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Troy fidgets as he listens to Alicia talk about what happened on the Dam after they left. Something between him and Nick has shifted, into what he isn't quite sure, but he's terrified Alicia can see it – that she'll be disgusted by it.
Suddenly, he feels Nick take his hand under the table, and he steals a glance over at him only to find he's still looking at his sister. Troy turns his attention back to Alicia, squeezing Nick's hand tightly, and relaxing only when Alicia finishes her story, oblivious to their handholding.
"So mom and Strand are out by the river somewhere?" Nick asks.
Alicia nods slowly, a worried look in her eyes. She doesn't say it, but Troy hears the silent if they're not dead. "We should go looking for them."
Troy scoffs, his anger towards Madison flaring white hot in his veins. "We're better off without them!"
Alicia looks to Nick, but she doesn't appear angry at his protest. "Want to tell me what happened to you now?" She asks gesturing to the bandages on his head.
Nick, who'd easily dodged the question when Alicia first arrived, sighs heavily. "Mom tried to kill Troy."
Alicia narrows her eyes, her gaze flicking to Troy, and he fidgets in Nick’s hand. "Why would she try to kill Troy?"
Troy opens his mouth to confess for a second time but Nick swoops in quickly with, "She blames him for me using again. Said she wouldn't let him ruin me and tried to hit him with a hammer, but I got in the way."
Alicia considers the words carefully, before shaking her head. "I'm starting to think she's just as dangerous to us as anyone out there."
Troy doesn't let the relief or the confusion he feels show on his face. He has a guess as to why Nick would insist they keep up the lie about the horde, but if Alicia ever finds out things could get real ugly.
"She is." Nick says simply.
Alicia doesn't argue, or beg for their help. No. She was smarter than that. "But if it was either of us out there, possibly hurt, she would do anything to find us again, and I'm going to at least try. I owe her that much."
She looks worn, and in desperate need of a bed, but she stands, determined. She's got spirit, Troy'll give her that, but she doesn't have anything to protect herself with, and they all know it. By the look on Nick's face, he isn't going to let her go alone so Troy does the only thing he can.
"Before we head off on a rescue mission, we should gather weapons, supplies." Troy says, hand slipping out of Nick’s. "The horde should've dissipated by now, and there's a gold mine waiting for us. We can offload the supplies here and come back for them after we find the others."
Alicia nods, grateful.
"You should take a nap and let us get the supplies." Nick says.
Alicia shakes her head vigorously. "The Proctors are still out there, and they'll be looking for mom and Strand. We don't have any time to waste."
Nick nods reluctantly, and then they're off.
When they make it to Brokejaw there’s still quite a few infected around, but they take care of them easily and clear a path to the pantry for the truck. Troy doesn't allow Nick to do any heavy lifting, talking him into taking watch while they load up on food, water, guns, ammo, and blankets. Nick insists he's fine, and Troy knows he is, but he's still rattled by the image of Madison striking him with her hammer and just needs Nick to take it easy for now.
Once the truck is full, they fill a bigger one that still works and then Alicia goes to get some of Jake's books.
A pang of sadness drives Troy to go to his old cabin. It's the exact same as he left it, bed made, room clean. He looks around, feeling like a stranger in his own home because he felt no comfort here, no relief at seeing this place again.
Nick walks up behind him, slipping his hand into Troy’s. "I didn't expect you to be so neat."
Troy looks to him, squeezing his hand. "I did run a militia. We may not have been real military but I thought adopting some of it's lessons would help me lead."
Nick hums in acknowledgement as he looks around. "Where's all your personal stuff?"
"In drawers, in the closet, tucked under the bed." Places not easily accessible to a drunk on a rampage.
Nick's gaze finally lands on him. "Can I see?"
Troy nods. He leads Nick over to his bedside table, reaching under the bed frame to pull out a key that he uses to unlock the bottom drawer. There's nothing but old journals, and spare pencils in there anyway.
While Nick rummages through the drawer, Troy pulls out books from under his bed, setting them on the bed next to Nick who stops digging through the drawer to look at them.
"Books about surviving in the wild, hunting, and war." Nick comments. "Why am I not surprised?"
Troy snorts. He pulls the plastic cover off one book, and hands it to Nick.
Nick shoots him a curious look as he opens it. "A big Dickens fan?"
Troy shrugs. "Dunno. I've only read that one book from him."
Nick nods to the other books. "Are all of these ringers?"
Troy shakes his head, and looks through the pile, grabbing another book and pulling off the cover. "Just these two."
Nick grabs the book, looking over it curiously. "The Song of Achilles...never heard of it. What's it about?"
Troy looks down awkwardly, face heating as he remembers what kind of book it is. "I haven't read it yet, but...I think it's a love story."
"A love story?" Nick repeats in a surprised tone."Can't say I was expecting that, but I don't get why you seem so embarrassed by it."
Troy scratches the tip of his nose, face on fire. "It's, uh...between two men."
"Oh." Nick says.
Troy feels frozen in place, his heart hammering against this ribcage. He doesn't know why he's so scared over a book, why he's so scared of Nick's reaction to him wanting to read said book.
"We should take some of these with us," Nick says after a moment. "We can read them to each other to pass the time."
Troy sags in relief. "I'll let you pick which ones we take." He says as he stands up. "There’s a duffle bag in my closet. Fill it with books, clothes, whatever you want."
Nick catches his hand before he can move. "What are you going to do?"
Troy nods to the chest at the end of his bed. "There’s more weapons in there. I'm going to make room for them in the truck."
Nick raises his hand to his lips, and kisses it softly.
His breath catches. He never thought he'd be accepting small affections like these from a man and he found he had to repress the urge to jerk away from Nick. Though they'd been tactile from the beginning, none of it had truly felt intimate until the night before, and it had been easy, natural to accept the touches. Now they held meaning and it made him hesitant.
Nick lets go of his hand and goes to get the duffle bag. He seemed to understand Troy's hesitance.
It wasn't that Troy had a problem with being into a guy – at least not fully – rather it was being perceived as queer in any way that made his heart seize cold with fear.
To him, being not one hundred percent straight was like painting a target on your back, then resigning to hearing arrow after arrow whizz by your head until one finally pierces your heart and you turn to see a cruel smile from someone you trusted. To him it had always seemed like being queer in any way meant being on guard at all times, to always wonder if one kiss, one handhold, one hug, would get you killed, to always watch the people around you and hope they weren't secretly wishing you were dead.
So he'd chosen to never openly question, never openly stray from his attraction to women because it was safer that way. Not that he's ever really been safe, but if he had ever so much as hinted at liking men he would've been dead a long time ago. Of course, he couldn't help his wayward thoughts, or the curiosity that had led to him getting a book about two men falling in love, but he could control and repress and lie to himself as needed.
But he could trust Nick, and in time, if she never found out the truth about the ranch, he could trust Alicia too. He could slowly poke and prod at the cage of his repression and denial until he had the courage to break it open. He just needed a little time and patience.
"Nicky."
Nick looks to him curiously.
"I...I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to all this and it might take me some time to really be comfortable with it, but I want it. I want you."
Nick's lips twitch into a small smile. "I want you too, and for now that's all that matters."
Troy grins. He feels the same warmth flow through him as last night when Nick first took his hand, when he told Troy he didn't want to lose him and when he'd gently pressed his lips to Troy's skin.
It takes twenty-five minutes to get everything they want sorted and loaded into the vehicles.
Troy makes one last sweep of his father's house, anger and hatred welling inside of him because he feels no relief here either. This damned house he grew up in killed him and left him a ghost – feeling nothing, nothing, nothing then everything, everything, everything until he unleashed it all onto the living in order to sink back into his numb existence.
Troy goes to sit at his father's desk one last time, fingers trailing over the blood staining the desk. He wonders what Jeremiah's last moments were like, if he even saw Nick raise the gun or if he was too distracted by Madison to notice. He supposes he'll just have to ask Nick sometime.
Troy opens the top drawer, finding pens, pencils, paperclips, and a set of matches. His hand goes to the back of his neck unconsciously, finger grazing over the scar underneath his hair – a gift long since given by his drunken father for daring to open this same drawer without permission.
Jake had been the one to dig the shard out of his skin, and stitch him up like always – well like he did before he got that look in his eyes, the same one Troy's own mother had just before the hatred. The look of barely contained disgust and overt disdain shining behind his pretense of love. The same look in Mike's eyes when Troy caught up to him the night he left the ranch.
He reaches for the matches instinctively, unsure why he even wants them until he's lit one. He stares at the flame, dropping the match onto the desk only when it singes his thumb and forefinger. A piece of spare paper starts to burn, and it's like a switch gets flipped inside of him. He lights another match and another until the wood catches fire, then he stands, rounding the desk and backing away.
He doesn't think, doesn't process, doesn't feel as he watches the desk burn, and then –
There's lamp oil under the bathroom sink.
And he retrieves it, pouring the oil on the floor of the cabin, starting from the front door and stopping just before his father's desk. He tosses the empty bottle to the floor and watches as the oil creeps towards the fire.
"Troy!"
He blinks, and turns to see Nick rushing into the house, worry evident in the set of his face. He lights another match, and throws it to the oil at his feet just as Nick grabs his arm and drags him away. He leaves a trail of matches to the door, an urge to just burn it all down itching under his skin.
"What the hell?!" Nick exclaims once they're past the porch.
Troy tosses the empty match box at his feet. "It has to burn." He says, hollow even to his own ears.
Nick frowns, but turns to look at the house. Troy looks too, and Alicia joins them after a moment, confused by the fire, but Nick tells her something Troy doesn't hear and then they all just watch – voyeurs of destruction.
Something loosens inside of Troy as his father's house starts to creak, and pop.
A cleansing, he thinks to himself, then out loud, "It's beautiful."
Neither Nick nor Alicia say anything, but he feels Nick’s hand gently brush against his. He steals a glance at Nick, and finds him staring at Troy out of the corner of his eye.
Troy catches Nick's pinky with his own, squeezing lightly, before turning his gaze back to the house. He wishes he was brave enough to take Nick's hand in his own and not care what Alicia would think, but he isn't there yet.
Alicia eventually ushers them away, insisting that they get back to the outpost and out to the waterfront before dark. She follows behind them in the bigger truck while Troy leads the way back.
"I found something in your room," Nick says after awhile.
Troy shoots him a curious look.
Nick grabs the duffle bag at his feet and pulls out a bag of disfigured army men he waves by Troy's face. "I didn't think you were the type for toys, but these were shockingly the least surprising thing I found."
Troy raises one eyebrow. "Did you snoop?"
"What did you think I was going to do?" Nick questions playfully.
Troy huffs in amusement. "All right, so what did you find?"
"Besides your army men, I found your vintage porn stash, a box of teas and instant coffee, a rabbit skull, a couple of pocket knives, a book of poetry, and finally, a sketchbook."
Troy tenses. "You...you didn't look in the sketchbook, did you?"
Nick reaches into the bag and pulls out aforementioned sketchbook. "I did, and I thought it was important that I brought it. "
"Why?"
"Because you hid it so carefully and that can only mean one thing: it's a part of you you've been trying to hide. But you've got me now and I want to see all of you."
"What if you don't like what you see?" Troy asks.
"What if I do?"
Troy glances over at him, doubtful.
"If I'm not flinching away from what I've already seen, what makes you think I'd shy away from more? From the good?"
Troy swallows and turns his gaze forward. "What if...what if there is no good? What if...what if I'm all rough edges and shattered pieces?"
He feels Nick's fingers loosely wrap around his wrist, thumb gently stroking his skin as he quietly says, "Show me the broken parts you got as a child of violence living on the edge of the world and I'll fit us together until we're whole again."
Troy feels almost dazed by the words, the soft graze of Nick's fingertips making it feels as if he's rubbing them directly into his skin – his skin which has only known violence and hatred and impulse – his skin which both shies away from and actively seeks affection. The words themselves sound like the start of a poem yet to be written, but one he already aches to hear more of.
"Thought you said you weren't a poet."
Nick lets go of his wrist. "I'm not, but I might've skimmed that book earlier and got inspired."
Troy huffs in amusement, then looks over at Nick, finding solace in his deep brown eyes. "I only draw what I think is beautiful," he admits.
"That explains the mountains, the sunsets, sunrises, and even the dead things, but why did you draw me with that awful haircut?"
Troy shrugs. "I liked it."
Nick laughs, and the sound hits differently than before, stirring something unfamiliar in his chest. He looks to the road and rests his hand palm up on the seats, pleased when Nick eventually slips his fingers in between his.
"I noticed you drew Mike too."
"He was who I used to practice drawing people, but he didn't really fit my criteria."
Troy catches the way Nick's lips twitch at that as he opens the sketchbook.
"I don't know whether to be relieved that you weren't attracted to the best friend you killed or disturbed that you found a dead bunny with it's guts spilling out to be beautiful, but not him."
Troy laughs, and raises Nick's hand to his lips and kisses it firmly before bringing it to rest against his chest. His face heats, and he can't help a nervous glance into the rearview mirror, but under the anxiety, he has to admit, it feels nice to return the affection while his old life burns behind him.