fine. Let's see if I save your ass the next time you piss that group of Vipers off." He commented back.

"Oh for fucks sake Francis, I have to tell you everything I fucking do on my time now?" He shot back, pushing himself back onto his haunches, staring over at the other man.

"It'd just be good to know where I could get a knife. That's all." He sat up, shrugging.

"Well after what just happened, I doubt he's going to be handing one over to me again." He replied.

"Means I gotta find a new way to sneak that shit in." He sat down, deciding to do some crunches himself until their evening quick shower.

"Good luck with that." He retorted sarcastically. He glanced over at where Nick placed his book.

"What're you reading?" he asked, words dripping with disgust. Though in truth, he was just curious. Never much of a reader himself, he was always wondering what other people enjoyed reading.

He never did find out why that was.

"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." He replied, pausing for a moment as he pulled up, looking over to his bed.

"Oh hey. Saw that in theaters. Pretty good."

A few hours passed before the guard returned, looking in on the two of them.

"I take it you're ready for your showers, boys?" He asked, club resting on his shoulder.

Standing up, Nick made his way to the bars.

Several minutes later and they were both stripping off to shower, the water only lukewarm for a small amount of time that they had to clean up. A few other individuals were in the showers with them, each one only determined on looking at their own bodies while they washed themselves down. Francis scrubbed, seeming on guard and equally at ease at the same time, glancing around. More to keep an eye on the others than for any actual glimpses. As quick as possible, Nick was running the soap over himself and through his hair, making sure no one was intent on getting too close as compared to earlier.

Well, at least this way I know he's actually bathing. Nick thought, taking the quickest glance over at Francis.

For a brief moment, Francis shut his eyes so he could wash what hair he had on his head; not wanting soap to run down into his vision. He was broad-shouldered and muscular. Fit and strong, and he knew it. Finished, Nick just took his time now to let the water run over him, enjoying feeling clean for a short period until they'd be allowed to bathe again in three days.

Fuck...four more years of this. The term seemed impossibly long.

How does he do it? He wondered, thinking back to Francis and the amount of times the older convict had been arrested.

He tilted his head into the water, rubbing himself down once again, rinsing away all the soap, dirt, grime and sweat. Rubbing his neck, he tilted his head upwards again, trying to get a kink out of his neck. Rolling his shoulders, he stepped away from the water, shutting it off. Wiping the water from his face.

"That's better." Almost.

As the water started to turn icy, Nick quickly moved away from the taps and grabbed a towel from the warden. A thin thing that had seen better days and was scratchy as hell. Drying off as quickly as he bathed, he pulled on his clothing, flicking water from his hair. Francis did the same, taking a bit more time. He grinned over at the warden while putting his own clothes back on.

"Face it. You like this shit."

The warden, for his part, looked disgusted and looked away. Francis only smirked, tying the top of his jumpsuit around his waist, opting to stay in the white undershirt. Nick just rolled his eyes as the guard led them back to the cafeteria to get their meals. Nick stayed on his guard, wary of the others from before that would be there, or those who worked with the guys he and Francis had beat up. The cafeteria was full of other inmates. Some were already sitting down, eating. Others were slowly making their way through the line to get their food.

A few glanced up as the both of them entered. Guards were posted at intervals around the cafeteria. Getting what they could before they were told it was time to leave; Nick wished he could move the line quicker. Sitting down, Francis sat next to him as the pair quickly ate the crap that counted as food.

When I get out of here, I am going to a five fucking star restaurant.

God damn it. I fucking hate Tuna Melt Surprise. Francis stared at the slop in his plate with disgust. At least, I hope it's Tuna…

He grimaced as he ate. Even Francis hated the food.

As they sat, he kept an eye out for others wanting to start something.

"Any books on Harleys in the library?" he asked. In all his times in prison, he'd never visited the libraries.

"I don't see why not, they've got a bit of everything." He replied, glancing over.

He noticed a table of men looking over at them, and Nick tensed, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with anything after his only shower for the next three days.

Routine, confinement, all that shit I can deal with. These fucking clothes and lack of bathing every day and shit food I can't.

Francis gave a nod, thinking he might actually try to find something of interest. Staring at the ceiling all day was starting to become a real bore. See one ceiling, you've seen them all. Disgusting concrete.

"And how do you get a pass?" he asked, glancing over at Nick. The good thing about the conman, he noticed, was how easy it was to read tension in him.

"Like any other library, just get a guard to escort you there during down time and they'll set you up with a library card. You can choose books from the cart that comes around." He replied, looking back over to Francis.

"Huhn..." He grunted. "Simple 'nough."

Mom says I need to always practice that shit.

What's up?" he asked, now asking about Nick's tense stance.

"Guys at the table, friends of the other assholes?" He asked, nodding his head towards the table.

"Either they want to ask for a dance or they're looking for payback."

He took a quick glance over.

"Maybe. Know the waltz?" he asked, finishing off his food. He'd glanced at him while looking at the guards; peripheral vision was good for times like that.

"I'm more of a tango man myself." He smirked, finishing up his food just as the whistle sounded for them to return to their cells.

"Classy." He retorted, standing up as the whistle sounded.

"Mind if I cut in a few times?" he asked, making his way to the line-up of inmates leaving.

"Not at all, keeps things interesting." He agreed, moving with the line, following the others back up to their cell.

Francis was more than happy with that answer.

"If they try to grope you, they're getting my fist down their fucking throat." he smirked. "That shit doesn't happen during tangos."

He guessed. He didn't dance, so he didn't know.

Nick blinked, wanting to turn and look at Francis to see if he was serious.

What the fuck am I, his virgin sister?

"The fuck are you touching me for?" He asked, turning around as he entered their cell, looking up at Francis as he quickly hopped up onto the top bunk.

Back in their cell, Nick sat back on his bed, picking up the novel to read when he heard the call for lights out in ten and grumbled. Francis looked down at Nick, patting his back briefly. To anyone watching, it was a signal. Touch this man and your dead. Francis, happy to be all clean, hopped up into his bed and rolled onto his side, facing the cell. He'd learned early on that a person should never face the wall.

"I'm not your bitch," he finally said after a moment's pause, waiting for the lights to turn out.

"Not yet, and you best hope to get used to the role." He replied, cracking open an eye.

"Prison knows you're 'new meat.' Might as well bend over."

"I'm not anyone's bitch, nor do I plan on being it." He replied dangerously, lying down on his bed as the lights went out.

"Not saying I'll do anything. Just saying be grateful that words going 'round you're my bitch. Otherwise? It's your funeral."

Francis knew it'd take a bit before things took hold. Even then, word might get round that Nick was 'unruly.'

Grumbling, the conman rolled over to get comfortable. This is going to be the longest four years of my life.

A few days passed. Francis had woken up a bit before Nick for once, wanting to get in on this 'library' thing. The bars opened, allowing Francis exit as they kept his hands cuffed before shutting it once more. Waking up, Nick was glad for some quiet time to himself for once. Making his bed up, he reclined on it, reading his book. A good fifteen minutes later saw Francis' return; book in his hands as he entered the cell once more. Once un-cuffed, he walked over and sat on the floor with ease, book open to begin reading; its cover was obscured as he held it open against the floor. Nick looked over as the guard admitted Francis back to their cell.

"Find a good one?" He asked, trying to make small talk.

"Yup." Was all he answered with as he turned the page. It was a good half-hour to breakfast. Or at least their section's turn for the meal.

The days passed by slowly and Nick started to actually lose count of the time, it wasn't until he noticed the leaves outside changing did he realize he'd been in prison for a solid four months.

"It's fall already? Fuck, hope the rest of the sentence goes this quickly." He commented one day while outside with Francis.

The news had passed quickly about Francis laying claim to Nick despite nothing happening and Nick begrudgingly accepted it.

It was safer that way.